CHAPTER I.
"WILL NO ONE EXPLORE RORAIMA?"[3]
[3] The Indians of British Guiana pronounce this word Roreema.
Beneath the verandah of a handsome, comfortable-looking residence nearGeorgetown, the principal town of British Guiana, a young man sat onemorning early in the year 1890, attentively studying a volume thatlay open on a small table before him. It was easy to see that he wasreading something that was, for him at least, of more than ordinaryinterest, something that seemed to carry his thoughts far away fromthe scene around him; for when, presently, he raised his eyes from thebook, they looked out straight before him with a gaze that evidentlysaw nothing of that on which they rested.
He was a handsome young fellow of, perhaps, twenty-two years of age,rather tall, and well-made, with light wavy hair, and blue-grey eyesthat had in them an introspective, somewhat dreamy expression, butthat nevertheless could light up on occasion with an animated glance.
The house stood on a terrace that commanded a view of the sea, and,in the distance, white sails could be seen making their way acrossthe blue water in the light breeze and the dazzling sunlight. Nearerat hand were waving palms, glowing flowers, humming insects andgaudily-coloured butterflies--all the beauties of a tropical garden. Onone side of him was the open window of a sitting-room that, shaded, asit was, by the verandah, looked dark and cool compared with the glareof the scorching sun outside.
From this room came the sounds of a grand piano and of the sweet voiceof a girl singing a simple and pathetic ballad.
At the moment the song ceased a brisk step was heard coming up the paththrough the garden, and a good-looking young fellow of tall figure andmanly air made his way to where the other still sat with his eyes fixedon vacancy, as one who neither sees nor hears aught of what is going onabout him.
"Ha, Leonard!" the new-comer exclaimed, with a light laugh, "caught youdreaming again, eh? In another of your reveries?"
The other roused himself with a start, and looked to see who was hisvisitor.
"Good-morning, Jack," he then answered with a slight flush. "Well,yes--I suppose I must have been dreaming a little, for I did not hearyou coming."
"Bet I guess what you were dreaming about," said the one addressed asJack. "Roraima, as usual, eh?"
Leonard looked a little conscious.
"Why, yes," he admitted, smiling. "But," he continued seriously, "Ihave just been reading something that set me thinking. It is aboutRoraima, and it is old; that is to say, it is in an old number of apaper bound up in this book that a friend has lent me. I should like toread it to you. Shall I?"
"All right; if I may smoke the while. I suppose I may?" And thespeaker, anticipating consent, pulled out a pipe, filled and lightedit, and then, having seated himself on a chair, crossed one leg overthe other, and added, "Now, then, I am ready. Fire away, old man."
And Leonard Elwood read the following extract from the book he had beenstudying:--
"Will no one explore Roraima, and bring us back the tidings which it has been waiting these thousands of years to give us? One of the greatest marvels and mysteries of the earth lies on the outskirt of one of our colonies, and we leave the mystery unsolved, the marvel uncared for. The description given of it (with a map and an illustrated sketch) in Mr. Barrington Brown's 'Canoe and Camp Life in British Guiana' (one of the most fascinating books of travel the present writer has read for a long time) is a thing to dream of by the hour. A great table of pink and white and red sandstone, 'interbedded with red shale,' rises from a height of five thousand one hundred feet above the level of the sea, two thousand feet sheer into the sapphire tropical sky. A forest crowns it; the highest waterfall in the world--only one, it would seem, out of several--tumbles from its summit, two thousand feet at one leap, three thousand more on a slope of forty-five degrees to the bottom of the valley, broad enough to be seen thirty miles away. Only two parties of civilised explorers have reached the base of the table--Sir Robert Schomburgk many years ago, and Mr. Brown and a companion in 1869[4]--each at different spots. Even the length of the mass has not been determined--Mr. Brown says from eight to twelve miles. And he cannot help speculating whether the remains of a former creation may not be found at the top. At any rate, there is the forest on its summit; of what trees is it composed? They cannot well be the same as those at its base. At a distance of fifteen hundred feet above sea-level the mango-tree of the West Indies, which produces fruit in abundance below, ceases to bear. The change in vegetation must be far more decided where the difference is between five thousand and seven thousand feet. Thus for millenniums this island of sandstone in the South American continent must have had its own distinct flora. What may be its fauna? Very few birds probably ascend to a height of two thousand feet in the air, the vulture tribe excepted. Nearly the whole of its animated inhabitants are likely to be as distinct as its plants.
[4] Since then Roraima has been visited by two or three other travellers; but their accounts have added little to our knowledge. They entirely confirm Mr. Brown's statements as to its inaccessibility. (See Preface.)
