Niceandbrutal
Yes, but-
- Joined
- Aug 27, 2013
- Posts
- 2,826
The colonial outpost of Victoriaville in Kenya was a quiet outpost of the british empire, bordering on the savannah and the masai homelands. Its denizens were hardy men and women, used to work their fingers to the bone in Africa's unforgiving climate. Still, it was an outpost of british civilisation, complete with a grocery store, church, pub, and a tea salon for the resident ladies. Life here went by at a predictable rhythm, dictated by rainy seasons and the calendar. There was no train service here, but there was a carriage service from the infamous Tsavo bridge and railway station that took about half a day's journey. The town also prided itsef with having gotten a telegraph station just a year ago. Service was flimsy at best due to the wear and tear of wildlife and elements, but the town had at least a tenuous connection with the outside world.
There was little for Victoriaville's inhabitants to gossip about, so when Douglas Hamilton showed up in town in his carrige three months ahead of his regular schedule, it was enough to set tongues wagging. He drove down the town's main street in his carriage, his trusty Martini-Henry holstered near his seat, his revolver and his bullwhip hanging in his belt as usual. He wore a wide brimmed hat pulled down close to a pair of grizzled clear blue eyes and he had a sizable red beard streaked with white. His pale freckled skin had succumbed to the insistent sun and he had a leathery tan covering most of his body, a mute testament to his long life of outdoor work in Africa. He wore a light jacket both in colour and texture to protect himself from the midday heat and he had a huge water canteen slung across his shoulder. He stood over six feet tall and was as tall as the masai cowherders and warriors in the area. His body was a huge and compact bundle of muscles, and no one dared utter an insult his way. Very few people knew anything about him, as he was a tight lipped customer. Only the priest had spoken to him at length, and he was not one to gossip.
So Douglas was intimidating to be sure, but he never drank and got into fights, he never socialised much, and he never participted in any social events, not even church socials. So he was an enigma and a mystery to most people, and every visit of his into town was cause for talk. Curioser still, he wasn't in town today to buy or sell any produce. No, he parked his carriage near to the coach station, sat down, produced a letter, and read it several times while he checked the time on his pocket watch.
Douglas knew the townsfolk were curious about him. But he had liked the solitary life the farm gave him. He was on good terms with the local masai tribe, and he spoke their language well. He'd been offered marriage to several masai women, but he was adamant that he would marry an english woman if he ever married. It was not to do with racism and more to do with practicalities. He thought he and a british woman would inherenty get along better since they had more or less the same background. Douglas was unaware that his life had shaped him to be alien to almost all polite society.
The local priest, Father Mulroney, had taken it upon himself to try to bring Douglas Hamilton into the fold, such as it were. He'd visited on several occasions and had lengthy discussions bordering on arguments about the wastefulness of Douglas keeping the farm only to himself when there were so many women in Great Britain in need of a fresh start with a good husband. What finally swayed Douglas was Father Mulroney's argument about the farm needing a woman's touch, a polite way of saying that Douglas's home, though cleaned by hired masai women, was kind of... sad and spartan. Douglas had succumbed and had penned a letter to a service that provided proper women as marrying prospects for lonely men like himself at the frontiers of the empire.
Dougls had, of course, led a life that left little room for nick-nacks and sentimental paraphernalia. He'd come to Africa as a soldier. He'd been stationed in South Africa and participated in the Zulu wars. When his service time was up, he went to Kimberley to try his hand at gold mining. But the work did not suit him well. So he pulled up stakes and went with an army buddy to help Colonel Patterson near Tsavo when he struggled with the two infamous man-eating lions later dubbed The Ghost and The Darkness. Douglas liked game hunting well enough, but he abhorred the clientele; spoiled upper class people that shot animals only to snap a photo of them and leaving them to rot, unless they brought the hide and other game paraphernalia home as trophies. So Douglas turned his back on that and used his savings to buy a huge plot of land for him to farm. He'd been moderately succesful, and he liked living off the land and at the mercy of nature. Only Father Mulroney knew of Douglas's histroy.
Douglas was sitting in the shade now, slowly fanning himself with his hat, revealing a shock of ginger hair with some white streaks as well. The townsfolk wondered among themselves what had brought Douglas to town and some of them put themselves up outside buildings, staring openly at him. He acknowledged them with a curt perfunctory nod and re-read the letter. Presently, he fished up another piece of paper, a telegram. The telegraph had handed a telegram to father Mulroney for him to hand to Douglas the next time he went to visit him. Douglas now re-read the telegram, checked the time, and asked the smith nearby of the date. Later that evening, the smith was interrogated at length in the pub about what had transpired between Douglas and the beautiful young woman that had arrived with the coach from Tsavo.
