CHAPTER THE FIRST--The Emigrants
The train was steaming over Mombasa Island, and Mr. David Halliday,ejaculating "Now we're off!" settled himself in his corner andcomfortably fell asleep. Age has its weaknesses--or its privileges,according as you look at it. Not that Mr. Halliday was aged, or evenold. He was nearly fifty, and might have passed for younger. His son,at any rate, was neither old nor sleepy. He was, in fact, but a fewmonths past his seventeenth year; and being possessed of an averagecuriosity and a healthy interest in novel scenes, he looked with delighton the groves of lofty cocoa-nut palms, the wide-spreading mangoes andbaobabs filled with chattering monkeys, and the long stretches ofpark-like glades, brilliant with flowers, through which runs the Ugandarailway in the first stage of its long course to the shores of VictoriaNyanza.
Mr. Halliday, son of a Scots farmer who had emigrated from Ayrshirethirty years before, had been for many years agent--or "factor," as he,being a Scotsman, preferred to call himself--on the estates of LordSussex, who, as everybody knows, owns half the county from which histitle is derived. He had managed to save some money during hisstewardship, but having entrusted the greater part of it for investmentto a bland London solicitor of his acquaintance, he had the misfortuneto learn one day from the newspaper that the lawyer had absconded,leaving defalcations to the tune of some L50,000. A few weeksafterwards another calamity befell Mr. Halliday. His employer, abachelor, died; the estates passed into the hands of a distant relative;and the new peer, taking alarm at the large sums demanded of him in theshape of death duties, announced his intention of cutting down expenses,and employing a younger man to steward his estates, at a lower salary.Luckily Mr. Halliday had a thousand or two safely invested, apart fromwhat he had lost through the lawyer's rascality; and being disinclined,at his time of life, to seek similar employment, he cast about, duringhis six months' notice of the termination of his engagement, to findsome new outlet for his energies and some secure channel for the use ofhis little capital.
The problem was complicated by the necessity of starting his son inlife. He had intended David for one of the professions, and put him toa good school; but the boy had not shown any particular aptitude forbook work, except in the one subject that interested him--naturalhistory. He was never so happy as when he was with dogs and horses; heread with avidity every book about animals on which he could lay hands;and once, when his career was being talked about, he said bluntly thathe knew he couldn't stand work at a desk in stuffy London, and imploredhis father to let him go out to Canada or Australia. Mr. Hallidaymerely grunted at the time; he was a man of few words; but he thoughtthe matter out very carefully, and his attention having been called tothe opening up of East Africa consequent upon the completion of theUganda railway, he quietly made inquiries, obtained information aboutthe country, its climate, soil, and prospects in regard tostock-raising, and one day startled his son with the news that he wasgoing out in a few months to settle. Having once made up his mind helet no grass grow under his feet. One May day father and son leftLondon in a Peninsular and Oriental Liner, transhipped at Aden into avessel of the British India Steam Navigation Company, landed at Mombasa,and after spending a fortnight there in preliminary preparations, tooktickets for Nairobi, three hundred and thirty miles down the line,whence they proposed to strike up country and select the ground fortheir settlement.
They travelled by the intermediate class--the third of the four classesinto which passengers on the Uganda railway are divided. Mr. Halliday,as he said, had not come out to Africa for the fun of it and havingspent considerably over L100 already in travelling expenses, he was notinclined to spend more was absolutely necessary now. By travellingintermediate, unusual though it was, they saved nearly a hundred rupees(the currency of British East Africa) on the first-class fare, andtwenty-five on the second, and every rupee they could save would be ofimportance when they came to stock their ranch. "And I haven't takenreturn tickets, John," said Mr. Halliday.
Since the boy had been named David after his father, and had no othername, it is necessary to explain how he came to be called John. Atschool, his name being David, on the principle of association of ideashe was immediately dubbed Jonathan, though he might just as reasonablyhave been called Saul. Jonathan being too long was cut down to Johnny,and finally to John; and when one of his school-fellows, on a visit inthe holidays, addressed him by this simple monosyllable, the name waslaughingly accepted by his parents as an excellent means ofdistinguishing between the two Davids. People who knew him only as Johnwere puzzled when he signed himself "D. Halliday," and onematter-of-fact lady was not quite pleased when he said gravely that,Prince Edward being known in the family circle as David, it was onlyright that David Halliday should be known as John. "I am glad I am notyour godmother," she replied grimly.
John, then, as we, like all his intimates, will call him, smiledaffectionately when he saw his father settle himself to slumber, anddevoted his own very wide-awake eyes to the scenery. It was a feast forthe senses and the imagination. The train, leaving Mombasa island forthe mainland, runs through a tract of undulating richly-wooded country,with, here, groves of cocoa-nut palms and papaws; there, orchards ofmangoes and cashew apples; anon, vast plantations of maize and milletand other grain crops. There is plenty of time to take in the detailsof this luxuriant panorama, for the train is climbing, climbing always,and the traveller is not whirled along at the bewildering speed of anEnglish express. Leaning out of the window, and looking back over theroute, John catches a last glimpse of the sea at Port Reitz, guarded bythe Shimba hills, and realizes that a new chapter in his life isopening, full of romantic possibilities.
"A verree fine country, sir," says a thin staccato voice behind, andturning, he is smiled upon by a swarthy face, with black moustache andbeard that have never known a razor, and surmounted by a spotless whiteturban.
"Magnificent," replies John, eyeing his fellow-passenger curiously.
"But this is not the best," says the man again. "We shall see, in duetime, scenes of still more prepossessing appearance, together withmyriads of four-footed beasts, et cetera."
