Settlers and Scouts: A Tale of the African Highlands

  CHAPTER THE TENTH--Driving Sheep to Market

  "I say, Halliday, you're in clover here," said Ferrier, as the two satsmoking in the bungalow after Said Mohammed had made their hearts gladwith a capital dinner. "My grandfather made his pile ranching inManitoba, and you'll do the same here."

  John laughed. "We're not paying our way at present," he said, "and Iknow my father grudged the money for his passage home again so soon.He'll grudge it still more now that his journey has turned out useless,and there are doctors' bills to pay in the bargain."

  The two young men had exchanged confidences during the latter part oftheir march to the farm. Charles Ferrier's father had been called tothe Canadian bar, but he had never practised, his fortune beingsufficient to keep him and his family in something more than comfort,and to pay for the sporting expeditions which were his real interest inlife. Charles, who was twenty years old, had just come down from theMcGill university, and his father had brought him to East Africa to"give him a run," as he put it, before he settled down to work.

  "And his ambition for me was that I should enter the Canadianlegislature," said he, with a wry face. "It's not work much after mymind; I'd prefer ranching like my grandfather. Poor father! D'youthink I ought to stick to his notion now that he's gone?"

  "I think every man should follow his own bent," said John. "Themischief is we mayn't know till it's too late what our bent is. Forinstance, I like this life out here, but I don't know I'll succeed atit, and some day I may eat my heart out because I didn't take up law, asmy father wished. He's a good sort, and didn't urge it. Well,khansaman, what is it?" he asked, as Said Mohammed entered.

  "Entreating your pardon, sir, Coja has made a discovery and is in anexcessive state of amazement, jolly well flabbergasted, as it were. Hedeclares that when you went on donkeys to visit the honourable gent youtook three rifles marked with initials D.H., but lo! when he examinesthe weapons brought back, he finds four. Q.E.D."

  "That's rum, certainly," said John. "How did one of our rifles get intothe hands of your men, Ferrier? We took three, as Coja says. Yourmessenger had one."

  "I don't know. Wait a bit, though: didn't you bring three rifles intocamp? Of course: you took one from the man you half throttled outsideour boma. But how could that be marked with your initials?"

  "Tell Coja to bring it here, khansaman," said John. "I've a suspicion,Ferrier; we'll soon prove it."

  When Coja brought the rifle, John examined it carefully. It was aSnider.

  "It's as I thought, Ferrier," he said. "This is one of the rifles runoff with by those porters of ours--the sweeps! I don't like the look ofit. Looks as though they've started an organized band of freebooters.We shall have to report this at Fort Hall or Nairobi; perhaps you'll dothat. I suppose you'll be off to-morrow to get that arm of yoursproperly attended to."

  "That's all right. It's beginning to heal, rather slowly though, and ifyou can put up with me for a few days I'd like to stay here. Food andrest is what I want more than doctors. Besides, if your deserters havejoined that pack of savages they may make a raid on you, and I'll be ofsome use, even left-handed."

  "No, sah," said Coja, "bad man no come all dis way. Juma and demdebbils, oh yes! but not de Embe, oh no! dey never live for come longway."

  "Coja's right, Ferrier," said John. "By all accounts no natives will goraiding more than twenty miles from their village, except the Masai, andwe haven't to deal with them. Juma and his Swahilis might come if theydared, but they won't venture without support. That'll do, Coja. How'syour shoulder, by the way?"

  "Jolly fine, sah. Bill him give me stuff to put on, berry good magic."

  "There you are, Ferrier," cried John, laughing. "We've got a doctor onthe spot. Bill is a Wanderobbo we've made friends with, a little oldman who lives by himself and tells fairy-tales about a wonderful storeof ivory belonging to him in an enemy's country. He's by way of being aherbalist, too, it appears. We'll have a look at his 'berry good magic'by and by."

  The magic turned out to be a decoction of herbs which Bill had smearedon Coja's wound, binding it up with leaves. He begged the new msungu tomake a trial of it, and Ferrier after some hesitation consented. Hiswound healed more rapidly after the application, and Bill was delightedwith the present of a few cents--without doubt the first doctor's fee hehad ever earned.

