Baker's Woman

by Tess Enroth

  “Not at all, John, it would be a convenience for me. Spare me the cost and worry of leaving them in this nasty place.”

  When Sam, Petherick, and Murie took their discussion to John’s study below, Kate spoke her mind.

  “Well, now, I had not expected to meet another fool. Not every wife will follow her husband this far.”

  “Is it possible we are even stranger than these men? We have no need for fame or glory, yet here we are.”

  “You must want to be here.”

  “And so must you, Kate.”

  “Maybe, but I know it’s my duty. I knew where we’d be going when I agreed to marry.”

  “But you could have stayed in Khartoum in that beautiful house.”

  “I could. But I wouldn’t,” Kate said and uttered a quick laugh that encouraged Florence to go further.

  “Are you sorry, Kate? Do you ever regret following your husband to places like this?”

  “I made my choice. I do not look back nor indulge in regret.”

  “But you do love him, don’t you?”

  “Do not talk so. A wife goes where her husband goes. John Petherick needs me, and I am here. Samuel Baker needs you, and that’s why you’re here. Men need their wives.”

  Kate was not smiling now, and her face looked closed against any more questions. Florence expected her to be complacent but not resigned. Perhaps she did know something about Ferasha or else she was of two minds about the role of patient wife.

  “You’ve made the choice, my dear,” Kate added, “I wish you joy in it.”

  That evening when John Speke and James Grant set foot aboard their dahabiah, Sam presented Florence as his “wife and partner” and led them to the top deck. Petherick and Murie were sipping sherry and continuing a conversation Sam had begun about slavers and ivory traders, and Grant immediately joined in. However, Speke remained silent, his sharp eyes darting from face to face as he tipped back glass after glass.

  Kate and Florence listened, exchanging a glance now and again. When Achmed came up from the galley and stood near enough to catch Florence’s eye, she stood and announced dinner.

  A slight breeze abetted by ostrich plume fans in the hands of two servants kept the air moving at the dining table. Candles glowed in the wall sconces, and a tureen of plantain soup steamed on the sideboard as Sam seated Kate on his right and the Consul held Florence’s chair at the foot of the table. He and Grant sat across the table from Speke, who kept his head down as if reading the pattern on his plate. John Petherick smiled at Florence, his clear blue eyes sparkling.

  “You look as fine as any London hostess with a staff of servants.”

  “I have never been to London, Mr. Petherick, but I have a good Nubian cook and serving man.”

  “Both of whom she taught and trained,” Sam added.

  Throughout the meal, Speke remained taciturn and Grant spoke more than was his custom. When the men left the table to smoke on deck, Kate remarked that Speke was ill at ease. Florence said she thought he must be very tired.

  “Exhausted, but then so is John. And so am I. Your dinner was good, but I must ask John to take me home.”

  “I wish you a good night’s rest, in your familiar bed and cabin. I know I’ll miss mine when we take to our tent.”

  Later Sam told Florence Speke had no inclination to be on good terms with Petherick, and he and Grant would most willingly take over Baker’s boats and sailing crew.

  “So the two men will go their way and Petherick his.”

  “You did what you could, Sam. I hope they won’t try to move in here until we are fully moved out!”

  “That will be soon. Koorshid’s party is getting ready to leave here, and it’s to our advantage to travel near them. We’ll begin tomorrow, setting up camp on the parade and packing our cargo.”

  Florence enjoyed those last days on the boat that had been their home for three months. She packed the treasures and books that had to be left in the warehouse. Touching the spines of Sam’s journals, she felt solid evidence of their accomplishments. Opening one, she admired Sam’s neat, strong hand on the title page:

  UNTRODDEN AFRICA

  A Journal of the Expedition to Find the Sources of the Nile River

  Volume I, 1862

  Before me, untrodden Africa; against me, the obstacle that had defeated the world since its creation; on my side, a somewhat tough constitution, perfect independence, a long experience in savage life, and both time and means which I intend to devote to the object without limit.

