At six o’clock, with the sun shining brightly, and amid the shouts of many Arabs and natives who had assembled to see them depart, the caravan moved slowly out of Bagamayo. The American flag was unfurled, and floated merrily in the breeze at the head of the column. Out through a narrow lane they passed, the sun speeding to the west, beckoning them on. Loveliness glowed around them, the fertile fields, rich vegetation, strange trees bordering their path, the jubilant sounds of many insects, the cry of cricket and pewit, all seemed to tell them that they had started.
The first camp was only five miles distant, and the next few days were spent in completing the preparations for their long land journey. After all was in readiness the caravan again started. From here on the roads were mere footpaths, leading through fields in which naked women were at work, who looked up and giggled as they passed. Passing on they entered an open forest. Reaching the Kingimi, they passed over a bridge of felled trees, made by some previous party.
Harry came to the side of Enola’s chair and laughingly said:
“One would think from the half-sad expression in your eyes, that you were already regretting having taken this trip.”
“You are mistaken, Harry; I was simply lost in admiration of the beautiful scene about us.”
“Yes, it is beautiful,” said Harry, “but it is so different from what I have been used to, that I often find myself thinking, or wondering if it is not all a dream, and if I will not wake up some morning in my room at home, and find that I have only visited these lands in my dreams.”
“Yes, it is decidedly out of the ordinary,” laughed Enola, as she saw the serious look in Harry’s face; “but if you were as well read in African history and lore of the people as I am, you would accept all this as genuine at once. Listen. For centuries Africa has been known as the Dark Continent. The edges of this immense tract have been known as far back as history goes. Egypt, on the North, is the oldest government on earth; while the nations bordering on the Mediterranean and Red seas, were actors in the earliest recorded histories. Still, Africa to-day is an unknown land. That Africa was a rich country, was proven by the treasures brought from the interior by the rivers Nile, Niger and Congo. That it was populous, was demonstrated by the millions of slaves furnished by the native tribes to the outside world. For curiosity alone, explorations were made in the early part of the century; but it remained with Livingstone to first open up the Dark Continent, and with Stanley, to pierce its very heart. Africa is to-day, however, a mystery which, it seems, will never be penetrated. Strange stories come to us of people never seen by white men, of customs foreign to all history, of abandoned cities, of desolated countries. Africa is synonymous with mystery and darkness, and nothing seems strange to me which is connected with it.”
“Such words should be convincing,” said Harry, “but my education in life has been too practical to realize that there is so much mystery left in the world in this, the nineteenth century.”
“It will all be real enough before we get back to civilization, I have an idea,” said Enola.
“Well, it looks real enough now,” said Harry. “This moving caravan, those hippopotami in the river, and the antelope in the forest, all scout the idea of there being anything uncanny about our present surroundings.”