Then, a man having been transferred to my canoe, we once more started on in very low spirits and not feeling at all comfortable as to the future, but fondly hoping to arrive at the ‘Highlands’ station by night. To make matters worse, within an hour of sunrise it came on to rain in torrents8, wetting us to the skin, and even necessitating9 the occasional baling of the canoes, and as the rain beat down the wind we could not use the sails, and had to get along as best as we could with our paddles.
At eleven o’clock we halted on an open piece of ground on the left bank of the river, and, the rain abating10 a little, managed to make a fire and catch and broil11 some fish. We did not dare to wander about to search for game. At two o’clock we got off again, taking a supply of broiled12 fish with us, and shortly afterwards the rain came on harder than ever. Also the river began to get exceedingly difficult to navigate13 on account of the numerous rocks, reaches of shallow water, and the increased force of the current; so that it soon became clear to us that we should not reach the Rev3. Mackenzie’s hospitable14 roof that night—a prospect15 that did not tend to enliven us. Toil16 as we would, we could not make more than an average of a mile an hour, and at five o’clock in the afternoon (by which time we were all utterly17 worn out) we reckoned that we were still quite ten miles below the station. This being so, we set to work to make the best arrangements we could for the night. After our recent experience, we simply did not dare to land, more especially as the banks of the Tana were clothed with dense18 bush that would have given cover to five thousand Masai, and at first I thought that we were going to have another night of it in the canoes. Fortunately, however, we espied19 a little rocky islet, not more than fifteen miles or so square, situated20 nearly in the middle of the river. For this we paddled, and, making fast the canoes, landed and made ourselves as comfortable as circumstances would permit, which was very uncomfortable indeed. As for the weather, it continued to be simply vile21, the rain coming down in sheets till we were chilled to the marrow22, and utterly preventing us from lighting23 a fire. There was, however, one consoling circumstance about this rain; our Askari declared that nothing would induce the Masai to make an attack in it, as they intensely disliked moving about in the wet, perhaps, as Good suggested, because they hate the idea of washing. We ate some insipid24 and sodden25 cold fish—that is, with the exception of Umslopogaas, who, like most Zulus, cannot bear fish—and took a pull of brandy, of which we fortunately had a few bottles left, and then began what, with one exception—when we same three white men nearly perished of cold on the snow of Sheba’s Breast in the course of our journey to Kukuanaland—was, I think, the most trying night I ever experienced. It seemed absolutely endless, and once or twice I feared that two of the Askari would have died of the wet, cold, and exposure. Indeed, had it not been for timely doses of brandy I am sure that they would have died, for no African people can stand much exposure, which first paralyses and then kills them. I could see that even that iron old warrior26 Umslopogaas felt it keenly; though, in strange contrast to the Wakwafis, who groaned27 and bemoaned28 their fate unceasingly, he never uttered a single complaint. To make matters worse, about one in the morning we again heard the owl7’s ominous29 hooting30, and had at once to prepare ourselves for another attack; though, if it had been attempted, I do not think that we could have offered a very effective resistance. But either the owl was a real one this time, or else the Masai were themselves too miserable31 to think of offensive operations, which, indeed, they rarely, if ever, undertake in bush veldt. At any rate, we saw nothing of them.
At last the dawn came gliding32 across the water, wrapped in wreaths of ghostly mist, and, with the daylight, the rain ceased; and then, out came the glorious sun, sucking up the mists and warming the chill air. Benumbed, and utterly exhausted33, we dragged ourselves to our feet, and went and stood in the bright rays, and were thankful for them. I can quite understand how it is that primitive34 people become sun worshippers, especially if their conditions of life render them liable to exposure.
In half an hour more we were once again making fair progress with the help of a good wind. Our spirits had returned with the sunshine, and we were ready to laugh at difficulties and dangers that had been almost crushing on the previous day.
