CHAPTER III
On the Victoria Nyanza
Tom's First Crocodile--Night on the Nyanza--In German Africa--A Storm onthe Lake--A Short Way with Hippos--Danger Ahead
Long before eight next morning Tom was down at the quay examining thelaunch in which he was to begin his pursuit of the expedition. Hisinspection made him feel rather unhappy.
"Why, she's nothing but a crazy old tub," he said to himself ruefully."Planks half-rotten, rudder stiff, and looks as though she hadn't seenpaint for an age. Lucky this isn't open sea, for anything like dirtyweather would just about finish her ramshackle engines. Well, let'shope for the best."
He returned to the bungalow, where with Mbutu's assistance he made hisfinal preparations. These were not elaborate. The padre had advisedhim to travel as light as possible, taking merely a few articles ofunderclothing and other necessaries, with the addition of a couple ofhundred beads and some yards of calico, the common articles of barterand sale in the interior, in case he had to purchase food from thenatives during the final stage of his journey. Luckily there was a fairstock of these in the bungalow. Tom had of course discarded his strawhat long before, and now wore a white solah helmet, which could berelied on to protect him from the mid-day sun. He had found an oldrifle of his uncle's, and a case of cartridges, which he thought itadvisable to take. He ate a light breakfast of fried fowl capitallyprepared by the Indian, gravely acknowledged his salaam, and then,giving Mbutu the baggage to carry, started for the quay.
The missionary was already on board, and steam was up, but there was nosign of Mr. Barkworth. Tom wondered whether he had forgotten hispromise to see him off. Just as he was about to go on board, his genialfriend appeared in the distance, hurrying at a great pace towards thequay, flourishing a red bandana. Tom was surprised, and secretly not alittle pleased, to see that Lilian was with her father.
"Here we are," cried the old gentleman, puffing and gasping as he cameup. "All on board, h'm? Got everything you want? Now, whatever youdo, don't get your feet wet! And look here, here's something I warrantyou've forgotten. Writing-paper, eh? Ink too. Let us know how you geton. Any black 'll carry a letter for you for a few beads. My girl willhave dragged me off to the ends of the earth long before you get back,but remember we're always home for Christmas. Glad to see you at theOrchard, Winterslow, any time. Now, then, good luck to you, and Godsave the King!"
Mr. Barkworth shoved a folding writing-case into Tom's left hand,gripped his right heartily, and waggled it up and down till he wastired.
"Good-bye, Mr. Burnaby!" said Lilian, "and I do hope you will succeed."
Tom shook hands, lifted his hat, and stepped on board. The crazy enginemade a great fluster as it sent the screw round; the launch sheered off,and Tom stood side by side with the padre, watching Mr. Barkworth wavinghis hat and Lilian her handkerchief until they were out of sight. Afterseeing that Mbutu was safe in the company of the native stoker, whoformed the whole crew of the little vessel, Tom placed a camp-stoolunder the awning by the side of the missionary's deck-chair near thesteering-wheel, and looked about him.
The launch was cutting its way slowly through the brown sluggish watersof Kavirondo Bay. The shore was flat and uninteresting, part bare rock,part rank marsh, spotted here and there with sacred ibises in theirbeautiful black-and-white plumage. At several points along the bank Tomsaw a huge plant like an overgrown cabbage run to stalk, or rather tomany stalks, sticking out of a short swollen stem, like the arms of acandelabra. This, the padre told him, was the candelabra euphorbia, aplant of which the natives stood very much in dread, because its juicewas highly poisonous, and because it was so top-heavy and so looselyrooted that in a high wind it frequently toppled over, with damagingeffect to anything that might be within its shade.
As they emerged from the bay into the open lake, the water changed itsbrown to a deep and beautiful blue, and the shore became moreinteresting. The lake here was fringed with a thick growth ofrushes--long smooth green stems crowned by a mop-head of countless greenfilaments becoming ever finer and more silky towards the end. Amid thevegetation appeared the forms of whale-headed storks with yellow eyes,and gold-brown otters with white bellies darted in and out among therushes. There was a light wind off-shore, and Tom had a distant view ofmany wild denizens of the lake country, which would otherwise have beenalarmed by the throb of the engines. His companion lent him afield-glass, and for hours he revelled in the panorama of tropical lifethat passed before his eyes. At one point he saw an antelope come downa wooded slope to the edge of the water. What seemed to be a greenmoss-covered log of wood lay almost hidden from the animal by thebulging bank. The antelope had just put his fore-feet into the waterwhen the log moved, one end of it parted into two yawning jaws, and forthe first time in his life Tom saw a crocodile in its native element.The trembling antelope started back, just escaped the snap of the hugehungry jaws, and bounded back into the forest.
