Settlers and Scouts Part 6

The work of the Indians being finished for the present, Mr. Halliday thought of paying them off; but reflecting that more fencing would be needed by and by, as well as lambing-pens and cattle-sheds as the stock increased, he decided to retain the men, even though he could not make full use of them.

It chanced one day that a Swahili came to the farm with a letter from Mr. Gillespie, enclosing one addressed to Mr. Halliday, and bearing the Glasgow postmark and a date nine weeks back. The flap of the envelope bore the name and address of a firm of lawyers unknown to Mr. Halliday, and he opened the letter with some curiosity mixed with apprehension.

"Well now," he exclaimed, as he hastily read it, "this is a pretty fix."

"What is it, father?" asked John.

"You've heard me speak of my uncle Alec--the old curmudgeon who lived by himself and hasn't spoken to any of his family for twenty years. Well, the poor old man is dead, and these people, Wright and MacKellar, tell me that he left no will, and understanding that I am the next of kin, they urge me to come to Glasgow and make good my t.i.tle. The letter was written nearly three months ago, and seems by the look of the envelope to have had an adventurous career."

"But hadn't your uncle any children?"

"One daughter. She married without his consent: I forget the man's name, and I haven't heard about her for five-and-twenty years."

"What will you do?"

"I'm just thinking. My uncle was a s.h.i.+powner, and pretty well-to-do: indeed, your poor mother's friends used to advise me to keep in with him, but I couldn't toady to the old bear. I suppose I ought to go back, and yet!---- It's rather upsetting, my boy, just as we are getting settled. He must have died before we left England, and if I had known then, and really inherit his property, we needn't have come out at all, perhaps."

"I'm jolly glad you didn't, then, for I wouldn't have been out of this for anything."

"That's all very well, but there's the property: it would be a pity to lose that: shouldn't like it to go out of the family. At the same time, I'm not inclined to give up the farm; we've made a good start, and I'm uncommonly interested in it. Besides, I may not be the heir after all; my cousin may be alive: and I should look a pretty fool after going to this expense if I cleared out and got nothing--like the dog in the fable. I think I'd better take a trip back to Nairobi and see Gillespie. And I'll tell you what I'll do, John. If I decide to go home, as most likely I shall, I'll find an experienced man in Nairobi and send him up to take charge while I'm away."

"That's rather rotten," said John with a crestfallen look. "I don't want anybody here bossing me, father. Why not leave me in charge?"

"You're over young, John," replied Mr. Halliday dubiously.

"I'm just on eighteen, and I've got a bit used to things. I learnt a lot in that six months at the agricultural college before we started.

I'm not exactly a fool, either. Plenty of fellows have gone to the Colonies on their own at my age, and done jolly well too. Look at Ned Cooper; he's got his own ranch in British Columbia, and he's not more than a year older than I am. Besides, look at the expense. You won't get a decent Englishman who'll be any good under 300 a year, I should think, and if this business in Glasgow turns out a frost, you'll be precious sorry you spent the money."

"There's something in that," said Mr. Halliday, stroking his beard.

"Well, I'll think of it."

The upshot of his meditations was that he decided to do as John suggested. The lad was unfeignedly delighted; the responsibility did not daunt him; though he said little he felt capable of carrying on the work of the farm, and inwardly resolved to have a good budget to show his father when he returned. Mr. Halliday spent a good many anxious hours in instilling principles of caution and carefulness into his mind: he gave directions about the steps to be taken to bring the cattle and sheep and dairy produce to market when the proper time came; and then one day he set off with Coja and a couple of villagers as porters, determined to ask Mr. Gillespie to keep an eye on the boy as far as he could.

Before leaving he had a little conversation with Said Mohammed, upon whom he impressed the necessity of paying implicit obedience to his young master, and of helping him in every possible way.

"Verb. sap., sir," said the Bengali. "Mr. John is a chip of the old block, a second edition of you, sir, and I esteem myself most fortunate and in clover to do this trivial round for such a superior person."

