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- Herausgeber: Booksell-Verlag
- Kategorie: Bildung
- Sprache: Englisch
In "The Boy Travellers in the Far East, Part Fifth," Thomas Wallace Knox masterfully weaves an engaging narrative that immerses readers in the rich cultures and landscapes of Asia. Utilizing an accessible yet vivid literary style, Knox combines meticulous observation with anecdotal storytelling to captivate his audience, particularly young readers and those with a penchant for exploration. The book is set against the backdrop of the late 19th century, a period marked by burgeoning interest in travel literature, particularly as Western societies sought to learn about diverse civilizations beyond their borders. Knox's keen eye for detail brings to life the sights, sounds, and traditions of the East, framed within educational yet entertaining excursions. Thomas Wallace Knox, an esteemed American journalist and travel writer, dedicated his career to bringing distant lands to the forefront of the American imagination. His extensive travels, fueled by curiosity and a desire for understanding, not only informed his writings but also reflected a broader cultural movement that emphasized exploration and the exchange of ideas. Knox's firsthand experiences lend authenticity to his accounts, making his work a valuable contribution to travel literature of his time. This book is highly recommended for readers who have an adventurous spirit or a thirst for knowledge about far-off lands. Knox's insightful perspective provides a unique blend of education and entertainment, making it an essential read for young adventurers and history enthusiasts alike. Explore the magic of the East through Knox's eyes and embark on a journey that transcends time and distance. In this enriched edition, we have carefully created added value for your reading experience: - A succinct Introduction situates the work's timeless appeal and themes. - The Synopsis outlines the central plot, highlighting key developments without spoiling critical twists. - A detailed Historical Context immerses you in the era's events and influences that shaped the writing. - A thorough Analysis dissects symbols, motifs, and character arcs to unearth underlying meanings. - Reflection questions prompt you to engage personally with the work's messages, connecting them to modern life. - Hand‐picked Memorable Quotes shine a spotlight on moments of literary brilliance. - Interactive footnotes clarify unusual references, historical allusions, and archaic phrases for an effortless, more informed read.
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Veröffentlichungsjahr: 2019
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The Boy Travellers in the Far East, Part Fifth
Table of Contents
Introduction
Curiosity propels young minds across borders, and The Boy Travellers in the Far East, Part Fifth by Thomas Wallace Knox channels that drive into a sustained exploration where learning, observation, and adventure entwine to reveal, with every mile logged and custom encountered, not only the contours of distant places but also the evolving judgment of its young narrators, whose eagerness to compare, catalog, and understand becomes a mirror of their era’s confidence in travel as education and of literature’s power to transform raw experience into knowledge that is at once practical, moral, and delightfully alive to the world’s variety.
Knox’s book belongs to the late nineteenth-century tradition of juvenile travel narratives, a popular genre that combined instruction with entertainment for young readers. Published during a period when global routes were rapidly expanding, Part Fifth continues the Far East sequence within his broader Boy Travellers series. Its setting spans regions then commonly grouped under the period label “Far East,” presented through a methodical, itinerary-based structure. As an American journalist and seasoned travel writer, Knox brings a reporter’s eye for detail to an educational framework, offering an accessible entry point to geography, customs, and material culture without sacrificing the forward momentum of a developing journey.
The premise is straightforward and inviting: two youths, accompanied by a knowledgeable guardian, travel through Asian locales, learning as they go and turning their experiences into lessons for readers at home. The voice is companionable and instructive, moving briskly from observation to explanation, while the mood balances excitement with a calm, pedagogical clarity. Episodes are arranged to foreground striking scenes, practical curiosities, and conversations that translate the unfamiliar into digestible insight. The effect is a hybrid of story and guidebook—rich in descriptive incident, attentive to everyday practices, and organized so that information accumulates without overwhelming the pleasures of discovery.
As Part Fifth extends the ongoing itinerary, it underscores themes that animate the series: the value of firsthand observation, the discipline of note-taking and comparison, and the interplay between wonder and analysis. Readers encounter a world in motion, framed by an era when faster communication and transportation were reshaping long-distance travel. Against this backdrop, the narrative dwells on the textures of daily life—markets, manners, artifacts, and landscapes—using concrete detail to prompt broader reflections about exchange, adaptation, and continuity. The book invites young readers to ask how people live, work, and celebrate, while modeling how curiosity can be guided into respectful, methodical inquiry.
Modern readers will find the book revealing not only for what it shows but for how it looks, speaking from within nineteenth-century assumptions about culture, progress, and difference. Like many works of its time, it reflects period viewpoints that may feel dated today, offering a valuable opportunity to practice critical reading: to separate careful description from inherited bias, and to recognize how observation is shaped by context. Approached with that awareness, the text becomes a double lesson—about the places the travelers visit and about the intellectual climate that produced the narrative—sharpening our understanding of how knowledge is made and why framing matters.
Part Fifth can be read on its own, thanks to the series’ episodic structure and Knox’s habit of reintroducing aims and methods as the party moves forward. Longtime followers will recognize the continuity of tone—patient, curious, benevolently didactic—while newcomers will find a clear entry into the series’ promise: to turn travel into a syllabus that blends geography, history, natural observation, and social study. The book’s illustrations and attention to concrete particulars amplify that design, encouraging readers to visualize what they learn and to test generalizations against details. The result is a guided journey that rewards both attentive skimming and close, note-taking engagement.
