Chapter Fifty-five

Russell’s journal

Dec 24, 1887.

It's Christmas Eve, but the festive atmosphere that was supposed to come with the spirit of yuletide is lacking, replaced instead by fear and uncertainty.

Another moment of respite has allowed me a bit space to continue writing, not since the last time our sojourn had gotten more perilous, and the split between the factions that made up our party had only gotten so much worse that I am beginning to doubt if we still have the same goals or still looking for the same thing, we’d only stopped just to eat and to get some sleep.

The native porters and trackers had already fled as soon as the intent was known that we were expected to enter into the sacred groove, now we spent the better part of our precious times hurling and dragging our own baggage’s behind us instead of spending it in research. Now here we are, at the mercy of the sponsor’s personal trackers and his band of unruly mercenaries.


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