  Florence recalled how excited she’d been in Constanta as she listened to Sam tell of his dreams of Africa. Turning the pages and finding Johann’s death, she recalled her grief. And then Ballaal’s name caught her eye, and she leaned over the desk to read Sam’s brief account of the mutiny, ending:

  “Such was the fellow’s impertinence that I immediately ordered twenty-five lashes as an example to the others.”

  She smiled to see herself described as “possessing a share of sangfroid admirably adapted for African travel.”

  She replaced the journal exactly as she had found it and gathered up the last of her own things, including Adrianna’s letter though she no longer needed the comfort it had given her. With arms full of books, including her dictionaries, Florence left the dahabiah, reminding herself to look up sangfroid to see how those two French words had become a compliment in English.

  Chapter 21

  Beyond Gondokoro

  Florence had little to do but watch final preparations for the safari. The drivers were trimming hooves and examining the animals that appeared healthy despite attacks by small birds.

  The brown birds’ sharp red beaks left sores that often festered, and had blinded through infection the horse they had bought in Khartoum. Sam took men with shovels and led the small horse into the bush and while she was grooming Filfil, Florence heard the crack of the pistol.

  “It was one last sorry act in this sorry place,” Sam said when he returned.

  The following day, he mustered all his men and spoke to them of loyalty and purpose and forbade their leaving camp. He hoped when Gondokoro’s lure was behind them, his rebels would settle down, and meanwhile their departure occupied his thoughts. Koorshid warned him that Ibrahim, the leader of the next trading venture, was often surly. He didn’t like having strangers about, but wouldn’t be overtly hostile if Sam’s caravan kept a moderate distance. The head porter was friendly as well as reliable, and would see that Sam’s caravan would be alerted to any dangers.

  The head porter, Adda, was not from the local tribe, and when he came to talk, Sam saw a tall, muscular youth who wore nothing other than a glass bead helmet. Reaching into a carton of gifts, pulled out a square of red cotton cloth and offered it to Adda to cover his loins. Adda folded it into a triangle and tied it around his waist, with knot in front and point behind. Straining his neck to look behind him, he turned to show Sam and Florence how it looked. Then he said what he came to say about the first chieftain they were likely to encounter and about his own tribe they would meet later. When he had gone, Sam commented on the conversation.

  “Koorshid warned us about Ibrahim. Now Adda warns us that Chief Legge and the Ellyrians were not to be trusted. I wonder if someone will warn us about Adda.”

  “I shouldn’t think that likely. It’s obvious Adda has nothing to hide.”

  “I noticed you kept your eyes on his face, so you must have been judging his sincerity.”

  In late afternoon Sam went to the dahabiah to take leave of the crew and Grant and Speke. After that he boarded Pethericks’ boat, where he found only Kate.

  She said John and Dr. Murie would be sorry to miss his visit but would come to see them off the next day.

  In the morning the steady beat of drums woke Florence, and by noon she and Sam saw dust rising from the traders’ camp. It was one o’clock before the traders’ column rode past, flying the Turkish ensign. Only Adda raised a hand in farewell, and Sam waved back and then went to
see Richarn. Saat had a crew ready to complete the work of loading the animals, but when Sam walked among the men, he saw no Bari guides or interpreters. His own men told Sam that the drunken traders’ lies and threats made the natives fear traveling with the strangers, and they had gone back to their village.

  “They didn’t even trust the promises of their own chief. We are just as well off without them. We’ll make our own way around that mountain. We can follow Ibrahim’s trail without overtaking him, and then Adda’s Chief will provide us with excellent guides.”

  The seven camels were heavily loaded, each carrying as much as seven hundred pounds. The donkeys carried a rider now and then instead of their loads, and leather bags were slung on the horses’ pommels. As the sun dropped low in the west, Petherick and Murie arrived to wish them well and to report that their own preparations for leaving Gondokoro were nearly complete.

