CHAPTER THIRTY TWO.
THE OPEN DOOR.
Those who have fallen among barbarians have seldom been without theexperience of their detainers desiring to hold some kind of conversewith them, however hostile the burden of such might be. Wagram,however, was absolutely without this experience, for these people werenot only totally unable to communicate with him by word of mouth butshowed absolutely no inclination to do so.
He had tried to communicate with them by signs, but found that he mightas well have been signalling to the surrounding trees. They stared athim but made no sort of response. His physical wants were mechanicallyattended to, and that was all. They eyed him with stony indifference,not as another human being out of whom they might or might not extractmaterial advantage, but simply as an ox being fattened for the shambles.This, however, fortunately, he did not know.
The night following upon the horrible event he had witnessed in theforest was one of the most fearful experiences he had ever known.Closer and more miasmatic than ever the atmosphere seemed to weigh himdown; and alone in the darkness of the hut, with loathsome insectsscurrying around and over him, the whole scene came back in all itsvivid ghastliness, and again he saw those dreadful eyes glowering athim, the quick, sudden stab out of nowhere, and the limbs of thestricken savage quivering and contorting on the stone which wasspattered with his blood. He groped his way to the door and wentoutside. Anything would be better than this consciousness of beingpenned up with these awful memories, to say nothing of the long-leggedhorrors which rendered rest impossible. He drank in the outer air--heavy, fever-laden as it was--with infinite relief, but not for long.Clouds of stinging insects, mosquitoes and others, soon found him out,and forced him to the conclusion that the legged horrors within, beingharmless, were at any rate more tolerable. But it was a wearied wreckof a man, indeed, upon which the second morning dawned.
He was about to set forth upon another round of exploration--no matterwhat he might discover anything was better than the fearful mentalstrain involved by sitting still--when he became conscious of an unusualstir among those around, as near akin to excitement as those morose,repellent savages seemed able to reach. A man was coming towards him;and now every fibre of his being thrilled with joy, with anindescribable sense of relief. It was a white man!
A white man, a European! No matter what low outcast from his colourthis might be he was a white man--and already Wagram looked upon him asa brother. And yet--and yet--as the man came up Wagram could not butrealise that his first estimate of him was likely to be the true one,and his hopes sank somewhat.
They sank still more--in fact, to zero--as the new-comer stoodconfronting him. He was a tall man, as tall as himself, but his hard,bearded face was repellent in the extreme, and the fierce glare of hisrolling eyes did not inspire confidence.
"Well, pard, are they making you comfortable here?" he began shortly.
"I don't know about comfortable; but if it's a little rough I've nocause for complaint," answered Wagram pleasantly. "At any rate I'veescaped with life--though how I got off that waterlogged hulk I haven'tthe faintest idea."
"I know all about that," interrupted the other roughly. "What I want toknow is, how did you get on to her? Eh? How the devil did you get onto her?"
The fierce eyes played upon Wagram's face as though they would penetratehis brain. Decidedly this man was a rough customer--very; still, he wasa white man, and might not be so bad at bottom. At any rate he would besusceptible to a very substantial reward. So he told the story of thewreck of the _Baleka_, and how he himself had nearly gone down with theship in trying to save a child that had been lost below.
"Serves you devilish well right for interfering in what doesn't concernyou," was the reassuring comment on this piece of information. "Lookhere. Have you the remotest sort of notion as to where you are?"
"A very faint one: somewhere on the west coast of Africa, I take it."
The other laughed harshly.
"That's near enough," he said. "Let me tell you this, then. You'reamong the most devilish set of cannibal niggers this world everproduced. You'd have been eaten body and bones before this if--ithadn't been for me."
"In that case I cannot be too grateful for your interference; and, as afellow-countryman, I am going to make further demands upon your kindnessby entreating you to show me the way out, to facilitate my return tocivilisation. And, I assure you, you will not find me ungrateful."
These last words he pronounced with some diffidence. In the man's veryferocity of roughness Wagram's ear had not been slow to detect a refinedaccent of speech. Whatever the other might have come to he was certainthat he was of gentle birth, and therefore hesitated to offer himmaterial reward. The next words convinced him that he need have felt nosuch misgiving.
