We made the remains of our rope fast to the other canoe, and sat waitingfor the dawn and congratulating ourselves upon our merciful escape,which really seemed to result more from the special favour of Providencethan from our own care or prowess. At last it came, and I have notoften been more grateful to see the light, though so far as my canoe wasconcerned it revealed a ghastly sight. There in the bottom of the littleboat lay the unfortunate Askari, the sime, or sword, in his bosom, andthe severed hand gripping the handle. I could not bear the sight, sohauling up the stone which had served as an anchor to the other canoe,we made it fast to the murdered man and dropped him overboard, and downhe went to the bottom, leaving nothing but a train of bubbles behindhim. Alas! when our time comes, most of us like him leave nothing butbubbles behind, to show that we have been, and the bubbles soon burst.The hand of his murderer we threw into the stream, where it slowly sank.The sword, of which the handle was ivory, inlaid with gold (evidentlyArab work), I kept and used as a hunting-knife, and very useful itproved.
Then, a man having been transferred to my canoe, we once more started onin very low spirits and not feeling at all comfortable as to the future,but fondly hoping to arrive at the 'Highlands' station by night. To makematters worse, within an hour of sunrise it came on to rain in torrents,wetting us to the skin, and even necessitating the occasional balingof the canoes, and as the rain beat down the wind we could not use thesails, and had to get along as best as we could with our paddles.
At eleven o'clock we halted on an open piece of ground on the left bankof the river, and, the rain abating a little, managed to make a fire andcatch and broil some fish. We did not dare to wander about to search forgame. At two o'clock we got off again, taking a supply of broiled fishwith us, and shortly afterwards the rain came on harder than ever. Alsothe river began to get exceedingly difficult to navigate on account ofthe numerous rocks, reaches of shallow water, and the increased force ofthe current; so that it soon became clear to us that we should not reachthe Rev. Mackenzie's hospitable roof that night--a prospect that didnot tend to enliven us. Toil as we would, we could not make more thanan average of a mile an hour, and at five o'clock in the afternoon (bywhich time we were all utterly worn out) we reckoned that we were stillquite ten miles below the station. This being so, we set to work tomake the best arrangements we could for the night. After our recentexperience, we simply did not dare to land, more especially as the banksof the Tana were clothed with dense bush that would have given cover tofive thousand Masai, and at first I thought that we were going to haveanother night of it in the canoes. Fortunately, however, we espied alittle rocky islet, not more than fifteen miles or so square, situatednearly in the middle of the river. For this we paddled, and, making fastthe canoes, landed and made ourselves as comfortable as circumstanceswould permit, which was very uncomfortable indeed. As for the weather,it continued to be simply vile, the rain coming down in sheets till wewere chilled to the marrow, and utterly preventing us from lighting afire. There was, however, one consoling circumstance about this rain;our Askari declared that nothing would induce the Masai to make anattack in it, as they intensely disliked moving about in the wet,perhaps, as Good suggested, because they hate the idea of washing. Weate some insipid and sodden cold fish--that is, with the exception ofUmslopogaas, who, like most Zulus, cannot bear fish--and took a pull ofbrandy, of which we fortunately had a few bottles left, and then beganwhat, with one exception--when we same three white men nearly perishedof cold on the snow of Sheba's Breast in the course of our journey toKukuanaland--was, I think, the most trying night I ever experienced. Itseemed absolutely endless, and once or twice I feared that two of theAskari would have died of the wet, cold, and exposure. Indeed, had itnot been for timely doses of brandy I am sure that they would have died,for no African people can stand much exposure, which first paralyses andthen kills them. I could see that even that iron old warrior Umslopogaasfelt it keenly; though, in strange contrast to the Wakwafis, whogroaned and bemoaned their fate unceasingly, he never uttered a singlecomplaint. To make matters worse, about one in the morning we againheard the owl's ominous hooting, and had at once to prepare ourselvesfor another attack; though, if it had been attempted, I do not thinkthat we could have offered a very effective resistance. But either theowl was a real one this time, or else the Masai were themselves toomiserable to think of offensive operations, which, indeed, they rarely,if ever, undertake in bush veldt. At any rate, we saw nothing of them.
At last the dawn came gliding across the water, wrapped in wreaths ofghostly mist, and, with the daylight, the rain ceased; and then, outcame the glorious sun, sucking up the mists and warming the chill air.Benumbed, and utterly exhausted, we dragged ourselves to our feet, andwent and stood in the bright rays, and were thankful for them. I canquite understand how it is that primitive people become sun worshippers,especially if their conditions of life render them liable to exposure.