  Ferrier remained for the present at the farm, his healthy constitutionsoon reasserting itself after the strain of his recent experiences. Hisfather's death had left him his own master. He had an only sisterliving with an aunt at Toronto, and he wrote to her and to the familylawyers, relating what had happened, but saying nothing of hisintentions. The letters were entrusted to his porters, whom hedismissed with the exception of three. On reaching Nairobi, the menwould take the train to Kisumu, and reach their homes in Uganda bysteamer across the Victoria Nyanza.

  It was more than a month since John had heard from his father. A fewdays after Ferrier's arrival he received a note which made him veryangry.

  "I'm on the mend. Doctor says my leg couldn't have healed better if Iwere ten years younger. Cousin Sylvia has been very good. Insists onmaking reparation for the damage (financial and physical) she has doneme. 'Twas _her_ chauffeur, and _her_ motor-car, and so on. Upshot isthat as you're getting on so well I'm inclined to accept her invitationof a run through the Continent. Will let you know when I sail. CousinSylvia sends her love.

  "P.S. Glad to hear you got the lambing over well. Be sure and _don'twean them too soon_."

  This apparently innocent note made John furious.

  "You see what it is!" he cried, striding up and down the room. "Thatwoman's got hold of him, and she'll marry him, and all our plans will bespoilt by an old--old--I don't know what to call her. Sends her love,indeed!"

  Seeing that John was in a passion, Ferrier wisely said nothing, and thestorm presently blew over.

  The presence of Ferrier at the farm solved John's difficulty about thesheep and calves. He had rather more than 800 lambs altogether, ofwhich 450 rams were for sale, and might be expected to fetch about L90.He had also fifteen calves, which might realize L1 each, and the L105thus gained would relieve his present anxieties and go far towardsdefraying the second year's expenses. In addition to these, there was aconsiderable weight of cheese to be taken to market. He had become sochummy with Ferrier that he did not hesitate to mention to him thedifficulty about transporting the animals.

  "There's no difficulty at all," said the Canadian at once. "Take themyourself. I'll stay here while you are gone. A rest will do me all thegood in the world. You must certainly leave a white man in charge, andI've come in the nick of time."

  "It's jolly of you," said John. "I'd accept your offer in a moment ifit weren't for those blackguards who stole our rifles. It would be hardlines on you if they came and attacked you while I was away."

  "They won't do it. You told me yourself that you'd sent Bill out to seeif he could discover their whereabouts, and he didn't hear anything ofthem. Besides, if they do come we can defend ourselves. They didn'tshow any eagerness to come to very close quarters with us, and I don'tdoubt for a moment that with my men and yours--I suppose the Indians canhandle a rifle on occasion?--we could beat them off."

  "Very well, then: I'll chance it. I'll take Wasama and three men fromthe village: his boy can look after the cattle here. I shall have tohire another Masai to help when I get back: there's too much work fortwo now. You'll find Bill a great help; I wish he would come and livehere, but he's an independent old boy and won't leave his little hut inthe wood."

  "Hadn't you better take him with you? Four men won't be enough for thejob. You must carry food and a tent, you know."

  "I didn't mean to take a tent. Why not camp in the open?"

  "You'd be rather sorry if it happened to rain."

  "But the rains aren't due for another month," objected John, looking athis almanac.

  "I dare say not, but they may start a bit ear
lier, and if you thinkyou're going to get all those beasts to Nairobi in a week, or even two,you're mistaken. Remember the streams to cross and the thorn bush toget through. And you'll have to put a boma round the whole lot everynight, and that will be a long job with so few men. You'll need twentyat the very least, my boy, so make up your mind for it. Ask Wasama."

  John had in fact felt some misgiving lest the party he proposed to takeshould not be strong enough to guard the animals against wild beasts, ornatives who chanced to be hostile or predatory; but he was so anxious toeconomize that he had stilled his doubts. When Wasama backed upFerrier's point, he yielded to the inevitable, and engaged fifteen moremen in the village. Ferrier insisted on his taking the three Uganda menhe had retained out of his safari, because they were not only trainedporters, but very fair shots. John wished he had a horse to ride, or atleast a mule, not caring about donkey-rides: but Ferrier chaffed him onhis singular regard for appearances, and he decided at last to mount thebest of the donkeys.

