In the Heart of Africa | Page 5

although my greatest
comfort, was also my greatest care, one whose life yet dawned at so
early an age that womanhood was still a future. I shuddered at the
prospect for her, should she be left alone in savage lands at my death;
and gladly would I have left her in the luxuries of home instead of
exposing her to the miseries of Africa. It was in vain that I implored her

to remain, and that I painted the difficulties and perils still blacker than
I supposed they really would be. She was resolved, with woman's
constancy and devotion, to share all dangers and to follow me through
each rough footstep of the wild life before me. "And Ruth said, Entreat
me not to leave thee, or to return from following after thee; for whither
thou goest I will go, and where thou lodgest I will lodge; thy people
shall be my people, and thy God my God; where thou diest will I die,
and there will I be buried: the Lord do so to me, and more also, if aught
but death part thee and me."
Thus accompanied by my wife, on the 15th of April, 1861, I sailed up
the Nile from Cairo. The wind blew fair and strong from the north, and
we flew toward the south against the stream, watching those mysterious
waters with a firm resolve to track them to their distant fountain.
I had a firman from the Viceroy, a cook, and a dragoman. Thus my
impedimenta were not numerous. The firman was an order to all
Egyptian officials for assistance; the cook was dirty and incapable; and
the interpreter was nearly ignorant of English, although a professed
polyglot. With this small beginning, Africa was before me, and thus I
commenced the search for the sources of the Nile.
On arrival at Korosko, twenty-six days from Cairo, we started across
the Nubian Desert. During the cool months, from November until
February, the desert journey is not disagreeable; but the vast area of
glowing sand exposed to the scorching sun of summer, in addition to
the withering breath of the simoom, renders the forced march of two
hundred and thirty miles in seven days, at two and a half miles per hour,
one of the most fatiguing journeys that can he endured.
We entered a dead level plain of orange-colored sand, surrounded by
pyramidical hills. The surface was strewn with objects resembling
cannon shot and grape of all sizes from a 32-pounder downward, and
looked like the old battle-field of some infernal region--rocks glowing
with heat, not a vestige of vegetation, barren, withering desolation. The
slow rocking step of the camels was most irksome, and, despite the heat,
I dismounted to examine the Satanic bombs and cannon shot. Many of
them were as perfectly round as though cast in a mould, others were

egg-shaped, and all were hollow. With some difficulty I broke them,
and found them to contain a bright red sand. They were, in fact,
volcanic bombs that had been formed by the ejection of molten lava to
a great height from active volcanoes; these had become globular in
falling, and, having cooled before they reached the earth, they retained
their forms as hard spherical bodies, precisely resembling cannon shot.
The exterior was brown, and appeared to be rich in iron. The smaller
specimens were the more perfect spheres, as they cooled quickly; but
many of the heavier masses had evidently reached the earth when only
half solidified, and had collapsed upon falling. The sandy plain was
covered with such vestiges of volcanic action, and the infernal bombs
lay as imperishable relics of a hailstorm such as may have destroyed
Sodom and Gomorrah.
Passing through this wretched solitude, we entered upon a scene of
surpassing desolation. Far as the eye could reach were waves like a
stormy sea, gray, coldlooking waves in the burning heat; but no drop of
water. It appeared as though a sudden curse had turned a raging sea to
stone. The simoom blew over this horrible wilderness, and drifted the
hot sand into the crevices of the rocks, and the camels drooped their
heads before the suffocating wind; but still the caravan noiselessly
crept along over the rocky undulations, until the stormy sea was passed;
once more we were upon a boundless plain of sand and pebbles.
In forty-six hours and forty-five minutes' actual marching from
Korosko, we reached Moorahd, "the bitter well." This is a mournful
spot, well known to the tired and thirsty camel, the hope of reaching
which has urged him fainting on his weary way to drink one draught
before he dies. This is the camel's grave. Situated half way between
Korosko and Abou Hammed, the well of Moorahd is in an extinct
crater, surrounded upon all