"How long ago is it since you saw him?"
"About ten minutes."
"On horseback?"
"No, he was on foot."
"I must speak with him. Lend me your horse, and I will try to overtake him."
The interpreter obeyed, and M. de Morin set off at a hand-gallop in the direction of the Blue River.
He overtook M. Périères just as that individual reached Madame de Guéran's house, and was about to enter. Leaping from his horse he joined his former friend, who, on seeing him, stopped and smiled sarcastically.
"You are calling on the Baroness?" said the young painter, in an unsteady voice.
"That is evident," replied the man of letters, calmer, but quite as pale as his interlocutor, "and you are, doubtless, on the same errand as myself?"
"Identically the same," replied M. de Morin. They looked at each other. One word more, and these two men, who in reality esteemed each other, who had conceived and still entertained a sincere affection for each other—these two men, carried away by their passion, forgetful of the past, feverish with anxiety, and madly in love, were on the point of doing each other one of those mortal injuries which it is impossible to pardon, or to forget.
Fortunately, M. Périères retained just enough self-control to say toM. de Morin—
"Some explanation between us is necessary and desirable. Do you wish it to take place in this house—in the presence of the lady who lives here?"
"Certainly," said M. de Morin; "I will follow you."
On entering the garden they perceived one of the Nubians in the service of Madame de Guéran, and M. Périères was about to commission this woman to inform the Baroness of their presence, when M. de Morin stopped him.
"No," he said, "I see Madame de Guéran down there by that clump of trees, and I prefer going to her without giving her the opportunity of declining to see me."
"Not very often the case, as far as you are concerned," said M.Périères. "However, we will not be announced. Come along."
They were both of them actuated by precisely the same sentiments, they were experiencing a similar fear, and partaking of an equal amount of jealousy, but they remained utterly ignorant of the fact, and each of them was secretly in his heart reproaching the other for his duplicity, his cunning, and, above all, his victory.
Madame de Guéran rose as soon as she saw her visitors, and went quickly to meet them. She seemed very much agitated, and deeply affected.
"Ah!" she said, hurriedly. "You have done well to come, and to come together. I had reckoned upon postponing my interview with you until to-morrow, but I am anxious to have done with my irresolution. Chance has brought about a meeting, and I will explain myself this evening."
"When you allude to chance," observed M. de Morin, "you, doubtless, address yourself to me?"
"No," she said quietly, "I address myself to both of you. Why should I address you in preference to M. Périères? But what is the matter with you both? I declare I should not know you."
The sky was studded with stars of marvellous brightness, and Laura de Guéran, who had just raised her eyes to look at her two companions, was able to observe their pallor and their pained expression.
At the same time, she thought she could understand the meaning of the change, and, candid and out-spoken as ever, she said sweetly and kindly, but in a sad, broken voice—
"You are annoyed with me, are you not, for having remained so long without seeing you; for having shut my door against you, and having treated you as strangers—you, for whom I have so sincere a regard? Ah! if you only knew what I have undergone. But you were the last persons to whom I should have dared to confide my uncertainty, my fears, my hopes. I could only impart to you the result of my inquiries and my proceedings, and I have known that result but for a few hours. I was nerving myself to tell you all—to summon you—when you appeared. Now, I have no longer any right to be silent—I must divulge my secret."
She stopped, and they dared not reply, so deeply had her sympathetic, moving voice touched them, so strange was the emotion she aroused within them. Already their suffering had decreased, already were they reproaching themselves for their jealousy. She, who spoke to them and looked at them as she was then doing, could not be guilty of treason, either in love or friendship. They had accused her falsely, led away, blinded, and rendered unjust and cruel by their passion. But what was the secret she was about to entrust to their keeping? They longed in trembling anxiety to hear it.
She resumed, and her uneasiness was now equal to their own. She seemed to suffer from being compelled to speak as she was about to do, and blamed herself for the trouble she knew she should bring upon them. Her voice had lost its firmness, her countenance its composure, and her look its candour.
"First of all," she said, "let me tell you how deeply I regret having induced you to leave your country and enter on a life of adventure, without any object, as far as you are concerned, and—without any hope. My only idea, I assure you, was to undertake a journey, a pilgrimage, if you will, but a pilgrimage to a tomb where I had the right to kneel without wounding you. To-day the situation is changed, and you can no longer accompany me. I must continue on my way alone, and without your help go onwards towards the goal which I wish—which I ought to reach. I thank you with all my heart for your devotion to me, for the kindly affection you have ever displayed towards me. But, my dear companions, my valued friends, I must leave you, and you must forget me. My destiny is no longer my own to shape."
And as, pale, trembling, and unable to utter a word, they looked at her with anxiously inquiring gaze, she added timidly, nervously, without even stopping to take breath—
"I am not a widow. My husband, the victim of his devotion to science and his own personal bravery, is still alive, a prisoner in a country where no one had previously dared to penetrate. I must rescue him—I must save him. I am determined to do it, and I must say farewell to you."
