For half an hour, Ronsard encouraged Sam’s descriptions of their Abyssinian adventure. He did not explain the Ambassador’s absence nor did he ask the purpose of their visit. Sam was aware of Ronsard’s careful control of the conversation and also of his appreciative glances at Florence, even though she did not seem to notice. Then abruptly, Ronsard stood up and apologized for having to terminate this visit and asked if he might return their call soon.
“Of course, you will be welcome,” Sam replied stiffly.
“Come on Thursday,” Florence said. “Come for dinner.”
“He manipulated us,” Sam said as they walked home.
“He was charming, and so interested in our adventures.”
“Well, thanks to you we will have another chance to see what sort of game he is playing.”
Sam had found the whole performance annoying, but he also examined whatever Ronsard’s motives might be for the peculiar interview. The Frenchman had made no mention of the Ambassador’s absence, and possibly the man was there and did not wish to meet them. Sam felt certain Ronsard controlled the conversation to prevent Sam from steering it toward some subject Ronsard didn’t want mentioned. Could he have been afraid they were being overheard or spied upon? Perhaps the rumors are true that Thibault and the Moosa Pasha are involved in something. At any rate, Sam had to admire the force of Ronsard’s personality, and the visit had at least effected a change in Florence’s mood.
In bed that night, Florence welcomed Sam into her arms, and he was more than willing to believe that whatever had been bothering her had been resolved or forgotten.
On the day of the dinner, Johann felt well and would indeed enjoy dining with them, and Florence felt that it would be like a party. Sam hoped they’d have an easier conversation or that, at least, Ronsard as the guest might relax and not dominate it.
Louis Ronsard arrived at precisely five minutes after the specified hour, and he was affable and clearly more at ease than in his own domain. Sipping an aperitif, he said he had feared for Sam’s safety, and he himself did not feel entirely secure in his own consulate. He revealed details of the involvement of high officials, the French included, in slave-running. “They know you, Monsieur Baker, and traders fear your presence here. I understand you are a man who speaks his mind, and I did not want that to happen within the walls of our consulate, where one doesn’t know who might hear.”
As they discussed corruption and brutality, Florence told about seeing the slave train they had seen near the Atbara.
“It’s a scene familiar to any who travel this continent.
Everywhere!” Ronsard said. “Many die on the trail, women give birth, and infants are abandoned. Their lives are worth nothing, a human being sells for less than two British pounds.”
“It is difficult to imagine the magnitude of the operations, and the number of blacks sold to line the pockets of so many corrupt persons,” Florence said.
“Indeed,” Ronsard sighed, “after my long-held desire to come to Africa, all I have seen makes me wish only to flee.”
“But there is hope,” Sam said. “My expedition is not the only one here with other purposes, honorable ones.”
“Your own honor blinds you, Monsieur. They will ruin whomever they can’t corrupt. Even Petherick, they say—”
“You’ve heard something? Is he in trouble?”
“There are rumors. But he is presumed to be returning.”
“I know him to be a decent man.”
“Yet he may have to pay, in fact, may already have paid, for his decency. I beg you to reconsider your plans, Sam, you risk too much. Gondokoro is a far nastier place than Khartoum, and whatever is beyond it is unimaginable.”
Sam stared at his glass in silence, turning the stem slowly to align the base with a figure in the damask cloth.
“I have made no dangerous moves and do not intend to. Our plan is to explore. It is not a crusade, and you need not worry.”
“But you must not take Madame Baker beyond Gondokoro!”
“Think on it, my friend,” Johann advised Sam, “maybe this is not the time for your venture.”
“I will not turn back.”
“Then allow me to escort Madame Baker to Alexandria,” Louis Ronsard offered, “or even back to the continent, to wherever she might wait for your return.”
Sam stared at the Frenchman as if he could not believe what he heard. Florence spoke before he could.
“Really, gentlemen! Have you forgotten I am here? I can speak for myself. Sam has made up his mind to go, and I mean to go with him.”
