Baker's Woman

by Tess Enroth

  “We’ll take our time, a little progress each day, and we’ll reach our goal. We will find the lake and go home.” Florence smiled when she saw what Richarn and Saat had contrived for her comfort.

  “A palanquin, my dear. You’ll ride like a princess.”

  “And the poor wretches must carry me, what a shame.”

  “You deserve no less, Florrie.”

  * * *

  Four men at a time shouldered the canopied cot, and as Sam pointed out to her, her ox would easily carry the men’s loads.

  On the rugged terrain, the bed swayed and tilted, and Florence tried to suppress her gasps, but most of the time she slept.

  The first night, they camped near a village where Achmed was able to buy fresh food, and he found a medicine man who came with him to treat her. Sam wouldn’t allow the man to administer his potions but let the village women bathe her while he did his dance. The women brushed her hair, murmuring over its golden waves. They laid aromatic leaves on her breast and dropped honey on her tongue. Their attentions soothed Florence, and she slept well.

  For ten days they passed through shoulder-high grass and thickets where the men had to hack away thorny bushes and barbed vines. Kamrasi had said it was twenty days to the lake, and if he was right they should be there by now, but Sam appeared confident and told Florence he was sure the lake was near, yet she worried. She imagined they would awake one morning to find Kamrasi’s man gone. They would be lost. The huts they passed were deserted.

  They hadn’t seen a native for days.

  In mid-afternoon the bearers set her cot down in the shade of a cabbage tree and sprawled on the ground for a brief rest. She was wakened by shrill whistles and howls that split the air, and over a hill to the east, a mob of black men came, and she was certain this meant trouble. She buried her face in her pillow, but the howls ceased, replaced by shouts and laughter. She tried to lift her head when she saw Achmed and Hammad and some other men dancing around Sam. Six women came into sight with baskets on their heads and jugs in their arms, and Sam came to her side talking about “lake people.”

  “They come from a village they call Parkani, and they say if we start early tomorrow, we can dip our hands in the lake by noon!”

  Welcome as those words were, Florence couldn’t speak and barely managed a smile.

  “Florence, it means we are almost there! In the morning these men will lead us to Luta N’zige. Now, we’ll enjoy the feast the women brought and get a good sleep.”

  “I can’t believe it, Sam. And here I lie, so weak I can barely walk- sorry to be so helpless.”

  “You are hardly that, my dearest. You are on the mend and merely need a little more time. You’ll see it differently then.”

  She tried to believe it was true but she felt nothing. She lay back and slept.

  * * *

  One of the lake people, a powerfully built young man, more than six feet tall, had promised he would guide them. He called himself Rabonga and said he would be back by sun-up. Sam hardly slept, excited by high hopes that clashed with his awareness that he should be prepared for more delays. Finally he ceased efforts to sleep, and he left his cot to walk around camp and watch the eastern sky brighten. It was not long before Rabonga joined him, and soon they woke the men for the routine work of departure.

  Sam went to wake Florence and was happy when she smiled and spoke cheerfully of the day ahead.

  The caravan set out toward the hilly horizon beyond which distant mountain tops emerged from the morning mist. The cool morning stimulated Sam’s spirits and strengthened his hopes. It renewed his determination not to be disappointed if, beyond the hills, there was no more than another river running through yet another valley. They were trekking across a beautiful land under a cloudless sky, and he told himself to enjoy it. But by late morning, his patience waned, and spurring his ox, he quickly outdistanced the company with only Rabonga with him, running easily at his side.

  A few feet below the crest, Sam dismounted and handed the reins to Rabonga. Alone, his heart pounding in anticipation, he marched forward and stood at the summit.

  There, with the sun almost overhead ln the brilliant sky, he saw a silvery expanse of water that stretched to the horizon on the south and east, and fifty or sixty miles to the west where a mile-high range of blue mountains rose above the water stretched north and south. Sam’s eyes were still dazzled by the glittering panorama when he looked down and, 1500 feet below, saw the lake rippling gently against a sandy shore.

