CHAPTER THE TWENTY-SIXTH--Back to the Farm
One morning, about a month after the fight in the swamp, John wassitting at the table in his bungalow, a paper outspread before him, apencil in his hand, and Said Mohammed standing at his elbow.
"We must have it all first-rate, you know," he said.
"Quite up to dick, sir; you may rely on me."
"Well now, _hors d'oeuvres_--I think we might do without that."
"With respect, sir, _hors d'oeuvres_ is _sine qua non_--correct card,sir, foundation of the _comme il faut_."
"All right, then; stick down sardines: we've got a tin. Now_potage_--why the dickens don't you put it in English, khansaman?"
"The English tongue, sir, is great and glorious instrument, but toogross for refinements of culinary art. Soup!--listen to it--soup!disgusting monosyllable, sir, resembling hiccough. Contrast with thedelicate vocables of French."
"Well, what shall the _potage_ be?"
"Clear, sir, for the ladies, _consomme a la Wanderobbo_."
"What on earth is that?"
"I beg you, sir, not to insist on answer," said the Bengali gravely."Thick, for masculine gender: Scotch broth, concession to prejudices ofgreat nation."
"That's all right. What's next? _Poissons_! That looks fishy. Takecare you don't drop an _s_. What fish can we do?"
"Coja hooked quantity of finny tribe which, with due sauce, may pass fortrout."
"Now for _entrees_."
"The partridges you shot yesterday, sir, are in prime condition. Isuggest _perdrix a la Swahili_. For _releve_ I propose----"
"I say, we'll drop that. Let's come to a good honest roast. Shoulderof lamb, say--but we can't manage mint sauce. There's no vinegar."
"With respect, sir, in intelligent anticipation I provide for that. Iput quantity of Bill's honey in ferment, and made acidulous liquidpassable imitation of vinegar; pious fraud."
"Plenty of vegetables, of course."
"_Croquettes de pomme de terre, choux-fleurs a la Lulu, topinambours ala creme_."
"Look here, I can't spell that crack-jaw. What, in plain English, are_topinambours_?"
"In vulgar tongue, sir, Jerusalem artichokes; but you will agree thatfinal syllable of artichokes is ominous and forbidding, especially toladies."
"Well, I've had enough of it. Finish the menu yourself. I've no doubteverything will be all right."
John went out and strolled round the farm. It presented a differentappearance: four or five new wooden huts, neatly thatched, erected forthe accommodation of the visitors expected, stood near the bungalow.John was at present the only white man on the farm, Mr. Halliday havingreturned to Nairobi with the rest of the rescue-party to make somepurchases, and Ferrier to meet his sister and get attention to hiswounded thigh. The evening before, a messenger had come in advance, toannounce that the visitors would arrive next day: Mr. Halliday wasreturning with Mrs. Burtenshaw, her family, and the Ferriers. SaidMohammed was determined "to do credit to the establishment," as he putit; he would show the guests "that the resources of civilization werenot dead letter in African wilds."
As the day drew on, John became restless. He had the floor of thebungalow scrubbed twice; set Lulu to scour the pans in the dairy for thethird time; and got Coja to cut his hair. He was in some agitation ofmind as to what he should wear. He looked out a white shirt, collar,and tie, and a suit of clothes he had not worn since he left England.His unaccustomed fingers struggled with his collar-stud until he was indespair, and when he had knotted his tie he found that he had no clips,and the wretched thing threatened to ride up to his chin.
He was standing at the door of the bungalow, thus arrayed, and feelingridiculously got up, when he saw Ferrier galloping up on a pony.
"Hallo, old chap!" shouted his friend. "The others are abouthalf-an-hour behind. Thought I would ride ahead and prepare you. Whathave you been doing to yourself?"
"What do you mean?"
"Well, don't mind what I say, but you look a bit of a guy, you know.Your coat's too tight, and your waistcoat too short: are they the thingsyou wore at school? Your tie's wriggling round to your ear; and yourtrousers display a good deal of ankle--d'you know that you've got on oddsocks?"