  One fine September day the safari set off, numbering twenty in all. Cojawas very much depressed at not being able to accompany his master, buthis wound was not yet sufficiently healed. The start was watched by thewhole community, and as John rode off in the rear of the caravan he feltsure he heard Said Mohammed's high-pitched voice quote, "The lowing herdwinds slowly o'er the lea," and proceed to a recitation of the Elegy.

  John had had an inkling of the difficulties of droving, but the realityturned out to be immeasurably worse than the anticipation. The animals,being young, could not be driven hard; their pace at the best was twomiles an hour, and often less than one, and as frequent halts werenecessary, the longest day's march did not exceed eight miles. Theobstacles which had given only amusement or excitement on the journeyfrom Nairobi caused exasperation now. There were many streams to cross,and it was often difficult to induce the sheep to face them. Sometimesthey were almost invisible in the long grass, and when they came amongthorny bush, the men had to use their knives freely in hacking a pathfor the beasts, causing hours of delay. For the first week all wentfairly well. The bleating of the sheep attracted hyenas, but by dint ofgreat vigilance and activity they were kept off, and only two sheep wereseized. In crossing one stream Wasama had a narrow escape from the jawsof a crocodile; but the water in most ran so low after the dry seasonthat it was easy to examine the beds and avoid danger of this kind.

  On the eighth night, however, John was awakened by the pattering of rainon his tent. It poured in torrents, and when he got up in the morninghe found half-a-dozen sheep stretched lifeless on the sodden earth. Itwas still raining at the usual time for starting, and the animals couldnot be induced to move, but turned their backs to the wind and huddledtogether in a compact mass. The weather cleared about ten o'clock, andthen a start was made; but the safari had only been an hour on the roadwhen another downpour checked them. So it continued all day--drenchingrain, with brief intervals of sunshine. John persevered, takingadvantage of every bright period to move on a little farther; but whenthe rain finally ceased in the evening he found that during the wholelaborious day he had not covered more than about three miles. Some ofthe sheep had lagged terribly, and it was quite dark when the last ofthem came into camp, and before they could all be got within the boma acouple of hyenas sprang among them out of the surrounding bush andkilled several.

  This was only the beginning of trouble. It rained nearly every night,and every night some of the sheep died. The streams were much swollenand flowed so swiftly that it was only with the utmost difficulty thatthe men prevented the animals from being washed away. One river tooktwo hours to cross, each individual animal having to be passed over fromhand to hand. At another the current was so rapid that it seemedhopeless to attempt to cross it at all, until John, with a good deal ofrisk, managed to swim over slantwise with a rope, which he fastened to atree on the further bank. With the help of this, every man and beastwas got across safely, but with such an expenditure of labour that allwere thoroughly exhausted. That night, to add to John's misfortunes,his donkey was killed by a hyena, and he was in a state of miserabledepression when he started to resume his journey.

  The one satisfactory feature of the march was that the natives met _enroute_ had been friendly. The food was exhausted when the safari hadbeen ten days on the road, but they had no difficulty in purchasingmuhindi or cassava at the villages. John's rifle provided all necessarymeat, and at one stream he shot a crocodile, the flesh of which washighly prized by his men. But the very friendliness of the peoplebecame a source of anxiety. They offered their services in helping todrive the animals, and at the end of a day when they had apparently beenvery useful, John found that six sheep had mysteriously disappeared. Heblamed Wasama for not warning him of the thievish propensities of thevolunteer drovers, much to the surprise of the Masai, who said hethought everybody knew that a man would take what he could get if he hadthe chance. After that, John refused all assistance, however generouslyit was pressed upon him, and kept a sharp eye on the natives who hungabout the flanks of the safari. With all his vigilance he lost a dozenmore sheep and a fine bull calf by theft, and he began despairingly towonder whether he would have any animals left by the time he arrived inNairobi.