"Is it peopled with human beings? Who can tell? Why not? The climate must be temperate, delicious. There is abundance of water, very probably issuing from some lake on the summit. Have we here a group of unknown brothers cut off from all the rest of their kind?
"The summit, Mr. Brown says, is inaccessible except by means of balloons. Well, that is a question to be settled on the spot, between an engineer and a first-rate 'Alpine.' (What is the satisfaction of standing on the ice-ridge of the Matterhorn, or crossing the lava-wastes of the Vatna-Joekull, compared to what would be the sensation of reaching that aerial forest and gazing plumb down over the sea of tropical verdure beneath, within an horizon the limits of which are absolutely beyond guessing?)
"But put it that a balloon is required, surely it would be worth while for one of our learned societies to organise a balloon expedition for the purpose. No one can tell what problems in natural science might not be elucidated by the exploration. We have here an area of limited extent within which the secular variation of species, if any, must have gone on undisturbed, with only a limited number of conceivable exceptions, since at least the very beginning of the present age in the world's life. Can there be a fairer field for the testing of those theories which are occupying men's minds so much in our days? And if there be human beings on Roraima, what new data must not their language, their condition, contribute for the study of philologers, anthropologists, sociologists?
"One more wonder remains to be told. The traveller speaks of two other mountains in the same district which are of the same description as Roraima--tables of sand-stone rising up straight into the blue--one larger than (though not as high as) Roraima itself. It is only because of their existence, and because, for aught that appears, they may be equally inaccessible with Roraima, that one does not venture to call Roraima _the_ greatest marvel and mystery of the earth!"
"What is that taken from?" asked Jack Templemore when the reader hadput down the book.
"It is from the _Spectator_.[5] I say, Jack, what a chance for anexplorer! Fancy people spending their money and risking their lives inexploring an icy, cold, miserable, desolate region, like the ArcticCircle, when there is a wondrous land here in the blue skies--yetno wilderness of ice and snow--waiting to be won; and no one seemsto trouble about it! I do wish you would do as I have so oftensuggested--set out with me upon an expedition and let us see whetherwe cannot solve the secret of this mysterious mountain. You have theleisure now, and I have the money. Dr. Lorien and his son are now ontheir way back from near there; if they can undertake the journey, socould we. Besides, it is not as though we were novices at this kind oftravel; we have been on short trips to the interior times enough."
[5] This article appeared in the _Spectator_ of April 1877.
Jack Templemore looked dubious. He was, it is true, used
to roughingit in the wild parts of South America. He had been trained as anengineer, and, for some years--he was now twenty-eight--had beenengaged in surveying or pioneering for new railways in various placeson the Continent. His father having lately died and left him and hismother very poorly off, he was now somewhat anxiously looking about forsomething that would give him permanent occupation, or the chance ofmaking a little money. He and Leonard Elwood were great friends; thoughthey were, in many respects, of very different characters. Elwoodwas, essentially, of a romantic, poetic temperament; while Templemoreaffected always a direct, practical, matter-of-fact way of looking atthings, as became an engineer. He was dark, tall and sturdily built,with keen, steady grey eyes, and a straight-forward, good-humouredmanner. Both were used to hunting, shooting, and out-door sports, and,as Elwood had just said, they had had many short hunting trips into theinterior together. But these had been in previous years, since which,both had been away from Georgetown. Templemore, as above stated, hadbeen engaged in railway enterprises, Elwood had gone to Europe, where,after some time spent in England, during which his father and motherhad both died, he had travelled for a while 'to see the world,' andfinally had come out again to Georgetown to look after some propertyhis father had left him. On arrival he had gone at first to an hotel,but some old friends of his parents, who lived on an estate known as'Meldona,' had insisted upon his staying with them for a while. Here hefound that his old friend Jack Templemore was a frequent visitor, andit was an open secret that Maud Kingsford, elder of the two daughtersof Leonard's host, was the real attraction that brought him there soconstantly.
Now Jack Templemore, as has been said, was more practical-minded thanLeonard. He had not shrunk from the hardships and privations of wildforest life when engaged upon railway-engineering work, when therehad been something definite in view--money to be made, instructionto be gained, or promotion to be hoped for. But he did not view withenthusiasm the idea of leaving comfortable surroundings for thediscomforts of rough travel, merely for travel's sake, or upon whathe deemed a sort of wild-goose chase. He had carefully read up allthe information that was obtainable concerning the mountain Roraima,and had seen no reason to doubt the conclusions that had been cometo by those who ought to know--that it was inaccessible. Of what usethen to spend time, trouble, money--perhaps health and strength--uponattempting the impossible?
