The happy valley set

Chapter 2 - lord eighton

Lord Henry Eighton was a major general in the British army. He was sent to the island of Zenithia in the Arabian Sea to explore and map the interior. It was a new British colony, having been won from the Dutch in a trade agreement.
Lord Eighton landed in the only major town on the island, known as Zenn. It was a cosmopolitan place, populated, not only by locals, but also by Indian, African and Arabian traders. There were a few Dutch that were still there, but the place was ruled by only a handful British government officials.
The infrastructure had been built by the Dutch. Henry had been looking forward to something more English, something that felt more like home. He was welcomed at the docks by sir William Ramsbottom, the governor, who took him to his residence at Government House in his horse drawn carriage. Sir William explained that the Dutch had never explored beyond the coast. They had exploited it's geographical location for trade, but they had not realised the island's strategic location should a war break out in the gulf of Arabia. Nor had they explored beyond the coastal mountains to the interior, where, it was rumoured, great riches lay. Sir William told him that climbing the mountains would be hazardous. The only path was steep and covered in jungle vegetation.
Henry assured him he was the right man for the job. He had fought the boers in Southern Africa. He was made of sturdy stuff!
The reality was, after the adventure he'd had in Africa, he'd soon become bored of family life. He had a six year old son who did not recognise him and he was not interested in how Abigail Trelawny had ran off with a sailor.
After freshening himself up in his room, he prepared for dinner in his lightweight dress uniform. The air was still hot and sticky as he made his way down the stairs. Sir William introduced him to the other dignatories who lived on the island over a glass of single malt whisky. One of them, whose name was Randolph Merryweather said Henry's presence on the island would provide a much needed military back up in case of native uprising. They had heard the interior of the island was home to terrifying cannibals. No wonder the Dutch wanted rid of the place!
Locals had told them rumours about giants who were so big they could not move. They said there were fruits there the size of a man's head, but the tribes there spoke a different language to the coastal tribes. They were rivals and both were deadly accurate with a spear.

Henry filed their words to the back of his brain. They were nothing more than local gossip. No doubt they would turn out to be insubtantiated drivel! He drank down the last of his scotch and waved at the native waiter for more while he lit up a cigarette. He wanted to look like he was thoughtfully planning his moves, taking into account all the local knowledge the diners at the table could give him.
The next day, after a hearty breakfast of kippers, he rode around the town. It did not take long. Other than the docks, the few government building in whitewashed stone and the vibrant market, there was not much to see. Most of the natives were dirt poor, walking around with barely a strip of cloth to hide their genitals and no shoes. Women carried babies on their backs wrapped up in cloth hammocks, but bare breasted. The Arabs were a complete contrast dressed from head to foot in their long flowing robes with flowing headdresses.
Henry had brought with him a half a dozen men. They were stationed near the harbour in lodgings. He instructed them to buy supplies and to hire locals as interpreters and porters. They would be ready to set off in five days.
He returned to the bar at government house and started to plan a route based on the only available map.
It took him all of three hours to finalise the route. There was only one thing to do while he waited for the others to finish their jobs... relax in the sunshine, with a nice glass of scotch...or two...or three... In fact, he got through three bottles of the stuff in the five days!

He was hungover and tired on the day they set off. He rode forwards on his hours, while his other men walked on foot, making sure the hundred or so native porters kept in line and did not drop their precious cargo.
Henry had filled one canteen with water and the other with scotch. He was sure he was going to need the extra sustenance the scotch would give him on the journey.
On the second day they reached the foothills of the mountains when Henry realised he could no longer ride his horse. The way ahead was slow, having to be hacked out of the jungle, step by step.
Progress was painfully slow and became even slower as the mountain sides became even steeper. Henry had been hoping to simply head straight up the mountains in a straight line. He knew that was impossible, especially for those who were carrying heavy loads. Instead, they zigzagged their was up to the higher elevations.
After a week of hard climbing, they finally arrived at the summit. They were greeted by a luscious fertile valley below them. It was one of the most beautiful thing Henry had even seen!
That night he wrote frantically in his diary. He was excited at the prospect of descending into the valley tomorrow. What would they find? What manner of new species and strange tribes would live there?
Three days later Henry caught a fever. His mind became hazy. He remembered trekking endlessly down the Rocky Mountain and into the fertile grasslands. He remendered a conversation he had between different native tribes. He caught a glimpse of a large black woman in a turban giving him something to drink.
He woke fifteen days later in his bed back in Zenn after being stretchered out to safety.
What had happened?