After they had eaten dinner and while Hammad was serving their coffee, he asked permission from Sam and Ibrahim to return to Ibrahim’s safari. He said he wanted to hunt ivory again, and Achmed had generously agreed that Hammad belonged with his own people. Ibrahim said that he was delighted to have him rejoin his train.
“But right now I know it is time to take my leave, with my profound respect and thanks for my host and hostess. Salamat!”
* * *
“Send me to talk with your enemy,” Sam said to Katchiba.
“Fowooka was not always my enemy, but now he makes trouble. If I send you to Fowooka, you will tell him I say that he is responsible for war and he will pay for what happens to any who attack my people.”
“I will try.”
“I think and decide and tell you the time to go.”
While Sam waited to hear from Katchiba, he recorded the details of Obbo daily life. He made carefully detailed drawings of dwellings and furnishings as well as of people, describing their braided hair, plumed war bonnets, fringed leather aprons, and metal neck and arm bracelets. The women, nearly naked and well-formed, he noted, and pleasing to watch and to picture. He wrote that, except for the Nubians, the Obbos were the handsomest of African tribes, and cited in particular their glossy skin that bore no ritual scars. When Florence pointed out that he had drawn them wearing aprons that hid their glossy pubic hair, he reminded her that he knew the British public better than she did.
The time passed. Sam’s beer turned out well enough that he decided to include the recipe and directions for distilling it in his journal. It was a flavorful brew that he would offer to Ibrahim though it was against their religion, but before he and his men departed, he tasted it and declared it a fine thirst quencher. Sam became convinced his brew was more effective for curing fever than either his own medicines or the Obbos’ herbs.
Florence sewed new shirts and trousers for them both from the cotton fabric Ibrahim had brought, and she also made Achmed two new gallabiahs. Sam hunted and tanned the hides and made boots for Florence and himself and sandals for Achmed and his new helper, the boy they called Sahba, which meant friend. They made good use of their time and regained their strength, and they were eager to be on their way.
When two months had passed without a disaster and without any news of fighting, Katchiba sent for Sam and accepted his offer to take the tribe’s peace plan to the Maadis. Sam told Florence that this would give him the chance to judge how safe it would be for them to travel.
Katchiba gave Sam’s peace mission a grand send-off with an ox, garlanded with blossoms and aromatic leaves, for Sam to ride and another for Richarn, who carried the Union Jack. To show power without belligerence, the escort of twelve warriors carried spears but no shields and wore no war bonnets. They, however, wore side arms.
Sam and Richarn, Sam found Chief Katchiba’s enemies in a state of disarray.
They were easily convinced of Katchiba’s wish for peace and glad to cooperate by accepting all Katchiba’s terms. The entire mission took two weeks, and Sam returned with the promise of peace and sacks of tobacco.
Katchiba announced the victory and told Sam he was free to leave. In gratitude the chief gave them six oxen to carry their equipment, six donkeys and plentiful provisions. Now not only Florence and Sam might ride in comfort, but so could Achmed, Sahba, Richarn, and Saat.
They set out in December, taking a route Sam now saw as safe and more direct than the way they had come. By going straight north, they would avoid the mountains that had slowed their trek southward journey. Sam felt sure that in a week they would reach the Nile’s banks halfway between the two cataracts he knew to be to the south of Gondokoro.
“This time we’ll make it, Florence, we’ll easily be in Gondokoro when the boats arrive. We shall count on sailing swiftly down to Khartoum.”
Chapter 28
With their own eight men driving the oxen and guided by two Obbos, the caravan headed north-northwest in the foothills of the Maadi range where the Assua was a lazy stream, unlike the torrent they’d crossed in spring. Its basin had widened and its grassy banks shaded by the dark leaves of the tamarind trees made their route pleasant for walking.
One morning a wild pig ran out of the grass, and Sam caught it, and that evening Achmed roasted it on a spit. Since it was nearly Christmas time, the feast seemed particularly appropriate to Sam. He reminisced about seeing a roast pig with an apple in its mouth being carried aloft by two servants.