Things went on very peacefully and on the whole prosperously at the farm after Mr. Halliday's departure. He sent Coja back from Nairobi with a letter in which he wrote that Mr. Gillespie had advised him to return to England, and had promised to pay John a visit if he found time. The rains began soon after Mr. Halliday had gone, and John was mortified when a few of the sheep died through catching a chill; but apart from this misfortune nothing happened to trouble him. He had no difficulties with the people under his authority. Coja proved to be a handy man; Wasama and his son were excellent herdsmen; and Lulu not only did a fair share of labour in the fields with the villagers, but excelled in laundry work, and looked after John's simple wardrobe with a neatness and care which would have put many a London landlady to the blush. As for Said Mohammed, he was a compendium of utilities. He was cook, khansaman, and table-servant rolled into one. He was careful to explain that in India he would scorn to serve in more than one capacity, but "Tempora mutantur," he quoted impressively, "et nos mutamur in illis."

"Rest, sir, is change of occupation," he said, "and when I have accomplished the culinary part of my functions, I make a lightning change and become a dumb waiter, remembering the beautiful words of the blind epic poet, 'They also serve who only stand and wait.'"

With the beginning of the rains came the season for planting. Mr.

Halliday had brought a variety of seeds with him, for though he hoped to make money out of stock-raising rather than agriculture, and reckoned on getting cereals from the neighbouring village for his native and Indian workers, he was not sure that the villagers would always grow enough to supply their needs, and he wished also to grow English vegetables and fruits for his own consumption. John made a start towards the end of November with oats and wheat; next month he sowed cabbages, peas, tomatoes, potatoes and vegetable marrows, and planted a few apple-tree slips. In January he put in cabbages and onions, and finished off with cauliflowers in February. The great dread of the African cultivator is drought, but the rains fell almost continuously for three months, so that there was every prospect of good crops.

The sheep and cattle throve apace. There was no sign of scab or heart.w.a.ter in the former, but they were troubled for a time by the nostril-fly, a pest that lays its eggs in the nasal pa.s.sages, causing intense irritation and sometimes a dangerous fever. Two or three of the animals died, but there happening to be a syringe among the things brought from Nairobi, John made a point every night of thoroughly was.h.i.+ng out the nostrils of the sheep affected, and had the satisfaction of preventing any more deaths from this cause, though he never succeeded in banis.h.i.+ng the pests. He felt not a little gratified at pulling one of the bulls through an attack of pneumonia. After a little trouble in inducing the two Masai and Lulu to be scrupulous in was.h.i.+ng their hands, he managed to get the dairy into working order. Each cow yielded about four pounds of milk a day, some of which he turned into b.u.t.ter, which his people consumed in enormous quant.i.ties. All the spare milk over and above what was used for food was utilized for making cheese, which was stored in a deep pit until it could be transported to market at Nairobi.

Being dissatisfied with the gra.s.s huts which had originally been erected by the natives, he set the mistris to build substantial houses of logs and thatch, and found them both cleaner and healthier. They cost no more than 1 apiece. He also got them to put up a plant-house with wickerwork sides and thatched roof at a cost of 5. Finding that the villagers possessed fowls, he bought a number, and this provided more work for the carpenters. They built a large hen-house of wood with an iron roof, and fenced in a run of about 1000 square feet in area. With the prospect of good crops a barn was necessary, and they erected a wooden building with a floor of about 300 square feet. Having no iron left, he had to roof this with thatch, resolving to buy more galvanized roofing on his first visit to Nairobi.