  Scarcely able to draw a breath, he raised his eyes and, lifting his arms, dropped to his knees. He had planned to say a prayer of thanks, had meant to stand and lead his men in a very British three cheers, but now those responses did not match what he felt. He felt, not triumphant, but overwhelmed with humility and gratitude for his discovery, for his portion of a solution to the mystery of the waters of the Nile.

  Rising to his feet, he turned and saw the men running up the bank, and he saw Florence sitting on the edge of her angarep, looking up at him. He rushed down to her. Their eyes met, and without a word, he lifted her in his arms and carried her to the crest. They stood, arms clasped around each other, and they gazed at the manifestation of their long-held dream. Sam felt her draw a deep breath, felt her breathe in the scent of water and its freshened air, and saw her face glow with joy.

  “Beautiful, beautiful, Sam. Our lake looks cool and fresh.”

  “Our lake, yes, it is our lake, Florrie. Our dream lies before us. I shall name it Lake Albert, for the Prince Consort, a foreigner whom our queen loved deeply. It is the companion to Speke’s Lake Victoria, and together they are the source of great bounty. You and I were destined to find it, Florrie, the source of the White Nile, the river that nourishes a continent.”

  “Oh, Sam, it is your finding and reaching the lake, that is what is wonderful. It’s a dream you made come true.”

  “We made come true, our effort, our struggle, our reward.” Oblivious to the dancing and shouting men, they stood in close embrace, prolonging the moment. Sam wanted to be sure this beautiful woman who had shared the disappointments now shared the rapture.

  “We must go down there, to the shore. Can you walk, Florrie, with my support?”

  “Oh, yes, Sam. I cannot believe how well I feel, though I know I’m not truly strong yet.”

  The bluff facing the lake was steep with outcroppings of bare granite, and their descent was slow. Sam held her close to his side, feeling out each step on the way down, and following Rabonga, who first tested every foothold. Sam paused often to let Florence sit and rest.

  At the bottom, he settled her on a flat rock, pulled off his boots, and ran across the coarse, hard-packed sand and into the lake. He scooped the cool water into his mouth and, in his cupped hands, carried water to Florence, and she drank. He looked into her eyes and smoothed back her hair with his wet hands.

  “A kind of baptism, Florrie, for you and me!” He sat at her feet, his head on her thigh. “March 16, 1864. We’ve traveled a long road in our five years together.”

  “Next month will make it three years since we left Cairo. That’s not so long, considering all we’ve seen.”

  “It is good to hear you say that. But it must have seemed too long sometimes.”

  “Not often, dearest,” Florence said, and then her voice lifted as she asked, “and now we can go back?”

  Chapter 26

  Looking northwest along the shore of the lake, they saw signs of habitation, but not wanting to make the pack animals descend the scarp, Sam sent the caravan along the ridge while he and Rabonga went down to walk along the shore. They passed a pile of broken fishing gear and then by cane grids where a row of four foot long perch lay drying. After two hours they came upon a village fifty feet back from the shoreline and nestled in the curve of cliffs. Between straw dwellings and the shore, bamboo racks were festooned with ropes of drying plantain fiber. Huge iron hooks lay half buried in sand, and harpoons and wooden floats leaned against dugou
t canoes. Sam considered the great strength it would require to throw one of those huge spears and then to haul a hippo’s carcass ashore on a float.

  Rabonga assured Sam these fishermen, also of the Parkani tribe, would be helpful, and Sam counted on that.

  “Offer our greetings and ask permission for our company to camp on the bluff for a while. Try to find out where the flow of waters in and out of the lake may be found. And then, ask if they have men who will go with us.”

  Sam knew he had to locate the outflow into the White Nile as well as a connection between this lake and the Somerset Nile.

  Only finding these connections could validate his claims of Lake Albert as a source of the Nile.

  “I want to hire boats and oarsmen who can take us along the shore. You must make them understand what we require.”

  The village people listened to Rabonga and agreed to help.