Why read it now? Because it captures the pleasures and pitfalls of learning about the world through narrative, and because its method—observe, compare, contextualize—remains indispensable. Knox offers an itinerary that sparks curiosity and invites reflection, asking readers to balance enthusiasm with care and to see travel as a practice of listening as much as looking. Without relying on plot twists, the book sustains momentum through accumulation: one scene, then another, together building a composite sense of place. In doing so, Part Fifth offers a durable promise to contemporary audiences: that careful attention can turn distance into understanding and wonder into thoughtful knowledge.
Synopsis
Thomas Wallace Knox’s The Boy Travellers in the Far East, Part Fifth continues the educational journey of two American youths, guided by Dr. Bronson, as they proceed from the eastern Mediterranean into lands historically linked with Asia and Europe. This volume follows their route through the Ottoman Empire and Greece, observing cities, waterways, and archaeological sites central to classical and medieval history. The narrative presents geography, history, commerce, and daily life in a structured sequence, emphasizing clear explanation over adventure for its own sake. The purpose remains instructional: to acquaint young readers with places of broad cultural significance, and to compare ancient legacies with the social and political realities of the late nineteenth century.
The party enters Constantinople, describing its position astride the Golden Horn and the Bosphorus and noting the varied skyline of domes and minarets. The city’s harbors, ferries, and steep hills are outlined to orient the reader before detailed visits. Knox situates the metropolis as a meeting point of continents and faiths, where languages and costumes mingle in the markets and quays. The boys’ early movements establish practicalities—lodgings, permits, and guides—while signaling the book’s method: move from topography and logistics to institutions and customs. This opening frames the city as a study in geography’s influence on trade, power, and urban development.
The travelers examine principal monuments and institutions: the great mosque that once served as a church, other mosques and medreses, the old palace district, and the labyrinthine bazaars. The text outlines the ceremonial and administrative functions of prominent sites and explains the role of guilds, courts, and religious authorities in city life. Street scenes—water carriers, scribes, porters, and boatmen—illustrate labor and commerce. Descriptions of etiquette, dress, and worship are presented descriptively, with attention to their historical roots. The narrative introduces Ottoman history in brief sketches, connecting dynastic change, military reform, and foreign influence to the architecture and routines the boys observe.
An excursion along the Bosphorus and the Dardanelles highlights the strategic and economic value of the straits. Shoreside villages, fortresses, and summer residences are noted, as are the currents and pilotage that govern navigation. Steamers, coasters, and fishing craft appear as moving examples of maritime traffic linking the Black Sea and the Mediterranean. The narrative touches on earlier conflicts associated with these waters and explains why control of the passages matters to neighboring states. By foregrounding physical geography—the narrow channels, headlands, and anchorages—the chapter reinforces a central theme: that landforms shape commerce, diplomacy, and settlement patterns.
Crossing to the Asian side, the party visits sites associated with ancient legends and more recent excavations. The text describes methods of archaeological inquiry then current, the types of artifacts recovered, and how stratified remains inform understandings of past habitation. Local guides and villagers provide practical insight into rural life, agriculture, and trade. The boys compare classical accounts with visible ruins, while the author distinguishes between literary tradition and material evidence. This section blends travel description with concise summaries of scholarly debates of the period, emphasizing the careful observation of terrain, pottery, and masonry to reconstruct sequences of settlement and change.
The journey continues through the Aegean to Greece, with brief notes on island harbors and coasting routes before landing at the principal port serving the capital. The approach to Athens emphasizes contrasts between modern suburbs and ancient hilltops. A quick review of Greece’s political restoration and education system sets context for what follows. The narrative addresses language, newspapers, and civic institutions, highlighting efforts to reconcile heritage with contemporary governance. As elsewhere, transportation, accommodations, and local guides receive practical mention, underscoring the series’ aim to show how travelers navigate unfamiliar systems while gathering information about national character and public life.
In Athens, the party ascends to the Acropolis and surveys its principal monuments and defensive works. The text outlines architectural orders, building materials, and restoration practices, illustrating how measurements, casts, and photographs aid documentation. Museums and collections supply examples of sculpture, pottery, and inscriptions, and the author explains how such objects illuminate religion, law, and daily routines. References to classical authors are tied to visible remains without romanticizing them. The emphasis is on systematic observation and the way archaeologists and historians use comparative evidence to assign dates, interpret functions, and trace stylistic development across successive periods.
Excursions beyond the capital cover plains and mountain passes, towns on strategic isthmuses, and valleys where famous sanctuaries, theaters, or strongholds once stood. The travelers note rail and carriage routes, bridges, and road conditions, connecting infrastructure with economic change. Agricultural practices, village markets, and handicrafts are observed alongside ruins and museums. Work on canals and harbor improvements illustrates national priorities and the link between engineering and commerce. Throughout, the narrative keeps ancient sites in the foreground while placing them within living landscapes, showing how geography, water supply, and soils continue to shape settlement and production in modern Greece.
