* * *
In the morning when Florence lifted the tent flap, the acrid odor of charred grassland hung in the air. Sam still slept, but she saw Achmed and Osman making breakfast. She carried two cups of tea back into the tent to find Sam had not stirred, and she tiptoed out. She wanted to make sure no one would disturb him. She realized he must have been more worried and exhausted than he had let on.
“We are going to stay here today,” she told Richarn, “so set the men to any use you see. Or, lacking that, tell them to enjoy a rest.”
The men were glad of the unexpected respite, and so was she, and she took her book and sat under a tree. No Shooa appeared, and it was late in the morning before Sam came out of the tent.
“So sorry. I am not well – a good way off the mark, in fact.”
“I’m sorry to hear it, but we all are glad for the rest. Would you like food now? Or is there something else I can do?”
“Nothing. Nothing at all.”
He went back into the tent. Florence noticed that he again fell into a deep sleep, and in late afternoon, he awoke and could barely move. She rubbed him with the alcohol to bring his temperature down and brought him cool water first, then hot herb tea that she spooned between his cracked lips. She sat near his cot putting wet cloths on his forehead as he drifted off, mumbling and lifting his eyelids but not seeing anything. Achmed had to coax her to leave Sam’s side and take her evening meal.
“The master does not see you. Let me sit with him.”
“I’m all right, thank you. I haven’t seen Osman?”
“Osman has fever, too. I tell him, sleep.”
“Oh, poor lad. He must have some medicine.” She went to the chest and measured out calomel and herbs, then looked into Achmed’s face. “And you, Achmed, are you well, truly?”
As she studied Achmed’s face, his eyes moistened and he assured her he was well. Later he laid a light meal on the table in front of the tent and reminded her she must eat and rest. She knew it was Achmed’s doing when Richarn and Saat came to tell her they would see to the camp and do whatever she might wish.
In the night, she lay awake listening to Sam’s labored breathing. Worry stirred her memory, bringing vivid scenes of her mother lying on the cold rocks, and Florence thought again of her last words, “the morning comes.” And it had come and brought only death. Sam had said sickness is part of life, to be endured, not feared, but she feared it. And feared now for Sam. And she feared for herself. What if Sam died?
In the thick air, her thoughts dodged about, futile and painful. She arose and crept out into the cool night to draw the fresh air deep into her lungs.
I would have to go on, she told herself. I would have to find the lake, complete our journey. This is my mission as well as Sam’s. Or is it?
She sighed and dropped to the carpet and looked at the stars, recalling how she had come here, filled with need and gratitude and the love that made her want to be with Sam wherever he went. She had learned to savor adventure, too, and had never regretted her choice. But without Sam, what would be a wise choice? She could turn back; retrace the route to Gondokoro and Khartoum and Cairo. She could survive, get back to Europe and perhaps live the rest of her life regretting that she hadn’t completed their mission.
She shivered, feeling suddenly desolate to be thinking about her choices, as if Sam were dead. She stood, breathed deeply, and abandoned her morbid speculations. Back in the tent, Sam’s breathing sounded more regular, and she lay on her cot and slept.
She was awake at dawn when Achmed brought her tea, and his face was wet with tears. Osman had died in the night. She tried to keep back her tears and to comfort Achmed by reminding him how happy Osman had been in his company, happier than he’d ever been, ever before in his whole life.
“Remember him that way, Achmed. Remember his laughter.”
She decided not to tell Sam now but to let him rest. She went with Achmed to get Richarn and Saat and ask them to find a place to dig a deep grave. Then she helped Achmed wash Osman and wrap him in his patchwork quilt, the only remnant of his home life other than his scars. And when everything was ready she went to tell Sam.
Since Osman was a Christian, Florence read from the ninety fifth Psalm: “God is our refuge and strength, a very help in present trouble.”