The revelation just made by Madame de Guéran to MM. Périères and de Morin was certainly calculated to drive them to despair. If they had had any doubts about the power she exercised over them, their feelings and sufferings during the past few days would have removed them all. They were as deeply, seriously in love as it was possible for men to be; absolutely conquered and enslaved. And it was at this very moment, when they were acknowledging to themselves their defeat and the intensity of their love, that they heard her say—"Give up all hope, give me up, for I belong no more to myself!"
The blow, however, was not so severe as they might have supposed, because its effect had been weakened, deadened by the revulsion of feeling they had just experienced. For had they not sought Madame de Guéran for the sole purpose of heaping reproaches upon her, complaining of her treason, and saying farewell to her? They had looked upon her as lost after the cruellest fashion, M. de Morin picturing himself as sacrificed to M. Périères, and the latter, on the other hand, assuming that his rival was the lucky man, the victor, and the husband elect. Jealousy is the legitimate offspring of woundedamour-propre, the two sentiments depend on one another, are natural to each other, and one springs from the other. Get rid ofamour-propre, and jealousy will disappear; do away with jealousy, and the most unhappy love will, at all events, be calm and tranquil. Say to love—"Your beloved will not have anything to say to you because she loves another"—and off he will go in desperation, meditating revenge or suicide, according to his temperament. But say to him—"This woman keeps you at a distance simply because she neither can nor will belong to any one; she loves you, but she will never tell you so, nor will she allow you to tell her"—and away goes his anger; he loves still, perhaps may love always, but quietly and resignedly.
MM. Périères and de Morin had experienced the first of these feelings; they had now arrived at the second, and there they stopped. Madame de Guéran had certainly banished them and treated them with coldness, but she had neither deceived nor betrayed them. Each of them might still suppose himself to be preferred before his rival. They were neither of them being sacrificed to any particular person, but to an idea, a vague hope, an abstract and almost legendary husband.
The two young men no longer looked at each other so fiercely as they had done some moments previously. On the contrary, they appeared anxious for an excuse to be near each other, and to exchange a smile and a warm shake of the hand, such as had of late been conspicuous by their absence. They looked like two friends delighted at seeing each other again after a long absence.
A tender expression stole into their eyes as they turned them towards the Baroness. How could they have suspected that charming woman? How could they have allowed themselves for a moment to doubt that character, so open, so firm, so straightforward? Was she the woman to deceive them, to play them false, or to lower herself?
They all three looked at each other stealthily—she, overcome by the revelation she had just made, and they, ashamed of their suspicion, their jealousy, and their anger. At length, M. de Morin thought it time to speak.
"You have said," he commenced, with a still rather unsteady voice, "that we must quit you and return to France, leaving you to pursue your journey, run all sorts of danger, and face death itself, perhaps, alone. We will discuss that question when the proper time comes; for the present we can put it aside. First of all allow me to presume on our friendship so far as to ask you for a few details in connection with the circumstance you have just mentioned. M. de Guéran lives, so you say; how do you know that it is so? How far can you put any faith in the reports which are current with regard to his resurrection, hitherto unrevealed?"^
"I have irrefutable proofs," answered Madame de Guéran, "not that M. de Guéran lives, but that he did not die at the time, nor at the place, nor in the manner he was reported to have died. According to these reports, his death took place in October, 1871. Well, he wrote to me in January, 1872! He was said to have been buried in the Bongo country, the goal of my pilgrimage, as I told you some time ago. That country was traversed by him in safety, and long after the day on which he was supposed to have died, he was seen in the territory of the Monbuttoos!"
"Who saw him?" asked M. Périères.
"A man worthy of all credence, sent to me with his strongest recommendations, a negro of the Dinka tribe and an old soldier taken by Schweinfurth into his service as guide and interpreter."
"How was it, then, that Schweinfurth, who was in these countries you mention in 1871, and whom you, as you have told us, went to Germany to see, did not give you any information about M. de Guéran?"
"That is easily explained. Schweinfurth, it is true, travelled through these countries in 1871, but he was then on his way back to Khartoum, which he reached on the 21st June. In the beginning of the preceding year, failing to obtain from Munza, King of the Monbuttoos, permission to continue his journey southwards, he left his territory and proceeded northwards, in company with his friend, Aboo-Sammit, the ivory merchant."
"Granted," replied M. Périères, "but how does it happen that the servant, to whom you have alluded, is better informed than his master? How did he manage to see amongst the Monbuttoos a European whom Schweinfurth could not possibly meet, because at that time he was in the midst of other tribes?"
"The reply to that is still easier. The man in question, whose name is Nassar, did not leave at the same time with the rest of the caravan, because Aboo-Sammit had entrusted him with the superintendence of one of those branches which, in furtherance of his business, he establishes in the various fresh countries to which he extends his operations. It was at this place, where he remained for eighteen months with the same Nubian soldiers, and which is situated between the third and fourth degree north of the Equator, and the twenty-sixth and twenty-seventh of longitude, east of the meridian of Paris—it was here that, in January, 1872, a caravan, under the command of a white man, asked for shelter for a few hours. This man, this European, was my husband! I could not doubt either the description of him given by Nassar, or the few hasty lines that M. de Guéran scribbled in his memorandum-book and entrusted to his host."