The volume concludes by comparing experiences in Ottoman and Hellenic settings: different legal codes, religious observances, schools, and municipal services are described without judgment. Sea routes and timetables outline the travelers’ departure and the broader network binding eastern and western ports. Knox restates the book’s purpose: to present accurate, compact accounts of places where history, trade, and culture intersect. Rather than dwell on adventure, the narrative emphasizes observation, explanation, and orderly progression. The overarching message is that travel, guided by inquiry and reliable sources, equips readers to understand how the past informs present institutions and everyday life.
Historical Context
Thomas Wallace Knox set The Boy Travellers in the Far East, Part Fifth in the late nineteenth century, an age of steamships, telegraphs, and aggressive imperial expansion. The narrative follows American youths across Southeast Asian hubs such as Bangkok, Singapore, Penang, and the Dutch-controlled islands of Java and Sumatra, with occasional forays to French Cochinchina (Saigon). The time frame mirrors the 1870s–1880s, when colonial administrations consolidated power, trade in rice, tin, and tropical commodities surged, and maritime routes were reorganized after the Suez Canal’s opening in 1869. Knox, a seasoned journalist, channels contemporary reportage, situating readers within treaty ports, protectorates, and reforming monarchies reshaping the region’s political geography.
The British Straits Settlements—Singapore, Penang, and Malacca—were consolidated as a Crown Colony in 1867, institutionalizing direct rule from London over key entrepôts. Tin from the Malay Peninsula drew capital and migrants, but rival Chinese secret societies (notably the Hai San and Ghee Hin) fueled the Larut Wars (1861–1874), prompting the Pangkor Treaty (1874) and the Resident system in Perak. The assassination of Resident J. W. W. Birch in 1875 led to British military intervention (1875–1876), deepening influence in the peninsula. In Knox’s work, the travellers transit Singapore and Penang, observing a cosmopolitan port economy and the visible apparatus of British order that stabilized commerce and made itineraries feasible.
Siam’s semi-sovereign modernization under Kings Mongkut (Rama IV, 1851–1868) and Chulalongkorn (Rama V, 1868–1910) anchors the book’s setting. The Bowring Treaty of 1855 opened Siamese trade to Britain with low, fixed tariffs and extraterritoriality for foreigners; a similar U.S.–Siam treaty followed in 1856. Mongkut embraced Western science—famously predicting the 1868 solar eclipse—while Chulalongkorn restructured government, curbed corvee, began gradual emancipation from slavery (culminating in 1905), and expanded telegraphs and modern fiscal systems in the 1870s–1880s. Knox’s travellers encounter Bangkok’s klongs, palaces, and monastic institutions as emblems of a kingdom negotiating Western intrusion through reform rather than annexation.
Dutch rule in the East Indies shaped Java and Sumatra, central stops in the narrative. The Cultivation System (Cultuurstelsel, 1830–1870) compelled villages to grow export crops like coffee and sugar for the state, yielding large surpluses (the batig slot) for the Netherlands but provoking criticism for coercion and rural distress. The Agrarian Law of 1870 opened land leasing to private planters, spurring tobacco in Deli (Sumatra) and expanding sugar and tea on Java, with Chinese and Javanese labor under often harsh contracts. Concurrently, the Aceh War (1873–1904) sought to subdue the sultanate controlling the northern straits; early campaigns cost Dutch commanders, such as Major General J. H. R. Köhler (killed 1873). In Knox’s pages, Batavia (Jakarta), Buitenzorg’s botanical gardens, railways, and plantation landscapes represent the environmental and social consequences of extraction.
French expansion transformed mainland Southeast Asia into Indochina. After assaults on Tourane (Da Nang) beginning in 1858, France annexed Cochinchina via the 1862 Treaty of Saigon, added provinces in 1867, and established a protectorate over Cambodia (1863). Attempts to control Tonkin culminated in the Harmand Treaty (1883), the Sino-French War (1884–1885), and the Treaty of Tientsin (June 1885), which confirmed French protectorates over Annam and Tonkin; the Union of Indochina followed in 1887. Explorations by Doudart de Lagrée and Francis Garnier (1866–1868) mapped the Mekong. The book reflects this order in depictions of Saigon’s rectilinear boulevards, customs regimes, and the coexistence of French administrators and Chinese commercial networks in Cholon.
The 1883 eruption of Krakatoa in the Sunda Strait, between Java and Sumatra, is the era’s most spectacular natural event and a lens for the book’s fascination with science and navigation. Beginning with heightened activity in May, the cataclysm peaked on 26–27 August 1883 with four colossal explosions; the third, at approximately 10:02 a.m. local time on 27 August, was heard nearly 3,000 miles away (reports came from Australia and the Indian Ocean islands). The eruption generated tsunamis exceeding 30 meters in some coastal zones; official Dutch colonial tallies recorded more than 36,000 deaths, though later estimates vary. Atmospheric pressure waves circled the globe multiple times, registered by barographs in Europe and North America, while airborne ash produced vivid twilight glows worldwide through 1884. The strait itself became choked with pumice rafts, temporarily disrupting shipping between Batavia and Sumatra, and soundings indicated significant bathymetric changes. For travellers moving along the very routes that linked Singapore, Batavia, and the Indian Ocean, Krakatoa dramatized the vulnerability of imperial corridors to geophysical forces. Knox’s narrative, written in the wake of the disaster, uses contemporary scientific reportage—tidal gauges, telegraphic news relays, and lighthouse logs—to frame the Far East as a field where modern measurement meets sublime unpredictability, and where colonial administrations must reckon with environmental risk alongside governance.
