In which the Voyager sets forth the beauties of the
way from Esoon to N’dorko, and gives some account
of the local Swamps.
Our next halting place was Esoon, which received us
with the usual row, but kindly enough; and endeared
itself to me by knowing the Rembwe, and not just waving
the arm in the air, in any direction, and saying “Far,
far plenty bad people live for that side,” as
the other towns had done. Of course they stuck
to the bad people part of the legend; but I was getting
quite callous as to the moral character of new acquaintances,
feeling sure that for good solid murderous rascality
several of my old Fan acquaintances, and even my own
party, would take a lot of beating; and yet, one and
all, they had behaved well to me. Esoon gave
me to understand that of all the Sodoms and Gomorrahs
that town of Egaja was an easy first, and it would
hardly believe we had come that way. Still Egaja
had dealt with us well. However I took less
interest—except, of course, as a friend,
in some details regarding the criminal career of Chief
Blue-hat of Egaja—in the opinion of Esoon
regarding the country we had survived, than in the
information it had to impart regarding the country
we had got to survive on our way to the Big River,
which now no longer meant the Ogowe, but the Rembwe.
I meant to reach one of Hatton and Cookson’s
sub-factories there, but—strictly between
ourselves—I knew no more at what town that
factory was than a Kindergarten Board School child
does. I did not mention this fact; and a casual
observer might have thought that I had spent my youth
in that factory, when I directed my inquiries to the
finding out the very shortest route to it. Esoon
shook its head. “Yes, it was close, but
it was impossible to reach Uguma’s factory.”
“Why?” “There was blood war on
the path.” I said it was no war of mine.
But Esoon said, such was the appalling depravity of
the next town on the road, that its inhabitants lay
in wait at day with loaded guns and shot on sight
any one coming up the Esoon road, and that at night
they tied strings with bells on across the road and
shot on hearing them. No one had been killed
since the first party of Esoonians were fired on at
long range, because no one had gone that way; but
the next door town had been heard by people who had
been out in the bush at night, blazing down the road
when the bells were tinkled by wild animals.
Clearly that road was not yet really healthy.
The Duke, who as I have said before, was a fine courageous
fellow, ready to engage in any undertaking, suggested
I should go up the road—alone by myself—first—a
mile ahead of the party—and the next town,
perhaps, might not shoot at sight, if they happened
to notice I was something queer; and I might explain
things, and then the rest of the party would follow.
“There’s nothing like dash and courage,
my dear Duke,” I said, “even if one display
