That was all I could ever get out of him on the subject.
I spoke to Mr. Fetherston about our purpose of going westward with Gioro. He shook his head very gravely. “Well, Easterley,” said he, “if you will be guided by me you will do nothing of the sort. You see we know next to nothing of those north-west blacks, and if you go it is even betting that you never come back. If you get, say, a hundred miles west of here you will be entirely dependent on the blacks. You [52] ]will have to live among them, and to live as they live, if they let you live at all.”
“But we have our compasses and the telegraph line.”
“That would be all very well if it were a country through which you could make a ‘bee line.’ But you will want water and food, and you cannot get either without the help of the blacks.”
“But,” said I, “Gioro will come back with us.”
“Gioro is a very good fellow, but if I were you I would not put myself altogether in his hands like that. He won’t understand your anxiety to get away; he will think you are very well as you are. His interest in his own people will make him careless about you.”
“But I know Gioro well, and I should trust him anywhere.” So said I, and Jack eagerly agreed with me.
“But,” said Mr. Fetherston, “Gioro may die or may be killed; they fight a great deal, and those who have been among white men are often subject to special enmity.”
“I expect we shall have to chance that,” said Jack. “Any of us may die or be killed.”
“Well, gentlemen, wilful men you know—— I don’t pretend to any right to constrain you, only let it [53] ]be fully understood that if you go, you go against my wish and in defiance of my advice.”