"And why," asked M. de Morin, "did not this man contrive in some way or other that those lines should reach you?"
"For many reasons, amongst which due allowance must be made for the apathy and indifference of Orientals in general, and negroes in particular. We in England were, at one time, for two years without news of Livingstone, and we believed him dead because a man, implicitly trusted by him, neglected to send his despatches to Europe. But the best reason of all is this: the address, written in pencil upon a scrap of paper, had, through constant exposure to tropical sun and rain, become partly illegible."
"He should have taken it, even if it had been only a single word, on his return to Khartoum, to some Consul," observed M. Périères, "who would doubtless have deciphered it, and would possibly have concluded that it came from M. de Guéran, in which case your mind would have been at rest long ago."
"Very true, but would the Consul have given Nassar his anticipated reward? Once more, my friend, you are excluding from your calculations the rapacity of certain negro tribes; you forget that they turn everything into money, that they sell the right of passing through and of remaining in their country, and that they will let you perish in misery and want if you cannot give them a piece of copper, or an armlet, or some cowries, in exchange for the meat and drink you so sorely need. Nassar preferred to wait until somebody came forward to purchase his letter, and his calculations were tolerably accurate, seeing that I have paid him a very high price for it."
"Then," asked M. de Morin, "you have no longer any doubt? It was really your husband's handwriting—you recognized it?"
"Perfectly; and, more than that, I recognize, too, the train of thought I knew so well for two years of my life. In a few touching lines, he asks my forgiveness again for having left me so abruptly, and having dared to undertake such a journey. He left me, he says, with the intention of revisiting, for the last time, the districts he had formerly explored, and of taking a final farewell of them. According to his first idea his absence would not have been of long duration, but the exploration fever, that species of madness which draws people towards the unknown, had seized upon him, carried him away like a whirlwind, and taken him far from his intended track. I have often heard discussions upon that strange attraction to which we owe many of the discoveries made during the last half century. When once a man has tasted Africa he longs to get back to it. Livingstone passed twenty years of his life there. Mdlle. Tinne returned thither three times, and Speke was on his way back when he was accidentally shot. Baker managed to get himself made a general in the Egyptian army and secured an official appointment as the leader of an expedition, in order to give himself an excuse for seeing again the sources of the Nile he is always seeking, and the splendid lakes he loves so well. Indeed, in my own case, I will not go so far as to say that I was not impelled onward by some irresistible force, independent, perhaps, of the end I had in view. But to return to the subject—in other words, my husband's letter.
"He had ascended the Nile, he writes, as far as the Gazelle River, which he thought would be completely blocked by floating vegetation, but, on the contrary, he had been able to navigate it with ease, and to reach the district of the Reks. There M. de Guéran confesses he might easily have turned back, but marvellous tales had been told him of the open districts in front of him. He could not fight against his longing, his morbid passion, his folly, whatever it may please you to call it, and he set out. He assures me that he wrote to me when with the Dinkas, the Djours, and the Niam-Niam. Not one of those letters have I ever received, and that is not to be wondered at, seeing that an accident alone has put me in possession of his last.
"He concludes by telling me that he has gone too far to put back, and that he has neither the courage nor the right to retrace his steps just at the moment when he is on the point of reaching his goal, and solving those problems which have so long been under investigation. Indeed, he is the first European who has passed beyond the Monbuttoo territory, and everything is conjecture in connection with the territories extending thence for some degrees south-east and south-west. If he succeeds, he says, in passing through certain districts, up to the present time supposed to be impassable, he does not despair of reaching the Blue Mountains, of which Baker speaks, of crossing the Albert Nyanza, and so reaching in succession the Victoria Nyanza, Kazé, and Zanzibar. If he is induced to penetrate still farther southwards, he will make for the Lake Tanganyika, explored by Livingstone; and if westward, for the banks of the Congo and the Atlantic Ocean. Finally, he bids me adieu, and asks me once more to forgive him."
Madame de Guéran, who had maintained her composure wonderfully up to this point, now broke down, and could say no more. M. Périères went to her and said—
"And you are going to tempt these unknown lands, as your husband has done?"
"Yes," she replied, decisively.
"Alone?" he asked.
"With, Miss Poles, the guide who brought me M. de Guéran's letter, one or two Arab interpreters, and the caravan which they are about to organize."
"And we?"
"You cannot come with me."
"Why not?" asked M. de Morin, getting up quickly from his seat, and taking her hand in his.
Madame de Guéran was about to reply, but he did not give her time.
"Yes," he went on at once to say, "why cannot we accompany you? Why cannot Périères and I, for I see by our friend's face that he shares my feelings on this subject, why cannot we attempt an enterprise which does not appear to you to be beyond your strength? After having brought us thus far, have you, indeed, any right to send us back and say to us, 'I can do without you; you may return whence you came? I have made a pleasure trip with you, and have reached a spot arrived at by a thousand others before us. The question now is one of journeying through countries visited by three or four Europeans at most, of going still further afield into the midst of unknown tribes, into places described by geographers as unexplored regions. The pleasure trip becomes one of danger; each step along my new road is a step towards death. But I do not consider you fit to accompany me; go back to Europe and your pleasures, and let me die alone!' And we, who worship the ground you tread upon, we, to whom you are all the world, we are to obey you? Never! I tell you it is an impossibility!"