Tom could not resist the temptation to try a shot at the slimy reptile.He took careful aim and fired. The crocodile slid off thehalf-submerged sand-bank on which it was basking, and disappeared in thewater.
"Did I hit it, sir?" he asked eagerly.
"It is impossible to say. It may merely have been startled by thereport, and we could only make sure by waiting to see if its bodyrises."
"And that, of course, we can't do," said Tom with a sigh.
The launch sped on and on, steaming now her full seven knots. Tomnoticed that she was never very far from the land, and knowing, from hislook at the map overnight, that Bukumbi was almost in the centre of thesouthern shore, he wondered why the padre did not steer a more westerlycourse. He asked the question.
"Well," said the missionary, "it is partly custom and partlysuperstition, I suspect. Everyone is shy of sailing directly acrossfrom north to south or east to west. Many of our launches are hardlytight craft, as you see, and a storm would be a very serious matter inthe open."
"But surely there are no storms on an inland lake?"
"There are indeed. The wind here sometimes lashes the water into wavesas high as any you can see on the English Channel. Gales have blown thenative dhows out into the open, and they have never returned. Thenatives, too, will tell you that a huge monster inhabits the waters nearone of the many islands that stud the lake; there it lies in wait tosuck their craft down. I have never seen it myself," he added with asmile, "but I once heard your Sir Harry Johnston say that he had lookedinto the matter, and was rather inclined to believe that the monster wasa manatee."
Still they sailed on. After sixty miles or so they left Britishterritory and came into German East Africa, and soon the tropical forestwhich had clothed the highlands sloping back from the shore, gave placeto more level grassland, some of which was evidently under cultivation.The shore was indented in many narrow creeks, and in one of these Tomsaw a singular-looking canoe, at least fifty feet long, manned by adozen naked Baganda. The keel of this, the padre told him, was a singletree-stem, the interior of which had been chipped out with axes andburnt out with fire. When the keel was finished, holes were bored in itat intervals with a red-hot iron spike; the planks for the sides weresimilarly pierced; and then wattles made of the rind of the raphia palmwere passed through the holes, and planks and keel were literally sewntogether. All chinks and holes were then stopped with grease, and thewhole canoe, inside and out, was smeared with a coating ofvermilion-coloured clay. The prow projected some feet beyond the noseof the boat, and sloped upwards from the water. The top of it, Tomobserved, was decorated with a pair of horns, and connected with thebeak by a rope from which hung a fringe of grass and filaments from thebanana-tree. When the occupants of the canoe caught sight of the WhiteFather, they struck their paddles into the water, and drove theirslender craft rapidly towards the launch. But the padre made signs thathe was in a great hurry and could not stop to speak to them, and after atime they desisted and paddled back t
o the shore.
"Though I believe they could have overtaken us if they chose," said themissionary. "I have known them propel their canoes at six or sevenmiles an hour."
"Mr. Barkworth would call them fine fellows," remarked Tom with a smile."I always had an idea that the natives of these parts were a puny,stunted set of people, but really those fellows in the canoe aresplendid specimens."
The sun set, and the moon rose, and still the launch panted along. Atlast, when it was nearly ten o'clock, and the log showed close upon ahundred miles, the padre ran the boat into a wide creek, where heanchored for the night.
Tom looked weary and heavy-eyed when he greeted the missionary about sixo'clock next morning.
"Your wild neighbours are rather too much for me," he said. "I did notsleep a wink till near daylight. Never in my life have I heard suchweird noises."
"And I slept like a top," said the padre, smiling. "What were thenoises that disturbed you?"