New transport and communications infrastructures bound the Far East to Euro-American circuits. The Suez Canal opened on 17 November 1869, reducing voyage times between Europe and Singapore to a matter of weeks via steam. Lines such as P&O and Messageries Maritimes serviced coaling stations at Aden, Colombo, and Singapore, while lighthouses like Horsburgh (Pedra Branca, 1851) improved safety through the Straits. Submarine telegraphs reached India by 1870 and Hong Kong and Singapore by 1871–1872, enabling near-real-time news and finance. Naval patrols curtailed piracy in the Malacca and Sulu seas. Knox’s protagonists rely on scheduled steamers, telegraphed letters of credit, and port guides, embodying a new pedagogy of global mobility.
As a travelogue for young readers, the book shadows imperial circuits yet offers implicit social critique. Descriptions of extraterritorial courts, monopolies in opium and taxes, corvee obligations, and indentured labor expose asymmetries of law and coercion. Accounts of the Larut conflicts, the Aceh War’s toll, and French military pacifications illuminate the violence underwriting commerce. Observations on Siam’s reforms praise indigenous strategies to mitigate treaty constraints, suggesting alternatives to annexation. By juxtaposing gleaming boulevards, botanical gardens, and railways with crowded coolie barracks and requisitioned villages, Knox registers class divides and colonial hierarchies, urging readers to weigh material progress against the inequities and political subordination that financed it.
The Boy Travellers in the Far East, Part Fifth
PREFACE
With this volume the wanderings of the Boy Travellers in the Far East are brought to an end. Those enterprising and observant youths have arrived safely at home, in company with their companion and mentor, Doctor Bronson. They have seen and learned a great deal in their absence, and it has been the aim of the author to tell the story of their travels so that it would interest and instruct the school-mates and friends of Frank Bassett and Fred Bronson, together with others who have not the pleasure of their personal acquaintance.
The method followed in the preparation of the preceding volumes of the series of the Boy Travellers has been observed in the present book, as far as it was possible to do so. Though the author has visited several parts of Africa, he has never made a journey to the Equatorial Regions of the Dark Continent; consequently he has been placed under greater obligations to other writers than in his preceding works, and the personal experiences of Frank and Fred in Central Africa were not those of the compiler of the narrative. But he has endeavored to maintain the vividness of the story by the introduction of incidents drawn from many books of African travel and exploration; he has sought to confine fiction to the narrowest bounds, and to construct an account of travel and adventure that should be true in every respect save in the individual characters portrayed.
Many authorities have been consulted in the preparation of "The Boy Travellers in Central Africa," and while some have been freely drawn upon, others have been touched with a light hand. The incidents of the volume have been mainly taken from the works of African explorers of the last thirty years; a few are of older date, and some are from the stories of travellers not yet in print. During the preparation of the volume the author has been in correspondence with several gentlemen who have supplied him with information relative to the most recent explorations, and he has kept a watchful eye on the current news from the land under consideration. Though the wanderings of the Boy Travellers were confined to Central Africa, other portions of the continent were studied, as the reader will discover while perusing the following pages.
Many of the volumes consulted in the preparation of the book are named in the narrative, but circumstances made it inconvenient to refer to all. Among the volumes most freely used are the works of the following authors: Stanley's "Through the Dark Continent" and "Coomassie and Magdala;" Livingstone's "Travels and Researches in South Africa," "Expedition to the Zambesi," and "Last Journals;" Schweinfurth's "The Heart of Africa" (two volumes); Barth's "Discoveries in North and Central Africa" (three volumes); Speke's "Journal of the Discovery of the Source of the Nile;" Burton's "The Lake Regions of Central Africa;" Long's "Central Africa;" Baker's "The Nile Tributaries of Abyssinia" and "Ismailïa;" Reade's "Savage Africa;" Bourne's "African Discovery and Adventure" (two volumes); Wilson's "Western Africa;" Baldwin's "Hunting in South Africa;" Cumming's "A Hunter's Life in Africa;" Silver's "Hand-book to South Africa;" Cameron's "Across Africa;" Serpa-Pinto's "Comment J'ai Traversé L'Afrique" (two volumes); Du Chaillu's "Equatorial Africa," "Ashango Land," "Wild Life Under the Equator," "My Apingi Kingdom," and "Lost in the Jungle;" Anderson's "Lake Ngami;" and lastly, several authors whose narratives have appeared in Le Tour du Monde. The publishers have kindly allowed the use of illustrations which have appeared in previous volumes relating to the African continent, in addition to those specially prepared for this work. The maps in the front and rear covers were drawn from the best authorities, and are intended to embody all recent discoveries.
With this explanation of his methods, and the acknowledgment of his indebtedness to numerous explorers and writers, the author submits the adventures of Frank and Fred in Africa to the press and public that have so kindly received the narratives of the previous travels of those youths.
