Letters From the Dark Continent: Second Letter
My dear Entwhistle,
felicitations to you. I do hope the carbuncle on tthe part of your body that you will not name (I suspect your nose to the site site of the affliction) is responding to the ministrations of your physician. Carbuncles can be nasty things and a man of your social standing should not be seen with a carbuncle-afflicted physique in public. Stout heart, Entwhistle, stout heart.
For my part, I am very much afraid that we have lost Frobisher. He was taken in the night by parties, or agencies, unknown to us. Not a sound was heard, not a soul was disturbed. One of the bearers told mem in his pidgen english, that local tribes of cannibals infest the jungle in these parts and we greatly fear that it was the fiends that were responsible for the abduction. If that is indeed the case, then poor Frobisher has long since been boiled in a cooking pot and thence devoured. One trusts, however, that Frobisher did his duty as an Englishman to the last and gave the bally rascals severe indigestion.
We pressed on, eager to be away from the area. Our native guides led us expertly through the dense undergrowth, though one occasionally thouht one discerned dark faces with bright eyes peering at us through the trees. Most disconcerting! We kept our firearms at the ready, yet if any cannibalistic coves entertained ideas of eating the rest of us they seemed too timid to attack. For that, we were grateful.
We made for the trading post at the mouth of the N'congo. From there we aimed to rest, resupply and gather ourselves for the next Great Leg of our expedition: to find the legendary Elephant's Graveyard! Given the widespread nature of the elephant population one supposes that there must be several of these graveyards. It is said that when an elephant nears the end of its life some unfathomable instinct draws it to an ancestral home, a hallowed place where the creatures lay themselves down to rest. The jungle creatures, it is said, give these places a wide berth, shrouded as they are in mystery and a powerful sense of reverance.
Imagine it, Entwhistle - a whole pile of elephant bones, undisturbed, with all those tusks! Ivory galore my dear chap, ivory galore! This expedition becomes more lucrative by the minute. On that note, I shall close this letter. Night is falling and we must set a close watch upon our camp lest we are visited again in the night. I tell you, Entwhistle, if some bally cannibal chappie attempts to eat me he will find himself on the wrong end of my elephant gun!
Pip-pip and God Save Queen Victoria!
felicitations to you. I do hope the carbuncle on tthe part of your body that you will not name (I suspect your nose to the site site of the affliction) is responding to the ministrations of your physician. Carbuncles can be nasty things and a man of your social standing should not be seen with a carbuncle-afflicted physique in public. Stout heart, Entwhistle, stout heart.
For my part, I am very much afraid that we have lost Frobisher. He was taken in the night by parties, or agencies, unknown to us. Not a sound was heard, not a soul was disturbed. One of the bearers told mem in his pidgen english, that local tribes of cannibals infest the jungle in these parts and we greatly fear that it was the fiends that were responsible for the abduction. If that is indeed the case, then poor Frobisher has long since been boiled in a cooking pot and thence devoured. One trusts, however, that Frobisher did his duty as an Englishman to the last and gave the bally rascals severe indigestion.
We pressed on, eager to be away from the area. Our native guides led us expertly through the dense undergrowth, though one occasionally thouht one discerned dark faces with bright eyes peering at us through the trees. Most disconcerting! We kept our firearms at the ready, yet if any cannibalistic coves entertained ideas of eating the rest of us they seemed too timid to attack. For that, we were grateful.
We made for the trading post at the mouth of the N'congo. From there we aimed to rest, resupply and gather ourselves for the next Great Leg of our expedition: to find the legendary Elephant's Graveyard! Given the widespread nature of the elephant population one supposes that there must be several of these graveyards. It is said that when an elephant nears the end of its life some unfathomable instinct draws it to an ancestral home, a hallowed place where the creatures lay themselves down to rest. The jungle creatures, it is said, give these places a wide berth, shrouded as they are in mystery and a powerful sense of reverance.
Imagine it, Entwhistle - a whole pile of elephant bones, undisturbed, with all those tusks! Ivory galore my dear chap, ivory galore! This expedition becomes more lucrative by the minute. On that note, I shall close this letter. Night is falling and we must set a close watch upon our camp lest we are visited again in the night. I tell you, Entwhistle, if some bally cannibal chappie attempts to eat me he will find himself on the wrong end of my elephant gun!
Pip-pip and God Save Queen Victoria!