"Hang it all, Charley, what shall I do? I've got nothing else but khakiand drill, and I can't show up in those."
"Don't see why. The women won't expect to find Bond Street fashionshere, and if you'll take my tip you'll tumble out of those things assoon as possible, and rig up in your usual toggery."
"You really think they won't mind?"
"Of course not. Hurry up; you'll just have time."
John dashed off with a feeling of unutterable relief. He pitched histie and collar into a corner, crushed his suit into a drawer, regardlessof creases, and in ten minutes reappeared in flannel shirt and cleanwhite drill, feeling at ease.
In less than half-an-hour the party arrived, six in all, Mr. Gillespiehaving accompanied them. Their safari was still some miles in the rear.
"How d'you do, John?" said the elder lady, as he helped her to dismount."I am Mrs. Burtenshaw--still!"
John felt himself blushing.
"I know you as Cousin Sylvia, ma'am," he said.
"We'll be great friends, I'm sure. You know Joe and Poll; this isHelen. Hilda, come and be introduced to my long-lost nephew. Regard meas your favourite aunt, my dear boy. Tell me," she whispered, "is thatfat smiling gentleman in white your failed B.A.?"
"That's he: cook, khansaman, and major-domo. Said Mohammed, escort theladies to their rooms."
The Bengali approached, bowing to each in turn.
"Esteemed madam and misses," he said, "deign to direct your footsteps tohumble abode, or, as William Cowper beautifully says, your lodge in vastwilderness, with boundless contiguity of shade."
The ladies preserved an admirable composure, and retired to the hutsassigned to them.
"Now, John," said Mrs. Burtenshaw, when they reappeared, "you must showus round this wonderful farm of yours. It looks very tidy, I must say.But where are your sheep? I thought you had hundreds, and there aren'tfifty in that pen."
"They're out at grass, cousin; you'll see them come in by and by. Therereally isn't much to see, you know. Cabbages and artichokes--'m;_topinambours_ is the name for ladies, says my cook--they're just thesame, here and at home. If you'd come a few months later, now, I mighthave shown you some zebras. I'm going to try and tame some."
"Ah yes! I remember you threatened to meet your father on a stripedcharger, to match his striped trousers.... Who's that funny-lookinglittle object?"
"That's Bill, scout and huntsman, and a millionaire, as things arereckoned here. Come and see his ivory."
"You're a very rash and headstrong boy. The idea of going miles andmiles after a set of thieves! I wonder you're alive. A pretty settler,indeed!"
"Well, cousin, I dare say I shall settle down now, with father to keepme in order. You see, we couldn't have felt secure if----"
"Don't tell me! You're just a madcap; if you were my son I should be inconstant terror lest you were brought home one day a mangled corpse."
"Look, mother," said Helen, "isn't it a pretty sight?"
The lambs were coming home, a great flock, covering the hollow betweentwo gentle slopes. Their bleatings, heard faintly at first, became adeafening noise as they neared the farm. The observers noticed how theyquickened their pace as they approached. Within the pen the ewes movedrestlessly about, bleating calls to their young. When the lambs enteredthrough the gate, they leapt forward frisking with delight, darted intothe open pen, and sprang this way and that, each seeking its own dam.
"Charming!" said Mrs. Burtenshaw. "What a pity sheep are so silly! Nowtake us to your dairy."
----
Said Mohammed's cookery won general applause.
"I envy you, Halliday," said Mr. Gillespie. "He's worth his fiftyrupees a month, isn't he?"
"You
don't have a dinner like this every day, I'm sure, John--Frenchmenu and all," said Mrs. Burtenshaw. "I should like the recipe for that_consomme a la Wanderobbo_."
"What is _a la Wanderobbo_?" asked Helen.
"I don't know," replied John. "That little old man you saw just now isone of the Wanderobbo tribe."
"Good gracious! I hope he had nothing to do with the soup. Helooked--well, not scrupulously clean."