In half an hour more we were once again making fair progress with thehelp of a good wind. Our spirits had returned with the sunshine, andwe were ready to laugh at difficulties and dangers that had been almostcrushing on the previous day.
And so we went on cheerily till about eleven o'clock. Just as we werethinking of halting as usual, to rest and try to shoot something to eat,a sudden bend in the river brought us in sight of a substantial-lookingEuropean house with a veranda round it, splendidly situated upon a hill,and surrounded by a high stone wall with a ditch on the outer side.Right against and overshadowing the house was an enormous pine, thetop of which we had seen through a glass for the last two days, but ofcourse without knowing that it marked the site of the mission station.I was the first to see the house, and could not restrain myself fromgiving a hearty cheer, in which the others, including the natives,joined lustily. There was no thought of halting now. On we laboured,for, unfortunately, though the house seemed quite near, it was still along way off by river, until at last, by one o'clock, we found ourselvesat the bottom of the slope on which the building stood. Running thecanoes to the bank, we disembarked, and were just hauling them up onto the shore, when we perceived three figures, dressed in ordinaryEnglish-looking clothes, hurrying down through a grove of trees to meetus.
'A gentleman, a lady, and a little girl,' ejaculated Good, aftersurveying the trio through his eyeglass, 'walking in a civilizedfashion, through a civilized garden, to meet us in this place. Hang me,if this isn't the most curious thing we have seen yet!'
Good was right: it certainly did seem odd and out of place--more like ascene out of a dream or an Italian opera than a real tangible fact;and the sense of unreality was not lessened when we heard ourselvesaddressed in good broad Scotch, which, however, I cannot reproduce.
'How do you do, sirs,' said Mr Mackenzie, a grey-haired, angular man,with a kindly face and red cheeks; 'I hope I see you very well. Mynatives told me an hour ago they spied two canoes with white men in themcoming up the river; so we have just come down to meet you.'
'And it is very glad that we are to see a white face again, let me tellyou,' put in the lady--a charming and refined-looking person.
We took off our hats in acknowledgment, and proceeded to introduceourselves.
'And now,' said Mr Mackenzie, 'you must all be hungry and weary; so comeon, gentlemen, come on, and right glad we are to see you. The last whitewho visited us was Alphonse--you will see Alphonse presently--and thatwas a year ago.'
Meanwhile we had been walking up the slope of the hill, the lowerportion of which was fenced off, sometimes with quince fences andsometimes with rough stone walls, into Kaffir gardens, just now fullof crops of mealies, pumpkins, potatoes, etc. In the corners of thesegardens were groups of neat mushroom-shaped huts, occupied by MrMackenzie's mission natives, whose women and children came pouringout to meet us as we walked. Through the centre of the gardens ran theroadway up which we were walking. It was bordered on each side by a lineof orange trees, which, although they had only been planted ten years,had in the lovely climate of the uplands belo
w Mt Kenia, the base ofwhich is about 5,000 feet above the coastline level, already grown toimposing proportions, and were positively laden with golden fruit. Aftera stiffish climb of a quarter of a mile or so--for the hillside wassteep--we came to a splendid quince fence, also covered with fruit,which enclosed, Mr Mackenzie told us, a space of about four acresof ground that contained his private garden, house, church, andoutbuildings, and, indeed, the whole hilltop. And what a garden it was!I have always loved a good garden, and I could have thrown up my handsfor joy when I saw Mr Mackenzie's. First there were rows upon rows ofstandard European fruit-trees, all grafted; for on top of this hill theclimate was so temperate that nearly all the English vegetables, trees,and flowers flourished luxuriantly, even including several varietiesof the apple, which, generally, runs to wood in a warm climate andobstinately refuses to fruit. Then there were strawberries and tomatoes(such tomatoes!), and melons and cucumbers, and, indeed, every sort ofvegetable and fruit.
'Well, you have something like a garden!' I said, overpowered withadmiration not untouched by envy.
'Yes,' answered the missionary, 'it is a very good garden, and has wellrepaid my labour; but it is the climate that I have to thank. If youstick a peach-stone into the ground it will bear fruit the fourth year,and a rose-cutting will bloom in a year. It is a lovely clime.'
Just then we came to a ditch about ten feet wide, and full of water, onthe other side of which was a loopholed stone wall eight feet high, andwith sharp flints plentifully set in mortar on the coping.
'There,' said Mr Mackenzie, pointing to the ditch and wall, 'this is mymagnum opus; at least, this and the church, which is the other side ofthe house. It took me and twenty natives two years to dig the ditch andbuild the wall, but I never felt safe till it was done; and now I candefy all the savages in Africa, for the spring that fills the ditchis inside the wall, and bubbles out at the top of the hill winter andsummer alike, and I always keep a store of four months' provision in thehouse.'
