_THE DEVIL-TREE OF
EL DORADO_
[Illustration: "IT WAS PASSED ABOUT; NOW LIFTED HIGH IN THE AIR BY ONE
END, THEN BY THE OTHER."
_Frontispiece._] [_Page 249._]
_THE DEVIL-TREE
OF EL DORADO_
A novel
BY
FRANK AUBREY
_WITH ILLUSTRATIONS BY LEIGH ELLIS AND
FRED. HYLAND._
[Illustration]
NEW YORK
NEW AMSTERDAM BOOK COMPANY
156 FIFTH AVENUE
LONDON: HUTCHINSON & COMPANY
COPYRIGHT, 1897,
BY
NEW AMSTERDAM BOOK COMPANY.
PREFACE.
SHALL RORAIMA[1] BE GIVEN UP TO VENEZUELA?
[1] The Indians of British Guiana pronounce this word Roreema.
Shall Roraima be handed over to Venezuela? Shall the mysterious
mountain long known to scientists as foremost among the wonders of our
earth--regarded by many as the greatest marvel of the world--become
definitely Venezuelan territory?
This is the question that hangs in the balance at the time these words
are being written, that is inseparably associated--though many of
the public know it not--with the dispute that has arisen about the
boundaries of British Guiana.
Ever since Sir Robert Schomburgk first explored the colony at the
expense of the Royal Geographical Society some sixty years ago, Roraima
has remained an unsolved problem of romantic and fascinating interest,
as attractive to the 'ordinary person' as to the man of science. And
to those acquainted with the wondrous possibilities that lie behind
the solution of the problem, the prospect of its being handed over
to a country so little worthy of the trust as is Venezuela, cannot be
contemplated without feelings of disappointment and dismay.
This is not the place in which to give a long description of Roraima.
It will suffice here to say that its summit is a table-land which,
it is believed, has been isolated from all the rest of the world for
untold ages; no wilderness of ice and snow, but a fertile country of
wood and stream, and, probably, lake. Consequently it holds out to the
successful explorer the chance--the probability even--of finding there
hitherto unknown animals, plants, fish. In this respect it exceeds in
interest all other parts of the earth's surface, not excepting the
polar regions; for the latter are but ice-bound wastes, while Roraima's
mysterious table-land lies in the tropics but a few degrees north of
the equator.
Why, then, it may be asked, have our scientific societies not exhibited
more zeal in the solving of the problem presented by this strange
mountain? Why is it that unlimited money can, apparently, be raised
for expeditions to the poles, while no attempt has been made to
explore Roraima? Yet, sixty years ago, the Royal Geographical Society
could find the money to send Sir Robert Schomburgk out to explore
British Guiana--indeed, it is to that fact that we owe the discovery
of Roraima--but nothing has been done since. Had the good work thus
begun been followed up, we should to-day have been able to show better
reason for claiming Roraima as a British possession. But, as the writer
of the article in the _Spectator_ quoted on page 3 says, "we leave the
mystery unsolved, the marvel uncared for." This article is commended
to the perusal of those interested in the subject, as also are the
following books, which give all the information at present available,
viz.--Mr. Barrington Brown's 'Canoe and Camp Life in British Guiana,'
and Mr. Boddam-Whetham's 'Roraima and British Guiana.' Mr. Im Thurn's
'Among the Indians of British Guiana' should also be mentioned, since
it contains references to Roraima, though the author did not actually
visit the mountain, as in the case of the first named.
As an illustration of the confusion and uncertainty that prevail as to
the international status of this unique mountain, it may be mentioned
that in the map of British Guiana which Sir Robert Schomburgk drew out
for the British Government, it is placed within the British frontier.
But in the map of the next Government explorer, Mr. Barrington
Brown--'based,' he says, 'upon Schomburgk's map'--it is placed just
inside the Venezuelan boundary; and no explanation is given of the
apparent contradiction. Again, another authority, Mr. Im Thurn (above
referred to), Curator of the Museum at Georgetown (the capital of the
colony), in his book says that Roraima "lies on the extreme edge of the
colony, or perhaps on the other side of the _Brazilian_ boundary."
