CHAPTER THE EIGHTH--Hard Pressed
John spent a good deal of time with Bill the Wanderobbo. He found it atfirst difficult to communicate with him, for the little man knew noEnglish, nor even Swahili, which John was rapidly picking up, partlyfrom Coja, and partly from a Swahili grammar and Bible which he hadbrought from Mombasa. He had to employ Wasama as the medium ofintercourse with Bill, the two men speaking in the Masai tongue, andWasama translating either into his imperfect English, or into Swahili,as John became more proficient in it. Coja told him that the Wanderobbohave a language of their own, and he tried to get Bill to teach himthat; but the man became reserved and shy whenever the suggestion wasmade, and Wasama explained that the Wanderobbo never allowed anyforeigner to hear them speak in their own tongue. After a time Johnmanaged to converse with Bill about simple matters in a kind of signlanguage, in which the Wanderobbo was very quick. He learnt longafterwards that the mysterious language of the tribe largely consists ofsigns, to such an extent that the people cannot understand one anotherin the dark.
One day Bill darkly hinted that though John was very rich, yet he, theWanderobbo, was richer. This was surprising, seeing that to allappearance he possessed nothing but his hut and weapons. On beingquestioned he at first shyly refused to say more, but by and by saidthat he owned a very large store of ivory.
"Where?" asked John.
"In his old home away in the hills," said Wasama, who was interpreting.
"Then why doesn't he sell it and buy himself a good hut and good armsand make himself comfortable?"
"Because the store is now in the bad man's country, beyond themountain."
John had by this time learnt something of the native African's geniusfor invention, and treated the Wanderobbo's assertions as sheer romance;but the old man repeated them again and again, and indeed seemedsometimes to be brooding over his wrongs, so that John began to believethat there was some little foundation for his story. Once Bill saidthat if the young master cared to go with him a long journey he wouldshow him how to hunt elephants, so that he might get ivory for himself.But it happened that Mr. Halliday had only taken out an ordinary gamelicence, costing 150 rupees, not caring to pay an additional 600 rupeesfor the full licence which would entitle him to shoot elephants andrhinoceros and other large game. Bill was totally unable to understandthe reason of John's refusal, and John felt that the old man in hissecret thoughts set him down as afraid.
But though elephant hunting had to be declined, John was never loth togo in quest of smaller game when the larder required it. He neverkilled any of his own sheep or cattle for food, but depended on the gamethat fell to his rifle--waterbuck, grantei, congoni, and other animalswhich were to be found at first within short distances of the farm.Bill was his constant companion on these expeditions, and proved veryuseful, having an instinct for the right localities. Two or three ofthe villagers were usually hired to carry back the game that was shot.
One day the party had gone some five miles to the northward, and thebearers were cutting up two grantei which John had shot, when a solitaryfigure appeared in the far distance. It was unusual to see a nativetravelling alone, but he was approaching so slowly that John did notthink it worth while to await his arrival, and when the cutting up wasfinished, he ordered the men to shoulder their burdens. But taking alook at the stranger before setting off after his men, John felt surethat he was making straight towards him across the broken country; andsince he was in the middle of a wide plain, trackless and bare, hewondered whether the stranger had some definite purpose in so directinghis course. Letting the bearers go on in advance, he decided to waitwith Bill for the man.
As he came more clearly into view, John perceived that he was movingvery slowly and with manifest difficulty. When he came up, and John,who had by this time more than a smattering of Swahili, questioned him,the man explained that he was a Baganda, and had been sent to seek helpfor a safari nearly a day's march to the north-east. The master of thesafari was a young msungu (white man), and John was able to make outfrom what the messenger said that the party was in extreme danger from"bad men." The msungu had sent him out at night on the chance offinding help, but he had not been able to move fast because he was veryweak and hungry.
John was in a quandary. On the one hand his inclination prompted him toset off at once to the aid of a fellow white man: on the other hand hehad no force at command which could hope to intervene effectually if the"bad men" were in considerable numbers. He was some miles from thefarm, and even if he hurried back he could not raise a strong party.Coja was the only man on the farm besides himself who could use a rifle,and John was very doubtful whether he could induce any of the villagersto leave their own ground on a fighting expedition. Still, he felt thatsomething must be done. He asked the Baganda whether he could use arifle, and on being answered in the affirmative, he first gave the mansome food from the little stock he had brought for his own use, and thenbade him wait with the Wanderobbo while he returned to the farm.