Before all this work was finished some of the vegetables and cereals he had planted grew to maturity. Said Mohammed gave him turnips for dinner in February; next month he had some fine tomatoes and potatoes, and by the beginning of April the most delicious peas and vegetable marrows he had ever tasted. The grain fields, however, suffered a good deal from the depredations of weaver birds, and after ineffectual attempts to get rid of these with his rifle and by setting up scarecrows, John resorted to a poison supplied by his native neighbours--a decoction of a certain root. This proved effective. The wheat was ready for reaping in April, and he was amused to see the natives cut it with knives, they being quite unable to handle the scythes Mr. Halliday had brought. They threshed it with sticks and winnowed it with hand-sieves. There was a small hand-mill among the farm utensils, and by the end of April John enjoyed the unaccustomed luxury of eating bread baked by Said Mohammed in an earthen oven. Only half an acre had been sown with wheat, and as the yield was 400 lbs. of grain John was thoroughly satisfied. The oats were not ripe until July, and the yield was much less than that of the wheat; but they made good porridge, and John was able to write to his father that when he returned he could have the national breakfast.

John had heard from Mr. Halliday several times since his departure. The first letter arrived early in December, and caused him mingled amus.e.m.e.nt and vexation.

"Here I am, in Glasgow, flouris.h.i.+ng as ever. Tennant's stack is behaving even worse than usual, and the atmosphere makes me fair sick after the air of Kenya. I had a horrible pa.s.sage: we were terribly knocked about in the Bay, and I got a black eye one night through being pitched out of my bunk and coming into collision with the ledge of the one below. There was a teetotal commercial on board (rare bird), who looked at me very suspiciously at breakfast, and asked me at lunch whether I drank pot-still or patent. I asked him which was his line, and he got so red that I was uncharitable enough to conjecture he drinks on the sly.

"But here I am, and I think I've made a fool of myself in coming; for when I called at Wright and MacKellar's they showed me a cable they had just received from the Cape. 'Halliday's daughter inherits; letter this mail.' The death of poor old uncle had of course been announced in the _Herald_, and that goes everywhere, and sure enough when the mail came in there was a letter from some lawyer fellows at Cape Town to say that their client, Mrs. Burtenshaw, nee Sylvia Halliday, having seen the announcement of her father's death, had made arrangements to return to Scotland to claim the estate I asked them why the ballachulish they hadn't waited before they sent for me, and Wright said that if he had been aware that I had changed my domicile (law for left the country, I suppose) he would certainly have hesitated before putting me to the inconvenience (and expense, I put in) of making so long a voyage. I asked whether my expenses would come out of the estate, and he said that he was inclined to believe the trustees would not h.o.m.ologate any claim for my outgoings. I'm glad you were not a lawyer, after all. I was for starting back at once, but he wouldn't hear of it: said I must wait to see whether Mrs. Burtenshaw could substantiate her claim; she might be an impostor, and since the estate is valued at over 100,000 it would be a pity to be out of the way if I turned out to be the heir after all.

My cousin's name is Sylvia right enough, and I'm convinced the claimant will prove her bona-fides, but I suppose I must kick my heels until she turns up. It's twenty-five years or more since I saw her, and I shouldn't know her from Lulu, so I can't help to identify her.

Altogether I'm very unhappy. Tell me how you're getting on. I am wearying until I get back, and on thorns in case anything goes wrong.

G.o.d bless you!

"P.S.--Don't forget that cabbages and cauliflowers must be transplanted _about five weeks_ after they are sown."

This was vexing enough, but when the next letter came, saying that Mrs.

Burtenshaw was laid up with bronchitis and would be unable to travel for some time, John was thoroughly distressed. He knew how his father would hate hanging on indefinitely, with nothing to do, and no interests to keep him in St. Mungo's city. Mr. Halliday, however, did not remain in Glasgow. He went to his old home in the south of England, instructing Wright and MacKellar to summon him by telegraph when the lady arrived.

As time went on, the stock on the farm was considerably increased by the arrival of healthy lambs and calves. John had expected his father to return before it became necessary to drive the animals to Nairobi for sale, and he became seriously concerned as to how that was to be done.