These references show the obscurity in which the whole matter is at
present involved.
Apart, however, from the special interest that surrounds Roraima owing
to the inaccessible character of its summit,[2] it is of very great
geographical importance, from the fact that it is the highest mountain
in all that part of South America, _i.e._, in all the Guianas, in
Venezuela, and in the north-east part of Brazil. Indeed, we must cross
Brazil, that vast country of upwards of three million square miles, to
find the nearest mountains that exceed in height Roraima. Consequently,
it forms the apex of the water-shed of that part of South America; and
it is, in fact, the source of several of the chief feeders of the great
rivers Essequibo, Orinoco and Amazon. Schomburgk, in pointing this out,
dwelt strongly upon the importance of the mountain to British Guiana,
and insisted that its inclusion within the British boundary was a
geographical necessity.
[2] Mr. Barrington Brown says the mountain can only be ascended
by means of balloons (see article previously referred to on
page 3); and Mr. Boddam-Whetham came to the same conclusion.
Finally, Sir Robert's brother, Richard Schomburgk, a skilled botanist,
who had visited almost all parts of Asia and Africa in search of
orchids and other rare botanical productions, tells us that the country
around Roraima is, from a botanical point of view, one of the most
wonderful in the world. "Not only the orchids," he says, "but the
shrubs and low trees were unknown to me. Every shrub, herb and tree
was new to me, if not as to family, yet as to species. I stood on the
border of an unknown plant zone, full of wondrous forms which lay as if
by magic before me.... Every step revealed something new." ('Reissen in
Britisch Guiana,' Leipzig, vol. ii., p. 216.)
Are our rulers, in their treatment of the question, bearing these facts
sufficiently in mind? Are they as keenly alive as are the Venezuelans
to the importance of Roraima? If they are, there is no sign of it; for
while, in the Venezuelan statements of their case, there are lengthy,
emphatic, and repeated references to the importance of Roraima, on the
English side--in the English press even--there is scarcely a word about
it.
From these observations it will be seen that there is reason to fear
we may be on the point of allowing one of the most scientifically
interesting and geographically important spots upon the surface of the
globe to slip out of our possession into that of a miserable little
state like Venezuela, where civil anarchy is chronic, and neither life
nor property is secure.
One of the avowed objects of this book, therefore, is to stimulate
public interest, and arouse public attention to the considerations that
actually underlie the 'Venezuelan Question,' as well as to while away
an idle hour for the lovers of romance.
It has been suggested that, if it is too late to retain the
wonderful Roraima as exclusively British--and to effect this it would
be well worth our while to barter away some other portion of the
disputed territory--then an arrangement might be come to to make it
neutral ground. Standing, as it does, in the corner where the three
countries--Brazil, Venezuela and British Guiana--meet, it is of
importance to all three, and, no doubt, in such an endeavour, we should
have the support of Brazil as against Venezuela.
* * * * *
With regard to the oft-discussed question of the situation of the
traditional city of Manoa, or El Dorado--as the Spaniards called
it--most authorities, including Humboldt and Schomburgk, agree in
giving British Guiana as its probable site. We are told that it stood
on an island in the midst of a great lake called 'Parima'; but no such
lake is now to be found in South America anywhere near the locality
indicated. An explanation of the mystery, however, is afforded by the
suggestion that such a great lake, or inland sea, almost certainly
existed at one time in precisely this part of the continent; in that
case what are now mountains in the country would then have been islands.
Indeed, most of British Guiana lies somewhat low, and it is estimated
that if the _highlands_ were to sink two thousand feet the whole
country would be under water--the mountain summits excepted--and there
would then be only 'a narrow strait' between the Roraima range and the
Andes. In this great supposed ancient lake the group of islands now
represented by mountain summits might well have been the home of a
powerful and conquering race--as is to-day Japan with its group of more
than three thousand islands--and Roraima, as the highest, and therefore
the most easily defensible, may very well have been selected as their
fastness, and the site of their capital city.
