by Wilbur Smith
The proprietor hurried to meet Leon as he entered through the front door, carrying the lesser tusk. Mr Goolam Vilabjhi was a well-nourished little man with a beaming smile. ‘By golly, Lieutenant Courtney, for me and my humble establishment this is a jolly great honour.’
‘Good morning, Mr Vilabjhi, but I am no longer a lieutenant,’ Leon told him, as he laid the tusk on the counter.
‘But you are still the greatest polo player in Africa, and I have heard that you have become a mighty shikari. What is more, I see you bring proof of that.’ He shouted to Mrs Vilabjhi in the back of the store, asking her to bring coffee and sweetmeats, then ushered Leon between rows of heavily laden shelves into his tiny cubby-hole office. A book case that occupied one entire wall was filled with all twenty-two volumes of the Complete Oxford English Dictionary, a full set of the Encyclopaedia Britannica, Burke’s Peerage and Gentry and several dozen histories of the English kings, their people and language. Mr Vilabjhi was an ardent anglophile, royalist and proponent of the English language.
‘Please be seated, kindest sir.’ Mrs Vilabjhi bustled in with the coffee tray. She was even plumper than her husband and just as affable. When she had filled the glasses with the thick, sticky black liquid her husband shooed her away and turned back to Leon. ‘Now, tell me, Sahib, what is your pleasure?’
‘I want to sell you that tusk.’
Mr Vilabjhi thought about that for so long that Leon was becoming restless. Eventually he said, ‘Alack and alas, revered Sahib, I will not purchase that ivory from you.’
Leon was startled. ‘Why the hell not?’ he demanded. ‘You’re an ivory dealer, are you not?’
‘Did I ever tell you, Sahib, that I was once a horse groom or, as we say in India, a syce, in the stables of the maharaja of Cooch Behar? I am the utmost admirer and connoisseur of the royal game of polo and the men who play it.’
‘Is that why you won’t buy my tusk?’ Leon asked.
Mr Vilabjhi laughed. ‘That is a fine jest, Sahib. No! The reason is that if I buy that tusk I will send it to England to be made into the keys of a piano or carved into pretty coloured billiard balls. Then you will hate me. One day when you are an old man you will think back on what I did with your trophy and you will say to yourself, “Ten thousand curses on the head of that infamous villain and flagitious scoundrel, Mr Goolam Vilabjhi Esquire!” ’
‘On the other hand, if you do not buy it I will call down a hundred thousand curses on your head right now,’ Leon warned him. ‘Mr Vilabjhi, I need the money and I need it badly.’
‘Ah! Money, she is like the tide of the ocean. She comes in and she goes out. But a tusk like that you will never see again in all your existence.’
‘At this moment my tide is so far out that it’s over the horizon.’
‘Then, Sahib, we have to find some ruse or, as we were wont to say in Cooch Behar, some stratagem to accommodate our diverse wishes.’ He posed a moment longer in an attitude of deep thought, then raised one finger and touched his temple. ‘Eureka! I have it. You will leave the tusk with me as security, and I will loan you the money you require. You will pay me interest at twenty per cent per annum. Then one day, when you are the most famous and renowned shikari in Africa you will come back to me and tell me, “My dear and trusted friend, Mr Goolam Vilabjhi Esquire, I have come to repay the debt I owe you.” Then I will return your fine and magnificent tusk to you, and we will be lifelong friends until the day we die!’
‘My dear and trusted friend, Mr Goolam Vilabjhi Esquire, I call down ten thousand blessings on your head.’ Leon laughed. ‘How much can you let me have?’
‘I have heard tell that the weight of that tusk is one hundred and twenty-eight pounds avoirdupois.’
‘My God! How did you know that?’
‘Every living human creature in Nairobi knows it already.’ Mr Vilabjhi cocked his head to one side. ‘At fifteen shillings a pound I find that I am able to advance you the grand sum of ninety-six pounds sterling in gold sovereigns.’ Leon blinked. That was the most money he had ever held in his hand at one time.