  The leaders sat with Sam to listen to what he had in mind and to share their knowledge of the lake. The leader said he would sell them the canoes and provide skillful oarsmen who knew the lake.

  He also offered huts they could live in while they prepared for a lake voyage. Sam gestured toward the cliffs and said he would be with his caravan above, but he gratefully accepted the offer of huts for Rabonga and some of his men. He then traded beads and bracelets for two kids, which he and Rabonga carried on a zigzag path up the cliff.

  Under Richarn’s direction, the men had set up camp, and Achmed was happy to make an excellent meal of the kids. He told Sam Florence had rested well on the way and that the meat would be good for her.

  “Splendid! We’ll celebrate today’s discovery with a feast to show our men their perseverance is appreciated.”

  Rabonga declined the feast, saying he would rather go back to the village; he then bowed to Florence and took Sam’s hand to wish them good-evening. It seemed to be a ceremonious departure, and Sam wondered if Rabonga would be there the next morning; it was merely a passing thought which he didn’t mention to Florence.

  “The people in the village invited us to stay,” he said, “but their whole town reeks of fish. You would not enjoy a stay in one of their huts.”

  Sitting in front of the tent after dinner, they watched the moon rise above the mountains on the far side of Lake Albert, and it occurred to them they might be those “Mountains of the Moon” the Greeks had claimed were the Nile’s source. The moon lay a glittering carpet across the lake, and for beauty, it rivaled their first sight of “their lake.” Only when Achmed had cleared away their coffee cups, did Sam get around to talk about what was to come, their next task.

  “We have done what we dreamed of, Florrie, achieved what we both hoped for. Yet it’s not complete. We must be certain there will be no cloud over our discovery.”

  He sketched plans to follow the shore to the mouth of the Somerset Nile and after that to find a river, the Nile, flowing out of the lake. And while Florence knew the need to prove their claims, Sam wanted to be sure she understood the danger inherent in this delay.

  “We need to reach Gondokoro while the Nile is at flood, that is, before the last boats leave for Khartoum.”

  “I understand, Sam. I know you’ll do what must be done and that we must hope and pray for the best.”

  Sam knew she was determined to sound the right note and, in a surge of gratitude for her trust in his decisions, he took her in his arms.

  “Oh, Florrie, I do cherish you. You’re the best companion and bravest, finest friend a man could ever hope to find.”

  He took her hand and led her to the edge of the bluff where they could savor their present joy and recapture the joy of their first sight of the lake, the goal they had so long sought.

  In the morning Sam took Richarn, Saat, and four others with him to the village and found Rabonga waiting to lead them to the head man. Negotiating began and soon solved the problem of their excess equipment, trading every item they could conceivably do without to get the necessary canoes, supplies, and boatmen.

  When the materials were supplied, Sam and his own men fitted out the two dugouts. With his auger, Sam drilled holes in the gunwales for oars and used long, supple poles to frame a cover of reeds and ox hides, creating a turtle shell on each boat to keep off sun and rain. In one canoe he fashioned a reed floor and ox- hide benches to make a comfortable cabin for Florence and himself. Extra plaids were turned into sails for masts Richarn and Saat had erected, and Florence had to laugh at this product of Sam’s ingenuity.

  The chief told Sam what he knew of the lake and the nations around it, saying that most peoples were friendly but the lake was perilous. Sam said he intended to stay close to the shore, and the chief named which tribes he might encounter: Chopi, Uganda, Utumbi, and Karagwe. His men could take them a short distance to the mouth of a river that came through many cataracts and emptied into the lake at a village called Magungo. The other place that Sam needed to locate was where a river flowed out of the lake, and the chief said it was beyond the town of Koshi.

  His canoes had followed it downstream as far as the rapids, which at this time were beyond the war between the Maadis and Koshis.

  Sam now believed there was little hope of going down this part of the river and then caravanning east to Katchiba’s land, where they hoped to restock supplies and return to Gondokoro before the end of April. It was not going to be possible. The more realistic alternative was to have Rabonga take the oxen and heavy camping equipment to Magungo and wait for them there.