  As the caravan rode away from Gondokoro, the moon was rising in the eastern sky over Mount Belignan, and Sam and Florence, side by side on their Abyssinian horses, took notice of the date. It was on March 26, 1863, almost two years since they set sail on the Nile from Cairo. Behind them Osman rode on a donkey and held high the British flag, and Achmed sat proudly on the smallest horse, Mouse. After them came the line of camels, pairs of donkeys, and astride the last pair, Richarn and Saat kept their eyes sharp and rifles ready.

  “A short first march, in the cool of evening – a good way to break in the men and animals.”

  “And through country so beautiful and clean it wipes away the smells and sights of Gondokoro.”

  The terrain was almost park-like with little underbrush and fine stands of evergreen trees at intervals along sandy stretches where now and then, from behind hedges, the sounds of voices and drums emanated. After three hours, they spotted the traders’ campfires and were seen by sentries who called out warnings that they would not share their site. Sam made no reply but kept his train moving for another hour before he saw a place to stop, a good place, offering water and grasses, land where they could hobble the animals and find wood for fires.

  “We need no shelters,” Sam declared. “Nights like this, with clear weather and the sounds of drums, a bivouac is called for. I will take the first watch.”

  “And I’ll enjoy falling asleep under the stars.”

  “I know you’ll be safe,” Sam said, as he laid a carpet for Florence to make their bed, “and I look forward to joining you.”

  “I feel secure, you know, safe yet not content without you. I’ll count the stars. Was there ever a lovelier sky?”

  Florence dismissed all concern for the desertion of the guides and the surliness of Ibrahim’s sentries. Their own men were reliable, and Adda was friendly and guileless. And Sam’s strength and ingenuity were boundless.

  At sunrise, the crest of Mount Belignan floated above mists that would soon burn off. As Florence mounted Tetel and Sam stood by Filfil, they heard hoof-beats, and out of the bushes rode Ibrahim, his white keffiyeh catching the light and his black horse nearly invisible.

  “Don’t turn your back, Sam,” Florence warned, “he’ll be offended. This is his territory. Speak to him.”

  “It’s no more his than ours. He knows we’re Koorshid’s friends, yet he behaves as if we’re enemies.”

  “True, but don’t be stubborn!”

  Florence raised an arm and greeted Ibrahim in Arabic, but though only a few yards away, the trader gave no sign of hearing her. Sam lifted a hand in greeting as the trader dismounted and strode toward them. The men bowed to each other, Ibrahim with palms pressed, Sam with his hands flat at his sides.

  “Good morning,” Florence said again. Ibrahim ignored her and addressed Sam:

  “You passed our sentries. Had you been following us?”

  “We saw you ride out of Gondokoro ahead of us. We knew better than to expect your cooperation.”

  “I know nothing about any cooperation. This territory is mine, my established route. I want no interference.”

  The challenge angered Sam, but he held his temper and replied in an even tone.

  “Our passage has been granted. I hold papers signed by the Pasha in Khartoum. Koorshid Aga suggested we keep our caravan near those of his traders. We do not intend to interfere with your business.” As Sam spoke, his annoyance diminished, yet he knew his words sounded arrogant. “We are here without malice.

  “We mean to cooperate with men of reason and do not compete with you, sir, nor any other traders.” Sam paused, but Ibrahim said nothing. “However, should any harm come to us, should we be attacked, driven out, or unaccountably lost, forces of the British Empire will be swift to avenge any indignity or pain inflicted upon subjects of Her Majesty Queen Victoria.”

  As the rest of Ibrahim’s caravan waited restlessly behind him, Ibrahim bowed to Sam and glanced at Florence with a nod that barely acknowledged her presence. Florence looked back without a flicker of expression.

  “The Englishman has shown his friendship and asks for our protection,” he announced to his men.

  To demonstrate his cooperation, Sam reached for the rifle Florence always kept near, and he raised it in the air and told the traders they could claim any tusker it brought down. Sam and Ibrahim again bowed to each other and, as the traders rode off, Sam bowed to Florence and returned her rifle.

  “Most diplomatic,” she said.

  “Of course this rifle will not bring down even a very small elephant.”

  They rode out half an hour behind the traders and by after­ noon were near the Tollogo foothills.