  But everything comes to an end. One day, nearly four weeks afterleaving the farm, he caught sight of the chimney-stack of the Nairobilocomotive works in the distance. Five hours later he trudged wearilyinto the town, conscious that he presented a deplorable and disreputableappearance. His clothes were torn and dirty; the sole of his right boothad parted from the upper and flapped as he walked, while that of theleft boot had gone altogether, and he trod on his sock. He feltthoroughly knocked up, and after he had seen his animals safely penned,he could hardly drag himself to Mr. Gillespie's house. To his surprisenobody in the streets seemed to pay the least attention to hisappearance; he supposed that such sights were not uncommon; and Mr.Gillespie did not start back with the look of horror which in hisself-consciousness John had expected. The coffee-planter greeted himwarmly, but had no sooner taken him to his room than he whipped out aclinical thermometer and stuck it into John's mouth.

  "Thought so," he said, when he examined it. "You've a touch of fever,and no wonder. You'll go straight to bed, my boy. We'll have a talk inthe morning."

  After a hot bath, John was tucked up between the blankets and dosed withquinine by Mrs. Gillespie, and he fell asleep with a happiness and asense of security to which he seemed to have been a stranger for years.

  He was better in the morning, but Mr. Gillespie would not allow him toquit his bed.

  "You just leave it to me," he said when John protested that he must seeabout selling his animals. "I'll go and take a look at them. You won'tsell them for a day or two: they'll be all the better for a rest. I'vejust heard from your father, by the way. He's a gay old dog, upon myword, gadding about on the Continent. You must have written glowingaccounts of the farm, or he'd have been back before this. I dare saythere's a letter for you by the same mail: you'll find it when you getback. And how do you like ranching, eh?"

  They had a long talk, and Mr. Gillespie said he thought he had done verywell for the first year. He laughed when John related the incidents ofhis march.

  "You'll get used to it," he said. "It's rather disheartening at first,but you may think yourself lucky the natives didn't bother you. When Ifirst came out here ten years ago I had a running fight with one of thetribes for a week, and lost practically everything I possessed. Thingsare safer now."

  John told him about the desertion of Juma with the rifles, and theplight from which he had rescued Ferrier.

  "That's unpleasant," said Mr. Gillespie. "If you take my advice you'llgo back by way of Fort Hall and report to the District Commissioner. Hemay be disposed to send a company of the Protectorate police to dealwith the ruffians. I'm afraid it's not a big enough job for the King'sAfrican Rifles. Probably they won't trouble you again, however. Theirammunition will soon be exhau
sted, and they can't get any more."

  John remained in Nairobi for a week. He found that he had lostfifty-two sheep and one calf, besides his donkey; but Mr. Gillespie saidthat the animals were a healthy lot, and handed over 1500 rupees as theproceeds of the sale. The cheese fetched 100 rupees. John banked thegreater part of the money, keeping a little to buy new clothes forhimself, a few articles for the farm, and a fresh stock of "trade" forthe payment of his native workers. Then, feeling that Ferrier might begrowing uneasy at his long absence, he set off one day with his safarion the return journey, feeling pretty well satisfied with the tangibleresult of his first year's labours.

  He went by way of Fort Hall, as Mr. Gillespie had suggested. He foundit to be only a fort in the sense in which that word was used todescribe the stations of the Hudson's Bay Company in the Far North. Asubstantial house perched on a hill, with a solid stone wall and a ditcharound it, the flag of the Protectorate flying from a staff in thecompound, a few huts and houses, a jail, and an Indian bazaar: that wasFort Hall. The Commissioner received him hospitably, and listenedattentively to his story.

  "Well, Mr. Halliday," he said, "the tribesmen certainly ought to betaught a lesson: in fact, they clearly have been taught a lesson. Idon't know that I can do anything. I got your message, of course, buthad no men available. You see, we don't care to start policeexpeditions if we can avoid it. It means great expense, and we want allour funds for peaceful development. Of course if you hadn't alreadygiven them a dressing we should have had to do something; but I fancyyou've given them a fright, and they won't bother you again. You'rerather far away, and a few years ago you would have had a very hot timethere; but there are signs all over the country that the natives aresettling down peaceably under our government, and the moral effect ofthe crushing of the Masai rebellion has been enormous. Let me know atonce if you have any further trouble."

  The interview left John with the impression that he could expect littleassistance from the officials. In this he probably did them aninjustice. It is not altogether harmful that the settler should beself-reliant.