On arriving he dispatched Wasama with the news to the nearest governmentstation, Fort Hall, forty miles to the south-west. Then he ordered SaidMohammed to make ready a supply of food, and Coja to saddle threedonkeys, and within a quarter of an hour he was hurrying back over histracks, Coja beside him leading the third donkey. Each had his rifle,and Coja carried a third for the Baganda.
They found the man where he had been left with Bill, looking much thebetter for his meal. John sent Bill back to the farm, and then, theBaganda having mounted, the party of three set off to the relief of thesafari. The route lay first north and then north-west round a steephill, which John concluded was one of the foothills of Mount Kenya. Itwas very rough going at times, the messenger having made his way in adirect line, up hill and down dale, and he had to return over the sameground lest he should lose the track and go astray. Fortunately thedonkeys were sure-footed, and only a few stumbles on the sides ofprecipitous descents reminded John subsequently that he had taken risksin his excitement and haste which he would scarcely have faced in coldblood. He felt that he could have travelled faster on foot, and theBaganda was plainly ill at ease on the donkey's back; but not knowingwhat might be demanded of him, he had thought it wise to ride so as tohusband his strength. They saw no signs of habitation: indeed, thewhole of the region through which they passed was a wilderness, owing,as was learnt afterwards, to Masai raids in a not remote past.
It was close upon nightfall when, on topping a rise, they came in sightof the spot where, as the Baganda said, his master was beset by the badmen. It appeared to be about three miles off. The actual place couldnot be seen, owing to intervening patches of woodland, but on proceedinga little farther, the guide pointed out a dark shape on the plain whichhe said was a camp of bad men, and some distance beyond it John was ableto descry the boma within which the white man had entrenched himself.
On the way he had succeeded in getting a few more details from theBaganda, by the interpreting aid of Coja. It appeared that two wasunguhad been making a sporting expedition from northern Uganda by way ofLake Rudolf to the Kenya district. The elder msungu had been seizedwith swamp fever in the neighbourhood of the lake, but had pushed onsouthward instead of resting, with the result that he became worse andworse and at last died near Mount Sil, eighty miles north of MountKenya. The safari had already found the tribes through which it hadpassed somewhat troublesome, and as after the bwana's death it travelledsouthward, it came into a region where the people were openly hostile,and hung on its skirts, watching for any opportunity of taking it at adisadvantage. The party had, however, got safely to the Waso Nyiroriver, which they had crossed a week ago; but then they had beenattacked one night by a tribe of Embe, one of the fiercest and mostquarrelsome of East African peoples. Some of the porters were killed,others deserted, and the young msungu himself was wounded. The attackhad been beaten off, and the boma round the camp had been strengthened,and when the messenger left they were holding out against a much largerbody
of natives and in dire straits because their food was runningshort.
The safari consisted of forty men, with only ten rifles among them. Johntried to ascertain how many the assailants numbered, but the Bagandacould only speak vaguely of a very great host. Moving forwardcautiously so as not to be seen by the enemy, John soon perceived asecond camp on the further side of the boma: it was plain that thesavages were subjecting the camp to a strict investment, knowing that,even if they could not break in, want of food would soon compel thebeleaguered to surrender. But while it was clearly impossible for thewhite man's party to make any movement as a body without discovery, itdid not appear to John that the blockade was so close as to preventindividuals from entering or leaving the camp under cover of night;indeed, the Baganda had slipped out in the darkness and escapeddetection. John therefore asked him whether he was willing to make anattempt to get in during the coming night, and tell his master that helpwas coming. The man said that he thought he could pass the enemysafely, but he would certainly be shot at from the msungu's camp if hisapproach was heard, and that was a risk he did not care to run. Withsome persuasion and the promise of a handsome present John induced themessenger to try his luck, instructing him to make a big fire if he gotin safely, or if that was impossible through lack of fuel, to ask hismaster to fire two shots in rapid succession. John would then endeavourto enter the camp. He did not suppose, of course, that a reinforcementof two would enable the besieged party to turn the tables on thebesiegers, but he hoped that his presence would be taken as an earnestof help to come from Fort Hall, and would at least encourage the men tohold out.