T.W.K.
ILLUSTRATIONS
CHAPTER I.
PREPARATIONS FOR THE JOURNEY.—FROM CAIRO TO KOROSKO.
"The carriage is ready, gentlemen!"
"Has all the baggage been sent to the boat?"
"Yes, sir," was the reply; "all except the case of instruments that you wished to keep with you."
"All right!" was the cheery response. "We are ready to start, and will not keep the carriage waiting."
This conversation occurred on the veranda of a hotel at Cairo, the capital of Egypt, and once renowned as the City of the Caliphs. The first speaker was Ali[1], a bright boy of Abyssinian birth, and formerly a slave, while the second was Doctor Bronson[2], a gentleman whose name is familiar to all readers of "The Boy Travellers in the Far East." By his side were Frank Bassett and Fred Bronson, the youths who were guided through Asia by the good Doctor, and had made the journey to Egypt and the Holy Land in his company.
Frank and Fred could hardly be called youths any longer, as Frank was quite as tall as the Doctor, while Fred was only an inch or two less in stature. The boys who set out one morning for Japan and China had now grown to be young men; but Frank insisted that they were still boys, and should so consider themselves till they had passed their majority. There had been some badinage between them relative to that momentous period in a young man's existence when he makes his first essay with a razor. Frank had depicted his cousin seated in front of a mirror, uncertain whether to shave or dye, while Fred had retorted with a caricature in which a cat and a cream-jug had prominent places. We will comply with the wishes of Frank and call them "boys" during the journey they are about commencing.
The carriage drove rapidly along the broad street leading to Boolak, the landing-place of the Nile steamboats, and frequently called the Port of Cairo. The boys were familiar with the scenes of this busy thoroughfare and paid little attention to them, as their thoughts were occupied with the journey of which this ride was the beginning. As they passed the Museum of Antiquities, Frank recalled to Fred their first visit to that interesting place, and the delightful hours they had spent in studying the souvenirs of Ancient Egypt. "If we were not pressed for time," he added, "I would greatly like to stop there a little while, just to refresh my memory."[1]
The steamer was lying at the river-bank, and the smoke from her funnel told that she was about ready for departure. As our friends stepped on the deck of the boat they were met by their dragoman, who told the Doctor that all the heavy baggage had been stowed below, while the light articles needed on the voyage would be found in their cabins. Consequently, our friends had little to do for the half-hour that intervened before the departure of the steamer. The Doctor went to the hold to give a glance at the bales and boxes deposited there, and then, accompanied by Fred and Frank, made a tour of the cabins, to make sure nothing had been forgotten. The dragoman was a trusty servant, but Doctor Bronson had learned from practical experience that perpetual vigilance is an important requisite for travelling in wild countries.
The Nile voyage was not a new one to our friends, and as the story of their adventures has already been told in a previous volume, we will not repeat them here. As we are in the land of the Arabian Nights we will borrow the Enchanted Carpet and wish our friends at the landing-place at Korosko, about half way between the first and second Cataracts of the Nile.
"One, two, three, and here we are!"
It was early one forenoon when the steamboat stopped in front of Korosko, and the youths were permitted to step to the shore. Abdul, the dragoman, had arranged by telegraph with a merchant of Korosko for the temporary storage of the baggage of the party and for a lodging-place for the travellers, until camels could be obtained for their journey over the Desert. The merchant was at the landing to meet them, with a force of some thirty or more porters to place the baggage on shore and carry it to his warehouse, a hundred yards away. In spite of the large number of men it required several hours for landing, and storing everything. A journey into the interior of Africa is a serious affair, as the traveller requires a great many things which are not needed in most other countries.
"We are going where there are few resources,[1q]" said the Doctor to his young friends weeks before, when they were making their plans for the journey, "and unless we would suffer we must be well provided at starting.
"First of all, we need money, just as we need it for travel in any other country."
"Of course we do," said Frank; "but there are no bankers in Africa, and our letters of credit will be of no use."
"But we can take plenty of gold and silver," said Fred, "and perhaps we shall want a few camel-loads of copper coin."
"Even that will not answer," replied Doctor Bronson, with a smile, "as the coin of civilized lands is unknown in Africa."
"What must we carry, then," Frank asked, "if bankers' credits are of no use, and coin does not circulate?"
"We must carry the money of Africa," was the reply, "and here it is."
Frank took the sheet of paper the Doctor held in his hand and read aloud to his cousin:
"'Beads of different kinds and colors, put up and labelled, so that the contents of each package can be known at a glance. Every tribe of negroes in Africa has tastes of its own, and beads that find ready circulation in one region are worthless in another.
"'Cotton cloths of different kinds, white, gray, striped, and in all the colors and combinations of the rainbow.
"'Gaudy handkerchiefs, and the gaudier they are the better for purposes of trade. In packing them for transportation they should be placed in the bales with the cloths, which should also be made up in assorted lots, so that when a bale is opened several kinds of goods may be displayed.
"'Pocket-mirrors, copper wire, in rolls and of different sizes; small tools, fish-hooks, cheap watches, brass jewellery, mechanical toys, sleigh-bells, knives, hatchets, and other edged tools that can be easily carried and handled.'"
