.dt The Mountain Of Fears, by Henry C. Rowland—A Project\
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THE MOUNTAIN OF FEARS
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BY HENRY C. ROWLAND
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To Windward
THIRD EDITION
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“Crisp and strong, full of breeziness and virile
humanity.”—Brooklyn Eagle.
“A capital story told with a spirit and go that are
irresistible. A strong and dramatic novel. Shows
literary genius.”—Newark Advertiser.
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The Wanderers
THIRD EDITION
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“A little breathless toward the end, the reader
enjoys every moment spent with Brian Kinard, the
roving son of an Irish earl.”—Chicago
Record-Herald.
“Full of complications and surprises which hold
the reader’s attention to the end. An unusually
good story of actual life at sea.”—Boston
Transcript.
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Each with frontispiece in colors, by
Ch. Weber-Ditzler.
12mo. Cloth. $1.50
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A. S. BARNES & COMPANY
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“I see that you go in for heads a bit yourself,”\
said Lynch.
––#Page 99:skulls#
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[Illustration: “I see that you go in for heads a bit yourself,”\
said Lynch.––Page 99]
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The Mountain
of Fears
By
Henry C. Rowland
Author of “The Wanderers”, “To Windward”
and “Sea Scamps”.
Illustrated
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[Illustration: Publisher’s Logo]
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New York
A. S. Barnes & Co.
1905
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Copyright, 1905, by
A. S. BARNES & CO.
Published October, 1905
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TO
DOCTOR LEYDEN
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WHOSE ILLUMINATING PERSONALITY
AND STRANGE EXPERIENCES I HAVE
VENTURED TO INTERPRET IN THE
HOPE THAT WHEN HE RETURNS FROM
HIS QUEST IN THE “FORBIDDEN LAND”
HE WILL PARDON MY PRESUMPTION.
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CONTENTS
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The Mountain of Fears | #1:ch01#
Oil and Water | #46:ch02#
The Shears of Atropos | #80:ch03#
Rosenthal the Jew | #118:ch04#
Two Savages | #158:ch05#
Two Gentlemen | #199:ch06#
The Bamboula | #245:ch07#
Into the Dark | #270:ch08#
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THE MOUNTAIN OF FEARS
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THE MOUNTAIN OF FEARS
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“DOCTOR,” said my shipmate, Dr.
Leyden, “have you ever made
any especial study of nervous
diseases—central nervous diseases—morbid
conditions resulting
from a derangement of the central cells?”
I told him that I had done only such work
in this branch as a general practice would
require, but that I had observed some few
cases of especial interest during a military
surgical service in the East, and proceeded
to cite one or two instances of mental vagaries
resulting from gunshot wounds in the
head.
Leyden leaned both elbows on the taffrail
and listened restlessly. Our little ship
swashed through the short sling of the Spanish
Main, the Pole star gleaming ahead, the
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Southern Cross blazing astern, and all about
the white, flashing crests of the phosphorescent
sea. Usually Leyden was a good listener,
but this night he seemed impatient, restive,
to such an extent that I finally paused, annoyed,
for nothing is so irritating as lack of
attention to a solicited reply.
“Ach! but those cases are in the line of the
ordinary!” he exclaimed.
“Pardon me,” I replied, “but the last case
I have given was distinctly out of the ordinary.”
“I am awkward, Doctor,” said Leyden,
apologetically. “I mean that the relations
of cause and effect follow the usual course—the
histological changes in the cell produced
impaired function of the organ and these primary
changes were the result of trauma. But
have you ever had occasion to observe the reverse
of this condition—the action of the organ
on the center—like a nightmare, where
one has the liver poisoning the central
cells——”
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I interrupted in my turn. Leyden was no
doubt a skilled naturalist, a close observer
and a man of deep power of thought and analysis,
but he was not a physician, had never
made a regular study of physiological chemistry,
and was, therefore, scarcely in a position
to argue with a person who had.
“Such cases are not infrequent,” I answered.
“The ancient Greeks understood
that much, as we see from their terms. ‘Hypochondria’;
under the ribs—the liver probably
poisoning the brain, if you like; then there is
the condition of hysteria often accompanying
a movable kidney; the action of certain drugs
on special centers——”
“Such as cannabis indica?” interrupted
Leyden, “which affects the sense of elapsed
time and makes the subject happy—or—what
is that principle, Doctor, which produces xanthopsia,
or yellow vision, and makes one sluggish
and depressed?”
“Xanthopsia is an early symptom of santonin
poisoning,” I answered. “The alkaloid
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is obtained from the unexpanded flower-heads
of the——”
“Artemisia maritima—yes—I know the
plant—but the active principle might occur
elsewhere?”
“Possibly——”
“It is wonderful,” mused Leyden, in the
self-communicative tone that was often difficult
to follow—“the microscopic filament that
makes or unmakes a man; the minute neurons
which carry such a potent impulse—like the
flash crossing a continent on a tiny wire to
send two great nations to war. The wire is
short-circuited, the nation disgraced; the
neuron short-circuited, the individual disgraced.
Such a thing once happened to me,
Doctor.
“This was in Papua, an awesome country
which holds in its dark recesses many of the
things one wants—and most of those which
one does not. I had gone there with two
other white men to look for gold. It is a marvelous
country, Doctor; I do not think there is
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any other like it; such a country as was pictured
in the old imaginative school of painting;
a valley, through which winds a mist
river flowing intangibly from a mirage
through a canyon bridged by a rainbow; travelers’
palms, tree-ferns, lianas, dream-trees
heavy with strange fruits and brilliant blossoms,
in the distance mystic mountains rising
as they recede, green yet forbidding, the homes
of genii; their summits fantastic—the whole
a beautiful, impossible, frightfully fascinating
fairyland. This was that place where we
went to look for gold.
“My two companions were failures—most
gold-seekers are. I was not old enough to be
a failure myself. No matter what the faults
of these others, one did not deny their virtues.
One was a Hollander, Vinckers, an engineer,
a brilliant man, but one ready to step over
the edge of heaven in sheer restlessness and
a desire to see what was held by the abyss;
the other was a Scotchman, disagreeable, morose,
taciturn, harsh of speech and visage.
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Both held hearts of steel; they were the most
quietly courageous men that I have ever
known. I ask you to remember this, Doctor,
in consideration of what came later. Their
courage had been tried and proved in many
desperate situations.... Ach!”—Leyden began
to mutter again, shaping his thoughts
with his tongue until I could with difficulty
catch this thought—“the filament—the
neuron—cut the sympathetic nerve in the
neck of a horse and the animal begins
to sweat upon the affected side;
puncture the floor of the fourth ventricle
of a dog—diabetes.” He raised his voice.
“There is a little center of thermogenesis, is
there not, Doctor, the irritation of which will
raise the temperature——
“We wandered through this shadow-land,
this illusory place of promise whose inhabitants
were ofttimes starving. Cannibals?—yes;
many white men have been that through
acute starvation; chronic only tends to confirm
the vice. They were a strange, shy,
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kindly people—to us, who understood such.
The ‘Barbary Coast’ in San Francisco, the
parks in Melbourne, or the water-front in
Hong Kong, are all more dangerous than
Papua. We wandered through these people,
accompanied by kindness, a whole tribe sometimes
bearing our burdens until they reached
a district dangerous to them, but where we
made new friends. We wandered through
this dreamland unmolested, walked with its
fantastic peoples, black and brown and piebald;
strayed in and out to the click-click-click
of our little hammers, meeting dangers,
it is true—the dangers which might confront
a child walking blindfolded through a botanical
garden filled with perils to its ignorance—and
we tap-tap-tapped with our little hammers—right
up to the slopes of the Malang-o-mor—the
‘Mountain of Fears’—and we
tap-tap-tapped on its slopes of quartz and
basalt, little thinking that we knocked at the
door of an evil spirit.”
The bluff bows of our little ship smashed
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the short seas into a flat track of phosphoresence,
and against the pale background I saw
a tremor of some sort shake Leyden’s square
shoulders, and it seemed to me that his voice
was slightly breathless.
“‘The Mountain of Fears,’ so our Papuans
called it, and threw down their burdens at the
edge of the stream and refused point-blank
to stir another step; more than that, they implored
us to go no farther ourselves, and a
girl given to MacFarlane by a chief threw
her arms around the knees of the rough old
Gael and wailed like a stricken soul. An odd
thing, that, Doctor, this cannibal girl given to
the Scotchman a month before by this chief,
to whom MacFarlane had given a harmonica
on which he had first rendered ‘The Bonnie,
Bonnie Banks of Loch Lomond’ in a manner
which should, by right, have got him speared.
The girl had fancied him, slaved for him, followed
him everywhere like a dog, and had
ended by softening him—to such an extent
that he ceased to curse and his manner was
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less harsh—the elevating effect of a cannibal
upon a Covenanter!—another inversion in
this hallucinating country where the only actuality
seemed the rapping of our little hammers.
“This girl, as I say, implored MacFarlane
not to go on; for Vinckers and me she did not
care; none of the women had much fancied
us, while MacFarlane’s lack of comeliness
was almost bizarre; they were obedient, of
course—but that was about all.
“MacFarlane leered up at the great forbidding
mountain as it thrust against the dome
of the sky its summit of snowy quartz, a-glisten
in the bright sunlight thirteen thousand
feet above the level of the sea.
“‘A cauld slope yon—too cauld for a lass
in naething but a kiltie. Ye’d best bide here
’til I come.’ He spoke to her in the vernacular,
with which we were all three familiar, and
told her to await his return.
“It was hot in that valley—a stewpan, withering,
stifling with the equatorial reek which
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wilts one to the bone; the nights stunk of
fever. It was the southeast slope of the
mountain which presented to us; and as we
gazed up toward it from the little nest of
trees where we had made our camp, the late
sun blazed against its worn flank, and suddenly
the broad, barren belt between the forest
and the formation of quartz above the timber
belt seemed to burst into flame and shone
and sparkled and glittered as if flecked with
scales of gold.
“‘An omen!’ cried Vinckers. ‘The Mountain
of Hope—not the Mountain of Fears!
Something tells me that we shall find gold
there—veins of it, knuckles of it—perhaps the
bones of the mountain are solid gold; why
not, in such a country as this?’
“The sun dropped behind the high hills to
the westward, swiftly, as it does on the equator,
and even more swiftly the gray shadow
ran from the foot to the summit of the great
mountain. It was as if one saw the color fade
in the face of a dying man, and it seemed to
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me that a cold draught struck down from the
heights.
“‘The Mountain of Fears,’ said I—‘the
Mountain of Fears,’ and as I stared at the
monster on whose bristling hide we planned
to crawl, parasites, searching for a spot to
lodge our stings, the first shadow of foreboding
swept over my spirits, just as the swift
shadow had risen to throw its cold, blue light
across the snowy quartz-field.
“In the valley we found the first signs of
plenty; there were fruit and game and a sort
of wild yam in abundance; and here we decided
to rest for several days on the edge of
the stream, for MacFarlane had a suppurating
heel where he had trod upon a thorn, and
Vinckers was suffering from a great nettle-rash
upon his body. All three of us were hungry
and our blood ran too thin to encounter
the cold nights higher up the slope.
“We camped in a grove of trees which
looked like the papaya and bore a fruit unlike
any I have ever seen. It was shaped like an
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avocado, had a pulp like wax, or bone-marrow,
which was greasy to the touch, oily, and
held a faint flavor of sandal-wood. At first
we tried it with caution, for our native friends
would not eat anything which grew in the
shadow of the Malang-o-mor; neither would
they sleep in the narrow valley, but retired
each evening to the edge of the forest on the
farther slope.
“We rested and we slept, and we ate of the
fruit, which I called myela, because I did not
think that it had ever been described, and I
called it so from its resemblance to marrow;
also, we drank of the stream, which was a
deep ruby, spring-cooled and fragrant, but
of which none of the Papuans would drink
excepting the girl, Tomba, given to MacFarlane
by the chief. She ate and drank and
shuddered and watched her lord narrowly, as
if waiting for the curse to fall and wishful to
avert it.
“In the early morning we hunted the game
or clicked with our little hammers on the
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crumbling quartz through which the river
gnawed its way. There was gold in the country,
gold in the stream; one could pan enough
dust in a light day’s work to pay highly for
the labor. But we wanted more than dust—we
wanted the pure metal which none doubted
we should find on the virgin breast of the
mountain, and our fancy saw us winding back
to the sea with our native tribe deep-laden
with the wealth of buccaneers—winding out
through defiles of mountain and forest, heavy
with the plunder of the dread Malang-o-mor.
“Odd, Doctor; gold and dreams and sweat
and death—how they all mixed together to
strike the average which maintains the trim
of the world——” Leyden’s voice had sunk
to muttering again, and he shivered, despite
the humid warmth of the night.
“Daytimes we dwelt in Paradise and at
night lay down to sleep, having first drunk
of the stream, which we christened ‘Lethe,’
because on its banks we forgot the hardship
and hunger of our long journey to the valley.
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A Lethe it must have been, because each
morning, when the late sun looked over the
shoulder of the mountain and whipped up the
blanket of mist stretched like a tent from the
slope to the hills beyond, we forgot the miasmas
of the night and the fetid fever smells
and spores that spawned through the
hours of hot darkness, and all of the
while we ate more of the fat, oily
fruit and less of other and more wholesome
things, for this fruit of itself appeared
to satisfy all needs, and we looked at each
other and laughed at the physical changes of
the few days, for we were growing fat and
flabby as paretics. We slept a great deal, too,
days as well as nights, and the sleep was at
first of that delicious kind which one enjoys
in the moments between waking and rising—a
conscious sleep, in which one feels the
myriad renovative changes of tissue, when
each little cell seems to stretch and tingle
and feed against the waste of the coming day.
Feed they did, for the flesh came back, full
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and soft, to our gaunt frames, and we looked
at one another and laughed fat, gurgling
laughs, and lay and smoked with our heads in
the laps of the girls, and the tapping of our
little hammers was heard but seldom on the
flinty foot of the Mountain of Fears.
“The tribe had camped, as I have said,
across the valley on the edge of the forest,
but each day they came to see us, and
we laughed at their surprise when they
saw that all was well. We held them with
beads and baubles and food and friendliness—chiefly
the latter, for natives, like
dogs, love to place allegiance with the
higher mentality. One was puzzled that
physical need had not run counter to superstition,
for despite the plenty of the valley
we found no trace of other inhabitants.
“Perhaps, we had been three weeks in the
valley, when one night I awoke dripping with
perspiration and with a sense of nameless ill.
‘A nightmare,’ thought I, ‘of which the color
is lost and only the depression remains.’ It
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held me broad awake—and then for the first
time I fully realized the nauseous reek of the
fever-fog. One smelled odors which seemed
to emanate from the entrails of the earth.
You know, Doctor, the nauseous, charnel
stench of rotting insects and vegetation, with
the fetid breath of the flower that issues from
the mouth of a great, carnivorous plant? You
have seen these trap-like flowers, if one may
call them such, which grow in the botanical
gardens of Demerara? Br’r’r’rgh! And as I
lay, hot and cold and clammy, with a heavy
weight upon my chest, and thought of how we
had lain and breathed that thin effluvium, the
vehicle for myriad infusoria and plasmodiæ,
this hypochondriac fear became reasonable,
and I marveled that we were still alive.
“Vinckers and MacFarlane slept heavily,
torpidly, and their breathing was the stertorous
gasping of drunkards. We lay in hammocks
of plaited grass under a shelter of
thatch; the girl’s hammock was beside MacFarlane;
and as I lay there, broad awake and
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still depressed, my lungs half drowned in the
dense humor of the valley and my ears ringing
from the clamorous insect mob without, I
heard a stifled, whimpering cry—the moan of
a little child who has been whipped for inheriting
nerves. It struck a chill—there was
a great deal that was chill in that place of hot
fears, cold passions, joyless content and light-hearted
sloth—a place where one’s skin crept
clammily while the bones were burning.
“‘Who is that?’ I asked, quite loudly, for
I did not care if the others awoke.
“There came in answer the whimper of one
too frightened to speak. Did you ever, as a
child, Doctor, waken with the nightmare,
afraid to cry out, afraid to move, tortured by
the whimpers wrung out in reasonless terror?
It was that kind of a sound.
“‘What is it?’ I asked.
“‘It is Tomba.’
“‘What is the matter with you?’ said I.
“‘I am afraid.’
“‘And what are you afraid of?’
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“She found her voice then and began to
tell me, but there my limited knowledge of the
dialect failed, for I had no such linguistic
scope as to-day, when one dialect more or less
is simply a matter of ear and comparison.
There was something in her speech of devils
and death, and she kept repeating this and I
do not know what besides—and then, as I
was trying to reassure her as one might a
child or a horse, less through the reason than
the senses, the soothing of primitive sounds,
a startling thing occurred. MacFarlane,
whose breathing had become more labored,
like that of a man rapidly climbing the ladder
of consciousness from deep oblivion, gasped
once or twice and awoke with a scream.
Vinckers, roused with the echo ringing in his
ears, awoke with a muffled shout—a strangled,
bleating shout such as might come from a
slaughtered animal. MacFarlane, but half
awake, screamed again. At this Tomba’s
breathless terror found outlet in a shriek that
swept out under the low mist, struck the
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mountain-side and quavered away in countless
reverberations.
“Vinckers shouted again and leaped from
his hammock.
“‘Be still, you fool!’ I cried, roughly.
“‘Wha—wha—wha——’ quavered MacFarlane.
“‘What’s the matter with you?’ I cried,
impatiently. ‘Are you a couple of girls just
out of a convent?’
“‘What is the matter?’ asked Vinckers,
thickly. Tomba was sobbing hysterically.
“‘MacFarlane wakes up with a nightmare!’
said I, ‘and sets you howling like a
maniac.’ My own fright made me irritable.
“‘Odd,’ muttered Vinckers; ‘odd—I had a
nightmare, too.’
“‘Ye hag-ridden fule,’ snarled MacFarlane,
‘bawlin’ and yammerin’ like a bull! I
had no nightmare mysel’!’ He rolled heavily
in his hammock. ‘Fetch me a drink o’ water,
lass—water!’ he added, in the vernacular.
“Vinckers sat up in his hammock, let his
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feet hang over the side and, dropping his head
between his heavy shoulders, stared down the
valley. There was a moon somewhere behind
the mist; this mist, diaphanous, vague, of any
depth, yet lifted well above our heads, shone,
not white, or colorless, as a vapor should, but
a golden yellow; everything seemed golden,
was becoming more golden daily the longer
we stayed in that place of mockeries, and the
reason of this was based on something more
solid than a sentiment. What was the name
of that drug, Doctor, which when ingested
gives the yellow tinge to the vision? Santonica?—yes,
perhaps that was it; perhaps
its alkaloids were contained in that fatty
fruit; perhaps it was only that the moon was
one of those ripe, luscious, golden moons one
sees on the equator. At any rate, the light
came not pale and ghastly, as it should have
been, but a luscious golden yellow; and that
made it the more unearthly, as it illumined
and gave a golden color to these dream objects—the
fan-palms, the vague rock-heaps,
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the vistas between which should have been
ethereal, but, because of this succulent, sickly
yellow light, were too material; and the
aroma, which should have been dank, no
doubt, but elusive, was a physical stench.
Ach! a witch-fire would have burned in that
place like a fat pine torch; one would have
scorched one’s hands near a feu-follet; there
was a ponderosity to this place of ghosts. Can
you conceive a fat ghost, Doctor—a fat, unclean
ghost, who has clanked around, dragging
his ball and chain until the sweat pours
down his fat face—a malodorous sweat—a
sweat that physically offends while it
frightens? Once in my youth, in Leipsic, I
went into the anatomical laboratory, and
there was on the table a fat subject—a
woman—and she still wore some gold-washed
rings and had some baubles in her ears of
too mean value to appeal to the cupidity of
whoever had fetched her there. Br’r’r’rgh!
She was pathetic, of course, but I was not old
enough to feel that then. I can never forget
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how much more awful she was to me than
were the thin, meager, attenuated subjects
who were consistent with the place. It
was such a ripe, rotten ghastliness as
this that was held in that valley which glimmered
away at the foot of the Mountain of
Fears.”
Leyden paused, quivering, shuddering. One
did not need to see him silhouetted against
the phosphorescence to see that he shuddered;
he was in a tremor, and the light from
the rook kamer striking his strong, keen, nervous
face showed that it was damp, wet,
viscid with a moisture other than the humor
of the Gulf Stream. He was living the thing
over again with all of his high-strung, Teuton
nervousness; and suddenly it struck me that
it was hardly decent to let him go on—that it
was my duty to interrupt him, just as it has
been my duty at times to interrupt the unpleasant
indulgences of other morbid impulses.
But, on the other hand, speech is the
safety valve of the mind; also, it is just to
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sit passively and watch for the symptom
which states the case.
“Vinckers observed this thing,” continued
Leyden. “Vinckers was an unimaginative
man, and consequently the impression on him
was as it would have been upon a dry plate,
or the tracings of a seismograph, or any other
machine which records automatically without
contributing anything of its own. Vinckers
was rather low in the animal scale—by low
I mean primitive; as a man he was a splendid
specimen, but he was animal enough to get
rather more from his instincts than from his
reasoning—like most women. He watched
this thing, this yellow light coming through
the mist and touching with its sickly yellow
tinge all of the fantastic objects in the picture
that belonged to the imaginative school of
painting. He looked quite steadily at the
dream-trees, too symmetrical to be real; the
fantastic rock shapes, too fancifully grotesque
to be the work of nature; he observed
the yellow light upon the sluggish stream,
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which flowed like molasses, and looked
rather like it, too; the fringe of the forest—in
fact, all of the component parts of the picture
just as some morbid painting genius
would have placed them—and Vinckers
growled like a dog who sees something moving
about the camp-fire invisible to his
master.”
Leyden turned to me insistently, claiming
my corroboration of all this that he had
worked out through hypertrophied recollection.
“Is it not true, Doctor, that logic supplants
instinct; that as soon as we learned
how to tell by deduction where the person we
sought had gone we were no longer able to
lay our noses to the ground and decide the
matter?” He began to maunder again—his
auto-philosophy which was so hard to follow.
“There are plenty of plants in nature which
would poison the animals of the section if instinct
did not prompt them to avoid these; a
man will often eat of something and subsequently
wonder at the cause of his derangement;
.bn 037.png
.pn +1
the animal will know and avoid this
thing. At that time I was conscious of a
morbid physical condition, but was unable to
trace its source. Vinckers, lacking imagination,
knew at once. ‘Heaven,’ I heard him
mutter, ‘was there ever such a mockery! We
come to look for gold and we land in—quarantine!’
It struck me as a new idea and I almost
laughed. Gold and death, sickness and
disease! How appropriate that they should
be unichromatic! But it was Vinckers’ next
words which struck me. ‘It is that accursed
corpse-wax!’ he muttered, ‘that greasy stuff
that we have been growing fat on!’ Ugh!
You see, Doctor, he was able to link physically
cause and effect.
“MacFarlane began to mutter. Tomba
brought him some water and he drank thirstily,
swallowing with the audible gulps of a
horse.
“‘I’m feverish,’ he said, panting from the
long draught, ‘verra nervous and feverish.
’Tis a feverish place, this.’
.bn 038.png
.pn +1
“‘It’s rotten with fever!’ growled Vinckers,
who, like myself, spoke English better
than the Scotchman. ‘It stinks of fever—smell
it! We were fools to stay here so long.’
“‘We are a pack of lotus-eaters,’ said I.
‘You are right, Vinckers; it is this accursed
stuff we have been eating—this adiposcere!
We will get out of here to-morrow.’
“‘Do you feel as if your inside was filled
with lead, Leyden?’ asked Vinckers.
“‘It is worse than that,’ said I—‘molten
lead.’
“You see, Doctor, we had been living on
this rich, fatty stuff, which certainly contained
a great deal of oil and I do not know
what else besides—narcotics, no doubt. You
know the richness of an avocado? They will
tell you in some places that this fruit produces
biliousness, but I have never heard that
it had a soporific effect, as undoubtedly had
the myela fruit. Then we had taken no exercise.
“I think that night was hotter than most; we
.bn 039.png
.pn +1
could not sleep, so up we got and smoked and
discussed our plans for the future—at least,
we started to discuss them, but even as we
argued a lethargy came over us, and one by
one we fell asleep, though dreading to do so
and striving to keep awake through fear of
another nightmare. An odd condition, Doctor,
this drowsy fearsomeness; no doubt like
a patient narcotized before an operation;
dread fighting a drug until the latter triumphs
and the patient whimpers off into fear-filled
somnolence.
“The sun came to suck away the fever-mist
and with it much of our dread. We
laughed at the fears of the night and awaited
the coming of the Papuans, but awaited in
vain. I think, Doctor, that Tomba’s scream
had floated across the valley, telephonic beneath
the mist to reach the listeners in the
hills. At any rate, no human thing came
near us that day. Later, when the shadows
began to lengthen again, we wandered out,
Vinckers and I, prospecting towards the native
.bn 040.png
.pn +1
camp—I with a rifle, watchful for game,
Vinckers humming to himself an old Dutch
tune, careless in the full force of the sunlight,
wandering behind me and clicking on
the rocks with his little hammer.
“I was strangely lacking in breath as I
climbed the hillside; as for Vinckers, he
halted at the end of a hundred steps and
would go up no further. Back at our camp
MacFarlane lay smoking, with his head in
the lap of the girl. I alone toiled up the slope,
soft in heart and fibre, the sweat pouring
from me in streams, sodden, with the spring
gone out of my ankles and everything about
me of a strange, sickly yellow hue which darkened
as my breath came faster.
“I found the Papuans departed, so back I
went, blubbering with breathlessness, muttering,
fatigued, depressed, sluggish with sleep.
Vinckers I found with his back against a rock,
sleeping heavily. As I bent to rouse him my
eyes fell upon a specimen which lay between
his knees, and I saw that the little hammer
.bn 041.png
.pn +1
had cleft it open to lay bare a thick band of
virgin gold. Vinckers had tapped at the door
of Fortune and she had opened, and Vinckers
had looked within and—fallen asleep! Had
the goddess ever a more loutish lover? He
was sweating, too, in his sleep, and I saw
where the sweat had left a yellow stain upon
his neckerchief, and as the late sun struck
him it seemed to me that his skin also was
of a chromish tint. You know the flabby pallor
of the clay-eater? It was like that, fat
and flabby, but yellow rather than pale.
“Back we went to the camp, where MacFarlane
still lay and smoked or slept with
his ugly, shaggy head in the lap of
Tomba.
“‘Gold!’ I said, ‘the mountain is full of it.
It lies about loose here on the hillside,
think of what it must be yonder where the
mountain springs have done our hydraulic
mining and washing in the same formation!’
I pointed above us to the flank of the Malang-o-mor;
the late sun struck it aslant, throwing
.bn 042.png
.pn +1
sharp, purple shadows into the numberless
seams and fissures eroded in the crumbling
crust; it flashed as it had each evening and
glowed redly; high above, as the sun sank
lower, the quartz beds threw back the deepening
azure of the sky.
“‘Perhaps it is gold,’ said I, ‘that bright
stuff which glitters so; at any rate there is
gold to be had for the taking, while we lie
here and bloat and rot and waken screaming
in the night. To-morrow we must go up.’
“‘I’m no fit mysel’, lad,’ said MacFarlane.
‘I hae the fever; I maun rest.’
“‘You will rest here through eternity,’
said I, ‘if you do not come away at once. You
are yellow as a Chinaman and there’s not a
line left in your face.’ And with the aid of
the girl I set about preparing a meal.”
Leyden sucked in his breath sharply—filled
his deep lungs like a man coming out of the
dense, polluted atmosphere of a crowded car
or clinic.
“That night I awoke thrice, and each time
.bn 043.png
.pn +1
a cold terror was clamping my heart, until I
seemed to shrivel in the utter obliteration of
all else. The dread was featureless; there
was no dream, only this crushing, numbing,
withering fear which froze sound and motion;
and I lay and listened to the quick, faint tick-tick-tick
of my heart-beats and waited to die—and,
instead, I slept again, even while
sweating with fear. The last time I remained
awake; and as conscience dawned fuller this
fear sat upon the distorted objects of the
place, the swinging bulks of my companions,
the dark roof, and as I looked out into the
lambent, mellow-lighted valley fear walked
beneath the vague, symmetrical palms and
the shimmering umbrella-trees and lurked in
the recesses of the fantastic rocks. Fear
walked on the water of the oily, sluggish river
that flowed with the sheen of molten gold
through raw, eroded banks where the lips of
the rocks protruded like the ragged edge of
an ulcer.
“I lay inert, paralyzed, and presently
.bn 044.png
.pn +1
heard a faint, shuddering sigh; presently a
moan, deep, hopeless, almost expiring.
“‘Are you awake, Vinckers?’ I managed
to whisper, and my tongue could hardly articulate
the words.
“‘Yes—are you, MacFarlane?’
“‘Ou aye, ou aye—what is it—oh, what is
it, man?’
“‘Have you had the nightmare?’ I asked.
“‘Yes—without the dream—only the fear—what
is it?’
“‘Ou, lads, we maun leave this place as
soon as ’tis light——’
“‘Hush!—ah, hush!’ whispered Vinckers.
‘I am burning up—come over here, Leyden—I
am afraid to move—I was never afraid before—never
in my life—ah—what was that!’
“‘Ah, tush, man!’ MacFarlane’s rough
voice choked. ‘D’ye want to drive the heart
of a man from his body? Tomba, lass,
Tomba!’ There was no reply.
“‘Tomba!’ said I, sharply. ‘Tomba—Tomba!’
.bn 045.png
.pn +1
“‘Hush!—ah, hush!’ whispered Vinckers.
“‘Why shall I hush?’ said I, and my voice
was shaking. ‘Waken her, MacFarlane.’
“The Scotchman thrust out his great arm
slowly, and in the faint yellow light I saw
him snatch it quickly away; heard the choking
rattle in his throat; felt my own heart
flickering like a candle burned low.
“‘Ou—ou—ou——’
“‘Hush—hush—s’h’hh!’ whispered Vinckers.
“And then, Doctor”—Leyden’s voice had
sunk until one scarce caught the bitter mockery—“I
did the bravest act of my life. I slid
out of my hammock.” Leyden laughed in a
way that sent a chill through me.
“Can you understand, Doctor? Do you
know what fear is? Did you ever awake suddenly
from a dreamless sleep with a devitalizing
fear crushing the very blood out of your
heart? No dream—no recollection—only the
fear sometimes hung like a black mantle over
the nearest object, no matter how familiar.
.bn 046.png
.pn +1
Purely reasonless—the organ acting on the
cell; an inversion of effect on cause. In our
own case, if one presumed that our diet, or
water, or the fever, or any other extrinsic
cause had deranged the organ—perhaps the
liver—and thus poisoned the cell—the single
center of Fear—as some drugs affect other
centers—murderous—erotic—as Charcot, I
believe it is, demonstrates that the odor of
certain perfumes will throw the hypnotized
patient into paroxysms of fear——
“I never did a thing so difficult as to get
on my feet and walk to the hammock of that
poor girl. She was quite dead—and the wet
frost of the fear which had killed her lay
moist and chill on face and breast. I did not
dare to light a match to look at her; there is
a limit, Doctor, to the courage of every man.
I was never really frightened before; I can
never remember being really frightened since;
and my profession is one of countless risks
to life. This was something far, far worse—the
reason stampeding with the will——
.bn 047.png
.pn +1
“Then the lethargy crept on again. I
crawled back to my hammock and, still fighting
the fear, fell asleep. The others slept
before I—and I could hear them whining and
whimpering like young puppies taken from
the litter.
“I was the first to awaken when the light
came. My fear was gone and I lay drenched
in perspiration, yet comfortable, unwilling to
rouse myself.
“‘Oh, the awfu’ nicht!’ moaned MacFarlane,
and covered his face with his gnarled
hands. Vinckers did not speak, but shouldered
his kit.
“‘Let us go,’ he said, and we filed away
from the place without looking back at the
cannibal girl in the plaited hammock, her
drawn face covered with the Scotchman’s
only neckerchief.
“We wandered down the valley looking for
a place to ford the stream and begin the ascent.
