We had as guide a slender and wiry individual clad in tarboush and long
white robe. In a vague, general way we knew that the town of Mombasa was
across the island and about four miles distant. In what direction or how
we got there we had not the remotest idea.
The guide set off at a brisk pace with which we tried in vain to keep
step. He knew the ground, and we did not; and the night was black dark.
Commands to stop were of no avail whatever; nor could we get hold of him
to restrain him by force. When we put on speed he put on speed too. His
white robe glimmered ahead of us just in sight; and in the darkness
other white robes, passing and crossing, glimmered also. At first the
ground was rough, so that we stumbled outrageously. Billy and B. soon
fell behind, and I heard their voices calling plaintively for us to slow
down a bit.
"If I ever lose this nigger, I'll never find him again," I shouted back,
"but I can find you. Do the best you can!"
We struck a smoother road that led up a hill on a long slant.
Apparently for miles we followed thus, the white-robed individual ahead
still deaf to all commands and the blood-curdling threats I had now come
to uttering. All our personal baggage had long since mysteriously
disappeared, ravished away from us at the customs house by a ragged
horde of blacks. It began to look as though we were stranded in Africa
without baggage or effects.
Pages:
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61