John spent a good deal of time with Bill the Wanderobbo. He found it at
first difficult to communicate with him, for the little man knew no
English, nor even Swahili, which John was rapidly picking up, partly
from Coja, and partly from a Swahili grammar and Bible which he had
brought from Mombasa. He had to employ Wasama as the medium of
intercourse with Bill, the two men speaking in the Masai tongue, and
Wasama translating either into his imperfect English, or into Swahili,
as John became more proficient in it. Coja told him that the Wanderobbo
have a language of their own, and he tried to get Bill to teach him
that; but the man became reserved and shy whenever the suggestion was
made, and Wasama explained that the Wanderobbo never allowed any
foreigner to hear them speak in their own tongue. After a time John
managed to converse with Bill about simple matters in a kind of sign
language, in which the Wanderobbo was very quick. He learnt long
afterwards that the mysterious language of the tribe largely consists of
signs, to such an extent that the people cannot understand one another
in the dark.
One day Bill darkly hinted that though John was very rich, yet he, the
Wanderobbo, was richer. This was surprising, seeing that to all
appearance he possessed nothing but his hut and weapons. On being
questioned he at first shyly refused to say more, but by and by said
that 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 arms
and make himself comfortable?"
"Because the store is now in the bad man's country, beyond the
mountain."
John had by this time learnt something of the native African's genius
for invention, and treated the Wanderobbo's assertions as sheer romance;
but the old man repeated them again and again, and indeed seemed
sometimes to be brooding over his wrongs, so that John began to believe
that there was some little foundation for his story. Once Bill said
that if the young master cared to go with him a long journey he would
show 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 game
licence, costing 150 rupees, not caring to pay an additional 600 rupees
for the full licence which would entitle him to shoot elephants and
rhinoceros and other large game. Bill was totally unable to understand
the reason of John's refusal, and John felt that the old man in his
secret thoughts set him down as afraid.
But though elephant hunting had to be declined, John was never loth to
go in quest of smaller game when the larder required it. He never
killed any of his own sheep or cattle for food, but depended on the game
that fell to his rifle--waterbuck, grantei, congoni, and other animals
which were to be found at first within short distances of the farm.
Bill was his constant companion on these expeditions, and proved very
useful, having an instinct for the right localities. Two or three of
the 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 the
bearers were cutting up two grantei which John had shot, when a solitary
figure appeared in the far distance. It was unusual to see a native
travelling alone, but he was approaching so slowly that John did not
think it worth while to await his arrival, and when the cutting up was
finished, he ordered the men to shoulder their burdens. But taking a
look at the stranger before setting off after his men, John felt sure
that he was making straight towards him across the broken country; and
since he was in the middle of a wide plain, trackless and bare, he
wondered whether the stranger had some definite purpose in so directing
his course. Letting the bearers go on in advance, he decided to wait
with Bill for the man.
As he came more clearly into view, John perceived that he was moving
very 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 help
for a safari nearly a day's march to the north-east. The master of the
safari was a young msungu (white man), and John was able to make out
from 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 of
finding help, but he had not been able to move fast because he was very
weak and hungry.
John was in a quandary. On the one hand his inclination prompted him to
set off at once to the aid of a fellow white man: on the other hand he
had no force at command which could hope to intervene effectually if the
"bad men" were in considerable numbers. He was some miles from the
farm, 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 villagers
to leave their own ground on a fighting expedition. Still, he felt that
something must be done. He asked the Baganda whether he could use a
rifle, and on being answered in the affirmative, he first gave the man
some food from the little stock he had brought for his own use, and then
bade him wait with the Wanderobbo while he returned to the farm.
On arriving he dispatched Wasama with the news to the nearest government
station, Fort Hall, forty miles to the south-west. Then he ordered Said
Mohammed to make ready a supply of food, and Coja to saddle three
donkeys, and within a quarter of an hour he was hurrying back over his
tracks, 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 the
better for his meal. John sent Bill back to the farm, and then, the
Baganda having mounted, the party of three set off to the relief of the
safari. The route lay first north and then north-west round a steep
hill, which John concluded was one of the foothills of Mount Kenya. It
was very rough going at times, the messenger having made his way in a
direct line, up hill and down dale, and he had to return over the same
ground lest he should lose the track and go astray. Fortunately the
donkeys were sure-footed, and only a few stumbles on the sides of
precipitous descents reminded John subsequently that he had taken risks
in his excitement and haste which he would scarcely have faced in cold
blood. He felt that he could have travelled faster on foot, and the
Baganda was plainly ill at ease on the donkey's back; but not knowing
what might be demanded of him, he had thought it wise to ride so as to
husband his strength. They saw no signs of habitation: indeed, the
whole 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 sight
of the spot where, as the Baganda said, his master was beset by the bad
men. It appeared to be about three miles off. The actual place could
not be seen, owing to intervening patches of woodland, but on proceeding
a little farther, the guide pointed out a dark shape on the plain which
he said was a camp of bad men, and some distance beyond it John was able
to descry the boma within which the white man had entrenched himself.
On the way he had succeeded in getting a few more details from the
Baganda, by the interpreting aid of Coja. It appeared that two wasungu
had been making a sporting expedition from northern Uganda by way of
Lake Rudolf to the Kenya district. The elder msungu had been seized
with swamp fever in the neighbourhood of the lake, but had pushed on
southward instead of resting, with the result that he became worse and
worse and at last died near Mount Sil, eighty miles north of Mount
Kenya. The safari had already found the tribes through which it had
passed somewhat troublesome, and as after the bwana's death it travelled
southward, it came into a region where the people were openly hostile,
and hung on its skirts, watching for any opportunity of taking it at a
disadvantage. The party had, however, got safely to the Waso Nyiro
river, which they had crossed a week ago; but then they had been
attacked one night by a tribe of Embe, one of the fiercest and most
quarrelsome of East African peoples. Some of the porters were killed,
others deserted, and the young msungu himself was wounded. The attack
had been beaten off, and the boma round the camp had been strengthened,
and when the messenger left they were holding out against a much larger
body of natives and in dire straits because their food was running
short.
