CHAPTER VI--MWESA'S MISSION
Tom could not help laughing as he surveyed the ruins of Mwesa's littlebuilding, and the negro himself put his hands on his hips and roaredwith merriment.
"Silly fella tink all same proper house," he said, alluding to thecrocodile. "Me show him."
It was clear that their first task, if they were to remain for anylength of time in this spot, must be to construct a more substantialdwelling, and after a light breakfast they set forth to survey for asite. Tom found that his long tramp on the previous day had caused hisinjured ankle to swell, and he could only get along by hopping on hissound foot. Fortunately he had not far to go before lighting on asuitable situation in a spot above the shore of the lake, where a fewisolated trees in the form of a rough circle enclosed a clear space sometwenty yards across. Here, after bathing his ankle and tying hishandkerchief tightly about it, he sat down to watch Mwesa set aboutbuilding him a "proper house."
The boy cut down with his axe a number of straight saplings, trimmedthem, cut them to the same length, and then planted them in a circle inthe centre of the space. After a search along the banks of the streamhe returned with a load of withies cut from tough creeping-plants. Withthese he bound the upright poles together: first in the middle, then twofeet below, and finally the same distance above. He worked with suchastonishing speed that early in the afternoon the framework of the newhut was complete, standing up like a cage or a circular crate. After ashort rest he started on the roof. He gathered together a number offlexible saplings, which he laid down on the floor of the hut so thatthey radiated from the centre like the spokes of a wheel. Then hefastened the ends together, lifting the saplings one by one until thestructure resembled the ribs of an inverted Chinese umbrella. When itwas finished he drew the loose ends together, turned it upside down, andpushed it up through the open roof space, the ends, when released,resting on the tops of the poles. The skeleton of the hut was complete.
Tom envied the boy's dexterity. All his measurements had been made withthe eye alone, and Tom reflected that the work would have occupied awhite artisan, provided with a foot rule, probably twice or thrice aslong. Mwesa promised that another day's work would finish the job.
Next day he filled up the interstices between the poles with damp mud,which he carried in his wallet from the edge of the lake. He left aspace about three feet square at the entrance; and built up with mud, inthe interior of the hut, a long bench some three feet high. The muddried rapidly in the heat of the day, and when the bench had hardened,he mounted upon it, and wove long grasses in and out among the rodscomposing the roof, until this was fairly impervious. It would giveslight protection against heavy rain, but the rainy season was not yetdue, and Tom agreed that the hut would form a very serviceable shelterduring the short time he expected to occupy it.
It occurred to him, however, to suggest a means of doubly securingthemselves against intruders, human or other. The trees surrounding theopen space could be turned into an effective zariba by planting polesbetween them, and interlacing the poles with strands of prickly thorn.Mwesa fell in with the notion at once, but this was a much longer taskthan the construction of the hut had been, and in fact it occupied himoff and on for nearly a week.
Meanwhile the food he had brought from the plantation had long beenconsumed, and he spent part of every day in snaring birds or smallanimals for the subsistence of himself and his master. It appeared thatvegetable food was not to be obtained in this part of the country, andTom grew somewhat uneasy as to the effect of an uninterrupted diet offlesh. He was uneasy, too, about his injuries. The wound caused by thespike was healing well, but the swelling of his ankle was but littlereduced, and it gave him great pain to hobble even a few yards. It wasclear that without the ministrations of his faithful and indefatigableboy he would starve.
Often as he lay at night, on rushes strewn upon the bench, listening tothe cries of night-birds, the bark of distant hyaenas, the coughs of thecrocodiles in the lake, the grunts and snarls of beasts that cameprowling around the zariba, but never attempted to penetrate it, scaredby the fire kept constantly burning within the enclosure--as he laylistening to these eerie sounds he pondered plans for the future. Hisdearest wish was to make his way to the frontier as soon as he was fitto travel, and to join the British forces which, he supposed, weregathering to resist the German invasion. The news that Germany andBritain were at war had scarcely surprised him. Recollections of what hehad heard and seen during his year in Germany seemed to givecorroboration enough. He remembered in particular one young Germanbaroness, who had been to school at Cheltenham, and was continuallyboasting of what the Germans would do when "the Day" came. Heremembered, too, how his father scoffed at the warnings of those whoforetold that Germany was only awaiting an opportunity for making hertiger-spring, and how he and his brother had been rebuked for heedingthe "alarmists." And now the Day had come at last. He wondered whatspark had exploded the European powder-barrel, what pretext Germany hadalleged for the attack which, he believed, she had long been secretlycherishing and preparing for. In the only letter he had received fromEngland since his arrival, Bob had said nothing of trouble brewing.Whatever the ostensible reason was, he had no doubt the war had sprungfrom Germany's lust for world-power, and with the easy confidence whichtoo many Englishmen felt in those early days, he believed that theBritish Navy would square accounts with the Germans before many monthshad passed. He did not know that Germany had cast her gauntlet in theface of half the world, did not suspect that she had already set thebases of civilisation staggering.
As for Africa, he took it for granted that German possessions would soonbe wiped off the map. It would have been difficult for a true-bornEnglishman to think otherwise. All that he wished and hoped for wasthat he might reach Rhodesia before the last act was played.
When about ten days had slipped away, and even Mwesa had nothing tooccupy him except the daily search for food, Tom began to fidget fornews. He was still unable to walk without pain; inaction irked him, andignorance of what was going on at the plantation and beyond gave him afit of the blues. His despondency did not escape the keen eyes of thenegro, who at last asked what was troubling him.
"I want to know things, Mwesa," he answered: "what Reinecke is doing,whether fighting has already begun--all sorts of things. And I want toget away from here and join my own people."
The boy's anxious expression cleared; his eyes brightened.
"Me go; one day, two, me come back tell sah," he said.
