Ch 2: Into the Jungle

[Supercape]

November 2nd, 1880

Approaching Camp Verne

Travelling down the Nile had been pleasant enough on the Steamer Ruddy Wench, captained by an ex-military German by the name of Otto Spitzweg. The gruff man was broad of chest and had a nasty scar running down his left face, which distorted when he smiled. Fortunately Otto smiled often. He was a hard drinker had enjoyed many evenings playing cards with the ever nervous Doctor Wessex (who invariably lost), and the equally robust consumer of alcohol, Baxter (who was more often a winner).

A few hands help propel the ship slowly southwards, including a "native" nicknamed "Scar"; a retiring black man with tribal scarring over both cheeks who kept himself to himself and spoke only faltering English. Bantu was spoken more freely amongst the crew which were truly multinational.

The only other company on the ship was the lady Emelia, professing an undying love for Baxter, and who had turned out to be a talented cook (at least a lot better than Captain Spitzweg and his few men), and "Chuckles", the friendly chimpanzee who hopped around the deck gaily, stealing food and even the occasional bottle of alcohol. When drunk, Chuckles certainly lived up to his name, with much gay jocularity amongst the crew.

Still, steamers could only traverse so long down the Nile, and not to the Great Lake Victoria.

Last stop before disembarkation and the trek proper was Camp Verne, a run down french trading post run by a few soldiers and a missionary.

[Mr. Handy]

"Camp Verne," says Percival Carstairs, wonder in his voice. "I say, is it named after Jules Verne? He's my favourite author!"

[Supercape]

"That's right" said Otto, scratching his livid scar.

"Its a French outpost. Last civilised stop, and it is not being the so civilised" he said in his German accent. Otto seemed to combine an extensive English vocabulary with a robust tendency to invent his own grammar.

"Some priest, his daughter, natives, French officers. Should be being civil, but remember, this is the Africa, and everyone wants to claiming it!" he said, a word of warning. It was a fair one too. The French were also trying to carve out and explore Africa, and whilst England and France were not at war, it was a sort of competition.

"Lots of natives are coming to Verne too, to trade with French. Careful. Some of tribes can get nasty, yes?" he added, pointing to his scar.

[Tabs]

Burton threw down his cards on to the upturned crate which served as a table. "You've beaten me again, Mr. Baxter!" In a bad temper he quit his seat and went and found Percival who was leaning over the rail of the afterdeck. "Got any Verne with you, Mr. Carstairs? I really must read something other than these abominable occult ramblings."

He often checked on Munshi Singh who had spent much of the voyage resting. Although the Sikh was Burton's manservant an observer may have had a contrary notion.

During the voyage down the Nile he tried to strike up conversation with Scar in order to learn the rudiments of Bantu, "Whereabouts are you from?" and "Is Scar your real name?" he'd ask.

[Priest]

Baxter smiling at Burton's show of bad sportmanship, pushes back his seat. One hand reaches for his pipe and tobacco then he starts as a female hand pushes his pipe already filled towards him, "Thanks Emellia" he mutters as the good looking female strikes a match and holds it towards him.

Emillia was becoming a burden, one which should her husband track them to here might prove dangerous. However her cullinary talents were proving invaluable, and because of them he was loathe to send her packing. A thought crossed his mind, but he dismissed it instantly, good looking and skilled she might fetch a tidy sum in certain parts of this continent.

Applying the match to his pipe he puffed contentedly as he tucked the pound notes he had won from Burton into a top pocket, "Another hand Otto, and perhaps yourself Dr Wessex?"

[Supercape]

During the voyage down the Nile he tried to strike up conversation with Scar in order to learn the rudiments of Bantu, "Whereabouts are you from?" and "Is Scar your real name?" he'd ask.

Scar was a short young man, more of a boy, really. He could not have reached a score in years. The observant would say he had grown up malnourished, although now, he had a wiry strength about him, working hard on the boat wearing little but ragged shorts.

"Just Scar now" he answered cautiously, grinning with an almost complete set of teeth. His scars had been cut deliberately, it seemed, on both cheeks. He explained it was a tribal custom. "Ward of bad spirits" he added, anxiously.