Before he left Mr Vilabjhi’s shop he made his first purchase. On one of the shelves behind the counter he had noticed a small pile of red and yellow cardboard packets displaying the distinctive lion’s head trademark of Kynoch, the pre-eminent manufacturer of cartridges in Britain. When he examined the boxes closely he was delighted to discover that they were marked ‘H&H.470 Royal Nitro Express. 500 Grain. Solid’. Of the ten cartridges that Verity O’Hearne had left him as part of her gift, only three remained. He had fired five shots to check the sights on the rifle and two more to despatch the great bull.
‘How much are those bullets, Mr Vilabjhi?’ he enquired, with trepidation, and gulped at the reply.
‘For you, Sahib, and for you only, I will make my very best and extra special price.’ He gazed up at the ceiling as though seeking inspiration from Kali, Ganesh and all the other Hindu gods. Then he said, ‘For you, Sahib, the price is five shillings for each bullet.’
There were ten packets, each containing five rounds. Leon did a quick mental calculation, and the result appalled him. Twelve pounds ten shillings! He touched the heavy bulge in his hip pocket. I can’t afford it! he told himself. On the other hand, he answered, what kind of professional hunter goes out into the blue with only three cartridges in his belt? Reluctantly he reached into his pocket and brought out the canvas bank bag he had so recently deposited there.
The tide of his fortune had come in, all right, but just as rapidly it had started to ebb, as Mr Vilabjhi had warned him it would.
Manyoro and Ishmael were still waiting outside the front of the store. Leon paid them the wages he owed them. ‘What are you going to do with all that money?’ he asked Manyoro.
‘I shall buy three cows. What else, Bwana?’ Manyoro shook his head at such a foolish question. To a Masai, cattle were the only real wealth.
‘What about you, Ishmael?’
‘I am going to send it to my wives in Mombasa, Effendi.’ Ishmael had six, the maximum that the Prophet allowed, and they were as voracious as a swarm of locusts.
Leon drove to the KAR barracks, with Ishmael and Manyoro. He found Bobby Sampson moping over a tankard of beer in the officers’ mess. His friend brightened when he saw him and cheered up so much when Leon paid him the fifteen guineas he owed him for the Vauxhall that he bought him a beer.
From the barracks Leon drove out to the stock yards on the outskirts of the town. ‘Manyoro, I wish to send a cow to Lusima Mama to thank her for her help in the matter of the elephant.’
‘Such a gift is customary, Bwana,’ Manyoro agreed.
‘Nobody is a finer judge of cattle than you, Manyoro.’
‘That is true, Bwana.’
‘When you have chosen your own beasts, pick one out for Lusima Mama and strike a price with the seller.’ That cost Leon another fifteen pounds, for Manyoro selected the best animal in the yard.
Before Manyoro set off to return to Lonsonyo Mountain, Leon gave him a canvas bag of silver shillings. ‘This is for Loikot. If he keeps talking to his friends and brings the news to us there will be many more bags of shillings. Tell him to save all his money and soon he will have enough to buy himself a fine cow. Now go, Manyoro, and return swiftly. Bwana Samawati has much work for us to do.’
Driving the cows ahead of him, Manyoro took the rutted track that led down into the Rift Valley. When he reached the first bend he turned and shouted back to Leon, ‘Wait for me, my brother, for I shall return in ten days’ time.’
Leon drove back to the club to pick up Percy Phillips. He found him slumped in one of the armchairs on the wide stoep overlooking the sun-parched lawns. He was in a foul mood. His eyes were bloodshot, his beard was in disarray and his face as wrinkled as the khaki bush jacket in which he had passed the night. ‘Where the hell have you been?’ he growled at Leon and, without waiting for an answer, stumped down the steps to where the truck was rumbling and coughing blue exhaust smoke.
His expression lightened a little when he saw the tusk on which Ishmael was sitting. ‘Well, thank the Lord you’ve still got that. What happened to the other?’
‘We sold it to the infidel Vilabjhi, Effendi.’ Ishmael had got into the habit of referring to his master in the royal plural.
