Near the cairn on the ground are several bottles, some
of which the energetic German officers, I suppose, had emptied in
honour of their achievement, an achievement I bow down before, for
their pluck and strength had taken them here in a shorter time by
far than mine. I do not meddle with anything, save to take a few
specimens and to put a few more rocks on the cairn, and to put in
among them my card, merely as a civility to Mungo, a civility his
Majesty will soon turn into pulp. Not that it matters - what is done
is done.
The weather grows worse every minute, and no sign of any clearing
shows in the indigo sky or the wind-reft mist. The rain lashes so
fiercely I cannot turn my face to it and breathe, the wind is all I
can do to stand up against.
Verily I am no mountaineer, for there is in me no exultation, but
only a deep disgust because the weather has robbed me of my main
object in coming here, namely to get a good view and an idea of the
way the unexplored mountain range behind Calabar trends.
