Within three months of Mr. Halliday's arrival at his farm, which he
named Alloway after the village of his father's birth, the place had
assumed the orderly appearance of a prosperous settlement. The knoll
was crowned by a neat bungalow; two hundred yards below it stood two
wooden huts appropriated to Said Mohammed and the mistris; at some
distance from this a row of cattle-sheds had been erected; and beyond
these stood the grass huts of Wasama and his son and Lulu the negress,
these being all who remained of the original party. Pens had been made
for the sheep and goats; about twenty acres of land had been prepared
for planting when the rains began; and a dairy had been started, being
cut out of the side of the knoll on which the bungalow stood, for the
sake of coolness and protection from the sun and dust.
The work of the Indians being finished for the present, Mr. Halliday
thought of paying them off; but reflecting that more fencing would be
needed by and by, as well as lambing-pens and cattle-sheds as the stock
increased, he decided to retain the men, even though he could not make
full use of them.
It chanced one day that a Swahili came to the farm with a letter from
Mr. Gillespie, enclosing one addressed to Mr. Halliday, and bearing the
Glasgow postmark and a date nine weeks back. The flap of the envelope
bore the name and address of a firm of lawyers unknown to Mr. Halliday,
and he opened the letter with some curiosity mixed with apprehension.
"Well now," he exclaimed, as he hastily read it, "this is a pretty fix."
"What is it, father?" asked John.
"You've heard me speak of my uncle Alec--the old curmudgeon who lived by
himself and hasn't spoken to any of his family for twenty years. Well,
the poor old man is dead, and these people, Wright and MacKellar, tell
me that he left no will, and understanding that I am the next of kin,
they urge me to come to Glasgow and make good my title. The letter was
written nearly three months ago, and seems by the look of the envelope
to have had an adventurous career."
"But hadn't your uncle any children?"
"One daughter. She married without his consent: I forget the man's
name, and I haven't heard about her for five-and-twenty years."
"What will you do?"
"I'm just thinking. My uncle was a shipowner, and pretty well-to-do:
indeed, your poor mother's friends used to advise me to keep in with
him, but I couldn't toady to the old bear. I suppose I ought to go
back, and yet!---- It's rather upsetting, my boy, just as we are
getting settled. He must have died before we left England, and if I had
known then, and really inherit his property, we needn't have come out at
all, perhaps."
"I'm jolly glad you didn't, then, for I wouldn't have been out of this
for anything."
"That's all very well, but there's the property: it would be a pity to
lose that: shouldn't like it to go out of the family. At the same time,
I'm not inclined to give up the farm; we've made a good start, and I'm
uncommonly interested in it. Besides, I may not be the heir after all;
my cousin may be alive: and I should look a pretty fool after going to
this expense if I cleared out and got nothing--like the dog in the
fable. I think I'd better take a trip back to Nairobi and see
Gillespie. And I'll tell you what I'll do, John. If I decide to go
home, as most likely I shall, I'll find an experienced man in Nairobi
and send him up to take charge while I'm away."
"That's rather rotten," said John with a crestfallen look. "I don't
want anybody here bossing me, father. Why not leave me in charge?"
"You're over young, John," replied Mr. Halliday dubiously.
"I'm just on eighteen, and I've got a bit used to things. I learnt a
lot in that six months at the agricultural college before we started.
I'm not exactly a fool, either. Plenty of fellows have gone to the
Colonies on their own at my age, and done jolly well too. Look at Ned
Cooper; he's got his own ranch in British Columbia, and he's not more
than a year older than I am. Besides, look at the expense. You won't
get a decent Englishman who'll be any good under L300 a year, I should
think, and if this business in Glasgow turns out a frost, you'll be
precious sorry you spent the money."
"There's something in that," said Mr. Halliday, stroking his beard.
"Well, I'll think of it."