And so we went on cheerily till about eleven o’clock. Just as we were thinking of halting as usual, to rest and try to shoot something to eat, a sudden bend in the river brought us in sight of a substantial-looking European house with a veranda35 round it, splendidly situated upon a hill, and surrounded by a high stone wall with a ditch on the outer side. Right against and overshadowing the house was an enormous pine, the top of which we had seen through a glass for the last two days, but of course without knowing that it marked the site of the mission station. I was the first to see the house, and could not restrain myself from giving a hearty37 cheer, in which the others, including the natives, joined lustily. There was no thought of halting now. On we laboured, for, unfortunately, though the house seemed quite near, it was still a long way off by river, until at last, by one o’clock, we found ourselves at the bottom of the slope on which the building stood. Running the canoes to the bank, we disembarked, and were just hauling them up on to the shore, when we perceived three figures, dressed in ordinary English-looking clothes, hurrying down through a grove38 of trees to meet us.
‘A gentleman, a lady, and a little girl,’ ejaculated Good, after surveying the trio through his eyeglass, ‘walking in a civilized39 fashion, through a civilized garden, to meet us in this place. Hang me, if this isn’t the most curious thing we have seen yet!’
Good was right: it certainly did seem odd and out of place—more like a scene out of a dream or an Italian opera than a real tangible40 fact; and the sense of unreality was not lessened41 when we heard ourselves addressed in good broad Scotch42, which, however, I cannot reproduce.
‘How do you do, sirs,’ said Mr Mackenzie, a grey-haired, angular man, with a kindly43 face and red cheeks; ‘I hope I see you very well. My natives told me an hour ago they spied two canoes with white men in them coming up the river; so we have just come down to meet you.’
‘And it is very glad that we are to see a white face again, let me tell you,’ put in the lady—a charming and refined-looking person.
We took off our hats in acknowledgment, and proceeded to introduce ourselves.
‘And now,’ said Mr Mackenzie, ‘you must all be hungry and weary; so come on, gentlemen, come on, and right glad we are to see you. The last white who visited us was Alphonse—you will see Alphonse presently—and that was a year ago.’
Meanwhile we had been walking up the slope of the hill, the lower portion of which was fenced off, sometimes with quince fences and sometimes with rough stone walls, into Kaffir gardens, just now full of crops of mealies, pumpkins44, potatoes, etc. In the corners of these gardens were groups of neat mushroom-shaped huts, occupied by Mr Mackenzie’s mission natives, whose women and children came pouring out to meet us as we walked. Through the centre of the gardens ran the roadway up which we were walking. It was bordered on each side by a line of orange trees, which, although they had only been planted ten years, had in the lovely climate of the uplands below Mt Kenia, the base of which is about 5,000 feet above the coastline level, already grown to imposing45 proportions, and were positively46 laden47 with golden fruit. After a stiffish climb of a quarter of a mile or so—for the hillside was steep—we came to a splendid quince fence, also covered with fruit, which enclosed, Mr Mackenzie told us, a space of about four acres of ground that contained his private garden, house, church, and outbuildings, and, indeed, the whole hilltop. And what a garden it was! I have always loved a good garden, and I could have thrown up my hands for joy when I saw Mr Mackenzie’s. First there were rows upon rows of standard European fruit-trees, all grafted48; for on top of this hill the climate was so temperate49 that nearly all the English vegetables, trees, and flowers flourished luxuriantly, even including several varieties of the apple, which, generally, runs to wood in a warm climate and obstinately50 refuses to fruit. Then there were strawberries and tomatoes (such tomatoes!), and melons and cucumbers, and, indeed, every sort of vegetable and fruit.
‘Well, you have something like a garden!’ I said, overpowered with admiration51 not untouched by envy.
‘Yes,’ answered the missionary52, ‘it is a very good garden, and has well repaid my labour; but it is the climate that I have to thank. If you stick a peach-stone into the ground it will bear fruit the fourth year, and a rose-cutting will bloom in a year. It is a lovely clime.’
Just then we came to a ditch about ten feet wide, and full of water, on the other side of which was a loopholed stone wall eight feet high, and with sharp flints plentifully53 set in mortar54 on the coping.
‘There,’ said Mr Mackenzie, pointing to the ditch and wall, ‘this is my magnum opus; at least, this and the church, which is the other side of the house. It took me and twenty natives two years to dig the ditch and build the wall, but I never felt safe till it was done; and now I can defy all the savages56 in Africa, for the spring that fills the ditch is inside the wall, and bubbles out at the top of the hill winter and summer alike, and I always keep a store of four months’ provision in the house.’