"De Morin is right," added Périères, laconically. His voice was perfectly calm, but, beneath the coldness of his tone, there lay an inflexible will and fiery enthusiasm.
In his usual excitable manner, M. de Morin continued—
"Picture to yourself what our feelings would be on the day when you leave us, and when we let you go alone. For my part, I should never dare to look Périères in the face again, and I am equally certain that he would never be able to lift his eyes to mine. We should each go on his own way, with eyes downcast, crest fallen, and blushing for very shame. When we reached Paris we should be greeted with—'What! back again already? How about the grand tour? Had it become too risky? Then why did you start? Did you not know what you had to expect? Of course you have brought your companion back with you? No! Do you mean to say that she has gone on? The courage that fails you, she has; the strength that you lack, she possesses; she does not fear death, but you did not see it in the same light. Well, every one for himself in this world. But surely, she would not have started if you had not gone with her; she relied on your assistance and support, and suddenly, you deprive her of both—it's a queer business altogether!' That, believe me, is what would be said in our club, and throughout Paris, and that is just what we do not want to have said about us.
"But hold ouramour-propreas cheap as you like, expose us to ridicule and contempt, if you will! Let us speak only of your opinion of us, the only opinion about which we, in reality, care one jot. We have talked of our devotion, our respect, our affection for you, and the day when you put these sentiments to real proof, you find nothing; all have vanished into thin air, respect, affection, devotion, all taken to flight! You cease to be a widow, and in twenty-four hours we cease to love you; the one woman in the world having disappeared for us, the friend disappears with her, and we have not an idea even of devoting ourselves to the friend. She held out to us the hope of a reward, the hope is taken away, everything is at an end, adieu! As she in whose service we were can no longer pay us, let her live as best she may, let her die when she will, it is no affair of ours!"
"No, we have duties to fulfil towards ourselves, towards you, and, I do not hesitate to say it, towards a fellow countryman. There is no necessity for mentioning his name, nor for saying that he is your husband. In certain situations all feelings of rivalry, jealousy, or envy disappear. A European like ourselves, a Frenchman is, perhaps, suffering, dying in a country we have heard of, and can reach. The distance which separates him from us is diminished, we have achieved a third, possibly half the journey, and we must go on to the end. We agreed to accompany you on a pilgrimage to render homage to the dead; now we wish to, and we must, bring succour to the living. That is all I have to say to you in my own name and that of Périères. Pardon my prolixity; I cannot be silent about my feelings, a thousand thoughts course through my mind, and I cannot help putting them into words."
"And I thank you for it, my friend," said Périères, holding out his hand.
Madame de Guéran could not utter a word, but her eyes spoke her thanks.
They did not leave her until nearly midnight, after having arranged to see her again on the following day, for the purpose of conversing, together now, about the preparations for departure.
Without wishing in the least to depreciate the good qualities of MM. de Morin and Périères, without casting the slightest doubt upon their chivalrous self denial, we must, all the same, confess that they were not quite so disinterested as might be supposed. They had not, without any reservation, abandoned all hope. The woman they loved had not become, in a single moment, a simple travelling companion to whom they were going to devote themselves till death. Their passionate love could not so easily give place to an equally sincere friendship. A common thought struck them at the time the revelation was made to them, but they had not time to dwell on it, and it was out of the question that they should give expression to it before Madame de Guéran. But when they were alone, and left to themselves, it was not long before it found vent in words.
"There is nothing," said M. Périères, abruptly, "to prove that M. deGuéran is still alive."
"In reality," continued M. de Morin, as if he were speaking to himself and following out an idea of his own, "our dear Baroness is possibly labouring under a delusion. She has just been furnished with proof that her husband was not dead, as had been reported, in 1871, and that, moreover, he was still alive at the commencement of 1872. Granted! The evidence she has collected, and the letter she has at length received are proofs positive of that, and I accept them as such. But since then? There is nothing whatever to show that M. de Guéran has not succumbed during the course of the year now drawing to a close."
"I agree with you," replied M. Périères. "In a year he might surely have reached, either towards the south-west or south-east, some territory, comparatively speaking, civilized, and have had an opportunity of sending news about himself. Evidently, however, Madame de Guéran does not share our ideas; she wants to find out the key to the enigma, and we must help her to discover it."
"No need to tell me that!" said M. de Morin.
Conversing thus, they went along a road on the bank of the Blue River towards their house, which was in the very centre of Khartoum. It was past midnight, the ships in the port had, long ere this, put out their lights, and the road was deserted. A few yards still separated them from the first houses of the inhabited part of the town, that is to say, the commercial quarter, when they saw a knot of six or seven persons who appeared to be wending their way to the Nile, and were walking parallel with them.
"Where are those people going at this time of night?" asked M. Périères. "They seem to be anxious not to be seen, for since they have perceived us, they have been hesitating, apparently, which direction to take."