‘That rogue! I bet he diddled you,’ Percy said, and climbed into the front seat. He did not speak again until they were bumping down the final and worst section of the track into Tandala Camp.
‘I managed to have a few words with your uncle Penrod last evening. He had received a cable from the American State Department. The former President of the United States of America and his entire entourage will be arriving in Mombasa in two months’ time aboard the luxury German steamship Admiral to begin the grand safari. We must be ready for them.’
When they parked in front of the mess tent Percy shouted for tea to be brought. Two mugs of the brew restored his sense of well-being and good humour. ‘Get out your pencil and notebook,’ he ordered Leon.
‘I don’t possess either.’
‘In future they will be your most essential items of equipment. Even more so than your rifle and quinine bottle. I have spares in my library. You can replace them when you next go into town.’ He sent one of the servants to fetch them and soon Leon’s pencil was poised over the first page.
‘Now, here is a broad picture of what this safari will involve. Apart from the President there will be his son, a lad of about the same age as you, and his guests, Sir Alfred Pease, Lord Cranworth and Frederick Selous.’
‘Selous!’ Leon exclaimed. ‘He’s an African legend. I was weaned on his books. But he must be ancient.’
‘Not at all,’ Percy snapped. ‘I doubt he’s even sixty-five yet.’
Leon was about to point out that sixty-five was older than ancient when he saw Percy’s forbidding gaze. He understood that, with Percy Phillips, age was a sensitive subject and retreated from the minefield into which he had been about to blunder. ‘Oh, then he is still quite young,’ he said hastily.
Percy nodded and went on: ‘The President has taken on five white hunters other than myself. The ones I know well are Judd, Cunninghame and Tarlton, all fine fellows. I suppose they will have their apprentices with them. I understand from Penrod that there will be more than twenty naturalists and taxidermists from the Smithsonian Institute, the museum that is partially sponsoring the safari. I asked Penrod about journalists and other members of the press, but he tells me that the President has forbidden their presence. After two full terms in office, he has come to value his privacy.’
‘So there will be no journalists?’ Leon looked up from the notebook.
‘Don’t worry about that. No one of any note can ever get away from those cockroaches. American Associated Press is sending out a plague of them, but they will be in a separate safari that will shadow ours closely all the way, sending back copy to New York at every opportunity. A pox on all their houses.’
‘That means our safari will be a party of more than thirty people. There will be a small mountain of baggage, equipment and supplies to deal with.’
‘Indeed,’ Percy agreed sarcastically. ‘The initial estimate from New York is that they will be shipping out about ninety-six tons. The rest will be purchased locally. That will include five tons of salt to preserve the specimens and trophies, and fodder for the horses. The shipment from America will be sent ahead of the main party, which will give us time to bring it up from the coast and have it broken down into sixty-pound packs for the porters.’
‘How many mounts will they need?’ Leon asked, with interest.
‘They intend to do much of the hunting on horseback. The President wants a string of at least thirty,’ Percy answered. ‘That is one of your fields of expertise, so among your other duties I am putting you in charge of the horse lines. You will have to recruit a team of reliable syces to take care of them.’ He paused. ‘And, of course, the two trucks will also be your responsibility. I want to use them for resupply of small items to where the President is camped at any time.’
‘Two motors? You have only one.’
‘I am commandeering the other vehicle from you for the duration of the safari. You had better make sure that both are in good running order.’ Percy made no mention of remuneration for the use of Leon’s truck, or for the cost of repairs to get it back on four wheels and induce them to turn.
‘Lord Delamere is lending us his chef from the Norfolk Hotel. There will be four or five sous-chefs. I will sign on your man Ishmael to work in the camp kitchens. Oh, by the way, Cunninghame will be recruiting around a thousand native porters to carry the baggage and provisions for the safari. I told him last night that you were fluent in Kiswahili and that you would be happy to help him with the job.’
‘Did you mention that I would also be pleased to help him with the actual hunting?’ Leon asked innocently.
Percy raised one beetling grey eyebrow. ‘Would you now? Given your vast experience, I am sure the President would be honoured to have you as a guide. However, you will have many more important duties to keep you entertained, young fella.’ That particular form of address was beginning to irritate Leon, but he had decided that that was why Percy employed it so frequently.