“There were always at least a dozen persons seated at every meal at our table, and on the sideboard, a wheel of Stilton and a red ball of Edam, bowls of nuts, and, of course, cut glass decanters of sherries and port.”
“Very festive. I don’t remember that Christmas dinners were so important in my early life. Later, when I went to bed hungry, I dreamed about streusels and oranges.”
“Dreams are made of memories, so I’m glad you had good ones, as well as those others.”
“I know you’ve seen too much of my bad dreams, but I seldom have them now, you know.”
“It’s good to know that, too. I’ve admired your natural optimism, and it’s part of your strength.”
“It’s only because of you, Sam. You rescued me and made life full and secure again.”
“We, Florrie, we made this life together a good one.”
As the valley narrowed and the Assua’s banks became steep and rocky, the trail rose to a notch in the hills. From the top of the pass they could look down the valley and see, twenty miles distant, the Nile itself glittering in the sun. There was a clear trail that gradually dropped 200 feet and led to the river bank. There seemed to be no more need for guides, and Sam gave the Obbos their pay and sent them back to Katchiba.
In the coming days, they would follow the Nile to Gondokoro, a distance Sam calculated to be little more than a hundred miles in a straight line. However, he didn’t know how many bends the river would take or what barriers the land might offer. It was the route by which Speke and Grant had reached Gondokoro, and it had taken them more than a month. However, Speke and Grant had been exhausted, and at that time had to skirt Arab traders who were battling Bari tribesmen over their refusal to tote ivory. Since now Sam didn’t expect trouble, and Baris had once served them well, he believed they could cover the distance in much less time than Speke had.
They were able to follow a level route parallel to the river for about fifty miles, but then the trail narrowed. The Nile roiled through rapids and into a canyon so steep and rugged it left no passage for the caravan. They had to turn east and go around the rocky hills and make their way north out of sight of the river. After two days they heard the roar of the cataract and soon saw the river roaring out of the canyon. It raced around massive boulders for another half mile before it broadened and smoothed into a steady flow. Convinced that his information was accurate, he said there would not be another cataract before Gondokoro.
And he was right. No more river bends or rugged terrain slowed their progress, and the men grew jubilant.
To prepare for their arrival in Gondokoro, Saat and Richarn bound poles together to make a long, straight one on which they could carry the flag high as they rode in. Sam and Florence speculated about the settlement and the sort of welcome they might expect. When they sighted masts of vessels at anchor and passed Bari kraals, Sam permitted Richarn and Saat fire off their arms. Achmed laughing with tears on his cheeks shouted his thanks to God:
“Alhamdul’ Allah.”
Two years had passed since their departure, and a semblance of civilization had crept south to the outpost. New warehouses gave evidence the outpost was a major depot for an ivory trade that grew as slaving became less profitable. And the squatters’ foul den on the outskirts of the settlement was now orderly; sturdy houses and shops stood within a neat, well-built stockade.
Koorshid Aga, mounted on a fine horse, met them with a great toothy smile and eyes bright with tears. He declared he’d always known they woul
d return and never credited rumors of Sam’s death. He trusted Allah to recognize good people and to bring them back.
“But that is not the case in general, not here nor in Khartoum,” he told them. “You have been given up for dead by all who understood the hazards of your mission. The consul sent no more mail from Khartoum after the bundle Ibrahim brought you.”
Not only was there no word from the outside world, but no fresh supplies or boats awaited the Bakers’ return. The world had given up hope, holding the view they had met warring savages or fatal disease. A very few believed the Bakers may have gone to Zanzibar, but nobody in Khartoum believed they would return, not even Petherick.
Thus he had not sent the boat and supplies for which Sam had left instructions and money.
This was not at all what they had hoped for, not close to what they’d dreamed. Sad and disappointed, Sam took Florence’s hand and led her to the bank of the river where they tried to console one another with talk of new possibilities.