"What does it matter to us?" replied M. de Morin. "They cannot have any motive for picking a quarrel with us, and, for the matter of that, in this charming country our revolvers never leave us."
"It is precisely for that reason that I propose to give them the benefit of our society; they interest me. We shall possibly find some curious specimen of their manners and customs to surprise us, and, to tell the truth, my dear fellow, I have up to now paid so very little attention to the customs of Khartoum that to-night I feel inclined to devote some of my time to them."
"Come along then," replied M. de Morin, who never objected to any proposition to throw himself headlong into some fresh adventure.
They hastened their steps and soon found themselves in close proximity to the people who had excited their curiosity.
"See!" exclaimed M. Périères. "They are carrying something."
"Yes, and that something looks very like a human form. A midnight burial, perhaps. The Nile, you know, like the Ganges and other great rivers, is often made a receptacle for corpses."
"Then their corpse is returning to life; it is struggling, defending itself, protesting, no doubt, against its destined tomb."
"You are right! It is no burial—it is assassination. We must interfere."
The band of men, seeing the pair coming towards them in hostile fashion, stopped, deposited their burden on the ground, surrounded it as if anxious to defend it, and assumed a threatening attitude.
The two Parisians ought to have halted a few yards from the gang, and have harangued or fought them there. They were armed with revolvers only, and, in amêlée, fire-arms, of whatever description they be, frequently become of no use, because, if space for taking aim is not forthcoming, the firing must be all snap-shooting and without effect. But M. de Morin, carried away by his habitual impetuosity, rushed upon the gang, M. Périères followed him, and they found themselves in the midst of half a dozen men, armed with knives and very formidable curved swords.
This sudden dash into the ruck, which closed round the trio with corresponding rapidity, had, however, one advantage, for at their very feet, in the roadway, and, so to speak, under their protection, they saw the man or woman who, a moment previously, was being carried towards the Nile. This living body, bound, gagged, and enveloped, as with a winding-sheet, in a large white bûrnus, gave evident signs of life in a series of convulsive jumps which, under other circumstances, would have been diverting enough. It was for all the world like a fish thrown up on a river bank, wriggling, floundering, and banging his tail about in lively, though futile fashion.
M. de Morin was stooping down to remove the winding-sheet when, by way of warning, he received a blow on his arm from a sword, fortunately without sustaining any injury. He sprang up and made a rush at his assailant, but stopped short suddenly on recognizing, in the star-light, the chief of the slave caravan, with whom, but a month previously, he had had such a sharp encounter.
The chief and his men simultaneously recognized the two Europeans, and their joy knew no bounds. At last all their enemies had been delivered into their hands, by mere chance, by the will of Allah. The Prophet had taken compassion on them, their cries for vengeance had reached him, their prayers had been heard. Not only had he given up to them M. Delange, who had ventured into the establishment of the Almehs, but he had also thrown in their way, at the dead of the night, and on the banks of the Nile, his companions. The thought that on two occasions in the same evening the Prophet had so manifestly shown his favour to them, could not fail to have a powerful influence on these fanatics, and it served to animate their courage. They made the grand mistake, nevertheless, of evidencing their joy prematurely, of relying too much on their superior strength, and, confident of victory, betrayed a secret which they would have done well to conceal. The chief, a European by birth, as we have already said, and speaking French, after a fashion, was imprudent enough to exclaim—
"At last you are all three in our power!"
"All three!" cried M. Périères, turning towards his friend.
They looked at each other, and took the whole thing in at a glance. The shapeless heap at their feet, the gagged and shrouded being could be no other than their companion. Dr. Delange. This unexpected revelation produced a complete and instantaneous change in their programme. It was no longer a question of risking their lives to save some unknown unfortunate, some ailing slave, as they had supposed, who was to be thrown into the Nile as the best means of disposing of such worthless property; the business in hand now was to rescue a fellow countryman, a friend, for whom they were ready to sacrifice themselves just as he would have done for them in similar circumstances.
"The fools!" whispered M. Périères in M. de Morin's ear. "And to think that I was just going to suggest getting out of this scrape as quietly as possible?"
"A brilliant idea that would have been!" replied M. de Morin. "What would have become of the poor Doctor? See, he has recognised our voices and is giving a few more evidences of vitality in order to attract our attention."
And, so saying, he was stooping down to take hold of the bûrnus once more, when Périères, seizing him by the arm, exclaimed—
"Wait. They are too near us. Let us clear the ground."
And, without waiting for a reply, he fired three random shots with his revolver.
These produced an immediate effect, for, though their adversaries were not hit, they recoiled, and so the circle was enlarged. MM. Périères and de Morin took advantage of this movement, and, without taking their eyes off the Arabs, who were already crowding in again upon them, they snatched away the bûrnus, and in a second had cut the thongs which bound M. Delange hand and foot, and relieved him of his gag.
"Phew!" said the Doctor, still confused and trying to stand up. "You are just in time. I thought it was all up with me. A thousand thanks. Have you a pistol?"
"No, but take the knife which served to release you."