Crossing over a plank57 and through a very narrow opening in the wall, we entered into what Mrs Mackenzie called her domain—namely, the flower garden, the beauty of which is really beyond my power to describe. I do not think I ever saw such roses, gardenias58, or camellias (all reared from seeds or cuttings sent from England); and there was also a patch given up to a collection of bulbous roots mostly collected by Miss Flossie, Mr Mackenzie’s little daughter, from the surrounding country, some of which were surpassingly beautiful. In the middle of this garden, and exactly opposite the veranda, a beautiful fountain of clear water bubbled up from the ground, and fell into a stone-work basin which had been carefully built to receive it, whence the overflow59 found its way by means of a drain to the moat round the outer wall, this moat in its turn serving as a reservoir, whence an unfailing supply of water was available to irrigate60 all the gardens below. The house itself, a massively built single-storied building, was roofed with slabs61 of stone, and had a handsome veranda in front. It was built on three sides of a square, the fourth side being taken up by the kitchens, which stood separate from the house—a very good plan in a hot country. In the centre of this square thus formed was, perhaps, the most remarkable62 object that we had yet seen in this charming place, and that was a single tree of the conifer tribe, varieties of which grow freely on the highlands of this part of Africa. This splendid tree, which Mr Mackenzie informed us was a landmark63 for fifty miles round, and which we had ourselves seen for the last forty miles of our journey, must have been nearly three hundred feet in height, the trunk measuring about sixteen feet in diameter at a yard from the ground. For some seventy feet it rose a beautiful tapering64 brown pillar without a single branch, but at that height splendid dark green boughs66, which, looked at from below, had the appearance of gigantic fern-leaves, sprang out horizontally from the trunk, projecting right over the house and flower-garden, to both of which they furnished a grateful proportion of shade, without—being so high up—offering any impediment to the passage of light and air.
‘What a beautiful tree!’ exclaimed Sir Henry.
‘Yes, you are right; it is a beautiful tree. There is not another like it in all the country round, that I know of,’ answered Mr Mackenzie. ‘I call it my watch tower. As you see, I have a rope ladder fixed67 to the lowest bough65; and if I want to see anything that is going on within fifteen miles or so, all I have to do is to run up it with a spyglass. But you must be hungry, and I am sure the dinner is cooked. Come in, my friends; it is but a rough place, but well enough for these savage55 parts; and I can tell you what, we have got—a French cook.’ And he led the way on to the veranda.
As I was following him, and wondering what on earth he could mean by this, there suddenly appeared, through the door that opened on to the veranda from the house, a dapper little man, dressed in a neat blue cotton suit, with shoes made of tanned hide, and remarkable for a bustling68 air and most enormous black mustachios, shaped into an upward curve, and coming to a point for all the world like a pair of buffalo-horns.
‘Madame bids me for to say that dinnar is sarved. Messieurs, my compliments;’ then suddenly perceiving Umslopogaas, who was loitering along after us and playing with his battleaxe, he threw up his hands in astonishment69. ‘Ah, mais quel homme!’ he ejaculated in French, ‘quel sauvage affreux! Take but note of his huge choppare and the great pit in his head.’
‘Ay,’ said Mr Mackenzie; ‘what are you talking about, Alphonse?’
‘Talking about!’ replied the little Frenchman, his eyes still fixed upon Umslopogaas, whose general appearance seemed to fascinate him; ‘why I talk of him’—and he rudely pointed—‘of ce monsieur noir.’
At this everybody began to laugh, and Umslopogaas, perceiving that he was the object of remark, frowned ferociously70, for he had a most lordly dislike of anything like a personal liberty.
‘Parbleu!’ said Alphonse, ‘he is angered—he makes the grimace71. I like not his air. I vanish.’ And he did with considerable rapidity.
Mr Mackenzie joined heartily72 in the shout of laughter which we indulged in. ‘He is a queer character—Alphonse,’ he said. ‘By and by I will tell you his history; in the meanwhile let us try his cooking.’
‘Might I ask,’ said Sir Henry, after we had eaten a most excellent dinner, ‘how you came to have a French cook in these wilds?’