"What'll you make it worth my while to land you--say at Sierra Leone,this day month?"
"Anything in reason. You shall name your own price."
"Suppose I say ten thousand pounds, not a shilling less? How's that?"
It was an enormous sum, remembering the resources probably at thestranger's command; yet if Wagram hesitated momentarily it was less onthat account than because a misgiving shot across his mind that if heagreed too readily this desperado, from whom he inwardly recoiled moreand more, once he had reason to believe he was dealing with a rich man,would hold him captive until he had drained him to the bottom of evenhis resources; so he answered:
"It's a stiff figure--very stiff; still, I think I might even promisethat."
"You think, do you? Well, come this way."
He turned abruptly, Wagram following. As they passed between thepalmetto huts the forbidding inhabitants raised their heads to stare fora moment, then dropped them stolidly again. They walked on in deadsilence, for the stranger uttered no further word. They passed into theforest, still quite close on the outskirts of the town, and camesuddenly upon a strong stockade. Before the gate of this severalsavages stood as though mounting guard. They were fully armed withlarge, wicked-looking spears, axes, and great curved-bladed knives.
"I don't allow them any rotten gaspipe guns," said the stranger grimly;"only things they know how to use. And they do know how to use these,by God! Look there."
Wagram looked. They had reached the gate by this time. Within theenclosure were clustered a number of human beings chained together incouples by the leg. The place was in a state of indescribable filth,and the personal appearance of its occupants recalled to Wagram that ofthe wretched victim of yesterday.
"Prisoners?" he said.
The other nodded, then led the way on again. Soon a hum of voicesgreeted Wagram's ears, and at the same time a horrible acrid odourassailed his nostrils.
"Takes a little getting used to, doesn't it?" said his guide. "Look!"
Wagram looked, and then felt as if he must be sick. They had reached anopen space; in it several men were at work--at work on the mostcongenial occupation of all to savages--that of butchery.
"This is their slaughter-house," went on the stranger. "What's thematter?"
For, with an exclamation of horror and disgust, Wagram had turned away,had turned his back upon what he had momentarily glimpsed. No mereglimpse of an ordinary slaughter-house had this been, repulsive andrevolting as such a sight might be. In this case the victims werehuman.
"Good heavens!" he ejaculated, glaring at the other with loathing. "Andyou allow this--you--a white man?"
"I'm not going to interfere with the harmless little customs of mypeople--not likely," was the reply, accompanied by a hideous laugh."Well, if it's too much for your weak nerves, come away. But--what doyou say to my offer now?"
"I'll take it. I don't care how soon I leave this place; in fact, I'lleven increase the figure if you get me out at once."
"I thought so. Well, it'll be worth your while. You may take that fromme--and the sooner the better. Shall we say fifteen thousand if youstart to-morrow?"
"Yes; but you know you
will have to trust me. I have no means ofidentification nearer than England."
The other nodded.
"Seems strange, doesn't it?" he said, "but I felt I could do that fromthe very first. I've had no fool of an experience in my time, you see,and I know one man from another when I see him. Now, I knew you weren'ta liar directly I clapped eyes on you; I knew, too, you were a coinychap, never mind how--there's something I can read these things by. Seehere, I don't want to rush you through this business; think it over.I'll look round at sundown, and then we'll draw up our littleagreement."
This sounded well. If he were rough the man seemed not without a senseof fair dealing. Wagram was duly impressed; yet he need not have been,for the stranger's real motive was a very different one. He hadpurposely taken Wagram to see one of "the sights" of the place which heknew would revolt and horrify him; now his object was to give him timeto think about it; time and solitude could not fail to work the horrordeeper into his system--so would his own terms meet with readieracceptation.