‘You are absolutely right, sir. I hadn’t thought of that.’ And he gave Percy his most winning smile.
Percy had difficulty preventing himself smiling back. He liked it more and more that the lad could take what he handed out without whining. He relented. ‘There will be well over a thousand mouths to feed. Under the game laws of the colony, buffalo are classed as vermin. There is no limit on the numbers that can be shot. One of your jobs will be to keep the safari in meat. You will have all the hunting your heart could desire. That I promise.’
Two months and six days later the German passenger liner SS Admiral steamed into Kilindini lagoon, the deep-water harbour that served as a port for the coastal town of Mombasa. The ship’s rigging was blazing with coloured bunting. At her mainmast head she flew Old Glory and at her foremast the black eagles of the Kaiser’s Germany. On the foredeck the band blared out ‘The Star Spangled Banner’ and ‘God Save the King’. The beach was crowded with spectators and government dignitaries, headed by the governor of the territory and the commander of His Britannic Majesty’s forces in British East Africa, all in full dress uniform, complete with feathers in their cocked hats and swords on their hips.
Lying out in the deep water, a flotilla of barges and surfboats waited to ferry the passengers to the beach. Former President Colonel Teddy Roosevelt and his son were first to climb down into one of the waiting boats. As the distinguished visitors took their seats on the thwarts and the oarsmen pulled in towards the beach, the dark rainclouds lowering over the lagoon opened their bellies and, with a barrage of thunder and fork lightning, loosed a torrential downpour on the scene. Roosevelt arrived on the beach, having been carried through the shallows on the back of a muscular half-naked porter. His bush jacket was soaked and he was roaring with laughter. It was just the type of adventure he relished.
The governor hurried forward to meet him, clutching with one hand the plume of white ostrich feathers on his cocked hat, and with the other, trying to disentangle his sword from between his legs. He had placed his private train at the disposal of the President and his entourage. As soon as they were all safely aboard, the clouds rolled aside and brilliant sunshine sparkled on the choppy waters of the lagoon. The large crowd burst into a chorus of ‘For He’s A Jolly Good Fellow’. Teddy Roosevelt stood plump and beaming on the balcony of the leading carriage and acknowledged the cheers as the driver blew his whistle and the train pulled away at the start of the journey up-country to Nairobi.
One hundred miles inland the train halted at Voi siding, the southernmost extent of the vast plains that lay between the Tsavo and Athi rivers. A wooden bench had been built as a viewing platform over the cowcatcher at the front of the locomotive. The President and Frederick Selous climbed up and
settled themselves on the bench. Selous was the most revered of all the African hunters, the author of many books on travel and adventure, and a naturalist who had devoted his life to studying and cherishing the animals of the great continent. Renowned for his strength and determination, it was said of him that ‘When all the others fall by the wayside Selous keeps on to the end of the road.’ His physique was robust, his beard steely grey, his eyes were steady and far-seeing and his expression was mild and saintly. Selous and Roosevelt, although so different in appearance, were kindred spirits of the wild open spaces.
While the train puffed across the plains of Tsavo, teeming to the horizon with herds of antelope, the two great men huddled together in conversation, discussing the wonders that lay all around them. As darkness fell they retired to the comfort of the governor’s carriage. When the train pulled into Nairobi station early the following morning the entire population was on the platform to catch a glimpse of the former President.
Over the following days a programme of receptions, balls and sporting events, including polo and horse-racing, had been arranged for his entertainment. It was a week before Roosevelt had performed his social obligations and the safari was ready to depart. Again they travelled by train as far as the remote bush siding of Kapiti plains. When they arrived the safari was drawn up like a small army to meet them.
The next morning, when the march began, the President, with Selous and his son on either hand, rode at the head of the column. Behind them, carried by a uniformed askari, Old Glory spread in the breeze. Next came the KAR marching band, giving an approximate rendition of ‘Dixie’. The rest of the thousand-strong group straggled back two miles over the veld.