Schomburgk thus states his speculations upon the point, in his book on
British Guiana, page 6:--
"The geological structure of this region leaves but little doubt
that it was once the bed of an inland lake which, by one of those
catastrophes of which even later times give us examples, broke its
barriers, forcing for its waters a path to the Atlantic. May we not
connect with the former existence of this inland sea the fable of the
lake Parima and the El Dorado? Thousands of years may have elapsed;
generations may have been buried and returned to dust; nations who
once wandered on its banks may be extinct and exist no more in name;
still, tradition of Parima and the El Dorado survived these changes of
time; transmitted from father to son, its fame was carried across the
Atlantic and kindled the romantic fire of the chivalric Raleigh."
* * * * *
As a natural sequence to the foregoing arises the inquiry, What sort
of people were those who inhabited this island city, or who 'wandered
on the banks' of the great lake? Here much is to be learned from the
recent discoveries of the Government of the United States who, of late
years, have devoted liberal sums to pre-historic research. The money
so expended has been the means of unearthing evidence of a startling
character--relics of a former civilisation that existed in America
ages before the time of its discovery by Christopher Columbus. The
Spaniards, as we know, found races that were white, or nearly so; but
these later discoveries go to show that long anterior to these--at
a time, in fact, probably coeval with what we call the Egyptian
civilisation--America was peopled with a white race fully as cultured,
as advanced in the sciences, and as powerful on their own ground as the
ancient Egyptians; and as handsome in personal appearance--if some of
the heads and faces on the specimens of pottery may be accepted as fair
examples--as the ancient Greeks.
It has long been known that America possesses extraordinary relics of
a former civilisation in what are known as the great 'earthworks,'
which are still to be seen scattered about in many parts of the
continent, and which, as vast engineering works, challenge comparison
with the pyramids themselves. But now discovery has gone much
further; bas-reliefs and pottery have been found that set forth with
marvellous fidelity many minute details concerning this pre-historic
people--their personal appearance, and their ornaments and habiliments;
the style of wearing the hair and the beard; and other particulars
that can be appreciated only by inspection and study of the reduced
fac-similes lately printed and issued by the Government of the United
States.
Many of them relate to the custom of human sacrifice which, as most
people are probably aware, prevailed largely in America when the
Spaniards first landed there; though few, perhaps, know the terrible
extent to which it was carried. Prescott tells us that few writers have
ventured to estimate the yearly number of victims at less than twenty
thousand, while many put it as high as fifty thousand, in Mexico alone!
If we consider that the lowest of these estimates represents an average
of some four hundred a week, or nearly sixty a day, such figures
are appalling! And now we learn, beyond the possibility of a doubt,
that the same practices obtained in America in times that must have
been ages before the Spanish conquest, and, judging by the frequency
of the representations of such things in these old bas-reliefs, as
extensively. In these sculptures we can see the very shape of the
knives used; the form of the plates or platters on which severed heads
of victims were placed, and other such details; and in a certain series
we are enabled to note the curious point, that, while the officiating
priests always wear full beards, the victims appear to have usually
possessed no hirsute adornments, or to have 'shaved clean,' as we term
it. It may be added that these ancient white people seem to have been a
totally different race from those the Spaniards found on the continent;
and that between the two there is believed to have been a gap lasting
for many ages, during which the country was overrun by Indian or other
barbaric hordes; though how or why this came about is one of those
mysteries that will probably never be unravelled.
* * * * *
In conclusion, I have to acknowledge my indebtedness to the writers
whose books of travel I have named for the information I have made use
of; as well as to express a hope that the writer of the review in the
_Spectator_ will regard with indulgence the liberties I have taken with
his admirable article. I am sanguine enough to believe, however, that I
shall have the sympathy and good wishes of all these in the endeavour
here made to arouse public attention to the real meaning and importance
of the 'Venezuelan Question'; and to add to the number of those who
feel an interest in the future status and ultimate exploration of
the mysterious Roraima. I wish also to express my thanks to Messrs.
Leigh Ellis and Fred Hyland, the artists to whom the illustrations
were entrusted, for the thought and care they have bestowed upon the
work, and the successful manner in which they have carried out my
conceptions.
