CHAPTER XVIII
When Nuflo at length opened his eyes he found me sitting alone anddespondent by the fire, just returned from my vain chase. I had beencaught in a heavy mist on the mountain-side, and was wet through as wellas weighed down by fatigue and drowsiness, consequent upon the previousday's laborious march and my night-long vigil; yet I dared not think ofrest. She had gone from me, and I could not have prevented it; yet thethought that I had allowed her to slip out of my arms, to go away aloneon that long, perilous journey, was as intolerable as if I had consentedto it.
Nuflo was at first startled to hear of her sudden departure; but helaughed at my fears, affirming that after having once been over theground she could not lose herself; that she would be in no danger fromthe Indians, as she would invariably see them at a distance and avoidthem, and that wild beasts, serpents, and other evil creatures would doher no harm. The small amount of food she required to sustain life couldbe found anywhere; furthermore, her journey would not be interruptedby bad weather, since rain and heat had no effect on her. In the end heseemed pleased that she had left us, saying that with Rima in the woodthe house and cultivated patch and hidden provisions and implementswould be safe, for no Indian would venture to come where she was. Hisconfidence reassured me, and casting myself down on the sandy floor ofthe cave, I fell into a deep slumber, which lasted until evening; thenI only woke to share a meal with the old man, and sleep again until thefollowing day.
Nuflo was not ready to start yet; he was enamoured of the unaccustomedcomforts of a dry sleeping-place and a fire blown about by no wind andinto which fell no hissing raindrops. Not for two days more would heconsent to set out on the return journey, and if he could have persuadedme our stay at Riolama would have lasted a week.
We had fine weather at starting; but before long it clouded, and thenfor upwards of a fortnight we had it wet and stormy, which so hinderedus that it took us twenty-three days to accomplish the return journey,whereas the journey out had only taken eighteen. The adventures wemet with and the pains we suffered during this long march need not berelated. The rain made us miserable, but we suffered more from hungerthan from any other cause, and on more than one occasion were reduced tothe verge of starvation. Twice we were driven to beg for food at Indianvillages, and as we had nothing to give in exchange for it, we gotvery little. It is possible to buy hospitality from the savage withoutfish-hooks, nails, and calico; but on this occasion I found myselfwithout that impalpable medium of exchange which had been so greata help to me on my first journey to Parahuari. Now I was weak andmiserable and without cunning. It is true that we could have exchangedthe two dogs for cassava bread and corn, but we should then have beenworse off than ever. And in the end the dogs saved us by an occasionalcapture--an armadillo surprised in the open and seized before it couldbury itself in the soil, or an iguana, opossum, or labba, traced bymeans of their keen sense of smell to its hiding-place. Then Nuflo wouldrejoice and feast, rewarding them with the skin, bones, and entrails.But at length one of the dogs fell lame, and Nuflo, who was very hungry,made its lameness an excuse for dispatching it, which he did apparentlywithout compunction, notwithstanding that the poor brute had servedhim well in its way. He cut up and smoke-dried the flesh, and theintolerable pangs of hunger compelled me to share the loathsome foodwith him. We were not only indecent, it seemed to me, but cannibals tofeed on the faithful servant that had been our butcher. "But what doesit matter?" I argued with myself. "All flesh, clean and unclean, shouldbe, and is, equally abhorrent to me, and killing animals a kind ofmurder. But now I find myself constrained to do this evil thing thatgood may come. Only to live I take it now--this hateful strength-giverthat will enable me to reach Rima, and the purer, better life that is tobe."
During all that time, when we toiled onwards league after league insilence, or sat silent by the nightly fire, I thought of many things;but the past, with which I had definitely broken, was little in my mind.Rima was still the source and centre of all my thoughts; from her theyrose, and to her returned. Thinking, hoping, dreaming, sustained me inthose dark days and nights of pain and privation. Imagination was thebread that gave me strength, the wine that exhilarated. What sustainedold Nuflo's mind I know not. Probably it was like a chrysalis, dormant,independent of sustenance; the bright-winged image to be called at somefuture time to life by a great shouting of angelic hosts and noises ofmusical instruments slept secure, coffined in that dull, gross nature.