At the hut Wagram had occupied the stranger left him; and now, aloneonce more, the revulsion of feeling was well-nigh oppressive. He wouldsoon be away from here, would soon be back in the home that he loved,and among those who loved him. This horrible experience--well, it,coming as the culminating point to his wanderings, had effected acertain sort of mental cure. Looking back, it seemed as if he hadneeded a mental shaking-up and--he had got it. Yes; he had been makingan idol of "the pride of life," and that pride had received a sudden,perhaps necessary, fall. What act of thanksgiving could he make forthis unlooked-for deliverance? was his first thought as he found himselfalone once more. The dank shades of the tropical forest, the repulsivepicturesqueness of the savage town, the acrid odour of blood which stillseemed to hang upon the air--all had faded now--had given way to thehawthorn hedges and running streams around Hilversea Court, as thesplendid old pile arose against its background of embowering elms; thewholesome, clear English sunlight instead of the sickly tropical glare;the scent of innumerable wild flowers and the glad shout of the cuckoo,and, with it all, deeper and holier thoughts, enshrined amid theassociations of the dearly-loved place; and then--he started wide awake.
"Here I am!" was saying the strong, harsh voice of the stranger. "Beenasleep? Well, you'll feel the better for it."
"I believe I have," said Wagram, sitting up. "Well, have you broughtthe draft of our agreement?"
"Ay, ay! here it is. Look through it and see if it's all ship-shape."
Wagram read the document carefully. It was short, even to conciseness,and set forward how the undersigned was to pay the bearer the sum offifteen thousand pounds, within fifteen days of being landed at SierraLeone, in consideration of having been landed there within one monthfrom date.
"You have a code cable with your solicitors, of course?" said thestranger. "You can have the cash cabled there?"
"Yes; I have a code cable. But you say `the bearer.' Why not have itpaid in to your own name?"
"That's my business," was the answer. "For the rest, is it allship-shape?"
"Certainly. But it's only fair to warn you that I doubt if it'sparticularly sound from a legal point of view. It isn't witnessed, forone thing."
"Legal point of view be damned. Didn't I tell you you don't look like aliar--and I know men? It'll be good enough if you sign it."
"Thanks," said Wagram pleasantly. "You won't find yourself far out inthat deduction."
"Got a wife perhaps, who's anxious about you, eh?"
"No; I haven't got a wife--not now."
"Ah! had, then. Family you want to get back to?"
"Only one son--a boy at school. But he won't have heard of the wreck,and if he did wouldn't connect it with me fortunately. I took passagein the _Baleka_ at the last moment, and didn't even cable it home. Bythe way, some of these amiable people have relieved me of mypocket-book, and there were some notes in it. I don't know whether theycan be persuaded to disgorge."
"Perhaps. But if we start from here to-morrow there'll hardly be time."
"No; I suppose not. Never mind, then," was the easy answer, for thestarting to-morrow had a soothing ring, beside which the loss was a meretrifle. But the speaker little thought how his listener had alreadymade up his mind to have those notes in his own possession before thedawning of another day--incidentally, it might be, at the cost of a lifeor two.
The smoky rays of the sinking tropical sun shot in through the opendoorway, illumining the gloomy interior. The stranger had brought a penand ink with him--strange accessories of civilisation in that remotehaunt of barbarous man-eaters. A wooden native stool did duty as adesk, and Wagram, squatted on the floor, proceeded to affix hissignature: "Wagram Gerard Wagram."
"Will that do?" he said, glancing up. Then he started in amazement, notundashed with alarm; for the other, who had been standing over him,emitted a sort of gasp. His face seemed to contract, then harden as heglared at the paper, then at the man who held it.
"That your name?" he said, and his voice took on a sort of growl.
"Yes; of course," was the wondering answer.
"That's your name--your real name?" repeated the stranger, and the growlin his voice and the stare of his eyes seemed full of menace and hate.
"Yes; that's my name, and there it is," answered Wagram firmly, yet notwithout a dire foreboding over the extraordinary effect it seemed toproduce.
"Yes--of course. Ho-ho! That's your name--Wagram Gerard Wagram! Ofcourse it is--of course. Ho-ho!" And, snatching up the paper, theother went out of the hut, leaving behind him the echo of his mockingtones and savage, sneering laughter.