For the rest--if objection be taken to the accounts of the mountain
and what is to be found on its summit given by the characters in my
story--I desire to claim the licence of the romance-writer to maintain
their accuracy--till the contrary be proved. If this shall serve to
stimulate to renewed efforts at exploration, so much the better, and
another of my objects in writing the book will thereby have been
attained.
FRANK AUBREY.
CONTENTS.
CHAPTER I. PAGE
"WILL NO ONE EXPLORE RORAIMA?" 1
CHAPTER II.
MONELLA 17
CHAPTER III.
THE JOURNEY FROM THE COAST 26
CHAPTER IV.
THE FIRST VIEW OF RORAIMA 36
CHAPTER V.
IN THE 'DEMONS' WOOD' 45
CHAPTER VI.
THE MYSTERIOUS CAVERN 58
CHAPTER VII.
THE CANYON WITHIN THE MOUNTAIN 70
CHAPTER VIII.
ALONE ON RORAIMA'S SUMMIT 79
CHAPTER IX.
VISION OR REALITY? 88
CHAPTER X.
IN SIGHT OF EL DORADO! 98
CHAPTER XI.
ULAMA, PRINCESS OF MANOA 106
CHAPTER XII.
A PRELIMINARY SKIRMISH 119
CHAPTER XIII.
A KING'S GREETING 129
CHAPTER XIV.
DAKLA 141
CHAPTER XV.
MARVELS OF MANOA 153
CHAPTER XVI.
LEONARD AND ULAMA 167
CHAPTER XVII.
THE FIGHT ON THE HILLSIDE 177
CHAPTER XVIII.
THE LEGEND OF MELLENDA 188
CHAPTER XIX.
HOPES AND FEARS 199
CHAPTER XX.
THE MESSAGE OF APALANO 210
CHAPTER XXI.
THE GREAT DEVIL-TREE 221
CHAPTER XXII.
SMILES AND TEARS 236
CHAPTER XXIII.
THE DEVIL-TREE BY MOONLIGHT 246
CHAPTER XXIV.
TRAPPED! 256
CHAPTER XXV.
'IN THE DEVIL-TREE'S LARDER' 268
CHAPTER XXVI.
CORYON 282
CHAPTER XXVII.
ON THE 'DEVIL-TREE'S LADLE' 290
CHAPTER XXVIII.
RALLYING TO THE CALL 301
CHAPTER XXIX.
'THOU ART MY LORD MELLENDA!' 308
CHAPTER XXX.
A TERRIBLE VENGEANCE 317
CHAPTER XXXI.
'THE SON OF APALANO!' 327
CHAPTER XXXII.
THE TREE'S LAST MEAL 339
CHAPTER XXXIII.
THE LAST OF THE GREAT DEVIL-TREE 350
CHAPTER XXXIV.
A MARRIAGE AND A PARTING 360
CHAPTER XXXV.
JUST IN TIME! 369
CHAPTER XXXVI.
THE END 382
LIST OF ILLUSTRATIONS.
"IT WAS PASSED ABOUT; NOW LIFTED HIGH IN THE AIR
BY ONE END, THEN BY THE OTHER" _Frontispiece_
"THERE BEFORE THEM ... THEY SAW THE MYSTERIOUS
RORAIMA" _To face page 39_
"A SCENE THAT WAS GRATEFULLY REFRESHING" " " 72
"THE SUN WAS JUST HIGH ENOUGH TO LIGHT UP THE
GLISTENING TOWERS AND CUPOLAS" " " 106
"SHE STOOD REGARDING THEM WITH WONDERING LOOKS" " " 115
"OTHER BRANCHES SWOOPED DOWN, COILING ROUND HIM" " " 252
"HE WAS STANDING WITH ONE ARM EXTENDED" " " 286
ON THE DEVIL-TREE'S LADLE " " 297
THE
DEVIL-TREE OF EL DORADO.
