Read Online Sherlock Holmes and the Giant Rat of Sumatra by Paul D. Gilbert - Free Book Online Page B
Authors: Paul D. Gilbert
Ads: Link
repairs as we progressed, in order to reduce the inevitable delay to our arrival at the Cape.
And so our sorry craft limped towards the Victoria and Albert docks a full sixty-nine days after our departure from London, drawing sixteen feet of water, still nursing our wounded mast. I congratulated Economides on his steadfast seamanship and then ensured that I was aboard the first dinghy to make for shore.
As you might well imagine, upon disembarking I wasted little time in securing for myself a small, but comfortable room, furnished with a deep bath and plenty of hot water. The revitalizing effect was completed by my consumption of the greater part of a more than acceptable Scotch whisky. I then stretched myself out upon a far larger bed than I had been used to aboard ship, there to remain for a full three days!
Once I was suitably recovered, I lost little time in tracking down my old friend, a former army officer, whom I may have mentioned in my earlier journals, namely Lieutenant Marcus Harrison VC. His large house, set back in the lush hills above the Cape, was not hard to find and a friendly Kaffir who laboured in Harrisonâs hugely successful livery business, leased me a small trap for a nominal rate.
It was my intention to utilize my time during the period of the refit to the
Diomedes
, by striking out into Natal to see if any news might be gained of Charlotteâs mission.
Ever since the defeat of the Zulus on the banks of the sacred River Umvolosi and the subsequent death of their warlike King, Cettiwayo in â84, Zululand has been largely subdued. The occasional insurrection, led by King Divi Zulu, reminded the British of the Zulusâ warrior history, however he had been exiled to the island of St Helena, ironically when you consider that Divi Zulu was a direct descendant of Chaka, the âBlack Napoleonâ. Last year Zululand was formally incorporated into British Natal.
As a consequence the Zulus have now swapped their lethal assegai 1 for the plough and trowel and an ever increasing army of would-be immigrants are now being actively encouraged to seek their fortune in this newly pacified land. This was where Harrison and his livery came in. The only form of transport that was suitable for these immigrants and their chattels, to travel over this particular terrain, happened to be Harrisonâs large ox-drawn carts.
Harrison kindly offered me the use of his finest cart and pair and, together with three of his Kaffirs, I struck out to the north on the following morning towards what had once been known as the land of the Zulus! Before too long we were clear of the outskirts of Cape Town and as we headed northward we were at once surrounded by a range of magnificent, undulating hills that rose and fell like gigantic waves.
I must confess to having been unable to suppress an intense thrill of excitement at the thought of fifty thousand assegais¹ crashing against fifty thousand shields and their thunderous roar echoing around the very hills through which I was now travelling. It was a sobering thought that, in the very recent past, the impis 2 of Cettiwayo had prepared to descend upon their doomed victims from these spectacular rolling peaks.
Now, however, the only sound to be heard was the creaking of my cartâs wheels and the occasional snort from one of my oxen as they toiled towards the Buffalo River, the former border withZululand. Occasionally we came upon a small Zulu farmstead, but the only reminder of their former ferocious legacy would be a decorative cowhide shield hanging over a doorway or a forbidding-looking young man in a leopard-skin robe tending his cattle. All traces of the once influential witch doctors, that I had come so far to see, had all but disappeared as a result of the new regime strictly forbidding the practising of their ancient arts.
However, my priority remained the discovery of news of our Charlotte and in that quest you should be glad to hear I was
And so our sorry craft limped towards the Victoria and Albert docks a full sixty-nine days after our departure from London, drawing sixteen feet of water, still nursing our wounded mast. I congratulated Economides on his steadfast seamanship and then ensured that I was aboard the first dinghy to make for shore.
As you might well imagine, upon disembarking I wasted little time in securing for myself a small, but comfortable room, furnished with a deep bath and plenty of hot water. The revitalizing effect was completed by my consumption of the greater part of a more than acceptable Scotch whisky. I then stretched myself out upon a far larger bed than I had been used to aboard ship, there to remain for a full three days!
Once I was suitably recovered, I lost little time in tracking down my old friend, a former army officer, whom I may have mentioned in my earlier journals, namely Lieutenant Marcus Harrison VC. His large house, set back in the lush hills above the Cape, was not hard to find and a friendly Kaffir who laboured in Harrisonâs hugely successful livery business, leased me a small trap for a nominal rate.
It was my intention to utilize my time during the period of the refit to the
Diomedes
, by striking out into Natal to see if any news might be gained of Charlotteâs mission.
Ever since the defeat of the Zulus on the banks of the sacred River Umvolosi and the subsequent death of their warlike King, Cettiwayo in â84, Zululand has been largely subdued. The occasional insurrection, led by King Divi Zulu, reminded the British of the Zulusâ warrior history, however he had been exiled to the island of St Helena, ironically when you consider that Divi Zulu was a direct descendant of Chaka, the âBlack Napoleonâ. Last year Zululand was formally incorporated into British Natal.
As a consequence the Zulus have now swapped their lethal assegai 1 for the plough and trowel and an ever increasing army of would-be immigrants are now being actively encouraged to seek their fortune in this newly pacified land. This was where Harrison and his livery came in. The only form of transport that was suitable for these immigrants and their chattels, to travel over this particular terrain, happened to be Harrisonâs large ox-drawn carts.
Harrison kindly offered me the use of his finest cart and pair and, together with three of his Kaffirs, I struck out to the north on the following morning towards what had once been known as the land of the Zulus! Before too long we were clear of the outskirts of Cape Town and as we headed northward we were at once surrounded by a range of magnificent, undulating hills that rose and fell like gigantic waves.
I must confess to having been unable to suppress an intense thrill of excitement at the thought of fifty thousand assegais¹ crashing against fifty thousand shields and their thunderous roar echoing around the very hills through which I was now travelling. It was a sobering thought that, in the very recent past, the impis 2 of Cettiwayo had prepared to descend upon their doomed victims from these spectacular rolling peaks.
Now, however, the only sound to be heard was the creaking of my cartâs wheels and the occasional snort from one of my oxen as they toiled towards the Buffalo River, the former border withZululand. Occasionally we came upon a small Zulu farmstead, but the only reminder of their former ferocious legacy would be a decorative cowhide shield hanging over a doorway or a forbidding-looking young man in a leopard-skin robe tending his cattle. All traces of the once influential witch doctors, that I had come so far to see, had all but disappeared as a result of the new regime strictly forbidding the practising of their ancient arts.
However, my priority remained the discovery of news of our Charlotte and in that quest you should be glad to hear I was
Similar Books
