Shout at the Devil - Smith Wilbur - Страница 55
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It took two hours of dedicated eating and drinking for them to reach saturation point.
"We'd better get ready to move on now," Sebastian belched softly, and Flynn nodded owlish agreement, the movement spilling a little Steinhager down his bush jacket.
He wiped at it with his hand and then licked his fingers.
"Yep! Best we are gone before Fleischer gets home." He looked at Mohammed. "Make up loads of food for each of the bearers. What you can't carry away we'll dump in the latrine buckets." He stood up carefully. "I'll just have a look round, and make sure we haven't missed anything important," and he went out through the door with unsteady dignity.
In Fleischer's office he stood for a minute regarding the invulnerable safe balefully. It was certainly much too heavy to carry away, and abandoning the notion with regret, he looked around for some outlet for his frustration.
There was a portrait of the Kaiser on the entrance wall, a colour print showing the Emperor in full dress, mounted on a magnificent cavalry charger. Flynn picked up an indelible pencil from the desk and walked across to the picture. With a dozen strokes of the pencil he drastically altered the relationship between horse and rider. Then, beginning to chuckle, he printed on the whitewashed wall below the picture, "The Kaiser loves horses."
This struck him as being such a pearl of wit, that he had summon Sebastian and show it to him. "That's what you call being subtle, Bassie, boy. All good jokes are subtle."
It seemed to Sebastian that Flynn's graffiti were as subtle as the charge of an enraged rhinoceros but he laughed dutifully. This encouraged Flynn to a further essay in humour. He had two of the gun bearers carry in a bucket from the latrines, and under his supervision, they propped it above the half-open door of Herman Fleischer's bedroom.
An hour later, heavily laden with booty, the raiding party left Mahenge and began the first of a series of forced marches aimed at the Rovurna river.
In a state of mental confusion induced by a superfluity of adrenalin in the bloodstream, Herman Fleischer wandered through his ransacked boma. As he discovered each new outrage he regarded it with slitted eyes and laboured breathing. But first it was necessary to effect a jailbreak in reverse in order to free his own captive Askari.
When they emerged through the hole in the prison wall, Herman curtly ordered his sergeant to administer twenty strokes of the kiboko to each of them, as a token rebuke for their inefficiency. He stood by and drew a little comfort from the solid slap of the kiboko on bare flesh and the shrieks of the recipient.
However, the calming effect of the floggings evaporated when Herman entered the kitchen area of his establishment, and found that his larder of painstakingly accumulated foodstuffs was now empty. This nearly broke his spirit His jowls quivered with self-pity, and from under his tongue saliva oozed in melancholic nostalgia. It would take a month to replace the sausages alone, heaven knew how long to replace the cheeses imported from the fatherland.
From the larder he went through to his office and found Flynn's subtleties. Herman's sense of humour was not equal to the occasion.
"Pig-swine, English-bastard," he muttered dejectedly, and a dark wave of despair and fatigue washed over him as he realized the futility of setting out in pursuit of the raiders.
With two days start he could never hope to catch them before they reached the Rovurna. If only Governor Schee, who was so forthcoming with criticism, would allow him to cross the river one night with his Askari and visit the community at Lalapanzi. There would be no one left the following morning to make complaint to the Portuguese Government about breach of sovereignty.
Herman sighed. He was tired and depressed. He would go to his bed now and rest a while before supervising the tidying up of his headquarters. He left the office and plodded heavily along the stoep to his private quarters, and pushed open the door of his bedroom.
His bedroom temporarily uninhabitable, Herman reposed that night on the open stoep. But his sleep was disturbed by a dream in which he pursued Flynn O'Flynn across an endless plain without ever narrowing the gap between them, while above him circled two huge birds one with the austere face of Governor Schee, and the other with the face of the young English bandit at regular intervals these two voided their bowels on him. After the previous afternoon's experience the olfactory hallucinations which formed part of the dream were horribly realistic.
He was tactfully awakened by one of his household servants, and struggled up in bed with an ache behind his eyes and a foul taste in his mouth.
"What is it?" he growled.
"There is a bearer from Dodoma who brings a book with the red mark of the Bwana MkUba upon it."
Herman groaned. An envelope with Governor Schee's seal affixed to it usually meant trouble. Surely he could not so speedily have learned about Flynn O'Flynn's latest escapade.
"Bring coffee!"
"Lord, there is no coffee. It was all stolen," and Herman L groaned again.
"Very well. Bring the messenger." He would have to endure the ordeal of Governor Schee's rebukes without the fortifying therapy of a cup of coffee. He broke the seal and began to read:
4th August, 1914.
The Residency, da res Salaam.
To The Commissioner (Southern Province)
At: Mahenge.
Sir, It is my duty to inform you that a state of war now exists between the Empire and the Governments of England, France, Russia, and Portugal.
You are hereby appointed temporary Military Commander of the Southern Province of German East Africa, with orders to take whatever steps you deem necessary for the protection of our borders, and the confusion of the enemy.
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