We had no carriers, no goods, no especial
hopes, but these things did not trouble
.bn 048.png
.pn +1
us. We wandered along the banks of the
dream-river and beneath the symmetrical
trees, and filed between the fantastic rocks,
which, from habit alone, we tapped with our
little hammers; and still the sun had not
looked over the edge of the eastern rampart
of the valley, and we journeyed in the shadow
of the Mountain of Fears. The Mountain of
Fears—the Mountain of Fears—and nothing
but peace on every hand! Nothing of harm—no
danger of man or beast, nothing of heat,
nothing of cold—a misty, dreamy peace; the
dreads of the night supplanted by an apathetic
shame which forbade discussion of these
things. As for Tomba—why, she died of
fever, poor girl—what else?
“We wandered down the valley and soon
we came to a ford; there we crossed and toiled
on up the slope of the mountain—up, up, up,
panting, sweating, breathless, not clear as to
purpose, but struggling to get up because—we
did not know! As we climbed we tapped
at the stones, because we were used to tapping
.bn 049.png
.pn +1
and chipping with our little hammers,
and when we halted for the night we were
high up on a wooded plateau, and the air was
fine and thin and sweet with healthy odors of
moss and fern and clean flowers. We were on
the hip of the Mountain of Fears.
“We crouched on the edge of the precipice
and peered down into the valley as the sun
slipped over the crest of the opposite hills and
drew after it the curtain of mist which hid
the greasy river and the unreal trees and the
jumping rocks, which from above looked like
Titan children frozen at play. The mist hid
all of these things, but now we were above instead
of beneath it. Before it grew denser
it formed a thin, flat pale through which one
might look and see these objects, symmetrical
and bizarre, fantastic and uncouth, which lay
beneath, as one looks down through the thin
water-line of a clear but stagnant pool and
sees the fairy-like structures of an alien element.
‘To-night,’ thought I, ‘we shall not
slumber in that cistern.’ It seemed to me
.bn 050.png
.pn +1
in that thin, bracing air, that we had wriggled
to the surface like the larvæ of mosquitoes,
and, after incessantly gyrating up and down,
had crawled clear and grown our wings in
the drier medium. But even while thinking
these things the sun slipped down behind the
opposite hills, the mist thickened, a cold
draught sucked around the side of the mountain,
and I heard Vinckers let out his breath
with a shudder. I had noticed that each evening
we grew depressed as soon as the sun was
gone.
“‘What is the matter?’ I asked.
“‘Oh, God!’ he shuddered. ‘Don’t you
see that it is all getting yellow again—a nasty,
greenish yellow?’
“‘Ou aye,’ said MacFarlane, ‘but it has
been yellow all day!’
“It had a yellowish tinge to me, Doctor,
but I had tried to persuade myself that it was
something in the spectrum of that equatorial
sun and the vivid greens which filled the valley.
There was no denying that as the sunrays
.bn 051.png
.pn +1
left the air the yellows came out with
frightful intensity, and to my imagination it
seemed as if we were cursed with the curse
of Midas—a curse because we had profaned
the Malang-o-mor, except that it was not necessary
to touch a thing to turn it into gold.
Of course, at that time I knew nothing of such
things as xanthopsia, and my mind rebelled
at aught of a superstitious character. The
result was that I became worried and confused—like
a dog listening at the receiver of
a telephone to a sourceless voice. With
Vinckers and MacFarlane it was different;
they were of the unimaginative type which
goes at one leap from stubborn disbelief to
frenzied superstition—and just because
everything was turning yellow they would
not raise their voices above a whisper.
“We had practically nothing wherewith to
camp; in fact, we had come to wandering
through that dream-country with
only dream-needs—the needs of an opium-eater
or any other slave of the lamp. Of
.bn 052.png
.pn +1
course, we had some of the fruit—the stuff
that grew on the Mountain of Fears—I have
never seen it anywhere else. We made a
shelter and crept in to sleep.
“I suppose that it was hot enough, but for
a month we had dwelt in the steam-room of a
Turkish bath. Being younger and stronger, I
had given my poncho to Vinckers, who had
felt the chill of the higher air. Perhaps it
was this circumstance which brought me
through the night with my reason, for the
cold wakened me before that moment of low-ebbing
vitality which comes between midnight
and dawn. I awoke shivering, dew-damp
with the terror of the night before, and
as I lay there waiting I heard the other two
twitching and muttering. I suppose that I
should have awakened them.
“The moonlight, which should have been
clear on the mountain, was yellow as in the
valley below; the moon was still high, and
we lay in the shadow, but as I waited it
passed the zenith and began its swift descent,
.bn 053.png
.pn +1
and soon the lower rim was cut by the edge
of our leafy roof. For an hour no sound
had come from the others, no stir; they had
lain like dead men; and in my abject nervelessness
I was afraid to investigate, but
waited until the moon should sink lower and
look directly into the place. MacFarlane was
nearest me, and as the moon sank lower the
yellow light crept up his body, which was motionless,
as if carved in stone. It reached a
hand lying palm downward on his thigh, and
I saw that the back glistened with moisture.
The sharp, golden moon-ray crept higher, and
I watched breathlessly for his face, my own
still in the shadow. His straggling beard
turned golden; I saw his yellow teeth gleaming,
the bristling lips drawn up and the
breath hissing between in quick gasps. ‘He
is having the nightmare,’ I thought, and might
have found courage to awaken him, but at
that moment the light shone full in his face,
and I saw that his eyes were wide open, fixed,
staring, brimming with an anguish of dread
.bn 054.png
.pn +1
before which my soul shrank. He was staring
straight in front of him at Vinckers, who
was stretched out at his side, and as I
watched, the moonlight fell on his face and
showed his eyes also wide open and staring
straight into those of MacFarlane.
“For perhaps five minutes—five hours it
seemed to me—these two lay inert, stricken
paralytic from dread, gazing each one into
the crazed eyes of the other, motionless,
soundless—while I, watching from the
shadow, saw the water trickle down their
yellow faces in little, golden drops. Then,
with a consciousness of the danger of this
thing, I tried to break the spell—and did!
“‘Vinckers!’ I croaked, and before the
sound of my voice had died away Vinckers
screamed—a rasping, throat-splitting scream,
straight into MacFarlane’s face. MacFarlane
gurgled and his eyes opened and shut
rapidly. Vinckers screamed again—and at
this something inside me which I was striving
to hold in check, some irresistible impulse,
.bn 055.png
.pn +1
seemed suddenly to tear away—and sweep
my will before it—at least, this is a nice way
of putting it, Doctor——”
Into Leyden’s voice there had crept again
that biting mockery which was almost jaunty
in tone.
“It is so,” he continued, “that one auto-analytic—a
student of psychology—his own—might
refer to these subjective symptoms.
The brutal stranger watching this phenomenon
would spell it in five letters—P-A-N-I-C—an
elemental emotion which can be the source
of much learned argumentation—and stamp
the lives out of women and little children—and
grab all of the lifeboats—and has! Yet
it is an emotion quite common to certain low
types of humanity, the kind who do their
thinking with their spinal cord—and it is one
of those lovely primitive, primordial, brutal,
unregenerate and degraded emotions of which
certain others of its type, such as ungoverned
lust and anger and revenge, are much admired
by many modern devotees, the bestial
.bn 056.png
.pn +1
primitive—to my mind all of these things
sweep together through the same sluice.”
There are no words which will convey the
bitterness of Leyden’s tone; mockery soared
high in comparison.
“B’r’r’rrgh! how I loathe all such unicellular
impulses in a man—a finished animal
product! And that night on that mountain I
yelped and howled in fear with those other
two hairy animals—and I think that we
fought and bit and struggled, for the next
morning we were masses of minor wounds.
Yet so far had we harked back on the trail
of our savage forbears, driven screaming before
that primitive and degraded passion of
fear, that none of us was badly hurt!—which
was even more shameful. I suppose, Doctor,
that our terror was too elemental and reasonless
to lead us to use weapons, whereas our
limbs lacked the strength to enable us to kill
each other with our naked hands; so that, instead
of digging out each other’s hearts with
our finger-nails, we suffered most from skin-scratches,
.bn 057.png
.pn +1
upon which the flies settled. Ach!—I
should like to say an obscene word, Doctor!
Let’s smoke!—let’s have a drink!
“Oh, yes—we all came away the next day.
Nothing happened to us—just as there was
nothing to be afraid of. Please tell me that
it was all due to a toxic action on the center
of Fear—that is what I tell myself—and what
a savant of Leipsic was good enough to tell
me. Nevertheless, when I met MacFarlane
in Sydney four years ago I crossed to the
other side of the street—and he looked once
and then away. There are some things in a
man’s past difficult to face; most difficult in
mine is that last night on the broad hip of
the Mountain of Fears.”
.bn 058.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch02
OIL AND WATER
.sp 2
.di dc-w.jpg 100 100 1.5
WE were skirting the Island of Margherita,
which belongs to Venezuela
and produces pearls of
small size but excellent quality.
I was smoking an after-dinner
cigar with Dr. Leyden, the collector, who
earns his living by supplying museums and
professors with specimens from the animal,
vegetable, and mineral worlds.
“Did you ever notice, Doctor,” he asked,
suddenly, “how African blood is curdled by
being mixed with Anglo-Saxon?”
“I had always thought,” said I, “that
African blood mixes badly with any other.”
“No. With Latin blood it will combine like
whisky and soda, but the Anglo-Saxon plasma
exerts upon it an action like that of alcohol
upon albumen——” He paused and absently
followed the course of a school of flying-fish
.bn 059.png
.pn +1
that flickered suddenly from the swash alongside
and skittered away across the dancing
waves.
“What suggested this topic to your mind?”
I asked, curiously, for we had been discussing
the relative naval strength of Germany and
the United States.
“That island.” He nodded toward Margherita
as it rose, rough in outline, but with
the misty softness of distance, from the quiet,
pink and purple sea. The sun was resting
on the rim of the sky-line, and its late rays
bathed the lavender slopes of the mountains,
that rose in tumbling confusion, their summits
blazing with high-lights and their feet
already clothed in slanting shadows.
Almost as we watched, the sun slipped
under the sea; a multi-colored breeze rippled
the face of the water; opalescent flashes sparkled
here and there from the sails of the little
Portuguese men-of-war, and then the day-light
began to wane, as it seemed, in rhythmic
beats.
.bn 060.png
.pn +1
“Odd,” continued Leyden, clinging with
Teutonic persistency to his theory, conscious
but unaffected by his exquisite surroundings.
“The popular idea is that an individual having
a drop of African blood is more negro than
white, even though the white predominates,
as in the case of a quadroon or octoroon. This
is wrong, Doctor. The white is by far the
more potent strain, but, because it is more apt
to color the mind than the skin, it is not recognized
as such.”
“Primitive organizations are usually more
virile,” I began.
“It is not of the physical but of the mental
that I speak!” he interrupted, a bit testily.
“It is an undeserved compliment to the negro
and an unjust insult to the white to claim that
a man having an equal amount of both strains
is more black than white, but if the white
strain is Anglo-Saxon or Scandinavian, then
he is both white and black, and all of each,
for they will mix no more than oil and
water.”
.bn 061.png
.pn +1
He was silent again, and I waited, for I
knew that he would presently back his theory
by an illustration.
“You know Margherita?” I asked, presently,
to help him get under way.
“Better than is necessary,” he replied, and
was silent again. The swift tropic twilight
had almost faded; the slopes of the mountains
were somber with mysterious shadows; a
huge cumulus cloud, still crimson about its
edges, was stranded on the highest peaks, and
above it a dainty crescent moon was swiftly
growing brighter.
“Let us go aft,” muttered Leyden. “These
cattle make too much noise!”
He was quite right, for that part of the
deck was infested by our fellow-passengers;
the Venezuelans were chattering like a band
of apes; naked babies lived and moved and
had their unclean little beings where they
listed; near us a British engineer was arguing
in Spanish with a German coffee planter, and
behind him an Austrian Jew who had been
.bn 062.png
.pn +1
buying pearls in Margherita was showing his
wares to the wife of a Dutch officer returning
to Curaçao from a visit to relatives in Surinam,
and the two were chattering away in
voluble French. Our captain, a fine specimen
of a Hollander, was playing chess with an
Italian, and the latter was winning, having no
ship on the coast and his brain unfilled with
plans regarding the securing of a cargo for
Havre or Amsterdam. Through the crowd
came a stolid Dutch quartermaster, picking
his way along the deck to read the taffrail-log,
which he did, and returned oblivious to
all but the number in his head, as I could see
from the moving of his lips as he muttered
it over to himself.
Leyden led the way aft to the grating beside
the hand steering-gear—the place where
we usually held our sessions of swapping experiences.
I drew out a fresh cigar and the
German lit his big porcelain pipe, an apparatus
especially adapted to the needs of the
raconteur, as one could take a puff or two and
.bn 063.png
.pn +1
then bank the fire until the next stopping-place.
“It was several years ago,” he began. “I
had been sent up the Orinoco by an American
university, a new one in the Middle West, to
which some sausage-maker had given a fortune
to build and stock a museum of natural
history. The president of the university sent
for me; I can never sufficiently admire the
capability of this young man for his position.
He took me into the museum and showed me
at least a kilometer of empty shelves.
“‘This place must be chock-a-block by
commencement time,’ said he. ‘I have four
men at work in North America, two in South
America, four in Europe——’ and so on, all
over the face of the earth. ‘I wish you to
take charge of South America, north of the
Amazon. There is a man in the Amazon Valley
chasing up the fish and reptiles, and one
in Peru, out for mammals. You are to get
after the birds and insects; of course, if you
should happen to run across anything rare
.bn 064.png
.pn +1
that’s not in your line just gather it in,
anyway.’ He glanced at some typewritten
memoranda. ‘That ought to give us an
A1 stock of South American goods, and
before we get through if we don’t have
Putney University bluffed off the boards I’ll
go to h——’”
Leyden paused, and I heard his china stove
splutter as he laughed softly.
“It was a good outfit, that of mine—the
best I have ever had. There were four large
boats, with a crew of five men in each. As
quantity was required as well as quality, I
stocked up as if for a trading expedition. You
know, Doctor, natives are themselves born
collectors; moreover, an observant savage
knows a rare thing when he sees it. I have
had a large experience with aborigines and
know the capriciousness of their tastes. The
objects which one would expect to attract
them they often positively refuse to look at,
while for something else they are ready to do
murder. If a man is fortunate enough to
.bn 065.png
.pn +1
strike a popular fancy he can buy a whole
tribe. And that is what I proposed to do.
“There was a friend of mine in New York,
a German, who had traded on the Orinoco,
and from him I formed some ideas in regard
to trade-stuffs, for, you see, it was my
plan to subsidize some tribe and have them
doing my collecting while I stopped in camp to
pack and preserve specimens. Before leaving
New York I went to one of the big wholesale
‘notion’ stores on Broadway and explained
my needs to the superintendent. The first
thing which he showed me—as a joke, I believe—was
a consignment of fawn-colored
opera hats which had been made for some
minstrel company which went into the hands
of the receiver before the goods were delivered.
They were light and folded compactly,
and you know how savages delight in elaborate
head-gear. I bought three dozen for
twenty dollars. Then I bought two dozen
harmonicas and two dozen bright jew’s-harps.
Of course, I got the usual stock goods—fishhooks,
.bn 066.png
.pn +1
calico prints, aniline dyes—and finally
the proprietor, who had a keen sense of humor,
presented me with a case of four dozen
old-fashioned iron spectacle frames which
contained no glasses. As I wear spectacles
myself, I decided that possibly I might set a
fashion up in Orinoco, and accordingly took
them along.”
Leyden paused to turn the forced draught
on his tobacco crucible, and in the silence I
caught odd snatches of conversation in at
least five different tongues: “Tres pien
marche—tres pien marche,” came the guttural
voice of the pearl-buyer. “Cuanto por
la picinia,” from the Venezuelans, followed
by a snigger of that peculiar note that goes
with an improper anecdote; a sort of falsetto
giggle—everyone knows the kind. Then
the captain got checkmated, and swore a
good, hearty Dutch oath that sounded
strangely clean and honest and wholesome
as compared to the staccato fragments on
all sides.
.bn 067.png
.pn +1
“I had my outfit towed up as far as Ciudad
Bolivar,” Leyden continued. “There I found
a German named Meyers, who had a big trading
station. He told me in confidence that he
was planning to call in his loans, as far as
he was able, and leave the country, as the rapacity
of the new government made it impossible
to carry on a profitable trade. He was
a man of about fifty, unmarried, and had lived
at least half of his life on the river.
“It happened that my lieutenant, a young
German-American named Lefferts, had contracted
the fever on the way up the river.
He was the son of an old friend of mine in
New York, and I had promised to take care
of him. You have had some experience in
tropical malaria, Doctor. Or perhaps it is
not malaria; at any rate, one dies in rather
an indecent hurry, and quinine is about as
efficient as so much flour. I sent the lad back
on the steamer and asked Meyers if he knew
of any one with whom to replace him—a
white man, of course, as it is always well to
.bn 068.png
.pn +1
have at least two white men when there are
things to steal.
“When I asked the question it seemed to
me that Meyers’ pale yellow face took on a
more lifelike color.
“‘There is a young man in my employ
whom you might persuade to go,’ said he. ‘At
present he is keeping the store. I will send
for him—but I beg of you not to say a word
concerning what I have mentioned in regard
to my returning to Germany.’
“‘Certainly not,’ said I. Meyers gave an
order to a servant, and a few minutes later I
saw a broad-shouldered young fellow walking
toward the house. Even before he came within
hail his striking resemblance to Meyers
told me what he was.
“Few men could have told that he was not
a German born, and still fewer that African
blood flowed through his veins, but my calling
is one which demands close powers of observation.
His hair was of a light brown,
straight, but utterly without lustre; his blue
.bn 069.png
.pn +1
eyes had a muddy tinge, and his skin, although
fair, had that peculiar purple tint of
raw meat which one sees in blonds with African
corpuscles.
“Meyers explained my needs, and the
young man, whose name was Frederick, listened
attentively, as I did also, for as the
older man talked I became conscious of an
odd accent of fear in his voice. Each time
that his natural son turned his eyes in his
direction Meyers would seem to recoil and his
voice would grow faint and irresolute. It
did not take me long to see that the trader
was in mortal terror of his offspring.
“Frederick listened, as it seemed to me, a
bit sulkily, and once or twice gave Meyers a
sidelong glance of suspicion, as if he was trying
to discover some ulterior motive—which
indeed was not lacking, as I very well knew
that Meyers would not be there when I returned,
and I more than half suspected that
Meyers would have left before had it not been
for Frederick.
.bn 070.png
.pn +1
“‘What will you pay?’ he asked, suddenly,
turning to me. I told him.
“‘It is not much,’ he observed, in a surly
voice.
“‘I am not urging you to come,’ I replied,
quietly. ‘There is the proposition; take it or
leave it.’
“‘I will let you know in the morning,’ said
he, and left us with no salutation.
“When he had gone Meyers turned to me
with a weak and somewhat frightened smile.
“‘I think that he will go,’ said he. ‘He is
fond of money. Of course’—he smiled in a
way that made me want to kick him—‘you
understand—the—eh—my position——’
“‘No’—I answered a bit brutally, I fear—‘I
don’t. If you care enough about him to
educate him as you appear to have done, why
do you want to desert him?’
“He shrank as if I had struck him, and for
a moment seemed on the verge of collapse,
then recovered and clapped his hands feebly.
A yellow girl, in an unclean pinafore which
.bn 071.png
.pn +1
rather emphasized the nakedness beneath,
flopped out of the house, holding her frock
partly together with one hand, and asked
what he wanted.
“‘Schiedam and bitters—and bring a
water-monkey,’ he answered. Rather to my
surprise, the wench did as she was bid, favoring
me with a rather bold stare.
“It was intensely hot—just before the afternoon
shower. We were sitting on the raised
veranda of Meyers’ house, and down below
us the river oozed along, viscid and brown
and sticky-looking, like molasses flowing out
of a stove-in vat. The clouds were banking
up black and forbidding on the other side of
the stream, and occasionally a rumble of thunder
reached us.
“‘You do not know—do not understand,’
said Meyers, finally. He raised one skinny,
mottled hand to his red, untidy beard, which
was getting gray around his muzzle, like an
old collie, which, in fact, he somewhat resembled.
‘Of course, you see the relationship.’
.bn 072.png
.pn +1
His fingers massaged his lips, a frequent gesture
with people of vacillating character. ‘I
was fond of him as a boy and flattered myself
that his negro blood was in no way evident,
though his mother was a mulatto—but it was
only in process of incubation; it has since
shown itself—not physically, but in more sinister
manifestations: in the workings of his
mind.’ He reached for his gin-and-bitters,
slopping half of it down the front of his tunic.
‘My conscience demands that I should warn
you,’ he went on, after gulping down his gin
and wiping his gray muzzle on his sleeve. ‘He
is intelligent, and when not crossed his disposition
is cheerful and kind—when not crossed,
you observe, because it is when his resentment
is aroused that the black blood comes all
to the surface. At such times he is a fiend
incarnate—but there is no reason why in your
case any such condition should arise.’ He
glanced about him nervously, then hunched
his chair closer to mine. ‘I will tell you something
that you would never guess,’ said he,
.bn 073.png
.pn +1
pushing his face toward mine until his gin-soaked
bristles almost touched my cheek. ‘At
times’—his voice dropped to a whisper—‘at
times I am actually in fear of him!’
“‘Do you think that he will accept my
offer?’ I asked, leaning backward, for the
man was getting momentarily more repugnant
to me.
“B’r’r’gh!” Leyden arose suddenly and,
walking to the taffrail, spat into the water.
“I can see the fellow yet, Doctor,” he said,
turning to me apologetically. “He—and his
unhealthy, exotic surroundings, that were
partly luxurious, partly rotten, like one of
those beautiful carnivorous orchids with their
wonderful tints and charnel-house odor—mauve
and carmine outside and inside full of
decaying insects. Meyers was rich, and he
had a fine house and a beautiful garden, and
European delicacies, and books, and objets
de vertu, but his setting was poisonous! Mangroves
and fever and humid heat—and whenever
you went in and out of his place you
.bn 074.png
.pn +1
would catch a glimpse of slatternly, half-naked
native women poking and prying and
getting out of the way. Then he would receive
you in a limp, unbuttoned sort of a way—you
know the type.
“He was of exceptionally good family and
a man of highest education, but I fancied that
he had pretty well degenerated——”
Eight bells were struck forward, and Leyden
paused to strike a match and hold it to
the dial of the log. The Dutch captain came
aft at the same moment and held the lighted
end of his cigar against the dial. He paused
to chat with us for a moment, then went forward
to see if the youthful mate on the bridge
was still awake, for the strain of work is terrific
on the coast, and I doubt if the mates
had averaged four hours’ sleep in the twenty-four
for a week.
“Frederick finally decided to accept my
offer,” Leyden went on, “and the next day
we left Bolivar and proceeded up the river.
I explained my project to Frederick, who told
.bn 075.png
.pn +1
me that he knew of a tribe located near the
head of one of the tributaries of the Orinoco,
whom he had once visited on a trading expedition,
and, as I judged that the district should
be rich in the material of which I was in
search, I decided to visit it.
“It was tedious working up that everlasting
stream; hot, too, for there was seldom a
breeze, and sometimes it seemed to me that
the dome of humidity rising from that sluggish
river acted as a lens, or burning glass, to
focus upon us the rays of that withering sun.
My crews turned out well; a few had the
fever, but what surprised me was that Frederick
seemed to suffer from the heat more
than any of us. Yet he was a useful man—a
good driver, although it seemed to me at
times that he was unnecessarily abusive.
“Once we entered the tributary, the ——,
it was much better, for there we could keep
in the shade of the great forest which rose
right from the banks. I had already secured
quite a number of specimens, and was altogether
.bn 076.png
.pn +1
much satisfied by the way in which
things were going.
“One peculiarity of Frederick which I had
several times noticed was his personal vanity,
a trait which at times made him ridiculous.
I had observed the covetousness with
which he regarded some of my personal effects,
and had given him several trifles,
among them a pair of bright yellow leather
puttee-leggins, at which his delight was like
that of a child. That was the African. The
contraptions were too hot for me, too hot
for anybody, but Frederick wore them constantly.
“I had not said much about my trading
junk, thinking that he might regard me as a
business rival, but one evening when we were
encamped on the edge of the river I had the
case of hats opened, as I had noticed the ants
coming out of the crevices and wanted to see
if the goods were damaged. I drew one of
them out, punched it open, and was examining
it, when I happened to glance at Frederick,
.bn 077.png
.pn +1
who was standing near. His eyes were
fairly bulging and his loose mouth agape.
“‘Why have you those hats, Doctor?’ he
gasped, in astonishment.
“‘Trading stuff,’ I answered. ‘Do you
think that the natives will like them?’
“‘The natives! But they are far too good!
They are beautiful hats, such as gentlemen
wear in the United States, are they not?’
“I glanced at him curiously, and saw that
he was looking at that hat as a starving man
might look at a loaf of bread. Really, in spite
of Meyers having given him what would be
equal to a good high-school education, the
man was simple as a savage, and he had never
been away from the Orinoco.
“‘You appear to admire them,’ I answered,
carelessly; ‘perhaps you might like
one yourself. They are light, and should be
cool.’
“His eyes glistened; he could hardly thank
me, he was so pleased. I overhauled the lot
until I found one that fitted him, and after
.bn 078.png
.pn +1
that he wore it constantly, to the great admiration
of the native crews.
“A few days later we found the tribe, with
whom I immediately opened negotiations.
They were remarkably quick in learning what
was required of them, and they were pleased
with my goods. Especially they admired
Frederick, who went about clad in bright yellow
puttees, moleskin trousers, a white drill
tunic with a military collar, and a fawn-colored
opera hat. It seemed to me that the
elegance of his attire had some good effect,
for he certainly had great authority with
those red Indians—more than I.
“Things went on swimmingly for a while;
the savages brought me in specimens of every
description; my packing cases were becoming
filled, and it looked as if, where my part of
it was concerned, Billings University might
yet have Putney University ‘bluffed off the
boards.’ The interest of the natives had begun
to flag slightly, but I had refreshed it by
serving out the harmonicas and jew’s-harps—a
.bn 079.png
.pn +1
step which I soon regretted, as my camp
became a nightmare of sound. A fortnight
later, business becoming slack again, I
served out the opera hats, and whipped up
their ardor still further by exhibiting the
spectacle frames.”
Leyden paused and chuckled into his pipe
until the sparks spouted from the big china
bowl like a roman candle.
“Imagine, Doctor, such a spectacle! I had
brought a lot of mosquito netting—pink, it
was—and with that I had shown the savages
how to make insect nets. Such a sight!
Forty or fifty Indians and bush-niggers, some
naked except for a fawn-colored opera hat
and a pair of iron spectacles without the
lenses; others swathed in flaming calico
prints, sitting around my camp blowing into
a harmonica or a jew’s-harp, or sneaking
through the jungle with shrimp-pink butterfly
net! The very crocodiles used to crawl
out upon the banks and laugh! And the natives
all so proud and pleased!
.bn 080.png
.pn +1
“Then one day a few of them came in and
said that they had trapped a maipuri—a kind
of water-tapir—over on the other bank. I
took a few men and went over to superintend
the skinning of the beast, and while so engaged
two of the Indians came rushing up to
say that a small steamer was coming up the
river.
“It turned out to be a little gunboat.
Shortly after we left Bolivar there had been
one of the semi-annual revolutions, and the
new governor of the district, knowing that I
had gone up the river, had come up to see
what could be made out of me. The matter
could have been arranged peaceably enough
had it not been for Frederick. On sighting
the steamer the fool had promptly armed the
boat crews, and when the people from the
gunboat landed near the camp they were confronted
by an array of twenty half-caste
Caribs, armed with bored-out Springfields,
and about two-score of Indians, gorgeously
equipped with opera hats and spectacles,
.bn 081.png
.pn +1
many of them blowing furiously into harmonicas
and all armed with bows and spears.
“Those Indians, as you know, are the most
harmless people in the world, but the Caribs
will fight, and from all I could learn, for I
was across the river at the time, that fool of a
Frederick went roaring about, making frenzied
orations and challenging the Venezuelans
to try to land.
“They did land, and at the first volley
Frederick rolled on his back, absolutely unhurt,
and howled for mercy. The Caribs retreated
firing, and managed to kill one of the
people from the gunboat and wound three
others. I started back the moment I heard
the firing, but by that time my allies had been
routed, and I was promptly arrested and put
down below in double irons.
“They confiscated all of my specimens,
stowing them away on the gunboat, took the
boats in tow and down the river we went,
leaving the Indians and boatmen in the bush.
All of my protests were vain; I had been trading
.bn 082.png
.pn +1
without a license from the government—which
did not exist when I went up—in addition
to which my people had fired upon government
troops, killing a man and wounding
others. No appeal to my consul would be permitted;
I was no better than a pirate, etc.
“Frederick was chained up near me on the
trip down, and he alternated between raving
curses at our captors and whimpering like a
pup when they cuffed him for it. You see,
Doctor, the alien strains were always at work
in that man. One minute he was white, the
next black. Your French or Spanish or Italian
half-caste would have had the cunning
that is one of the compensations of the mongrel;
but Frederick was in two layers, and
sometimes one would be on top and sometimes
the other, but they never mixed. It
was even so with his personal appearance,
for I noticed that when he was in charge of
our men he looked the typical German; his
features were aquiline, composed, dignified
and showed character. On the other hand,
.bn 083.png
.pn +1
when he was hurt or frightened the actual
color of his skin was all that proclaimed him
white. His eyes would bulge until the whites
were visible all the way around, his forehead
crept down, his nose would actually flatten
and his lips rolled back in the typical African
manner, showing their red linings and the big
ivory teeth.
“Before we had reached the mouth of the
river he was moping in the usual negro way,
and I think that he would have died, as negroes
will if their despondency lasts too long,
had we been a week longer en voyage.”
Leyden ceased speaking and jerked his
head irritably toward the fat Italian who had
been playing chess with the captain. He had
fallen asleep in his chair, and, being a large
man, his head had rolled back over the cross-bar.
A shaft of light from the “rook kamer”
fell upon the expanse of pale, flabby throat,
stretched tense by the weight of the pendant
head, and as I glanced that way it vibrated
with strangling, unwholesome noises.
.bn 084.png
.pn +1
“Humbert!” called Leyden, in a soft, feminine
voice, then quickly turned his back. The
sodden mass convoluted; the noises culminated
in a strangling snort; one almost heard
the vertebræ creak as the strain came upon
them; then he sat up and stared about in bewilderment.
“Nothing like the sound of one’s name to
wake one, especially in a strange place,”
chuckled Leyden, softly. “I saw on the passenger
list that his name was Humbert.”
He walked to the taffrail and leaned upon it
for a moment, watching the glowing disks of
phosphorescence whirled to the surface by
the screw. They glowed and faded and then
glowed again, to merge finally into a broad
band of luminous silver that formed the wake.
“They left my specimen cases at Bolivar,”
he resumed, talking to the rudder, apparently,
“and took us around to Cumana, where
they lodged us in the nasty little jail which I
will show you to-morrow, if we are permitted
to land. After a month of it—fever and
.bn 085.png
.pn +1
starvation and vermin” (he scratched his
shoulder with a squirm)—“I itch yet when
I think of it—after a month of all this I became
ennuyé and decided to leave.” His voice
grew ominously hard. “So one evening I
took Frederick and we came away. Frederick
was at pretty low ebb by that time, and it took
about three days’ skillful jockeying to coax
his German blood to the top; but eventually
I got it there in sufficient volume to make me
think that it would remain for an hour or two—and
it did!—long enough to enable him to
kill one of the devilish nigger guards with
his naked hands. I crushed the skull of another
with a jagged piece of rock, and then
we wandered down the beach, found a rotten
old canoe and paddled out to sea.
“The canoe was half waterlogged, and I
knew that it would not carry us very far, so I
decided to try and get to Margherita and take
our chances on the rest. When the day
broke I could just distinguish the outlines of
the island, with the usual big cloud hanging
.bn 086.png
.pn +1
over it. We paddled all day long, without
seeming to get any nearer; then Frederick
grew sulky all at once and threw down his
paddle with the remark that he was going to
die.
“‘You certainly will,’ said I, ‘unless you
keep at work.’ I had filled a water-jug that
I found in the canoe before we started, but
we had nothing to eat since afternoon of the
day before, and what we got then was not of
a tissue-building character.