‘Oh,’ answered Mrs Mackenzie, ‘he arrived here of his own accord about a year ago, and asked to be taken into our service. He had got into some trouble in France, and fled to Zanzibar, where he found an application had been made by the French Government for his extradition73. Whereupon he rushed off up-country, and fell in, when nearly starved, with our caravan74 of men, who were bringing us our annual supply of goods, and was brought on here. You should get him to tell you the story.’
When dinner was over we lit our pipes, and Sir Henry proceeded to give our host a description of our journey up here, over which he looked very grave.
‘It is evident to me,’ he said, ‘that those rascally75 Masai are following you, and I am very thankful that you have reached this house in safety. I do not think that they will dare to attack you here. It is unfortunate, though, that nearly all my men have gone down to the coast with ivory and goods. There are two hundred of them in the caravan, and the consequence is that I have not more than twenty men available for defensive76 purposes in case they should attack us. But, still, I will just give a few orders;’ and, calling a black man who was loitering about outside in the garden, he went to the window, and addressed him in a Swahili dialect. The man listened, and then saluted77 and departed.
‘I am sure I devoutly78 hope that we shall bring no such calamity79 upon you,’ said I, anxiously, when he had taken his seat again. ‘Rather than bring those bloodthirsty villains80 about your ears, we will move on and take our chance.’
‘You will do nothing of the sort. If the Masai come, they come, and there is an end on it; and I think we can give them a pretty warm greeting. I would not show any man the door for all the Masai in the world.’
‘That reminds me,’ I said, ‘the Consul81 at Lamu told me that he had had a letter from you, in which you said that a man had arrived here who reported that he had come across a white people in the interior. Do you think that there was any truth in his story? I ask, because I have once or twice in my life heard rumours82 from natives who have come down from the far north of the existence of such a race.’
Mr Mackenzie, by way of answer, went out of the room and returned, bringing with him a most curious sword. It was long, and all the blade, which was very thick and heavy, was to within a quarter of an inch of the cutting edge worked into an ornamental83 pattern exactly as we work soft wood with a fret-saw, the steel, however, being invariably pierced in such a way as not to interfere84 with the strength of the sword. This in itself was sufficiently85 curious, but what was still more so was that all the edges of the hollow spaces cut through the substance of the blade were most beautifully inlaid with gold, which was in some way that I cannot understand welded on to the steel {Endnote 5}.
‘There,’ said Mr Mackenzie, ‘did you ever see a sword like that?’
We all examined it and shook our heads.
‘Well, I have got it to show you, because this is what the man who said he had seen the white people brought with him, and because it does more or less give an air of truth to what I should otherwise have set down as a lie. Look here; I will tell you all that I know about the matter, which is not much. One afternoon, just before sunset, I was sitting on the veranda, when a poor, miserable, starved-looking man came limping up and squatted86 down before me. I asked him where he came from and what he wanted, and thereon he plunged87 into a long rambling88 narrative89 about how he belonged to a tribe far in the north, and how his tribe was destroyed by another tribe, and he with a few other survivors90 driven still further north past a lake named Laga. Thence, it appears, he made his way to another lake that lay up in the mountains, “a lake without a bottom” he called it, and here his wife and brother died of an infectious sickness—probably smallpox—whereon the people drove him out of their villages into the wilderness91, where he wandered miserably92 over mountains for ten days, after which he got into dense thorn forest, and was one day found there by some white men who were hunting, and who took him to a place where all the people were white and lived in stone houses. Here he remained a week shut up in a house, till one night a man with a white beard, whom he understood to be a “medicine-man”, came and inspected him, after which he was led off and taken through the thorn forest to the confines of the wilderness, and given food and this sword (at least so he said), and turned loose.’
‘Well,’ said Sir Henry, who had been listening with breathless interest, ‘and what did he do then?’
‘Oh! he seems, according to his account, to have gone through sufferings and hardships innumerable, and to have lived for weeks on roots and berries, and such things as he could catch and kill. But somehow he did live, and at last by slow degrees made his way south and reached this place. What the details of his journey were I never learnt, for I told him to return on the morrow, bidding one of my headmen look after him for the night. The headman took him away, but the poor man had the itch36 so badly that the headman’s wife would not have him in the hut for fear of catching93 it, so he was given a blanket and told to sleep outside. As it happened, we had a lion hanging about here just then, and most unhappily he winded this unfortunate wanderer, and, springing on him, bit his head almost off without the people in the hut knowing anything about it, and there was an end of him and his story about the white people; and whether or no there is any truth in it is more than I can tell you. What do you think, Mr Quatermain?’
