AT A BIG RISK
Joe and Blake looked out on the queer throng of native porters. The
Africans seemed a motley lot with which to venture into the interior of
the jungle, far away from other white men, and entirely out of reach of
such British law and force as ruled in that part of the big continent.
“Some of them positively look as though they would enjoy doing a war
dance around us,” suggested Blake.
“That’s right,” agreed his chum. “And yet I suppose Sergeant Hotchkiss
knows his business. He wouldn’t hire dangerous characters.”
“Indeed no,” put in Mr. Duncan. “I warned him to be careful in the
selection of our porters, and he assured me he would only get such as
had been on safari before. I trust he has done so.”
“He seems to know some of them, at any rate,” said C. C., for the
former Boer soldier had gone out to the black men, leaving his
employers to follow. “He’s talking and laughing with them,” went on
the actor, “and they seem jolly enough. Look at Happy One, as he is
called--the chap with the hyena skull on his head. He’s doing a regular
two-step.”
“And lots of them are singing,” observed Blake, as the notes of a
strange and rather weird chant came to them.
“By Jove, I know what I’m going to do,” declared Joe.
“What?” asked his chum.
“I’m going to make some moving pictures of them. They will go well as a
sort of introduction to the views of wild animals we may get.”
Blake agreed with this, and while Mr. Duncan was being formally
presented to the porters as the ostensible head of the safari (it being
decided to do this rather than have the boys pose as the proprietors)
the lads got their moving picture machine ready.
And as the big black men, with their fantastic dress and queer
ornaments, paraded around Mr. Duncan, singing (as he learned later)
his praises as one who would “give much meat,” the boys filmed the odd
sight.
“Queer they don’t seem to mind it a bit,” said Blake, as some of the
blacks actually posed before the lens.
“Oh, most of them have been on safari before,” explained the sergeant,
as he heard this. “They have been with white men, some of whom hunted,
while others took pictures, and, though the camera is much of a mystery
to them, they don’t mind it in the least. But what do you think of
them?”
“An odd lot,” was Joe’s opinion, as he ceased grinding at the handle of
the camera.
“Can you trust them?” asked Blake.
“I think so,” said the former soldier. “Of course, human nature is the
same the world over. Some of the men are what are called ‘mission’
boys--that is, they have been Christianized, after a fashion. They are
very good. The others can also be trusted, I think.”
“And do they realize that we may come to a clash with the tribesmen who
may have my daughter?” asked Mr. Duncan.
“I have explained,” said the sergeant, “that there may be a fight.”
“What did they say?” asked the anxious father.
“They gave the best answer possible. They sharpened their spears, and
looked to their shields.”
“Then it’s all right,” said Mr. Duncan, in relieved tones. “We can’t
get Jessie all alone--we white men. We will have to depend on the
natives we take with us. But are we ready to march, Mr. Hotchkiss?”
“Yes, we’ll go aboard the steamer, and on arrival at Entebbe we’ll trek
into the jungle. Are you ready to go?”
“Have we all our supplies?” asked C. C. “I don’t want to starve--oh, of
course we won’t starve!” he added, hastily. “I am getting into my old
habits,” and he laughed.
“Everything is in readiness,” answered the sergeant, who had looked
after all the details. “I’ll give the word now, the porters will be
assigned each to his load, and we will go aboard. We will start across
the Victoria Nyanza in about an hour.”
Then began a busy time. Each porter was to carry a load of about sixty
pounds. This is found to be as much as a man can march with, day after
day, often without water or food, and over all sorts of country.
The packs were made up of various objects--food, supplies of different
kinds, ammunition for the rifles and revolvers, some medicines, and, of
course, the cameras and films.
Tents were carried, to afford shelter at night, for though it is
stiflingly hot during the African day, the nights, with their heavy
dews, are very cold. And indeed, in the higher parts of the continent,
the climate is as cool and healthful as any part of the United States.
Often it is possible to camp in sight of mountains whose summits are
covered with perpetual snow.
Under the direction of Sergeant Hotchkiss, order was brought out of
chaos. The porters were checked off and given their place in line,
though the actual march would not begin until after Entebbe was
reached. But it was desired to have all in readiness to avoid confusion
later.
