The great West. [volume] (St. Paul, Minn.) 1889-18??, 1890-09-05
IN THE DEPTHS.
The Horrors of the March Through N
African Forest.

speech of H. NJ Stanley at the re-
ception rendered by the Emin relief
committee in London. giving an ac-
count of his terrible journey through
the heart of the tropical forest.
DAY after day, week after week.
from dawn of morning to near eve,
urged ON unrestingly. Step by step
we gain orr miles. and penetrate
deeper and deeper into that strange
conservatory Of nature, the inner
womb of true tropical forest. The
warm vapors rise from it as from a
great fermenting vat, until so dense
are the exhalations in few days that
only the flaming bolt can let in the
sunlight on that impervious and end
less foliage above our heads. After a
months unbroken march we halt for
rest, and for the first time attempt to
question natives who have hitherto art
fully elude our efforts to gain intelli-
gence. We ask them if they know of
any grass land lying east, north. or
south of their district, and they reply
in the negative in manner that seems
to imply that we must be strange
creatures to suppose that it would be
possible for any world to exist save
this illimitable forest world. Taking
a grass blade from the river bank
for only few struggling blades can be
found-we hold it up to view. What,
no field-no limited stretch of land
with something like this growingp'
No. they reply. shaking their heads,
compassionately plying our absurd
questions. All like this and they
wave their hands sweepingly to illus
| trate that all the world was alike, moth
ing but trees, trees. and trees!' Great
trees rising as high as arrows shot
toward the sky. uniting their crowns,
interlacing their branches, pressing
and crowding one against the other un-
til sunbeam nor shaft of light may
penetrate it.
No sooner are these words heard
by our men than their imaginations
conceive the forest under the most op-
pressive and forbidding aspect. Hither-
to it had been tract of land of un-
certain extent, growing trees. which a
few weeks march would enable us to
pierce through, mere pleasant varia-
ton of the experiences of an African
journey-maker; but a month had al
ready elapsed, and they now heard
with their own ears that the forest was
without end. The little religion they
knew was nothing more than legend
airy lore, and in their memories there
dimly foated story of a land that
grew darker and darker as you travel
ed toward the end of the world, and
drew nearer to the place where a great
serpent lay supine and coiled around
the whole earth. All, then, the ancients
must have referred to this. where the
light is so CHASTITY, where the woods
are endless, and are so still and solemn
and gray, to this oppressive loneliness
amid so much life, which is so chilling
to the poor, distressed heart! And
the horror grows darker with their
fancies, the cold of the early morning.
the comfortless gray of the dawn, the
dead white mist, the overlapping
tears of the dew, the deluging rains,
appalling thunder-bursts and the rolling
echoes, and the wonderful play of the
dazzling lightning. And when the
night comes with its thick palpable
darkness and they cuddle in their
damp huts, and they hear the tempest
overhead, the bowling of the wild
winds, the grinding and groaning of
storm-tossed trees, the dread sounds of
falling giants and the shock of the
trembling earth. which sends their
hearts with titful leaps to their threats,
and roaring and rushing as of
mad overwhelming sea-oh! then the
horror is intensified.
1T may be that the next morning,
, when they hear the shrill sounds of the
whistle and the officers voices ring out
in the dawn, and the blare of the
trumpet is heard, and there is stir and
tumult of preparation, and acton,
that the morbid thoughts of the night
and memories of terrible dreams will
be effaced for a time; but when the
march has begun once again, and the
files are slowly moving through the
woods, they renew their morbid
broodings and ask themselves, How
long is this to last? Is the JOY of life
to end thus? Must we jog on day
after day in this cherries gloom and
this joyless darkness, until we stagger
and fall, and rot among the toads?
Then they disappear into the woods by
twos and threes and SKIES, and after
the caravan has passed return by the
trail, some to reach Yambuya and up
set the young officers by their tales of
| woe and war, some to fall sobbing
under spear thrust, some to wander
and stray in the dark mazes of the
woods hopelessly lost and some to be
carved for the cannibal feast. And
those who remain. compelled to it by
fears of greater dangers, mechanically
march on. prey to dread and weak
ness, the scratch of thorn, the punct-
ure of a pointed cane, the bite of an
ant, or the sting of wasp. The
smallest thing serves to start an ulcer,
which presently becomes virulent and
eats its way to the bone, and the man
dies. These sores rage like an cpl
demic. and dozens are sufferers. Then