I shook my head, and answered, ‘I don’t know. There are so many queer things hidden away in the heart of this great continent that I should be sorry to assert that there was no truth in it. Anyhow, we mean to try and find out. We intend to journey to Lekakisera, and thence, if we live to get so far, to this Lake Laga; and, if there are any white people beyond, we will do our best to find them.’
‘You are very venturesome people,’ said Mr Mackenzie, with a smile, and the subject dropped.
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1
remains
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| n.剩余物，残留物；遗体，遗迹 | |
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providence
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| n.深谋远虑，天道，天意；远见；节约；上帝 | |
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rev
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| v.发动机旋转，加快速度 | |
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bosom
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| n.胸，胸部；胸怀；内心；adj.亲密的 | |
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severed
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| v.切断，断绝( sever的过去式和过去分词 )；断，裂 | |
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alas
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| int.唉(表示悲伤、忧愁、恐惧等) | |
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owl
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| n.猫头鹰，枭 | |
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torrents
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| n.倾注；奔流( torrent的名词复数 )；急流；爆发；连续不断 | |
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necessitating
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| 使…成为必要，需要( necessitate的现在分词 ) | |
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abating
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| 减少( abate的现在分词 )； 减去； 降价； 撤消（诉讼） | |
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11
broil
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| v.烤，烧，争吵，怒骂；n.烤，烧，争吵，怒骂 | |
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broiled
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| a.烤过的 | |
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navigate
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| v.航行，飞行；导航，领航 | |
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hospitable
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| adj.好客的；宽容的；有利的，适宜的 | |
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prospect
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| n.前景，前途；景色，视野 | |
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toil
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| vi.辛劳工作，艰难地行动；n.苦工，难事 | |
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utterly
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| adv.完全地，绝对地 | |
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dense
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| a.密集的，稠密的，浓密的；密度大的 | |
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espied
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| v.看到( espy的过去式和过去分词 ) | |
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situated
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| adj.坐落在...的，处于某种境地的 | |
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vile
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| adj.卑鄙的，可耻的，邪恶的；坏透的 | |
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marrow
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| n.骨髓；精华；活力 | |
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lighting
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| n.照明，光线的明暗，舞台灯光 | |
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insipid
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| adj.无味的，枯燥乏味的，单调的 | |
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sodden
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| adj.浑身湿透的；v.使浸透；使呆头呆脑 | |
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warrior
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| n.勇士，武士，斗士 | |
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groaned
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| v.呻吟( groan的过去式和过去分词 )；发牢骚；抱怨；受苦 | |
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bemoaned
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| v.为（某人或某事）抱怨( bemoan的过去式和过去分词 )；悲悼；为…恸哭；哀叹 | |
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ominous
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| adj.不祥的，不吉的，预兆的，预示的 | |
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hooting
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| （使）作汽笛声响，作汽车喇叭声( hoot的现在分词 )； 倒好儿； 倒彩 | |
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miserable
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| adj.悲惨的，痛苦的；可怜的，糟糕的 | |
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gliding
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exhausted
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| adj.极其疲惫的，精疲力尽的 | |
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primitive
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| adj.原始的；简单的；n.原(始)人，原始事物 | |
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veranda
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| n.走廊；阳台 | |
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itch
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| n.痒，渴望，疥癣；vi.发痒，渴望 | |
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hearty
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| adj.热情友好的；衷心的；尽情的，纵情的 | |
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grove
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| n.林子，小树林，园林 | |
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civilized
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| a.有教养的，文雅的 | |
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tangible
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| adj.有形的，可触摸的，确凿的，实际的 | |
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lessened
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| 减少的，减弱的 | |
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scotch
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| n.伤口，刻痕；苏格兰威士忌酒；v.粉碎，消灭，阻止；adj.苏格兰(人)的 | |
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kindly
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| adj.和蔼的，温和的，爽快的；adv.温和地，亲切地 | |
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pumpkins
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| n.南瓜( pumpkin的名词复数 )；南瓜的果肉，南瓜囊 | |
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45
imposing
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| adj.使人难忘的，壮丽的，堂皇的，雄伟的 | |
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positively