The upshot of his meditations was that he decided to do as John
suggested. The lad was unfeignedly delighted; the responsibility did
not daunt him; though he said little he felt capable of carrying on the
work of the farm, and inwardly resolved to have a good budget to show
his father when he returned. Mr. Halliday spent a good many anxious
hours in instilling principles of caution and carefulness into his mind:
he gave directions about the steps to be taken to bring the cattle and
sheep and dairy produce to market when the proper time came; and then
one day he set off with Coja and a couple of villagers as porters,
determined to ask Mr. Gillespie to keep an eye on the boy as far as he
could.
Before leaving he had a little conversation with Said Mohammed, upon
whom he impressed the necessity of paying implicit obedience to his
young master, and of helping him in every possible way.
"Verb. sap., sir," said the Bengali. "Mr. John is a chip of the old
block, a second edition of you, sir, and I esteem myself most fortunate
and in clover to do this trivial round for such a superior person."
Things went on very peacefully and on the whole prosperously at the farm
after Mr. Halliday's departure. He sent Coja back from Nairobi with a
letter in which he wrote that Mr. Gillespie had advised him to return to
England, and had promised to pay John a visit if he found time. The
rains began soon after Mr. Halliday had gone, and John was mortified
when a few of the sheep died through catching a chill; but apart from
this misfortune nothing happened to trouble him. He had no difficulties
with the people under his authority. Coja proved to be a handy man;
Wasama and his son were excellent herdsmen; and Lulu not only did a fair
share of labour in the fields with the villagers, but excelled in
laundry work, and looked after John's simple wardrobe with a neatness
and care which would have put many a London landlady to the blush. As
for Said Mohammed, he was a compendium of utilities. He was cook,
khansaman, and table-servant rolled into one. He was careful to explain
that in India he would scorn to serve in more than one capacity, but
"Tempora mutantur," he quoted impressively, "et nos mutamur in illis."
"Rest, sir, is change of occupation," he said, "and when I have
accomplished the culinary part of my functions, I make a lightning
change and become a dumb waiter, remembering the beautiful words of the
blind epic poet, 'They also serve who only stand and wait.'"
With the beginning of the rains came the season for planting. Mr.
Halliday had brought a variety of seeds with him, for though he hoped to
make money out of stock-raising rather than agriculture, and reckoned on
getting cereals from the neighbouring village for his native and Indian
workers, he was not sure that the villagers would always grow enough to
supply their needs, and he wished also to grow English vegetables and
fruits for his own consumption. John made a start towards the end of
November with oats and wheat; next month he sowed cabbages, peas,
tomatoes, potatoes and vegetable marrows, and planted a few apple-tree
slips. In January he put in cabbages and onions, and finished off with
cauliflowers in February. The great dread of the African cultivator is
drought, but the rains fell almost continuously for three months, so
that there was every prospect of good crops.
The sheep and cattle throve apace. There was no sign of scab or
heartwater in the former, but they were troubled for a time by the
nostril-fly, a pest that lays its eggs in the nasal passages, causing
intense irritation and sometimes a dangerous fever. Two or three of the
animals died, but there happening to be a syringe among the things
brought from Nairobi, John made a point every night of thoroughly
washing out the nostrils of the sheep affected, and had the satisfaction
of preventing any more deaths from this cause, though he never succeeded
in banishing the pests. He felt not a little gratified at pulling one
of the bulls through an attack of pneumonia. After a little trouble in
inducing the two Masai and Lulu to be scrupulous in washing their hands,
he managed to get the dairy into working order. Each cow yielded about
four pounds of milk a day, some of which he turned into butter, which
his people consumed in enormous quantities. All the spare milk over and
above what was used for food was utilized for making cheese, which was
stored in a deep pit until it could be transported to market at Nairobi.