“Was it all worth it, Florrie? Have I overrated our mission and our success? Have we wasted our efforts?”
“No, Sam, no, don’t dismiss what we have done. Don’t ever doubt the value of our experiences!”
“Comorro asked me, ‘Why have you given so much time to finding a lake, what good is it to you? If the large river flows from it, what does it matter?’ And I thought his questions were simple-minded.”
“You said he had no imagination. He couldn’t see the power of a mystery and of centuries of fables and dreams. Please, Sam dearest, don’t grieve. This is, after all, just another setback. And it’s only Gondokoro.”
“You’re not sorry?”
“For what? We’ve had good things happen to us, so many good times. We felt the mystery and the beauty of it and will again.”
When Sam told Koorshid they needed a boat, any boat, as soon as possible, Koorshid looked grave.
“You must take care you don’t get one of the plague boats that carried Blacks from Khartoum and Atbari. The government has been seizing captives and sending them home. When fever broke out, they abandoned the effort and dumped captives, many right here. I have but one dahabiah here waiting to take out ivory, but what with tribal wars, little ivory has arrived, and you are welcome to it. However, it too, may have been contaminated. I cannot vouch for those who brought it in.”
“I’ll take it. Just help me find some good workers.”
Within a day workers, wearing scarves to cover their noses and mouths, carrying torches of tobacco leaves and camphor boughs, walked through cabins and holds fumigating them with herb torches. “An exorcism,” Sam called it. They drenched the decks and bulkheads with boiling water, scoured them with sand, and left all the ports open to dry the boat.
In the week that it aired, plague took hold in Gondokoro, and soon its victims were being carted or dragged to bluffs below the town and shoved into the river. Koorshid had their equipment from his warehouse delivered along with the supplies his idled traders wouldn’t need, and they stocked the dahabiah.
Sam and Florence thanked their friend and said goodbye.
“Allah yessallemak,” Koorshid said, “May God keep you well.”
* * *
The boat moved rapidly with a current so strong that their sails filled only now and then, when the wind shifted. Gliding downstream, Sam had the leisure to consider how he would prepare his journals for publication. He had expected they would close with the discovery of the lake, but now he saw that the duration and difficulty of the way back should not be overlooked.
He looked forward to discussing this with Speke, who by now must have published his own journals. He thought of the thrill of making it all public, and in particular, of the moment he would reveal to the Royal Society that he named the great waterfall for the director. He even allowed himself the vanity of thinking he might have earned a knighthood.
As for Florence’s rewards, Sam imagined her in elegant clothes as she received guests at Sandford Orleigh or in London, being presented to Queen Victoria and, should he be knighted, becoming Lady Florence Baker. He was now certain she would be happy in England, welcomed and adored by his daughters and brothers.
Now as they sat on the upper deck, he studied her lovely face framed by her golden hair. Engrossed as she was in the passing scenery, Florence seemed barely aware of his presence, but then she called his attention to a bird winging over the water. Watching the flash of brilliant plumage, Sam realized how much time he devoted to measuring distances and plotting routes. He had almost forgotten to count Africa’s beauty among their discoveries.
When solid banks and open grasslands made it possible, Sam went ashore with Richarn and Saat to look for a waterbuck, with its graceful horns, but more often they found geese and guinea fowl. It wasn’t difficult to provide a steady supply of meat for Achmed to cook in the well-furnished galley, and when they got to a small market town, he went ashore to buy spices. He and Sam even found even a nanny goat to bring aboard for milking.
In a short while they saw signs they were near the Sudd and recalled how it swallowed the river’s banks and stranded their three boats in mud and floating flora. This time, Koorshid had promised, it would be different, for a channel had been dug all the way to the Ghazal river to making it possible to navigate through the vast swamp. The Nile was still at flood, and they were traveling with the current, watching for a sign of the reported channel, and hoping it would get them through the Sudd.
