The Man Who Did the Right Thing: A RomanceJohnston, Harry
General
The Man Who Did the Right Thing: A Romance
Johnston, Harry
British -- Africa, East -- Fiction; Missions -- Tanzania -- Fiction
After the ascent of the escarpment they camped two nights in succession
in a strange region suggestive of the Moon’s surface as revealed by a
powerful telescope. There were the crumbling sides of craters, the cones
of extinct volcanoes—extinct, perhaps; but sometimes a strange and
ominous-looking white smoke or gassy vapour issued from cracks in the
ground and through veins in the obsidian rocks. Vegetation was very
scanty—a few yellow stalks of bamboo in the hollows; and water was
scarce enough to cause anxiety and limit washing to a minimum. Yet if
they could cross this dry belt of naked rock and barren mountain and the
possibly waterless plain that lay in front of them, to the east there
was a promise of better things. Far away, a blue pyramid seen against
the morning sun, was Mount Meru, one of the great, unmistakable
landmarks of East Africa. It towered fifteen thousand feet into the sky
and when the sun turned to the zenith and the west they could see the
peak of the pyramid was white with snow. And behind Meru in the early
morning or in the early evening there came into view something at first
unbelievable, a floating island in the sky, a Laputa: the great snowy
dome of Kibô....
A few days of rough, silent travel—seeing no natives and very few birds
and beasts—and they were in the Kisongo plains. Here it was less arid,
and beneath the burnt stems of the old grass the fresh green grass was
springing. The occasional scrubby trees and bushes were putting forth
fresh leaves, sometimes quite red in colour, or even purplish black.
Big game swarmed round them unafraid of man, inclined even to be
insolent. Rhinoceroses charged the caravan and both Lucy and Roger had
narrow escapes of being tossed on their horns, while Lucy was twice
flung from her donkey when it bolted with terror at a tangent from the
unexpected rush of the squealing monster. A Nyamwezi porter was gored
and trampled, his load smashed and the caravan disorganized. Roger laid
low one rhinoceros; and then, water being near, they spent all the rest
of that day and the next cutting up its flesh, smoking it, drying it in
the sun, and making of it a food provision greatly wanted by the
porters.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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