"Indeed," says John, a trifle amused.
"Yes, sir. When we come to Tsavo we may behold lions, truly denominatedthe king of beasts, but no longer monarchs of all they survey, asWilliam Cowper beautifully and poetically says. Man, sir, plays thevery dickens with Nature; the surveyor molests the ancient solitaryreign of Mr. Lion; he has to take a back seat."
John was quite unaccustomed to conversation interlarded with quotationsfrom what he had at school irreverently called "rep.," and wonderingwhat manner of man he had to do with he hazarded an indirect question.
"You seem to have read some of our poets," he said.
"Yes, sir, I am familiar with the masterpieces of English literature,edited with notes. My name, sir, is Said Mohammed, failed B.A. ofCalcutta University."
"Failed B.A.?" said John, puzzled. He had met B.A.'s of severaluniversities, and even junior masters who called themselves Inter. B.A.Lond. (honours); but a failed B.A. was a new species.
"Yes, sir; the honourable examiners formed a less elevated estimate ofmy intellectual attainments than was reasonably anticipated, and whenthe list was published, lo! my name was conspicuous by its absence. Butthat is a bagatelle. The honorific distinction--what is it but theguinea stamp? It is work, sir, that ennobles. I have accumulated apriceless store of knowledge; I am all there, I assure you."
John thought it only polite to murmur an assent to this, but he felthimself ill equipped to sustain a conversation on the dizzy heights towhich Said Mohammed appeared inclined to ascend, and turning once moreto the window, he viewed in silence the ever-changing scenery. Theluxuriant vegetation of the coastal region had given place to a vastplateau covered with a dense scrub of umbrella-shaped acacias, withpatches of dry grass, and here and there a massive baobab rearing itsantic form from out the undergrowth. He was interested in the littlestations, with their trim flower-beds and hom
e-like appointments, atwhich the train stopped at intervals of several miles; and gave butperfunctory answers to the Bengali, who kept up, with every appearanceof pleasure, a continual flow of talk, informing him that this tree wasan aristolochia and that an aloe, and calling his attention at one spotto a herd of sable antelopes which were startled by the train as theydrank at a stream, and dashed off into the jungle. "Their scientificname, sir, is _Hippotragus niger_," said Said Mohammed, and Mr. Hallidaywaking at this point, the Bengali favoured him with a smile, and said,"A verree fine country, sir; good-morning."
They took their lunch at Mackinnon Road station, at the foot of the Taruhills. Refreshed by his sleep and the meal, Mr. Halliday began to takemore interest in things in general, and John having introduced SaidMohammed (mentioning impressively that he was a failed B.A. of CalcuttaUniversity), a three-cornered conversation was begun, in which theBengali fluently expounded his views on many subjects.
"Yes, sir," said he, when the question of the treatment of native racescropped up, "that is a subject to which I have devoted considerableacumen. Is it just, I ask you, is it worthy of this immense andglorious empire on which the sun never sits, that the natives, theprimordial owners of the soil, should be laid under such restrictions asare now in force? Are we Indians not subjects of the same gracious andglorious majesty, F.D., et cetera? Have we not shed our blood indefence of the Union Jack? Are we not ready to fight and conquer againand again like your jolly tars and all? And yet my countrymen, to wit,are not allowed in South Africa the full rights of citizens; and in thiscountry, where this verree railway was built by the labour of Indians,it is becoming the rule to refuse them grants of land. Is this saucefor the gander, I ask you, gentlemen?"
"It's a very ticklish subject," said Mr. Halliday, "and I don't professto understand it. I dare say those zebras yonder--look at them, John,hundreds of 'em--think it great impudence on the part of this engine torun snorting through their grounds. But the engine runs all the same."
At Tsavo the line crossed the river Athi. John looked out eagerly for aglimpse of the lions which were said to infest this region, but to hisdisappointment saw none. Indeed, as the train passed through mile aftermile of uninteresting scrub, he began to feel that his first enthusiasmfor the country was premature. But at Kibwezi the line enters anotherbelt of forest, the trees looped together with festooning creepers, andfilled with chattering monkeys and barking baboons; the undergrowthbrilliant with colour, both of the flowers and of birds and butterfliesinnumerable. Some miles farther on, at Makindu, the forest yields torich pasture land, the undulating plain stretching on both sides of theline, broken by streams whose beds are lined with date-palms and firs.All the vegetation was fresh and vivid through recent rains, and Mr.Halliday, viewing the country with a stock-breeder's eye, now for thefirst time allowed a remark on the scenery to pass his lips. "That'sgrand!" he said; and when the rumbling of the train set startled herdsof antelope and gazelle, red congoni and black wildebeeste, scamperingover the plain, he stood up in the carriage and gazed at them withkindling admiration.
The oppressive heat of the morning had now given place to a pleasantcoolness, with a crisp exhilarating breeze. When John expressed hissurprise at this, within a degree or two of the Equator, Said Mohammedexplained that they were now four or five thousand feet above sea-level,among the Highlands of East Africa, where Europeans may live in healthand comfort. By the time they reached Nairobi, indeed, the evening airwas so chill that both Englishmen were glad to don their overcoats.Said Mohammed deferentially took leave of them on the platform of thestation, and disappeared among a crowd of Orientals gathered there;while Mr. Halliday inquired for the coffee-planter to whom he had anintroduction, and who had offered him the hospitality of his bungalow solong as he remained in Nairobi.
Settlers and Scouts: A Tale of the African Highlands Page 2