John H. Harris

Summary

John H. Harris Dawn in darkest Africa (1912)

In fancy she leaves the cornfields of Angola, crosses the upper Kasai, and is away north beyond Lusambo, and westward to the little Congo village with its deep green plantain groves and manioca fields.
A remark breaks the spell, and she realizes that it was but a dream, for she is still a captive; but the white man speaking her native tongue is no dream—he is still there speaking the language that sounds like the far-off music of another life. The light of hope dawns in her eyes as she turns on the traveller, pleading, “White man, can’t you take me home?”
Source: Gutenberg

John H. Harris Dawn in darkest Africa (1912)

The Congo is by far the worst. Europe was staggered at the Leopoldian atrocities and they were terrible indeed, but what we, who were behind the scenes, felt most keenly was the fact that the real catastrophe in the Congo was desolation and murder in the larger sense. The invasion of family life, the ruthless destruction of every social barrier, the shattering of every tribal law, the introduction of criminal practices which struck the chiefs of the people dumb with horror—in a word, a veritable avalanche of filth and immorality overwhelmed the Congo tribes.
Source: Gutenberg

John H. Harris Dawn in darkest Africa (1912)

This attitude is accountable for much harm to the prestige of the European in West Africa.
In Government despatches, in speeches, in our schools and from our pulpits, we are never tired of preaching upon those articles of British political faith which know no party. We pride ourselves upon our love of justice and freedom, and yet we do things which we know to be utterly indefensible, which we know to be in entire contradiction to our belauded principles. We have made the blunder and we know it, but we invariably crown it with the further blunder of refusing to admit it.
Source: Gutenberg

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