Settlers and Scouts: A Tale of the African HighlandsStrang, Herbert
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Settlers and Scouts: A Tale of the African Highlands
Strang, Herbert
Africa, East -- Juvenile fiction
They took their lunch at Mackinnon Road station, at the foot of the Taru
hills. Refreshed by his sleep and the meal, Mr. Halliday began to take
more interest in things in general, and John having introduced Said
Mohammed (mentioning impressively that he was a failed B.A. of Calcutta
University), a three-cornered conversation was begun, in which the
Bengali fluently expounded his views on many subjects.
"Yes, sir," said he, when the question of the treatment of native races
cropped up, "that is a subject to which I have devoted considerable
acumen. Is it just, I ask you, is it worthy of this immense and
glorious empire on which the sun never sits, that the natives, the
primordial owners of the soil, should be laid under such restrictions as
are now in force? Are we Indians not subjects of the same gracious and
glorious majesty, F.D., et cetera? Have we not shed our blood in
defence of the Union Jack? Are we not ready to fight and conquer again
and again like your jolly tars and all? And yet my countrymen, to wit,
are not allowed in South Africa the full rights of citizens; and in this
country, where this verree railway was built by the labour of Indians,
it is becoming the rule to refuse them grants of land. Is this sauce
for the gander, I ask you, gentlemen?"
"It’s a very ticklish subject," said Mr. Halliday, "and I don’t profess
to understand it. I dare say those zebras yonder--look at them, John,
hundreds of ’em--think it great impudence on the part of this engine to
run snorting through their grounds. But the engine runs all the same."
At Tsavo the line crossed the river Athi. John looked out eagerly for a
glimpse of the lions which were said to infest this region, but to his
disappointment saw none. Indeed, as the train passed through mile after
mile of uninteresting scrub, he began to feel that his first enthusiasm
for the country was premature. But at Kibwezi the line enters another
belt of forest, the trees looped together with festooning creepers, and
filled with chattering monkeys and barking baboons; the undergrowth
brilliant with colour, both of the flowers and of birds and butterflies
innumerable. Some miles farther on, at Makindu, the forest yields to
rich pasture land, the undulating plain stretching on both sides of the
line, broken by streams whose beds are lined with date-palms and firs.
All the vegetation was fresh and vivid through recent rains, and Mr.
Halliday, viewing the country with a stock-breeder’s eye, now for the
first time allowed a remark on the scenery to pass his lips. "That’s
grand!" he said; and when the rumbling of the train set startled herds
of antelope and gazelle, red congoni and black wildebeeste, scampering
over the plain, he stood up in the carriage and gazed at them with
kindling admiration.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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