"Something to amuse the natives is next on the list," the Doctor remarked, as Frank paused for a moment, "and it is often of great advantage to amuse them."
"'A dozen musical boxes of small size, and one large one, playing several tunes,'" continued Frank, reading from the paper.
"I suppose the small ones are for presents," said Fred, "and the large one is to be exhibited on great occasions, when we have company?"
"Exactly so," replied the Doctor; "it will be a convenient means of entertaining savages, especially when we cannot converse with them. You observe that I have included in the list of desirable things a magic-lantern and a telephone, with half a mile of wire and all the apparatus complete. They are easy to carry, and their performances will be as interesting as those of the music-boxes."
"'Cloth, beads, caps, tools, toys, and trinkets are what we need for traffic with the natives and paying our expenses,"' read Frank as he turned the sheet of paper. "Now we come to what we want for our own use."
"'Tea and coffee, in air-tight cans of not more than a pound each, so that they will not be spoiled by the climate: preserved meats and vegetables, sugar, spices, pepper, sauces, vinegar, matches, soap, candles, and a few other things, the fewer the better. Everything we carry must be enclosed in tin cases, so as to protect it from dampness, as the climate of Central Africa is ruinous to all articles that absorb moisture.
"'Rifles, shot-guns, and pistols, with plenty of ammunition. The rifles and shot-guns of the Remington system, using fixed ammunition[4].'"
One of the boys asked what was meant by "fixed ammunition."
"The cartridges are made up," the Doctor explained, "and are all ready for use. The powder is in a shell of copper or brass, with the explosive cap in one end and the bullet or shot firmly wedged in the other. The cartridges are impervious to water, and can be kept a long time without detriment."
"We must have a large quantity," said Frank, "and even then we might find our supply running short, with no chance of renewal."
"Certainly that might happen," was the reply, "and we can guard against it by having a few dozens of steel shells made like the copper ones, and with nipples for ordinary percussion-caps. These shells can be reloaded many times. We can carry powder in tin canisters, caps in boxes, and moulds for casting bullets, and then, with a few bars of lead in our possession, we shall be independent of fixed ammunition from the factories.
"We will have one heavy rifle, carrying a very large ball, for shooting elephants, and a special supply of ammunition to fit it. The rest of the rifles will be all alike, so that there will be no trouble about getting hold of the wrong ammunition when starting out for a day's hunt. The same will be the case with the shot-guns, and we will observe a similar rule in regard to the revolvers."
Frank next read a list of medicines intended for the maladies to which human nature is ordinarily liable. Last and greatest of all was "sulphate of quinine." The quantity seemed altogether out of proportion to the rest of the stock, and he naturally asked Doctor Bronson why he carried so much of it.
"Africa is a land of fevers," replied the Doctor, "and has a bad reputation among travellers on this account alone. The equatorial rains make the climate exceedingly moist, and the exhalations from the soil are detrimental to the health of all Europeans. We shall be likely to suffer from fevers, and you know that quinine is the great remedy for fever. It has saved many a life, and its absence has caused many a death. When we begin our journey we must each of us carry a small supply of the drug in our pockets, and be ready to use it intelligently. Each must be able to administer it to the other; and our personal servants should be instructed how to act whenever they see us suffering from the hot-blooded visitor. We will have more talk on this subject when we approach Central Africa."
Then came a list of clothing, tents, camp equipage, and kindred things that would be needed. Frank remarked that Africa must be a land of rain, or they would not require so many water-proof garments, and Fred added that it was not as hot as it was reputed to be, or they would not carry so many blankets. The Doctor explained that in the elevated regions of Africa the nights were almost always cool, even though the days might be sultry, and the traveller who ventured there without plenty of warm covering was liable to suffer.
The last entry on the paper was, that no package should weigh more than fifty pounds. Fred asked the reason for this rule, as he had understood a camel could carry seven or eight hundred pounds' burden without difficulty, provided he was in good condition and of full size.
"That is true," said Doctor Bronson, "but we can't go all the way with camels. In the interior of Africa our baggage must be carried by porters; and the load for a man is limited to sixty pounds, and ought not to exceed fifty. Of course it sometimes happens that elephants' tusks and other articles weigh more than sixty pounds, but for such burdens the strongest men are selected, and a higher price is usually paid.
"These porters are known as 'pagazi[3],' and are a necessary adjunct of every expedition in the interior of Africa. Sometimes it is impossible to procure a sufficient number, and the traveller may be delayed weeks or months while waiting for them. On the road they must be watched very carefully, to see that they do not desert with their burdens; and, in order to prevent this, the rear of a caravan must be brought up by a trusty guard. A great part of the troubles of all African explorers is due to the pagazi, and more than one expedition has been completely broken up by their misconduct.
"Sometimes they desert in a body, and the traveller who has gone to sleep, with a hundred or more porters in his employ, has risen in the morning to find his camp deserted and not a man to be found. In this dilemma he must wait till new porters can be hired, or he may be obliged to destroy a large part of his goods."
"Wouldn't it be possible for him to sell them to some of the native chiefs in such an emergency, instead of destroying them?" one of the boys inquired.