"Well, there was, for one thing, the squawk of the night-jar, which wasunmistakeable; then there was the croak of frogs, only this was louderthan our English frogs can manage, just like the sound of a gong beatenslowly. But there was a curious chirping, like a lot of bells very muchout of tune jingling at a distance. What was that?"
"That was made by hundreds of cicadas in the reeds."
"Then an owl hooted, and some old lion set up a roar, and then againthere came a strange bark I never heard before; it began with a snap,and rose higher and higher in pitch, till it became a miserable howlthat gave me the shivers."
"That was the jackal."
"An eerie brute," rejoined Tom. "One answered another until there was awhole chorus of them at it, all trying to howl each other down. Butworst of all was a dreadful squeal, just like a baby in mortal pain. Iwas dozing when I heard that; I became wide-awake with a start, andjumped up, and then remembered where I was. It couldn't have been ababy, could it, Padre?"
"No; it was no doubt a monkey which had climbed down from the branchesof some mimosa, and found itself in the coils of a snake. You will getused to that sort of thing if you spend many nights in Uganda. But now,steam is up, I see; we must be off."
"There is one thing that has been puzzling me," said Tom. "Last nightyou told me we were now in German East Africa. But how is it that youhave a French mission in German territory?"
"The explanation is simple. We were here before the Germans. Thisgreat lake was discovered by your Captain Speke in 1858, you remember,but it was not until Stanley came here in 1875 that the attention ofEurope was really called to Uganda. You have heard, no doubt, ofStanley's famous letter to the _Daily Telegraph_, asking formissionaries to be sent out here?"
"I can't say I have."
"Well, when Stanley came, he found the king, Mtesa, much perplexed aboutreligious matters, and he wrote a letter asking that Englishmissionaries might be sent out to evangelize the people. A friend ofGordon's, a Belgian named Linant de Bellefonds, happened to be here atthe time, and he volunteered to take Stanley's letter to Europe by wayof the Nile. On the way, poor fellow, he was murdered by the Bari, whothrew his corpse on to the bank, where it lay rotting in the sun. Anexpedition sent to punish the Bari found poor Bellefonds' body, and onremoving his long knee-boots they discovered the letter tucked inbetween boot and leg. It was sent to Gordon at Khartum, and thence toEngland, and thus it came about that your Church of England missionbegan its work in Uganda in 1877."
"But how did you come here?"
"Oh, our mission, as I told you the other night, was started by CardinalLavigerie at Tanganyika. He thought that France should not be behindEngland in good works, so he sent some of his White Fathers northward toUganda, and that is how we came to have a station at Bukumbi."
"What about the Germans, then?"
"After the missionary comes the trader. Your Joseph Thomson was thefirst to prove what splendid commercial prospects Uganda presented, andthen, of course, there was a scramble. It would be too long a story totell you of treaties and schemes; of the fickleness and treachery of thevicious King Mwanga; of Lugard and Gerald Portal and Sir Harry Johnston.But in 1890 Central Africa was parcelled out among Britain and Germanyand the King of the Belgians, and you British, with your genius forcolonization, have really done wonderful things. I admire your success;and there is one thing at least in which you and we are quite agreed--weboth detest slavery, and the slave knows that whether he flies to theBritish trader's bungalow or the mission-house of the White Fathers, heis sure of protection."
The day passed uneventfully. Tom went down once or twice to relieve thenative at the engine, and after what the missionary had told him of thestorms that sometimes arose on the lake, he hoped more than ever thatthe crazy machinery would be equal to the strain put upon it.
About seven in the evening the launch came to the mouth of the Bay ofBukumbi. There was a good deal of sea running, and it took the Father,with Tom's assistance, more than half an hour before they found, in thedarkness, among the tall swishing reeds, a place where they could land.The task was at length accomplished; leaving Mbutu and the stoker onboard, the padre and Tom went ashore, and met with a warm welcome fromthe fathers at the station. They dined and slept at the mission-house,and left early next morning, taking some fresh food on board. FatherChevasse wished to make direct for the Sese Islands at the north-west ofthe Nyanza, where the White Fathers had another station, but he found itnecessary to put in for fuel at Muanza, some two hours' sail fromBukumbi. While he went to visit an acquaintance there, Tom strolledabout the station, wondering at the bare and desolate appearance of itssurroundings. He learned afterwards that the Germans had cut down thetrees and burnt the villages within five miles of their fort--aninfallible specific for keeping the country quiet. As he saunteredalong he was half-startled, half-amused, to hear a native servantaddressing a young subaltern, evidently fresh from the Fatherland, in aqueer jargon of broken German. The effect was even more ludicrous thanthe broken English of Kisumu.