Being dissatisfied with the grass huts which had originally been erected
by the natives, he set the mistris to build substantial houses of logs
and thatch, and found them both cleaner and healthier. They cost no
more than L1 apiece. He also got them to put up a plant-house with
wickerwork sides and thatched roof at a cost of L5. Finding that the
villagers possessed fowls, he bought a number, and this provided more
work for the carpenters. They built a large hen-house of wood with an
iron roof, and fenced in a run of about 1000 square feet in area. With
the prospect of good crops a barn was necessary, and they erected a
wooden building with a floor of about 300 square feet. Having no iron
left, he had to roof this with thatch, resolving to buy more galvanized
roofing on his first visit to Nairobi.
Before all this work was finished some of the vegetables and cereals he
had planted grew to maturity. Said Mohammed gave him turnips for dinner
in February; next month he had some fine tomatoes and potatoes, and by
the beginning of April the most delicious peas and vegetable marrows he
had ever tasted. The grain fields, however, suffered a good deal from
the depredations of weaver birds, and after ineffectual attempts to get
rid of these with his rifle and by setting up scarecrows, John resorted
to a poison supplied by his native neighbours--a decoction of a certain
root. This proved effective. The wheat was ready for reaping in April,
and he was amused to see the natives cut it with knives, they being
quite unable to handle the scythes Mr. Halliday had brought. They
threshed it with sticks and winnowed it with hand-sieves. There was a
small hand-mill among the farm utensils, and by the end of April John
enjoyed the unaccustomed luxury of eating bread baked by Said Mohammed
in an earthen oven. Only half an acre had been sown with wheat, and as
the yield was 400 lbs. of grain John was thoroughly satisfied. The oats
were not ripe until July, and the yield was much less than that of the
wheat; but they made good porridge, and John was able to write to his
father that when he returned he could have the national breakfast.
John had heard from Mr. Halliday several times since his departure. The
first letter arrived early in December, and caused him mingled amusement
and vexation.
----
"Here I am, in Glasgow, flourishing as ever. Tennant's stack is
behaving even worse than usual, and the atmosphere makes me fair sick
after the air of Kenya. I had a horrible passage: we were terribly
knocked about in the Bay, and I got a black eye one night through being
pitched out of my bunk and coming into collision with the ledge of the
one below. There was a teetotal commercial on board (rare bird), who
looked at me very suspiciously at breakfast, and asked me at lunch
whether I drank pot-still or patent. I asked him which was his line,
and he got so red that I was uncharitable enough to conjecture he drinks
on the sly.
"But here I am, and I think I've made a fool of myself in coming; for
when I called at Wright and MacKellar's they showed me a cable they had
just received from the Cape. 'Halliday's daughter inherits; letter this
mail.' The death of poor old uncle had of course been announced in the
_Herald_, and that goes everywhere, and sure enough when the mail came
in there was a letter from some lawyer fellows at Cape Town to say that
their client, Mrs. Burtenshaw, nee Sylvia Halliday, having seen the
announcement of her father's death, had made arrangements to return to
Scotland to claim the estate I asked them why the ballachulish they
hadn't waited before they sent for me, and Wright said that if he had
been aware that I had changed my domicile (law for left the country, I
suppose) he would certainly have hesitated before putting me to the
inconvenience (and expense, I put in) of making so long a voyage. I
asked whether my expenses would come out of the estate, and he said that
he was inclined to believe the trustees would not homologate any claim
for my outgoings. I'm glad you were not a lawyer, after all. I was for
starting back at once, but he wouldn't hear of it: said I must wait to
see whether Mrs. Burtenshaw could substantiate her claim; she might be
an impostor, and since the estate is valued at over L100,000 it would be
a pity to be out of the way if I turned out to be the heir after all.
My cousin's name is Sylvia right enough, and I'm convinced the claimant
will prove her bona-fides, but I suppose I must kick my heels until she
turns up. It's twenty-five years or more since I saw her, and I
shouldn't know her from Lulu, so I can't help to identify her.
Altogether I'm very unhappy. Tell me how you're getting on. I am
wearying until I get back, and on thorns in case anything goes wrong.