"Do you think you could go safely?"
Mwesa looked hurt at the suggestion. Had he not already stolen in andout of the plantation? Why should his master suppose that he could notdo it again? He would set off at once, as soon as he had provided foodand water for a day or two, and he would come back stuffed with news.
The boy was so eager that Tom let him go. He took nothing but his walletand a knife. By nightfall he would reach the plantation. There hewould learn all that was to be learnt from Mirambo: his master would beonly one night alone.
It was not till the dense blackness of night brooding over the nullahdeepened his feeling of solitude that Tom doubted whether he had doneright. The boy might not return: who could tell what mischance mightbefall him? In daytime he might escape the many perils of the forest;but what if he were discovered in his furtive passage of the thorn fenceand impressed into the ranks of the recruits? "Without Mwesa what willbecome of me?" The troublesome question gave Tom no rest as he lay inthe hut, listening to the outer noises to which darkness adds mysteryand horror. Alone, almost helpless, what could a white man do in thewilds of Africa? Tom was not ordinarily a victim to "nerves"; but theseries of shocks he had recently suffered had quickened his imaginationin proportion as it had reduced his physical vigour, and the sensationsof that night were one long nightmare.
At dawn, limp and haggard, he got up, crawled out of the hut, and satdown with his back against a tree-trunk, listening for the return of
thenegro boy. He heard rustlings among the trees, the call of a quail, thesnorting grunt of some animal prowling round the zariba. But neitherrustle nor footfall caught his ear when Mwesa suddenly appeared at hisside.
"Come back all right, sah," said the boy cheerfully.
"But how? I didn't hear you. How did you get in?"
"Climb tree, sah; come like snake."
He had dropped thus into the enclosure to avoid making a gap in thefence. As before, he came laden with food. Welcome as this was, Tomwas more eager to have his tale of news; but before Mwesa would relatehis discoveries, he produced from his wallet, with much show of mystery,a small bundle with a covering of leaves tied with grass thread.Opening this with an expression of great solemnity, he displayed a lumpof some substance olive-green in colour, and of the consistency ofputty.
"Good medicine, sah. Mirambo my uncle: berry clebber pusson. Me makesah well."
Dropping to his knees he unwound the handkerchief from Tom's injuredankle, pinched off a small portion of the plastic medicament, and rubbedit gently over the joint, muttering strange words. It graduallysoftened to a greenish oil. When the joint was thoroughly anointed, theboy bound it again with the handkerchief, jumped up, and, smiling awayhis look of intent earnestness declared:
"Sah, one time better; two time better; t'ree time all same well."
Then he unslung from his shoulder a small iron cooking-pot, and sat downto tell his news.
At the plantation drill was in full swing. Some askaris had come fromBismarckburg under the charge of a German non-commissioned officer, theformer as guards and examples, the latter to train the new recruits.Drill went on all day and every day, the German giving his commands in aBantu dialect which was hard to understand, with the result that hefrequently lost his temper. The negroes who were slow were stimulated bythe whips of the overseers. A few rifles had been brought, and some ofthe quicker men were already being trained in aiming and sighting: asyet they had fired no shot. They were all sullen and resentful; butcowed by the presence of the armed askaris and in constant fear of thewhip, they gave no utterance to their feelings in face of theirtaskmasters, pouring out their hearts only in the seclusion of their ownhuts and sheds.
Reinecke himself was now seldom at the plantation. Mirambo believedthat he was busy at headquarters at Bismarckburg. The askaris had saidthat a great force was being prepared to attack the English in Abercorn,and had boasted of the terrible things they were going to do and thegreat riches they would soon enjoy. They told of many battles won inthe white man's country far away; of many great cities which the Germanshad taken; how the King of England and his war chiefs had been hanged bythe people, enraged at defeat. Soon there would not be a singleEnglishman in the whole of Africa.
"Do they believe that stuff?" said Tom. "It's all nonsense."
Mwesa was not at all sure that he had not believed it himself, for howwas a simple African to deny what was told him with such assurance?Indeed, even among the Germans, settlers and soldiers alike, in thoseearly days of the war, no rumour was too fantastic to find easycredence. Conceit is a hotbed for credulity. But Tom's vigorousassertion that it was all nonsense was enough to convince Mwesa.
"Dey silly fellas, sah," he said scornfully. "Mwesa him English: he knowall right."
Tom knew nothing of the relative strength of the British and Germanforces in East Africa; but having a Briton's invincible faith in theBritish Navy, he could not believe that the German colony, cut off fromEurope as it must be, could really measure itself against the resourcesof the British Empire. But he remembered how, in the past, Britishcarelessness and want of foresight had bred disasters only painfullyretrieved, and he felt no little anxiety as to how far Northern Rhodesiawas prepared to resist the expedition which the Germans were organising.
He was only the more eager to join his fellow-countrymen, and take hispart in the fight, if fight there was to be. At school he had beencolour-sergeant in the cadet corps, and looked back with reminiscentpleasure on the field days, when, in the intervals of business, he hadmunched apples in a farmer's orchard or solaced himself and his squadwith junket in a dairy. "Rummy," he thought, "if all that swat were toturn out useful after all. But here it will be minus the apples andjunket."
This being his state of mind, he was doubly curious about the healingproperties of the stuff"--Mirambo's plasticine, he called it--that Mwesahad brought from his uncle. He was aware almost at once of a lesseningof the pain in his ankle. After the second application the swelling wassensibly reduced; within a week he found himself able to walk freely.Mwesa took the cure as a matter of course.
"What's the stuff made of?" Tom asked him.
Mwesa shook his head gravely.
"Berry good medicine: Mirambo him savvy all same."
And that was all that Tom could get out of him.
Tom Willoughby's Scouts: A Story of the War in German East Africa Page 6