Two hours had barely passed since the moment the party set foot on dry land when the first of the porters began to demand rest. These complaints first came in the form of quiet mumbles and whispered curses, passed among themselves until they reached the ears of Westmoreland, whose job it was to relay these concerns to Huxley.
"What's that?" Huxley replied once Westmoreland whispered the request into his ear. "But we've only just started!"
"I know, sir, but it is quite dark, and we have nothing but these torches to light the way. Believe me, I know a thing or two about traipsing through the jungle, and we'll be much safer if we find a good place to set up camp before we lose sight of the path altogether."
"Fine," he replied with a relenting sigh. "But I want us all ready to move out by first light. No, make that just before first light. We must reach the village as soon as we possibly can."
"As you wish, sir, though I can't rightly understand what the hurry is about."
"It's rather simple, dear Westmoreland. The quicker we find the way to the village and map the whole thing out, the quicker our friends back in London will be able to penetrate the jungles and illuminate the natives."
"And the profit, sir?"
Huxley furrowed his brow.
"What profit would that be?"
"Well, sir, it seems to me that the first man to have a thorough look at this area and map it out would stand to make quite a bit of money from those looking to pay a visit. I imagine you could earn a few pounds from the missions looking to proselytize."
"Oh, I'm sure there's a pittance to be made, but I don't do this for the money. No, for me, it's all about the enlightenment. The exploration is the thing, I always say, and I'm better able to sleep at night when I can look out at all the dark-skinned natives and imagine how many souls we can save here. Wouldn't you agree?"
"If you say so, sir," Westmoreland replied.
"Remind me never to underestimate you."
"I'll try, sir."
Thus the very porters that had grumbled about rest were the ones ordered to set up camp, and they did so while continually grumbling the entire time. Before long, the tents were set and a campfire had been struck, around which almost the entire party gathered and ate a late dinner that consisted of their last bits of dried, salted meat and meal they had bartered from a village upriver. In all, the expedition consisted of eight men: Huxley, Akan, Westmoreland, two white porters (both of whom were Englishmen longing for the slightest chance to apply to the Royal Geographical Society) and one native, all of whom were tasked with carrying the bulk of the food and supplies needed for the arduous trek through the jungle, and two hired men whose only job was to follow the party with heavy rifles slung across their shoulders and, God willing, use them in only the direst situations. Of them all, the lone figure conspicuously absent from the circle around the fire was the black-skinned giant, Akan, who chose to take his meal away from the wide, disbelieving eyes of the others.
"What of him?" asked one of the porters, gesturing in Akan's general direction with fingers encrusted with meal and saliva.
"He's my partner," Huxley replied. "Is that a problem?"
"No, he just don't seem right, is all. A bit unnatural how tall he is, and you say he don't speak a word?"
"That's right. He's a mute."
"How'd you come to find a creature like him, eh?"
"First of all, you will not refer to my partner as a creature. Understood? Now, then, if you'd really care to hear his story, I'll be glad to tell it."
"Yes, sir. Sorry."
"Good." Huxley grinned and inched closer to the fire, so that his face could be seen in the flickering light by all those around him. "I'll have you know that this man is a warrior of the Ashanti Empire. There are stories still of a towering giant that linger on the western coast, where I first found him. The people there told of a boy taller than most full-grown men who defended his village from an enormous lion. Every night, this lion crept around the edge of the village, intent on pulling children from their huts and devouring them in the darkness, where no man dared to tread. No man save Akan, that is. Every night, the boy and the lion would wrestle outside the village as his people cowered in their huts, and every night, the boy drove the beast away.
"One night, however, the beast got the better of him. They had just completed their match for the night, and as Akan yelled his victory cry, telling the villagers that all was safe, the lion dug his claws into the boy's mouth, pulling out his tongue and rendering him unable to speak. The boy, enraged, chased the beast through the dark jungle, and when he returned to the village the next morning, he bore the lion's tongue in his hands. When I came across him, his entire village had been unlawfully enslaved by a group of rogue traders, and I had just enough money and goods to barter for his sale, whereupon I released him from his bonds and offered him a partnership. I've not regretted it a moment since, unlike other recent employments."
The porter stared blankly into the fire, unsure of how to respond.
"Are we finished with the gossip, now?" Huxley asked, but no one answered. "Very well, finish your supper and get your precious rest. I want one man awake and alert at all times to watch the camp and keep the fire going. Decide the schedule among yourselves."
"Good night, sir," said Westmoreland as Huxley retired to the large tent that had been prepared for him.
Akan slipped in just behind, watching the men from the flap to make certain all were accounted for.
"Did they believe you?" the giant asked in a perfect Yorkshire accent.
"Yes, yes. Now quiet down. I've never met a mute that talks quite as much as you."
"Fine, next time you can be the mute."
"That would be foolish. It doesn't even make sense."
"I don't care. I'm tired of always being a mute."
"Ah, so you want the whole of Africa to know that you were born and bred in England? Where would our advantage be there?"
"Let's just be done with this quickly."
"My friend, in a matter of days we'll both be rich and on our way back to merry old England. Who could ask for anything more?" said Huxley with a sly grin. Finally satisfied with their progress for this day and anxiously awaiting the next, they settled in separate spots on the ground and lay in wait for dreams to come.
