DOWN THE DARK RIVER.
Down the Dark River, the mystic Isis, so Leonora had decided, we sped:
Ustani plying the long pole of the dhow, or native flat-bottomed boat,
while we took it in turns to keep him up to his work by flicking him
with a tandem-whip.
The moon went slowly down, and it occurred to Leonora to remark that we
were 'going down' too, an unusual thing so early in term. Like some
sweet bride into her chamber the moon departed, and the quivering
footsteps of the Don[14] shook the planets from their places, to the
consternation of the Savilian Professor of Astronomy, who, as in duty
bound, was contemplating these revolutionary performances from the
observatory in the Parks. A number of moral ideas occurred to Leonora
and myself, but out of regard for Ustani's feelings we denied them
expression. I began, indeed, to utter a few appropriate sentiments, but
the poor Boshman exclaimed, 'You floggee, floggee, Missy, or preachee,
preachee, but no _both_ floggee and preachee--' in a tone that would
have disarmed a Bampton lecturer.
[14]
Do you mean the Dawn?--PUBLISHER.
Every Oxford man knows what I mean.--ED.
Down we drifted, ever downwards, obedient to the inscrutable laws of
the equilibrium of fluids. Now we swept past the White Willow, now
through the cruel crawling waters of the Gut, now threaded the
calamitous gorge of Iffley, and then shot the perilous cataract of
Sandford.
At this moment, just when the dhow was yet quivering with the strain, I
noticed an expression of abject fear on the face of Ustani. His dark
countenance was positively blanched with horror, and his teeth
chattered.
'Silence, chatterbox!' I cried, querulously perhaps, when he laid down
his pole and seated himself in an attitude of despair.
'What's the matter, old boy?' asked Leonora, and the reply came in
faltering accents--
'_The Ama Barghis!_'[15]
[15]
_Ama_ is the prefix of all the tribal names; Ama Zulu, Ama
Hagger. I connect it with the Greek preposition [Greek:
hama].--ED.
Don't keep hammer hammering away at Greek! This is a boy's
book, not a holiday task, this is!--PUBLISHER.
We glanced in terror down the river's edge.
There, on the path trodden by so many millions of feet that now are
silent,[16] there were the burly forms of five or six splendid savages.
[16]
_Please_ don't begin moralising again. One never knows when it
will come upon you.--PUBLISHER.
Couldn't help just throwing it in.--ED.
The character of their language--which was borne to us on the pure
breeze of morning--their costume, their floating house, in which these
scourges of the water highway commonly reside--everything combined to
demonstrate that they belonged to the Barghiz, the most powerful and
most dreaded of the native populations.
'_Me umslopogey_,' whispered Ustani in his native language, meaning
that he would retreat.
'Eyes in the boat,' cried Leonora, in her clear, commanding tones;
'paddle on all!'
The Boshman, cowed by her aspect, and the mere slave of discipline (he
had pulled in the St. Catherine's second torpid), obeyed her command,
and presently we were abreast of the Barghiz.
'Hi, Miss,' cried the Barghi chief, a man of colossal stature, 'Can't
yer look where yer a shovin' to?'
Though his words were unintelligible, his tone was insulting.
Leonora rose to her feet, and to the occasion.
By virtue of her rare acquaintance with savage customs, she was able to
taunt the Barghiz with the horrors of their tribal mystery, to divulge
which is _Death_!
She openly insulted the secret orgies of the tribe.
_She denounced the Dog-Feast!_
'WHO ATE THE PUPPY PIE UNDER MARLOWE BRIDGE?' shrilled Leonora in
her proud sweet young voice.
In a moment a shower of stones struck the dhow, and spurred the water
into storm. Frank Muller, the Barghi chief, distinguished himself by
the fury of his imprecations and the accuracy of his aim. A smothered
groan told me that Ustani had been hit in the mouth.
_Whid, whad, crash_ went the stones, while Leonora plied the pole
with desperate energy, and I erected the patent reversible umbrellas
with which we were provided to catch any breath of favourable wind.
The fierce rapidity of the stream finally carried us out of the reach
of the infuriated Barghiz (who, moreover, were providentially slain by
lightning--a common enough occurrence in that favoured climate, where
nobody thinks anything of it), and we rested, weary and wounded, in a
sheltered backwater.[17]
[17]
Are you not gliding insensibly into _Bess_?--PUBLISHER.
No; all right. It is a tremendous country for storms; can't
use them too often; adds to the sense of reality.--ED.
'The dhow's looking rather dowdy,' said Leonora, glancing at the
shattered craft.
'If doughty deeds my lady please,' said I, catching her light tone,
'why, she must take the consequences. But, Leonora,' I added,
shuddering, 'I'm sure my feet are damp.'
If there is one thing I dread it is damp feet.
'No wonder,' said Leonora, calmly. 'The dhow has sprung a leek.'
I searched the dhow everywhere, but could find no trace of the
vegetable.
Meanwhile the water had risen above the capstan, and Ustani, shivering
audibly, had perched himself on the bowsprit.
'Now or never,' said Leonora, 'is the moment for our life-belts.'
We hurriedly put on our life-belts, regretting the absence of an
experienced maid.
'I'll be Mrs. Lecks, and you'll be Mrs. Aleshine!' laughed Leonora, as
the dhow, shuddering in all her timbers, collapsed.
'_Ego et Lecks mea!_' cried I, not to seem deficient in opportune
gaiety of allusion, and we were in the water. We advanced briskly down
stream, Ustani propelling himself with the pole of the dhow.
Ever anxious about Ustani's University education (interrupted by this
expedition), Leonora kept 'coaching' him in the usual way.
'Bow, you're feathering under water,' she exclaimed, when the
unfortunate Ustani disappeared in a lasher, where we, thanks to our
life-belts, floated gaily enough.
Here we paused to catch a few of the perch and gudgeons, which Leonora
had attracted by carefully wearing white stockings.
'Nothing like white stockings for perch,' she said.
As there were not perch enough to go round, Ustani was told to content
himself with the pole, a synonym, if not an equivalent.
Laying our trencher-caps on the water, we used them, as of old, for
trenchers, and made an excellent meal.