Tom's next impression was of a different kind. Turning into a narrowthoroughfare off the main street, he came face to face with a Germancaptain in full uniform, swaggering along with elbows well stuck out,and two inches of moustache stiffly perpendicular, militant andaggressive. There was very little room to pass. The path was narrow;on one side was a wall, on the other a muddy road very badly cut up bycart-wheels. It was clearly an occasion for mutual concession. But theGerman does not go to Africa to make concessions, Tom was obviously acivilian, and, by all the rules of the German social system, beyond thepale of military courtesy. To the German officer it was as if he werenot there. The captain came on with the rigid strut of an automaton,taking it for granted that Tom would efface himself against the wall.But he had failed to recognize that the civilian was not a German.Seeing that a collision was inevitable, Tom conceded the utmostconsistent with self-respect, and stiffened his back for the rest.There was a sharp jolt; the automaton, inflexibly rigid, swung round ason a pivot, clutched vainly at Tom for support, and subsided into themud.
"Sorry, I'm sure," said Tom blandly. "Hope you're not hurt. The pathis narrow."
White with anger, the German sprang to his feet, and, with the instinctof one not long from Berlin, laid his hand on his sword. But the tallfigure walking unconcernedly on was unmistakeably that of an Englishman,and the angry captain scowled ineffectually at Tom's back, and made ahasty toilet before starting to regain his bungalow by theless-frequented thoroughfares.
The padre was vexed when Tom told him of the incident.
"It was Captain Stumpff," he said, "commandant of the German station atFort Bukoba near your frontier. He has no love for you English, and nowhe will like you less than ever. Not that his friendship is worth much.He is a boor, and a terror to the natives. The Germans are so muchhated that the natives about here call them Wa-daki, 'the men of wrath',and well they deserve the name. Even the Portuguese are mild bycomparison, and that is saying a good deal. Now as regard
s our journey,as we have been delayed at Muanza longer than I anticipated, I proposeto steer straight across instead of hugging the shore. The weather isfine, and we shall save time in that way."
The launch went ahead at full speed, passing within about half a mile ofthe wooded island of Kome. Tom again found plenty of use for thefield-glass, watching the myriad water-fowl of all descriptions thathaunt the reedy shore of the lake. The air was beautifully clear, and ifhis mission had been less urgent Tom would have dearly liked to exploresome of the creeks, fringed with tropical vegetation, that run upseemingly for miles into the land.
Gradually, however, they left the shore behind, and in a few hours thecoast-line was but a hazy fringe on the horizon. They were by this timewell out on the Nyanza, and the padre noticed with concern that the skytoward the north-east was assuming a leaden hue. The wind had freshenedfrom the same quarter; the surface of the lake was changing;white-tipped waves came rolling up on the starboard side. In a fewminutes, as it seemed, the sky became black; and then, with a suddengust, a terrific storm of rain burst over the boat, drenching Tom andthe missionary to the skin. The wind blew with ever-increasing force,sweeping the rain in sheets before it; the sea was being lashed to fury,and big waves broke with a swish over the deck. It was all that the mencould do to keep their feet. Mbutu, perturbed both in body and mind,clung desperately to the handrail of the companionway; the native stokerwas beside himself with terror, and in no condition to execute an ordereven if he could hear it above the tumult of the gale. The padre,wholly occupied with the wheel, shouted to Tom to keep an eye on theengine. Creeping across the deck, Tom made the best of his way below,with some difficulty closing the hatch above him. Just as he securedthe hatch, a huge sea broke over the vessel, carrying away deck-chairand camp-stool, snapping the stanchions of the awning as though theywere match-wood, and sweeping the ruins into the sea, among them therifle which Tom had stood against the gunwale.
