Log 5

On the journey back to civilization, it appears that Kurtz is not doing very well at all. Whenever the man opens his mouth, something nonsensical is said; just little snippets of poems and writings that are somehow stashed away in his memory somehow, and random thoughts about life and riches. And once again, my problems are worsened by an inconveniently timed break down of the steamer. The Manager from the central station seems to be more confident and self-important now that Kurtz is on the ship and almost ready to go, which causes him to treat myself as lesser than him as well. The audacity!
However, a dying Kurtz has noticed this as well, and entrusted to me his papers. I am not surprised that evidence of his existence and accomplishments are his top priorities when staring death in the face!

Kurtz's prediction was correct; a few days later, he began to finally pass. His last words were poetic, and yet mad at the same time: "The horror! The horror!" Resolving that I would not wish to witness his death, I escaped the room afterwards. Though I could not stop dwelling on these words! It seems fitting that such a man would be able to summarize what I have witnessed these past months in the heart of Africa in so few words.

Almost as if his passing were a curse, I fell deathly ill from the physical strain of repairing the ship and being exposed to the elements soon afterwards, and returned to my Aunt. When finally in fair health (externally, might I add) I was approached by a man of the Company looking for the papers that Kurtz had previously entrusted to me. Of course I denied these to him, and instead set out to search for his betrothed, reasoning that she would have better use for and are more deserving of them than any others.

 I found the woman still mourning his loss after so long; her loyalty is nothing short of admirable. She is so in love with his memory that she asks me of his last words. How was I supposed to tell this sheltered soul that the man that she knew was a completely different soul at the time of his death? I told the woman that he said nothing but her name.

It seems that the Kurtz who gave me those papers was a completely different man than the bourgeois, musical, humanitarian man that his relatives had left behind. Perhaps it is best if that is the way that his memory is kept.

Log 4

The journey was as long and difficult as I had expected it to be, although the danger began to escalate as we arrived closer to the Inner station where I was told that Kurtz would be. There is a diverse crew of both savages and white men. The danger that I speak of began during an incident when the ship was attacked, assumingly by natives given the primitive nature of their weaponry, though it was very hard to see through the fog.

 I found it noble that the natives and cannibals acted far more bravely than the white men on board, the savage steerman of the ship even having his life taken at my feet to protect it. The assault did not cease until I thought to startle our attackers with the loud and piercing sound of the ship's whistle. After this incident, my thoughts were not towards the assault itself, but the thought that our attackers could have taken away my opportunity to meet Kurtz after traveling all this way for the opportunity! I have yet to determine the rationality of this, but the very thought coupled with the noble loss of my savage crewman led me to remove my footwear (since stained with his blood) and toss it the way of the ocean.

As we finally approach shore, the ship is waved over by a Russian man who appears that he hasn't seen civilization in far too long for his own health. He speaks nothing short of nonsense in between tidbits of helpful information about surviving in the area amongst the native savages. He seems just as enthralled with Kurtz as the men in the other stations, if not moreso. Strangely enough, he seems enamoured with the man, though tells me to take him back to civilization as soon as possible. I wonder if the condition of his health is deteriorating?

As I speak with the Russian man, we are as quickly as ever in the midst of another possible attack by the natives. This is when the man whose existence is the purpose of my journey reveals himself to speak and allow our passage, Kurtz. We escort the tall, thin (and physically unimpressive) looking man onboard the ship and make note of the adorned native woman gazing at the ship from onshore.

I hear a confrontation from the manager's cabin, I should probably investigate.

Log 3

I have to wonder:
If one is in poor health, what would posses them to burden a caravan of no less than 60 men if they are not fit for the journey? I asked this question to the portly man that fell ill and was as a result carried around like a babe, and he answered with an assertion that he was tagging along for financial reasons. I have no qualms towards this motivation, though perhaps if the man made enough money he could afford private stretcher-bearers that would be less likely to desert the caravan because of it.
This being the least of my problems, I was informed when I finally reached the next Station after a 15 day journey that my charged steamer had sunken!

What other explanation for this would there be, save the ill intention of the Manager of this station to prevent my journey to the Inner Station? After hearing whispers of his name under the context of glory and prestige since I have arrived, I would feel robbed of opportunity if I did not have the chance to meet the famed Kurtz. Even the ordinary-looking man that is the Manager of this place holds his name in high esteem. No, I will not allow my journey to stop here! I had set work on repairing the ship immediately, and after 3 months, I had her ready to sail.