Scar was less forthcoming about where he was from, indicating that it was the past and he had forgotten.

[Supercape]

Applying the match to his pipe he puffed contentedly as he tucked the pound notes he had won from Burton into a top pocket, "Another hand Otto, and perhaps yourself Dr Wessex?"

Emelia pottered off, to make some tea. She smiled contentedly. Her marriage had been dull and quite possibly (in Baxter's estimation) abusive. She had jumped at the chance for a dashing adventurer and an equally dashing adventure. She was a short and tidy woman, and possessed of a fierce spirit and determination that was both admirable and vexing.

Dr Wessex threw his cards on the table and took to a very liberal swig of whisky.

"Why...damn and blast you Baxter you old rogue. No more for me, you have bled me enough for one day. I swear you have some ace tucked up your sleeve hrm? Come on, roll them up! Perhaps we shall see the seventeen of spades fall out?" he japed. Wessex was most adept at losing at cards, and more pertinently, losing his money. It was a good thing he was being paid well, and even then, that fortune was haemorrhaging fast.

[Priest]

Again Baxter smiled, this time at the red face Doctor, "My good sir, poker is an art and should be played as one would play a woman - gently and with imagination" he stops in mid shuffle of the dog eared cards and gazes towards the disapearing form of Emilia, "Also, one should play their hand carefully and beware of wagering more than they can afford"

He places the much used pack on the table, it seemed there would be little further opportunity to increase his wealth tomight unless, "Carstairs old chap, might I interest you in a hand or two, if you can tear yourself away from your books of course"

[Mr. Handy]

"As a matter of fact, I do, Mr. Burton," says Percy with a smile. He takes out his well-worn copy of Around the World in Eighty Days. "You're welcome to borrow it. I've read it numerous times already, and I have other reading material." He nods when Baxter approaches. "I'm not very good at poker, Baxter, but that probably only means you want me to join in more. I'll certainly give it a try, though."

[Tabs]

Burton painted pipe black upon his cheeks in imitation of the tribal custom of Scar. "Like this?"

He acceted the book off of Baxter. "Thank you, sir," he said, and then settled himself down beneath a tarpaulin awning with a cheroot and cup of lime juice.

[Supercape]

Shortly..

Scar had slunk back to the lower decks to power the steamer. He was nervous and surly.

"He is not liking it this far the south" explained Otto, with a shrug of his shoulder. "Out here is the wild of lands. Scar never is the talking about this far the south. I is never the asking. He works hard and is good the boy"

Chuckles leapt up to his shoulder and screamed cheerily, before snatching away Otto's hipflask and leaping off.

"Schweinhunt!" yelled the furious Otto who was already slightly intoxicated.

Perhaps the nerves were getting to everyone. The sun was nearly set, and dark was creeping in. Around them, the banks of the Nile had turned to jungle; not as thick as the depths, but still. Sounds and chattering came from the wildlife.

And in the distance, a few lit fires.

"See? Campe Verde! We making good the time. Nearly there..."

[Mr. Handy]

"You're quite welcome," Percy tells Burton. He stands at the prow and peers into the distance at the camp, shading his eyes from the rays of the setting sun with one hand.

[Tabs]

Burton closed Around the World, got up from where he reclined under the awning, and joined Otto.

"Your English is excellent, Her Otto," said Burton, proffering his own hip flask while making a mental note to wipe its neck. "Bubbles: he is a naughty monkey--what?" he watched the animal capering around. "Joining with us at Camp Verne?"

[Priest]

Baxter moves to the rail. "So that is Camp Verne?" he sniffs, "Hard to see anything to get our young friend excited"

[Supercape]

"I thinking Scar is not afraid because Camp Verne" sniffed Otto, wiping his sweaty brow. "You have the rumours hearing, yes? Something stirring in Jungles. Who knows what?" he shrugged. "I would not want your shoes being, as you English the saying. But, I am paying well for this, yes? I stay at Camp Verne over winter, picking you ups if...when you comes the back. I have much goods to be trade, and perhaps make friends with nicer tribes?" he shrugged.

CHuckles squarked, drinking the stolen hip flash merrily.