Everyone saw the coach arrive, everyone saw Douglas leap up. Everyone saw the beautiful young woman he spoke with. He had shaken hands with her, her dainty white hand almost completely disappearing in his massive paw. They had introduced themselves to each other, politely and correct. Everyone saw them drive to church. Father Mulroney had called in his own wife and his brother-in-law as best woman and man respectively, as well as for witnesses, for a short perfunctory wedding, but they didn't tattle. The townsfolk saw Douglas and the young woman enter the church. Douglas swept off his hat and turned to her. "Well, i suppose we're getting married now," he said as if commenting on the weather.
There was little for Victoriaville's inhabitants to gossip about, so when Douglas Hamilton showed up in town in his carrige three months ahead of his regular schedule, it was enough to set tongues wagging. He drove down the town's main street in his carriage, his trusty Martini-Henry holstered near his seat, his revolver and his bullwhip hanging in his belt as usual. He wore a wide brimmed hat pulled down close to a pair of grizzled clear blue eyes and he had a sizable red beard streaked with white. His pale freckled skin had succumbed to the insistent sun and he had a leathery tan covering most of his body, a mute testament to his long life of outdoor work in Africa. He wore a light jacket both in colour and texture to protect himself from the midday heat and he had a huge water canteen slung across his shoulder. He stood over six feet tall and was as tall as the masai cowherders and warriors in the area. His body was a huge and compact bundle of muscles, and no one dared utter an insult his way. Very few people knew anything about him, as he was a tight lipped customer. Only the priest had spoken to him at length, and he was not one to gossip.
So Douglas was intimidating to be sure, but he never drank and got into fights, he never socialised much, and he never participted in any social events, not even church socials. So he was an enigma and a mystery to most people, and every visit of his into town was cause for talk. Curioser still, he wasn't in town today to buy or sell any produce. No, he parked his carriage near to the coach station, sat down, produced a letter, and read it several times while he checked the time on his pocket watch.
Douglas knew the townsfolk were curious about him. But he had liked the solitary life the farm gave him. He was on good terms with the local masai tribe, and he spoke their language well. He'd been offered marriage to several masai women, but he was adamant that he would marry an english woman if he ever married. It was not to do with racism and more to do with practicalities. He thought he and a british woman would inherenty get along better since they had more or less the same background. Douglas was unaware that his life had shaped him to be alien to almost all polite society.
The local priest, Father Mulroney, had taken it upon himself to try to bring Douglas Hamilton into the fold, such as it were. He'd visited on several occasions and had lengthy discussions bordering on arguments about the wastefulness of Douglas keeping the farm only to himself when there were so many women in Great Britain in need of a fresh start with a good husband. What finally swayed Douglas was Father Mulroney's argument about the farm needing a woman's touch, a polite way of saying that Douglas's home, though cleaned by hired masai women, was kind of... sad and spartan. Douglas had succumbed and had penned a letter to a service that provided proper women as marrying prospects for lonely men like himself at the frontiers of the empire.
Dougls had, of course, led a life that left little room for nick-nacks and sentimental paraphernalia. He'd come to Africa as a soldier. He'd been stationed in South Africa and participated in the Zulu wars. When his service time was up, he went to Kimberley to try his hand at gold mining. But the work did not suit him well. So he pulled up stakes and went with an army buddy to help Colonel Patterson near Tsavo when he struggled with the two infamous man-eating lions later dubbed The Ghost and The Darkness. Douglas liked game hunting well enough, but he abhorred the clientele; spoiled upper class people that shot animals only to snap a photo of them and leaving them to rot, unless they brought the hide and other game paraphernalia home as trophies. So Douglas turned his back on that and used his savings to buy a huge plot of land for him to farm. He'd been moderately succesful, and he liked living off the land and at the mercy of nature. Only Father Mulroney knew of Douglas's histroy.
Douglas was sitting in the shade now, slowly fanning himself with his hat, revealing a shock of ginger hair with some white streaks as well. The townsfolk wondered among themselves what had brought Douglas to town and some of them put themselves up outside buildings, staring openly at him. He acknowledged them with a curt perfunctory nod and re-read the letter. Presently, he fished up another piece of paper, a telegram. The telegraph had handed a telegram to father Mulroney for him to hand to Douglas the next time he went to visit him. Douglas now re-read the telegram, checked the time, and asked the smith nearby of the date. Later that evening, the smith was interrogated at length in the pub about what had transpired between Douglas and the beautiful young woman that had arrived with the coach from Tsavo.
Everyone saw the coach arrive, everyone saw Douglas leap up. Everyone saw the beautiful young woman he spoke with. He had shaken hands with her, her dainty white hand almost completely disappearing in his massive paw. They had introduced themselves to each other, politely and correct. Everyone saw them drive to church. Father Mulroney had called in his own wife and his brother-in-law as best woman and man respectively, as well as for witnesses, for a short perfunctory wedding, but they didn't tattle. The townsfolk saw Douglas and the young woman enter the church. Douglas swept off his hat and turned to her. "Well, i suppose we're getting married now," he said as if commenting on the weather.