The river widened and slowed as the dahabiah approached a peculiar structure of rough wooden trusses which marked the entrance to a canal of parallel wooden walls. On the outside the walls were partially supported by the muddy banks of the river, and between them, the river was forced into the channel. It was hardly wider than the hull of their dahabiah and to one side of the entrance lay the wreckage of at least one boat that did not make it into the channel but had rammed its prow into the mud.
On the other side a barge lay half sunken in reeds and mud. Both had been abandoned, and on shore Dinka men salvaged all they could from the one with its prow in the mud.
One of the Dinkas hailed Sam to let him know he should keep moving, which seemed obvious, though it wasn’t possible to see what had wrecked the other boats. Then the Dinkas’ pointing out nearby mounds made it clear that these were graves, presumably of slaves who had died of the plague on their way back home. In the canal, the water was deep but the current slow.
Some clumps of vegetation and splintered wood floated in the water, and the crewmen fended it away from their hull with poles. After taking depth soundings, Sam had the crew bring sacks of corn from the hold and hand them over to the Dinkas, thus raising their keel and making progress steady.
Within another day they were out of the canal, and waters of the Ghazal River flowed in, strengthening the current, and as the river bent eastward, they raised the sail and further increased their speed. The old boat seemed to almost skim over the water and amazed them all.
A knock on the door of their cabin awoke Sam, and he slipped quietly out into the pale yellow light of the lantern hanging at the end of the corridor. Saat stood, wide-eyed and trembling, and he mumbled the message. Men were ill, at least three of them were moaning and saying their heads hurt and chests felt ready to burst. Others who awoke had taken their blankets up to the foredeck. Sam picked up a jug of water in the galley and followed Saat back to the men’s quarters. He asked if any of them had seen vermin, and none had. He sent all and who were not ill to sleep on deck and poured water for the sick men.
Back in his quarters, he scanned his medical book, searching futilely for a way to relieve the symptoms. By morning one man was coughing blood, and others had swellings in their groins and armpits. All were obviously in pain, twitching and writhing with leg cramps. Sam had nothing to give them to ease their misery but promised herb tea that Florence was brewing in the galley.
To those not afflicted, he administered calomel in the faint hope of purging their s
ystems of any poisons.
In the galley, Sam found Florence had also made some herbal poultices and had told Achmed and Sahba they must stay in the galley or their own nearby cabin and not go near the crew’s quarters. All day, able men worked in silence while the sick grew sicker. The next morning, one was dead and another dying, but the third seemed to be feeling a little better. Since no others complained of any symptoms, Sam concluded that recovering as well as warding off the disease must depend entirely on their constitutions. Late in the day they dropped anchor, and he sent two healthy and strong men ashore to dig graves. After sundown he and a few volunteers took the bodies ashore and gave the men a decent burial.
Three days passed with no more men becoming ill, and hopes rose that the danger had passed. However, the next morning Saat remained on his blanket, wracked by fever and bouts of coughing. As the day’s heat increased he mumbled and groaned as he dragged himself to the rail. Sam saw him coughing up blood, and a minute later he scrambled over the side and dropped into the water before Sam could reach him.
Sam grabbed a rope and while he was knotting it into a loop called out to Richarn. Bracing himself on the ledge outside the rail, he dropped the loop onto the water in front of Saat, but the boy didn’t appear to notice it. Sam handed the end of the rope to Richarn and, jumping into the water, Sam managed to slip the loop under the boy’s arms, and the two got Saat aboard.
Florence had not taken her eyes off Sam, but when Saat lay trembling on the deck, she called to Achmed to bring a cot to a shaded part of the deck. While Sam stripped Saat and himself, she went below to find Sam’s dry clothes and a nightshirt for Saat.
“When you’ve got into these clothes, leave the wet ones in the laundry tub. I’ll see to Saat.”
She knew her peremptory tone started Sam, but she dared not betray the least hesitancy.
“Florence, this is madness,” Sam said. “I order you to stay away from him.”