There, in an isolated section of the African jungle, existed no reliable device by which one could gauge time. Nevertheless, it was shortly after midnight when Akan, Huxley, and Virginia's waiting came to an end. It all began with the apparition of a torchlight on the northernmost edge of the town, just off the path leading to the river. It was a solitary torch, intended only to light the path for a single scout to slip into the village for a preliminary glance at any forms of defense that may lay in wait there. Finding no apparent, immediate cause for concern, the lone scout sounded a shrill whistle that would have sounded haunting and beautiful to Huxley, like the song of a distant bird never before seen by human eyes, had he no prior knowledge of the malicious intent of those who would reply to such a call.
Soon the single torch was joined by a host of others--a dozen altogether, each shared by two men, all of whom were armed with long rifles, the metal barrels of which reflected a matted sheen. They strode into the village silently, though with the outwardly confident demeanor of men who had already achieved the victory they sought. From his seat on the dirt in the middle of the village, tending the only lit campfire in the entire area, Huxley listened. He could hear their words echoing without effort through the paths of the village and around the rounded edges of the huts in which all the natives were now huddled, and he wondered how long it might be until he was spotted and confronted.
"This way. I think I see a fire," came a voice, wafting like smoke in the air.
Apparently, Huxley's wait was not a long one.
"There's someone there. Circle around him! Let's catch him off-guard."
"That won't be necessary, gentlemen," Huxley announced. "I already know you're there."
The invaders, surprised by the sudden outburst, especially in such an unexpected language as proper English, lowered their raised rifles and stood dumbfounded, confused, and awaiting further instruction.
A single, small figure pushed its way through the mass of idle men, cursing all the while about their lack of discipline and overgrown feet, and it emerged in the firelight, standing across from Huxley with a dark, bushy mustache and ill-fitted clothes that betrayed a round belly beneath tight, constricting fabrics that were intended to give the illusion of a better, more manlier fitness. When his eyes met Huxley's, the stranger was taken aback, now imitating the men he had just chided.
"Thomas?" said the stranger. "Thomas Huxley?"
"I'll be damned," Huxley muttered in return.
Soon the single torch was joined by a host of others--a dozen altogether, each shared by two men, all of whom were armed with long rifles, the metal barrels of which reflected a matted sheen. They strode into the village silently, though with the outwardly confident demeanor of men who had already achieved the victory they sought. From his seat on the dirt in the middle of the village, tending the only lit campfire in the entire area, Huxley listened. He could hear their words echoing without effort through the paths of the village and around the rounded edges of the huts in which all the natives were now huddled, and he wondered how long it might be until he was spotted and confronted.
"This way. I think I see a fire," came a voice, wafting like smoke in the air.
Apparently, Huxley's wait was not a long one.
"There's someone there. Circle around him! Let's catch him off-guard."
"That won't be necessary, gentlemen," Huxley announced. "I already know you're there."
The invaders, surprised by the sudden outburst, especially in such an unexpected language as proper English, lowered their raised rifles and stood dumbfounded, confused, and awaiting further instruction.
A single, small figure pushed its way through the mass of idle men, cursing all the while about their lack of discipline and overgrown feet, and it emerged in the firelight, standing across from Huxley with a dark, bushy mustache and ill-fitted clothes that betrayed a round belly beneath tight, constricting fabrics that were intended to give the illusion of a better, more manlier fitness. When his eyes met Huxley's, the stranger was taken aback, now imitating the men he had just chided.
"Thomas?" said the stranger. "Thomas Huxley?"
"I'll be damned," Huxley muttered in return.
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