The old beloved wood once more! Never did his native village in somemountain valley seem more beautiful to the Switzer, returning, war-worn,from long voluntary exile, than did that blue cloud on the horizon--theforest where Rima dwelt, my bride, my beautiful--and towering overit the dark cone of Ytaioa, now seem to my hungry eyes! How near atlast--how near! And yet the two or three intervening leagues to betraversed so slowly, step by step--how vast the distance seemed! Even atfar Riolama, when I set out on my return, I scarcely seemed so far frommy love. This maddening impatience told on my strength, which was small,and hindered me. I could not run nor even walk fast; old Nuflo, slow,and sober, with no flame consuming his heart, was more than my equal inthe end, and to keep up with him was all I could do. At the finish hebecame silent and cautious, first entering the belt of trees leadingaway through the low range of hills at the southern extremity of thewood. For a mile or upwards we trudged on in the shade; then I beganto recognize familiar ground, the old trees under which I had walkedor sat, and knew that a hundred yards further on there would be a firstglimpse of the palm-leaf thatch. Then all weakness forsook me; with alow cry of passionate longing and joy I rushed on ahead; but I strainedmy eyes in vain for a sight of that sweet shelter; no patch of paleyellow colour appeared amidst the universal verdure of bushes, creepers,and trees--trees beyond trees, trees towering above trees.
For some moments I could not realize it. No, I had surely made amistake, the house had not stood on that spot; it would appear in sighta little further on. I took a few uncertain steps onwards, and thenagain stood still, my brain reeling, my heart swelling nigh to burstingwith anguish. I was still standing motionless, with hand pressed to mybreast, when Nuflo overtook me. "Where is it--the house?" I stammered,pointing with my hand. All his stolidity seemed gone now; he wastrembling too, his lips silently moving. At length he spoke: "Theyhave come--the children of hell have been here, and have destroyedeverything!"
"Rima! What has become of Rima?" I cried; but without replying he walkedon, and I followed.
The house, we soon found, had been burnt down. Not a stick remained.Where it had stood a heap of black ashes covered the ground--nothingmore. But on looking round we could discover no sign of human beingshaving recently visited the spot. A rank growth of grass and herbage nowcovered the once clear space surrounding the site of the dwelling, andthe ash-heap looked as if it had been lying there for a month at least.As to what had become of Rima the old man could say no word. He sat downon the ground overwhelmed at the calamity: Runi's people had been there,he could not doubt it, and they would come again, and he could only lookfor death at their hands. The thought that Rima had perished, that shewas lost, was unendurable. It could not be! No doubt the Indians tractcome and destroyed the house during our absence; but she had returned,and they had gone away again to come no more. She would be somewhere inthe forest, perhaps not far off, impatiently waiting our return. The oldman stared at me while I spoke; he appeared to be in a kind of stupor,and made no reply: and at last, leaving him still sitting on the ground,I went into the wood to look for Rima.
As I walked there, occasionally stopping to peer into some shadowy gladeor opening, and to listen, I was tempted again and again to call thename of her I sought aloud; and still the fear that by so doing I mightbring some hidden danger on myself, perhaps on her, made me silent. Astrange melancholy rested on the forest, a quietude seldom broken by adistant bird's cry. How, I asked myself, should I ever find her in thatwide forest while I moved about in that silent, cautious way? My onlyhope was that she would f
ind me. It occurred to me that the most likelyplace to seek her would be some of the old haunts known to us both,where we had talked together. I thought first of the mora tree, whereshe had hidden herself from me, and thither I directed my steps. Aboutthis tree, and within its shade, I lingered for upwards of an hour; and,finally, casting my eyes up into the great dim cloud of green and purpleleaves, I softly called: "Rima, Rima, if you have seen me, and haveconcealed yourself from me in your hiding-place, in mercy answer me--inmercy come down to me now!" But Rima answered not, nor threw downany red glowing leaves to mock me: only the wind, high up, whisperedsomething low and sorrowful in the foliage; and turning, I wandered awayat random into the deeper shadows.