"Perhaps he could do so," the Doctor answered; "but he would obtain a very small price for them, as the chiefs would know he was in a great strait and must be rid of them. Such a practice would encourage desertions, as the local chiefs would be in collusion with the porters, and no traveller could get through in safety. It is an invariable rule with the Portuguese and Arab traders in Central Africa to destroy all goods that they are unable to carry by reason of the desertion of their pagazi. It is their only way of insuring themselves against certain loss in future journeys, and they are very particular in observing it."
Frank asked if they were to have any scientific instruments, such as were usually carried by explorers in strange countries. Doctor Bronson replied that they would certainly do so, but he had not yet made out his list of what would be wanted.
"For the first part of our journey," said the Doctor, "we shall be in a region that has been explored sufficiently, so that its principal geographical positions are known, and there will be very little occasion for instruments. But later on our route will be much like a voyage on the ocean, and we must find out 'by observation,' as the navigators say, where we are. For this purpose we can imagine that we are going on a ship, and must have the instruments that a ship usually carries."
"I understand," said Fred. "We will have a quadrant or a sextant for ascertaining the position of the sun, just as a captain does at sea. But will the irregular line of the land serve us for a horizon, as the line between sea and sky serves the mariner?"
"Certainly not," answered the Doctor, with a smile; "and to meet this difficulty we employ the artificial horizon."
"How is it made?" one of the youths inquired.
"It is a very simple affair," the Doctor answered; "it is nothing but a horizontal mirror, and is constructed in two or three ways. It may be an ordinary mirror or looking-glass, in a frame adjusted upon screws and set round with spirit-levels, so that it can be brought to the proper position, or it may be a basin of mercury. A tub of water may be made to answer in an emergency, but it is not easy to get a reflection from it of sufficient distinctness for purposes of observation. With the artificial horizon and a sextant the altitude of the sun or of a star may be readily obtained. Half the angular distance between a star and its image in the artificial horizon is equal to the altitude of a star above the real horizon."
"But there's another trouble," said Frank. "At sea the navigator knows the run of his ship by means of the log, as we learned when we crossed the Pacific Ocean in our journey to Japan and China. How are we to 'throw the log' when travelling on land?"
"That is an easy matter," was the reply. "We will have several pedometers, or instruments for counting the steps. They are about the size of an ordinary watch, and worn in the pocket in the same way. Every step taken by the wearer is registered, and by knowing the length of our steps we can get very near the distance travelled. The pedometer is only approximative, and not exact, and the same is the case with the log on a ship.
"A famous African explorer, Dr. Schweinfurth, once had the misfortune to lose his instruments and all the records of his journey by fire. For six months after that calamity he counted his footsteps, noting hundreds by means of his fingers, and making a stroke in his note-book on reaching five hundred. The second five hundred was recorded by making a reverse stroke on the previous one, so as to form a cross, and in this way at the end of a day's journey every thousand steps he had taken was shown by a cross. He thus made account of a million and a quarter paces in the six months that he continued the practice.
"Dr. Schweinfurth says that the steps of a man are a more accurate standard of measurement than those of an animal. The camel, when urged to its full speed, does not increase the number of his paces but their length; while those of a man, at whatever rate he walks, are about the same. He suggests that any one may satisfy himself on this point by measuring his own footsteps in moist ground. He will find them varying very little, no matter what the rate of speed. Dr. Schweinfurth says his steps varied, according to the nature of the road, from twenty-four to twenty-eight inches, and we may set this down as the average step of a man of medium height.
"In addition to sextants and pedometers, we will have a complete apparatus for taking photographs, with plenty of dry plates, sensitive paper, and the other necessary materials; then we must have a stock of compasses, barometers, and thermometers; and we must not forget an anemometer, an instrument for measuring the force of the wind. One of our compasses must be an azimuth, which resembles the marine compass, but has a more accurate graduation, and is provided with vertical sights, so that the variation of the needle may be detected. This is done by observing the position of a star through the sights, and comparing its azimuth, or point on the horizon, with the direction of the needle. The position of the star being known, the computation is easy."
Doctor Bronson explained that the instruments, tents, fire-arms, and personal outfits could not be procured in Egypt, but must be ordered from London or Paris. The bulk of the provisions might be obtained in Cairo or Alexandria, but the character of the supplies could not always be relied upon. Consequently it was decided to make the list as complete as possible and ship everything from the English and French capitals, so that they would not be delayed at Cairo. Of course there would be some deficiencies, and these could be filled from the Cairo market before the date of departure. The plan was carried out without accident.
We have seen our friends on their way to Central Africa, and have now landed them safely at Korosko.
CHAPTER II.
LEAVING KOROSKO.—EARLY EXPLORERS OF THE NILE VALLEY.
The preparations for leaving Korosko required several days. Camels were to be hired, loads distributed, and drivers and servants engaged. A great many small details consumed the time of our friends, from the hour of their arrival till their departure. Twenty camels were engaged, sixteen for baggage and four for riding purposes, three of the latter being for the Doctor and the boys, and one for the dragoman. The boy Ali was assigned to a place on one of the baggage camels, as he was considered too young to have a saddle animal all to himself.
