One extract must suffice
here: "Whenever we step on shore a species of plover, a plaguy sort of
public-spirited individual, follows, flying overhead, and is most
persevering in its attempts to give warning to all animals to flee from
the approaching danger."
But he was already weak with fever; was seized with giddiness whenever
he looked up quickly, and, if he could not catch hold of some support,
fell heavily--a bad omen for his chance of passing through the unknown
country ahead--but his purpose never faltered for a moment. On January
1, 1854, he was still on the river, but getting beyond Sekeletu's
territory and allies, to a region of dense forest, in the open glades of
which dwelt the Balonda, a powerful tribe, whose relations with the
Makololo were precarious. Each was inclined to raid on the other since
the Mambari and Portuguese half-castes had appeared with Manchester
goods. These excited the intense wonder and cupidity of both nations.
They listened to the story of cotton-mills as fairy dreams, exclaiming:
"How can iron spin, weave, and print? Truly ye are gods!" and were
already inclined to steal their neighbors' children--those of their own
tribe they never sold at this time--to obtain these wonders out of the
sea.
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