“‘I am going to die,’ Frederick repeated—and
then, confound him, he lay down in the
bottom of the canoe and did die!”
I grunted—for that seemed to me to be an
adequate epitaph for such a person as I fancied
Frederick to have been.
“I did not discover it at once,” Leyden
went on, “but when I did I was rather relieved,
as it is harder to share one’s nerve
with another man than one’s food. I slid
him over the side of the canoe and kept on
with my paddling. Really, Doctor, that day
.bn 087.png
.pn +1
is an absolute blank. About sunset I struck
some of the outlying boats of the pearl divers
and the next thing that I remember is waking
up and finding myself lying in a nasty little
hut covered with flies. I think that it was the
smell of the shell-heaps on the beach that
brought me to life again. But it was odd
about that man Frederick, was it not?—and
rather illustrates my theory, don’t you
think?”
“Never mind your theory,” said I. “Tell
me the rest of the story.”
“That was rather odd, too.” Leyden permitted
himself a few reminiscent puffs. “The
chap that rescued me was a French Jew who
controlled quite a bit of the pearl-fishing industry
on the island. He was clever enough
to guess how I came to be floating about in
that hollow log, but made no comment at the
time. As soon as I was able to get about
again, which was in a couple of days, he asked
me if I wished to work for him. I declined
with thanks, whereupon he said that in that
.bn 088.png
.pn +1
case he felt that duty would compel his handing
me over to the authorities. Practically,
you see, I was his slave, but there seemed no
help for it, so for the time being I took command
of one of his larger boats and her crew.
He gave me some clothes and my food and
that was all.
“In the end I got even. One day, when I
had landed my cargo of oysters on the beach
and was about to begin opening—for you
know the pearl fishers down here open the
shells instead of rotting out, as they do in the
East—an old native woman who had been
squatting near the edge of the pile hobbled
over to where I was standing and begged for
one of the bivalves to eat. They are not bad,
you know. I told her to help herself, expecting,
naturally, that she would pick one up at
her feet; but instead of that she went around
to the other side of the heap and selected one
there. This struck me as a bit odd; then, as
she hobbled off, it seemed to me that she was
in some haste to get away. Acting entirely
.bn 089.png
.pn +1
upon impulse, and with no distinct idea of my
motive, I picked up a couple of the oysters
and ran after her.
“‘Here, mother,’ said I, ‘take these and
give me that one which you have there.’
“She favored me with a look which actually
reeked with malice, but, as there was no help
for it, handed over the oyster. As I took it I
saw my employer—or jailer, to be accurate—walking
down the beach from his cabin—for
he always superintended the opening of the
shells, for very obvious reasons, and I had
orders never to begin the work until his arrival.
He was still some distance off, so,
turning my back to him, I whipped out my
knife and slit open the mollusk, and there,
right on the very lip, was the largest pearl
which I have ever seen on Margherita!
“You see, Doctor, when the oysters are
thrown down on the beach the heat from the
sun and the hot sand often causes them to
open an inch or so. This old woman, who had
come down, no doubt, with the purpose of
.bn 090.png
.pn +1
begging an oyster to eat, was squatting in
front of this especial one, and caught sight of
the pearl through the slit between the two
shells.”
Leyden turned to me suddenly. “What
would you have done in such a case, Doctor?”
“Exactly what you did, I fancy,” I answered.
“Yes,” he replied, slowly; “I was justified.
This Frenchman was detaining me through
blackmail and forcing me to work like a dog
for fear of being turned over to the Venezuelans.
I kept the pearl and a week later managed
to escape to Curaçao on a schooner.
There I sold my pearl for eight hundred
dollars, and as soon as I had the money I
wrote to the gentleman who had broken up
my expedition and offered him five hundred
dollars for all my effects delivered to me at
Curaçao. They came on the next Dutch
steamer and were handed over to me by the
captain upon my payment of the money.
Three weeks later they were gracing the
.bn 091.png
.pn +1
shelves of the new museum of Billings University
and I was on my way to Mexico to
collect Aztec relics for the same excellent institution.”
.bn 092.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch03
THE SHEARS OF ATROPOS
.sp 2
.di dc-w.jpg 100 100 1.7
“WILL you please tell me why it is,
Doctor,” said Leyden, “that
when you and I are foregathered
in this part of the ship at this
hour of the evening we must immediately
proceed to rake the lockers of our
recollection for the morbid and anomalous?”
I told him that it was perhaps because the
accent of a man’s mind was largely influenced
by his profession, and that as the morbid was
my source of livelihood and his the rare and
sui generis of Nature, our interests touched
these topics.
“Ach! there is something in that,” said
Leyden, “but not all. It is that only in these
violent upheavals do we get to see the hidden
things of life, the more superficial of which
are evident to a man who can translate the
.bn 093.png
.pn +1
languages of his five senses and has perhaps
a dialect or two in reserve.”
He was silent for a moment, letting his
steady gray eyes rest upon the streaks of
phosphorescent spume churned up about us
by the stiff following trade. Abeam lay the
moonlit isle of Curaçao, so near that one
could see the towering yuccas standing sentinels
upon the ridges of the broken hills—could
almost see the yellow of their blossoms,
for this moon gave color as well as perspective.
“This was in Borneo, Doctor,” he began
abruptly. “I had been sent there on a head-hunting
expedition. Odd, is it not, but appropriate!
A countryman of mine who was writing
a book on anthropology had sent me there
to take photographs and notes and measurements
and to collect specimens of skulls as I
saw fit—attached or unattached, that was my
lookout. You know, Doctor, that although the
coast of Borneo is occupied by Malays, Bajaus,
or Sea Gypsies, Bugis, Chinese and immigrants
.bn 094.png
.pn +1
from Polynesia, very little is known
of the interior, which is the exclusive domain
of the great family of Dyaks, which is itself
divided into several tribes. It was of the
Punan and Olo-ot, who are fairly pure, that
my employer wanted specious information.
“I had taken with me one white man, oddly
enough a tourist, a New York lawyer named
Lynch, whom I had met in Singapore—a gentleman
who had inherited a little money and
was taking a trip around the world. A great
explorer was lost in that man, Doctor—and
there are too many good lawyers already.
“As a rule, I prefer to go into a savage
country with no other white man, as once or
twice it has been my misfortune to have all
of my work undone by the single careless or
tactless act of a companion; in the present
case I needed an assistant, as I had just come
down from the Irawady and was running a
temperature which I thought possible the hills
of Borneo might develop into a sharp attack
of fever.
.bn 095.png
.pn +1
“I will not attempt to describe our adventures,
nor what we found inside the island, for
all of that you can read in my patron’s book.
Eventually we struck the head of a river
which, according to my reckoning, would take
us down to a little trading port called Bangan,
and I had learned from a few friendly
natives that there was a missionary station
not far below us. I had not known that there
were any missionaries in that section; but
then, they are universal perennials which one
is apt to encounter anywhere.
“We slipped down this rapid stream, and
late upon the third day, as we turned into a
long reach of the river, saw a clearing at the
other end. I was heartily glad, for my fever,
which had developed, as I feared, did not
yield to medication as it should, and, to tell
the truth, Doctor, I did not really believe that
I would reach sea-water alive. Lynch was in
perfect condition—hard, seasoned, alert—but
then, you see, he was not chock full of Irawady
microbes when we started, and the country
.bn 096.png
.pn +1
through which we had passed was not unhealthy.
“He had been of the greatest value to me;
three times I owed my life to him that trip.
Often he made me laugh by the ease with
which he adapted his ultra-modernism to his
primitive surroundings, for he was not a man
who was used to roughing it. He treated our
half-wild Dyaks as if they were the bellboys
of his club; appeared to have not the slightest
notion in the world that they could so far forget
their manners as to become insubordinate;
would sometimes relax and joke with
them a bit. He would turn his back upon the
most dangerous, sleep with both eyes apparently
shut, seemed contemptuous of danger
or treachery; yet the twice that it did occur
he had anticipated it. Between us we were
an efficient combination, for I am governed
by instinct, Doctor; Lynch acted only from
coldly wrought logic.
“To continue: We arrived at this clearing
and were surprised to find near the edge of
.bn 097.png
.pn +1
the bank a new stockade; the gum was still
oozing from the stakes. To the right were
some long, low buildings, of which I did not
like the look. These also were very new—in
fact, still in process of construction—and as
I examined them through my glass I discovered
some bungling contrivances hanging
from a projecting rafter.
“‘Neck-yokes,’ said I to Lynch. ‘We have
stumbled on a slaver!’
“‘Here comes a white man,’ he replied.
There were a few natives watching us from
the top of the bank, and through these there
came a man of huge stature, with a rough, red
beard and dressed in a suit of embroidered
silk pajamas. The people wilted away from
him as he approached, then fell in behind,
walking with the curious drop-kneed gait of
bush-folk the world over when ill at ease.
This giant strode to the edge of the bank and
stood glaring down without a word.
“‘Good evening,’ observed Lynch, and
shoved the canoe to the bank.
.bn 098.png
.pn +1
“‘Where are ye from?’ said the fellow,
with a rough Caledonian accent, and staring
down with his red beard thrust out and his
small, pale eyes watching us suspiciously.
His sleeves were rolled up to the elbow and
his huge forearms, covered with shaggy hair,
were folded across his bulging chest.
“‘From the other side of the island,’ said
Lynch. He stepped out on the bank as if he
had been invited and proceeded to moor the
canoe.
“‘What’s this ye’re doin’?’ growled the
red-bearded giant above him. His great arms
had dropped to his side and one could see
how the thick muscles held them with bent
elbows.
“‘Hitching the boat,’ replied Lynch, indifferently.
He did so, and walked to the top of
the bank.
“‘Whose house is that?’ he asked.
“‘The hoos is mine,’ growled the man,
and ’tis no tavern I’m keepin’—d’ye see?’
“‘Oh, I quite understand that,’ said Lynch,
.bn 099.png
.pn +1
pleasantly. ‘Of course, you wish us to be
your guests.’ He turned to me. ‘Doctor,’ he
said, ‘this gentleman wishes us to stop the
night with him.’ He turned to the other.
‘Very decent of you, I’m sure, especially as
my friend has a touch of the fever and ought
to rest up a bit.’ He proceeded to direct the
unloading of the canoes, even calling some of
the red man’s retainers to assist.
“The face of the fellow was purple, but it
seemed as if Lynch’s assurance had robbed
him of speech. He stood glowering like a
great Guernsey bull, while Lynch went back
and forth about him as if he had been an obstructing
tree.
“‘You see, we are naturalists,’ Lynch began,
talking as he worked. ‘Some of these
boxes contain trade-stuffs, but most of them
are full of heads—skulls, you know, very interesting—I
will show you some if you like.
I suppose your people are honest? I fancy
this stuff will be safe right here where it is.
Hi!’—he relapsed into the dialect, and before
.bn 100.png
.pn +1
I knew what was going on two of the boys
had me up the bank.
“‘Permit me to introduce Dr. Leyden; I
am Mr. Lynch,’ said this extraordinary lieutenant
of mine; ‘and now, sir, if you will lead
the way——’
“‘Ye’re takin’ a deal for granted,’ began
the man in a surly voice.
“‘I’m taking it for granted that you are
the missionary,’ said Lynch, calmly. ‘If you
are not, it really makes no difference. No
white man could help being glad to accommodate
two other white men in a place like
this, and, although you do not keep a tavern,
perhaps we can render you some service in
return for your hospitality. We have more
firearms than we will need——’
“‘Ye’re verra kind,’ growled the man, but
I saw his pale, swinish eye lighten a bit, and
guessed that Lynch, with his usual tact, had
touched him. ‘Of course, I’ll gie ye a lodgin’
for the night, though I’ve little to offer strangers.’
He walked sullenly ahead, Lynch following
.bn 101.png
.pn +1
him, and I noticed that, although my
companion was a tall, well-built man, the
other topped him by half a head and the
breadth of a hand across the shoulders. I do
not think that I have ever seen a more powerful
brute—all bone and muscle, and something
in the shiftiness of his pale, cunning eye told
me that he was not without a corresponding
share of guile.
“As we drew near to the stockade I saw
that it was quite new, and then Lynch reached
behind him and pinched my foot as I lay on
the stretcher, and, would you believe it,
Doctor, on every sharpened stake that
formed the front of the stockade there was
a human head! They had been there varying
lengths of time, I judged, but the—eh—evidences
of the recency of some were
quite apparent.
“‘I see that you go in for heads a bit yourself,
Mr. Cullen,’ said Lynch, in his pleasant
voice, but hardly was the name between his
lips when this hairy giant of ours wheeled on
.bn 102.png
.pn +1
him like a boar. You know the stiff, muscle-bound
motion, Doctor: the swift sling of the
rigid body all on one axis, the great, brutish
head swung on its thick neck, the mean little
eyes slanting up evilly. That is what this
hairy brute was, a boar, with all of the cunning
and surly moroseness of this animal.
There was something horribly brutish in the
swing of his shock head between the hulking
shoulders as he turned on Lynch, and something
horribly sinister in the yellow glint of
his teeth between the bristling, red mustache,
which seemed to roll upwards like that which
one sees on the headpieces of ancient Japanese
armor. If he had turned to me like that
I would have presented him with the muzzle
of my pistol—Ach!—and very possibly the
bullet as well, for the secret of long life in my
profession is to take no chances. I could not
see, however, that Lynch moved a muscle, except
to smile.
“‘Where got ye that name?’ snarled the
man. His beard was thrust almost into
.bn 103.png
.pn +1
Lynch’s face, and I could see the twitching of
his thick fingers.
“‘On the collar of your pajamas,’ said
Lynch, calmly. ‘Do you observe, Doctor,’ he
continued, turning to me, ‘that some of these
skulls are quite different from any we have
secured? Possibly our host might be willing
to exchange——’ He turned to survey the exhibit
with interest. ‘What a Golconda it is,
to be sure!’ cried my New York lawyer, enthusiastically.
‘You are to be complimented
on your collection, Mr.—eh—eh——’
“‘McAdoo,’ supplied the red man, sulkily,
but with a strange quaver in his voice. I
glanced up at him quickly, then looked away
and at the stockade, for the glimpse I had of
his face told me that the burly ruffian had received
a fright. He could not have been pale,
even if he had been dead, but there was a look
in his eyes that meant fear, yes, and meant
murder, too, for a beast of that sort cannot
become frightened without becoming homicidal
at the same time.
.bn 104.png
.pn +1
“‘Ye’re very obsairvin’,’ he managed to
say, in a thick voice.
Lynch turned and regarded him benevolently.
“‘You are very modest, Mr. McAdoo,’ he
replied, genially. ‘You really have a noteworthy
collection here.’
“‘They were folk not wanted here,’ retorted
McAdoo, with what I could see was a
considerable effort. And then he gathered
himself together for a supreme stroke—the
one heavily delivered blow of this round; and
yet, do you know, Doctor, in spite of the man’s
overwhelming physical force and ominous aspect,
there was something rather ridiculous
in his manner of delivering this last menace—something
of the lout of a schoolboy who defies
his pedagogue, although he half believes
that there may be a thrashing behind it; defies
him because his nature is too churlish and
too abundant in a swinish sort of courage,
born of the sense of a potent vitality, to feel
the fear of the result, appreciable to a creature
.bn 105.png
.pn +1
of the same courage but a higher power
of imagination.
“‘Maybe ye’d like to add to this same collection,’
he said, and he said it with one mental
arm raised toward, in a manner of speaking.
“Lynch laughed outright. It might have
been a part of his—what you Americans call
bluff, but I believe that it was sheer amusement.
I began to be convinced that Lynch
possessed a very keen sense of a very dangerous
sort of humor. He saw the thing just
as I saw it; of course he would see it so, because,
although I was a trifle slow in discovering
it, he had put this man ‘McAdoo’ on
the witness stand the very moment he heard
him speak, and he was cross-examining him
and deriving infinite amusement from the
process. Moreover, McAdoo himself, while
too coarse-grained to understand it, was beginning
to feel it, and there grew to be in
his manœuvres something of the sweating
nervousness of a horse at the howl of
.bn 106.png
.pn +1
a far-distant wolf; yet his ears were well
back.
“‘That’s just exactly what we want to do,
McAdoo,’ he answered, and it almost seemed
as if he was going to pat the ruffian on the
shoulder, ‘but we want to take a head or so
in return.’ He smiled genially into the wicked
face, and actually turned his back upon the
man and walked in through the gate as if entering
the compound of an old friend. Perhaps
something told him that I had a hand
on the butt of my revolver.
“Once inside the stockade Lynch pushed
matters; in fact, he carried it to the verge of
spoiling everything; but, you see, Doctor, if
this McAdoo had possessed the wit of a
cockroach, or had been a little more lacking
in that hereditary feudal instinct which made
him uncomfortable in spite of himself in the
presence of a gentleman, he might easily have
slipped away and arranged our assassination,
and this was precisely what Lynch did not
intend that he should do. He told me afterwards
.bn 107.png
.pn +1
that, like Javert in ‘Les Miserables,’
he was born with an instinct for a criminal,
but I do not credit this particularly, as I myself
could deduct that this man McAdoo had
more reason than mere surliness of disposition
for not wishing us to stop at the mission-house.
You see, it had to be a mission; it was
either that or a fort; there was nothing there
for which to trade.
“All of this had entered my mind, just
as it had Lynch’s; but, although apparently
careless, Lynch was in reality a painstaking
man.
“We had entered the stockade, an enclosure
of some size, in the middle of which stood a
bungalow, which had once been pretty and
which was evidently far older than the structure
surrounding it. There was not a soul in
sight, yet one had the feeling of furtive eyes
peering from behind slanted jalousies. Lynch
looked about him critically.
“‘Quite like an Australian ranch-house, is
it not, Doctor?’ he remarked; then turned
.bn 108.png
.pn +1
sharply to our host. ‘Have you ever been in
Australia, friend McAdoo?’
“One could see the man’s heavy jowl drop
a trifle beneath his coarse, red beard; his face
looked flaccid—just for the second, and then
the blood came pouring back until the veins
across the side of his forehead became distended.
His pale, little eyes began to dance,
just as those of a hog when he is about to
make a rush—you know the look.
“‘Where is Mr. Cullen—the missionary?’
asked Lynch, sharply, and at this direct question
the congestion of McAdoo’s face faded
in blotches and the glitter of his eyes changed
to a gleam of cunning.
“‘He’s gone away, leavin’ me in charge o’
the station, and now if ye’ll kindly step inside’—the
brute actually mustered a sort of
grin which was, no doubt, intended for an expression
of good-will—‘I’ll leave ye for a
minute or two.’
“‘Thank you,’ said Lynch, calmly. ‘Doctor
Leyden will wait here on the veranda, but I
.bn 109.png
.pn +1
believe that I will go with you, if you don’t
mind. I should like to look around a bit.’
“‘There’s little enough to see,’ growled
McAdoo, but his tone was growing wary. ‘I’ll
ask ye to bide here for a bit.’
“‘Thanks,’ said Lynch, and there was actually
a sing-song tone of sarcastic ennui in
his voice, ‘but I’ve conceived such a fondness
for your society that I really can’t bear to
have you out of my sight, friend McAdoo.
We’ll go together; the Doctor does not mind
being left alone.’
“This to that desperado whom we both believed
to be an escaped Australian convict,
whose presence in the mission-house was still
to be explained. Lynch was armed, of course—armed
with one of the big revolvers your
cowboys carry, and, in fact, he had been a
plainsman for a while after leaving college,
and I knew that, for all his languid air, if McAdoo
laid a hand on the butt of either of the
two revolvers which he carried he would be a
dead man before the weapon was half-drawn,
.bn 110.png
.pn +1
for Lynch was a master of your Western
American art of lightning extermination. It
did not seem to me, however, that this would
help matters much, as I had seen that the man
kept a swarm of Malays about him; and Malays,
even when ill-treated, are apt to be faithful
brutes, if the master who ill-treats them
inspires their respect, as no doubt McAdoo
must, or he would have been dead long before.
“McAdoo did not permit himself another
exhibition of badly suppressed rage; the situation
was growing too serious for such petty
self-indulgence. Instead, he assumed an air
of awkward good-nature, which was far more
sinister.
“‘Please yourself,’ said he, and walked
away toward the gate, with Lynch walking at
his side; this time, however, I observed that
my companion went out last.
“When they had disappeared I entered the
silent house. My fever would not mount until
late in the evening, and in the meantime,
though very weak, I was able to
.bn 111.png
.pn +1
get about. I went into the first room,
which appeared to be a library and living-room.
I had been in hundreds of such rooms
in mission-houses the world over. The same
classic pictures, the same neat rows of classic
and unread books, and the same little heaps
of much-read periodicals from ‘home.’ Then
there were the local curios draped over the
photographs of smug-faced relatives. Everything
was in perfect order; there had been
little traffic in that room since the—departure
of the former occupants.
“I passed from that to a room beyond,
which I saw at a glance had been the missionary’s
study. There was here the same hushed
waiting. One of the drawers was half-opened
and there was a sharp line of dust across the
papers within. There was a native-made
waste-basket, half-filled, and on top was an
envelope with an English stamp addressed to
‘Rev. R. M. Cullen.’
“A man of method, as the order of his effects
proclaimed him to be, would never have
.bn 112.png
.pn +1
left his house without putting away his personal
effects, Doctor, so I decided to rummage.
I knew that missionaries invariably
kept journals, for the sake of subsequent writing,
if nothing else. I reasoned that this diary
would be in the desk, probably under lock and
key, so I tried the different drawers and
found one of them locked. When I had pried
it open with my hunting knife I found the
journal.”
Leyden paused to light a fresh cigar, which
I knew would go out after the first three puffs.
Some of the smoke must have found its way
into his trachea, for he coughed once or twice
before proceeding.
“I am a hardened old campaigner, Doctor,
and I have never had much sympathy with
missionaries, who have usually impressed me
as inspired asses, but I will confess that as I
read the poor chap’s journal my throat
swelled until it was difficult to swallow. Perhaps
it was because I was weakened by my
fever; at any rate, I must confess that when
.bn 113.png
.pn +1
I had finished it the tears were pouring down
my face. It was the record of a Christian
hero, Doctor, a Christian martyr as well, as
I discovered on reading the record of the last
four days.
“First, there had been three in the family—the
missionary, his wife and a daughter, who,
as I read on, I discovered to be a deaf-mute.
Within the last year the wife had died, and
not long after her death McAdoo had come
up the river, ‘prospecting,’ as he said. At
this time the missionary was planning to return
to England.
“McAdoo had remained a month with the
missionary, during which time their relations
had grown ‘somewhat strained.’ He had then
departed, as Mr. Cullen hoped, for good, but
only a fortnight before our arrival, Doctor,
he had returned with the news that there was
a trading schooner at the mouth of the river,
and that the captain had agreed to give Mr.
Cullen and his daughter a passage to Batavia,
whence they could take a steamer to Amsterdam.
.bn 114.png
.pn +1
McAdoo kindly offered to assume
charge of the mission until he should hear
from Mr. Cullen. In the meantime, however,
the missionary had decided to remain, at hearing
which McAdoo ‘was unable to conceal his
disappointment!’
“The following day McAdoo came to Mr.
Cullen and advised him to leave, saying that
he feared there was a plot among the natives
to kill him. Mr. Cullen scoffed at these fears.
The day after that he had a quarrel with McAdoo
and ordered him to leave the premises
finally. The last words in the diary were:
‘To my intense relief the man McAdoo has
gone down the river, and I pray that I may
never see his wicked face again!’
“So much for the efficacy of prayer! I
arose quickly, shoved the diary in my pocket
and made for the rear of the house. I passed
through what had been the dining-room on
my way—Ach! that was where the swine
had nested! Something—superstition, distaste;
I do not know what—had kept him
.bn 115.png
.pn +1
away from the more intimate retreats of his
victim; but the dining-room—I have seen
more cleanly barracoons!
“Rustlings had preceded me as I had
moved through the house; they do in Oriental
houses, you know, Doctor, just as they do in
the forest, wherever furtive beings hold their
existence. Now, I moved too rapidly for these
rustlings, and in the kitchen I flushed some
frightened Dyak servants—three women and
an old man.
“‘Take me to your mistress,’ I said to one
of the women, and I said it kindly, but I do
think I have never seen more fright on a
woman’s face. After all, Doctor, to witness
the horror of some one else is far more gruesome
than the thing itself, is it not?”
I thought of the look I had once seen in the
eyes of a man whose shoulder had been carried
away by a piece of shrapnel, as he had
glanced down and seen his wound.
“Nothing is more contagious than dread,”
I murmured.
.bn 116.png
.pn +1
“So I discovered a few moments later,”
muttered Leyden. “The woman led me to a
hut a hundred yards behind the bungalow—a
well-furnished hut; I think it may have been
the mission hospital—and there I found the
daughter, the deaf-mute——”
Leyden’s voice had dropped until it was almost
inaudible. I could not see his face in the
dark, but I shivered.
“Of course,” he went on, in a careless sort
of way, “I could talk with her, for, although
my ten modern languages and some twenty
dialects all are spoken with the mouth, there
is one dialect which is universal—and that is
spoken with the eyes. We had a little conversation
in this tongue, and then I sat down
beside her and patted her hands and made her
actually smile. They are simple folk—those
on whom the hand of God has been heavy in
this regard. Perhaps they are above these
mundane things—but at the time I did not
look at it in this way. Instead I went back to
the bungalow and waited in some impatience
.bn 117.png
.pn +1
for the return of Lynch and McAdoo—and,
will you believe it, Doctor—just at this time,
when I needed myself the most, these accursed
plasmodia malariæ, or whatever kind
of species of fission-fungi it may be, began to
start their segmentation, and segregation,
and proliferation in my blood vessels, and I
could feel the delirium creeping up my spine
to my brain, just as some poor devil of a Passamaquoddy
might have felt the fifty-foot rise
of the Fundy tide creeping up his spine when
some coterie of tribal enemies had staked him
out on the flats at low water—except that in
his case it was cold and in mine it was red-hot!
“I had not long to wait, however. Back
they came, McAdoo sullen but studious, and
Lynch smiling and talking as if he were the
honored guest. I noticed that his holster was
unbuckled, however, and while he had been
away I had entertained no fears for his safety—because,
you see, I had heard no shot. Our
co-operation was really quite admirable!
.bn 118.png
.pn +1
“‘Lynch,’ said I, and it seemed to me as if
my voice came from a very great distance—the
fever, Doctor, not emotion, I beg you to
believe; I was never more composed mentally
in my life. ‘Lynch,’ said I, ‘will you and
Mr. McAdoo kindly come into the library—there
are some matters which I wish to discuss
with you both.’ It was growing dark
then, so I clapped my hands, quite softly, but
a servant flittered out of the shadow like a
bat. The tension was high in that bungalow
that night.
“‘Bring lights,’ I said in the vernacular.
“‘And food?’ suggested Lynch.
“‘The food can wait,’ I muttered, fighting
hard against the inclination to sleep—to
drowse—to be let alone, to enjoy my intoxication
in peace. ‘Come into the parlor!’ I said,
and Lynch told me afterwards that my manner
was as snappish as a dog with distemper.
“‘After you, friend McAdoo!’ said Lynch,
rhymingly, and the accursed jingle got caught
up in the swirl of ideas racing through my
.bn 119.png
.pn +1
fevered brain, so that while I talked I kept
hearing over and over, ‘After you, friend McAdoo—after
you, friend McAdoo—after you’—b’r’rgh!
What is more frightful than trying
to do mental work in the face of a delirium?
“I am not clear as to just what McAdoo
said; it was Lynch who made the opening
move, and this time he did not say, ‘After you,
friend McAdoo!’ He drew his revolver and
waved McAdoo to a large lounging chair. I
shall never forget that chair; it was a home-made,
or rather a native-made chair like
those one sees to-day, with a back the angle
of which is regulated by a rod behind, which
is dropped into notches—you know the kind.
At the top there was a little pillow for the
head to rest against—a little ‘baby-blue’ pillow—and
it was hollowed in the middle where
poor Cullen’s head had rested, and worn
until the fabric held in a streaky sort of way
that showed the white beneath. It was probably
made in England by some girl parishioner,
.bn 120.png
.pn +1
and there was something in its homeliness
that made me feel as the diary had.
“It was crushed beneath McAdoo’s great
shoulders as he sank into it—and he did sink,
Doctor, as if he had been hamstrung. In the
middle of the room there was a little bamboo
table, on which the servant was about to set
the lamp, but Lynch motioned to place it on
a shelf behind him. He himself sat at the
table, facing McAdoo, his back straight, as
the back of a thoroughbred should be, and the
revolver lying in his hand near the middle of
the table.
“I walked up to him, staggering a little,
and threw down the diary.
“‘What is this?’ asked Lynch.
“‘After you, friend—the diary of the Rev.
R. M. Cullen! What do you think it is—a
skull?’ I snapped. He raised his eyebrows.
“‘There is a divan at the end of the room,
Doctor,’ he said, without taking his eyes from
McAdoo. ‘Lie there, if you please, during
our proceedings.’ There was a cold, official
.bn 121.png
.pn +1
note in his voice which seemed to recall the
shuffle of heavy feet, whispers, whimpers,
somnolence on one side of the room and
nerves stretched like the strings of a violin
on the other. Dulled as I was, I could see that
it brought back something to McAdoo, for it
was at these very first words that he began to
slump—doubly armed from the start as he
had been, surrounded by his servants and in
the house which he had claimed as his own.
“Then Lynch began to read—intently and
with no apparent thought of the man opposite
him. I had sunk in a heap on the divan, deliciously
relaxed—leaving it all to Lynch,
and humming, ‘After you, friend McAdoo,’
to myself, as I thought, until Lynch
remarked, coldly: ‘Doctor, kindly refrain
from interrupting the reading of the testimony.’
Then I subsided, very much embarrassed.
“Ach! how I see it now, Doctor, just as I
saw it then; as if I was standing apart—a
fourth person regarding the other three:
.bn 122.png
.pn +1
Lynch with the light behind him, his face in
the shadow, carefully reading the journal and
apparently oblivious to the fully armed giant
who appeared to have shrunk on sinking into
the chair of his late victim; apparently oblivious
to me also as I lay muttering on the
divan at the other end of the room, and rousing
myself at longer intervals, as the conflagration
within my veins gained headway.
The servant in placing the lamp upon the
shelf had moved a little clock, which had run
down, and the jar had set it ticking, and this
and the sharp rustle as Lynch turned the
leaves were the only noises in that room—unless
my mutterings were audible, which may
have been.
“Such a fever as mine is like a fire, Doctor;
it leaps upward, then sinks, flickers, smoulders
for a while, and then bursts out to rage
with fresh fury. It was in one of these lapses,
one of these returns almost to the normal,
that Lynch finished his perusal.
“I opened my eyes as he laid down the
.bn 123.png
.pn +1
journal with a smart slap. Lynch had turned
half-way in his chair, and the yellow light
threw out in sharp profile his straight brow,
short aquiline nose and firm legal mouth and
chin. There is a forensic type, just as there
is any other type, and this was Lynch’s, except
that there was to him an element of the
terse and martial rather than the parliamentary.
His revolver was lying in the center of
the table, and his sinewy hands were in front
of him, just beneath his chin, the finger-tips
touching, the elbows on the arms of his chair.
“McAdoo was in the same position—the
position of the rabbit confronted by the
stoat; shoulders hunched, head sunk,
muscle-heavy arms hanging limp outside
the arms of the chair, utterly relaxed,
yet held half-bent by the tonic contraction
of the biceps, and so utter was this
relaxation that the hands seemed swollen, the
veins on the dorsum stretched to bursting.
His bloodshot eyes were fastened on the revolver
in front of him, which was nickeled and
.bn 124.png
.pn +1
threw the limpid lamp-light from its separate
planes in steady tongues of flame. Perhaps
it was this that held him—the hypnosis, the
somnambulizing of the optic nerve.
“‘Where is the daughter of Robert Cullen?’
asked Lynch, crisply. McAdoo started;
his great head was raised with a jerk of such
suddenness that one could almost hear the
creak of the cervical vertebræ. And his voice!
Ah! it was ridiculous. You have heard the
whistle of this steamer, Doctor, when on entering
a port the cord is pulled while the whistle
is still filled with the water of condensation?
It was such a noise.
“‘Where is the daughter?—answer me,
man!’ said Lynch, sharply.
