The Peculiar Exploits of Brigadier Ffellowes (3 page)

             
" 'We're in luck,' he said. 'These chaps are local hunters,
Wanderobos
, and they've agreed to give us some help. Seems that the two lads seen with Bruckheller may be relatives of theirs, and they're a bit worried about them.'

             
" 'They didn't seem all that enthusiastic to me,' I said looking over at them.

             
" 'No, well, you saw that, hum? Fact is, the Kerit tends to cool one off a bit, Old man. I had to point out how many rifles we had before they decided to chance it. Frankly, the odds were a thousand-to-one on our finding nothing until they popped up. Bruckheller is a real
bushie
and if he doesn't want to be found, we could have a real job on our hands. These lads make the odds a little evener though.' Sizenby paused, pulled out a battered pipe and lit it, then went on through the smoke cloud, looking diffidently at me.

             
" 'Something occurs to me, but it's a bit mad, I dare say. We were talking a while back about Bruckheller perhaps having got some news that sent him off. Well, as Krock told you, the Kerit is the only news that's come in. Could he have wanted to hunt it,
d'you
think?'

             
" 'I thought you were convinced he was looking for Egyptian ruins,' I said. My tone must have been sub-acid, because he just turned away, murmuring something I couldn't catch.

             
"It developed that we were at present only a thousand feet or so in altitude above the place where Bruckheller, if it actually were he, had been seen. We now were going to split into three small groups and look for tracks. Since I had no other suggestion, we set off.

             
"Each party drew one
Wanderobo
hunter and one white. I had Sergeant Asoto as well as two of his men, since I couldn't speak '
derobo
or Swahili either for that matter, to say nothing of being a new chum. We all took compass bearings, checked out local maps, arranged meeting places and set off. I wondered again what I was doing there.

             
"Really, the bamboo forest was most unpleasant. The sun didn't get in at all and the forty-foot hollow stems made a strange, clacking noise, as well as a dismal moaning up in the tops from the wind. It was both dank and gloomy. My mood did not improve when Asoto, who was number two in line, the hunter being first, pointed out a large pile of steaming dung in a small clearing. It was enough like ordinary cow dung to mean Cape buffalo and the thought of meeting a herd in the close-packed bamboo was most unsettling. One could neither run nor climb.

             
"We moved along narrow trails, made by game I expect. When I later heard that the Mau-
mau
leaders were holed up in this area after World War II, I assumed they'd never be caught. My memories of it are chiefly of an incomprehensible, damp maze, with no more organized pattern than a child's scribble on a blackboard.

             
"But the men leading me were not disconcerted. We eventually struck another small path, this time crossing ours at a right angle, and going uphill again on a slant. Here the
Wanderobo
called Asoto and the two soldiers into consultation, pointing at the ground. I was evidently recognized as being utterly useless in such a discussion. Out of politeness however, Asoto called me over and saluted.

             
" 'See here, Captain,' he said pointing at some smudge or other on the track. 'This stupid
shenzi
(wild man) says three men, one a white man, passed along here two days ago. He may be lying but I think he knows how to follow animals.' The hunter glared at the insult, which he apparently understood, and waved his great spear while croaking out some threat or other. Asoto ignored him, except to wave him on up the new trace.

             
"I was in fairly good shape but I may say that I was completely dished at the end of the day. Just as planned, and accomplished through no effort of mine, we emerged from a bamboo clump into a soggy sort of large clearing and found the other two groups already there. I simply collapsed on the long grass and waved Sizenby and Krock over. I could hardly talk. My superior attitude was further weakened by the fact that neither of them, and mind you, Sizenby was in his sixties at least, looked even a bit tired. However, they were decent enough not to say anything.

             
" 'Asoto tells me you found some sign,' said Sizenby. 'Well, so did we. They seem to have been wandering all about this area for a number of days. My group found where they'd killed a bongo, a large, rather rare antelope you get around here, and cut it up for food. Krock, tell him what you found.'

             
" 'Yah,' said the Boer. His rifle hung in the hollow of his one arm, the right, and Sizenby had told me he was a dead shot with it. 'Well, old Size here, he finds a bongo cut up for to make biltong and I find a
Wanderobo
cut up for biltong. At least that's what it looks like!'

             
" 'You don't mean there are cannibals around here?' I said. 'Are you sure?'

             
" 'Not cannibals, Old man,' said Sizenby gently. 'The Kerit. Maybe two. There were what appeared to be several sizes of tracks. One of its tricks is butchering its prey.'

             
"I sat in exhausted silence, watching the night mist begin to form and listening to the giant bamboos clattering and moaning to themselves. I could think of nothing to say.

             
" 'What do we do now?' I asked. 'What do you think has happened?'

             
" 'Looks to us as if the Kerit follows
Bruckheller's
party and picks them off one by one. If you want to see him at all, you got to get to him first, and quick.' The Boer's eyes were steady on
mine and so were
Sizenby's
when I looked at him.