"No, no," said John, laughing. "He had no more to do with the soup thanLulu had with the cauliflowers--unless she cut them. Talking of Bill,Mr. Gillespie, what are we to do about his ivory? It has been his dreamfor years to recover it, but when we got back he made me a present ofit."
"Just like a man," said Mrs. Burtenshaw. "You'll struggle all your lifeand wear yourselves out for some ridiculous thing, and when you get itdon't know what to do with it."
"It's what you do that counts, not what you get," remarked Mr. Halliday:"or as our failed B.A. said when we met him first, it is work thatennobles. But about the ivory?"
"Well," said Mr. Gillespie judicially, "I'm not sure but it belongs tothe Government."
"I don't see that," said Joe Browne. "The Government did nothing forit. Didn't do anything for you, either. I'd stick to it if I were you,John. What will it fetch?"
"Five or six hundred pounds, I should think," said Mr. Gillespie.
"I wish it were mine," said Oliver. "Mother keeps me plaguey short."
"I'd thought of a scheme that would be pretty fair all round," saidJohn. "Bill was the owner, and he gave it to me. He wants to stay onthe farm. Well, I propose to build him a new hut and set him up withnew weapons: that will make him comfortable for life. Then oldSobersides has been very decent. His men behaved like bricks, and wecertainly couldn't have got it without their help. We might give themsome bushels of beads and loads of wire and blankets and other thingsthey value. They may seem trumpery to us, but they're untold wealth tothe natives."
"And then?" said Mrs. Burtenshaw.
"Well, perhaps Charley and I might share the rest."
"Nonsense!" said Ferrier. "It's yours."
"And we'll share it. We shared everything else. Don't be selfish,Charley."
Everybody laughed, and it was ultimately settled that the ivory shouldbe sent to Nairobi, where Mr. Gillespie promised to get the bestpossible price for it.
Here Said Mohammed came in with coffee. When he had handed round thecups he lingered.
"Don't wait, khansaman," said John. "We'll manage now. Every one wasdelighted with your dinner."
"I am repaid a thousandfold, sir. Not to intrude, sir, I have triflingcommunication to make."
"What is it?"
"Native chief, sir, did me honour to request I would convey thanks ofself and co. for immense and colossal benefits conferred."
"Oh, that's all right. He thanked me himself, long ago."
"_Festina lente_, sir. Reflecting on said petition, I deemed the circs.worthy of more formal commemoration than perfunctory acknowledgement.Wherefore and accordingly I scorn delights and live laborious days ininditing few lines pat to the occasion, which with august permission Iwill now proceed to chuck off chest."
The two girls made suspicious use of their handkerchiefs; Joe Brownekicked Ferrier under the table; and Oliver, choking over his coffee,accused Mr. Halliday of smoking very strong cigars. John and the eldermembers of the party preserved their gravity, though it was in acuriously constrained tone that John asked the Bengali to favour thecompany. With a smile of gratification Said Mohammed unrolled a scrollof paper, and, looking round to make sure that every one was attending,began in his high-pitched voice--
Hear me tell a moving story, chronicled in lofty rhyme, Redolent of stripling's glory, monument to end of time. Idol of my veneration, you I celebrate in song; Ornament of British nation, you I crack up, hot and strong.
To begin at the beginning: When one day, at usual pace, Our oblate spheroid was spinning through an awful lot of space, You, an up-to-date Orion, Enfield rifle in your hand, Did for most obnoxious lion, holy terror in the land.
Next, predaceous gang, Swahilis--Juma, if you please, and Co.,-- Prowling, slippery as eel is, on the rampage to and fro, Depredated native village, spreading woe and dire alarm, Then for more important pillage fell like ton of bricks on farm.
Faithful servant, Said Mohammed, feeling anything but bold, Like a bleating orphan lamb hid, sniffing wolves within the fold; While despoilers collared rifles, ammunition, shell and shot; Item, sundry piffling trifles which the poet has forgot.