“I clapped my hands and one of the soft-footed
women slithered to the door of the
room. It was the same who had taken me to
the deaf-mute girl.
“‘Bring your mistress hither,’ said I. The
woman vanished.
“Our speech had brought a change in McAdoo.
.bn 125.png
.pn +1
The lusterless look had left his eyes,
and even in my benumbed condition I detected
a twitching of his thick fingers.
“‘After you——’ I began, thickly, then realized
that I was talking nonsense, but Lynch
also had seen the movement. His hand fell
upon the revolver.
“‘If you move a muscle you are a dead
man, friend McAdoo,’ he said, softly. ‘I fear
that you are no better than a dead man as it
is—but I should advise you not to bring the
matter to a climax until all of the evidence
is in.’
“We waited in silence; even the clock had
stopped its ticking; the journal was lying on
the table. Lynch, I remember, was twisting
the ends of his wiry mustache with his free
hand. Perhaps the tension had cleared my
head; perhaps the drugs, taken, as usual, four
hours before the paroxysm was due, were beginning
to act; at any rate, my mind was active—abnormally
so.
“The crisis had passed with McAdoo; he
.bn 126.png
.pn +1
was no longer held by shock, surprise, rage,
the psychic force of the man in front of him,
or the hypnotizing force of the shining
weapon. The little bullet in the weapon was
all that held him now—and I do not think that
it would have held him long—in that position,
for he had the pluck of a pig, and his eyes
were beginning to dance again, when there
was a rustle in the doorway and a white-clad
figure paused on the threshold.
“I looked at her face—and the sight of it
chilled the fever in my blood and whipped
the mist of delirium from my brain. When I
had seen her before it had been the face of a
beautiful child—a frightened, wretched child—but
now it was different, matured. Lynch
saw it, too—just the swiftest glance, and then
his keen eyes flew back to the man, who was
only awaiting his opportunity. Afterwards
I learned that Lynch possessed the science of
the sign language practiced by these folk; he
possessed also the science of developing upon
his brain an instantaneous photograph taken
.bn 127.png
.pn +1
with the eyes, and this science made the first
unnecessary, for you see, Doctor, the girl was
looking at her father’s murderer—and who
knows what beside! Ah, how true it is, as you
said a little while ago, that the horror reflected
from the eyes of another is far more
dreadful than the thing itself!
“Lynch made a movement of dismissal
with his hand—a judicial gesture which told
me that it was over; the verdict rendered;
sentence pronounced. But I was puzzled for
the next—eh—step.
“‘Take her back,’ I said to the servant.
“‘Dr. Leyden,’ said Lynch, ‘do you feel
that you are in possession of your faculties?’
My head was roaring like a cataract, my skin
like ice, and my bones were smouldering coals,
but my brain was clear—for the moment—too
clear.
“‘Quite,’ I answered—‘in so far as this
man is concerned.’
“‘What is your opinion? What course
would you advise in the matter?’
.bn 128.png
.pn +1
“‘I would advise shooting him,’ said I.
‘He requires to be shot, and I do not think
that we should waste much time about it. If
you do not care to shoot him, I will do so myself,’
I added. Personally, his death was necessary
to our safety in a way, yet that did not
occur to me. I was thinking of the diary, the
little blue pillow and the deaf-mute girl.
“‘It makes no difference,’ said Lynch, and
his hand tightened on the stock of the revolver;
then he suddenly paused—and I
guessed why.
“‘She cannot hear,’ I said. ‘She is deaf.’
“‘That is so—I overlooked the fact,’ softly.
“McAdoo was watching Lynch in a fascinated
way—and I was watching McAdoo.
When the report came he pitched forward,
and I scrambled to my feet and rescued the
little blue pillow.”
Leyden was silent—and so was I. He did
nothing, said nothing, but we both sat and
watched the growing lights in the sea, the increase
in the phosphorescence as the moon set.
.bn 129.png
.pn +1
“It was really a very simple matter,” said
Leyden, lightly, “and it has always been a
source of satisfaction to me. It was all so
sensible; so many fools would have wanted to
give the brute a chance. Lynch had the right
idea; he did not even invite any closing remarks;
the only one that was really apropos
was made by his Colt, and was quite unanswerable.
“Would you believe it, Doctor, the people
were sufficiently Christianized to regard the
whole thing as a visitation. Not a soul was
in sight when we left, taking the girl with us.
Lynch himself conducted her back to England
and placed her in an institution.
“Yes—the trip was a success. My anthropologist
thought so, I thought so, Lynch
thought so, and I have not the slightest doubt
that the semi-civilized Dyaks, who still slip
through the shadows and peer between the
jalousies of the ruined mission-house at the
thing which is, perhaps, still held in that ample
chair, think so as well.”
.bn 130.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch04
ROSENTHAL THE JEW
.sp 2
.di dc-l.jpg 100 100 1.1
LEYDEN and I paused in our conversation
and, leaning our backs
against the steamer’s rail, listened
in some amusement to an
argument between a group of
our fellow-passengers. That is to say, I was
thoughtless enough to be amused; Leyden listened
with his usual quiet consideration.
At Paramaribo there had taken passage for
New York a wiry little Jew named Gonzalez.
He was a cheerful little man, who was pleasing
from his sincere politeness. The other
passengers, especially the Dutch, had rather
made a butt of his provincialism, and it
seemed to me that their attitude toward him
was edged with a bit of malice. Apparently
they resented his claim as a fellow-countryman.
.bn 131.png
.pn +1
The argument grew warmer; I could not
follow it, as they spoke Dutch, but it was easy
to see that Gonzalez was growing angry; the
others were laughingly sarcastic. Presently
the Jew, whose shrill voice had risen in key,
said something bitter and walked rapidly
away, and as he passed us I saw that his thin
face was working with emotion. The others
frowned; one gave a short laugh, then looked
at us a bit sheepishly. Leyden made a little
gurgle in his throat, a sound which carried
disapproval. I glanced at him inquiringly.
“They are baiting him because he claims
to be a Dutchman,” said Leyden. “It is a
shame; he is a good little man. He told me
yesterday why he was going to New York. It
seems that he has a half-sister with Pott’s
disease of the spine, and he is going to consult
a specialist to determine whether anything
can be done for her, also how much it will
cost. Probably there is not a person on this
ship whose errand is so unselfish. Ach! They
are a much maligned people, the Jews!”
.bn 132.png
.pn +1
For several moments he drew vigorously at
his big porcelain pipe. “Doctor,” he asked,
presently, “did you ever meet Isidore Rosenthal?”
“No,” said I. “Who is he?”
“A Jew, a power in the West Indies. This
little chap reminds me of him—because he is
so different. There are three people in the
West Indies who are worth knowing. One
is Mallock, another is Arjolas and the third
is Isidore Rosenthal.”
Leyden stirred the ashes of his pipe, while
I waited. Gonzalez, who passed near me, had
swallowed his pique and was talking in bad
English to a Portuguese adventuress. “Yes,
Madame,” he was saying, “I have traveled a
great deal. I have been to Demerara, to Trinidad
and to Venezuela. Now I am going to
New York. If a man has the means it is his
duty to travel; he should see the world, improve
his mind—and I, I have the means. I
own a chemist’s shop in Paramaribo——”
“Rosenthal,” said Leyden, “is a Czechian
.bn 133.png
.pn +1
Jew, the most malignant type; aggressive as
a hotel child. When he dies, if the Hebrew
heaven is not up to his ideas, the Christians
will have a hard time to keep him out of
theirs. He is a big-boned, muscular, hairy
brute, with the push of a peccary and the vitality
of a dose of Chagres fever. His present
occupation is selling the Santo Dominicans
expensive things which they don’t want. As
soon as he gets all of their money he will go
somewhere else.”
“He appears to have qualities,” I observed.
“He has—some of them ones with which
you would not credit him. We were once involved
in an affair, and there are few men
for whom I have more respect.
“I first met Rosenthal in Curaçao, where
he and his younger brother, Jacob, as poisonous
a cripple as ever drew breath, were doing
a nice little business which combined gambling
and pawnbroking. Their method was
this: Having the entrée to the select circle of
.bn 134.png
.pn +1
South American exiles and refugees and conspirators—for
you must know that almost
every South and Central American revolution
is hatched under the protection of the Dutch
flag—Jacob, who was rather expert at cards,
would manage to start a game. No doubt the
play was honest; his policy was neither to lose
nor to win a great deal, but simply to keep
things moving. In time some one would lose
heavily, for Jacob had a talent for drawing
the others out and was liberal with cognac
and champagne. These South Americans, as
you have observed, possess a passion for jewelry;
the first thing which your South American
who has made a successful financial coup
will buy is a gem; on the other hand, when he
loses heavily he is open for a good offer on
his solitaire or brilliants, and this was Isidore’s
department. He would manage to be
about with some stones to show the winner
and ready cash with which to purchase from
a loser, or perhaps to negotiate a loan, and
he was diplomatic enough to accomplish this
.bn 135.png
.pn +1
without becoming unpopular. He had a manner
of loud and blatant camaraderie, was
ready to give way in trifles, and I have even
known him to loan out a good round sum
without any security whatever. He was a
friend of the friendless and had the reputation
of being honest and liberal.
“Between them the pair should have done
very well had Jacob been designed on the
large scale of Isidore, but he was not. I think
he envied Isidore’s physique and manner and
popularity, whereas the elder brother loved
Jacob devotedly and would nurse him like a
mother through his occasional attacks of illness,
for one of Jacob’s lungs was far gone
with tuberculosis. I remember Isidore’s
boarding the steamer once in Vera Cruz when
I was returning from an expedition into Yucatan.
It seems that he had heard of my being
aboard, and he came to me haggard with
watching and worry and told me that he
feared that Jacob was dying of fever.
“‘These doctors are a set of fools!’ he
.bn 136.png
.pn +1
cried, in his big, discordant bass. ‘They do
not know the fever when they see it; they
say it is the lung, but I know that it is the
fever, also.’
“‘But, my dear fellow,’ I protested, ‘I am
not a physician; I am nothing but a collector.’
“‘Peste!’ he answered, for, as he was an
Austrian and I a Hollander, we talked in
French. ‘There is no one who knows more
of the pernicious malaria than yourself. Will
you come and see the little Jacob?’
“‘But I am already overdue with my specimens,’
I objected.
“‘Diable!’ he growled. ‘What are weeds
and stones and ancient rubbish to the life of
my dear little Jacob? You shall lose nothing,
and if you save his life’—he hauled a chamois
bag from some recess of himself and threw a
glittering handful of gems upon my bunk—‘help
yourself; take them all, if you like.
Some of them I hold as security, but it makes
no difference’—the man grinned—‘I get them
all in the end.’
.bn 137.png
.pn +1
“‘Put up your ill-gotten gains,’ said I,
much provoked. ‘I’ll wait over a steamer and
see what I can do because I like your affection
for your brother.’
“He grinned again. I got out my microscope
and went ashore with him, to find that
he was correct. The cripple’s blood swarmed
with the malarial organisms, but we managed
to overcome them. When I came to leave he
was quite out of danger.
“It was about six months later that I was
in a little hotel in New York much frequented
by people from south of the tropic, when who
should come in but Rosenthal. I saw immediately
that he was in trouble. His big,
swarthy, Satanic face was seamed and lined
and his shaggy black eyebrows almost hid his
fierce green eyes.
“‘Bon jour, Dr. Leyden,’ said he, roughly.
‘I heard that you were here and have come to
engage your services.’
“‘Indeed?’ said I.
“‘But yes—it is Jacob again. Ah, mon
.bn 138.png
.pn +1
dieu!’ He broke into violent profanity, and
his yellow teeth gleamed from beneath his
bristling mustache. ‘He is in the prison at
Porto Cabello.’
“Personally, Doctor, I thought no doubt
that that was precisely where he belonged, but
I naturally did not say so to Isidore. Instead
I asked him for particulars.
“‘You have heard of “La Fouchère?”’ he
snapped, ‘the wife of that nigger doctor from
Hayti who spends most of his time hanging
around the Moulin Rouge?’
“‘They are acquaintances of mine,’ said I.
“‘The ——!’ I will not repeat the term
which he applied to the lady, Doctor. ‘When
I left Curaçao a month ago,’ said Rosenthal,
‘she was there waiting for the French steamer
on her way to Paris. You know she is as white
as myself’ (as a matter of fact La Fouchère
would have made Rosenthal look a Zulu, as
the woman’s skin was like a piece of paper
held against the light) ‘and she is as beautiful
as sin. Little Jacob must fall in love with
.bn 139.png
.pn +1
her, like the child he is. They go together to
Caracas, and while there she falls in with an
old flame, General Trocas, and the two of
them plan to get possession of the bag of
gems which I left with Jacob while in the
States.’
“‘Bad business,’ said I. ‘I know Trocas
also.’ He was the chap, Doctor, who broke up
my Orinoco expedition and landed me in the
prison at Cumana.
“‘Is it not, mon cher? But the little Jacob
is no fool; they have had him arrested and
searched on a charge of conspiring in Curaçao,
but they have been unable to find the
gems——’
“‘And so have lodged him at Porto Cabello
until the stones are forthcoming?’
“‘Rather through spite, and it is to get
him out that I wish to engage your services,
my dear Doctor.’
“‘Indeed?’ said I.
“‘My plan is this,’ said Rosenthal. ‘The
fortress is, as you know, full of political prisoners
.bn 140.png
.pn +1
from the last revolution, and, as there
is no immediate prospect of another revolution,
they are apt to remain there for some
time. You know, Doctor’—he grinned at me—‘how
very poor are the accommodations of
these hostelries. I know of a dozen wealthy exiles
in Curaçao who would contribute a large
sum toward the rescue of their friends. My
plan is to quietly raise such a subscription
and proceed to Porto Cabello and get the
gems, which I will turn over to the commandant
of the prison on consideration that he permits
the escape of Jacob. You in the meantime
will quietly charter a schooner in Curaçao
for a scientific expedition, sail across and
on a certain night be off Porto Cabello. We
will communicate there. The prison guards
on that night will be blind to a boat under the
sea-wall, and instead of the escape of Jacob
alone there will be an escape of all of the political
prisoners. The subscription of the
others will reimburse me for the expense of
ransoming Jacob.’
.bn 141.png
.pn +1
“I reflected for a moment, then asked him
if he thought the commandant of the prison
would keep his faith.
“‘We must take some chances, of course,’
answered Rosenthal. ‘For your part, Doctor,
there is no risk, and you may name your own
figure. Remember that I am already deeply
in your debt.’
“I turned the thing over in my mind, Doctor,
and it seemed quite a reasonable proposition.
You have seen the prison at Porto Cabello;
it is on that little sandy island about
five hundred yards from the town and only
about eighty miles from Curaçao. The prison
guards were a lot of shiftless half-breeds and
would no doubt be drunk by ten o’clock of the
appointed night. Curaçao schooners were always
coming and going—on the whole, it
seemed no difficult achievement, and it certainly
is a commendable act to get any one
out of a Venezuelan prison, whether he belongs
there or not. I made a bargain with
Rosenthal for five hundred dollars, which he
.bn 142.png
.pn +1
paid me on the spot. The next day we sailed
for Curaçao on the Red D.
“There was no difficulty about my part of
the programme. I chartered one of the
chunky little tubs which you saw in Curaçao,
engaged three Papiemento-jabbering negroes
and a cook and cleared for Porto Cabello, giving
it out that I was on a collecting cruise
along the coast.
“It took me six days to slam that old tub
against the trade to Porto Cabello, about
eighty miles in a straight line; weather just as
it is now—as it always is down there—the
wind dead ahead and blowing the top off the
water, and the sky bright and clear and blue.
Arrived, I anchored near the mouth of the
little inlet, and, after being duly inspected,
went ashore to see if I could gather any information;
but there was nothing to be
learned.
“For a week I hung about that hot,
wretched hole; then the Dutch mail steamer
arrived from La Guayra, and on going aboard
.bn 143.png
.pn +1
to greet some old acquaintances the first man
I met was Isidore Rosenthal.
“The Jew’s Satanic face was more malignant
than ever; the glare in his green eyes
put one in mind of a jaguar; I saw at once
that something had gone wrong.
“‘Ah, the ——!’ he snarled, when we were
alone. ‘You were right, Leyden! The pigs!
The robbers! The vile liars!’ His rage was
positively alarming. His black eyebrows
worked up and down, and his yellow teeth
gnawed at the corner of his black mustache.
“‘They got your gems?’ I asked.
“‘Yes, and they warned me to leave on the
next steamer; they would have thrown me
into prison but that they feared to have the
story get out and be obliged to divide——’ He
broke off suddenly from his tirade and surprised
me by grinning with amusement. ‘I
should like to see their faces a few days
later!’
“‘Whose faces?’ I asked, in surprise.
.bn 144.png
.pn +1
“‘Trocas and that ——!’ He really had a
very poor opinion of ‘La Fouchère.’
“‘Why?’ I asked, although I had my suspicions.
“‘Oh, never mind. There are other things
to think of. Bribery has failed; there is
left only force.’ He looked at me inquiringly.
“‘Force!’ said I, for at that time a Jew
and a fight were not associated in my mind.
“‘Tiens!’ said he, ‘we cannot return and
leave the little Jacob in that cesspool! Think
of his lung, my dear Doctor; besides, it would
be necessary to refund the money subscribed
by our friends in Curaçao.’
“‘Did you give them receipts?’ I asked,
curious to get at the odd principles of the
man. He looked at me reproachfully.
“‘There, there, Leyden! Did you ever hear
of Isidore Rosenthal going back upon his
word?’
“‘I apologize. What is the next move?’
“Rosenthal shrugged. ‘They are not much
.bn 145.png
.pn +1
to be feared, these nigger guards at the
prison.’ He glanced at me furtively. ‘Suppose
we take a boat to-night and go over and
get little Jacob?’
“I did not at once reply. To tell the truth,
Doctor, I was too much surprised at the suggestion
to reply. I knew that Rosenthal possessed
the stubborn courage peculiar to his
race; but this policy of cold, aggressive daring
seemed incompatible with the Hebrew. He
watched me narrowly.
“‘I am not a fighter, my dear friend,’ said
he, thrusting out his hands. ‘I am a man of
affairs, a financier, a diplomat, but there are
times when all of these things fail. No doubt
I seem to you like a fool’ (he seemed positively
ashamed of himself—as ashamed as
might another man, a Gentile, of a display of
cowardice), ‘but what would you have? They
will not keep their faith; to offer more bribes
would be to throw good money away after
bad.’ He shrugged, chewed at the end of a
cigar, glanced about him furtively, then took
.bn 146.png
.pn +1
to gnawing his nails, while I sat and considered
the proposition.
“To tell the truth, Doctor, it was not at all
attractive. To be sure, the guards were a
scrubby lot, but there were plenty of them,
and the prisoners were locked up and had no
knowledge of any plan for escape. Moreover,
we did not know in what part of the prison
they were confined, nor had we any plan of
the inside of the place.
“‘You do not object to making an attempt,
Leyden?’ asked Rosenthal, who had been
watching me narrowly.
“‘Not if I were able to see how it could be
done,’ I answered, slowly, for, you see, Doctor,
he had engaged my services for a particular
piece of work and I was professionally
bound. If it had been my custom to abandon
a project because it was dangerous I must
long ago have sought another profession.
‘Would it not be much better to wait until we
can try to bribe the guards or establish some
communication with the prisoners?’ said I.
.bn 147.png
.pn +1
“‘No,’ he answered. ‘It must be done to-night,
because Trocas knows with whom he
has to deal, and unless I am mistaken there
will come an order to-morrow to remove little
Jacob, probably to Caracas, and you know he
does very badly in the cold, damp air of the
mountains; also, the change of altitude is apt
to bring out another attack of the fever.’
“‘Have you thought of any definite plan?’
I asked, irritably. He grinned at me like a
baboon.
“‘That is for you, my dear Doctor,’ said
he. ‘You have had more experience in such
matters.’
“‘That is all very well,’ said I, ‘but you
seem to forget that I am engaged by you to
carry out your orders. Now, go ahead and
issue them.’
“His grin left him at this and he began to
scowl and reach for the overhang of his mustache
with his big yellow teeth. Finally he
said: ‘I engaged you, as you say, Doctor, to
carry out my orders, but I will do better. One
.bn 148.png
.pn +1
cannot be avaricious when the life of one’s
brother is concerned. If you will get the little
Jacob out of that hole I will pay you three
times what you have received.’
“‘How about the others?’ I asked.
“‘Oh, the devil take the others! If their
friends want them let them come after them.
I will refund their money.’
“‘Very well,’ said I. ‘And now I will go
ashore, as I want to think this thing out
alone.’
“Rosenthal grinned his sardonic grin, and
I left him and, passing through the custom
house, strolled on across the square, past the
monument to the American soldiers and over
into the park opposite the baths, where I sat
on a bench and tried to think against the infernal
clatter of the ‘Q’est ce qu’il dit?’ birds.
“For about an hour I sat there, and I can
assure you, Doctor, that my brain was not
idle. There were several very potent reasons
for my wishing to carry through the task
which I had undertaken. In the first place I
.bn 149.png
.pn +1
needed the money very much. Again, there
was an old score to settle with Trocas, but I
think that more than all it was a matter of
professional pride. It was easy to see that
Rosenthal was confident that I could carry
the thing through, yet try as I did I was
obliged to dismiss each plan as impracticable.
If word could be got to the prisoners of our
co-operation it would have been so much easier,
but I was afraid to bribe any of the
guards, as there was danger that he would
pocket the money and then betray us.
“I was determined that there must be no
bloodshed. I had no doubt that Jacob had
been conspiring against the Venezuelan government
and had been betrayed by ‘La Fouchère.’
I am averse to killing people, Doctor;
moreover, I am a Christian and believe in
God, and I try to keep the ten commandments.
In spite of the hazardous character
of many of my expeditions you would be surprised
to learn how very few men I have been
obliged to kill or have killed, and the memory
.bn 150.png
.pn +1
of these unfortunate affairs is attended with
regret, but no remorse.
“While I was vexedly working at this problem
I heard the blare of a discordant bugle
and a clatter on the pavement of the square,
and, looking over my shoulder, saw a company
of dusty soldiers stacking their arms in
front of the café. They appeared to be mostly
Venezuelans. They promptly swarmed into
the café, and I arose and strolled over in that
direction. The lieutenant in command was a
short, fat young fellow, and as I drew near he
said a few words to his sergeant and then left
his company and walked over toward the café
of the bathhouse. I followed him indolently,
and as he entered the building I took a chair
on the verandah and called for spirits and
cigars. As I was lighting one of the latter
my lieutenant came out, glanced at me inquiringly,
then seated himself at a table. A moment
later some tourists from the Dutch ship,
killing time as best they might, strolled up,
and to these I bowed casually as to acquaintances
.bn 151.png
.pn +1
of the voyage. They did not know
me, of course, but they returned my bow,
called for beer, drank it and strolled on.
As they were leaving I remarked in
English to one of them, apparently an
American:
“‘The ship does not sail until night, does
she?’
“‘Not until one o’clock,’ he replied, agreeably,
no doubt taking me for a passenger from
Porto Cabello.
“For awhile we sat in silence; then my
lieutenant, who evidently found himself
greatly bored, turned to me and said, in fair
English:
“‘You are a tourist, sir?’
“‘Yes,’ said I, ‘and much regretting that
this is the last which I shall see of Venezuela
for many months.’ There promised to be
some truth in the last part of this statement,
Doctor.
“‘You enjoy Venezuela?’ inquired the officer,
evidently pleased.
.bn 152.png
.pn +1
“‘I have conceived a great admiration for
the people and the country,’ said I.
“We talked for some time of the beauties
of Caracas, he apparently enjoying the unaccustomed
exercise of his English. I extolled
the country, the people, their traditions, their
bravery, likening their history to that of the
United States, Bolivar to George Washington.
He expanded like a flower in the sunshine.
Presently I asked the honor of drinking
a bottle of champagne with him, to which
he agreed, remarking that Americans were to
him the most delightful of all foreigners.
Before long I asked him if his military duties
confined him to Porto Cabello. He sighed
deeply.
“‘Ah, my friend, it is very sad. No, I have
simply come down with my commando, which
you see across the square. I return to-morrow,
leaving the troop in the fortress yonder,
as the present garrison was considered insufficient
to guard the desperate political prisoners
confined there.’
.bn 153.png
.pn +1
“It struck me that this was rather a tribute
to the respect entertained for Rosenthal by
Trocas.
“‘Indeed?’ said I, somewhat idly.
“He sighed. ‘It is a tedious journey, but
I requested General Trocas to commit the
care of the men to me, as I expected to find
here a friend’—he smirked at me—‘a lady
in whom I am interested.’
“I laughed indulgently. ‘You young officers
are roving blades,’ said I. ‘One cannot
blame the ladies, however.’
“He brightened, then sighed again. ‘It is
very sad,’ said he. ‘I learn from the keeper
of the hotel that she has sailed for Curaçao
on the steamer before this. She was very
beautiful, a Portuguese.’ He twirled his thin
mustache.
“‘Permit me to offer my sympathy,’ said
I. ‘But, of course, there is still wine left, if
the lady has gone,’ and I ordered another bottle
of champagne.
“Before the bottle was finished, Doctor, he
.bn 154.png
.pn +1
loved me as a brother. I suggested that we
go aboard the Dutch ship and have an American
cocktail. It was a little dangerous, but I
wished to clinch his confidence in me. He readily
agreed and we strolled across the square
together. On the way we passed his command,
which was what I wished. The men
were still drinking, but the sergeant was outside
the café and saluted as we passed.
“‘A good fellow—he knows my errand,’
observed the lieutenant, referring to the sergeant,
and added that there was no hurry to
cross to the fortress; it was a place stiflingly
hot, and his men were in need of rest and a
little refreshment.
“‘You are, of course, acquainted with the
officers of the garrison?’ said I.
“‘No; there is only the commandante, a
rough old fellow’—he shrugged as if to signify
that the man was scarcely of his own social
caste. ‘There were many promotions
from the ranks after the revolution,’ he
added.
.bn 155.png
.pn +1
“This, as you can guess, Doctor, was valuable
information. I changed the subject and
we boarded the ship. I caught a glimpse of
Rosenthal as we went up the ladder. His eye
glinted as it met mine; then he turned his
back until we had gone below.
“It was then three o’clock. For two hours
I poured cocktails into my officer, and by five
he was very drunk, so drunk that I was able
to leave him long enough to tell Rosenthal to
meet me by the fountain in the park in an
hour. Then I returned to my officer, who was
nodding over another glass of spirits. I got
him upon his feet and managed to return with
him to the hotel without being interrupted.
There I poured into him another bottle of
champagne, after which he quietly subsided
into inertia, when, with the aid of the proprietor,
whose disapproval I silenced with a
fee which he put down to drunken generosity,
we undressed and put him to bed.
“The next step was the crucial one. I
quickly took off my clothes and put on those
.bn 156.png
.pn +1
of the lieutenant. Then I crossed the square
to where the commando was still drinking. I
found the sergeant in the dirty little café, himself
somewhat intoxicated. At sight of me
he sprang to his feet with an oath.
“‘Silence!’ said I, in Spanish. ‘Your lieutenant
has persuaded me to take his place for
a few hours.’
“‘Where is he?’ demanded the sergeant,
suspiciously.
“I gave him a drunken leer and slapped
him lightly on the shoulder.
“‘Can you not guess?’ I asked, meaningly.
“‘But it cannot be,’ growled the man. ‘And
who are you? It is as much as his commission
is worth!’
“‘It would be worth more than his commission
was worth if he were to accompany
his command in his present condition,’ I
snapped. ‘You do not seem to understand
that I am doing him a favor at a personal
risk; also, he told me to give you this and to
tell you to keep your mouth shut,’ And I
.bn 157.png
.pn +1
slipped some gold into his hand. ‘It is only
necessary for me to cross to the fort, deliver
the command to the commandante and return.
Your lieutenant is not known to any one
there.’
“The fellow wavered, grumbled, slid the
money into his pocket, eyed me suspiciously;
but I laughed and told him that a good sergeant
must stand by his lieutenant; then, rising,
I told him to get his men together and
I would return directly to get them to the fort.
Although by no means satisfied, he made no
protest, not knowing just what course to take.
I left him and walked around the far side of
the park to where Rosenthal was waiting.
“He laughed softly as I joined him, and his
yellow teeth gleamed in the dusk. I simply
told him to have the boat lying off the sea-wall
of the prison until he heard from me, and
then returned to the commando, which was
drawn up in a somewhat vacillating formation.
The men no doubt took me to be an
officer of the garrison to which they were committed,
.bn 158.png
.pn +1
but the sergeant was very ill at
ease.
“I put the column into motion and marched
them down to the water, where I requisitioned
the nearest boats at hand and we crossed to
the island. At the gate of the fortress we
halted until the arrival of the officer of the
guard, to whom I presented the papers which
were in the pocket of the lieutenant’s blouse.
“The officer was a dangerous-looking old
fellow, apparently a thorough soldier, and,
while polite, I could see that he was somewhat
disgusted at my condition.
“‘At what time did you arrive in Porto
Cabello?’ he inquired, a trifle coldly.
“‘An hour ago—perhaps two,’ I answered.
‘There seemed no great hurry; it was very
hot and my men were in need of refreshments.
Also, I had some messages from my uncle, his
Excellency the President, for some friends
upon the Hollandez.’
“His manner changed a trifle. He gave a
few orders to the sergeant, who marched off
.bn 159.png
.pn +1
his unsteady company, with a backward
glance in my direction, which I affected not
to see.
“‘Will you come up to the headquarters?’
he said. I thanked him and we strolled off
together.
“Before we had reached headquarters I
had restored his good nature, told him some
good stories, made him laugh heartily and
evidently convinced him that I was a careless
good fellow and not to be taken too seriously.
I declined any refreshment, saying that I had
been entertained aboard the ship, and after
a rather dull evening I begged leave to retire.
“As soon as he was gone I slipped out into
the enclosure. It was a starry night, still, but
with no moon. I lit a cigar and walked leisurely
toward the casemates fronting the sea.
At the end of fifty yards I came upon a sentry
sleeping peacefully against the wall. Walking
to him, I shook him roughly by the shoulder.
He awoke with a start; then, seeing an
officer before him, scrambled to his feet and
.bn 160.png
.pn +1
saluted. At the same moment there came
from one of the casemates a fit of violent but
muffled coughing.
“‘Is this the sort of watch which is kept in
the prison?’ I demanded, roughly. ‘His Excellency,
my uncle, would be pleased to hear
of it.’
“The man was badly frightened. He stammered
something about not being asleep;
then, as I peered into his face, I recognized
him as one of the men of my command.
“‘Ah, my friend,’ said I, in an altered tone,
‘you are one of those who arrived to-day?’
“‘Yes, Señor Capitan,’ he answered.
“‘But that is different,’ said I, kindly.
‘How is it that you are on duty? There has
been some mistake. I gave orders that you
were to have a night’s sleep. There has been
a mistake, but never mind, sleep here, if you
like; God knows you have reason to be tired,
and that there are three times men enough to
guard a handful of miserables.’
“‘Thank you, Señor Capitan,’ he answered;
.bn 161.png
.pn +1
and as he spoke, the violent coughing
broke out again from some dark recess.
“‘There is a poor wretch who seems very
ill,’ said I, conversationally. ‘Is it one of the
garrison?’
“‘It must be one of the political prisoners,
Señor Capitan,’ replied the soldier. ‘They
are all confined in the casemates yonder.’
“‘Poor wretch!’ said I, and, nodding to the
soldier, strolled on toward the ramparts. Before
I had gone far I was halted by another
sentry. I peered at him through the murk.
“‘Are you one of the new men?’ I demanded.
“‘No, Señor Capitan,’ he answered, saluting.
“‘The lazy rascals!’ said I, tersely. ‘I
gave orders that they were to go on duty immediately
as a reward for abusing my good
nature and getting drunk. Are they in the
cuartel with you?’
“‘No, Señor Capitan; they are in the cuartel
yonder at the angle of the wall.’
.bn 162.png
.pn +1
“‘Bueno! I will soon break up their sweet
dreams, the drunken vagabonds. Who is your
sergeant?’ He told me the man’s name.
“‘And when are you to be relieved?’
“‘At midnight,’ said he.