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| adv.明确地，断然，坚决地；实在，确实 | |
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laden
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| adj.装满了的；充满了的；负了重担的；苦恼的 | |
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grafted
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| 移植( graft的过去式和过去分词 )； 嫁接； 使（思想、制度等）成为（…的一部份）； 植根 | |
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temperate
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| adj.温和的，温带的，自我克制的，不过分的 | |
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obstinately
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| ad.固执地，顽固地 | |
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admiration
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| n.钦佩，赞美，羡慕 | |
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missionary
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| adj.教会的，传教(士)的；n.传教士 | |
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plentifully
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| adv. 许多地，丰饶地 | |
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mortar
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| n.灰浆，灰泥；迫击炮；v.把…用灰浆涂接合 | |
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savage
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| adj.野蛮的；凶恶的，残暴的；n.未开化的人 | |
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savages
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| 未开化的人，野蛮人( savage的名词复数 ) | |
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plank
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| n.板条，木板，政策要点，政纲条目 | |
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gardenias
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| n.栀子属植物，栀子花( gardenia的名词复数 ) | |
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overflow
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| v.(使)外溢，(使)溢出；溢出，流出，漫出 | |
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irrigate
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| vt.灌溉，修水利，冲洗伤口，使潮湿 | |
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slabs
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| n.厚板，平板，厚片( slab的名词复数 )；厚胶片 | |
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remarkable
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| adj.显著的，异常的，非凡的，值得注意的 | |
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landmark
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| n.陆标，划时代的事，地界标 | |
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tapering
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| adj.尖端细的 | |
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bough
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| n.大树枝，主枝 | |
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boughs
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| 大树枝( bough的名词复数 ) | |
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fixed
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| adj.固定的，不变的，准备好的；(计算机)固定的 | |
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bustling
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| adj.喧闹的 | |
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astonishment
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| n.惊奇，惊异 | |
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ferociously
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| 野蛮地，残忍地 | |
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grimace
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| v.做鬼脸，面部歪扭 | |
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heartily
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| adv.衷心地，诚恳地，十分，很 | |
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extradition
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| n.引渡（逃犯） | |
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caravan
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| n.大蓬车；活动房屋 | |
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rascally
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| adj. 无赖的，恶棍的 adv. 无赖地，卑鄙地 | |
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defensive
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| adj.防御的；防卫的；防守的 | |
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saluted
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| v.欢迎，致敬( salute的过去式和过去分词 )；赞扬，赞颂 | |
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devoutly
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| adv.虔诚地，虔敬地，衷心地 | |
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calamity
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| n.灾害，祸患，不幸事件 | |
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villains
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| n.恶棍( villain的名词复数 )；罪犯；（小说、戏剧等中的）反面人物；淘气鬼 | |
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consul
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| n.领事；执政官 | |
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rumours
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| n.传闻( rumour的名词复数 )；风闻；谣言；谣传 | |
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ornamental
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| adj.装饰的；作装饰用的；n.装饰品；观赏植物 | |
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interfere
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| v.(in)干涉，干预；(with)妨碍，打扰 | |
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sufficiently
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| adv.足够地，充分地 | |
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squatted
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| v.像动物一样蹲下( squat的过去式和过去分词 )；非法擅自占用（土地或房屋）；为获得其所有权；而占用某片公共用地。 | |
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plunged
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| v.颠簸( plunge的过去式和过去分词 )；暴跌；骤降；突降 | |
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rambling
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| adj.[建]凌乱的，杂乱的 | |
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narrative
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| n.叙述，故事；adj.叙事的，故事体的 | |
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survivors
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| 幸存者，残存者，生还者( survivor的名词复数 ) | |
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wilderness
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| n.杳无人烟的一片陆地、水等，荒漠 | |
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miserably
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| adv.痛苦地；悲惨地；糟糕地；极度地 | |
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catching
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| adj.易传染的，有魅力的，迷人的，接住 | |
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