It was well into the afternoon when they found the waterfall. Westmoreland was the first to hear the sound of crashing water, and they followed the noise until emerging on a steep ridge, which they were forced to descend. The waterfall itself was quite small--dwarfed by the grandiosity and magnificence of Livingstone's Victoria Falls--but it was enough of a landmark to assure them that their journey was almost complete.
"Keep in mind, gentlemen," Huxley called out to the rest of his party, "this entire region is thus far devoid of good English names for our maps, so when the time comes, have some good suggestions in mind, won't you?"
This invigorated the men, sending a small wave of guffaws down the procession. The white porters in particular seemed optimistic.
"Wait till my mum here's about this one. Just imagine if this were called the Chesterwick River, eh? People from all over would come just to see it, and they'd know that it were my river," said one.
"That'd get us in the Society for sure, wouldn't it? Rivers of our very own! Aye, that'd show those high-class trollops in Kensington what's what," said the other.
"First of all, halfwits, you wouldn't own the river. Second, I was hoping for suggestions of a more nationalistic sentiment. I wouldn't dare name dogs after the two of you, fearing that they would throw themselves in front of moving carriages rather than suffer the embarrassment of nominal association."
By the time Huxley had finished his rant, the porters were back to their usual grumbling and evil eyes. Westmoreland, obviously deep in thought, sucked on his teeth and shook his head.
"That is a terrible shame, sir. I would've suggested Huxley Falls for this place here. Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it? Of course, that was before that caveat of yours."
Huxley pondered the hypothetical suggestion. He had to admit, there was a nice sound to it, especially the way it simply rolled off the tongue with a thick, robust flavor like Turkish coffee. He said it aloud several times with varying intonations, as if trying on a pair of shoes.
"Huxley Falls. You know, I suppose we could make a single exception. Very natural sound to it, that one. Have you got that, Akan? Huxley Falls," he called out before anyone could raise an objection.
Akan nodded half-heartedly and withdrew a thick pad of paper from his pack, along with a short, square pencil, which he held up with a questioning look on his face.
"Yes, you may start the mapping now, thank you," Huxley replied. "For those of you who were not paying attention, we have been heading due south the entire trip, ever since we first stepped off the boat. I cannot hazard a guess on the exact number of miles we've traveled, but we can be more precise on the return trip. Welcome, my friends, to uncharted territory. Breathe in the air, see the sights, for it is about to become charted."
"What about the villagers, sir?"
"What about them?"
"Well, for starters, are we prepared to negotiate with them? Can we communicate with them at all?"
"All good questions, Westmoreland, though I would have appreciated you bringing your concerns to me away from the rest of the group. Nevertheless, you should all know that I am prepared to barter for safe passage and, perhaps, lodging."
"Well, that's good to hear, sir. Just in time, too."
"What? Why's that?"
Westmoreland pointed down the river, where a small group of black-skinned women were staring cautiously at the gathered party.
"Oh," said Huxley. "Right, then. Let's say hello."
"Keep in mind, gentlemen," Huxley called out to the rest of his party, "this entire region is thus far devoid of good English names for our maps, so when the time comes, have some good suggestions in mind, won't you?"
This invigorated the men, sending a small wave of guffaws down the procession. The white porters in particular seemed optimistic.
"Wait till my mum here's about this one. Just imagine if this were called the Chesterwick River, eh? People from all over would come just to see it, and they'd know that it were my river," said one.
"That'd get us in the Society for sure, wouldn't it? Rivers of our very own! Aye, that'd show those high-class trollops in Kensington what's what," said the other.
"First of all, halfwits, you wouldn't own the river. Second, I was hoping for suggestions of a more nationalistic sentiment. I wouldn't dare name dogs after the two of you, fearing that they would throw themselves in front of moving carriages rather than suffer the embarrassment of nominal association."
By the time Huxley had finished his rant, the porters were back to their usual grumbling and evil eyes. Westmoreland, obviously deep in thought, sucked on his teeth and shook his head.
"That is a terrible shame, sir. I would've suggested Huxley Falls for this place here. Has a nice ring to it, doesn't it? Of course, that was before that caveat of yours."
Huxley pondered the hypothetical suggestion. He had to admit, there was a nice sound to it, especially the way it simply rolled off the tongue with a thick, robust flavor like Turkish coffee. He said it aloud several times with varying intonations, as if trying on a pair of shoes.
"Huxley Falls. You know, I suppose we could make a single exception. Very natural sound to it, that one. Have you got that, Akan? Huxley Falls," he called out before anyone could raise an objection.
Akan nodded half-heartedly and withdrew a thick pad of paper from his pack, along with a short, square pencil, which he held up with a questioning look on his face.
"Yes, you may start the mapping now, thank you," Huxley replied. "For those of you who were not paying attention, we have been heading due south the entire trip, ever since we first stepped off the boat. I cannot hazard a guess on the exact number of miles we've traveled, but we can be more precise on the return trip. Welcome, my friends, to uncharted territory. Breathe in the air, see the sights, for it is about to become charted."
"What about the villagers, sir?"
"What about them?"
"Well, for starters, are we prepared to negotiate with them? Can we communicate with them at all?"
"All good questions, Westmoreland, though I would have appreciated you bringing your concerns to me away from the rest of the group. Nevertheless, you should all know that I am prepared to barter for safe passage and, perhaps, lodging."
"Well, that's good to hear, sir. Just in time, too."
"What? Why's that?"
Westmoreland pointed down the river, where a small group of black-skinned women were staring cautiously at the gathered party.
"Oh," said Huxley. "Right, then. Let's say hello."
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