             
"
'I
suggest camping here,' said Sizenby. He was delicate enough to make it a suggestion since I was technically in command. I nodded agreement. 'We have enough gear,' he went on, 'and food for one night. We shall post watches and fire a few rounds every so often. I have a feeling that Bruckheller may be glad to be found. The men all know what we came across and if we try to split up, they may get a bit
jouncy
.'

             
" 'Yah,' added Krock. 'And maybe they scoot, run off and leave us. I don't blame them much, I tell you.'

             
"Well, we ate cold grub, iron rations, and set watches. There were no tents but we had some small bits of canvas the
K.A.R
. had been carrying and it was set up so that everyone, regardless of rank, got some dryness along with some of the wet. For most of the early night we simply sat and felt miserable: at least I did, and the expressions I saw on the others were no more cheerful. We had one small fire that sputtered feebly in the middle of the clearing, but it barely kept the fog off us, let alone gave any heat. Every hour, Krock would lever off a couple of shots in the air, but we never heard an answer.

             
"At least until around two in the morning. Then we heard something and everyone in camp sat up and reached for a weapon, either spear or rifle.

             
"Far off in the fog and night came a rhythmic, regular sound. It was easy to hear because the wind had finally dropped and the bamboos had ceased their ungodly racket. We all strained our ears in the cold mountain air and listened as hard as we could. There, it came again. All thirteen of us were on our feet now, listening and staring one at the other.

             
"It was the sound of running feet. But more than that, it was the sound of a man running—and running, moreover, on his last legs. As the sound grew louder, we were able to focus on it and we could all face uphill, the direction from which it was coming. On and on it came, the labored, staggering run of a man who is running his heart out, pounding and lurching on in the process of burning the very last stores of vital energy. Finally we could hear the panting, gasping breath of the runner himself. We stared, transfixed, at the place in the encircling mist where the man had to emerge.

             
"Suddenly, the sound just stopped. There was nothing, nothing but the drip, drip of water from the leaves, the hiss of the fire and the faint movements of all of us shifting our weight. All rifles were in the ready position and the
Wanderobo
hunters held their great spears poised.

             
"Now at this time we were standing in a loose group, staring uphill, as I have said, no one speaking. I was in the center, Sergeant Asoto next to me, Krock and Sizenby in front of me. The three
Wanderobo
were near me on the left and behind me were two
K.A.R
., with the other four on the right.

             
"As the silence persisted, the chill, uncanny silence, we slowly lowered our rifles and looked at one another. In the light of the small fire we were all clearly visible. All
twelve
of us!

             
"As we had stood, waiting for the supposed runner to break from the mist-shrouded bamboos above us, a trap, cleverly baited to appeal to human reflexes, had swung shut. Silently, swiftly, a man, the
K.A.R
. private who stood lowest down on the slope and thus a little behind the rest of us, had been made to disappear. And twelve heavily armed, alert men had been powerless to prevent the incredibly stealthy capture. It was a numbing realization as we stood, black and white, staring at one another while the little fire spat sparks at the bank of fog around us.

             
"With never a word spoken, we moved in on the fire and all faced outward at the same time. The movement was quite instinctive and, one imagines, dates from the
Paleolithic
or earlier. Get your back to the light and face the enemy from a circle.

             
"For a little there was a silence again, except for the little noises of the fire and the wet leaves. Then another sound commenced. It was not far away, but impossible to register or get a fix upon in the night and mist.

             
"It was the sound of great jaws, as they crunched and tore at prey. Just that, but in the sound there was an element of—how can I convey it—
play.
It was the noise a house cat makes as it eats the first mouse, knowing that the other mice have been forced from their holes and cannot escape, can be gathered in at any time the cat chooses. And we knew, all of us, of what the meal consisted. Sergeant Asoto said something under his breath which was not a prayer. Yet no one flinched. The
Wanderobo
kept as firm in the face of the threat as the disciplined soldiers, I felt rather pleased with being a man, for a fleeting second."

             
Ffellowes stopped, stood up in front of the fire at this point and stretched luxuriously. All of us kept quiet, although we were as stiff as he was. We were there, with him, on that haunted mountain. Then he started again, sitting down once more.

             
"I suppose we were all wondering what would happen next. The initiative had been completely taken away from us, you know, in just seconds, and that's hard to bear, hard to readjust to. Happens in war, when one is ambushed. Only very highly trained men can recover in time to save themselves, can think reflexively or let reflexes and training take the place of organized thought. We were given no time to recover.

             
"The ghastly feeding noises ceased as suddenly as they had commenced. Before we had any time to think this over, a voice came ringing out of the rolling mist, a human voice speaking English.

             
" 'He-e-e-
elp
! Don't shoot, I'm coming in! For God's sake, don't shoot!'

             
"Along with the voice came the sound of running feet, just as it had before only very close this time.

             
" 'Don't move, not any of us!' rasped Sizenby. 'Keep your positions; face out, rifles ready! It may be another trap.'