Crossing over a plank and through a very narrow opening in the wall, weentered into what Mrs Mackenzie called _her_ domain--namely, the flowergarden, the beauty of which is really beyond my power to describe. Ido not think I ever saw such roses, gardenias, or camellias (all rearedfrom seeds or cuttings sent from England); and there was also a patchgiven up to a collection of bulbous roots mostly collected by MissFlossie, Mr Mackenzie's little daughter, from the surrounding country,some of which were surpassingly beautiful. In the middle of this garden,and exactly opposite the veranda, a beautiful fountain of clear waterbubbled up from the ground, and fell into a stone-work basin which hadbeen carefully built to receive it, whence the overflow found its way bymeans of a drain to the moat round the outer wall, this moat in itsturn serving as a reservoir, whence an unfailing supply of waterwas available to irrigate all the gardens below. The house itself, amassively built single-storied building, was roofed with slabs of stone,and had a handsome veranda in front. It was built on three sides ofa square, the fourth side being taken up by the kitchens, which stoodseparate from the house--a very good plan in a hot country. In thecentre of this square thus formed was, perhaps, the most remarkableobject that we had yet seen in this charming place, and that was asingle tree of the conifer tribe, varieties of which grow freely on thehighlands of this part of Africa. This splendid tree, which Mr Mackenzieinformed us was a landmark for fifty miles round, and which we hadourselves seen for the last forty miles of our journey, must have beennearly three hundred feet in height, the trunk measuring about sixteenfeet in diameter at a yard from the ground. For some seventy feet itrose a beautiful tapering brown pillar without a single branch, but atthat height splendid dark green boughs, which, looked at from below, hadthe appearance of gigantic fern-leaves, sprang out horizontally fromthe trunk, projecting right over the house and flower-garden, to both ofwhich they furnished a grateful proportion of shade, without--being sohigh up--offering any impediment to the passage of light and air.
'What a beautiful tree!' exclaimed Sir Henry.
'Yes, you are right; it is a beautiful tree. There is not another likeit in all the country round, that I know of,' answered Mr Mackenzie. 'Icall it my watch tower. As you see, I have a rope ladder fixed to thelowest bough; and if I want to see anything that is going on withinfifteen miles or so, all I have to do is to run up it with a spyglass.But you must be hungry, and I am sure the dinner is cooked. Come in,my friends; it is but a rough place, but well enough for these savageparts; and I can tell you what, we have got--a French cook.' And he ledthe way on to the veranda.
As I was following him, and wondering what on earth he could mean bythis, there suddenly appeared, through the door that opened on to theveranda from the house, a dapper little man, dressed in a neat bluecotton suit, with shoes made of tanned hide, and remarkable for abustling air and most enormous black mustachios, shaped into anupward curve, and coming to a point for all the world like a pair ofbuffalo-horns.
'Madame bids me for to say that dinnar is sarved. Messieurs, mycompliments;' then suddenly perceiving Umslopogaas, who was loiteringalong after us and playing with his battleaxe, he threw up his handsin astonishment. 'Ah, mais quel homme!' he ejaculated in French, 'quelsauvage affreux! Take but note of his huge choppare and the great pit inhis head.'
'Ay,' said Mr Mackenzie; 'what are you talking about, Alphonse?'
'Talking about!' replied the little Frenchman, his eyes still fixed uponUmslopogaas, whose general appearance seemed to fascinate him; 'why Italk of him'--and he rudely pointed--'of ce monsieur noir.'
At this everybody began to laugh, and Umslopogaas, perceiving that hewas the object of remark, frowned ferociously, for he had a most lordlydislike of anything like a personal liberty.
'Parbleu!' said Alphonse, 'he is angered--he makes the grimace. I likenot his air. I vanish.' And he did with considerable rapidity.
Mr Mackenzie joined heartily in the shout of laughter which we indulgedin. 'He is a queer character--Alphonse,' he said. 'By and by I will tellyou his history; in the meanwhile let us try his cooking.'
'Might I ask,' said Sir Henry, after we had eaten a most excellentdinner, 'how you came to have a French cook in these wilds?'
'Oh,' answered Mrs Mackenzie, 'he arrived here of his own accord abouta year ago, and asked to be taken into our service. He had got into sometrouble in France, and fled to Zanzibar, where he found an applicationhad been made by the French Government for his extradition. Whereuponhe rushed off up-country, and fell in, when nearly starved, with ourcaravan of men, who were bringing us our annual supply of goods, and wasbrought on here. You should get him to tell you the story.'
When dinner was over we lit our pipes, and Sir Henry proceeded to giveour host a description of our journey up here, over which he looked verygrave.