Other than the strange and mundane nature of this Station's Manager, this place is full of peculiar men that have full faith in my ability to meet the man Kurtz and put in a good word for them. Strangely enough, while I was laying on the deck of my steamer a few nights ago, I heard talk between the Manager and what I later figured out was his Uncle about the best way to essentially dispatch a traveling tradesman! I could hardly believe that such a mad and irrational conversation were taking place, and I rose in alarm (causing no explanation or remorse, but nothing more than their departure and later the later's disappearance into the brush).

This incident and what I have seen of the savages during my time here leads me to wonder how different we civilized men are from the natives of this land.

This journey upriver is expected to be particularly lengthy and treacherous. It would be wise for me to get some rest.

Log 2

After I paid a visit to my Aunt to (whom as always has the irritating worldview of any other woman or child) to allow her to see me off, I boarded a French steam ship and was on my way by sea, traveling up the coast until we reached the mouth of the Congo river, where I transferred vessels.

  I was reminded by the kind captain (and fellow seaman) of the ship that this journey would not be an easy one; some poor soul had actually taken his own life prior to reaching the stations. This served as a humble reminder to maintain my awareness while on this job, though it was not difficult to see the mindset of this man when we arrived at the Company station. It looked simply dreadful and disorganized to put it mildly. The natives of the area were even taken to supervising the violence of their own kinsmen- a fairly ineffective method of regulation of I were asked. The wastefulness of the time and energy spent tearing down a nearby rock formation is even more foolish and appears to serve no purpose economic or otherwise. I have harsh criticisms towards the management of this Station.

I am not a soft man by any stretch of the imagination, but the scene that I saw regarding the state of the native savages was concerning and I daresay disturbing. The most that I could do was offer the souls that I had passed a biscuit that I had been saving for the journey; the looks of them told that they had not had the privilege of even looking upon food for days. As predicted, the poor management of the Station demonstrated nothing but indifference.

 After reaching the actual station, I encountered a finely-dressed man that introduced himself as the Company accountant, who informed me (to my dismay) that I would be expected to entertain myself for all of 10 days before a caravan could come accompany me to the next Station. He also tells me the purpose of my impending journey- to find a man by the name of 'Kurtz.' I assume that he is of some importance, as I was requested to tell a white lie about the 'satisfactory' condition of this station. 

I wonder, who is this man and why do they report to him?

So while I write this musing, I wait.

Log 1

Today I have decided to direct my penchant for adventure towards the vastly unexplored Africa. I never thought that I would owe a thanks for competence to one as silly as my Aunt, so perhaps I'll make a point to visit and thank her in person afterwards. I took a crucial step in the beginning of my journey this afternoon; I paid a visit to the Belgian company office that was beyond eager to have myself and my talents replace their previously lost seaman. I find his death by the hands of the native savages to be believable if not expected; this day I've also recovered the bones of a man that the natives have also killed in one of their abandoned villages.

 He is remembered as a calm and agreeable fellow, so it seems that the natives have quite the reputation of being uncivilized and short-tempered. As I make my way to the company offices, I have no qualms about the dangers ahead, but am itching for adventure. Although I saw the most peculiar sight when I arrived. I have never thought of women much as protectors, but these two women who I encountered and escorted me to the secretary seemed to be guardians of sorts. Both polar opposites in stature, crafting the same garment from of wool the color of pitch. The waiting room which they led me to had a curious map with the successes of places on the continent that have been introduced civilization. I noticed that the Belgian colony was right in the center, and is likely where I am headed!

From there I was led to sign the company contract with eagerness, and escorted to the doctor's examination area. He was a peculiar man, and didn't have the demeanor that most doctors would. For some reason, he made a point to measure my skull as if examining it to compare at a later date of my return, but noted that "the changes happen on the inside" and that he does not see men when they arrive back to civilization anyhow. I feel audacious to question his credibility in his profession, although I am sure that my encounter with him might be the source of the incredible sense of adventure and purpose that I suddenly felt right before I crossed the threshold of the office and out into the world to begin my travels. But for the moment, I am on my way.