So Jack Templemore argued, and, be it said, there was the other reason.Why should he go away and separate himself for an indefinite periodfrom his only surviving parent and the girl he loved best in the world,with no better object than a vague idea of scrambling up a mountainthat had been pronounced by practical men unclimbable?
Thus, when Leonard appealed to him on this particular morning, merelybecause he had come across something that had fired his enthusiasmafresh, Jack did not respond to the proposal with the cordiality thatthe other evidently wished for.
"I don't mind going a short trip with you, old man," Jack saidpresently, "for a little hunting, if you feel restless and area-hungering after a spell of wandering--a few days, or a week or two,if you like--but a long expedition with nothing to go upon, as it were,seems to me only next door to midsummer madness."
Leonard turned away with an air of disappointment, and just then MaudKingsford, who had been playing and singing inside the room, steppedout.
Leonard discreetly went into the house and left the two alone, andMaud greeted Jack with a rosy tell-tale flush that made her prettyface look still more charming. In appearance she was neither fair nordark, her hair and eyebrows being brown and her eyes hazel. She was anunaffected, good-hearted girl, more thoughtful and serious, perhaps,than girls of her age usually are--she was twenty, while Stella, theyounger sister, was between eighteen and nineteen--and had shown hercapacity for managing a home by her success in that line in their ownhome since her mother's death a few years before. The practical-mindedJack, who had duly noted this, saw in it additional cause foradmiration; but, indeed, it was only a natural outcome of her innategood sense. She now asked what her lover and Leonard had been talkingof.
"The usual thing," was Jack's reply. "He's mad to go upon an exploringexpedition; thinks we could succeed where others have failed. It'sso unlikely, you know. Now, if he would only look at the thingpractically----"
Maud burst into a merry laugh.
"You do amuse me--you two," she exclaimed; at which Jack looked alittle disconcerted. "_You_ always insisting so upon being strictlynon-speculative, and Leonard, with his romantic phantasies, and hisdreams and visions, and vague aspirations after castles in the air. Youare always hammering away at him, trying to instil practical ideas intohim with the same praiseworthy perseverance, though you know that inall these years you have never made the least little bit of impressionupon him. Your ideas and his are like oil and water, you know. Theywill never mix, shake them together as you will."
"But--don't you think I am right? Isn't it common sense?"
"Quite right, of course; and you _are_ persevering; I'll say that foryou."
"For the matter of that, so's Leonard," said Jack with a good-naturedlaugh. "He's as persevering with this fad of his as any man I evermet in my life. I do believe he's got a fixed idea that he has onlyto start upon this enterprise, and he will come back a made man withuntold and undreamt-of wealth and----"
"And a princess for a bride--the fair maid of his dreams," Maud put in,still laughing. "We have not heard so much of her, by the bye, lately.He has been rather shy of those things since his return from Europe,and does not like to be spoken to about them. We began to think he hadgrown out of his youthful fancies."
The fact was, that, from his childhood, Leonard had been accustomedto strange dreams and fancies. These five--Leonard, Templemore, andMr. Kingsford's son and two daughters--had been children together, andin those days Leonard had talked freely to his childish companions ofall his imaginative ideas; and as they grew older, he had not variedmuch in this respect. Moreover, Leonard had had an Indian nurse, namedCarenna, who had encouraged him in his fantastic dreamings, and whohad, by her Indian folk-lore tales, early excited his imagination.Her son Matava, too, had been Leonard's constant companion almost solong as he could remember, first in all sorts of boyish games andamusements, and later in his hunting expeditions; and both Matava andCarenna had been always more devoted to Leonard than even to his fatherand mother.
But when Mr. and Mrs. Elwood left the estate they had been cultivating,to go to England, the two Indians had gone away into the interiorto live at an Indian settlement with their own tribe. About twice ayear, however--or even oftener, if there were occasion--Matava stillcame down to the coast upon some little trading expedition withother Indians; and at such times he never failed to come to see theKingsfords and inquire after Leonard.
The Dr. Lorien, of whom mention had been made by Leonard, was a retiredmedical practitioner who had turned botanist and orchid-collector.He had been a ship's doctor, and in that capacity had voyaged prettywell all over the world. Since he had given that up he had travelledfurther still by land--in the tropical regions in the heart of Africa,in Siam, the Malay Peninsular and, latterly, in South America--insearch of orchids and other rare floral and botanical specimens. Thevicinity of Roraima being one of the most remarkable in the world forsuch things--though so difficult of access as to be but seldom visitedby white men--it is not surprising that he had lately planned a journeythither.