“Happy One,” who spoke considerable English, was made the head porter,
and it was easy to see that the selection pleased him. The others, too,
seemed to take to him, and it was hoped there would be no trouble.
There were few passengers on the steamer by which our friends were to
make the trip across the northern part of the lake.
“It doesn’t seem as if we were in the heart of Africa,” remarked Blake,
on the afternoon of embarking. “Here we are, on a fairly comfortable
steamer, on a big lake, and with almost unknown land all about us.
Right in the heart of what was unknown entirely not many years ago.
Think of it, Joe!”
“I am thinking of it, Blake,” was the answer, “but while it is strange,
still we’ve been in so many odd places of late that this doesn’t seem
to impress me as it ought.”
“I suppose you’re thinking of Jessie,” said his chum, in a low voice.
“Yes; that’s it. If we were only on a pleasure or business journey,
intending only to get views of wild animals, I might think differently.
But I can’t get over thinking of my little sister, with her missionary
friends, in the hands of savages--perhaps in the midst of some wild
jungle!”
“It is tough, Joe. But don’t give up hope yet. Why, even C. C. goes
ahead of you these days. He’s jolly.”
“I know he is, and I mustn’t give way to my fears,” went on Joe. “I
won’t--that’s all! Now let’s enjoy this view.”
They were sailing over one of the largest lakes of Africa. Their
baggage had been put away, and the native porters, in their section of
the craft, were devoting themselves to their pastimes. Mr. Duncan kept
rather to himself, or talked with the sergeant, and the boys and Mr.
Piper walked about, looking sometimes at the Africans at their simple
games, at the engines of the boat, or gazing across the stretch of
waters.
“There doesn’t seem to be much chance for pictures here,” remarked Joe,
when they had been traveling for a day or two. “I wish we could film
something.”
He and his chum had a chance not long after that, when the steamer
put in at a small port to leave some goods for an Englishman who had
started an ostrich ranch there. It was in rather a lonely spot. There
was no dock for the steamer, and the goods had to be taken ashore in
small boats.
“This is going to take some time,” said Mr. Hotchkiss, after a talk
with the captain, “and, if you boys want to go ashore, you are at
liberty to borrow a boat. You may see something worth filming, as you
call it.”
“I wonder if we could get a rhino?” asked Joe.
“I don’t believe you’ll find any in this locality,” answered the former
soldier; “but, of course, Africa is a strange place. You may stir up
game when you least expect it.”
“Let’s try,” suggested Joe, and his chum agreed.
“I’ll go along, and see if I can get a shot at anything,” said C. C.
“You may need my services.”
They were soon rowing toward shore in one of the small boats of the
steamer, with the moving picture camera in the bow ready for instant
use.
They soon found where a small stream, flowing into the lake, gave them
a chance to get off the main body of water.
“Let’s try that,” suggested Joe. “It’s too open here to get anything.
Let’s go where it’s wilder.”
“It’s wild enough here!” exclaimed Blake, a little later, when they
were rowing along, hardly able to move from the number of lily pads
on the surface of the stream. The lilies themselves, great yellow and
white blossoms, were all about, amid the broad green leaves, on top
of which stepped peculiar birds, with long claws, seemingly made for
traveling on the pads. The edges of the stream were lost in a mass of
tall papyrus, the plants from which the ancients made paper.
“Yes, it is wild,” agreed Joe, “but I don’t see anything to make
pictures of, and----”
But he did not finish. He was interrupted by a sort of coughing groan
just ahead of them. There was a stir among the lily pads. The water
swirled, and up from it heaved a black, bulky body.
“What’s that?” cried Blake, in some alarm.
“A hippopotamus!” cried Joe. “Hurray! Something to film at last! Row us
toward it, if you don’t mind, C. C.”
“It’s taking a big risk,” said the actor, solemnly. “If he rushes us
we won’t have much chance!”
“We’ll take it,” decided Joe. “Put us closer.”
“Yes, do,” urged Blake, and the comedian, looking to see that his heavy
gun was in readiness, bent to the oars. Joe stood ready to turn the
camera handle.
At that moment the hippopotamus, which had only partly risen from the
stream, heaved up, and there confronted the boys an enormous mouth,
wide open, showing a big expanse of red, with long and cruel-looking
teeth lining it.
Then, with another grunt, the hippo moved directly toward the boat,
while the camera began clicking.