Then Achmed held his palms open before him to recite: “Truly the God-fearing shall dwell amid shades and fountains, and such fruits as they desire.” And then he hid his face in his hands. The others swiped their hands across their eyes and picked up their shovels to cover Osman’s body with dirt. Then they rolled the largest rocks they could find over the grave to discourage scavengers. Florence didn’t believe the body was of any consequence after the spirit died, but she didn’t say anything, would not disturb whatever beliefs the men might hold.
She returned to the tent, taking a pot of tea, and found Sam sleeping soundly. As she sat on her cot and drank a cup of the hot tea, she wanted to take his shotgun to hunt grouse. If he had heard the lions last night, she knew he’d warn her not to leave camp; nevertheless, she decided to go and to take Saat along, carrying a rifle only to protect her. He walked into a copse where he was able to flush several birds, and she brought down two on her first shot. He picked them up and said that would be enough for Achmed to make soup.
When she came back to the tent, Sam awoke and asked for a basin of water. She found him a fresh night shirt and pillow slip, and when he’d washed, he settled back on the cot saying he felt better and wanted to hear about Osman’s grave.
“So young,” Sam said. “It’s not yet a year since he left Khartoum.”
Later Achmed brought the steaming broth and fresh bread, and Sam said he felt hungry.
“It smells good. Are you going to tell me what it’s made from?”
“I’m not going to say I’m sorry, Sam. It was made from fresh Grouse.”
“You needn’t apologize, Florrie. I guessed as much. I’m grateful. It’s just what I need. But Achmed looks peaked.”
“It’s grief, I think. He had grown very fond of Osman and will miss his help, too.”
For a week they remained in the camp while Sam regained his strength. Every few days Shooa women brought baskets of squash or beans or sometimes cooked food. It was a boon to Achmed, who now had no one to help him, and it kept everyone hopeful that guides would arrive soon.
“If they don’t come, we’ll leave anyway,” Sam said, “before the end of the month.
“We’ll leave without a guide?”
“We have our maps. Conditions are reasonable. Maybe we’ll find a guide along the way. We can’t just stay here.”
“At least we know we’re in friendly territory. And now you must rest.”
Florence didn’t want Sam to know that ever since he’d been ill, crewmen had been coming down with fevers.
And she worried that another rainy season might be starting. The pattern seemed to be developing, showers every two or three days, and always enough to wet them thoroughly if they were on the trail. She tried not to draw Sam’s attention to her concern for his health, since only she still considered it an issue.
* * *
In the next week, Sam felt he needed to get to work, regain his strength, and organize the caravan. He went out to find Richarn and plan for loading the animals.
But crossing the camp to the animals, he was appalled to discover how feeble they appeared, and then he learned that several men were sick with fever. Sam realized that Florence may have been purposely vague in their discussions. Now thinking that she had deliberately concealed the conditions of men and animals, he strode back to where she was taking down laundry that had dried on a clothes line.
“In God’s name, Florence, what were you thinking?”
“Sam! What’s wrong? What are you accusing me of?”
“Why did you keep things from me? Do you consider me too feeble to face the truth? You’ve treated me like a child and to what end?”
“I can
’t believe this. We’ll talk when you calm down.”
She turned her back on him and took the armload of clothes into the tent.
“Don’t walk away when I’m talking to you.”
“You mean when you’re yelling at me?”
“I’m sorry I raised my voice. But I want to know why you didn’t tell me the men and animals were ill.”
“I should think the answer obvious. You’d have been upset as you are now. I did it to aid your recovery. Bad news can always wait.”
“I don’t agree. I should have been told.”
“No.”
“No? Just like that, you’re right, and I’m wrong?”
“Yes, Sam, you don’t seem to know how ill you were.”
Sam walked away to cool his anger, to end the quarrel. As he crossed the grounds, Richarn came to ask if Sam was looking for him. Sam said no, but Richarn walked beside him. After a few minutes Sam asked his opinion about the donkeys.
“Two are well and strong, but the others won’t go far.”