  On their first day on the lake, clouds obscured the far side, but the water was calm and the scenery beautiful. Two Vacovians handled oars at each end of the two canoes while Sam and Richarn maneuvered the sails to catch any helpful breeze.

  From time to time, oarsmen threw handfuls of small blue stones into the water, magic to keep hippos away, they said, but Sam put his faith in the elephant gun at his side to protect them.

  That evening, a storm swept up the length of the lake and nearly swamped them. They dragged the boats onto the mudflats and spent the night huddled under in their shelters. Sam and Florence slept under their turtle shell on damp bedding and by morning both felt ill and feverish. But the sky was clear and they launched the boats. Because the waves were still high, they hugged the shore, where mosquitoes swarmed around their heads and crocodiles stared at them and slapped their tails in the muddy shallows.

  After another three days, the boatmen said they were near Magungo. When they had beached the boats on a clean sand beach, they said they would go to the village for the night and started to walk off with the oars. Sam stopped them, took the oars and insisted two of own his men go along to bring back food for supper. His men returned, bringing a native who asked a high price for a few fowls and a kid, and Sam was too ill to argue. After a tasteless meal cooked on a spit, they all made their beds on the beach under a clear sky.

  When morning came and the boatmen had not returned, Sam took Richarn and went after them. All they found was a few miserable shacks and a man who claimed to have no knowledge of boatmen.

  With eight of his own men at the oars they set out on a calm lake and before noon reached Magungo. They found the mouth of a turbid river that didn’t meet Sam’s expectations. If Speke had accurately measured Lake Victoria’s altitude and if he, himself, was right about Lake Albert, the Somerset Nile ought to be a torrent at its mouth. This murky water didn’t even resemble the swift, clear stream they once crossed, let alone a torrent.

  Disappointed and weary, Sam trudged through the town until he found Rabonga, and they set about seeking information. He had sent Richarn and Saat to scout up-river, but when daylight faded, they returned to say it was wider but had no strong current. Sam had, however, learned from townsmen the sluggish river passed through many rapids, and, added to possible breadth of low lands, that might possibly explain its changes.

  He had also found more corroboration of his conviction that if they continued along the shore, they would find the river Nile flowing north out of
the lake. He would investigate, find the outflow, and return here to take their boats up this muddy stream to verify that this same river surges out of Lake Victoria.

  He made arrangements for Rabonga to remain with the oxen and gear while he and the crew went upstream to locate the place they had crossed on their way south. On the way, he hoped to see the extensive cataracts or the great falls they’d heard about. After that it would not be too difficult to trace their steps to Obbo country and then on to Gondokoro.

  But time was running out, and Sam first must see the headwaters of the great river.

  Reeds snagged the oars, cabbage lilies floated around their boats, and for a day the lake seemed a swamp, but then quickly the banks became more defined. Within hours the lake narrowed, and the boatmen could feel the current strengthening, propelling them northward. It was noon the next day when they saw currents purling out of the lake in a narrow stream that Sam was certain was what they were looking for: the White Nile at the start of its long journey to the Mediterranean Sea.

  “It seems so slight, a mere rivulet meandering off to the north,” Florence said.

  “But one that will grow strong enough to cleave rock walls and scour paths through sands and bring life to the continent.”

  Their goal affirmed, they yearned to ride that current, to go north with it, to ride downstream until their boats could not pass, and then to trek to Khartoum. But it was impossible. Even if they had already answered the inflow questions, it would be foolhardy to try to navigate impassable cataracts and to face at least two tribes at war. They must refuse the Nile’s inviting current and turn south in the morning.

  Back at the mouth of the muddy tributary, Sam laid out his charts and tried to reconcile his calculations with Speke’s. The only way to make sense of the discrepancy now was to go up the river to the great falls natives described and then on to where his caravan had crossed the river with the Unyoros months ago. Then after a stop at Katchiba’s village for supplies, they could follow the Nile to Gondokoro and, with fortune on their side, arrive in time to sail down the Nile to Khartoum.