Part 6 (1/2)
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.