Minions of a base levanter, villains of the deepest dye,-- You are after them instanter, lightning flashing from your eye; Swoop upon them in their slumbers, catch them fairly on the hop, Though inferior in numbers, smite them hip and thigh and crop.
Terrified by dire disaster, they make hurry-scurry flight. Yoicks! our whipper-in goes faster, helter-skelter day and night, Till dark citadel is sighted, wall-encircled, likewise moat. Is prodigious effort blighted? Not at all: we simply gloat.
Roberts' grit and Caesar's clear eye--honestly, you have them both. 'Fas est ab hoste doceri,' august Roman general quoth: Taking leaf from book of Juma, you perpended ruse de guerre, And with dodgy slimness you manoeuvred brigands from their lair.
Penned within restricted compass, you repel the fierce attack, Calm amid most awful rumpus: things are looking very black. Lo! in thickest of the slaughter, one sees chance of chipping in, And with can of boiling water stems the tide and scores a win.
Threat of famine, grisly spectre, makes us look a little blue; But our commonwealth's protector, launching forth in bark canoe, Quits the precincts of the island, marches at a spanking pace, Up-hill, down-hill, swamp and dry land, perfect Nimrod in the chase.
Hippopotamus stupendous to your prowess falls a prey. Ministers of grace defend us! you are spirited away. Lo! proverbially fickle, Fortune knocks you from your perch, Leaves you in a pretty pickle, or, as you may say, the lurch.
Meditating in your prison, through the darkling stilly night, Ere red Phoebus has arisen you have perpetrated flight: Swift rejoin the little party by Swahili sore oppressed; Juma then is in the cart, he gets a bullet in the chest.
Pardon slight inaccuracy, due to exigence of rhyme; Frenzied poet, going pace, imagines only the sublime. Be pedestrian and pedantic when you're patronizing prose, Spur your Pegasus quite frantic when a poem you compose.
To return from this diversion, and to make long story short, After enemy's dispersion you evacuated fort; Made a bee-line for the village, situated on a hill, Scooped the products of their tillage, bloodless coup, resistance nil.
Expediting preparations for strategic move in rear, 'Mid poor females' ululations, most distressing to the ear-- What makes all your pulses throb? oh! what sets all your nerves athrill? 'Tis shikari Wanderobbo, or, to use his alias, Bill.
Pale with rage and indignation (metaphorically pale), Billy tells of spoliation, thieves his property assail. Tartar like the bold Cambuscan (Chaucer left his tale half-told), Juma digs up every tusk and Bill is absolutely sold.
Now behold you on your mettle; now momentous hour has struck, You in most pugnacious fettle sally forth to try your luck; Meet marauders by the river, fall on them like bolt from blue, Crying 'Stand and eke deliver, or I'll run you through and through!'
(Note: that speech, correct in diction, is not quite correct in fact; 'Tis a literary fiction, managed with consummate tact. So the other classic writers, Livy and Thucydides, Decorate the lips of fighters with sublime apostrophes.)
Though the words were never uttered, pish! it matters not a jot; Like March hares the scoundrels scuttered, dropping burdens on the spot; After years of patient waiting, Bill regains his ownest own,
And with ecstasy gyrating, bellows till he's fairly blown.
You with prescient acumen see that all is not O.K.; You alas! have very few men, Juma has a vast array; Yet while danger round you thickens, lo! you neither quail nor quake; Though you wonder how the dickens you are going to take the cake.
To omit progressive stages, which would take up too much time, Occupy a dozen pages and exhaust a lot of rhyme-- After navigating torrent where the crocodiles disport, You were spied by foe abhorrent, lurking watchful in the fort.
How you diddled them just proper, how you did the Johnnies brown, And how many came a cropper as the rafts were floating down: This perchance a future Milton, seeking an heroic theme, May compose splendacious lilt on, in the groves of Academe.
And perchance some future Hallam, with display of prosy pomp, Will relate in distant Balham scrumptious battle in the swamp; And describe the villain Juma, in penultimate despair, Meeting Bill upon the boom and getting his quietus there.