'It is evident to me,' he said, 'that those rascally Masai are followingyou, and I am very thankful that you have reached this house insafety. I do not think that they will dare to attack you here. It isunfortunate, though, that nearly all my men have gone down to the coastwith ivory and goods. There are two hundred of them in the caravan, andthe consequence is that I have not more than twenty men available fordefensive purposes in case they should attack us. But, still, I willjust give a few orders;' and, calling a black man who was loiteringabout outside in the garden, he went to the window, and addressed him ina Swahili dialect. The man listened, and then saluted and departed.
'I am sure I devoutly hope that we shall bring no such calamity uponyou,' said I, anxiously, when he had taken his seat again. 'Rather thanbring those bloodthirsty villains about your ears, we will move on andtake our chance.'
'You will do nothing of the sort. If the Masai come, they come, andthere is an end on it; and I think we can give them a pretty warmgreeting. I would not show any man the door for all the Masai in theworld.'
'That reminds me,' I said, 'the Consul at Lamu told me that he had hada letter from you, in which you said that a man had arrived here whoreported that he had come across a white peo
ple in the interior. Do youthink that there was any truth in his story? I ask, because I have onceor twice in my life heard rumours from natives who have come down fromthe far north of the existence of such a race.'
Mr Mackenzie, by way of answer, went out of the room and returned,bringing with him a most curious sword. It was long, and all the blade,which was very thick and heavy, was to within a quarter of an inch ofthe cutting edge worked into an ornamental pattern exactly as we worksoft wood with a fret-saw, the steel, however, being invariably piercedin such a way as not to interfere with the strength of the sword. Thisin itself was sufficiently curious, but what was still more so was thatall the edges of the hollow spaces cut through the substance of theblade were most beautifully inlaid with gold, which was in some way thatI cannot understand welded on to the steel {Endnote 5}.
'There,' said Mr Mackenzie, 'did you ever see a sword like that?'
We all examined it and shook our heads.
'Well, I have got it to show you, because this is what the man who saidhe had seen the white people brought with him, and because it does moreor less give an air of truth to what I should otherwise have set downas a lie. Look here; I will tell you all that I know about the matter,which is not much. One afternoon, just before sunset, I was sitting onthe veranda, when a poor, miserable, starved-looking man came limping upand squatted down before me. I asked him where he came from and what hewanted, and thereon he plunged into a long rambling narrative about howhe belonged to a tribe far in the north, and how his tribe was destroyedby another tribe, and he with a few other survivors driven still furthernorth past a lake named Laga. Thence, it appears, he made his way toanother lake that lay up in the mountains, "a lake without a bottom"he called it, and here his wife and brother died of an infectioussickness--probably smallpox--whereon the people drove him out of theirvillages into the wilderness, where he wandered miserably over mountainsfor ten days, after which he got into dense thorn forest, and was oneday found there by some _white men_ who were hunting, and who took himto a place where all the people were white and lived in stone houses.Here he remained a week shut up in a house, till one night a man witha white beard, whom he understood to be a "medicine-man", came andinspected him, after which he was led off and taken through the thornforest to the confines of the wilderness, and given food and this sword(at least so he said), and turned loose.'
'Well,' said Sir Henry, who had been listening with breathless interest,'and what did he do then?'
'Oh! he seems, according to his account, to have gone through sufferingsand hardships innumerable, and to have lived for weeks on roots andberries, and such things as he could catch and kill. But somehow he didlive, and at last by slow degrees made his way south and reached thisplace. What the details of his journey were I never learnt, for I toldhim to return on the morrow, bidding one of my headmen look after himfor the night. The headman took him away, but the poor man had the itchso badly that the headman's wife would not have him in the hut for fearof catching it, so he was given a blanket and told to sleep outside.As it happened, we had a lion hanging about here just then, and mostunhappily he winded this unfortunate wanderer, and, springing on him,bit his head almost off without the people in the hut knowing anythingabout it, and there was an end of him and his story about the whitepeople; and whether or no there is any truth in it is more than I cantell you. What do you think, Mr Quatermain?'
I shook my head, and answered, 'I don't know. There are so many queerthings hidden away in the heart of this great continent that I shouldbe sorry to assert that there was no truth in it. Anyhow, we mean to tryand find out. We intend to journey to Lekakisera, and thence, if we liveto get so far, to this Lake Laga; and, if there are any white peoplebeyond, we will do our best to find them.'
'You are very venturesome people,' said Mr Mackenzie, with a smile, andthe subject dropped.
CHAPTER IV ALPHONSE AND HIS ANNETTE
Allan Quatermain Page 4