The three waited until darkness covered the ground, having meanwhiletethered the animals. Then the Baganda set off on foot just after seveno'clock with a small bundle of food strapped to his back so as not toencumber his movements. The minutes passed slowly; there was no signfrom the encampment; and after what seemed hours John ventured to strikea match under cover of the bush and look at his watch. It was onlyeight. But there had been time enough for the Baganda to have reachedthe encampment, and John wondered what had happened to him. He did notthink he had been captured, for that would have been announced by ashout or a shot. Only a few minutes after he had looked at his watchthere was a sudden bright glare in the direction of the encampment: oneflash and then darkness. This was followed by a confused murmur ofvoices, and then by several irregular shots. At the same time two fireswere lighted, one on the north and the other on the south of theencampment--a clear sign that the besiegers meant to hold their groundduring the night, the fires having been kindled to keep off wild beasts.John guessed that the white man within the boma had adopted the flare asa better signal than the one he had suggested; undoubtedly the Bagandahad reached the camp in safety.
The problem now was to follow him without being detected. The flare hadshown John the exact direction in which he should go; but it had alsoput the besiegers on the alert, though it was unlikely that they had anysuspicion at present of the meaning of the light. Luckily no fire hadbeen kindled on the west side of the camp, on which there was no gate,and as the night was pitch dark, John hoped with care to escape thenotice of the savages. Leaving the animals tethered, he crept forwardwith Coja, a little nervous lest he should stumble upon some obstructionor go astray in the darkness. The plain was covered with grass up tohis knees, and here and there clumps of mimosa. As the two creptforward the sky in front of them was momentarily lit up by anotherflare. "He's got his wits about him, whoever he is," thought John.Again he heard shots, but he could not tell whether they were firedwithin or without the boma. The Baganda had not reported that thebesiegers had rifles: one or two of them, he said, had very old guns;but the shots were evidently those of rifles, and John wondered whetherthe besiegers had been reinforced during the day.
The two men, making slow progress, and guided by the flares which wereshown at intervals, drew gradually nearer to the camp. Suddenly a flashshowed them a clump of bush between them and the boma, which Johnguessed to be now about a hundred and fifty yards distant. They layflat in the grass until the flare had died down, then crept to the edgeof the bush, John hoping to find a speedy opportunity of making a dashfor the camp. Just as they reached the clump Coja stumbled over hisrifle, making a slight rustle among the grass. Instantly there was alow call, apparently from the other side of the bush. A man was on thewatch there. "Speak to him," John whispered to Coja, who whispered backthat he did not know what tribe the man belonged to, and to speak mightbe dangerous. John felt that the critical moment was come. He darednot retreat: that would arouse suspicion: nor durst he stay inertlywhere he was, for the man might come towards them. Yet to attempt todash past him across the open would be to risk a shot or a spear at suchclose range that the chance of escape would be small, for though thenight was dark, there was enough glimmer from the stars to enable analert enemy to take aim, besides a reflected glow from the camp fires.He made up his mind instantly to venture on a bold course. Whispering toCoja to follow him closely, he wriggled as quietly as possible throughthe bush, and came upon a man sitting on his haunches with a rifle ormusket across his knees, watching the boma. He half turned his head ashe heard the slight rustle of John's approach, but did not rise.Dropping his rifle, John gathered himself together and sprang full uponthe man, throwing his left arm round his neck in a strangling embrace.Before the captive could utter more than a gurgle, John's handkerchiefwas stuffed into his mouth. Then in a swift whisper, while he stillheld the savage firmly, John ordered Coja to take the man's weapon andcreep towards the boma. Giving him a minute's start, John suddenlyflung the man from him, seized his own rifle, and sprinted across theopen, overtaking Coja just as he reached the fence. At the same momenta shout was raised from the rear: the sentry had apparently been toomuch dazed to give the alarm before. Calling in Swahili and English towarn the garrison of their presence, John and Coja stood at the boma,looking vainly for a place to enter. There was an answering shout of"This way!" They ran towards it, and after stumbling for a few seconds,came to a narrow gap. John felt his hand grasped and was lugged intothe enclosure: Coja followed him; and they were barely inside when aspattering volley of bullets tore through the thorn defences.
"You did that jolly well," said a pleasant voice, and John was shakinghands with a young man of about his own height. "Come and have a talkin my blockhouse."
Settlers and Scouts: A Tale of the African Highlands Page 9