Twenty camels make a respectable procession, and the boys were in high glee when they saw their beasts of burden drawn up in line, ready for departure. Fourteen of the baggage camels were sent away one evening, and our friends started early the following morning with the rest of the train. This included their saddle camels and the two animals that carried the things they would need on the journey from day to day.
A glance at the map of Nubia will show a great bend in the Nile between Korosko and Aboo Hamed. Boats ascending the river and following this bend often consume three or four weeks, while the ride over the Desert can be made in from six to nine days. There are three cataracts in this part of the river. They are impassable except during the rise of the Nile, and even then their ascent is a tedious and expensive affair. Consequently the principal route of travel and commerce is through the Desert.
There was no trouble in keeping the road, as it is well known to the guides and camel-drivers, and is annually traversed by great numbers of people. The dragoman, Abdul, had been over the route repeatedly, sometimes with small parties, and on two occasions with expeditions that the Egyptian Government had sent to the Upper Nile and the lake regions of Central Africa. Frank and Fred were greatly interested in the details of these expeditions, and listened eagerly to Abdul's account of them and the difficulties of transporting heavy articles over the Desert sands.
At their first halt on the journey from Korosko, Abdul told them of his experience with the expedition of Sir Samuel Baker, for the suppression of the slave-trade in the Soudan country, some years ago, which was about as follows:
"In 1869-70 Sir Samuel Baker was sent by Ismail Pacha, Khedive of Egypt, to suppress the slave-trade in the regions where we are now going. In order that he should do so effectively he was provided with a small army, and a suitable equipment of steamers for navigating the river, together with a large stock of goods for opening legitimate trade. Most of the slave-traders were Arab subjects of the Khedive, and their centre of business was at Khartoum."
Fred asked how many men were engaged in the business.
"As to that," said Abdul, "it is not easy to say. The merchants of Khartoum had organized a sort of military force for capturing the negroes and bringing them to market, and one of them was reported to have twenty-five hundred men in his pay. They were armed and drilled like soldiers, though not very thoroughly disciplined, and were divided into companies sufficiently strong to overpower any African village, and make prisoners of such of the inhabitants as they wished to carry to market. Altogether, it was thought that fifteen thousand subjects of the Khedive had left their honest occupations and were engaged, directly or indirectly, in the slave-trade."
"They must have occupied a great deal of country," said Frank, "for so many of them to be engaged in the traffic."
"That is true," replied Abdul. "Every trader had a district to himself, and his men were divided into companies, with a chain of stations or military posts. They could thus hold sway over an immense area. One slave-trader named Agad controlled a region containing ninety thousand square miles, and another had a territory nearly as large.
"There was an agreement among the traders that they would not disturb each other's territory; they sometimes got into trouble and fought among themselves, but this was not often, as they had quite enough to do to kill and capture the natives. Each man in his own region could do what he chose, and the business had all the horrible features that the slave-trade has everywhere."
One of the boys asked how many slaves were taken from Central Africa every year, and where the slaves were carried.
"It was estimated by Sir Samuel Baker," replied Abdul, "that not less than fifty thousand slaves were carried every year from the interior to the sea-coast, or kept in the camps of the slave-traders. The capture of fifty or a hundred slaves means the destruction of one or more villages, and the death of fifty or a hundred innocent persons while the destruction is going on. The traders induce tribes that would otherwise be at peace to make war on each other, by agreeing to buy all the prisoners. Whole districts are depopulated, life and property are insecure, and for every slave that is brought away it is safe to say that three or four of his kindred have been killed or die of starvation. It was a noble impulse of the Khedive to put an end to this state of affairs and remove the stigma of slave-dealing from his country."
"But they still have slavery in Egypt, do they not?" inquired one of the boys.
"Yes," was the reply, "slavery exists here, as Egypt is a Moslem country, and the Koran expressly allows it. But the form is growing milder every year, as the government does not protect it. Under Ismail Pacha a man might keep slaves, but if they ran away from him he could not call the police to assist in their capture, as he formerly was able to do. If they chose to stay away they could do so, without fear of being taken back; the result was that every slave-owner was obliged to treat his human property so kindly that there would be no inducement to leave him. Traffic in slaves is not permitted, and consequently the institution is not flourishing, and will soon disappear altogether.
"The efforts of Livingstone, Stanley, and other travellers in Central Africa have done much to throw light on the slave-trade, and to persuade some of the African kings and chiefs to abandon it. The only Europeans who encourage it at all now are the Portuguese traders, who have their stations on the east coast of Africa, and even their support to it is generally given in an underhand way. The most extensive slave-dealers are the Arabs, who are not troubled by any religious scruples on the subject, and find a market for their captives among people of similar belief with themselves.
"When we get fairly into Central Africa you will probably see something of the system of slavery; so we'll drop the subject now, and I'll tell you how Baker's expedition was fitted out.
"Baker received the rank of Pacha, with absolute authority for four years, from April 1, 1869, and was instructed to subdue the countries lying south of Gondokoro, suppress the slave-trade, and introduce a system of regular commerce; open the great lakes near the equator to navigation, and establish military and commercial posts throughout the captured country.