From this journey the doctor and his son were now daily expected back.One of the Indians of their party had, indeed, already arrived, havingbeen despatched in advance, a few days before, to announce their safereturn.
Thus it came about that Templemore and Maud, while still talking, werenot greatly surprised at the sudden appearance of Matava, who statedthat he had come down with the doctor's party, who would follow veryquickly on his heels.
Maud, who knew the Indian and his mother well, received himkindly; and, to his great delight, was able to inform him that his'young master'--as he always called L
eonard Elwood--had returned toGeorgetown, and was at present with them.
Matava had, indeed, expected this, for he had heard of Leonard'sintention at his last visit to the coast some six months before. Hewas greatly pleased to find he was not to be disappointed in hisexpectation. Moreover, the Indian declared, he had news for him--"newsof the greatest importance"--and begged to be allowed to see him atonce. So Maud sent him into the house--where he knew his way aboutperfectly--to find Leonard; and then, turning to Templemore, she said,laughing,
"I wonder what his 'important' intelligence can be? Some deeper secretthan usual that his old nurse has to tell him, I suppose."
"I hope it's nothing likely to rouse a further desire to set off onthis mad-cap expedition he has so long had in his mind," Templemorereturned; "for," looking at her with a sigh, "if he _should_ make uphis mind to start, I am, in effect, pledged to go too, whether I wishor not."
"Why should you expect it? and how are you obliged to go?" Maudinquired with evident uneasiness.
"I know that Leonard saw Dr. Lorien in London before he came out last,and had a long talk with him. When he learned of the expedition uponwhich the doctor was then setting out, he was much annoyed at beingunable to join him. He said, however, that he should be in Georgetownhimself in a few months, and hoped to see the doctor on his return; andhe particularly asked him to try to collect for him all the informationand particulars he could concerning the best route by which to makethe journey to Roraima. Dr. Lorien told me all this before he leftus, adding that he felt certain Leonard's object in coming againto Georgetown was quite as much to arrange for an expedition as hisostensible one of looking after his property. And _I_ know, too, fromwhat I have seen since Leonard has been back, that his thoughts arefull of the idea. You say he does not now talk much of it to you or toothers?"
"No; and as I told you just now, we had begun rather to think he hadgiven up his former romantic yearnings for adventure; and, when youhave referred to them before him, I have thought that you were onlyteasing him a little about old times."
"Oh dear no; by no means. Whatever he may say, or leave unsaid to youand his general acquaintances, he is, in his heart, just as much setupon it as ever."
"It is odd, that," Maud observed thoughtfully, "because he used tobe so fond of telling us about his dreams and visions and all thecastles in the air and half-mystical imaginings he used to build uponthem. But," she went on slowly, "I have noticed that, since his longabsence from us, Leonard Elwood is very different from what he was asI remember him. He seems, at times, so reserved and distant, I almostfeel inclined to call him 'Mr. Elwood' instead of 'Leonard.' And he is,in a manner, unsociable, too. He is so preoccupied always, so silent,and so wrapped up in himself, that you generally have to wait, if youspeak to him, while he collects his thoughts--brings them back from thedistant skies or wherever they have gone a-wandering--before he repliesto you. Not that he is intentionally cool or distant, I think; and Iam sure he is just as good-hearted as ever. Yet there _is_ a change ofsome sort. Stella says the same. And, do you know, he sometimes givesme a sort of feeling as though he were not English at all, but of someother race, and that he feels half out-of-place amongst us, a fish outof water, as it were? I wonder whether he is in love!" And Maud gave aringing little laugh.
Templemore shook his head.
"If he were, it would be with some young lady on the other side of theAtlantic," he returned. "And he would not be desirous of prolonginghis stay on this side. No; _I_ know what is the matter with him. Hetalks freely enough to me. And, now that he is expecting Dr. Lorienback, he is gradually working himself up into a state of excitementand expectation. He has quite made up his mind for some news orinformation--Heaven only knows why--and that is what makes him by turnsrestless and preoccupied. If, therefore, what Matava has to tell hasanything to do with what I know to be so much in his thoughts, it maybe the means of deciding him to go; and then I should have to go too."
"But why? I don't see what it has to do with you, Jack."