Now the hurly-burly's over, not a cloud bedims the sky; You are jolly well in clover, and the bloom is on the rye; 'Tempus fugit': I must stow it---end my palpitating lay, Ever faithful cook and poet, Said Mohammed, failed B.A.
There was a burst of applause as the Bengali concluded.
"Capital!" cried Mr. Halliday.
"Wonderful!" exclaimed the girls together, clapping their hands.
"Absolutely unique, by Jove!" added Oliver.
"You're sure of immortality now, John," said Joe.
"I wouldn't wonder if it's good enough for _Punch_," said Mr. Gillespie.
"Such laudation warms the cockles of my heart, ladies and gentlemen,"declared Said Mohammed, beaming. "But the poem is not destined to besquandered on _profanum vulgus:_ it is strictly for privateconsumption."
"Have some copies printed, Mr. Mohammed," said Mrs. Burtenshaw. "I'llpay the bill."
"Your esteemed order, madam, shall be punctually attended to. And now,with excuses, I beg to be allowed to retire to my own place--to returnto my muttons, as it were: or in other words, to wash the dishes."
And with profound salaams he withdrew.
----
By the last advices from Nairobi I learn that the Hallidays' farm inKenya is exceedingly prosperous. Mr. Halliday received his lease, andwas recently mentioned in a Government report as one of the mostenterprising and successful settlers in British East Africa. Mrs.Burtenshaw regards this testimonial as unfair, since Mr. Halliday isonly a figurehead, and John does the work; but, as Mr. Gillespie says,nobody cares a pin for what appears in a Government report.
There are two other farms adjoining Alloway, one owned by CharlesFerrier, the other by the two Brownes. It is rumoured that, as lionsand other wild-fowl have now disappeared from the vicinity, two of thethree farms will soon be graced by the presence of ladies; but thereseems to be some speculation at tea-tables in Nairobi as to whetherHilda Ferrier will become Mrs. Joseph Browne or Mrs. David Halliday.Knowing John, I should say that there is no doubt about the matter. Mr.Gillespie advises Helen Browne to change her name to Ferrier at the sametime: he is a firm believer in economy. Said Mohammed is anxiouslyawaiting definite information, for he says that he cannot set to work onhis nuptial ode in honour of the occasion until he knows which is which;then he will show us all what's what. My own opinion is that he will beso busy in erecting a wedding-cake of suitable proportions as to have noleisure to build the lofty rhyme. Meanwhile he has learnt Spenser's"Epithalamium" by heart, and is convinced that, with due inspiration, hewill knock it into a cocked hat.
THE END
HERBERT STRANG
_Complete List of Stories_
ADVENTURES OF DICK TREVANION, THEADVENTURES OF HARRY ROCHESTER, THEA GENTLEMAN AT ARMSA HERO OF LIEGEAIR PATROL, THEAIR SCOUT, THEBARCLAY OF THE GUIDESBLUE RAIDER, THEBOYS OF THE LIGHT BRIGADEBRIGHT IDEASBROWN OF MOUKDENBURTON OF THE FLYING CORPSCARRY ONCRUISE OF THE GYRO-CAR, THEFIGHTING WITH FRENCHFLYING BOAT, THEFRANK FORESTERHUMPHREY BOLDJACK HARDYKING OF THE AIRKOBOLONG TRAIL, THELORD OF THE SEASMOTOR SCOUT, THENO MAN'S ISLANDOLD MAN OF THE MOUNTAIN, THEONE OF CLIVE'S HEROESPALM TREE ISLANDROB THE RANGERROUND THE WORLD IN SEVEN DAYSSAMBASETTLERS AND SCOUTSSULTAN JIMSWIFT AND SURETHROUGH THE ENEMY'S LINESTOM BURNABYTOM WILLOUGHBY'S SCOUTSWINNING HIS NAMEWITH DRAKE ON THE SPANISH MAINWITH HAIG ON THE SOMME
Settlers and Scouts: A Tale of the African Highlands Page 27