“They are really not at home here, are they?” Sam patted Richarn’s arm and went back to the tent.
“Florrie? Will you hear me now?”
She stopped folding clothes and faced him, pain in her eyes, her lips a thin line. He took a step toward her, but she stood motionless, unyielding.
“I’ve come to apologize. I had no right to speak to you so harshly. I suppose it angered me that you were right. I was wrong and cruel, and I’m sorry,” he said, and his relief in admitting that turned to remorse at the sight of her tears. “Oh, Florrie, I love you! Let me hold you.”
She came into his outstretched arms.
Chapter 24
Sam pored over the maps, facing the possibility no guides or bearers would come to help them, and he set Richarn and Saat to reorganizing the baggage. He and Florence walked to the village with gifts for the women who had brought them food, and Sam spoke with the elders and asked for guides who knew the way to the lake. Within an hour, a young man came to Sam and introduced himself as Nondo. He spoke well and claimed knowledge of the region’s rivers and lakes. He also said the Unyoro weren’t friendly so he would guide them only to the border. He promised to come in the morning and bring a number of bearers.
Shortly after sunrise, Nondo arrived bringing five well muscled young men. Sam was pleased to have additional men to make lighter loads for all and speed the caravan. With the sun not far above the horizon, Sam and Florence seated themselves in relative comfort on oxen’s broad backs and Achmed climbed onto a donkey. They were able to cover at least twenty miles a day despite a few rain showers. On most nights, they found empty huts which could be made habitable.
Habitable, Florence decided, was a word like many, few, weary and ill, which all meant different things according to the need. Soon habitable came to mean a roof that kept the rain off and a space that was relatively free of insects and vermin. At best it meant the huts were dry and did not reek.
After the first week of travel, she reluctantly admitted to herself that not strange animals nor birds in exotic trees nor flowers blooming in the grass could stave off monotony. Flies buzzed and oxen swayed, delivering an occasional jolt that made reading impossible. She yearned to immerse herself in a book and then felt ashamed of her discontent when she saw men walking on rough turf or slogging through mire.
On the evening they reached the banks of a swift river and had unburdened beasts and men, Nondo’s bearers gathered around him. He told Sam this was as far as he could bring them and that the Unyoros would probably agree to lead the caravan across their land, but he advised Sam to wait for them, not to cross the river until the Unyoros discovered their presence.
While they talked, Florence was looking into one of the huts and arranging her face to conceal her disgust before she talked with Sam. When she turned, she saw Sam bracing himself with the palm of his hand against a tree trunk and, with his hat in the other hand, wipe his brow with his forearm. She went to the water bag to pour a drink for him.
“You’re feeling ill again, aren’t you?”
“A bit feverish. It will pass.”
“We can stay here for a few days. You look weary and the hut is habitable.”
“I’m tired, that’s all, not incapacitated, Florence.”
“Tomorrow we’ll talk. Let’s have a night’s rest first,” she said and insisted he take the last of the quinine.
“I hope we soon meet the Unyoros, and that they still have Speke’s medicine kit,” he said as he agreed to use the quinine as a precaution.
Florence asked Richarn to sweep down thatch and clear debris from the hut she’d inspected, and she asked Achmed to get Sam’s cot ready so he might sleep as soon as he’d had a light supper.
In the morning, Sam felt better and was glad to take time to lay out his maps and instruments. He estimated they were almost 4,000 feet above sea level and that this river might be what Speke called the “Somerset Nile.” If so, they could hope the lake was not far and the Unyoros willing to guide them.
Richarn had taken a work party to gather wood for building rafts and returned to report that only half a mile from camp he’d seen several men in light colored garments atop a distant hill.
He had waved and shouted but could not get the men’s attention; however, as he was telling Sam this, five men, clearly Arabs or Turks, strode toward them. Their leader introduced himself as Hammad, one of Ibrahim’s men.