“My friend,” Sam said, “I believe you mean well. You have impressed me this evening with your sincerity and honor. I must tell you that I have been warned by others and, every step of the way, by my own conscience. My wife, I am determined, will not pay for my stubbornness. I will keep her safe, I swear.”
Johann called Sam’s attention to the serving man who waited in the dining room doorway, and they all went in to their places at the table. During the meal, they spoke of other interests, earlier travels and abodes, and soon felt comfortable addressing one another with their given names. After the flan was served, Johann excused himself, and the others took their coffee in the sitting room and talked for more than an hour.
As Louis bent over Florence’s hand and bid them goodnight, it occurred to Sam that Florence might need more assurances about their plan than he had given her recently. He would remedy that lapse.
Then in the moment after the door closed on Louis, to Sam’s astonishment, Florence flung herself into his arms.
“I go wherever you do, my dearest,” she declared. “You’re not disturbed by Louis’ warnings?”
“What does he know of a world beyond his garden wall?”
“There may be something in what he says, but I believe we can protect ourselves when in dangerous situations. What we do will not cause other men to fear us or war against us.”
Taking his hand and starting up the stairs, Florence looked over her shoulder at Sam, light dancing in her eyes.
“Sam, you know I worry only over trivial matters; Please, come to bed and make love to me, now, the rest, I leave to you. Please, now.”
* * *
He had called her his wife. He said “my wife” as if there had never been any question. Florence knew she was in the wrong to have read his journal, wrong to resent his children and their letters. She would never speak to Sam about either matter. However, Ferasha would have to be discussed. Meanwhile, she resolved not to wallow in self-pity or leap to conclusions.
She and Sam would talk, and it would come out the right way. It must.
Florence sent word to Ferasha that she had things she must do and hadn’t time for sewing. She did have one urgent task: she would go with Johann to the Consulate’s doctor and then to the pharmacy. If he went out alone, she feared he might collapse and be taken to a charnel house or prison.
Johann obviously enjoyed her company and conversing with her in German. She knew he expected to die soon and would naturally recall early memories. She wanted to give him comfort and felt grateful to him for understanding her.
“It is a fine thing for me, to be with you and Sam as long as possible. You make me feel welcome and useful, too.”
“You are our friend, Johann, my only friend but Sam.”
She felt good when Johann and Louis Ronsard included her in all they said and accepted her as Sam’s wife. It had been wrong to compare herself to Ferasha, futile to seek friendship from a woman who, because of position, could not be her friend. Worst of all, she had turned away from Sam, to whom she owed her very life. She must make her peace with things as they were, or else she must be brave enough to try to change them.
Chapter 17
The Upper Nile
Moosa Pasha, the Governor General of Soudan, ignored the firman Colquhin had obtained for Sam in Cairo, saying that it applied to the Blue Nile and to Said Pasha’s dominions only, not to what he called the “White River.
” He denied any assistance, even his permission to take possession of the boats Koorshid had ready, and appeals sent by diplomatic courier to Ismael Pasha, the new Viceroy in Cairo, went unanswered.
Egyptian authorities, Sam concluded, considered any British presence in the slaving provinces a detriment to trade. Although he recognized the risk, Sam assumed he could subvert their intentions with money. Having had the foresight to have cash available in Khartoum, he knew he could hire laborers and could bribe any officials who turned up at the docks.
By September all three boats were moored near Koorshid’s warehouses and being fitted and supplied. In addition to ready money, Sam had, in Johann, a carpenter and overseer. Although Johann looked ever more emaciated and had wracking fits of coughing, he proudly put his carpentry to use supervising the fitting and overseeing the workers.
Two of the three boats were noggurs like the ones they’d left in Korosko, the dahabiah was trimmer and quarters somewhat smaller than the first one, but in essentials was comparable.