  Having seen no trace of the traders, Sam suspected they had altered their route or holed up somewhere in order to lose them. When they saw smoke rise beyond a cluster of shrubs and trees, the caravan halted, and Sam and Florence cantered ahead until they met several natives on foot. The men showed no animosity but came close and responded to Sam’s Arabic. One went to summon an elder who soon appeared and listened to Sam’s offer of copper and beads in exchange for a guide. After much bargaining, he agreed to send two young men to take them to the pass in the Tollogo range.

  The guides warned that they would not cross with them. They said it was not a hard journey but although the Tollogos were not high, the pass would be difficult. They gestured to indicate a steep rise through jagged rocks.

  In less than two days the caravan came in sight of granite buttes, and at the base on a rocky path into a canyon, the guides asked for their pay and left them. The men made camp as Sam and Richarn investigated the rock-strewn rise. It was indeed steep, and Sam knew the camels could not carry their loads to the top. Their cloven hooves, which spread to find such sure footing in sand, would not do well on rubble and sharp rocks. It would be necessary to rig up a pulley system to lift the loads over the summit. By dusk, Sam and his crew had put together a winch and hoist system that the men were eager to operate, but he knew it would work and said they would start at dawn.

  The camp had settled into silence when the crack and rustle of breaking sticks and brush woke Sam and Florence.

  They heard their sentry shout and, as Sam lifted the tent flap, two tall men stepped into firelight, their naked bodies shining with sweat. They had answered the sentry, and Sam recognized them as Latookas who had been with Adda in Gondokoro. They had slipped away from Ibrahim’s caravan the previous night after he had threatened to beat them. They planned to return to their Latooka people and offered to serve Sam’s group as guides. Sam was gratified by this extraordinary stroke of luck, and he welcomed the men and promised them a reward.

  In the early morning, Sam sent the five strongest men to the top of the cliff to rig the winch and hoists. Others loaded the cargo into net slings and climbed to places where the loads might stall on the way up. Meanwhile, drivers led the now unburdened camels over the pass, prodding them while staying out of range of their spit. The donkeys trudged up carrying light loads, and when all the cargo had reached the top, Sam, with Florence a few yards ahead of him, climbed up with th
e last of the men.

  The descent was less arduous despite the loose gravel, and there were no injurious falls. Only three or four slings snagged in the thickets and were easily freed.

  On comparatively level ground once again, Achmed and Osman located supplies quickly and served a substantial meal. The men felt proud of their work and the system they believed Sam had invented, and they sprawled on the coarse grass to enjoy the mid-day rest. Sam and Florence listened to the Latookas tell how Ibrahim boasted he could arouse all of Ellyria’s natives against the Englishman’s band. Their words reinforced Sam’s determination to stay as far as possible from the traders, and when the meal was finished, he ordered the men to reload the camels and donkeys. A few groaned but everyone got up to pitch in, and the caravan soon made its way along the lower slopes.

  The terrain was more hazardous than it first appeared, with coarse vegetation hiding rocks and ankle-turning holes. Rivulets had carved narrow trenches into which the animals stumbled, and thorny shrubs tore garments and ripped bags, spilling precious salt, rice, and coffee.

  Riding at the head of the caravan, Sam and Florence strained to see hazards that lay ahead and to shout out warnings like “snake” or “thorns” or “hole,” and the men relayed the words to those behind. When twilight made caution impossible, Sam called a halt and meted out sentry duty. The drivers unloaded and tethered the animals, then lay on their bedrolls, where Achmed and Osman passed out kisras and tea. They were all tired enough to sleep no matter where they lay yet were glad for a dry night. Only Sam, with a tinge of anxiety, noticed it was too black to see a thing beyond the fires.

  * * *

  At dawn when Florence awoke, she sat up, looked around and touched Sam’s shoulder lightly, then urgently. It was obvious that they had come through the worst country in the dark, and when Sam sat up, he saw it too. Their camp lay on the edge of a plain covered with dark green vegetation sparkling with dew. Not far from them, five giraffes nibbled at the leaves of the acacia trees, their long tongues working agilely among the thorns.