“‘Very well. You may return to your
quarters, and if your sergeant is awake tell
him that I have put one of my men in your
place. Go!’
“‘Si, Señor.’ He saluted and slouched
away.
“I proceeded, and in a few minutes had relieved
two more of the regular garrison and
bid one of the new men sleep at his post.
“It was then ten o’clock; there were two
hours ahead of me. I made my way to the
sea-wall and, reaching below the rampart
with one arm, struck a match, extinguished it,
struck another and extinguished that. A moment
later I heard the soft grinding of oars
and the boat glided out of the darkness. Rosenthal’s
great frame hove itself up over the
rampart, then dropped into the shadow under
.bn 163.png
.pn +1
the wall, and I heard his discordant laugh stifled
to a hissing gurgle. He carried a pick-axe.
“‘Diable!’ said he. ‘I heard you relieve
the sentries! I was close under the wall. It
was funny! Have you found where they have
put little Jacob?’
“‘Yes,’ I answered. ‘Follow me.’
“I led him along the angle of the wall until
we came to the casemates where the sentry
had said that the prisoners were confined, and
then, as we paused before the first of these,
the utter stillness was again broken by a
paroxysm of coughing; and this time, although
no less violent than before, it struck
me that there was in it an accent of exhaustion—an
extreme exhaustion as of muscles too
fatigued to respond even to a reflex.
“‘Sacré!’ growled Rosenthal, and gripped
my arm. ‘Do you hear that? It is the little
Jacob.’ He flew to the door of the casemate;
the port on the other side opened on the sea,
and was, of course, heavily barred. Rosenthal
.bn 164.png
.pn +1
smote the heavy door several times with
the ball of his hand.
“‘Jacob!’ he called, softly. ‘Jacob, Jacob,
my dear little Jacob!’ He leaped back and
raised his pick; it seemed as if the sounds of
his sick brother’s distress had robbed him of
his senses.
“I seized the pick, and he whirled on me
with a snarl. Indeed, Doctor, the Jew was
like a tigress who hears the wail of a captured
cub.
“‘Idiot!’ I whispered, ‘do you want to
rouse the garrison?’
“‘Listen!’ said he, and raised his hand suddenly.
I listened, and in a lull of the surf
there reached our ears a series of pathetic
sounds. You know the sound, Doctor; the
feeble strangling of a pulmonary patient
when too weak to cough, something between
a cough and a rattle—and then it suddenly
ceased and there came to our ears, in a voice
as thin as a wafer’s edge: ‘Isidore!’
“And then Rosenthal went mad. He knew,
.bn 165.png
.pn +1
we both knew, that Jacob was dying; there
was no mistaking that. It would be a matter
of at least two hours’ hard work to liberate
him without noise, and we both felt that by
that time he would be already liberated; and
Rosenthal, the Jew, whose habit and training
and every instinct was that of weighing cost
and gain, decided that he could not afford to
wait, garrison or no garrison. Apparently life
held nothing which could compensate him for
the privilege of holding his crippled brother
in his powerful arms while the struggling soul
was fighting its way to the God of his fathers.
Before I could interfere—and, indeed, I did
not try very hard to interfere, Doctor, for was
I not paid to carry out the man’s orders?—he
had raised the pick and assailed the heavy
door with a fury that filled the silent fortress
with thundering reverberations.
“Lights began to flash out in the barracks;
at a distance a sentry fired his piece for an
alarm. I heard shouts and cries and orders,
and through it all Rosenthal, the Jew, stood
.bn 166.png
.pn +1
and hewed away at the door, till all at once,
even as I saw a squad of men running toward
us, it fell away, and Rosenthal, throwing aside
his pick, leaped into the casemate, and from
the blackness within I heard a fierce sob as
he gathered his dying brother to his breast.
“For me there was no time for sentiment.
As the first group of soldiers drew near there
arose from the landward side a strident blast.
I recognized the whistle of the Dutch steamer,
which was going out. In sight of the soldiers
I sprang to the open door of the casemate,
peered within, then rushed to meet them.
“‘Some prisoners have escaped!’ I howled.
‘See, the door of the casemate has been torn
away! Did you not hear the noise, sluggards?
Look!’ I pointed toward the town, where,
above the farther wall, we could see the masthead
light of the steamer. ‘They have fled
to the Hollandez!’
“The cry was taken up: ‘They have fled
to the Hollandez!’ and the soldiers, with a
glance at the dark entrance of the casemate,
.bn 167.png
.pn +1
turned and made off toward the main gate.
On the way they met the commandante, who,
hearing their cries, rushed to the jetty and
bawled at the steamer to stop.
“The place was deserted again and I softly
entered the dungeon. I could see nothing in
the gloom, but from the shadow I heard a
deep, choking voice say: ‘Jacob! Jacob! Ach,
mein lieber Jacob! Mein kleiner, lieber Jacob!’
“‘Isidore—mein bruder—Isidore!’ came
the thin answer, and then there was a gurgle,
a strangling cough, a sigh as of a soul exhausted,
a body spent with vain struggling,
and yet a sigh filled with promise of an infinite
peace. I heard a rustling, such a sound
as comes from a tired child as its head falls
back upon its mother’s breast. There was the
sound of a multitude of kisses, a choked sob—then
silence, which endured for many minutes.
“‘Come, my friend,’ I said, softly. ‘We
must go, if you wish to take Jacob away.’
“I led the way and Rosenthal followed me
.bn 168.png
.pn +1
out into the night, bearing the body of his
brother in his arms, his broad chest shaken
with sobs. We scaled the wall, called softly
and a moment later our Curaçao men pulled
the boat alongside.”
Leyden paused, relit his pipe, puffed a few
times in silence.
“They overran that Dutch steamer like
cockroaches,” he continued, with a chuckle,
“and for a while the government seriously
considered withdrawing the privileges of
their ports to the line. Ultimately it was decided
to let them off with a reprimand, because,
you see, the steamers were the only
opportunity the port officials had of getting
their weekly allowance of spirits for
nothing.
“Rosenthal? We made the run back to
Curaçao in thirty-six hours, because, you see,
the trade always blows the same way. The
day we arrived Rosenthal paid me fifteen hundred
dollars, the price agreed for the rescue
of his brother.
.bn 169.png
.pn +1
“‘It is too much,’ said I, ‘especially as we
did not liberate the other prisoners.’
“‘It was the price agreed,’ he said, ‘but
if you say so I will take off ten per cent. for
cash.’
“‘Even then it is too much. There were
the jewels which you gave to Trocas——’
“Rosenthal chuckled. ‘They were imitations,’
said he. ‘I got them in New York.
Those I left with little Jacob were also imitations.
I knew my little brother’s weaknesses,’
he added, and the tears gushed out
of his eyes.”
.bn 170.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch05
TWO SAVAGES
.sp 2
.di dc-w.jpg 100 100 1.9
“WE must really turn over a new leaf,
Doctor,” said my shipmate, Dr.
Leyden, the collector of natural
rarities. “Our tales have been
growing more and more gruesome
each night, until mere murder has quite
lost its pungency! To-night I will tell you a
different sort of story—a love story, from the
view-point of the primitive; a funny story
as well—although it would be hard to say
whether the humor belong to the Stone Age
or some age still to come.
“I was telling you last night about the expedition
into Borneo for the heads; this
was immediately after. When we reached
the sea I was in a very bad way—running a
steady, low fever, with diurnal rises, when I
would become quite delirious, and the region
about my spleen was so tender that it pained
.bn 171.png
.pn +1
me to breathe. My companion and his charge
departed immediately by a vessel which was
sailing for Sarawak, but I waited for a few
days and then sailed by a schooner for Sulu,
as this was a shorter voyage, and I wanted
medical attendance as soon as I could get it.
“This was before your war, Doctor, when
nine out of ten Americans would have told
you that if Sulu was not in South Africa it
must be somewhere in the West Indies. You
know Jolo, the pretty little toy city, with its
mediæval walls, where the sleepy Spanish
sentries drowsed on the ramparts and gaped
down into the immured market-place, ogling
the pretty Mestiza girls, when they should
have been keeping watch to see that none of
the Moro gentry went jementado and proceeded
to reduce the Christian census. It is
the freshest place in the archipelago and the
coolest, although so near the equator, for the
trades sweep right across the little island and
blow the most of the time.
“You remember the Englishmen who were
.bn 172.png
.pn +1
doing so well with the pearls? A temporary
manager of theirs proved to be an old acquaintance
of mine—a harum-scarum sort of
chap, undoubtedly well-born, unquestionably
badly behaved, handsome, vicious, kind-hearted
when the notion took him, at other
times as rough as a Liverpool navvy. I always
suspected his escutcheon of bearing the
baton sinister.
“Stewart was his name. I had known him
in the Marquesas, where he had been the
agent of an Australian firm. He asked me to
his house, and I was glad to accept, for I liked
the scamp, in spite of his wickedness, and, besides,
I was in no condition to be left to the
tender mercies of native inn-keepers.
“Stewart used to swear like a trooper when
one of my chills would shake the whole of the
little basket-house and disturb his siesta; then
up he would get, clad only in the lower half
of his pajamas, and rough the servants about
and work over me as if he loved me. Ach!
how it seems like yesterday that I have seen
.bn 173.png
.pn +1
him, naked to the waist, leaning over me, with
his hands full of hot-water bottles, and his
mouth full of blasphemies when one of them
burned his fingers, the great muscles rippling
the fresh skin of his arms as he moved me in
the bed and his fierce, handsome face, with its
deep lines of hard living, puckered in doubt—one
could see the two natures fighting it out
within him.
“The officers of the little garrison gave
him a wide berth; they were afraid of him.
In fact, about everybody in the place was
afraid of him, from the Governor-General
down to his own native women, of whom he
had an interesting collection. He was a sort
of blond devil. I am sure that I do not know
why he so befriended me, unless it was because
it was pleasant to find some one who
was not afraid of him.
“I had begun to get about a little, but was
still an invalid, when there arrived in the port
the auxiliary yacht of the Count Asquin. I
was admiring the vessel from our little balcony,
.bn 174.png
.pn +1
when Stewart came up and suggested
that we go out aboard her. At first I declined,
as the people were not known to us, nor we to
them.
“‘What’s the odds!’ said he. ‘Perfectly
good form in a hole like this. They’ve come
purposely to see the place and people.
They’re our guests, by Gad!’
“There was something in this, so I agreed
and we put off. I am rather diffident, Doctor,
but I knew that Stewart would carry the thing
off with his usual blunt, reckless, high-bred
ease; there was so much style to the fellow,
and he looked so fresh and well-groomed and
aristocratic, and altogether the gentleman,
which in so very many ways he was not.
There was a strong ranginess about him which
suggested the university athlete; the curly,
crisp, yellow hair, the close-cropped mustache
and the fresh but weather-beaten skin, all
marked him for a thoroughbred. If he had
got drunk every night of the week and slept
in all his clothes he could have got up in the
.bn 175.png
.pn +1
morning and given himself a shake and looked
the same. The secret lay in good blood somewhere—the
close set of his small, well-shaped
ears and the poise of his small head on his
broad shoulders. Ach! If his behavior had
only been as fine as his appearance——
“As we pulled alongside we saw a lady and
a gentleman under the after awning, but they
did not rise. There was a burly Breton quartermaster
at the gangway, and he saluted and
called a natty steward to take our cards. A
moment later the owner came to greet us, and
we observed that he was a man past middle
age, gray, sallow, delicate, but distinguished
in face and carriage. He regarded us for a
moment in polite inquiry; then, divining that
the call was purely social, courteously invited
us aboard.
“‘Hope we’re not intruding,’ said Stewart,
as he stepped on the deck, ‘but we exiles are
so keen for news from the outer world; besides,
it’s no end of a treat to see new faces,
and if you’re going to stop any length of time
.bn 176.png
.pn +1
perhaps we may be of service. I’m Stewart;
this is Dr. Leyden.’
“Our host bowed his acknowledgment.
‘I am the Count Asquin,’ he said. I had already
observed that the schooner was under
the French flag. Stewart was staring at the
woman under the awning; the Count was
scrutinizing Stewart. I murmured acknowledgments
and took a mental photograph of
the Count. ‘A French nobleman,’ I thought.
‘An invalid who does best at sea; asthma possibly;
a student, erudite, polished—a philosopher,
and withal a man of heart.’ Physically
he seemed a wreck, but one saw at a
glance that a high vitality had been consumed
in his body and conserved in his brain. His
eyes were very large, very lustrous, of the
reddish-brown which told of sentiment, of
mind—the eyes of a poet. There was kindness
in the large nose and the full-lipped
mouth was sensual, but neither weak nor
selfish; pleasure-loving, but wishful to share
with others. He wore a grizzled mustache
.bn 177.png
.pn +1
and imperial, which gave a bizarre mask of
the martial to a face which clearly could not
have countenanced the killing of a mouse. It
was a pleasant face—the face of a man with
more friends than admirers.
“Stewart was still staring at the woman
under the awning with that bold, British
stare which would be insulting were it not so
primitive—the stare of a savage, inquiring
only, and utterly lacking in the volume of
suggestion which makes the stare of the Latin
so insupportable.
“The Count, satisfied with his scrutiny, invited
us aft, and as he glanced from Stewart
to me I thought that I caught a flicker of
amusement in his lustrous eyes. I also had
obtained a glance at the lady. She was evidently
young and more than evidently lovely;
quite young enough for a daughter and far
too lovely for the wife of this burned-out
elderly invalid.
“‘Will you come aft, messieurs?’ said the
Count. ‘Doctor, it is evident that you have
.bn 178.png
.pn +1
been ill; permit me to offer you a chaise-longue
here in the breeze.’ He led the way,
and as we drew near the lady I saw that I
had done her injustice. She was more than
lovely; she was positively radiant with a
beauty of the most alluring type in a land
where every one is weary and relaxed; glowing
with youth and health and high vitality,
she was as fresh in that sodden clime as a
clear wind from the north—and yet, there
was something beside, something less clear,
more earthy, a lavishness of charm and form
and feature; her type suggested a creature
bred for the slave mart. It was evident that
she was an American; the women of no other
race possess that peculiar blending of subtlety,
ignorance and audacity. ‘A Californian,’
thought I; ‘a survival of the fittest New
England stock transplanted from a climate
where only the very fit do survive to a country
whose finest crop is babies.’
“I glanced at the Count, the lax, yellow tissues
of whom suggested a squeezed orange,
.bn 179.png
.pn +1
and when he introduced us to her as his wife
I almost laughed. His wife! The conceit of
the term, Doctor; he in whose eyes one could
see the after-glow of extinguished flames. And
yet—her fate might be far worse. One saw
with what care he fostered the orchids hanging
from the awning ridge-rope; beautiful, interesting,
a care, a treat for the eye, costly
epiphytes requiring support. Ah, Doctor,
youth cannot appreciate the higher motives
which inspire age with its craving for
beauty.
“The Countess murmured a few words, and
I judged her neither well-born nor clever.
You know, Doctor, there are in nature certain
freaks of superabundant beauty just as there
are freaks of deformity, and she was one of
these. There was not much else; planted with
powerful instincts to take the place of mind,
as in the lower animals; fairly well educated
in a machine-made, American way—‘advanced,’
very possibly, but as savage as if
she roamed the Carpathian scarp clad only
.bn 180.png
.pn +1
in her abundant hair, which no doubt she
would have very much enjoyed.
“She offered us her hand after the manner
of ‘the Slope,’ and as Stewart took it in his
I saw the blood surge up beneath his yellow,
tropic tan; his pale eyes shone like those of a
gull, and one could see the deep chest swell
suddenly as he caught his breath. Consider
the nature of the man, Doctor—more animal
than a well-bred dog, who, after all, has many
elevated traits, whereas Stewart’s were mostly
low—and the fact that he had not seen a
fair woman for months.
“The deep blue eyes of the Countess were
fixed upon Stewart with a sort of startled
wonder; no doubt the contrasts of the man’s
crushing masculinity with the colorless shell
of her husband’s sex may have struck her as
a positive shock. There was almost a physical
weight in the impulse which he projected
toward her. One saw that she took it with a
little shudder—as an hereditary drunkard
might gulp his first glass of spirits.
.bn 181.png
.pn +1
He stood holding her hand and saying
what was necessary, and while he was saying
it his light, wicked eyes were devouring
her. The thing was so outrageous that I could
not help glancing at the Count, and at the
same moment his soft, dark eyes met mine,
and, to my amazement, he actually smiled!
He saw the thing as I saw it; no one could
have seen it differently; in fact, there was a
sort of mutual understanding in his smile, but
nothing unkindly.
“The Countess was quick to recover her
poise; not through breeding nor modesty, but
from sheer combativeness. She seemed suddenly
to realize—and I have no doubt that
it struck her as quite a new idea—that a
man could be too familiar with his eyes
alone. There was plenty of fight in her,
as one could see from the flash of her dark
blue eyes and the rounded squareness of
her jaw. She promptly assumed so great an
air of chilly condescension that Stewart
stared again and then began to grin. He was
.bn 182.png
.pn +1
a good talker, however, in his rough, staccato
way, and soon I saw that she was beginning
to forget about herself and think about him.
“‘You have been ill, Doctor?’ said the
Count to me. ‘Myself, I am also in feeble
health—asthma, with a uric acid diathesis and
a bad leak in the mitral valve. Hence the sea,
the tropics, a sedentary life. By nature I am
active, and I find it less difficult to remain
quiet where there is abundant passive motion,
as aboard a vessel.’
“I explained to him the nature of my own
illness and my reason for coming to Sulu.
“‘I came to rest in smooth waters,’ he replied.
‘It is a charming island.’ We talked
of other things and soon discovered many mutual
friends. When at last we left, at my insistence,
the Countess, at the suggestion of
her husband, invited us to dine the following
night.
“Stewart was silent on the way in—moody,
taciturn, tugging at his crisp mustache. As
we entered the house he burst out:
.bn 183.png
.pn +1
“‘Did you ever see a more beautiful
woman, Leyden? Jove, what hair! what a
figure!’
“‘I find the husband more interesting,’
said I. ‘Any white woman would be beautiful
if one stood her up against the shadow of the
equator.’
“He grunted like a peccary. ‘Her husband?—her
proprietor!—it’s gross flattery to speak
of that wreck as her husband. What right
has a cadaver like that to a wife? A widow
would be a jolly lot more becoming. What’s
he got to hold her with?’
“‘A yacht, a title, a good mind and a wedding
ring,’ said I.
“‘Might hold some women,’ he growled;
‘can’t hold that one,’ and he took himself off
to bed.
“We went aboard the yacht the following
night, and I do not think that I have ever
spent a more disagreeable social evening.
The Countess was glorious in the most daring
of black décolleté gowns. Her great
.bn 184.png
.pn +1
blue eyes were gleaming like sapphires, and
her hair put one in mind of the burnished
copper one sees when the schooner heels
to the trade-wind. Fancy, Doctor, one of
those profuse Californians, abundant as
a cluster of Tokay grapes, thrust close
against a yellow-haired atavism of the
Neolithic age like my poor acquaintance
Stewart. Ach! he was drunk before he had
finished his sherry; at every sip he tasted the
subtle perfume of her, and the cup she held
to him was filled with wine as old as the race
and as deep as the blue of her sapphire eyes.
She was receiving, I fancy, as well as giving.
Ach! it was very primitive! Instead of the
yacht and the sparkle of the yellow lamp-light
on the plate and glass there should have been
a forest and the pale moonlight filtering
through the boughs of giant hemlocks....
“I looked at the Count, and upon my word,
Doctor, I saw that he was relishing the thing!—more
than that, he was enjoying it! Perhaps
it was the interest of the student; perhaps
.bn 185.png
.pn +1
he was absorbing the warmth of fires
which no longer kindled on his own hearth.
At any rate, he was eagerly receptive of this
spectacle, repellant to me in its unfitness, and
was drinking it with parted lips, a tinge of
color in his hollow cheeks, a deep glow in his
red-brown eyes. There was nothing malicious
in his regard; rather, it was the acme
of benevolence. He caught my eye and smiled
as he had done the day before.
“The dinner, which was elaborate, completed,
we adjourned to the quarter-deck,
where the Count skilfully drew me into a discussion
regarding racial and tribal peculiarities,
and I soon found him savant. Soon, and
to-day I know that it was by express design,
I became oblivious to our milieu and harked
back to the era when my science was in its
infancy, for although myself but a mere collector
of those rare things in which science
properly interests herself, I hold the greatest
respect for the founders of my craft, who
were themselves both scientists and collectors.
.bn 186.png
.pn +1
We discussed the early labors of these masters,
until soon I was soaring in heights of
professional exaltation which made me quite
oblivious to the other discussion being carried
on in the shadow by these two savages,
whose vigorous young bodies, with their attendant
embryonic psychic impulses, were at
a phase so many thousands of years ahead, or
perhaps behind, our own epoch of mental autocracy.
Here was this woman with the
beauty, temperament, and principles, no
doubt, of Helen of Troy, and mind enough to
go after what she wanted; Stewart an avatar
of Jove himself, the sire of all profligates, but
with mind enough to smirch his classic duality;
myself, all cerebrum, ultra mental and
analytic, perhaps because my blood was just
ridding itself of millions of sporulating plasmodia;
the Count, who had at some time, I
fancy, swung in the orbits of the lot of us.
He certainly had the mind, and he had had the
body before he gave it to his mind to squander,
and it seemed to me, as I pulled up suddenly
.bn 187.png
.pn +1
from some peroration and caught the
expression of his eye as he turned his face to
mine in the yellow lamp-light, that he was listening
to the echoes of an early anthem—and
found them sweet—even at the cost of his so-called
honor!
“I was glad when the time came for us to
leave, for I could see that between the wine
and the woman Stewart was fast shedding
his restraint. There was a cut to his voice, a
fierce deviltry in the ring of his laughter, and
I have seen men shot for less than the expression
of his eyes. At first it appeared that the
Countess had an eye for her husband; then,
seeing nothing but indulgence in his aristocratic
face, she had yielded gradually to the
fascinations of the hour, until one could see
that she had quite lost the focus of her conventional
perspective. You see, Doctor, she
was not a high-bred woman, so that she was
quite untrammeled by the instincts which
come of long generations of culture. The
only thing which held her in check was the
.bn 188.png
.pn +1
fear of jeopardizing her official position as
the wife of an invalid millionaire nobleman,
but, seeing that he found only diversion in
her coquetries, she gradually yielded to the
potent attractions beside her, until I do not
believe that she realized how ridiculously
naked her emotions had become. It was evident
that Stewart was holding her hand beneath
the table, and he was sitting so close
that their knees touched. It was very primordial!—and
all of the while the Count was
talking easily and with an expression which
seemed to say: ‘Dear, innocent children—what
a pleasing spectacle is youth and
ardor!’
“I was glad when the time came for us to
leave, as I am a simple old bushman, Doctor,
and I found the spectacle embarrassing.
“The following day Stewart had the Count
and Countess to luncheon, and after a very
well-ordered repast asked if they would enjoy
a drive into the country.
“‘You would enjoy it,’ said the Count to his
.bn 189.png
.pn +1
wife. ‘Myself, I dread the dust and the heat.
Go with Mr. Stewart, if you wish’—his smile
was nothing short of angelic as he said this—‘and
I will remain and talk with Dr. Leyden,
if he will permit me.’
“The dark blue eyes of the Countess swept
upward, and as they met the cold gleam in
Stewart’s she turned her face from us, but I
could see the crimson creeping to the tip of her
ear, partly hid by the mass of her hair. Stewart
nodded indifferently and ordered his pony
and chaise.
“When they had gone the Count turned to
me. His fine face was serene, but there was a
wistfulness in his lustrous eyes.
“‘What a delightful thing it is to be young,
Doctor!’ he remarked. Then, in the same
voice: ‘You were telling me last night about
the Dyaks....’
“It was almost dark when they returned.
The Countess was very pale and seemed nervous
and irritable, while Stewart was in a
state of suppressed and concentrated fury.
.bn 190.png
.pn +1
I fancy that he had taken too much for
granted and got himself well snubbed. At
any rate, his manners were those of a sulky
coal-trimmer, and I was much embarrassed.
“This sort of thing went on for over a
week; we visited back and forth. Stewart’s
presence put rather a taboo on the yacht as
far as the garrison was concerned. The
Count and I became intimate. Stewart pursued
the Countess with a sort of cold and
reckless fury, and while she was certainly
swayed by his dominant force, it was quite
evident that he was not progressing. I
guessed that his roughness, while it fascinated
her, at the same time aroused her antagonism.
After all, Doctor, I am not sure
but that passion provides its anti-toxine in a
temper. I have no doubt they fought like
cats; at any rate the strain began to tell upon
the Countess. One could see that she was
growing haggard. Then one fine day they
disappeared!
“I was breakfasting alone when Count
.bn 191.png
.pn +1
Asquin rushed into the room, weeping and
wringing his hands, quite beside himself with
grief and shock.
“‘They have gone!’ he cried. ‘M. Stewart
and my wife! They have fled in one of the
pearling yawls!’
“‘I am very sorry for you,’ said I, ‘but I
cannot say that I am surprised.’
“‘He did not seem to hear me; he wrung his
hands and the tears ran down his sallow
cheeks.
“‘I am desolated!’ he wailed. ‘Was there
ever such ingratitude? But think of my indulgence!—my
consideration!—the unselfishness
of my behavior!’
“‘My dear fellow,’ said I, ‘you are quite
incomprehensible! As a man of the world,
could you not see that Stewart was madly in
love with the Countess——’
“‘And she with him!’ he cried. ‘What
could have been more evident? But why this
flight? Did she not have everything heart
could desire? Has her single wish been unfulfilled?
.bn 192.png
.pn +1
Only yesterday I bought her a
pearl of Stewart for twenty thousand
francs. How could she so deceive me?’
Upon my word, Doctor, he yelped like a
coyote!
“‘And have you lived all of this time,’ I
interrupted, quite out of patience with the old
fool, ‘and not discovered that yachts and
pearls and kindness do not count for everything
with a beautiful woman like the Countess
when——’
“‘But you do me injustice!’ he protested.
‘Of course, I saw that she desired M. Stewart
for her lover’—he mopped his eyes—‘it was
most natural that she should! One does not
retain his youth forever, Doctor—his voice
was deprecating. ‘Stewart is a charming
fellow—handsome, dashing, libertin. Few
women could resist him. But since she so
much desired him, why in heaven’s name did
she not take him, instead of growing pale and
maigre and finally bolting off on a stinking
oyster boat! I ask you, my friend, was not
.bn 193.png
.pn +1
my attitude most obviously that of mari complaisant?’
“Doctor, I got up without a word and lit
my big china pipe, and as I struck the head of
the match against the wall I felt tempted to
strike my own head after it. I felt like a fool.
The whole thing became so obvious—should
have been so obvious from the very start—and
yet, here these two young savages had
run away because it seemed the only thing to
do, when they might just as well have remained
and cheered the soul of the poor old
Count, to say nothing of enjoying his hospitality!
Here again was I myself blaming the
Count for an infatuated old cuckold—and he,
the only really logical and sensible person in
the whole affair, wailing beside his empty
cage!
“Then the humor of the thing struck me
and I almost laughed outright. It was so
ridiculous, and such a joke on the runaways,
who were cooped up in a little fifty-foot pearling
yawl or stowed away in a Nipa hut in
.bn 194.png
.pn +1
some little island, when they might have been
so comfortable!
“‘Did you ever explain your sentiments
regarding this affair to the Countess?’ I inquired.
“‘Doctor!’ he protested, ‘one cannot be
indelicate! Certainly not! Could she not
have inferred it from my behavior?’
“‘I am afraid,’ said I, ‘that her inferences
were less flattering. Mine were—permit me
to apologize.’
“He began to yelp again. ‘She was so
beautiful!—so interesting—such a typical
American woman—a frank and ignorant
young savage! It was a joy to be with her,
Doctor; a joy to watch the primitive workings
of her mind—and her little efforts at deception
I found adorable. She was transparent
as a naughty child——’ He began
to blubber.
“‘She appears to have possessed certain
rudiments of guile,’ I replied. ‘You have
taken too much for granted. A Parisienne
.bn 195.png
.pn +1
would have understood; the ethical situation
was too delicate for an American; she was
too narrow-minded to combine adultery and
domestic tranquillity.’
“‘They are so crude, these Americans!’
he wailed. ‘So crude!’
“An extraordinary situation, Doctor, and
yet reasonable when one pauses to consider.
The Count was highly esthetic; his wife
charmed him in really a very elevated way;
he enjoyed her beauty, her society, her bonhomie,
no doubt her care and strength, for she
was kind-hearted where her passions were not
concerned; he may have leaned upon her vigorous
young vitality. She and the tomb could
not be pictured in the same frame. He appreciated
her; wanted her to be happy; was
thoroughly good to her, and did not mean
that because she was tied to a broken invalid
she should be deprived of the fullness of life.
An archaic and rather pathetic casuistry, was
it not?
“I pondered. ‘They are in a small sail-boat,’
.bn 196.png
.pn +1
thought I, and glanced at the map of
the archipelago hanging from the wall. ‘They
will, of course, make for Zamboanga, but on
the way they are apt to stop at Port Isabella.’
You know the place, Doctor—in Basilan; a
beautiful spot: the little village, the hot slope
of open country rolling gradually upward to
meet the cool forests on the heights; the late
sun painting it all golden and shining back
from the towering boles that form the ramparts
of the primeval woods? They were
most apt to be in Basilan.
“‘I think we can find them,’ said I. ‘There
should be no great difficulty in coaxing back
two naughty children with the sweets you
have to offer.’
“He kissed me on both cheeks; then nothing
would do but I must go with him; a
cruise de luxe would set me on my feet, clinch
the nail of my convalescence. He began to
plan a touching reconciliation, the little dinner
which would attend this fête d’amour,
the wines, the touching speech which he would
.bn 197.png
.pn +1
make, all of which so overcame him that he
wept upon my shoulder.
“Of course, I promised to go with him;
one could scarcely do otherwise; and, indeed,
Doctor, I had a real esteem for the poor fellow,
who in many ways had the heart of a
child. But the excitement of the whole affair
proved too much for his organically diseased
heart, and that night he nearly died.
“His steward came in to tell me that he
feared his master was moribund, so I got a
Spanish surgeon and we worked over him
throughout the night. It was several days
before he was out of immediate danger, and
then there came a typhoon, and his captain
wished to put to sea to ride it out. The yacht
took the gale like a gull, but altogether it was
two weeks before the Count was fit to proceed
on the quest of his errant wife.
“We left Jolo early in the morning, and
when I awoke the next day we were lying off
Port Isabella. I took the gig and went ashore,
leaving the Count taking digitalis and almost
.bn 198.png
.pn +1
in a syncope. I was firm in refusing to allow
him to land, and, to tell the truth, I did not
much expect to find the couple. Having found
the local padre, a Mestizo, I asked after the
fugitives.
“‘Yes,’ he said, ‘they were here, but they
have gone, blessed be the name of the Virgin!
A pair of devils—with apologies to the Señor
if he should be so unfortunate as to be a
friend. Myself, I believe them to be quite
mad. First they would quarrel, then they
would kiss—then they would quarrel again.
Never have I seen so many quarrels—nor so
much kissing,’ he added, thoughtfully.
“‘When did they leave?’ I asked.
“‘But three days ago; St. Christopher
grant that they do not return! He was a devil—a
white devil, this man—they were both
devils.’ He shuddered. ‘The kissings were
growing less and the quarrels more. The
night before they left she came flying to the
convent and begged for an asylum. I was
tempted, Señor, for she was very beautiful,
.bn 199.png
.pn +1
like the women of Paris, where I was educated,
and a poor priest grows weary of nothing
but native women—but I thought of this
purple-eyed devil and refused her sanctuary.
It was fortunate, for as we were discussing it
he came up and ordered her to return to the
house which they were occupying. I do not
know by what powers she cursed him, but it
must have been very terrible, for he seized
her by the shoulder and thrashed her with a
bamboo until she howled like a beaten
bitch.
“‘I have no doubt it did her a world of
good,’ I answered. In fact, Doctor, this was
the most cheering intelligence which I had
received. I began to believe that the Providence
which had ordered these things was not
unwise.
“‘The Señor is correct,’ replied the priest,
gravely, ‘for when I passed the house on the
way to mass they were on the verandah, and
she was crouching at his feet, with her head
upon his knee. There is nothing like a bamboo
.bn 200.png
.pn +1
shoot for a bad-tempered woman, no matter
how beautiful,’ he added, thoughtfully.