"And Chuckles is staying. Maybe I learn how to be cooking monkey from tribes, huh?" he hissed at Chuckles, who just jumped up and down in reply, grinning wildly.


A little later...

Camp Verne slid into view. It was nestled on one of the banks of the now thin and shallow Nile, practically amidst the jungle. It looked rather run down, but still functional. Two fires were smoking away, not large, but enough to cast some light into the night. There was, of course, no shortage of wood. The moon was full and had a slightly bloody look to it.

"<Ahoy! Friend of Foe!>" came the call in French. Two soldiers on a short rampart of sort, the guards of Campe Verde. They were French soldiers, in shabby dress and shabby, but still functional, rifles.

"<Friend!>" called out Captain Otto, before turning to the expedition.

"Thats the only French word I am the knowing. I hope you can speaking better than me!" he hissed at them.

[Mr. Handy]

"Not a word, I'm afraid," says Percy, looking a little concerned.

[Tabs]

"I can get by in the language of Voltaire, Mr. Carstairs" replied Burton "as can Mr. Baxter." He cupped his hands and bellowed "Bonjour, mes amis, il est la Jeune Fille Rougeaude du Caire."

<"Hello, my friends, it is the Ruddy Wench from Cairo.">

[Supercape]

"Ah! English!" spat the Soldier with a laugh in passable English.

The French soldiers were not so much antagonistic as tired. Nearly half of them had come down with some ghastly fever. The whole camp smelled seriously of sweat, and faintly of the liquid brown excrement that freely flowed from the rear ends of those effected. The infirmary, if one could call the shambles of a shed that the men were confined to an infirmary, smelled something rotten indeed.

Dr. Wessex was a most welcome sight to the men, and their commander, Lt. Blanc.

Lt. Blanc was a shortish man who had a certain wiry strength to his body and spirit. He was a canny fellow too, quick to take up Dr. Wessex's offer of aide. He had no particular love of the English, but out here, he said, it was "us and them", by which he meant the Europeans and the Africans. Not that he could be considered disrespectful of the African natives. He paid them a very great deal of respect.

"Savages, of course. By ze standards of Paris or London. But out here, they are at home. Out here, ze rules are different. Mark my words, ze French, ze English, we are just visitors. And we must pray zat we do not outstay our welcome!"

He was sitting in the "officers hut", which was slightly less shambolic, sharing some wine with the three expedition members, Amilia, Mr Singh, Captain Otto, and sharing in some wine and passable stew of native Vegetables. The cook was no master of his art, but he was still French. Amilia still professed she could do better.

Present too, were Sven Lowen, a middle aged Swede, and preacher, who was attempting to convert, with partial success, the locals to the one true God of Chritianity. He was a big strong man, but somewhat intense and twitchy, with a puritanical fever to him. He was fiercely protective of his young daughter, Britt. And not without justification; for Britt was a rare beauty, with bright white blonde hair, and a strong body, full of golden bronzed skin that shone in that particular way of the Nordic peoples in the sun. Britt was devout, too, but had a certain wideness of spirit and outlook, demure but knowing.

Amilia gave her a nasty look and whispered to Baxter; "I bet she can't cook".

Lt. Blanc politely inquired to the three expedition members, whilst pouring another glass of respectable red wine, "Where are you going, then? What daring venture awaits you?"

[Mr. Handy]

"We're bound for Lake Victoria, and then beyond," says Percy, raising his glass. "Off to explore the uncharted interior reaches of Darkest Africa!"

[Priest]

Baxter, who already looks as if hes's had one 'snifter' too many, eyes the glasses of wine with contempt. Typical Frenchies, he thinks, all wine and smelly cheese. Still, he continues the thought, better French that Belgies. He reaches into his jacket pocket and pulls out his, tarnished through use, hip-flask and shakes it slightly listening to the movement of the liquid within. Hmm, he thinks, need to refill soon.

He pulls the stopper and makes to take a mouthfull of the fiery spirit, "Bottoms up. Est-ce que ce lieu possède un bar où je pourrais être en mesure d'obtenir une bouteille de gin?"* Without awaiting an answer he swallows the gin with a slight grimace.

OOC:   *Does this place have a bar where I might be able to get a bottle of gin? hopefully