Sam hired thirty armed guards and forty sailors from Kordofan and Dongola. For his dragoman, he chose a powerfully muscled young black named Richarn, who had been in Christian schools and spoke good English. Sam had them all outfitted in pants, shirts, and boots, and he drilled them in military fashion. He also advanced them six months’ wages above their food and housing and arranged for the wives and children to share clean quarters with them until sailing time.
Achmed helped Sam select two cabin boys from among a group of Nubians who had worked in hotels and mess halls and two more servants to maintain their quarters and do laundry. Sam sent away a persistent Libyan whom he saw as too young, but that same evening while he and Florence were in the garden, the boy came to a rear gate, dusty and obviously tired. Sam offered him a drink of water, and once inside, the boy fell to his knees in front of Florence and begged to be taken on. He said slavers stole him from his mother, then decided he was too young and dumped him in the desert. He was picked up by a patrol and taken to a convent where he learned English.
“I am Christian and ready to work. Please, I can. I am twelve years and am called Saat,” he said with an enormous, toothy smile.
Watching Florence’s face, Sam knew what the answer had to be. Saat would be a cabin boy or errand boy, helping in any ways he proved most capable.
Tiring as it was, their work was satisfying; furthermore, no officials had yet interfered. They spent many evenings dining with Louis Ronsard in the British Consul’s house and were usually joined by Johann. They were invited a few times to the home of Louis’ friend Serge Lambrosio, an archaeologist, where they were fascinated to hear about his work and to hear occasional news of the outside world.
Sam was saddened to learn that Prince Albert had died, and Queen Victoria grieved so profoundly her advisors worried. Bad news came also from America where the war went badly for the union; however, in Russia, the Czar proclaimed an end to serfdom.
“After we leave here, we’ll be fortunate to have any word at all of the outside world,” Sam commented.
“I gather from what you’ve said, you don’t hesitate to go forward with your plans,” Ronsard said, his eyes on Florence.
“None whatsoever. We are well prepared.”
“And eager for our next adventure,” Florence added and put her hand on Sam’s.
They boarded the boats on December eighteenth, a Thursday, which, according to the Arabs, was one of the luckiest days to start.
The dahabiah’s larger cabin was for Florence and Sam, the second cabin for Johann, relegating Sam’s paper work to the main room. Quarters for Achmed and the cabin servants flanked the galley.
Richarn and his chosen aides were quartered with the rest of the crew on the noggurs. Richarn shared his command with Johann and also oversaw the stable-hands who took care of the three horses, four camels, and twenty donkeys stabled on the second barge. Later milch goats and chickens, and any other livestock they could use aboard what Florence called their farm.
Sam was making a final inspection of the men’s quarters when a hubbub broke out on the dahabiah. A mean drunk clutched Osman, a cabin boy Achmed had selected, and shouted he had not yet been paid for his son. At the man’s back, a woman scolded and tugged his shirt but stepped away when Sam appeared and restrained him with a hand on his shoulder.
“Release the lad. I have his papers.” Sam dropped coins in the woman’s hand and ordered the man off the boat.
“I apologize, sir,” Osman said with tears in his eyes. I am tired of beatings. I do not want to be his son.”
“It’s all right now. The missionaries taught you well, and we promise you a safe place and kind treatment.”
All hands had said farewell to their families who had moved down to the water’s edge. The children still ran about as if at a festival, but the women stood close together, their eyes on the men. Louis Ronsard and Serge Lambrosio stood on the pier with a group of school boys waving French and British flags.
* * *
Determined not to miss a moment of their departure, Florence climbed to the deck atop the cabin. From there she watched the crew at their stations awaiting Sam’s order to haul in the gang plank. Suddenly three horsemen rode across the top of the dike and down through the crowd, scattering women, upsetting baskets, and spilling water jugs. Hooves clattered on the pier, and a scowling Turkish officer stood in his stirrups and shouted that he carried an urgent notice for the person in command. When Sam stepped forward, the Turk bellowed:
“Halt, by the order of Moosa Pasha, Viceroy of the White River region and Soudan!”
He dismounted and started up the gangplank, but Sam planted his feet firmly at the top with arms akimbo.