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 near
Georgetown, the principal town of British Guiana, a young man sat one
morning early in the year 1890, attentively studying a volume that
lay open on a small table before him. It was easy to see that he was
reading something that was, for him at least, of more than ordinary
interest, something that seemed to carry his thoughts far away from
the scene around him; for when, presently, he raised his eyes from the
book, they looked out straight before him with a gaze that evidently
saw 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 eyes
that had in them an introspective, somewhat dreamy expression, but
that 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 across
the blue water in the light breeze and the dazzling sunlight. Nearer
at hand were waving palms, glowing flowers, humming insects and
gaudily-coloured butterflies--all the beauties of a tropical garden. On
one side of him was the open window of a sitting-room that, shaded, as
it was, by the verandah, looked dark and cool compared with the glare
of the scorching sun outside.
From this room came the sounds of a grand piano and of the sweet voice
of a girl singing a simple and pathetic ballad.
At the moment the song ceased a brisk step was heard coming up the path
through the garden, and a good-looking young fellow of tall figure and
manly air made his way to where the other still sat with his eyes fixed
on vacancy, as one who neither sees nor hears aught of what is going on
about him.
"Ha, Leonard!" the new-comer exclaimed, with a light laugh, "caught you
dreaming again, eh? In another of your reveries?"
The other roused himself with a start, and looked to see who was his
visitor.
"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 hear
you coming."
"Bet I guess what you were dreaming about," said the one addressed as
Jack. "Roraima, as usual, eh?"
Leonard looked a little conscious.
"Why, yes," he admitted, smiling. "But," he continued seriously, "I
have just been reading something that set me thinking. It is about
Roraima, and it is old; that is to say, it is in an old number of a
paper bound up in this book that a friend has lent me. I should like to
read it to you. Shall I?"
"All right; if I may smoke the while. I suppose I may?" And the
speaker, anticipating consent, pulled out a pipe, filled and lighted
it, and then, having seated himself on a chair, crossed one leg over
the other, and added, "Now, then, I am ready. Fire away, old man."
And Leonard Elwood read the following extract from the book he had been
studying:--
"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-Jökull, 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 had
put down the book.
"It is from the _Spectator_.[5] I say, Jack, what a chance for an
explorer! Fancy people spending their money and risking their lives in
exploring an icy, cold, miserable, desolate region, like the Arctic
Circle, when there is a wondrous land here in the blue skies--yet
no wilderness of ice and snow--waiting to be won; and no one seems
to trouble about it! I do wish you would do as I have so often
suggested--set out with me upon an expedition and let us see whether
we cannot solve the secret of this mysterious mountain. You have the
leisure now, and I have the money. Dr. Lorien and his son are now on
their way back from near there; if they can undertake the journey, so
could we. Besides, it is not as though we were novices at this kind of
travel; 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 roughing
it in the wild parts of South America. He had been trained as an
engineer, and, for some years--he was now twenty-eight--had been
engaged in surveying or pioneering for new railways in various places
on the Continent. His father having lately died and left him and his
mother very poorly off, he was now somewhat anxiously looking about for
something that would give him permanent occupation, or the chance of
making a little money. He and Leonard Elwood were great friends; though
they were, in many respects, of very different characters. Elwood
was, essentially, of a romantic, poetic temperament; while Templemore
affected always a direct, practical, matter-of-fact way of looking at
things, as became an engineer. He was dark, tall and sturdily built,
with keen, steady grey eyes, and a straight-forward, good-humoured
manner. Both were used to hunting, shooting, and out-door sports, and,
as Elwood had just said, they had had many short hunting trips into the
interior together. But these had been in previous years, since which,
both had been away from Georgetown. Templemore, as above stated, had
been engaged in railway enterprises, Elwood had gone to Europe, where,
after some time spent in England, during which his father and mother
had both died, he had travelled for a while 'to see the world,' and
finally had come out again to Georgetown to look after some property
his 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 he
found that his old friend Jack Templemore was a frequent visitor, and
it was an open secret that Maud Kingsford, elder of the two daughters
of Leonard's host, was the real attraction that brought him there so
constantly.
Now Jack Templemore, as has been said, was more practical-minded than
Leonard. He had not shrunk from the hardships and privations of wild
forest life when engaged upon railway-engineering work, when there
had been something definite in view--money to be made, instruction
to be gained, or promotion to be hoped for. But he did not view with
enthusiasm the idea of leaving comfortable surroundings for the
discomforts of rough travel, merely for travel's sake, or upon what
he deemed a sort of wild-goose chase. He had carefully read up all
the information that was obtainable concerning the mountain Roraima,
and had seen no reason to doubt the conclusions that had been come
to by those who ought to know--that it was inaccessible. Of what use
then to spend time, trouble, money--perhaps health and strength--upon
attempting 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 period
from 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 mountain
that had been pronounced by practical men unclimbable?
