The Herald of the Dawn.
By J. R. Werner.
Mr. J. R. Werner
[From a Photograph taken in Africa in 1888.]
Mr. J. R. Werner
[From a Photograph by J. A. Flemour, Tunbridge.]
[Mr. John Reinhardt Werner, the writer of the following story, died at Elmina, on the Gold Coast of Africa, on August 16 last, at the early age of twenty-nine, just as he was rising into fame not only as an African explorer, but as an author of much skill and graphic power. He was known chiefly for his explorations in the region of the Congo, and for his book, which appeared two years ago entitled "A Visit to Stanley's Rear Guard," which describes his travels on the Congo and his visit to the camp on the Aruwimi, where Major Barttelot and his companions were waiting wearily for news and succour from their chief. Mr. Werner's father was a German, who was naturalised in England, and who died at Tunbridge, where the boy received his education. He was brought up as an engineer, and at twenty-four entered the service of the Congo Free State, and made numerous journeys up and down the river, during one of which he explored the Ngala, till then an unknown tributary. He made a second visit to the West Coast last summer, but had not long landed when he fell a victim to pneumonia. "The Herald of the Dawn" was among the last things which he wrote, and is, in all essential particulars, a most interesting record of his own experience.]
"
WISH you'd give me something from the Congo, something with a history to it."
"Well, I'm afraid I have nothing much left to give you—certainly nothing with a history."
"Where is that little red stone you had in the spring?"
"Which?"
"Why, the one you had polished—the bit of red quartz with the gold in it."
"The one I called the fetish stone?"
"Yes."
"Oh! that I had mounted, and gave away shortly after the Albert Hall reception. There was no gold in it, though it looked like it; it was only iron pyrites, I believe. Even if it had been gold it would have proved nothing, as it was worn to a pebble, and might have travelled thousands of miles—even from Katanga—before I picked it up. Before the reception, half London was wild to get tickets, outsiders offering from £3 to £10 for them, while no one who had them would part with them for any sum. After the reception all London seemed to go Stanley mad. Men whom I barely knew would come and ask me for some souvenir from the Congo; others would come to my rooms, and walk away with any little thing they could lay their hands on, if they thought it came from Africa; so, at last, I collected all the small things I had about, and gave them away to friends to prevent their being pirated by mere acquaintances."
"You went to the Albert Hall reception?"
"Yes; and I hardly expect to see such a sight again in my lifetime. The huge building was full to the very roof. You were somewhat disappointed with Stanley in Philadelphia; naturally he had rather tamed off. You could not expect him to