“I returned to the schooner and told the
Count I thought that we would find them in
Zamboanga; I told him also of the discipline
which his wife was under. He looked pensive.
“‘Perhaps it will do her no harm,’ said he.
‘She is strong as a young donkey, and it may
be well for her to lick the paint off her toy.’
“You see, Doctor, he did not love this
woman in any sense, conjugal or paternal.
He was grieved at her loss, as one might be
at the loss of a pretty and interesting pet—a
Persian cat—and he was determined to get
her back, no matter how large the reward he
was compelled to offer. When he got her he
might confine, but not punish her. Stewart
really was far the more practical of the two.
“Early the following morning we reached
Zamboanga, and hardly had the anchor
splashed when a boat from the shore shot
alongside, and, to my utter amazement whom
should I see in the stern but Stewart himself.
.bn 201.png
.pn +1
“The Count, who was below, sent word asking
him to descend, which he did, with a curt
salutation to me. He was a blackguard of
direct methods, was Stewart, employing the
weight of his vitality to project his purpose
and driving it to the mark with sheer physical
force; with him logic filled the place of imagination.
“He entered that cabin and confronted the
outraged husband precisely as if their relative
situations had been reversed—certainly
a cool hand, utterly fearless and indifferent
to possible redress.
“The Count regarded him mildly. I was
amazed at his composure.
“‘I suppose you are looking for your wife,’
said Stewart, bluntly.
“‘Monsieur is correct,’ replied the Count,
politely, but I saw a shadow cross his face.
It was evident that his sensitive nature found
the other’s manner offensive.
“‘Then I’ll fetch her back,’ said Stewart.
‘She won’t come without.’
.bn 202.png
.pn +1
“‘I am pained,’ murmured the Count,
gently, but I could see the pupils of his reddish-brown
eyes dilate. One could not conceive
of the man in a rage; yet he looked
quietly dangerous. ‘Is it that the Countess
fears my anger—my reproaches?’ His grizzled
eyebrows were lifted in concern.
“Stewart gave a laugh of such coarse brutality
that one longed to kick him.
“‘No,’ he said, contemptuously, ‘hardly!
I fancy she’s taken a bit of a liking to me.’
There was no braggadocio mixed with his
brutality, Doctor; in fact, he colored as he
said this and seemed embarrassed. I believe
that he was telling the truth.
“‘In that case,’ replied the Count, thoughtfully,
and his face resumed its former expression
of indulgence, ‘why do you not return
with her?’ He leaned back in his chair,
brought the tips of his fingers together, rested
his chin on the indices and looked cordially
at Stewart, who was staring at him in angry
bewilderment. ‘You have been acting under
.bn 203.png
.pn +1
a misconception, Mr. Stewart. I find you
agreeable; you have done much to relieve my
ennui; besides this, you appear to be necessary
to the contentment of Madame the Countess.’
He was putting Stewart with the
servants, you see, Doctor, or lower. ‘Go
fetch the Countess,’ he continued, briskly,
‘and we will forget this folly; we will take
our dear friend Dr. Leyden to Singapore. If
it is that you cannot afford to lose the time
from your affairs, I will make you my secretary
at a salary of your own choosing.’
“Stewart for the moment was stricken
dumb, too utterly amazed to speak; then the
blood came pouring into his florid face and
his eyes narrowed to mere slits—and then I
grieve to say that all of his blackguardism
came ripping out. He cursed the Count, the
Countess, the schooner, himself; in fact, he
gave such an exhibition of savage and unbridled
rage as I have never seen before but
once. You see, Doctor, the man was sufficiently
intelligent to appreciate that he was
.bn 204.png
.pn +1
several very undesirable things—a scoundrel,
an ass, and an object, as it appeared to him,
of such utter contempt to this French nobleman
as to be quite beneath his resentment—and
he felt that when a man’s behavior
crawled beneath the contempt of a Frenchman
he was quite a way down! As Stewart
read it, and I wonder to this day if he was
right, he represented a toy to be purchased
for the amusement of a pet—a sort of sub-plaything.
“As all of this struck Stewart in a sort of
final, knockout insult he leaped up so suddenly
as to capsize his chair and rushed from the
cabin, a stream of curses standing out behind
him like the tail of a comet.
“I glanced at the Count to see how he had
stood the shock of the interview, and, would
you believe it, Doctor, his face wore the flush
of actual health and there was an entirely new
glow in the depths of his lustrous eyes. His
valet was standing at his elbow, and he leaned
back and said a quick word, which I did not
.bn 205.png
.pn +1
catch. The man slipped into the pantry and
I heard him skipping up the ladder to the
deck.
“The Count looked at me. ‘The canaille!’
he said. ‘I knew that he was theoretically a
scoundrel, but I did not suspect that he was
the low-bred pig which he has proved himself.
He once told me that his father was a
lord; if so, his mother must have been a fish-wife!...
Ah!’
“I sprang to my feet, for there came from
above the sounds of a most terrific struggle,
the impact of wicked blows, hoarse bellows of
rage; then there was a crash, followed by silence,
save for labored breathings.
“‘Sit down, Doctor, I beg of you!’ exclaimed
the Count, and there was a note of
apology in his voice. ‘It has seemed best to
me to detain this fellow until we are able to
obtain custody of the Countess. A deplorable
state of affairs’—he spread both hands palm
downward in front of him—‘but what is one to
do? Have I not offered this young man every
.bn 206.png
.pn +1
courtesy—every hospitality? Yet you have
heard his insults. Evidently he came aboard
because he was anxious to be rid of the Countess.’
(It is my private belief, Doctor, that
the scoundrel had some design of selling her
back to her husband.) ‘He has taxed my forbearance
excessively——’
“‘What shall you do with him?’ I inquired.
“He shrugged his shoulders and made a
wave of the hand. ‘I do not know—that is
immaterial; the important thing is to secure
my wife. Is it too much to ask you to go in
and look for her, my dear Doctor?’
“I went in, of course, but in the meantime
she had learned that Stewart had gone off to
the schooner, and, fearing violence for him at
the hands of her husband, she had gone out
herself. When I returned the situation was
interesting. Madame was confined to her
room in a state of frantic and screaming defiance;
Stewart was double-ironed in the lazarette,
and, although I did not see him again, I
learned afterwards that he had not been over
.bn 207.png
.pn +1
gently handled by the sailors, and the Count
was sipping absinthe in the saloon and listening
to the ravings of his wife with an expression
of amused indulgence.
“‘But listen to her, Doctor,’ he observed,
gently stroking his gray imperial. ‘Primitive
woman howling for her mate; Eve, haled back
from outer darkness, screaming to Adam,
whose admittance is denied. My faith! she
is more beautiful than ever—although,’ and
his brow clouded, ‘bearing the marks of ill
usage.’ He arose and began to slowly pace
the beam of the saloon; his scholarly face
seamed in thought, the lustre gone from his
eyes. It was evident that he was thinking
deeply. From the other side of the after
bulkhead came the short, angry sobs of the
Countess. He listened for an instant, and at
the sound of a sudden little snarl of rage he
slowly shook his head and smiled.
“‘Interesting, Doctor, is it not? It would
be beautiful in a way, primevally beautiful—an
idyll of the callow world when the rocks
.bn 208.png
.pn +1
were jagged like molten lead thrown into
water, the vegetation chiefly fungoid, and it
was necessary to clip the wings of one’s
horned cattle. But for the man—he is a late,
mongrel, low-grade production, with merely
a few primitive impulses.’ He paused to ponder.
Madame’s sobs continued rhythmically,
broken now and then by a little ‘gr’r’r’—pure
rage—the sounds which babies make when
too angry to scream.
“‘Oh, these children—it is hard to know
what course to take.’ The Count turned to
me in his perplexity. ‘As far as this man is
concerned, I suppose that the best thing would
be to give him a good flogging and let him
go—eh, Doctor?’
“‘A flogging!’ I echoed, with a sort of horror.
“‘Why not? He is not a gentleman. He
has endangered my life, which I forgive; he
has seduced my wife, for which I make due
allowance; he has insulted me to my face, for
which I do not bear malice; but—he is canaille,
.bn 209.png
.pn +1
which makes it impossible for him to
do all of these things which one might forgive
in a gentleman. He uses the wrong sort of
profanity; he chastises his mistress with his
fists instead of his wit; he forgets his dignity
before my servants; when disarmed he disgorged
a knife—and he an Englishman!
Br’r’rgh! he is a nauseous animal. Let him
have a few lashes and be set ashore.’
“Perhaps I was wrong, Doctor, but I could
not forget the rascal’s care of me when I was
ill. I told the Count flatly that I would not
permit it, and when he proved obstinate told
him outright that to flog Stewart he would
first have to use violence towards me. He
broke down and wept at the bare suggestion
of this, commemorated my treatment and care
of him when he was ill, and then embraced me
and swore that he loved me like a brother, and
in the same breath gave orders that Stewart
be immediately set ashore, with no further
ill-treatment.
“Stewart was accordingly landed and went
.bn 210.png
.pn +1
his way in peace. The Countess got over her
fit of temper in about an hour, ate a hearty
dinner, drank several glasses of champagne,
cheered up, and when I retired she was sitting
on the arm of her husband’s chair and, assured
of his unqualified forgiveness, was relating
her adventure, while he chuckled to
himself like a mischievous school-boy.
“The savage was back on the reservation;
glad to be there; fed, forgiven, petted and
quite content to be good—until the next
time.”
.bn 211.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch06
TWO GENTLEMEN
.sp 2
.di dc-l.jpg 100 100 1.5
“LOOK at that cat, Doctor,” said
Leyden, “but do not let her see
that you are looking. There!—did
you see the beast crouch,
and glance at us, and then
begin to wash its face?”
I glanced at the ship’s cat—an interesting
beast, as are most ship’s cats, either because
one has more time to study their actions, or
because a limited sphere develops the animal’s
ingenuity. Some one had brought
aboard a tulu-pial bird and hung its cage over
the hand steering-gear, where the pineapples
are strung out to ripen. The cat had lost no
time in locating the bird and was busy measuring
distances when we interrupted.
“That cat,” said Leyden, “would be typified
by a sneak-thief among men. Do you
know, Doctor, I believe that domestic animals,
.bn 212.png
.pn +1
like men, have their grades of honesty. Have
you not seen a finely bred dog of high courage
subdue an animal impulse which he feels to be
degrading?”
I had observed this thing, but, seeing that
the subject had suggested something to Leyden’s
mind, I merely nodded. Few men had
looked as deeply into the nature of all things
made as had this keen-sensed Teuton collector,
who seemed equally at home in any
part of the civilized or savage world. He had
at times played the same quiet, modest part
in the founding of empires as in the advancement
of science; his friends were to be found
from the palm tree to the palace, and I fear
that a great many of his enemies were dead.
“I had once an occasion to watch a striking
case of noblesse oblige in an animal,” Leyden
continued. “I would not tell the story if it
were a simple animal yarn, as such tales are,
as a rule, tiresome and untruthful. This story
concerns people, principally, but as those
upon whom it reflects discreditably are dead—with
.bn 213.png
.pn +1
certain others—there is no reason why
it should not be told.
“This was a good many years ago, Doctor,
when the steamer transportation in the Pacific
was less efficient than to-day. I had engaged
passage from ‘Frisco to Samoa on a
schooner which was owned and captained by
the son of one of those early blackguards who
used to land their crews upon an island full
of harmless cannibals, show them the way of
civilization, demonstrate the wickedness of
their present lives, and then go off and leave
them to infect each other with constitutional
disease in the place of eating one another.
I hope there is an interesting corner of hell
reserved for all such! Our captain, whose
name was Deshay, was the frequent handsome
outcrop of a vicious sire; his father had
eloped with his mother, who was the half-caste
wife of a missionary in the Marquesas
and one of the most beautiful women I ever
saw. Later, Deshay, senior, had made a good
bit of money in the island trade, sent his son
.bn 214.png
.pn +1
to England to be educated, and while the boy
was there the parents had been lost in a typhoon.
“When I went down to the schooner on the
morning of her sailing date I found aboard
her a young man of very pleasing appearance,
who introduced himself as Claud Dillingham
and told me that we were to be shipmates.
“‘You are related to Claud Dillingham,
the owner of the Great Bear Mine?’ I asked.
This Dillingham was a Virginia gentleman,
who had made a great fortune in mining
claims, and was at that time the richest man
on ‘the Slope.’
“‘I am his son,’ said he; and as he was
speaking, a magnificent bloodhound walked
from behind the house, his fine, velvety head
raised, the delicate nostrils twitching and the
dreamy, half-closed eyes reinforcing the more
potent sense of smell.
“‘What a magnificent animal!’ said I.
“‘Yes,’ he answered. ‘I am taking him
with me; he is so intelligent that he soon accustoms
.bn 215.png
.pn +1
himself to new surroundings; besides,
he would die if I left him behind.’
“I remarked that I had heard of dogs being
devoted to their masters to that extent. There
was no skepticism in my voice, but he was so
sensitive that he flushed like a girl.
“‘I speak from experience,’ said he, quickly.
‘I once left him for a fortnight and then
had to return, as they wrote me that he had
not eaten since I left. When I got back he
was as thin as a coyote. I always took him
with me after that.’
“We talked together for a little while, and
it did not take me long to discover that the
master was as thoroughbred as the hound;
in fact, he impressed one as a trifle too finely
bred—inbred, possibly. He was too delicately
charming—six feet in height, gracefully
and slenderly built, very fair, with the
pure complexion and blue eyes of a very
pretty girl. I almost laughed when he presently
confided in me that he was taking the
voyage in the hope of overcoming the liquor
.bn 216.png
.pn +1
habit. I suspected that there was a girl in
the case—that Claud was in love and had conceived
that he was in danger of becoming addicted
to the vice because he sometimes drank
a glass of beer when in college.
“As we were chatting together the hound
walked suddenly to me and raised his handsome
head as if inviting a caress.
“‘That is unusual,’ said Claud. ‘His reception
of people is often embarrassing. He
will not go near Captain Deshay. He is too
polite to growl; he simply gets out of the way,
but he can’t keep his hair from bristling a
little.’
“I asked Claud presently if he had met the
mate, and he said that he had not, that he
had not even seen him, which I thought rather
singular. Claud told me that we had another
fellow-passenger, a Professor Lentz, a scientist,
not a mere collector like myself. He
added that Professor Lentz was below, engaged
in storing a wagon-load of instruments
for recording everything from a falling star
.bn 217.png
.pn +1
to his last bottle of beer. A little while later
I met him, and he proved to be a genial, if
somewhat secretive, old crank, who apparently
had some complex theory regarding
ocean currents which he was afraid that some
of us might try to steal.
“Captain Deshay came aboard at noon,
and with him came a squat, heavily bearded
individual, who proved to be the mate. Deshay
himself was a well-educated man, of
very finished manners and strikingly handsome
in a rather animal way. The casual
observer would have described his face as
strong, but it was not—it was well-featured;
but he had a lumpish jaw, which is different
from a masterful jaw, and his eyes were petulant
rather than determined. His manner was
inclined to be loud, authoritative and with a
coarse bonhomie always repellant to me. The
most assertive thing about him was a big
voice, and a big voice is scarcely ever associated
with cold-blooded courage; it belongs
to the blustering, bullying kind.
.bn 218.png
.pn +1
“It was at once evident to me that Deshay
was very nervous about something; we were
anchored half a mile out, and I noticed that
he frequently scanned the water-front while
getting under way. His crew appeared to be
the scrapings of the wharves, a sulky-looking
lot of ragamuffins, but Deshay seemed to
have them well in hand.
“As the weather had been cold and raw, we
three passengers went below, and as soon as
we got under way Deshay left the deck to his
mate and joined us. He called at once for
spirits and the steward brought whiskey. I
noticed an expression of surprised resentment
in Claud’s face at this proceeding; it
appears that Deshay had given him to understand
that he did not drink himself and that
he did not expect any other passengers, and
therefore he might never be subjected to
temptation. I was not aware of this at the
time; nevertheless, I knew that there was a
struggle going on. You are aware, Doctor,
of the faculty possessed by certain people of
.bn 219.png
.pn +1
placing themselves in a condition receptive
to the more potent impulses of another; it is
an inherent faculty, but can by training be
developed to an amazing extent—a faculty
with which women are more generously endowed
than men, but in most cases a woman
possessing this will depend upon it to the exclusion
of logic; more than that, she abuses it,
overworks it, lazily attempts to make it do
the work of her mind to a point where it is no
longer accurate, hence a negative benefit. A
diplomat must possess it; the best diplomats
develop it, just as a great musician of rich
natural talent must develop this by years of
arduous practice; perhaps an explorer or collector
like myself may possess it even most of
all, because he must be a trained observer,
which enables him to buttress the psychic and
the mental with a precise faculty for grasping
subtle physical signs.
“Therefore, Doctor, in the brief moment
in which the whiskey was brought I knew that
Claud felt himself to be tricked, and I was
.bn 220.png
.pn +1
curious to see what he would do about it, because,
in spite of his effeminacy, my instinct
told me that he was not weak. The whiskey
was set upon the table. Lentz helped himself;
I did likewise, and as I did so I heard Claud’s
feet scuffle a trifle on the rug, and knew that
his impulse was to arise and leave the table.
I knew that he was staring indignantly at
Deshay; there was a reflection of this look in
the lurking gleam of contempt in Deshay’s
dark eyes and the sardonic lines at the corners
of his mouth, and when he spoke, in the
pleasantest voice which one can conceive, the
words and the expression which accompanied
them was the drop in excess needed to crystallize
the solution of my dislike and distrust
of Deshay.
“‘Oh, come, Dillingham,’ said he, lightly,
‘we all know that you’re on a swear-off, but
just a glass for bon voyage will do you no
harm. Once we’re under way you can settle
down to a life of undiluted virtue—say when.’
“He reached across the table, decanter in
.bn 221.png
.pn +1
hand, and began to pour the liquor slowly into
Claud’s glass, while I with difficulty repressed
an inclination to knock the vessel out of his
hand—not that I laid much importance on
Claud’s breaking his resolution, but because
he was in danger of breaking it not through
his own will, and I knew that if he sagged at
this moment he would have an up-hill fight
to get back his own while aboard that schooner,
and the agonizing part of it all to me
was that Deshay was not a strong character;
he was a pine post painted to look like granite,
and Claud had not enough knowledge of
men to recognize the paint.
“‘No, thank you, Captain,’ said Claud, in
a voice of such weak determination that it
positively brought the blood to my face. ‘I’m
off for good,’ he said, and threw the inflection
on the wrong words, as a man will when trying
to show a determination which is lacking
in him.
“‘Of course you are,’ said Deshay, in a big,
good-humored voice which seemed to jar the
.bn 222.png
.pn +1
glasses, ‘but the swear-off starts with the voyage,
and a voyage out of ‘Frisco is not begun
until you get through the Golden Gate. Come,
now, matey, just one to bring us fair winds.’
One cannot describe the large persuasion of
his tone.
“‘Really, I’d rather not,’ replied Claud,
with a school-boy squirm. It was a beastly
spectacle, Doctor—an immoral spectacle; had
Deshay been overcoming the scruples of a
woman it would have been less offensive, because
such an act is prompted by animal impulse,
whereas this was purely Satanic—the
violation of an unproved entity. I was
strongly tempted to interfere, but many years
of contact with all sorts of people have so
confirmed me in the habit of minding my own
business that very often I do not interfere
when perhaps I should.
“‘Oh, nonsense,’ said Deshay, and there
was in his full voice the slightest hint of the
imperative, and his eyes, as they fixed themselves
on Claud, were insolently authoritative.
.bn 223.png
.pn +1
If he had looked at me in that way I
should have planted my fist in his face; with
Claud I think that it was less lack of will than
the obedience of a hyper-sensitive mind to a
dominant suggestion. At any rate, Deshay
poured out some Scotch and added some
water, and Claud raised the glass, drained it,
then sprang suddenly to his feet and left the
saloon, nor did I see him again until dinner-time,
and, Doctor, I knew that from that moment
this brute Deshay, whom I correctly estimated
as a creature of animal cunning, utter
lack of principle and an amazing effrontery
substituting strength, had one of his coarse,
clumsy paws on the gold bags of Claud Dillingham,
senior, and, barring accident, would
squeeze out many a yellow coin before he allowed
the son to escape from his clutches. Do
not misunderstand me, Doctor; this free-booter
was simply after gold.
“The following morning I happened to be
talking with Deshay, for at sea dislike of a
shipmate is no reason for not getting what
.bn 224.png
.pn +1
entertainment there is in him, and while we
were talking Claud came up and requested a
few words with him.
“‘Anything personal?’ I asked. Claud
hesitated for a moment, apparently embarrassed.
“‘Oh, no,’ said he, and went on, stammering
like a school-boy who had forgotten his
recitation. ‘You see, Doctor Leyden,’ said
he, ‘when I engaged my passage I was afraid
that I might be seasick, so I made an arrangement
with Captain Deshay by which he was
to drop me at Honolulu if I wished it. He—he—told
me that there were to be no other
passengers.’”
“‘But you are not seasick, are you?’ said I.
“‘No,’ he answered, ‘but I am—I am—I
am homesick.’ Upon my word, he gulped like
a little girl the first day in school and his blue
eyes filled with tears; he could not have been
under twenty years of age.
“‘I do not think that you have dealt quite
fairly with me, Captain,’ said he, in a voice
.bn 225.png
.pn +1
which he tried to make cold and assertive, but
would have been only contemptible if one had
not been sorry for him—and then as he looked
at our faces and saw scant sympathy in
either, he crumbled.
“‘To tell the truth, Captain,’ he continued,
with a rather nervous laugh, ‘I’m afraid that
I’ve lost my nerve; I’m sick of the voyage already
and want to get back home. Of course,
I’ll defray any additional expense due to taking
you out of your course,’ he concluded,
with a sort of shy eagerness.
“‘Oh, come, old fellow,’ said Deshay, coaxingly,
and clapped him on the shoulder. ‘The
first twenty-four hours——’
“‘Look out for your dog!’ I cried suddenly,
for as Deshay’s hand fell upon Claud’s shoulder
I had happened to glance at Dixie. The
dog was standing quietly enough at his master’s
heel, and at Deshay’s action had made
none of the usual canine expressions of displeasure,
and it was this absence which made
him so alarming, for as I glanced at his great,
.bn 226.png
.pn +1
dark, intelligent eye it seemed filled with such
a smouldering, slumbering intensity of hate
that it gave me a positive start. The fine,
silky hair was not even ruffled, there was not
the slightest twitch to the velvet lips, but I
could see that every muscle of the beautifully
moulded body was tense as our weather
shrouds and there was a fine quiver to the
strong flanks. Have you ever, Doctor, closely
watched a woman who is married to a man
she hates, loathes, despises, as her husband
enters the room? Perhaps he is a plausible
brute who only shows the cloven hoof after
he has shot the bolt of her bedroom door; no
one else may guess it unless one watches the
wife. The dilatation of the pupil, the faintest
quiver of the nostrils, the little shiver—Dixie
had all of these, but, as Claud
had said, he was too self-contained, too
much of a gentleman, to further reveal his
emotions.
“I could see Claud shrivel at Deshay’s familiarity.
One guessed that he longed to
.bn 227.png
.pn +1
throw off the man’s hand, which still clutched
his shoulder good-humoredly, but he was too
sensitive, too fearful of giving offense, not
through any liking for the man, but because
it seemed gauche, boorish, and would fill the
air with a sort of rough impulse, shocking to
his fine sensitiveness. No doubt he had suffered
at times from rebuffs to his own timid
advances, and had not enough knowledge of
the world and men to keep from putting a
coarse, thick-skinned brute like Deshay in his
own class of emotions.
“His class—ach! the nervous sensibilities
of those two were about as similar as
those of a Kentucky thoroughbred and a Galapagos
turtle! There are some men who can
never get it through their heads that the only
way to hurt another man’s feelings is with a
club.
“When I spoke, Claud glanced down at
Dixie, and he saw the danger in the animal’s
eyes, to which Deshay was quite blind.
“‘Dixie!’ said Claud, reprovingly; that
.bn 228.png
.pn +1
was all, but Dixie understood and his beautiful
head dropped contritely.
“‘Oh, Dixie’s all right,’ said Deshay, carelessly,
and, will you believe it, he swung down
and took the dog’s two forepaws, raised him
up on his hind legs, while he pulled his ears
playfully, and, taking the sensitive muzzle in
his coarse hand, shook it back and forth! Ach!
I have never been so overcome with admiration
for the self-control of any living creature
as I was for its amazing exhibition by that
bloodhound! One saw him shudder, half close
his eyes, as if in a disgust too deep for any
expression. I really believe, Doctor, that the
dog and master were at the psychological instant
of Deshay’s caress possessed of precisely
the same emotions. Do you know, I believe
that the hound accepted the human animal’s
familiarity less through discipline than
a high-minded sense of courtesy which forbade
his rejecting overtures which had the
semblance of good will, for at first Deshay
actually liked Dixie, and was unable to see
.bn 229.png
.pn +1
that the dog had loathed him from the
start.
“Deshay turned to Claud. ‘There’s a good
chap,’ he said; ‘you don’t mind sticking it out
to Samoa, do you, now?’
“‘I’m sorry,’ began Claud.
“‘Oh, come,’ said Deshay, and again there
was in his voice that imperative note which
had struck me so unpleasantly the day before.
‘You can’t tell yet whether you’re going to
like the cruise or not; you will begin to enjoy
it in a couple of days—you know you will.’
He fastened his lustrous eyes fixedly on the
seraphic blue ones of the boy. ‘You know
you will like it—don’t you, now?’ There was
in his voice a peremptory assertion.
“‘Perhaps you are right,’ said Claud, and
looked over the rail.
“‘Of course I am right,’ said Deshay,
loudly, and clapped him on the shoulder
again. ‘Now, let’s have a drink to show
there’s no hard feeling. Steward!’ he bellowed
down the companionway.
.bn 230.png
.pn +1
“‘But, look here, Captain,’ said Claud,
feebly, ‘you seem to forget that I’ve given up
drinking.’
“‘Not a bit of it,’ said Deshay, ‘but there’s
a big difference between a man’s giving up
drinking and a man’s never taking a drink.
If you only drink at my suggestion you’ll
never come to any harm. Will you join us,
Leyden?’
“‘No, thanks,’ I answered.
“‘Oh, yes, you will,’ said Deshay, in his
large way.
“I shrugged my shoulders and, turning on
my heel, walked aft. To tell the truth, Doctor,
although I am a mild-mannered man who will
make a very great detour to avoid a quarrel,
I think that just at that moment——”
Eight bells were struck forward, and Leyden
paused to hold the stump of his cigar to
the dial of the taffrail-log.
“A little more than ten,” he muttered;
“that schooner did better for days on end!”
He drummed softly with his fingers until I
.bn 231.png
.pn +1
grew irritated at his abstraction, which emotion
he perceived, for he flicked the stump of
his cigar into the wake and resumed.
“Doctor, have you ever witnessed the spectacle
of a strong will and high courage becoming
completely and utterly dominated, less
through lack of strength than excess of imagination,
by a creature of far inferior qualities,
but overwhelming impudence? These are the
conditions which often give the bully his
amazing autocracy; his victims are auto-hypnotized
by the sheer impudence of his assertions,
until some day the bubble is pricked by
an individual more practical and less imaginative
and the reign of terror is at an end.
In a week’s time Deshay had Claud, and
Dixie, too, for that matter, as entirely cowed
and subjugated as if he had broken their
spirits with a cat-o’-nine-tails, and the harrowing
part of it was that, in spite of their
high degree of sensitiveness, neither the dog
nor the master were weak. I had studied
Claud and felt his underlying force; he was
.bn 232.png
.pn +1
of that high-bred, nervous type, vacillating
in little things, but, deeper, of the resistance
of chilled steel; like the bulkheads in the
ward-room of a battle-ship, white and gold
on the surface, but able to stand the pressure
of hundreds of tons. If the petty aggressions
of Deshay had all been combined into a solid
weight, requiring a forceful resistance, he
could no more have held Claud than he could
have held a handful of guncotton detonated
in his clenched fist; that is, he could not have
done so at first, and his animal cunning told
him this, so that he began by accustoming his
victim to yield in minor matters until he had
given him the yielding habit; but as I watched
the whole thing I was convinced that Deshay
was too crude a production and too lacking
in finesse to continue his course successfully,
and I awaited the denouement with interest.
Deshay had already shown his lack of cleverness
by not taking the trouble to conceal the
aversion that he had come to feel for Dixie,
and the silent hate of the dog for him was a
.bn 233.png
.pn +1
thing as extraordinary to contemplate as the
animal’s marvellous dignity and self-control.
Deshay had come to openly maltreat him, but
not as yet in Claud’s presence; he maltreated
him once in mine, and only once, for I said a
few words to him, at which he stared into my
eyes and first blustered and then laughed and
then went out with a sizzle—and we understood
one another perfectly. On this occasion
he had kicked the dog across the deck because
the poor brute had placed both paws on the
polished teak rail in a longing effort to discover
land, and the dog had neither yelped nor
growled nor become abject; he had simply
walked away, albeit with a slight limp, but
without the drooping tail and other signs of
canine dejection. Perhaps you have seen a
gentleman, Doctor, a fearless man, avoid a
quarrel thrust upon him by a low fellow, and
avoid it quietly and without loss of dignity.
This was Dixie’s behavior.
“We were not a pleasant party on that
schooner. I had come to detest Deshay, and
.bn 234.png
.pn +1
he knew it; Lentz would no longer speak to
him; the old fellow simply grunted when Deshay
addressed him, as if he considered the
captain a swine and able to understand the
language. Claud did not hate him; he simply
loathed him, and yet was dominated by him,
and the same was true of Dixie. The air was
heavily pregnant with possibilities, and, Doctor,
when the denouement finally arrived it
was as funny as the grin on the face of a
corpse. Who do you suppose it was that
pulled out the boat-plug? Why, none other
than that black-browed humorist of a mate,
who was, it seems, a murderer escaped from
the Santa Clara county jail, and who had paid
Deshay a good price for his billet.
“We were down in the neighborhood of
Christmas Island, when we cut in close to
some other little island; to this day I don’t
know what it was. Our course would trim it
close, so at Deshay’s suggestion we hove to
and he and Lentz and Claud, Dixie and myself
went in with two sailors to pull the boat. Possibly
.bn 235.png
.pn +1
it was his plan to get Lentz and me
ashore and leave us there, but he never had
the chance, for no sooner had we struck the
beach than Mister Mate up with his headsails,
up stick and away!
“I must have a bizarre sense of humor, for
I will confess that I dropped in a heap on
the sand and laughed until the tears came.
It was such a tremendous joke on the lot of
us—especially upon Deshay.
“Deshay was like a crazy man; he tore up
and down the beach and shook his fists and
raved until his face was blue. He was an edifying
sight, and we white people sat in a little
row in our proscenium box and admired the
exhibition. You see, he was three-quarters
white, and that gave him imagination; but
the other quarter, which should have been
self-control, was Kanaka, and that knocked
up the pawls and let his line run off the reel,
so to speak.
“We were really badly off, Doctor; the
island was very small and offered no food
.bn 236.png
.pn +1
that we could see. There was a small cluster of
dwarfed palms, and they bore a few immature
nuts; aside from these trees there was no
shelter. We had not even a boat-sail. Fortunately
there was water on this island—brackish,
but potable.
“Deshay pulled himself together after a
while, but he was savage and morose.
I managed to get out of him the pleasing news
that the next island was over one hundred
miles distant, and probably no better than
the one which we were on. Fancy our condition,
Doctor!—our utter lack of everything
but bad feeling. All of us, including the two
sailors who had pulled the boat, hated Deshay;
Deshay returned the sentiment; the two
sailors, with their mates, had from the first
been insolent to Claud, of whom they said
rough things owing to his subjugation by
Deshay; and on this, as well as from personal
causes, both Lentz and I had more than once
fallen foul of them. Within the last fortnight
the tedium of the voyage had begun to tell
.bn 237.png
.pn +1
upon Lentz, and the old fellow had grown
peevish and sulky; both of us had incurred
Deshay’s dislike by having very little to say
to him. Conceive, then, the delights of the
first few days of hardship with such a company.