The safari consisted of forty men, with only ten rifles among them. John
tried to ascertain how many the assailants numbered, but the Baganda
could only speak vaguely of a very great host. Moving forward
cautiously so as not to be seen by the enemy, John soon perceived a
second camp on the further side of the boma: it was plain that the
savages were subjecting the camp to a strict investment, knowing that,
even if they could not break in, want of food would soon compel the
beleaguered to surrender. But while it was clearly impossible for the
white man's party to make any movement as a body without discovery, it
did not appear to John that the blockade was so close as to prevent
individuals from entering or leaving the camp under cover of night;
indeed, the Baganda had slipped out in the darkness and escaped
detection. John therefore asked him whether he was willing to make an
attempt to get in during the coming night, and tell his master that help
was coming. The man said that he thought he could pass the enemy
safely, but he would certainly be shot at from the msungu's camp if his
approach was heard, and that was a risk he did not care to run. With
some persuasion and the promise of a handsome present John induced the
messenger to try his luck, instructing him to make a big fire if he got
in safely, or if that was impossible through lack of fuel, to ask his
master to fire two shots in rapid succession. John would then endeavour
to enter the camp. He did not suppose, of course, that a reinforcement
of two would enable the besieged party to turn the tables on the
besiegers, but he hoped that his presence would be taken as an earnest
of help to come from Fort Hall, and would at least encourage the men to
hold out.
The three waited until darkness covered the ground, having meanwhile
tethered the animals. Then the Baganda set off on foot just after seven
o'clock with a small bundle of food strapped to his back so as not to
encumber his movements. The minutes passed slowly; there was no sign
from the encampment; and after what seemed hours John ventured to strike
a match under cover of the bush and look at his watch. It was only
eight. But there had been time enough for the Baganda to have reached
the encampment, and John wondered what had happened to him. He did not
think he had been captured, for that would have been announced by a
shout or a shot. Only a few minutes after he had looked at his watch
there was a sudden bright glare in the direction of the encampment: one
flash and then darkness. This was followed by a confused murmur of
voices, and then by several irregular shots. At the same time two fires
were lighted, one on the north and the other on the south of the
encampment--a clear sign that the besiegers meant to hold their ground
during 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 as
a better signal than the one he had suggested; undoubtedly the Baganda
had reached the camp in safety.
The problem now was to follow him without being detected. The flare had
shown John the exact direction in which he should go; but it had also
put the besiegers on the alert, though it was unlikely that they had any
suspicion at present of the meaning of the light. Luckily no fire had
been 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 the
notice of the savages. Leaving the animals tethered, he crept forward
with Coja, a little nervous lest he should stumble upon some obstruction
or go astray in the darkness. The plain was covered with grass up to
his knees, and here and there clumps of mimosa. As the two crept
forward the sky in front of them was momentarily lit up by another
flare. "He's got his wits about him, whoever he is," thought John.
Again he heard shots, but he could not tell whether they were fired
within or without the boma. The Baganda had not reported that the
besiegers had rifles: one or two of them, he said, had very old guns;
but the shots were evidently those of rifles, and John wondered whether
the besiegers had been reinforced during the day.
The two men, making slow progress, and guided by the flares which were
shown at intervals, drew gradually nearer to the camp. Suddenly a flash
showed them a clump of bush between them and the boma, which John
guessed to be now about a hundred and fifty yards distant. They lay
flat in the grass until the flare had died down, then crept to the edge
of the bush, John hoping to find a speedy opportunity of making a dash
for the camp. Just as they reached the clump Coja stumbled over his
rifle, making a slight rustle among the grass. Instantly there was a
low call, apparently from the other side of the bush. A man was on the
watch there. "Speak to him," John whispered to Coja, who whispered back
that he did not know what tribe the man belonged to, and to speak might
be dangerous. John felt that the critical moment was come. He dared
not retreat: that would arouse suspicion: nor durst he stay inertly
where he was, for the man might come towards them. Yet to attempt to
dash past him across the open would be to risk a shot or a spear at such
close range that the chance of escape would be small, for though the
night was dark, there was enough glimmer from the stars to enable an
alert 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 to
Coja to follow him closely, he wriggled as quietly as possible through
the bush, and came upon a man sitting on his haunches with a rifle or
musket across his knees, watching the boma. He half turned his head as
he heard the slight rustle of John's approach, but did not rise.
Dropping his rifle, John gathered himself together and sprang full upon
the man, throwing his left arm round his neck in a strangling embrace.
Before the captive could utter more than a gurgle, John's handkerchief
was stuffed into his mouth. Then in a swift whisper, while he still
held the savage firmly, John ordered Coja to take the man's weapon and
creep towards the boma. Giving him a minute's start, John suddenly
flung the man from him, seized his own rifle, and sprinted across the
open, overtaking Coja just as he reached the fence. At the same moment
a shout was raised from the rear: the sentry had apparently been too
much dazed to give the alarm before. Calling in Swahili and English to
warn 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 into
the enclosure: Coja followed him; and they were barely inside when a
spattering volley of bullets tore through the thorn defences.
"You did that jolly well," said a pleasant voice, and John was shaking
hands with a young man of about his own height. "Come and have a talk
in my blockhouse."