By and by I was startled by the long, piercing cry of a wildfowl,sounding strangely loud in the silence; and no sooner was the air stillagain than it struck me that no bird had uttered that cry. The Indianis a good mimic of animal voices, but practice had made me able todistinguish the true from the false bird-note. For a minute or so Istood still, at a loss what to do, then moved on again with greatercaution, scarcely breathing, straining my sight to pierce the shadowydepths. All at once I gave a great start, for directly before me, on theprojecting root in the deeper shade of a tree, sat a dark, motionlesshuman form. I stood still, watching it for some time, not yet knowingthat it had seen me, when all doubts were put to flight by the formrising and deliberately advancing--a naked Indian with a zabatana inhis hand. As he came up out of the deeper shade I recognized Piake, thesurly elder brother of my friend Kua-ko.
It was a great shock to meet him in the wood, but I had no time toreflect just then. I only remembered that I had deeply offended him andhis people, that they probably looked on me as an enemy, and wouldthink little of taking my life. It was too late to attempt to escape byflight; I was spent with my long journey and the many privations I hadsuffered, while he stood there in his full strength with a deadly weaponin his hand.
Nothing was left but to put a bold face on, greet him in a friendly way,and invent some plausible story to account for my action in secretlyleaving the village.
He was now standing still, silently regarding me, and glancing roundI saw that he was not alone: at a distance of about forty yards on myright hand two other dusky forms appeared watching me from the deepshade.
"Piake!" I cried, advancing three or four steps.
"You have returned," he answered, but without moving. "Where from?"
"Riolama."
He shook his head, then asked where it was.
"Twenty days towards the setting sun," I said. As he remained silent Iadded: "I heard that I could find gold in the mountains there. An oldman told me, and we went to look for gold."
"What did you find?"
"Nothing."
"Ah!"
And so our conversation appeared to be at an end. But after a fewmoments my intense desire to discover whether the savages knew aught ofRima or not made me hazard a question.
"Do you live here in the forest now?" I asked.
He shook his head, and after a while said: "We come to kill animals."
"You are like me now," I returned quickly; "you fear nothing."
He looked distrustfully at me, then came a little nearer and said: "Youare very brave. I should not have gone twenty days' journey with noweapons and only an old man for companion. What weapons did you have?"
I saw that he feared me and wished to make sure that I had it not inmy power to do him some injury. "No weapon except my knife," I replied,with assumed carelessness. With that I raised my cloak so as to let himsee for himself, turning my body round before him. "Have you found mypistol?" I added.
He shook his head; but he appeared less suspicious now and came close upto me. "How do you get food? Where are you going?" he asked.
I answered boldly: "Food! I am nearly starving. I am going to thevillage to see if the women have got any meat in the pot, and to tellRuni all I have done since I left him."
He looked at me keenly, a little surprised at my confidence perhaps,then said that he was also going back and would accompany me One of theother men now advanced, blow-pipe in hand, to join us, and, leaving thewood, we started to walk across the savannah.
It was hateful to have to recross that savannah again, to leave thewoodland shadows where I had hoped to find Rima; but I was powerless:I was a prisoner once more, the lost captive recovered and not yetpardoned, probably never to be pardoned. Only by means of my own cunningcould I be saved, and Nuflo, poor old man, must take his chance.
Again and again as we tramped over the barren ground, and when weclimbed the ridge, I was compelled to stand still to recover breath,explaining to Piake that I had been travelling day and night, with nomeat during the last three days, so that I was exhausted. This wasan exaggeration, but it was necessary to account in some way for thefaintness I experienced during our walk, caused less by fatigue and wantof food than by anguish of mind.
At intervals I talked to him, asking after all the other members of thecommunity by name. At last, thinking only of Rima, I asked him if anyother person or persons besides his people came to the wood now or livedthere.
He said no. "Once," I said, "there was a daughter of the Didi, a girlyou all feared: is she there now?"
He looked at me with suspicion and then shook his head. I dared notpress him with more questions; but after an interval he said plainly:"She is not there now."
And I was forced to believe him; for had Rima been in the woodthey would not have been there. She was not there, this much I haddiscovered. Had she, then, lost her way, or perished on that longjourney from Riolama? Or had she returned only to fall into the handsof her cruel enemies? My heart was heavy in me; but if these devils inhuman shape knew more than they had told me, I must, I said, hide myanxiety and wait patiently to find it out, should they spare mylife. And if they spared me and had not spared that other sacred lifeinterwoven with mine, the time would come when they would find, toolate, that they had taken to their bosom a worse devil than themselves.