Having tumbled rather than run down the companion-way, Tom staggered tothe engine and examined the gauge. He thought it possible to crowd on alittle more steam, and as there was no chance of consulting themissionary, on his own responsibility he flung more logs on the fire.Meanwhile the boat was rolling and pitching terribly; every moment aheavy thud resounded as a wave broke on the deck; and Tom could hear thestraining of the rudder as the missionary strove to keep the vessel'shead to the wind.
The fight had gone on for an hour or more, when all at once the screwceased to revolve; there was an escape of steam; and Tom knew that whathe had for some time been dreading had at last occurred. The engine hadbroken down. Reversing the lever he clambered on deck, and saw by theexpression in the padre's face that he knew what had happened. Thedownpour had ceased, but the wind was still blowing a furious gale, and,with no way on the boat, the rudder was useless.
"What is to be done?" shouted Tom in the padre's ear.
"Nothing. We are bound to drift; we are already driving towards theshore. Heaven send we miss the rocks!"
Both men clung to the wheel, and watched anxiously as the launch,shuddering under the waves that struck her in close succession, drewnearer and nearer to the shore. Tom could already see the foamingbreakers rolling wildly against a huge rock that loomed up a hundredyards ahead. A few seconds more, and he expected the keel to strike.The missionary was alive to their imminent peril. Cutting loose a lightmast, he hurried with it to the port side, and just as a wave smote thevessel on the other quarter, lifting it almost on to the rock, he thrustout the mast and pushed with all his might. Tom gave a gasp of relief.The vessel shaved the rock by a hand's-breadth, and sped past. A secondlater it was brought up with a sudden jerk, plunged forward a few yards,and then came finally to a stop.
"We are on a sand-bank," cried the padre. "If the storm continues weshall be broken up in half an hour."
"Can't we do anything, sir?" asked Tom.
"Nothing but trust to Providence."
Happily, not many minutes after the launch had grounded, the wind beganto lull, and by the time it was dark had entirely fallen. With thesuddenness characteristic of storms on the Nyanza, the force of thebreakers rapidly diminished, the sky cleared, and the stars came out.
"I'm going down to see what's wrong with the engine," said Tom, drippingwet as he was. Fortunately he found a candle and dry matches. Hestruck a light and crept into the machinery. Ten minutes' examinationshowed him that the strain had loosened the valve connecting thesteam-pipe with the cylinder, so that the pressure was inadequate tomove the piston-rod. He had sufficient experience to know that he couldrepair it well enough to stand for a day or two. Coming out again heordered Mbutu and the stoker, now recovered from their fright, to baleout the water that had shipped below; then he stripped off his clothesand wrung them out, dressed himself again, and set about his task.
By this time it was eight o'clock in the evening. The padre, havingdried his clothes as well as he could, went below to see if he couldlend Tom a hand; Tom thanked him, but said he thought he could manage byhimself, and suggested that the missionary might order Mbutu to preparesome supper. In about three hours Tom came on deck tired and dirty.
"It's done, Father," he said. "The old thing's patched at last. Itwill stand till you get back to Port Florence, I think."
"Well done, Mr. Burnaby!" returned the padre. "It is wonderful goodluck that I had such a skilful engineer on board."
"Well, you see, I had some experience in Glasgow," said Tom modestly."And then the chief engineer on the _Peninsular_ showed me all over hisengines, and taught me a lot. Shall we fire up to-night?"
"No, I think we'll lay by till morning and get what sleep we can. ThenI hope with the dawn we shall be able to run off the sand-bank. I havemade some cocoa, and I am sure you must be hungry."