"'Half a loaf is better than no bread.' Look out! Here they come!"
The Arabs, shouting and brandishing their swords, returned to the charge.
Two fresh shots from the revolvers resounded on the midnight air, but the balls took no effect, and the Arabs were unscathed.
"The game is not equal!" exclaimed M. de Morin. "Our task is ended.Let us run for it."
The danger must have been extreme indeed for M. de Morin to speak of flight. And it was so.
These three young men, armed with one knife and two revolvers, could not, as one half of their ammunition was already expended, struggle for any length of time with the slightest chance of success against six men, furnished with swords and daggers. But the successive reports of the pistols, in a suburb of Khartoum and within a few yards of the inhabited portion of it, had attracted the attention of an Egyptian picket patrolling the town. As a rule, the soldiers who in Upper Egypt act as police only put in an appearance when they think there is no danger. If they do not hesitate to take strong measures against quarrelsome slaves and drunken negroes, they prudently avoid all interference in the disputes of the Mussulmen, slave dealers and scamps of all sorts, who, knife in hand, swarm about Khartoum. But a large portion of the Egyptian army is composed of prisoners taken in former days from the territories now annexed to Egypt, and those in whom the Government places the most reliance come from the Dinka tribe, fine, brave, soldier-like looking men. The slave merchants have for some time past abandoned all idea of dealing with this tribe, their indomitable character, their independent spirit, and, above all, their strength rendering them very dangerous customers. In the ranks of the army, on the contrary, although they are occasionally insubordinate, they render valuable service. The commanding officers themselves frequently belong to this tribe, and it was only last year that the Soudan contingent was under the command of Adam Pasha, a Dinka ex-prisoner.
The small picket, which, attracted by the noise, came to the assistance of the three Europeans, was fortunately almost entirely composed of these picked men. As soon as they saw the Arabs, they advanced against them at the double, attacked them at close quarters, and dealt their blows right and left without apparently taking any thought of their own danger.
The struggle was soon over. Two Arabs took to flight, whilst the remaining four, hastily concealing their arms, began to bellow and shout, and maintained that they were the victims of an unprovoked attack on the part of the Europeans. The latter contented themselves with a shrug of the shoulders without trying to enter into any explanations, which, moreover, would have been utterly futile, seeing that the Dinkas could not have understood them. The matter ended, as it would have done in our own country, by the whole party being taken to the Egyptian station-house, situated in a square of Khartoum close to the Divan. The soldiers, however, treated the Europeans with the greatest courtesy, making them walk in front, without using any force, whereas on the slightest provocation they used both their fists and their feet on their other prisoners, whom they had recognised as slave dealers. The Dinkas hate these brutes, whom they, and on good grounds, reproach with having depopulated their country, and with still making razzias there for the purpose of seizing their women, celebrated for their culinary and household talents, and, for these reasons, eagerly sought after in every well-appointed harem.
When the station-house was reached, the Europeans succeeded in explaining matters to the officer on duty, and were at once set at liberty, whereas the traders were detained in durance vile to answer later on for their misdeeds.
At home once more, in the house occupied by them in the centre of Khartoum, the three Frenchmen, in spite of the excitement of the evening and the fatigues of the night, sat down to congratulate each other on their victory, and to talk over the expedition which had been resolved upon at Madame de Guéran's house.
"It is unnecessary to say," said M. de Morin, addressing M. Delange, "that I have no right to drag you into these stupid countries whither we are bound. The Niam-Niam, whose acquaintance we shall soon be called upon to make, are not provided by nature with tails, as many travellers have stated—that is certain. But it is still more certain, according to Piaggia, Poncet, Schweinfurth and many others, that they file their teeth to a point in order to facilitate their digestion of human flesh. Their neighbours, the Monbuttoos, are not one whit behind them from an anthropophagous point of view; indeed, it is currently reported of them that when very hungry they do not stop at disinterment. I, consequently, my dear fellow, am not inhuman enough to devote your body to the refreshment of these interesting races."
"De Morin might have added," continued M. Périères, puffing away at his cigar with much gusto, and emitting clouds of smoke, to the great annoyance of the numerous mosquitoes, "that those travellers who are not fortunate enough to be eaten, generally speaking die of fatigue and want. Without going very far afield for examples, I may mention the Italian Miani, who in 1870 was the Director of the Acclimatization Society in this town. He left for the South in 1871, as we are going to do, and, a few months afterwards, he wrote in his note-book the touching words I read this morning, 'I have no strength to write—I am suffering horribly—I have had a trench dug for my grave, and my servants have come to kiss my hands, and say—God grant that you may not die!—Adieu, all my hopes! Adieu, the dreams of my life! Adieu, Italy, for whose liberty I once fought!'"
"You see," resumed M. de Morin, "that the countries whither we are bound are not altogether satisfactory. Resume your liberty once more, and be sure that we shall never forget all that you have done for us up to to-day."
"With your permission," answered M. Delange, "I am off to bed, and to-morrow morning you shall know my decision. You have just saved my life, and I feel that, to-night, I should be influenced by that fact."