Being the only white man on the farm he could not leave it; yet the animals must be taken to market somehow, for his father was relying on the proceeds of their sale to replenish his small balance at the bank, which he had had to draw upon to meet the expenses of his prolonged stay in England. John himself was running short of "trade" for the payment of his native workers from the village, and of ready money for his immediate dependants, who required hard cash or notes of the East African currency. He did not wish to draw on the bank, as his father had authorized him to do; and he knew that the sums realized by the sale of the stock would enable him to carry on for a considerable time, and also to add to the bank surplus, upon which Mr. Halliday might have to draw at any moment.

There was no one among the hands to whom he could entrust the driving of the cattle. Wasama and his boy, no doubt, could do the actual driving, if they were not plundered on the way; but the presence of a white man would be almost a _sine qua non_ to prevent molestation on the journey.

Even in the unlikely chance of Wasama getting the beasts safely to Nairobi he could not be expected to sell them to advantage, and Said Mohammed, when John spoke of it to him one day, very frankly acknowledged that the Masai would come off second best in any attempt to barter with the traders of Nairobi, whether Indian or European.

"You have to be up to snuff, sir," said the Bengali, "in dealing with gentlemen of business capacity. Wasama is a very good chap: I have high opinion of his honesty, et cetera; but honesty is no go in markets without the possession of considerable ac.u.men, and Wasama has not had the advantage of gaining that familiarity with the methods of civilization, which, as the proverb says, breeds contempt," an unconsciously double-edged remark which did not amuse John.

Of course he might ask the help of Mr. Gillespie, which would no doubt be very willingly given; but John was very reluctant to let things out of his own hands, having a full share of Anglo-Saxon independence. The matter, at any rate, was not immediately urgent. Two or three more months must pa.s.s before the young animals were weaned and fit to undertake the long journey; and John still hoped that by the time the sale of them became imperative his father would have returned.

It was about six months after Mr. Halliday left that John received the following letter from him--

"The lady has arrived. She's a very decent, respectable widow body. She has brought all her family, two boys and a girl--a pretty creature, the image of her mother when I first knew her. The widow produced her birth certificate and a series of photographs, the first showing her in her father's arms at about a week old, for all the world as if he were a royalty displaying the infant to a crowd of grandees. Wright and MacKellar are satisfied, which is more than I am, coming all this way on such a fool's errand. The widow wanted to repay me the 100 or so I've wasted, but of course I couldn't hear of that. I expect to sail next week. Glad to hear you're getting on well.

"P.S.--I suppose you haven't seen anything of those young Brownes? I'd be a deal happier if I knew you had neighbours."

A week later came a brief note.

"Fate's got a downer on me. I was fool enough to go for a ride in the widow's new 40 h.-p. Panhard. The chauffeur ran us into a d.y.k.e; the rest got bruises, but I survive with a broken leg. Tony Weller was right: beware of widders."

Since then no news had come, and John grew anxious, though he reflected that he would have heard if his father was seriously ill.

CHAPTER THE EIGHTH--Hard Pressed

John spent a good deal of time with Bill the Wanderobbo. He found it at first difficult to communicate with him, for the little man knew no English, nor even Swahili, which John was rapidly picking up, partly from Coja, and partly from a Swahili grammar and Bible which he had brought from Mombasa. He had to employ Wasama as the medium of intercourse with Bill, the two men speaking in the Masai tongue, and Wasama translating either into his imperfect English, or into Swahili, as John became more proficient in it. Coja told him that the Wanderobbo have a language of their own, and he tried to get Bill to teach him that; but the man became reserved and shy whenever the suggestion was made, and Wasama explained that the Wanderobbo never allowed any foreigner to hear them speak in their own tongue. After a time John managed to converse with Bill about simple matters in a kind of sign language, in which the Wanderobbo was very quick. He learnt long afterwards that the mysterious language of the tribe largely consists of signs, to such an extent that the people cannot understand one another in the dark.

One day Bill darkly hinted that though John was very rich, yet he, the Wanderobbo, was richer. This was surprising, seeing that to all appearance he possessed nothing but his hut and weapons. On being questioned he at first shyly refused to say more, but by and by said that he owned a very large store of ivory.