Tom was so fatigued that as soon as he laid his head down after a goodmeal he fell asleep. Five hours slipped by like twenty minutes, andthen he was awakened soon after daybreak by a loud snorting bellow thatseemed to shake the vessel. Bounding on deck he found the padre alreadythere, looking with dismay at a crowd of hippopotamuses sporting intheir lumbering way among the rushes. The animals appeared to have justdiscovered the launch, and to have decided that it was an intruder intotheir domains, to be summarily ejected, for one great bull lifted histhick snout and, furiously bellowing, charged. The impact stove in aplank just above water-line, and lifted the vessel half out of thewater. The stoker yelled with terror. Mbutu snatched up the mast thathad proved of such good service the day before, while the padre lookedanxious. There were no arms on board, and Tom bitterly regretted thathe had not left his rifle below instead of keeping it with him on deck.Suddenly an idea struck him. Placing his hand on the funnel he found,as he had hoped, that the engine-fire was alight. He ran below, pickedup a length of hose he had noticed coiled near one of the bunkers, fixedone end to the exhaust-pipe, and hurried back to the deck, carrying thenozzle end with him. Instructing the stoker to turn on the cock at asignal, he went into the bows and saw the hippo preparing for a secondcharge. Shouting to the stoker, he pointed the hose full at the eyes ofthe gigantic beast; a stream of boiling water issued from it, and thehippo, bellowing with pain, plunged off the bank with a force that shookthe vessel, and lumbered away. His companions watched him for a fewseconds with a look of dull amazement, and then, taking in thesituation, stampeded after him.
"The enemy retires in confusion," said Tom, laughing.
"A capital idea of yours," said the missionary. "I confess I was reallysomewhat alarmed. After all, I believe the brute has helped us. Ifancy he shifted us a little off the bank. Put on the steam, and let ussee if we can move."
Tom went below and pressed the throttle. The vessel did not stir.There was not sufficient depth of water. Hurrying on deck again heasked the padre to push from the stern with the serviceable mast; andafter a few minutes' hard shoving at various places, he had thesatisfaction of feeling the launch move an inch or two forward.Returning b
elow he started the engine, and ten minutes later the boatslid off the sandbank into deep water. Fortunately no harm had beendone to the bottom. The engine worked well, though Tom did not ventureto put it at full speed after the strain of the previous day. Skirtingthe western shore, the vessel passed Bukoba in the afternoon, and aboutfive o'clock arrived at the mouth of a river emerging into the lakethrough dense forest.
"This is the Ruezi," said the padre. "The expedition has gone up thisriver. I am glad, my dear boy, that in God's providence I have beenable to bring you safely to this point, and I don't forget how much weall owe to your skill and presence of mind. Now I must land you here.I can take you in until the water is shallow enough for you to wadeashore. You will find a village half a mile or so inland, and yourfuture course must depend on what information you there obtain. I amnot very clear about the nature of the country, but the expedition willhave left very distinct traces. I need not say I wish you every success,and on your return I shall hope to see more of you."
"Many thanks for all your kindness, Father!" said Tom, shaking handswarmly. "I'll look you up, never fear."
"Take my field-glass; you may find it useful," said the padre. "I havealready packed up some tea and a few other things for you, and Mbutu hasa couple of rugs; you will find nights in the open rather cold.Good-bye, good-bye!"
The boy slipped overboard with the baggage, Tom following immediately.They reached the shore after some trouble with the rushes, and Tom therewaved a final farewell to the missionary, whom the launch was alreadybearing away northwards towards the Sese Islands.
At the same moment, out of a clump of elephant-grass some three hundredyards up the river, came a long vermilion canoe manned by eight negroes.In the stern sat a European in a green coat. Catching sight of the twofigures by the riverside he sprang up, appeared to hesitate, then gave asudden order. The canoe swung round, and barely a minute after it hademerged from the rushes it disappeared again, rapidly moving under thestrokes of eight red paddles.
Not, however, before Mbutu's sharp eyes had flashed a glance at it. Heuttered a low cry, and turned to Tom.
"Dago man, sah!"
"Where?" said Tom, wheeling landwards with a start.
"Ober dar, sah. Long canoe, dago man in green coat. Sah knock himdown."
"Nonsense! You can't see clearly all that way. It must have beensomeone else."
"Dago, sure nuff," returned the boy positively. "Mbutu know eyes, nose,coat, kiboko, all berrah much."
"Ho, ho! So the dago is here, is he? Now I wonder what he is after.He couldn't have known we were coming, that's certain. He must havestarted before us--perhaps on the track of the expedition. Well, Mbutu,we must find out what his game is. Did he see you, d'you think?"
"See Mbutu? Yes. Sah too. Dago see all much. Sah knock him down!"
"Well, I hope I shall not have to knock him down again. We must keep oureyes open, Mbutu; remember, my uncle's life in all probability dependson our running no risks."
"All right, sah! Big sah, little sah, all same for one."