"What's that?" Huxley replied once Westmoreland whispered the request into his ear. "But we've only just started!"
"I know, sir, but it is quite dark, and we have nothing but these torches to light the way. Believe me, I know a thing or two about traipsing through the jungle, and we'll be much safer if we find a good place to set up camp before we lose sight of the path altogether."
"Fine," he replied with a relenting sigh. "But I want us all ready to move out by first light. No, make that just before first light. We must reach the village as soon as we possibly can."
"As you wish, sir, though I can't rightly understand what the hurry is about."
"It's rather simple, dear Westmoreland. The quicker we find the way to the village and map the whole thing out, the quicker our friends back in London will be able to penetrate the jungles and illuminate the natives."
"And the profit, sir?"
Huxley furrowed his brow.
"What profit would that be?"
"Well, sir, it seems to me that the first man to have a thorough look at this area and map it out would stand to make quite a bit of money from those looking to pay a visit. I imagine you could earn a few pounds from the missions looking to proselytize."
"Oh, I'm sure there's a pittance to be made, but I don't do this for the money. No, for me, it's all about the enlightenment. The exploration is the thing, I always say, and I'm better able to sleep at night when I can look out at all the dark-skinned natives and imagine how many souls we can save here. Wouldn't you agree?"
"If you say so, sir," Westmoreland replied.
"Remind me never to underestimate you."
"I'll try, sir."
Thus the very porters that had grumbled about rest were the ones ordered to set up camp, and they did so while continually grumbling the entire time. Before long, the tents were set and a campfire had been struck, around which almost the entire party gathered and ate a late dinner that consisted of their last bits of dried, salted meat and meal they had bartered from a village upriver. In all, the expedition consisted of eight men: Huxley, Akan, Westmoreland, two white porters (both of whom were Englishmen longing for the slightest chance to apply to the Royal Geographical Society) and one native, all of whom were tasked with carrying the bulk of the food and supplies needed for the arduous trek through the jungle, and two hired men whose only job was to follow the party with heavy rifles slung across their shoulders and, God willing, use them in only the direst situations. Of them all, the lone figure conspicuously absent from the circle around the fire was the black-skinned giant, Akan, who chose to take his meal away from the wide, disbelieving eyes of the others.
"What of him?" asked one of the porters, gesturing in Akan's general direction with fingers encrusted with meal and saliva.
"He's my partner," Huxley replied. "Is that a problem?"
"No, he just don't seem right, is all. A bit unnatural how tall he is, and you say he don't speak a word?"
"That's right. He's a mute."
"How'd you come to find a creature like him, eh?"
"First of all, you will not refer to my partner as a creature. Understood? Now, then, if you'd really care to hear his story, I'll be glad to tell it."
"Yes, sir. Sorry."
"Good." Huxley grinned and inched closer to the fire, so that his face could be seen in the flickering light by all those around him. "I'll have you know that this man is a warrior of the Ashanti Empire. There are stories still of a towering giant that linger on the western coast, where I first found him. The people there told of a boy taller than most full-grown men who defended his village from an enormous lion. Every night, this lion crept around the edge of the village, intent on pulling children from their huts and devouring them in the darkness, where no man dared to tread. No man save Akan, that is. Every night, the boy and the lion would wrestle outside the village as his people cowered in their huts, and every night, the boy drove the beast away.
"One night, however, the beast got the better of him. They had just completed their match for the night, and as Akan yelled his victory cry, telling the villagers that all was safe, the lion dug his claws into the boy's mouth, pulling out his tongue and rendering him unable to speak. The boy, enraged, chased the beast through the dark jungle, and when he returned to the village the next morning, he bore the lion's tongue in his hands. When I came across him, his entire village had been unlawfully enslaved by a group of rogue traders, and I had just enough money and goods to barter for his sale, whereupon I released him from his bonds and offered him a partnership. I've not regretted it a moment since, unlike other recent employments."
The porter stared blankly into the fire, unsure of how to respond.
"Are we finished with the gossip, now?" Huxley asked, but no one answered. "Very well, finish your supper and get your precious rest. I want one man awake and alert at all times to watch the camp and keep the fire going. Decide the schedule among yourselves."
"Good night, sir," said Westmoreland as Huxley retired to the large tent that had been prepared for him.
Akan slipped in just behind, watching the men from the flap to make certain all were accounted for.
"Did they believe you?" the giant asked in a perfect Yorkshire accent.
"Yes, yes. Now quiet down. I've never met a mute that talks quite as much as you."
"Fine, next time you can be the mute."
"That would be foolish. It doesn't even make sense."
"I don't care. I'm tired of always being a mute."
"Ah, so you want the whole of Africa to know that you were born and bred in England? Where would our advantage be there?"
"Let's just be done with this quickly."
"My friend, in a matter of days we'll both be rich and on our way back to merry old England. Who could ask for anything more?" said Huxley with a sly grin. Finally satisfied with their progress for this day and anxiously awaiting the next, they settled in separate spots on the ground and lay in wait for dreams to come.
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