He said that, although it was his first safari with Ibrahim, he had previously been many places in East Africa and knew its languages. However, a few days ago, his scouting party had lost the compass and were uncertain how to find the point where they were to rejoin Ibrahim.
“Then we were fortunate enough to meet the Shooas, who could tell us only where to find the Englishman. We know you carry instruments and are not lost. If you will take us with you, we can be of use to you, too. I know languages and can speak for you, and these men will carry for you.”
“If you are here in peace, as we are, you are welcome to join us. We hope to see the Unyoros’ chief,” Sam said to Hammad and described the route he was planning to follow.
Sam’s certainty astonished Florence, and when they were alone, she said so.
“It’s essential to sound decisive, especially when you’re mightily unsure.”
“You convince me. I always believe in you, Sam!”
“Even when I’m not sure what I’m talking about?”
“Especially then.”
Although Hammad said he believed there was a great waterfall no more than a day’s journey east of the route, Sam resisted the temptation to go there. And he was not willing to waste any time waiting for Unyoros to arrive. They would cross the river when the rafts were ready. That night the weather was clear enough for Sam to verify their location and to say confidently that they were right on course, 2°18” north of the equator.
The next day after ferrying everything over the river with no difficulty, they headed south across increasingly verdant land. On the second night, the sound of drums told them natives were near, and at dawn they saw a number of black men in a dracaena grove fifty yards away. As they watched, the natives formed themselves into two ranks, six abreast, and trotted toward the camp.
“I am not certain if they are Unyoro,” Hammad said. “But I will talk to them.”
“Tell them we come in peace, that I am brother to the bearded man called Speke. Tell them we bring gifts.”
Sam warned everyone to be silent and keep all weapons out of sight. Then he headed back to the pile of luggage, and Florence watched him open a leather valise and pull out a wrinkled tweed jacket and cap. He shook them and put them on.
“How do I look?”
“Terrible! What in the world do you mean to do?”
“Show myself as Speke’s ‘brother.’”
“You’ll bake in that jacket.”
“It can’t hurt.”
“Speke never wore anything but woole
ns, you know.”
“That doesn’t quite explain your foolishness.”
Sam grinned, adjusted his cap, and brushed his lapels. He took Florence’s hand and tucked it into the bend of his elbow. Then followed by Hammad, they stepped out to meet the advancing men. Sam waved a hand cheerily as the group halted within a few feet of him. They carried long lances with feathers at the point and wore skirts of bark cloth belted at their waists. Their hair was close-cropped, and they wore neither jewelry nor paint. The tallest stepped forward and spoke, and Hammad replied that this bearded man was brother to one called Speke and had come to visit Chief Kamrasi.
The Unyoro bowed to Sam and nodded, rubbing his own hairless chin. He turned to shout a command, and his men laid down their lances. The spokesman asked Hammad why Speke’s brother had brought so many with him.
“Tell him I brought only my wife. The others serve us and care for pack animals which carry gifts to the chief.”
The tall man replied he would take the message to his chief and return the following day. To make sure Sam would be there, they would take his wife with them. Sam refused; he declared men must honor each other’s word. The Unyoro’s response was that if they did not remain there, his own throat would be slit and his men’s throats, too. For emphasis, drew his hand across his own throat, and in unison, the men did the same.
“Hammad, tell them it is not necessary for a hostage to go with them. Ask them to sit with us for a meal.”
The Unyoro then accepted Sam’s offer and added that they would accept gifts. Sam promised there would be more to come if Chief Kamrasi agreed to receive a bearded friend.
The next morning when Sam awoke Ibrahim was sitting cross legged on the rug outside of the tent sipping coffee. He rose immediately and thanked Sam for the hospitality that had been given to Hammad and his men. He had already been told what was going on, and that although he did not like Kamrasi, he would accompany Sam to the meeting with the chief.
“It would oblige me greatly,” Sam told Ibrahim, “if you would stay here instead, and be with my men and our belongings until we return.”
“It is an honor to be asked. I shall do as you say.”