The answer of Dr. Delange was not long delayed, and the following morning he announced his intention of joining the expedition. This result might have been foreseen, for, when a journey is in question, hesitation exists at the moment of departure alone. When fairly on the road, vacillating characters lose their indecision, and bear testimony to the truth of the proverb, "Il n'y a que le premier pas qui coûte." Ties hard to break are formed amongst the travellers; services rendered by one to another create new duties for each,amour-propreenters into the calculation, no one member of the community wants to be under an obligation to another, nobody will give way whilst his neighbour holds out, and each one would blush for a desertion which would be condemned by all.
Again, in dangerous undertakings such as that we are discussing, gratitude as well asamour-proprehas somewhat to say. A very serious kind of treaty, a treaty of life and death, is entered upon by the various components of the caravans—"I was almost lost to-day when you saved me; to-morrow it will be my turn to save you." In this way Dr. Delange, having rescued M. de Morin from the Bedouins of El-Bejaz, scored the first game. M. de Morin had just won the second; the conqueror had to be played, and the Doctor, like the thorough gambler that he was, did not care about leaving thepartieundecided.
And now that we are speaking of gambling, we ought to mention that M. Delange had by no means given up the parties prescribed by his contract. Only, because M. de Morin had of late shown himself disinclined both for baccarat and écarté, the Doctor, not to drive him to desperation, had offered him credit for a few weeks, on condition that he would wipe off the score later on. They were already twentyparties, of a thousand francs each, behindhand, and that alone held out to M. Delange an agreeable prospect for the future; for, adding these twenty to the one per diem agreed upon, he saw before him a gambling horizon of stupendous proportions. Africa and its dreaded tribes disappeared, and he only saw cards, nothing but cards, strewing his onward path. They smoothed away all the rough places, and levelled all the precipices on the road. And we may as well add that the exploration fever, confessed to by so many others, had seized upon him, and had awakened in him the hitherto lalent instincts of a traveller.
MM. de Morin and Périères were consequently accompanied by Dr. Delange, when, on the following day, they betook themselves to Madame de Guéran. She had herself summoned to the conference Miss Beatrice Poles, and the Dinka Nassar, who had brought her the letter from her husband, as well as the two Arab interpreters, whose devotion had been so conspicuous during the first portion of the expedition. The trusty Joseph, also summoned, responded to the call. It had been vainly expected that he would have resolved upon returning to France, but he persisted in being one of the party with an obstinacy, of which Miss Poles, who could not bear the sight of him, had divined the real motive.
Joseph hoped to make a rapid fortune in Africa, and to find an opening for two branches of industry—ivory and slaves. In his idea, these two businesses were inseparable; ivory and slaves were one and the same thing. He had read that a few pieces of copper, or a yard or two of calico, or a packet of needles, would, in certain regions, buy a young girl, about fifteen, who would be easily exchanged in another tribe for an elephant's tusk. The copper, calico, or needles represented a value of four or five francs, whereas tusks would be sold in Europe at a rate of from five hundred to seven hundred and fifty francs. The business, conducted on a large scale, was therefore magnificent, and Joseph did not feel inclined to forego it. In addition to this, he was rather pleased with the idea of becoming for some time the proprietor of a certain number of slaves, and he proposed, by means of them, to relieve himself of a portion of his work, and to enjoy all the advantages of a servant free from all expense, and a master who had nothing to do.
Our European colony thus retained its original dimensions, and required merely an escort and the proper complement of bearers. A consultation was held on this point, the inconvenience of a large following having been confessed by every traveller. Large caravans have the credit, at all events, of spreading terror along their route, and of assuming an attitude of open hostility against the native population, still in a state of barbarism, it is true, but free, nevertheless, to put their veto on the inroad of armed people into their territories. Why should we do in Africa what we should not allow anybody to do in Europe? Should we allow armed negroes to march from one end to the other of France or England? Livingstone, Mungo Park, Major Laing, René Caillié, Grant, Speke, Cameron, Barth, Vögel, and plenty of other travellers never dreamt of pursuing their explorations with a countless escort.
Nevertheless, these reflections are not quite as just as they seem to be, for the travellers, whose names we have mentioned, were content to travel slowly, ever temporizing and substituting tact and patience for force. They often remained entire years at the mercy of the chief of some petty tribe? What did it matter to them? It only gave them greater opportunities for studying the country under every aspect and condition, to the manifest advantage of all branches of science. And, at the same time, the tribes amongst whom they lived became familiar with their manners and customs, and were improved in consequence, the explorers in this way becoming apostles and missionaries. But our caravan had another end in view; their object was to recover an explorer, a bold pioneer, lost, or strayed, or, perhaps, in imminent danger of his life. They had no time to lose, and could not brook the delays incidental to a scientific expedition or an apostolic mission. Moreover, if we do not allow armed strangers to wander through France, we, at least, offer them certain guarantees against danger which we can scarcely find in Africa. When that country shall have provided itself with railways, gendarmes, sergents-de-ville, or policemen, we shall no longer require armed and costly escorts.