God bless you!
"P.S.--Don't forget that cabbages and cauliflowers must be transplanted
_about five weeks_ after they are sown."
----
This was vexing enough, but when the next letter came, saying that Mrs.
Burtenshaw was laid up with bronchitis and would be unable to travel for
some time, John was thoroughly distressed. He knew how his father would
hate hanging on indefinitely, with nothing to do, and no interests to
keep him in St. Mungo's city. Mr. Halliday, however, did not remain in
Glasgow. He went to his old home in the south of England, instructing
Wright and MacKellar to summon him by telegraph when the lady arrived.
As time went on, the stock on the farm was considerably increased by the
arrival of healthy lambs and calves. John had expected his father to
return before it became necessary to drive the animals to Nairobi for
sale, and he became seriously concerned as to how that was to be done.
Being the only white man on the farm he could not leave it; yet the
animals must be taken to market somehow, for his father was relying on
the proceeds of their sale to replenish his small balance at the bank,
which he had had to draw upon to meet the expenses of his prolonged stay
in England. John himself was running short of "trade" for the payment
of his native workers from the village, and of ready money for his
immediate dependants, who required hard cash or notes of the East
African currency. He did not wish to draw on the bank, as his father
had authorized him to do; and he knew that the sums realized by the sale
of the stock would enable him to carry on for a considerable time, and
also to add to the bank surplus, upon which Mr. Halliday might have to
draw at any moment.
There was no one among the hands to whom he could entrust the driving of
the cattle. Wasama and his boy, no doubt, could do the actual driving,
if they were not plundered on the way; but the presence of a white man
would be almost a _sine qua non_ to prevent molestation on the journey.
Even in the unlikely chance of Wasama getting the beasts safely to
Nairobi he could not be expected to sell them to advantage, and Said
Mohammed, when John spoke of it to him one day, very frankly
acknowledged that the Masai would come off second best in any attempt to
barter with the traders of Nairobi, whether Indian or European.
"You have to be up to snuff, sir," said the Bengali, "in dealing with
gentlemen of business capacity. Wasama is a very good chap: I have high
opinion of his honesty, et cetera; but honesty is no go in markets
without the possession of considerable acumen, and Wasama has not had
the advantage of gaining that familiarity with the methods of
civilization, which, as the proverb says, breeds contempt," an
unconsciously double-edged remark which did not amuse John.
Of course he might ask the help of Mr. Gillespie, which would no doubt
be very willingly given; but John was very reluctant to let things out
of his own hands, having a full share of Anglo-Saxon independence. The
matter, at any rate, was not immediately urgent. Two or three more
months must pass before the young animals were weaned and fit to
undertake the long journey; and John still hoped that by the time the
sale of them became imperative his father would have returned.
It was about six months after Mr. Halliday left that John received the
following letter from him--
"The lady has arrived. She's a very decent, respectable widow body. She
has brought all her family, two boys and a girl--a pretty creature, the
image of her mother when I first knew her. The widow produced her birth
certificate and a series of photographs, the first showing her in her
father's arms at about a week old, for all the world as if he were a
royalty displaying the infant to a crowd of grandees. Wright and
MacKellar are satisfied, which is more than I am, coming all this way on
such a fool's errand. The widow wanted to repay me the L100 or so I've
wasted, but of course I couldn't hear of that. I expect to sail next
week. Glad to hear you're getting on well.
"P.S.--I suppose you haven't seen anything of those young Brownes? I'd
be a deal happier if I knew you had neighbours."
A week later came a brief note.
"Fate's got a downer on me. I was fool enough to go for a ride in the
widow's new 40 h.-p. Panhard. The chauffeur ran us into a dyke; the
rest got bruises, but I survive with a broken leg. Tony Weller was
right: beware of widders."
Since then no news had come, and John grew anxious, though he reflected
that he would have heard if his father was seriously ill.