"It has this to do with me, dear Maud," said Templemore, taking herhand; "Leonard, some time ago, made me a very handsome--to me a verytempting--offer if I would make up my mind to start with him on thisvague expedition. He offered me L300 clear, he paying all expenses,and giving me, besides, half of whatever came out of it. Unfortunatelyfor myself, I am not now in a position to say 'no' to such an offer. Ihave been, now, nearly a year waiting for something to 'turn up.' Mymother has barely enough to live on, and depends upon me for ordinarycomforts, to say nothing of little luxuries; and what I had saved upfrom former engagements is steadily getting less and less, and willshortly disappear. I do wish with all my heart I could get anythingelse, almost, rather than this wild-goose affair of Leonard's. Yetnothing has offered itself; so what am I to do? For your sake, for thehope of being able one day to provide a home for you----"
"Nay, Jack," Maud interposed, with a deep flush, "do not say for _my_sake. I would not have you set out on an enterprise of danger anddifficulty for my sake. But I see clearly enough you must do it, if itbe again offered, for your mother's sake. Yes, for hers, you must." Thegirl hesitated, and it was easy to see she found it hard to say thewords, but she went on bravely, "So, I repeat, if it be again offered,you must accept it, Jack. And be sure I will look after your mother,and comfort her while you are away."
"That is spoken like my own dear girl," Templemore answered withemotion. "Yes, I cannot well refuse; and I know I may look to you toconsole my mother. You will comfort each other."
Just then they heard Leonard's voice calling out in excited tones forTemplemore. A moment or two later he came rushing out of the house.
"Jack, Jack!" he cried. "Such a strange thing! Here is our opportunity!Matava has brought some extraordinary news!"
Leonard was so incoherent in his excitement, that it was some timebefore his hearers grasped his meaning.
His news amounted, in effect, to this. A white man had been stayingfor some time near the Indian village at which Carenna and her sonMatava lived; and he had had many talks with both about a project forascending the mountain of Roraima. It being an arduous undertaking, hesought the co-operation of one or two other white men; and Leonard'sold nurse had urged him to communicate with her young master, whowould shortly be in Georgetown, assuring him that he would be the veryone--from the interest and enthusiasm he would feel--to join him andhelp him to achieve success if success were possible. Matava, who knewof Dr. Lorien's presence in the district, had suggested to the strangerto go to see him, and a meeting had thus been brought about. The doctorwould tell him the result; but the main thing was that the stranger hadsent an invitation to Leonard to join him and to bring, if he pleased,one other white man, but no more. The doctor was now at the Settlement,near the mouth of the Essequibo, transferring to the steamer, fromthe Indian canoes in which they had been brought down the river, hisbotanical treasures and other trophies of his journey. If Leonardwished to go back with the canoes and the Indians who were with them,he would have to let them know at once, and they would wait. Otherwisethey would be on their way back in a day or two; which would involvethe organising of a fresh expedition--a matter of great trouble--shouldLeonard make up his mind to proceed later.
The enthusiastic Leonard needed no time to make up his mind.
"I shall go," said he. "If you will come too, Jack, I shall be only tooglad. But, if not, I may be able to find some one else; or I shall goalone. So I shall send word at once to keep the boats and the Indians."
"But," objected Maud Kingsford, "consider! You know nothing of thisstranger; he may be a blackleg, an escaped murderer or desperado, orall sorts of things."
"No, no! Carenna knows. She has sent word that I can trust this man,and she knows. She is too fond of me to let me get mixed up with anydoubtful character. Dr. Lorien, too, and Harry have seen him, andtalked with him, and think well of him; so Matava says. I shall knowmore when I see them in a day or two. Meantime, I shall keep the canoesand Indians, and r
isk it."
Then he rushed off to have a further talk with Matava, and, as he said,see about getting the Indian "some grub."
Jack and Maud, left alone, looked at each other in dismay. It had beenone thing to talk vaguely of what they would do in case Leonard shouldtake what at the time seemed a very unlikely step. It was quite anotherto be thus suddenly brought face to face with it.
Maud turned very pale and seemed about to faint. She felt keenly howhard it would be to see her lover depart upon an adventure of thisuncertain character, the end or duration of which no one could evenguess at. But she recovered her self-possession with an effort and,looking steadily at Templemore, said,
"What you said you would do for our sakes is to be very quickly put tothe test, it seems. You--will--go, Jack?"
"Yes," he answered firmly; "since it is your wish."
"You must," she answered. "It is hard to lose you; it will be hard forus both. But go--and go with a good heart. Be sure I will be a daughterto your mother while you are away."
He took her hand in his and pressed it to his lips.
"For your sake, dear Maud, I shall go," he said. "For your sake and formy mother's; in the hope that some success may result; but not--Heavenknows--for the mere sordid hope of gain."