It was decided, therefore, that attention should only be paid, within certain limits, of course, to the advice of single travellers, and that the number of soldiers and bearers should be reduced, as far as possible, consistently with the expedition being strong enough to force its way in case of necessity, to inspire respect, and repulse any attack. Nassar and the two interpreters received orders to engage fifty experienced soldiers who had already accompanied expeditions to the south, and from this escort Arabs were to be excluded on account of their always being prone to look upon the districts to be explored as conquered countries, continually maltreating the inhabitants, and exciting quarrels. In default of Dinkas, Nubians were to be chosen, not for any courage or habits of discipline that they possess, but because they are good shots, inured to the climate, and expert pioneers. Neither were they likely to desert, because they would leave their country with the caravan, and would naturally be interested in returning with it. The leaders of the expedition, indeed, could not, without grave imprudence, engage any people belonging to the tribes they were about to visit, lest, when they arrived at their own homes, they should be tempted to remain there.
Thanks to all these precautions, the small force of soldiers was rapidly recruited, made up of good material, and armed with excellent carbines purchased in France and brought to Khartoum by the Nile from Cairo, whence they had been forwarded with all the other heavy baggage three months previously. As soon as the ranks of the escort were filled up, it was placed under the command of Nassar, who was, however, not to adopt any measure of importance without previous consultation with MM. Périères and Delange, his immediate chiefs. All these men were duly enlisted at the Divan, and signed an agreement to pay implicit obedience to the Europeans, who were at the same time invested with the power of punishment or reward, according to circumstances. According to the custom in vogue in the districts of the White River, five months' pay was handed over in advance, the remainder to be paid on the return of the expedition.
The question of bearers was quite as serious, but, thanks to the assistance of the Egyptian authorities, contracts were entered into with ivory merchants, holders of stations (seribas) in the southern districts. These traders undertook, as soon as the expedition, leaving the river, advanced by land, to furnish from one hundred and fifty to two hundred men as porters, to carry the baggage, presents of all kinds, such as glass beads, copper, and cotton goods, and, more important than all, the provisions necessary for so numerous a body.
The escort settled, the three Parisians, assisted now by Madame de Guéran and Miss Poles, turned their attention to laying in a stock of brandy, tea, coffee, compressed vegetables, and spices. To the various articles brought from France to serve as presents or exchanges, they added a large quantity of English calico and coarse check, calledtroumba. Finally, an ample stock of ammunition— powder, bullets, lead, and cartridges was laid in, and packed in iron cases, with locks and keys, for it must be remembered that the negroes are very much given to waste on a large scale, and it is prudent to take precautions to prevent their habit of firing in the air now and again for amusement. All this immense paraphernalia was by degrees put on board the four vessels purchased by the Europeans, the neggher or noggor which had brought them from Berber to Khartoum, and three decked boats known on the Nile under the name of dahabiéh. One of the latter was fitted up for the conveyance of a few donkeys and ten horses, destined for the use of the Europeans, their interpreters, and their executive officer, Nassar.
The whole flotilla was to be towed for a portion of the way, as far as the Gazelle River, by a steamer, belonging to the Government and ordered to proceed to Gondokoro, in search of Baker, whose military mission would expire on the 1st April, 1873.
The preparations were all completed by the end of January. There was nothing then to detain our European colony at Khartoum, and it was at liberty to commence that terrible journey which for so long a time took such hold of both Europe and America.
* * * * * *
"My dear Pommerelle and Desrioux, for, as you say you always meet to read our letters, this one is addressed to you both. I write to you in my own name, and those of de Morin and Delange, who are too much occupied with our final preparations for departure to say good-bye to you as they could have wished.
"We hope to embark in an hour's time, if we can manage to collect our sailors, escort, and servants, the whole lot having been undiscoverable and unmanageable ever since they handled their five months' pay, and are evidently bent on leaving their last piastre in the purlieus of Khartoum.
"I have, in my former letters, posted you both up fully as regards our projected plans, which have not been altered in the least. We are going to bear in a straight line southward as far as the seriba, where Nassar states he entertained M. de Guéran. There we shall endeavour to hit upon and follow up the track of our fellow-countryman; but it is evident, as far as de Morin and I are concerned, that if we had known in France as much about the Baron as we have learnt in Khartoum, we should have mapped out a very different plan of operations.
"In reality, if M. de Guéran has succeeded, as he seems in his letter to expect, in crossing the frontier of the Monbuttoos and making either Lake Albert Nyanza or Lake Tanganyika, we are simply going to follow in his footsteps, without any chance of overtaking him. If, on the contrary, we had started from Zanzibar, by way of Kazé, in a north-westerly direction, we might have met him actually coming towards us, and, in any case, we could have reached, from that side, the unknown countries he proposed to visit just as easily as by the Monbuttoo territory. If we could begin de novo, we should therefore start from Zanzibar. But these reflections are futile and all regrets superfluous.
"Good-bye, then, my dear friends, from all of us. Do not quite forget us, take our part against those who call us fools, and if you never hear from us more, say to yourselves that we died thinking of you and our beloved France."
End of Project Gutenberg's A Parisian Sultana, Vol. I (of 3), by Adolphe Belot