“It was, I believe, the morning of the third
day that I was awakened by hearing Deshay
cry out: ‘Where’s that cursed dog?’ I rolled
over and saw that he held in his hand one of
the heavy oak stretchers of the boat and was
looking savagely about him. Near by sat
Claud, his face in his hands.
“Deshay snarled out: ‘Where’s that dog,
you droolin’ baby?’
“Claud mumbled something, without looking
up, and then I heard him say: ‘We haven’t
come to that—yet,’ and he said it with a
groan, and I could see his face working painfully.
‘Deshay walked toward him, talking as he
went. He said: ‘You’ll see if we haven’t
when I find the cur, you chicken-livered little
.bn 238.png
.pn +1
milksop!’ and at that moment there came
from up the beach a musical bay which tolled
out like a church-bell and died lingeringly
away, to be drowned in the crash of the breakers;
again this mournful note welled forth,
rising like the voice of a bell-buoy above the
roar of the surf, and this time it ended in a
series of short, excited barks—such a bark as
a hound gives when he has ‘treed.’
“Claud sprang to his feet. ‘He’s found
something!’ he cried, and began to run down
the beach. Deshay and I followed, and soon
we came upon Dixie, who was very carefully
uncovering a nest of new-laid turtle’s eggs.
“Deshay was for eating his fill then and
there, but this I would not permit, so we
gathered them up and carried them back
to the others, where we proceeded to divide
them.
“‘Give Dixie his share,’ said I to Deshay,
who had undertaken the division.
“‘Give Dixie nothin’,’ he snarled back at
me. And then he added: ‘Why, you Dutch
.bn 239.png
.pn +1
fat-head, d’ye think I’m goin’ to give good
food to a dog?’
“He had carelessly dropped the boat-stretcher
beside him, and before he could lay
down the eggs it was in my hand. There is
an etiquette, Doctor, to be observed even upon
a desert island, and if Lentz had not grasped
the other end of the stick I fancy that Dixie
could have had Deshay’s share.
“‘Ve must not qvarrel,’ said Lentz; ‘ve haf
troobles enough alretty. Der hound found
der eggs; gif him von or two.’
“Deshay growled, but I had frightened
him, and he did as he was told, giving Dixie
two of the eggs. The dog ate one of them, the
other he carried to Claud; I saw Claud give
it to Deshay.
“For ten days this thing went on. Every
day or two Dixie would find a nest of eggs,
but at the end of that time he could find no
more, and after two days of hunger Deshay,
backed by one of the sailors, demanded
that he be killed. We were all fairly
.bn 240.png
.pn +1
weak by this time, Deshay being perhaps
the strongest, because Claud had shared
his own and the hound’s food with him in
the hope of prolonging the dog’s life. In
spite of this the lad held up wonderfully,
sustained by his marvellous nervous
vitality.
“‘It seems to me that Dixie has earned his
right to live,’ said Claud, the tears streaming
from his eyes. ‘He has already fed us for ten
days; but if you all demand that he—be
killed—I will not oppose it!’ He buried his
face in his hands.
“‘Guess you won’t!’ growled Deshay. ‘We
do demand it——’
“‘Speak for yourself, you mongrel swine!’
said I, and added that I would starve before
I would kill the hound or eat him, either. You
see, Doctor, to my way of thinking Dixie had
purchased the human right to die decently,
like the brave, unselfish gentleman he was.
Besides, he had the cleanest soul of any, save,
perhaps, his master. What right had we to
.bn 241.png
.pn +1
prolong our lives at the cost of his? Lentz
felt this.
“‘I von’t eat him,’ he said; ‘he is vort
more as me.’
“‘Ah, what’s the use o’ killin’ ’im?’ said
one of the sailors, a hard specimen whom Deshay
had picked up on the ‘Barbary Coast.’
‘Dawg ‘r no dawg, we’re all goin’ up the
flue. The quicker the sooner, say I.’
“‘The other sailor agreed with Deshay, who
pulled out his knife and sidled toward the
hound. If my strength had been equal to it
I would have opposed him, but a touch of
fever on top of other hardships had left me
as weak as a kitten. However, it was unnecessary.
“And then, Doctor, there began a strange
and savage spectacle. Dixie was by this time
a hide-wrapped skeleton, yet his strength
seemed in no way impaired. He was asleep
by his master’s side, but at the stealthy approach
of Deshay he seemed to slide away—as
one drags a rug across a floor. Deshay
.bn 242.png
.pn +1
continued to approach—at an angle—craftily,
and still the hound slid away in that peculiar
manner, his lustrous brown eyes fastened
on the man in an agony of doubt and dread,
which seemed to partly paralyze his movements.
Deshay began to wheedle, to whine,
to talk ‘baby-talk’ of the ‘nice-doggy’ type,
and he actually hid the knife as he might if
about to murder a man instead of a dog! Such
a spectacle, my friend! this gaunt, savage,
bloodshot, hairy, human animal, far more of a
beast in all effect than the sad-eyed dog who
had for days prolonged his worthless life—this
bloodthirsty, literally bloodthirsty human
hyena, crazed at feeling his wretched life
slipping through his weakening grip, slinking
along that beach in the bright, dewy
morning, talking baby talk to the hound—making
a disgusting exhibition of his craven
soul, when he might have been waiting for
death with the dignity of a gentleman!
“Still he slunk—and the dog slunk before
him, his hair bristling less in fear than disgust,
.bn 243.png
.pn +1
certainly not in anger, for of this emotion
there was no trace in the quiver of a lip,
the echo of a growl, nor in the gleam of the
beautiful, lustrous eyes. Rather it was a
sense of deepest shame—a shame for his master’s
race!
“And then the brute in the man tore
through the thin envelope; he screamed like
a cat and threw himself at the dog, only to
sprawl his length on the sand. He sprang to
his feet and ran braying at the animal, who
fled down the beach as silently and with the
even interval of the man’s own sinister
shadow, until Deshay, his strength utterly
gone, fell face downward on the sand, screaming
obscenities. Ach! never have I seen a
thing more disgusting.
“‘Dixie will take care of himself,’ said I
to Claud. ‘He will not be caught napping.’
“From that time, Doctor, there began a
series of psychological phenomena of which
I was more appreciative afterwards. Up to
the moment of this shocking outburst of Deshay,
.bn 244.png
.pn +1
Claud had been in all ways subservient,
but as he looked upon the contour of this
man’s naked soul and saw its hideously
dwarfed deformity I observed a peculiar expression
on his face. I think that he was feeling
Deshay’s shame as if it had been his own—not
through any charity, but through sympathy,
which is such an entirely different
thing. You see, Doctor, Claud was one of
those hyper-sensitized natures which reflects
an emotion as a still lake reflects its bank: you
know the type—that which will listen to a
poorly given address with a sense of deepest
personal responsibility toward the speaker,
or will see some person in a conspicuous place
make a fool of himself and fairly writhe with
shame—as Dixie had done. And do you know,
I think that for the time the sentiments of
master and dog toward Deshay were identical;
the natures of the two were very similar;
and I can say no better thing of Claud than
this. They were two gentlemen, Doctor, gentlemen
by birth and breed and associations,
.bn 245.png
.pn +1
and they possessed the natural instincts which
result from generations of these things.
“Left to himself at just that moment, Claud
would, I believe, have attempted to condone
Deshay’s behavior and to go to the rescue of
his strangled decency, but it seemed to me that
the psychological moment had arrived for
placing matters in their due proportion. You
see, Doctor, I had about concluded that we
were all going to die, and I disliked the idea
of letting Claud die without the opportunity
of redeeming such manhood as he might possess,
and with this in mind I reached out and
dragged the veil rather roughly from his eyes.
“‘And to think,’ said I, ‘that yonder object
should be your master—you, a gentleman and
a white man!’
“Claud leaped as if I had lashed him across
the face.
“‘What!’ he cried. ‘What—what—what’s
that you say?’
“‘It seems to me to be plain enough,’ said
I. ‘Haven’t you kow-towed and groveled and
.bn 246.png
.pn +1
beat your forehead before that thing, and
broken your promise to stop drinking—to
whomever you made that promise—for fear
of that Kanaka thug out there?’
“Claud stared at me—stared like a baby—with
his mouth and his big blue eyes wide
open, and while he stared what little blood
was left in his wasted body found its way up
into his face; at last, it seemed to me, he was
ashamed on his own account. While he was
staring at me Deshay came up.
“‘Call your cur,’ he growled. I was vexed
that he interfered just when he did, as Claud
in his weakened state had not yet assimilated
the pre-digested idea which I had fed him. I
was scarcely normal at the time, Doctor; to
my mind, the whole thing mattered very little;
it was like one of those nightmares in
which one is sub-consciously aware that it is
really only a dream and acts with delightful
disregard of consequences. I thought of dying
as one thinks of waking up, and before waking
up I wanted to see Claud kill Deshay. I
.bn 247.png
.pn +1
knew that he could kill him if he wanted to,
for all of us had passed the physical limits
and were living upon our mentalities, and
Claud’s being so much more virile than Deshay’s,
he was just that much more alive;
yet Deshay was too stupid to discover this,
although I think that he must have felt it in
a way.
“‘Call your cur!’ he repeated, but this time
there was a change in his tone. It reminded
me of the voice in which Claud had attempted
to assert himself upon that first day aboard
the schooner, but in Deshay’s case this irresolution
was on his own account; subjective,
you see—not objective, like Claud’s.
“I noticed this and began to laugh, and
Deshay looked at me sheepishly. It was not
a pleasant laugh; one feels sorry, Doctor, for
a man who sacrifices his self-respect for the
sake of some one else, but one laughs as I did
at the man who does so for himself. This was
the proportion between Claud and Deshay,
and, although I found it amusing, I was nevertheless
.bn 248.png
.pn +1
grievously disappointed when I saw
that Deshay was subtle enough to feel his
side of the see-saw go down—for, as I have
said, I wanted to see Claud kill him before
any of us died.
“As it was, Claud simply ignored his demands—and
that was a little step toward preponderance.
You see, Doctor, the two were
dying men; we were all dying men. Deshay’s
investment was ultra-physical, and consequently
low; Claud’s was psychical, and although
he might not last any longer, or as
long, for that matter, he was all there as long
as he did last; he was either alive or dead,
not half-alive, like Deshay—and as the
springs of our lives ran low Deshay’s grew
muddy, while Claud’s was still clear and cold.
“The following morning Dixie again discovered
a nest of eggs. I do not wish to tax
your credulity, Doctor, and yet I will ask you
to believe that so nearly approached the types
of these two gentlemen that the sensibilities
predominant in Claud obtained in Dixie to
.bn 249.png
.pn +1
an extent where he, too, felt the fall of Deshay,
and when he had found the eggs and we
starving wretches shambled up to the cache,
Dixie, the fine, thoroughbred, peace-loving
aristocrat, stood over his find with bared
fangs and flashing eyes and allowed all to approach
but Deshay.
“Yet gentlemen do not press these things,
these matters of authority, as do your ruffians
who have cut a high card in the shuffle
of Fate—they accept them as a matter of
course—and so neither Claud nor Dixie emphasized
this occult change of balance, and as
the days passed Deshay, crass fool that he
was, lost sight of the fact that he had been
relegated with any other dejecta. He would
thrust in with surliness rather than ugliness,
according to the nature of the low-grade,
overthrown bully; but Claud and Dixie ignored
him, his two sailors grinned at him, old
Lentz blinked at him, and I, the mean average
of the lot, laughed at him and explained carefully
to him in how very many different sorts
.bn 250.png
.pn +1
of ways he was a fool, neglecting to help him
out. This was quite safe, for, although my
own mentality is of a fairly low grade, it was
still in excess of Deshay’s, and this fact gave
me the whip hand. I did not tell him too much,
as I still cherished hopes of seeing him killed.
“There came another season of starvation
in this epoch of famine and none of us had
anything to eat, and it was at this time that
Deshay began a systematic stalking of Dixie,
who was still a peace-lover and preferred,
when nothing of greater value than his own
life was at stake, to get out of the way. The
dog slept always at his master’s side, and,
although the nights were cool to men starved
and shelterless, Claud would never draw near
the fire, because he wished to avoid the propinquity
of Deshay. More than once I had
awakened from my light, fitful, fever sleep to
see this sneaking wretch creeping stealthily
on hands and knees toward the sleeping animal,
but with invariable result—Dixie would
slip silently away and Deshay would return
.bn 251.png
.pn +1
to the fire, cursing savagely. Often through
the day one would see him slyly maneuvering
to get within reach of his prey; and as our
starvation proceeded, this desire fastened
upon his famished brain with the force of an
insistent idea, until I really believe that he
was impelled less by his hunger than through
a sort of dementia. At times he would awake
with a sharp cry, spring to his feet and rush
at Dixie, who would lope away before him,
when Deshay would fall into a paroxysm of
rage. At these times Claud would turn away
with a shiver of disgust, Lentz would blink
rapidly, the two sailors would lie upon their
empty bellies and snigger, while I would
laugh.
“Yet all of this time Deshay had been encroaching
little by little upon Claud’s liberty,
for, you see, Doctor, he was one of those unimaginative
animals who require a clubbing
at certain intervals as a sort of tonic treatment.
Claud had utterly ignored him; he had
rubbed against the rest of us in little ways
.bn 252.png
.pn +1
and found himself of baser metal, but Claud,
like Dixie, had only avoided him, and this
avoidance he continued to misinterpret until
his confidence returned.
“It was after one of his frantic attempts
to catch Dixie that he sought to force the
issue. He turned suddenly and strode to
where Claud was lying on the sand, and at
the sight of his face the lad struggled to his
feet—while I sat and waited, for something
seemed to tell me that the time had come, and
I felt no fear of the result.
“‘Call your dog, you putty-face!’ snarled
Deshay. ‘Call your dog!‘—he thrust out his
matted jaw; ‘call him up where I can get my
hands on him!’ said he. He had put away his
knife and gripped the stretcher. ‘Call him
up, d’ye hear, or I’ll spatter your fool brains
all over the shop!’
“It was here that he struck the steel beneath
the fresco. Claud looked him over, carefully,
coolly, and, although their faces were almost
in contact, from such an infinite distance—and
.bn 253.png
.pn +1
then he spoke, in a voice which matched
his look, and at the chill of it Deshay drew
back.
“Claud half turned and pointed to the cluster
of palms. ‘Go over there,’ said he, very
quietly, ‘and see if you cannot die a little
more decently than you have lived.’ Words
fail to express the icy dignity of his tone. ‘It
is the only thing left for you,’ he continued,
and leaned slightly toward Deshay, looking
intently into his face, and at something in the
look Deshay drew back with a shiver. ‘There
is death in your eyes,’ said Claud; ‘I think
that you are going to die this very day’—and
then the bolt fell.
“Deshay, terrified, panic-struck at some
quality of the cold voice and the words and
the chill light of the eyes, staggered and
threw up one arm as if to ward a blow. There
was no suspicion of a threat in the gesture—no
intent—but Dixie, crouching at his master’s
side, read it differently. Before Deshay’s
arm began to descend the hound had
.bn 254.png
.pn +1
sprung. There was the shock of contact, gurgling
noises, convulsive forms heaving upon
the sand, the guttering sounds of—of—the
abattoir! I saw the snout of the hound
twisted sideways, the nose pushed comically
upwards, the full mouth in a grotesque grin.
Ah, what is more terrible, Doctor, than to see
something in human guise worried and throttled
by something in the guise of a brute
beast?”
Leyden walked to the rail, drummed upon
it with his fingers and spat several times into
the sea. One guessed that he felt with the
hound.
“Dixie sprang back,” he continued, his
face still from me; “he sprang back and stood
panting, salivating—as a dog does when for
the first and only time in his life he commits
the error of picking up a toad. Dixie was a
starving animal—you understand, Doctor—and
his mouth was full of blood, but he did
not want that blood—that human blood—nor
did he want a human life, to save his own.
.bn 255.png
.pn +1
He backed away, then leaned far forward—as
far as he could without stepping nearer,
and his delicate nostrils twitched at his work—where
his hold had been.
“Soon he turned and walked slowly down
to the water, waded out and swam seaward,
until all that I could see was the brown speck
of his head just entering the outer line of
surf; and then he disappeared, and it
seemed to me that there were other specks
about in the water; but I did not see much of
anything for a while. I heard Claud laughing
as if to kill himself, and apparently he did,
for the natives who found me said that he was
dead and one of the sailors was dead. The
other sailor, Lentz and myself hung on—the
sailor because he took advantage of what
Dixie would not do; Lentz, because his pulse
was slow, like a tortoise, and, like a camel, he
was able to live for a while on his reserve adipose;
and I, because the fever had banked my
fires so low that no food was required. Besides,
I am tough, and—will you please tell
.bn 256.png
.pn +1
me, Doctor, what in the devil ever possessed
me to tell such a villainous story? That cat?
Ach!—yes—p’st!—scat, you beast!”
I walked over and put a “sheep-shank” in
the lanyard on the cage of the tulu-pial bird,
and then the cat was unable to reach it.
.bn 257.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch07
THE BAMBOULA
.sp 2
.di dc-f.jpg 100 100 1.1
FROM the deck of the ship the night
seemed split into three zones of
darkness: the vague water, with
its elusive surface sheen; the
heavier murk of the land, which
was not black, but a deep tone of color impalpable
from lack of light; then the sky, which
was all that was left, and rested prone upon
the other two, with no intermediary separation.
I leaned on the rail and tried to pick out
the features of the land; a pale band of beach
crept out of the opacity, and it seemed to me
that I could see dark splotches where the
compèche was piled. Now and then a light
would spark out and disappear, in many cases
its swinging motion proving it to be a torch
carried in some black fist. A thin land breeze
had sprung up, and it brought off the scent
.bn 258.png
.pn +1
of the damp earth, whiffs of wood smoke, and
now and then the heavy fragrance of the
stephanotis. Deeper in the gloom tossing
hills threw their rough shoulders against the
opaque sky.
Suddenly, from a shadowy recess in the
black land there arose the steady beat of a
drum—a pulsing, cavernous sound, measured
in rhythmic time, neither loud nor fast; a patient
sound, yet a note impalpable in quality,
insistent and seeming like the throbbing
heart-beat of the savage island sleeping under
the black mantle of the night.
There came an alert step on the deck behind
me, and a throaty voice, with the hint of
a German accent, remarked at my shoulder:
“The bamboula!”
It was Dr. Leyden who spoke—a shipmate
whom I had met the day we both went aboard
at Demerara. He had just come down the
Essequibo, after three months’ orchid-hunting
in the bush; an interesting man, who was
by profession what one might call a “market-naturalist.”
.bn 259.png
.pn +1
By that I mean that he was one
of these not ultra-scientific collectors who can
tell a rare specimen when they see it and who
do the outdoor work of the “closet naturalist,”
in whose place they get the fever, and
to whom they are ready to sell fame at so
much per bone, or bug, or plant. He had been
everywhere, barring the populous communities,
and was at home with all primitive peoples.
“No, Doctor,” he said to me one day,
“I speak very few languages, no more than
nine or ten, but I am acquainted with a great
many dialects!” He could acquire an ordinary
savage dialect in about a month.
“What is it?” said I, in answer to his remark.
“A dance?”
“Perhaps—it sounds like it. There are but
few lights yonder in the village and there are
torches moving on the mountain-side. Wait—let
us see.”
Just below us a shore-boat was hanging to
the staging at the foot of the accommodation
ladder, waiting, no doubt, to take some visitors
.bn 260.png
.pn +1
ashore. Leyden called down to them in
Créole, asking if there was to be a dance that
night. One of the men replied somewhat sulkily
that there was not.
“A minute,” said Leyden, turning to me.
He slipped below, and directly I heard what
appeared to be the voice of a Haytian stevedore
coming from one of the freight-ports.
A boatman in the bow replied guardedly, and
for a few minutes there was a conversation in
low tones. Soon it ceased, and Leyden rejoined
me.
“There is to be a dance,” said he, “but it
is a small affair.”
“Was that you talking from below?” I
asked.
“Yes. I stood back in the shadow, and the
fellow thought that he was speaking with one
of the black gang. They do not like to discuss
the bamboula with leblancs.”
“Your imitation was extraordinary. If I
had not suspected what you were up to I could
have sworn that it was one of the Haytian
.bn 261.png
.pn +1
boatmen talking. You must have lived in this
country.”
“It was but three months, and that several
years ago. I came here to catch snails. There
was an experience—a thing odd and uneven.
It is possible that you would be interested—listen!”
He held up one hand.
From out of the illusive velvety depths that
marked the contours of the tumbling hills
came monotonously the “tom-tom-tom-tom-tom-tom-tom,”
now rising with the puff of
the land breeze, waning slightly, yet unvarying
as the swing of a pendulum. With it came
the night smells of flowers drenched in dew
and the mouldy reek of the tropic woods.
“Smell it!” said Leyden. He leaned both
elbows on the rail and dropped the butt of his
cigar into the black water, where it drowned
with a spiteful little hiss. “The ‘bamboula’—the
smell of the trees and the stephanotis—ach,
how it seems as if it were last night!
That bamboula, with its tom-tom-tom! First
it is quaint, then it is a nuisance, then irritating,
.bn 262.png
.pn +1
then fascinating, and last of all it maddens.
To think that such a people should have
learned the secret of repeated concussions on
a single group of brain-cells——”
“You have heard it before?” I interrupted,
for I knew all of this he was telling me and
wanted his story.
“Yes. It was when I was here five years
ago looking for snails. I was crossing on
a French boat, and the second day out I met
the Doctor and Madame Fouchère. He was
a Haytian, a marabout, an Adonis carved out
of jet, for you know that breed are of a type
magnificent and hold their fineness of skin
and feature far into advanced age. He was
an intelligent man, highly educated and
skilled in his profession. I learned afterwards
that he was the left-handed son of a
former President by a marabout woman—one
of the usual cases of placage of those high in
official circles. Fouchère had been educated
in France, and after talking with him for a
while one forgot that he was black; yet I will
.bn 263.png
.pn +1
confess to a sense of shock when he presented
me to Madame.
“She might easily have passed for pure
French. I fancy that I was the only person
aboard who could see the outcrop of African—or,
to be polite, Haytian. She was charming
in manner and appearance, inclined to be
fair, with blue eyes and that dusky blonde
hair which will defy any pedigree. Her face
was pretty, rather piquant, and her figure
svelte and full of grace. Altogether she was
most attractive and not lacking in a certain
chic, but there was a furtive expression about
her eyes like that which I have noticed in the
eyes of a trained lioness.
“I talked with the Fouchères many times
during the voyage, and learned that since
their marriage they had lived in Paris and
were returning to Hayti for the first time.
Madame, it appeared, although Haytian by
birth, had been sent to a convent school in
France when a mere child and had not visited
her native country since then.
.bn 264.png
.pn +1
“The day after our arrival in New York
we sailed for Hayti by the Dutch mail. By
this time I had grown to know them quite
well. A very decent fellow, Fouchère; different
from the average educated Haytian—but,
then, he was of quite a higher type. On parting
at Port-au-Prince he made me promise to
visit them before I left the island.”
Leyden paused and shifted his position,
leaning back against an awning stanchion and
hooking the fingers of one hand over the bolt-rope
above his head. The night had darkened,
for a heavy cloud-bank had drifted
across to shroud that part of the sky where
the late moon would rise. It welded to itself
the dim, broken outline of the mountain-tops
and gave to the sable contour of the land the
sinister aspect of looming almost to the zenith—and
all the while from somewhere just
beneath the surface came the hollow, rhythmic
beat of the bamboula.
“Enough to drive one loi,” muttered Leyden.
.bn 265.png
.pn +1
I heard a rustling from the shore-boat lying
at the staging. The crew were softly picking
up their oars.
“They are getting restless, those fellows
below. They cannot stand it long, this night
and that noise. Ho! they are shoving off
without their fares.” He leaned over the
rail and hailed the boatman in Créole.
“Ou ça v’aller?” he called, with a trace of
irony. They paid no attention.
“Attention, mon cher! Ou ça v’aller?” he
called, peremptorily.
“Ca ou dit!” growled one of the men, sulkily.
“Côté bamboula la?” called Leyden. They
began to row again, without answering, but it
seemed to me that I caught a mutter which
sounded like “nère vous écrasse!”
Leyden chuckled. “Like master, like man
in this savage country,” he remarked, absently.
“But I was telling you about Fouchère.
When I had got my snails and a beetle
or two I remembered my promise to Fouchère
.bn 266.png
.pn +1
and looked him up. He had a nice
place, for Hayti, up at La Coupe. I sent word
that I was coming the day before, and one of
his servants came down the mountain on
horseback with a note from Madame expressing
herself as charmed. I went up the following
forenoon. You know what the journey
is from Port-au-Prince to La Coupe: six miles
of steady upward strain by two emaciated,
dying ponies, along a road which the rains
have made the dry bed of a torrential cataract;
a half-wrecked surrey fastened together with
ropes, two of the wheels on the wrong side
before, the bush turning in the hub of one of
them and screaming like a soul in torment;
bad sights and bad smells at every hand, and
all about you scenery which seems almost as
divine as the Garden of Paradise.
“When finally I arrived, feeling like the
pea in a tin whistle, the Fouchères were awaiting
me; and when Madame led me through
the house to the verandah in the rear, whence
one got the full magnificence of the view of
.bn 267.png
.pn +1
the green valley stretching away to Port-au-Prince,
the sparkling blue of the bay, the
vivid green of the mountains rising behind
Bisoton, and far in the distance the cloud-capped
island of Gonave, I felt amply repaid
for the sun and the dust and other trials of
the trip up.
“Our dejeuner was very good, though, like
even the best in Hayti, falling just a little
short of being clean, and later in the day Dr.
Fouchère ordered his ponies saddled, and we
rode higher up the mountain to a point
whence we were able to enjoy a magnificent
view of the bay on one side and the big lakes
which form part of the geographical boundary
between Hayti and Santo Domingo on
the other.
“We dined at six, for the Haytians retire
early when they retire at all. After dinner,
as we sat upon the verandah with our cigars,
I became conscious of a certain lack of repose
on the part of both my host and hostess.
Madame was obviously making an effort to
.bn 268.png
.pn +1
be at ease, yet all of the time it seemed to me
that she was under a certain tension; alert,
expectant and a little restive—as one listens
for a summons—or fears that perhaps it may
have passed unobserved. Dr. Fouchère was
also distrait, and several times I noticed that
he turned his head sharply to one side, as if
striving to catch some hidden sound.
“It was such a night as this—dark, still,
partly clouded, but with stars and a late moon.
At times there would be a flare of lightning
in the south, but the five o’clock shower had
come and gone and there would be no more
rain. I was narrating an experience in Java,
and they appeared to be interested; then, as
I talked on, there came pulsing up from the
valley beneath the slow, measured beat of a
bamboula.
“I heard a rustle from the chaise-longue
occupied by Madame; the dull glow at the end
of Dr. Fouchère’s cigar blazed suddenly
bright, then died away again.
“I went on with my story, but all of the
.bn 269.png
.pn +1
time that wretched drum was sounding its
even, tireless beat, and, although a good way
off, there was something insistent about the
noise which refused to be ignored. As I talked
on, it began to set a time for my speech, and
I found myself unconsciously trying to adjust
it to my words, or, more properly, to
adjust my words to it. Some people have a
more distinct perception of time and rhythm,
just as some have a keener musical ear, and
I have both. The result was that before long
I began to get a bit confused, missed the point
of my anecdote and finished lamely and with
some anger.
“‘Will that fellow never finish beating that
drum?’ I demanded impatiently of my host.
Of course, I had heard such instruments before
during my sojourn in the country, and
had often noticed the children thumping them
in the daytime, so that the sound had no especial
significance for me.
“The lighted end of Dr. Fouchère’s cigar
suddenly glowed again, then he remarked:
.bn 270.png
.pn +1
‘I am afraid that noise will go on all night,
Dr. Leyden. I understand that the peasants
are having one of their dances to-night.’ He
slightly emphasized the word peasants.
“‘The bamboula?’ I asked, curiously, for,
of course, I knew of the rites attendant upon
voodoo worship, although I had never witnessed
them.
“‘Yes,’ he answered; ‘one of my servants
told me this evening that there was to be a
dance to-night. This relic of paganism is one
of the curses of our country, Dr. Leyden. Although
we whites have done our best to discountenance
it, it still persists.’
“Unlike most Haytians of the better class,
who pretend to a black aristocracy socially
superior to the white, Dr. Fouchère always
referred to himself as white, although a
blacker man never walked in the full blaze
of the equatorial sun. No doubt this was due
to his prolonged residence among the white
race.
“‘Is the affair, then, as bad as it is
.bn 271.png
.pn +1
painted?’ I inquired, for I had heard some
very somber stories of the bamboula.
“He hesitated for an instant, and in the
pause my ear caught the click of Madame’s
little slipper tapping the floor to the time of
the distant drum.
“‘It is primitive,’ replied my host. ‘A
virile people do not forget in a day the
customs of centuries.’ He paused again,
and, as before, I heard the click-click of
Madame’s slipper marking the beat of the
drum.
“‘Perhaps Dr. Leyden is fatigued and
would wish to retire,’ she suggested. ‘One
rises early——’
“‘Indeed,’ I protested, ‘I am accustomed
to sleep but little, but pray do not let me keep
you and Dr. Fouchère from your repose.’ To
tell the truth, the thought of lying on a bed
and counting the strokes of that infernal
drum was terrifying to me.
“There was another brief pause, but in the
interval I heard Fouchère’s fingers softly tapping
.bn 272.png
.pn +1
the rail in concert with the drum and
the slipper of Madame.”
Leyden paused and stared into the viscid
water beneath. The land breeze was fanning
steadily now; the regular pulses of sound had
swelled in volume, but the interval was unchanged.
He continued, without looking up. “‘Derrière
mornes, gagner mornes,’ as the Haytian
proverb has it,” he sighed. “But I did not
guess what was behind their solicitude for my
comfort. Fouchère politely denied any wish
to retire, and Madame said that she would
wait a little longer before asking to be excused.
“‘Come, we will smoke a fresh cigar,’ said
Fouchère, presently. He clapped his hands,
but no servant appeared.
“‘The rascals are all out,’ he said, apologetically.
‘If you will pardon me, I will go
myself.’
“I turned to Madame. ‘Do you not find
some of these customs rather terrifying?’ I
.bn 273.png
.pn +1
asked; ‘and this country, with its glaring sunlight
and impenetrable shade, its rank, exuberant,
primordial peoples——’ I heard her
give a short gasp in her throat; then she
turned to me, bringing her white face, with
its delicate features and great, luminous eyes,
close to mine.
“‘They live!’ she answered, in a low, fierce
voice. ‘They live, and feel, and their blood
runs——’
“She sank back, and at this moment Dr.
Fouchère returned and offered me a cigar,
which I took thankfully, for I wanted to
drown the sensual smell of plant and fern
wafted from the woods beneath and the maddening
odor of the stephanotis growing in the
garden at our feet. If he had offered me
strong drink, cognac, absinthe, or even opium,
I might have taken it, too, for there was something
in the darkness of the night that blinded
the reason and voices in the soft air and scent-laden
breeze that called insidiously to the
senses; and all the while droned on the amphorous
.bn 274.png
.pn +1
note of the drum, though now it
seemed to come from the inside, impelling one
to fervid action.
“‘Those fools will dance and drink and
revel to-night,’ growled Fouchère, ‘and to-morrow
there will not be one in the village fit
to stand upon his feet.’
“‘Then,’ said I, with an attempt at jocularity,
‘they may seek your professional advice.’
“‘No,’ he muttered, ‘they will go to the
papa-loi—the priest—the arch-devil——’
“There was a swift rustle, and Madame
had leapt to her feet and was pacing the
verandah with clinging, cat-like steps. I arose.
“‘I am fatigued from sitting still,’ she
explained, with a light but nervous laugh.
‘See, the moon is rising.’
“I glanced toward the east and saw a dull
yellow glow before which the low stars paled.
Madame permitted herself another turn of
the verandah, and as she passed the banded
shaft of light which smote through the jalousies
.bn 275.png
.pn +1
from the illuminated room I noticed
that her slim fingers were closing and opening
as if she were in pain. Her light footsteps
fell in unison with the beat of the bamboula.