“Our papers are in order. We will sail. Back off!”
“Papers? You paid no tax. The head tax is due! It is owed for every person aboard. You will not sail until the debt is satisfied.”
The Turk took a few steps up the ramp and stopped an arm’s length from Sam. He was taller than Sam but stood lower on the ramp, and Florence saw they were eye to eye, the Turk glowering. Though unable to see Sam’s face, she knew he would be scowling with equal menace.
The officer thrust the papers at him, but Sam gave them not a glance and kept his hands clasped behind himself.
“I am neither an Egyptian nor a Turk. I’m not a trader, but I am a British subject and am legally in this land. Outside my own country, I do not pay taxes to local governments,” Sam said in a voice that all could hear. “I possess documents permitting my expedition to pass through your territories. If you attempt to board my boat, I’ll throw you overboard.”
Sam stepped back onto the deck and signaled his sailors at the pulleys. The gangway creaked and the Turk had to leap back to avoid being toppled into the river. At that moment, Saat raised the Union Jack on the dahabiah’s mast. Ronsard led his group in a cheer. The spectators whistled and hooted at the vanquished horsemen, and Florence released the breath she’d been holding and joined in hurrahs for Sam.
The shouting died down as the boat moved away from the pier, and the women raised their voices in ululation. Tears sprang to Florence’s eyes as she wondered if these families understood how long the men might be away.
The sailors were working the boats into the stream when a government boat heading downstream scraped the dahabiah’s side and snagged on lines already secured. Florence hadn’t seen the boat approaching, and its broadside slam nearly knocked her off her feet. Above the din that ensued on both boats, she heard the captain berating Sam for being in his way and threatening the wrath of officialdom. Sam’s crew, undaunted and eager to fight, scrambled toward the hull that nudged the dahabiah. But Sam ordered them back.
Florence couldn’t hear what he said and was dismayed when he swung a leg across the rails and boarded the government boat. He faced the captain, and the men on both boats fell silent, gaping.
“I believe you know who is at fault here,” Sam said, loudly enough to be hear
d on both boats. “I ask that you replace our broken oars immediately and stand clear for us to get under way.”
The captain closed his mouth, looked around at the damage, and spoke to Sam in a low voice, then shouted orders to his men to bring oars and pass them across to the crew of the dahabiah.
Sam saluted him and, as he climbed back to the dahabiah, his crew cheered. In another minute another great hurrah arose from those on the bank.
Sam’s performance in these encounters filled Florence with pride. He acted without a moment’s hesitation. She felt glad she’d put her life in his hands, and she wanted to run to him and tell him so. But Sam had already turned to the tasks at hand. When she saw the canvas billow in a strong gust of wind, she came down to stand beside him.
“I confess I took some pleasure in confronting these few obstacles to our departure!” He slipped an arm around her waist. “But I’m relieved it’s not Friday or we might have had bad luck.”
Florence was laughing about Sam’s enjoyment of difficulties when a sailor came to report that the dahabiah had sprung several leaks.
“Fate obliges you, Sam,” Florence said, “no matter what day it is.”
She went back up to the top deck and waited for Sam to join her. It felt good to be on the river again and leaving Khartoum. Yet taking a last look at a place she had found so repugnant, she saw the sun’s rays striking the minarets of an exotic city.
The next morning they put in at a landing where a supply of feed corn and three goats were brought on board using a sling and pulley system. The crew slaughtered an ox on shore and took the meat aboard for drying.
A steady wind continued to drive them upstream past villages of sun-burnt houses. The flat land changed within a few days from palm groves to sand dunes and then to gray, flinty soil littered with stubble of a sorghum harvest. Black men came to the river with herds of bony white cattle with small, straight horns.
When she tired of watching the shore or reading, Florence could usually find Achmed and Osman on the afterdeck and would talk with them in Arabic as they pounded dried manioc into flour. Often, she sat on the veranda with Johann, who worked the noggurs only while Richarn took his meals or was otherwise occupied.