“My host and I talked on different things,
and still Madame paced back and forth, and
every time she passed the barred zone of light
I saw the white fingers writhing in and out,
and at times clutching the light fabric of her
skirt in a grip that left it creased and seamed—and
still the drum beat on and on. Fouchère’s
manner of speech had changed; his
statements were short and arbitrary, as if
challenging contradiction; his chair had come
down to all four legs, and he sat bolt upright,
tense, together, as if prepared to spring upward
at a bound. As the light over the mountain
glowed brighter I could see the silhouette
of his straight back against the sky, as
straight and cleanly cut as one of the posts
of the verandah.
“Soon Madame paused in her promenade,
.bn 276.png
.pn +1
and, walking to the rail, gazed at the glowing
light in the sky, and as she stood, the drum,
partially drowned before by her light step
and the swish of her skirts, welled out resonantly.
I glanced at her curiously. It was
still too dark to distinguish her features, but
a naturalist, or, more properly, perhaps, a
collector, can see things to which better eyes
than his are blind, and it seemed to me that
I caught a swift quiver as it flashed across
her mobile face. Suddenly she turned.
“‘I think that I shall beg to be excused,’
she said, in a low voice. ‘The heat of the day
has fatigued me, and the night air is cool and
promises refreshing sleep. Would not Monsieur
wish also to retire?’
“Dr. Fouchère arose as if to show me to
my room. I had no desire to go to bed, for I
did not think I could sleep; but, following the
line of least resistance, I went.
“Lying on my bed, with that old and jaundiced
moon peering through the window and
the whole earth wrapped in the stillness of
.bn 277.png
.pn +1
utter space, the bamboula, which had never
ceased, seemed pounding at the portals of my
brain. Have you ever, after a day of almost
superhuman physical exertion—say a long
march through the jungle carrying a double
pack—lain too tired to sleep and listened to
your overtaxed heart pounding its pulse
against your ear-drums? No? Well, it is
hard to say what else that drum was like. It
appeared, too, to have grown louder, although
the time continued to be exactly the same.
“Before long I dozed a little, but the drum
beat on, weaving weird and distorted pictures.
I saw the stark, whirling figures glistening
ebony-red in the lurid firelight, the outer circle
of fantastic shadows gyrating in a wider
arc; the flash of flames between the circling
shapes—others partly hidden—watching
from the black hollows between the buttressed
boles of the trees. The old, old rites—bursting
out in this civilized era like embryonic
cells in the adult—cancer-cells—you understand,
Doctor. Later on, the sickly yellow
.bn 278.png
.pn +1
moon, high in the zenith, its pale light quenching
that of the dying embers of the fire and
waning itself before the dawn. The things it
looked down upon—the heaving figures of the
devotees—and all about the pure, sweet peace
of the tropic night!
“‘Tom-tom-tom-tom-tom-tom-tom-tom,’
went the drum, and then I awoke with a
shiver and began to dress. I stepped to the
window for added light, and other noises than
those of the drum welled up from the valley
beneath. Air was stirring, and it blew
through my jalousies and filled the room with
the smell of the stephanotis.
“Quietly as a cat I slipped down the stairs
and out into the night. Not a sound, not a
flicker of light came from any of the little
houses in the village. I followed the road
down the mountain for a way, and then, as I
am a tracker and the moon was well up, I
found a path which others had taken since the
dew. It skirted the hill, then dipped abruptly
into the jungle.
.bn 279.png
.pn +1
“It was easy to guess its course, for with
my bushman’s education I saw that many persons
had traveled that trail since sunset.
Down it went, twisting and turning, this way
and that; but all the time the beat of the
drum, though muffled by the heavy foliage,
was growing nearer and nearer.
“It was dark in the jungle, but the moon
was up, and there were open spaces here and
there. The smell of the smoke—and another
smell—were in the air, and I was growing
wary and looking for sentries, when my eye
was caught by something white hanging to
a thorn. I loosed it and held it in a moon-ray—and
recognized a fragment of the gown
worn that night by Madame Fouchère.”
Leyden stopped speaking, then began to
hum a little German doggerel. Down below
the visitors were saying good-night, and I
could hear the men kissing each other on their
thick lips. “Ah, mon cher!” they kept saying.
“Oh—oh, mon cher!—Oh, m’cher!”
Then there would be a rattle of very good
.bn 280.png
.pn +1
Parisian French, because the better classes
pride themselves upon their elegance of
speech.
“And then?” said I, presently, to Dr. Leyden.
He threw out his hands with a Teutonic
gesture of disgust.
“Ach!—then I went back, of course. I
found a muddy spot in the open, just to make
sure, and I saw that Fouchère had passed
also. He wore the latest French boots—Madame
was still in her high-heeled French
slippers at twenty francs the pair.”
He turned to me with a languid air. “One
does not spy upon one’s host and hostess during
their religious devotions, you know. You
understand, Doctor. Those things are not
quite—shall we say dignified? Besides—by
the way, have you a cigar, or shall I ring?
Ah, thanks! As I was about to say, the thing
had lost its—its glamour. Madame was too
nearly white. It was the primitive element
that had so strongly appealed to me—not the
hyper-æsthetic. One need not go to Hayti
.bn 281.png
.pn +1
for that. Fouchère belonged at the party,
perhaps—but Madame....
“No, I went back, and the sound of a bamboula
has never since been able to strike a
sympathetic chord in me—but I detest the
odor of the stephanotis.”
.bn 282.png
.pn +1
.pb
.sp 4
.h2 id=ch08
INTO THE DARK
.sp 2
.di dc-t.jpg 98 100 1.5
“TO-NIGHT, Doctor,” said Leyden
one evening as we went on deck,
“let us forswear the exchange
of blood-curdling yarns. Let us
be sociable and play poker with
my Czechian friend, Rosenthal, and Mr. Mallock.”
I agreed and we went into the rook kamer,
where the others presently joined us. We
played for perhaps an hour; I do not remember
just how the game stood when we were interrupted
by a tragic incident.
From somewhere beneath us there came a
sudden muffled roar; the little vessel quivered
as though struck by a shell; an instant of
silence, then up from below there came a
scream so wild and hoarse and laden with
fearful human anguish that we all leaped to
our feet. Shouts, yells, orders in half a dozen
.bn 283.png
.pn +1
tongues rose in a clamorous medley; but
through them all as a bugle rings out on the
firing-line there rose again that wild, wide-throated
scream of intolerable physical pain.
I knew the sound. I had heard it several
times. The latest was in San Francisco on
one of the big United States transports when
a stevedore had up-ended a crate of primers
which had exploded and filled the man’s body
with splinters so that he looked like a porcupine.
Leyden had heard it also, as the first
glance at his face told me, and from his expression
I saw that he had guessed the present
cause; but there was no time to inquire,
for the screams now followed each other in
quick succession and were approaching, and
such screams! Opposite me Rosenthal, who
had thrown down his hand at the beginning of
the play and was about to take a swallow of
his Rhine wine, paused, the glass half way to
his lips, and hardened, world-worn adventurer
that the Jew was, he positively looked
sickened at the sound.
.bn 284.png
.pn +1
And then the clamor reached our deck, but
forward, and we turned as one man and
stepped out of the rook kamer. Abreast of
the steam steering-gear there was a confused
mass of yelling, gyrating figures, and from
these we saw emerge a single one who with
outspread arms and wide fingers came lurching
toward us, and as he ran he screamed.
The bulk of my professional work has been
of an emergency character, so that even as
the man approached I was framing a diagnosis,
and before he had reached the part of the
deck where we stood, it was made. The jar of
the explosion, the screams of appalling pain,
and now, swiftly as he approached, the suffocating
fumes of ammonia had preceded him,
and I knew on the instant that there had been
an explosion of the ice-making machine and
that the victim was one who had bathed in the
liquid fire set loose. Then as he bore down
upon us, followed by the clamoring crowd
who sought to restrain him for his good,
something of the spirit of the hunted animal
.bn 285.png
.pn +1
fastened on the poor frenzied intellect and he
sprang for the rail.
“Ach, no!” muttered Leyden in my ear,
and at the same instant leaped like a cat; one
of his powerful, nervous hands closed on the
man’s naked shoulder and the next moment
the poor wretch was on his back, pawing
the air, groping at his livid face, while
his screams smote back the crowd of the
curious.
“Quick, Doctor!” said Leyden, and the
words wedged in his throat as the pungent
fumes gripped his trachea. He tried again to
speak, but by that time I had seized Rosenthal’s
bottle of Rhine wine from the table and
had begun to pour it over the man’s face. Of
course, there are better things than Rhine
wine with which to neutralize stronger ammonia,
but that was the nearest at hand and
haste was requisite.
Presently the ship’s doctor arrived with
dilute acetic acid; by that time Leyden and I
were both nearly asphyxiated and the man
.bn 286.png
.pn +1
was in a syncope, poor fellow! He saw light
again, but never outline.
Our game was abandoned. Leyden and I
strolled aft to our favorite place by the hand
steering-gear, where Leyden puffed at his
porcelain pipe in silence for so long a time
that I began to think that he would hold to the
resolution made early in the evening and not
tell the story which hung on the edge of his
mind.
“Ach!” he exclaimed suddenly, and taking
the pipe from his mouth, tapped the horn
mouth-piece against the awning stanchion.
“Ach! One would almost think that God
might spare a man two such spectacles as that
which we have just witnessed. I am accustomed
to seeing men killed, Doctor; also to
seeing men suffer within reasonable limits,
but I protest against casually witnessing torture....
“It was not so long ago, Doctor,” he resumed
presently, “I was going out to Java
via Singapore, and the first night out, while
.bn 287.png
.pn +1
chatting with the chief engineer, who was an
old friend of mine, his second came to the
door to report on something concerning the
engines. I did not notice what he said, for
the moment he stepped into the blaze of the
incandescent lights I set my memory at work
to place him.
“This second engineer was, I think, Doctor,
the most strikingly beautiful man I have ever
seen. Really, the poor fellow was so handsome
that he was almost disagreeably conspicuous,
because one felt that no matter how
great the effort, his deeper personality would
never be able to hold the pace set by his physical
appearance. I will not try to describe him;
figure to yourself a powerful frame of athletic
perfection, the face of a very masculine archangel,
broad forehead, blazing sapphire eyes,
with rather dark lashes, although his hair was
yellow, a wide mouth of singularly winning
expression and a jaw which was aristocratically
masterful. He said but half a dozen
words, and then at a nod from the chief, went
.bn 288.png
.pn +1
out, but brief as was my glimpse of him I was
no less impressed by his striking beauty than
by the fact that I had known some of his
breed.
“‘Who is that fellow?’ I asked of old Burton,
the chief.
“‘Dalton, my second,’ said he; ‘a good
looking lad, is he not?’
“‘Extremely,’ I answered; ‘is he as good
as he looks?’
“‘Aye, and the more credit to him for
that, to my mind,’ said Burton, and went on,
‘D’ye know, Doctor Leyden, the Almighty
puts an awful strain on the moral construction
of a man when he models him on the lines
of yon lad! And the boy knows it and is not
too proud to shun the danger. You’ll scarce
lay eyes on him between here and Singapore.’
“‘Is he shy of his good looks?’ I asked.
“‘Less that than proper-minded. If ever
a man was built to carry an overload of women’s
fancies, ’tis this same Dalton. They can
.bn 289.png
.pn +1
see nothing else when the poor lad’s about,
not that he seems to notice it.’
“‘Is he a good man professionally?’ I inquired.
“‘He is all of that and more,’ answered
Burton, and was going on to tell me that, although
off duty at that moment, Dalton was
hard at work superintending some repairs on
the ice-machine when he was interrupted
... just as we were a few moments ago.”
“No!” I cried involuntarily, as Leyden
paused; “not that!”
“Yes, Doctor ... the sequence of events
was almost identical: the same explosion ...
the same sensation as of being hit by a shell
... the same instant’s pause followed
by cries, one louder than the others, and the
same stampede for the deck, the air, freedom
from torture and suffocation; but in Dalton’s
case no one was quick-witted enough to think
of Rhine wine or vinegar, and we had to hold
him until the doctor came.... Ach!...
“It seemed a long time, Doctor, especially
.bn 290.png
.pn +1
as the man’s strength was so great that after
his first mad rush his mind grappled with the
situation and he lay without a moan, without
a struggle. I assisted the surgeon in the little
that it was possible to do for the poor fellow,
and it was while we were bathing his face that
I solved the problem of his identity. For
many years, Doctor, I have, whenever in England,
made a tour of inspection of several
large estates where I occupy a rather unique
position of consulting horticulturist. To these
patrons I sometimes ship from different parts
of the world bulbs or plants or seeds or specimens
in which I judge they will be interested.
It was while on one of these visits, some of
which have become more of a social than professional
character, that I met Dalton, which,
of course, was not his name. He was then at
school, a charming boy, an only son and the
heir to one of the oldest titles and most magnificent
estates in England.
“This discovery did not come to me with
any shock of surprise, for England is unlike
.bn 291.png
.pn +1
America, where one often sees the thoroughbred
working with his hands, and I had suspected
that his was either some youthful
tragedy or the baton sinister.
“Dalton lay quite still while the surgeon
dressed and bandaged his face; then, as the
last pin was being inserted, he said in a steady
voice:
“‘How about my eyes, Doctor?’
“We’ll hope for the best, old chap,’ said
this doctor, and I saw Dalton’s mouth, the
only feature in sight, set with the rigidity of a
death-mask. His chest filled deeply and he
swallowed once or twice, and when he spoke
again his voice was dry but quite firm.
“‘You think the chances are against me,
don’t you, Doctor?’ he said quietly. The surgeon
looked doubtfully at me and I nodded.
“‘Your case is like this, Dalton,’ said he,
‘if the caustic action of the ammonia has not
burned through the conjunctiva and into the
cornea the prognosis is good; otherwise it is
bad—but I don’t anticipate total blindness.’
.bn 292.png
.pn +1
“‘How soon will you be able to tell with
certainty?’ asked Dalton, calmly.
“‘Probably when I dress your eyes to-morrow,’
said the Doctor, adding, ‘at the
worst, you will never be in the dark....’
“‘I know....’ Dalton’s voice was very
low, very quiet; ... ‘you mean that I will
live behind ground glass....’
“The firm mouth stiffened and the triangular
space which it occupied beneath the bandages
grew suddenly white. At a sign from
the doctor we picked him up and carried him
to his berth and left him there to fight his
fight alone.
“That night I sat late with Burton and the
pious old chief had a sharp tussle to remain
within the bounds of Christian submission as
we discussed the accident. I soon discovered
that he knew more of Dalton than he cared to
tell, but I asked no questions. When I left him
at eleven o’clock I passed the open door of
Dalton’s room, and as I did so I was conscious
of one of those long, deep, shuddering inspirations
.bn 293.png
.pn +1
which scarcely carry sound and seem
wrung less from the body than the tortured
soul.
“‘Are you in pain?’ I whispered, for I did
not wish to wake him if he should be asleep.
“‘In torture, Doctor Leyden,’ came the
low answer; ‘but it is not of the flesh.’
“This was the first indication that I was
known to him. I slipped into the room and
went to the head of his bunk.
“‘May I sit with you?’ I asked.
“‘Thanks ... you know me, of course?’
“‘Yes,’ said I. I dropped on the locker
beside him, and for several moments neither
of us spoke.
“‘What do you think of my chances of losing
my sight, Doctor?’ he asked presently.
“‘I think,’ said I, ‘that your sight will be
impaired, but not entirely destroyed. One
eye appears to have been less injured than
the other.’
“‘Do you think that I will be able to do my
work?’ he asked quickly.
.bn 294.png
.pn +1
“‘Perhaps ... it is impossible to tell,
my dear boy, until to-morrow—very likely
not for several days.’
“Again I felt that shuddering sigh which
was less a sound than an impression.
“‘It is not for myself that I am afraid,
Doctor Leyden,’ he said in a few moments.
‘There is some one else ... other people....”
My word! One could see his very
heart squirming in the grip of his feudal
pride.
“‘Tell me all about it, my boy,’ said I.
‘Life has shown me many of her poisons ...
and their antidotes; perhaps I can help you.’
“‘Thank you, Doctor,’ said he, and went on
to tell me his story. Briefly, he had several
years before committed the indiscretion of
running off with another man’s wife; not long
afterward the husband had died and Dalton
had married the woman. His father had cut
him off without a penny, but through a friend
he had got a billet as engineer, for which his
technical education had fitted him, and had in
.bn 295.png
.pn +1
time risen solely through his merits. The
wife and their two children were living in
Singapore.
“There were qualities in the romance, Doctor,
which raised it to a plane higher than
most similar affairs. Ten years of poverty
had brought them no regrets, and this alone
seemed to me sufficient to warrant the breach
of etiquette; then, the former husband was a
rake, or, what is far worse, an ex-rake. Also,
the love of this man and woman had grown
and deepened and gathered volume until, and
this I gathered from what Dalton did not tell
me, the love itself contained in him had raised
the nature of this man to a sublime height,
where it would almost seem that he had undergone
an apotheosis; this perfect love which
had begun so imperfectly had matured this
creature, who was the result of generations of
highly bred and highly cultured ancestors,
until the man was an Olympian, Doctor, a
demi-god, or I am no judge of men.
“Before long I left him, soothed as much
.bn 296.png
.pn +1
as might be, and promising to sleep. When I
visited him the following day he was calm,
and one read only in the lines of the firm and
beautiful mouth which cut the triangular
space between the bandages, ‘I wait.’”
Leyden’s voice grew muffled.
“My word! I couldn’t stand it, Doctor, for
very long; it was worse than the accident itself.
I sneaked off into Burton’s room, and
there the surgeon found me an hour later
lying on the old man’s bunk, for he was below
at the time, and holding a capsized book in
front of my face. There was a simplicity
about this doctor which appealed to me.
“‘Oh, hell!’ said he, and dropped into Burton’s
desk chair and buried his face in his
hands, and there he sat until presently the
chief came in. From behind my book I could
feel the grizzled old fellow looking from one
to the other of us, and presently he gave a
husky and inquiring grunt.
“‘Blind,’ said the doctor, ... stone
blind,’ and with that old Burton kicked shut
.bn 297.png
.pn +1
the door which opened on the boiler-room, and
the three of us began to snivel in the shamefaced
way characteristic of certain emotional
members of the Anglo-Saxon race. I think
Burton prayed a little, for he was inclined to
be theosophical.
“‘Does he know?’ asked Burton, presently.
“‘No,’ muttered the doctor, ... I ...
I put him off....’
“‘You put him off!’ I snapped. ‘Do you
mean to say that you have any hope?’
“‘There’s none to have,’ he answered a bit
sulkily; ‘the cornea might just as well have
been seared with a Paquelin....’
“‘And yet you put him off!’ I snarled, ‘and
add the hell of uncertainty to the agony he’s
got to suffer anyway when he hears the
truth!’
“‘Go in and tell him yourself then,’ grumbled
this doctor.
“‘I will,’ said I, and flung open the door
and went out. I found Dalton lying on his
.bn 298.png
.pn +1
bunk, his face swathed in fresh bandages, his
straight mouth sphinx-like.
“‘Dalton,’ said I, roughly, ‘the doctor has
just told me that you are blind.’
“‘Has he?’ said Dalton, calmly. ‘The poor
chap lacked the nerve to tell me, and I don’t
know that I blame him much. Beastly thing,
that, to have to tell a chap that he’s blind.’
“I began to choke up again, Doctor. I had
been purposely rough, commonplace, and I
had expected and in fact half wished an hysterical
outburst. As it was, the situation was
infinitely more difficult. For several minutes
Dalton did not speak.
“‘Would you like me to stay with you?’ I
asked, ‘or shall I get out?’
“The bandaged head rolled toward me and
the fine mouth curved in a smile which showed
the white, even teeth.
“‘Don’t stay, Doctor; it is horribly depressing
for you and I am so busy thinking
that I don’t notice being alone. Come in and
see me to-night, if you like.’
.bn 299.png
.pn +1
“I left him then and went aft on the other
side of the ship from Burton’s room, and as I
went I looked my hardest at the blue water
and the blue sky and the bright-work and the
bright faces of the children scampering up
and down the deck ... and then a
mist came before my eyes and my vision
was as Dalton’s would be, ‘behind ground
glass.’
“That night I went to him again. He
greeted me quietly as I came in.
“‘Doctor Leyden,’ said he, ‘it is a terrible
thing to be blind, is it not?’
“I did not answer.
“‘But it is not a terrible thing to die. We
none of us fear to face death; most of us
enjoy a bit of a tussle with the grim old
man.’
“I had expected this and waited for him to
go on.
“‘To myself,’ said Dalton, ‘I consider that
I am dead, practically dead.’ He was silent
for a few minutes and then said, ‘Do you not
.bn 300.png
.pn +1
consider, Doctor Leyden, that we have all of
us a certain claim upon each other as fellow-men?’
“‘Undoubtedly,’ I answered.
“‘I am glad that you feel as I do,’ said he
composedly, ‘because my claim upon you,
Doctor Leyden, is that you go to my father
and tell him of my death and its cause and
make him support my family as they should
be supported. He must make my oldest boy
his heir. Will you do this for me? There is
no desperate hurry; within a year will be time
enough.’
“‘Yes,’ said I, ‘I will do it.’
“He was silent for many minutes and then
he turned to me, and again his flashing smile
illumined the triangular open space.
“‘And now as to details,’ said he. ‘You
would not try to prevent me if I were to get
out of my bunk and get over the rail, would
you, Doctor Leyden?’
“‘No,’ I answered. ‘I would not try to
prevent you.’
.bn 301.png
.pn +1
“There was another silence, and then he
said in a low voice:
“‘Don’t you think that it would be easier
... for her?’
“‘No,’ I said, ‘I don’t.’
“‘But living I can only be a weight, a
drag.’
“‘Her little children are that,’ said I.
“‘But don’t you see,’ he cried, ‘how different
it is? They will grow up....’ His voice
rose in key.
“‘They will grow up and need her less,’
said I; ‘it is while they are drags, weights,
that they give her the greatest joy.’
“‘Don’t,’ he groaned, ‘... don’t you
see, man, that my mind was at rest about it;
that I was cheerful, happy, when it was only a
matter of dying, ... and now that you are
taking that away, think of the horror of
what’s left....’ His mouth writhed.
“‘You are the chief sufferer,’ said I. ‘My
sympathy is for you. I did not mean to destroy
your faith in the ethics of this thing.
.bn 302.png
.pn +1
Personally, for your own good, I would advise
you to get overboard, and if you wish I
will lead you to the rail. I have been truthfully
answering the questions which you
asked me concerning your wife....’
“We were both silent for many minutes.”
“‘I begin to see it now, I begin to see it
... you are right....’ And then, Doctor,
as he looked down the long, dark, narrow
corridor stretching away into the years of
obscurity before him the shadow fell across
his soul and I left him writhing beneath the
weight of his doom.”
Leyden paused and turned his pale, classic
face toward the liquid darkness of the star-flecked
sky. “... See all of those planets,
Doctor,” he mused, “and think of what
the sight of just one of them would mean to a
blind man ... a single break in the utter
obliteration of a sense ... a pin-prick in
the curtain.... I once witnessed an operation
which restored to a blind man the perception
of light alone ... no vision, only light
.bn 303.png
.pn +1
... and he would place his hands over
his eyes and then take them away and laugh
with the joy of a heart too full for utterance.
Think of the myriad things we see which go
to waste! My word, it makes one wish to
treasure the image of each passing object....”
“And now, Doctor, I will tell you the rest,
and then you shall tell me if I was a fool to
answer him so truthfully; in my own mind I
have never been quite sure.
“Three days saw the end of his period of
frantic and agonized depression, for his stoicism
and self-control abandoned him as soon
as I removed the balm of a voluntary death.
In this time he would see none of us; would
eat because he had determined to live; but one
could see that a word of comfort, of sympathy,
would be infuriating. Next came a week of
apathy while the wound was granulating ...
inside and out. What is it, Doctor, which regulates
the duration of violent pain when its
cause still persists? In the case of this newly
.bn 304.png
.pn +1
blinded man, with his high vitality and potent
perceptions, one could not conceive of such a
thing as reconciliation, nor did it arrive as
such....”
“The first inkling I had of the change was
while we were going down the Red Sea. I
had gone to pay my usual afternoon visit; one
of the mess boys was coming from Dalton’s
room, and as he stepped into the corridor I
heard Dalton’s voice say peevishly:
“‘Be sure to get it well done and plenty of
gravy ... do you hear, plenty of gravy.’
“Ach! For no reason the words shocked
me more than when he had told me of his wish
to die! Plenty of gravy...! What could
it matter to a man newly blind if his gravy
were of gall and wormwood? What could it
matter?”
“Dalton had before this time recovered
from the physical effects of the shock; the
epidermis of his face had not been deeply
burned; the danger to his eyes was due to the
fact that the irritation of the caustic had involuntarily
.bn 305.png
.pn +1
forced him to hold the lids shut,
thus causing the stuff to burn the more deeply.
His face had been blistered as it might
from any burn and the new skin had formed
beneath, and at this time the bandages were
off and the only evidence of the accident was
in the pellucid film drawn across his pupils.
He wore dark glasses to prevent the irritant
action of the light.
“It was a few days later that I received another
shock. The chief and I were standing
by the railing talking when, glancing forward,
I saw the doctor come around the corner of
the deck-house leading Dalton by the hand.
Burton caught sight of them as soon as I, and
happening to glance at him, I saw an odd expression
cross his face; it was not alone the
shadow of pain and compassion, which would
have been natural—there was something puzzled
in the look, something studious, contemplative.
The doctor led Dalton to a wicker
chaise-longue and left him there. The face of
the blind man was turned in our direction,
.bn 306.png
.pn +1
but our voices failed to reach him above the
swash alongside.
“‘Poor lad!’ said Burton, in a low
voice. ‘He were better dead, Doctor. I ...
I ... I did not think to see him abide
by it....’ There was a vague disappointment
in the old man’s voice which irritated
me.
“‘I agree with you that he would be better
off himself if he were dead,’ I answered curtly,
‘but there are others than himself to consider.’
“Burton shook his head.
“‘’Twould be better for him if he were
dead,’ he answered; ‘he can no longer contribute
to their support; and as far as sentiment
is concerned, why, do you not see, Doctor——’
“‘Do I not see what?’ I asked testily, the
more so because I saw very well, and I felt
that it was my work.
“‘That he is no longer the same man,’ said
Burton. ‘Look at the face of him as he turns
.bn 307.png
.pn +1
it this way. Do you think that dark glasses
could ever make that change?’
“Once again, Doctor, there ran through me
the little chill which I had felt on hearing Dalton
emphasize the detail of his dinner. Burton
was right; he no longer was the same man,
and as I realized this and was able to look
with clear sight far into his future I felt for
the moment as if I had tampered with the
man’s soul. We are what we are by virtue of
our senses, Doctor, for it is through them that
we give and receive and translate and modify
and perform the various functions and evolve
the phenomena, the sum of which is known as
life. Of these senses sight is perhaps the one
through which we receive the most and must
keep on receiving, to fulfil the constant demand
of the dependencies of this sense, and
just as the nature of a man is rounded and
made fuller and finer and greater by that
which he sees, so must it shrivel and wane
when this tributary of the soul is cut off.
“It is, of course, unnecessary to state that
.bn 308.png
.pn +1
Dalton was an object of the most supreme
compassion to the passengers, and where he
had at first shunned their expressions of sympathy
I noticed that as the days wore on he
first endured, then courted them. His face,
too, had changed; the fine, sensitive lines
about the mouth and eyes were gradually
erased; he began to put on flesh; his appetite
was better than before the accident; his demeanor
grew to be gentle and passive. I have
seen women read to him by the hour and finally
close the book and steal away in tears, but
do you know, Doctor, that while my compassion
was as great as ever, the change in the
man had cooled my sympathy. I grew to be
sorry for him only with my head.”
“Burton understood. He said to me one
day,’’Tis a rough thing, Doctor Leyden, that
I cannot take yon poor lad’s hurt more to
heart, but ’tis not as if ’twas Dalton himself
in such trouble. Honestly, Doctor, I believe
that part of the man I loved was killed in him
with the loss of his sight....’ He glanced
.bn 309.png
.pn +1
narrowly down the deck to where Dalton was
talking earnestly with one of the women passengers.
‘Look now ... one cannot imagine
Dalton so pouring out his soul to a
stranger, for the lad was always shut within
himself with a double water-tight bulkhead!’
“‘He told me this morning,’ said I, ‘that
the passengers were taking up a collection for
him.’
“‘Did he, now? ... but there! ...
why not for a poor fellow with a wife and children,
struck blind in the performance of his
duty? Only ... only....’
“‘Only it is not like Dalton,’ said I,
harshly.
“‘No, Doctor. Belike it is the humbleness
of soul which comes to those whom the Lord
deeply chastens, ... and it is a balm, Doctor,
... a balm....’
“When the ship reached Singapore I offered
to conduct Dalton to his home. It was a
sweet spot on one of the charming little islands
a short row from the mainland; a bungalow
.bn 310.png
.pn +1
half hidden in the foliage, a diminutive
jetty with a dozen steps leading into the dark
green shadows. As our sampan drew
near I saw a woman with a toddling
child on either side step from this plushy
background and descend the steps. Seeing
me, a white man and a stranger,
she paused at the head of the toy jetty, but
as Dalton, wearing his dark glasses, began
to fumble at the ladder with no hail,
no word of greeting, she slipped her hands
from those of the children and ran forward
swiftly.
‘Hugh! ...’ she cried. ‘... Hugh!’
“‘One minute, girlie,’ answered Dalton.
His voice was full, cheerful, a fat voice, Doctor,
and a trifle flat in timbre, and as it reached
the ears of the woman I saw her stop as
one might stop who runs to meet a bullet full
in the chest.
“‘Hugh!’ she cried again, and as she was
by this time close at hand, I spoke.
“‘He has met with an accident to his eyes
.bn 311.png
.pn +1
...,’ I began ... and then looked
away, but not in time to miss the expression
of her face as she cast her eyes first at her
husband, then at me, ... and I knew that I
had fetched home a stranger to fill a husband’s
place.”
Leyden paused and stared moodily at the
bowl of his china pipe. “There is a good deal
in sacred literature, as well as in the laws of
each land, Doctor, concerning the impropriety
of interfering with the duration of a man’s
life; is there anything regarding the sin of
interfering with his death ...? because
there ought to be! It cannot be pleasing to
God to prolong an existence which He has
culled in part....”
“Six months later I returned that way on
my journey home from Java. I took a sampan
and was sculled across to the little island, and
there in front of the bungalow I found Dalton
sitting beneath the high shade of the royal
palms. He had grown heavy; the last lines
had left his face, which was now smooth as
.bn 312.png
.pn +1
that of a child. I noticed as his hands rested
on the arms of the chair that the thumbs had
thickened, yet his other senses had begun to
do the mechanical work of his lacking sight.”
“‘Is that you, Leyden?’ he asked, in a full,
flat, heavy voice, the voice which suggested a
fat throat. His two children were playing
about his chair; all three were munching a
confection of sugar and chopped cocoanut.
“‘Yes,’ he said, in answer to my question.
‘We are doing nicely. Ah, Leyden, each cloud
has its silver lining....’ His wife joined
us at this point and a glance at her face
showed me the change. I had never known it
otherwise, yet the change was evident. ‘...
I wrote to the earl ...’ continued Dalton—his
voice grew slightly peevish—‘ ... and
while he was not above hurting the feelings
of a poor blind man ...’—the fat voice
grew querulous—‘ ... he was generous
... very generous ...’—a complacent
note crept in.
“I glanced at the woman and a shiver ran
.bn 313.png
.pn +1
down my back. ‘I am glad ...’ I managed
to mutter, ‘... very glad....’
She glanced at me warningly and laid her finger
on her lips, then nodded toward the landing.
I shook his hand, which was sticky from
the sweet-meats.
“‘Good-bye ... I have barely time ...’
I mumbled and followed the woman
toward my boat.”
.sp 4
.nf c
THE END
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.ul
.it Transcriber’s Notes:
.ul indent=1
.it Missing or obscured punctuation was corrected.
.it Unbalanced quotation marks were left as the author intended.
.it Typographical errors were silently corrected.
.it Inconsistent spelling and hyphenation were made consistent only when a\
predominant form was found in this book.
.if t
.it Text in italics is enclosed by underscores (_italics_).
.if-
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