Thus, when Leonard appealed to him on this particular morning, merely
because he had come across something that had fired his enthusiasm
afresh, Jack did not respond to the proposal with the cordiality that
the other evidently wished for.
"I don't mind going a short trip with you, old man," Jack said
presently, "for a little hunting, if you feel restless and are
a-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 Maud
Kingsford, who had been playing and singing inside the room, stepped
out.
Leonard discreetly went into the house and left the two alone, and
Maud greeted Jack with a rosy tell-tale flush that made her pretty
face look still more charming. In appearance she was neither fair nor
dark, her hair and eyebrows being brown and her eyes hazel. She was an
unaffected, good-hearted girl, more thoughtful and serious, perhaps,
than girls of her age usually are--she was twenty, while Stella, the
younger sister, was between eighteen and nineteen--and had shown her
capacity for managing a home by her success in that line in their own
home since her mother's death a few years before. The practical-minded
Jack, who had duly noted this, saw in it additional cause for
admiration; but, indeed, it was only a natural outcome of her innate
good sense. She now asked what her lover and Leonard had been talking
of.
"The usual thing," was Jack's reply. "He's mad to go upon an exploring
expedition; thinks we could succeed where others have failed. It's
so unlikely, you know. Now, if he would only look at the thing
practically----"
Maud burst into a merry laugh.
"You do amuse me--you two," she exclaimed; at which Jack looked a
little disconcerted. "_You_ always insisting so upon being strictly
non-speculative, and Leonard, with his romantic phantasies, and his
dreams and visions, and vague aspirations after castles in the air. You
are always hammering away at him, trying to instil practical ideas into
him with the same praiseworthy perseverance, though you know that in
all these years you have never made the least little bit of impression
upon him. Your ideas and his are like oil and water, you know. They
will 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 for
you."
"For the matter of that, so's Leonard," said Jack with a good-natured
laugh. "He's as persevering with this fad of his as any man I ever
met in my life. I do believe he's got a fixed idea that he has only
to start upon this enterprise, and he will come back a made man with
untold 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 had
grown out of his youthful fancies."
The fact was, that, from his childhood, Leonard had been accustomed
to strange dreams and fancies. These five--Leonard, Templemore, and
Mr. Kingsford's son and two daughters--had been children together, and
in those days Leonard had talked freely to his childish companions of
all his imaginative ideas; and as they grew older, he had not varied
much in this respect. Moreover, Leonard had had an Indian nurse, named
Carenna, who had encouraged him in his fantastic dreamings, and who
had, by her Indian folk-lore tales, early excited his imagination.
Her son Matava, too, had been Leonard's constant companion almost so
long as he could remember, first in all sorts of boyish games and
amusements, and later in his hunting expeditions; and both Matava and
Carenna had been always more devoted to Leonard than even to his father
and 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 interior
to live at an Indian settlement with their own tribe. About twice a
year, however--or even oftener, if there were occasion--Matava still
came down to the coast upon some little trading expedition with
other Indians; and at such times he never failed to come to see the
Kingsfords and inquire after Leonard.
The Dr. Lorien, of whom mention had been made by Leonard, was a retired
medical practitioner who had turned botanist and orchid-collector.
He had been a ship's doctor, and in that capacity had voyaged pretty
well all over the world. Since he had given that up he had travelled
further still by land--in the tropical regions in the heart of Africa,
in Siam, the Malay Peninsular and, latterly, in South America--in
search of orchids and other rare floral and botanical specimens. The
vicinity of Roraima being one of the most remarkable in the world for
such things--though so difficult of access as to be but seldom visited
by white men--it is not surprising that he had lately planned a journey
thither.
From this journey the doctor and his son were now daily expected back.
One of the Indians of their party had, indeed, already arrived, having
been despatched in advance, a few days before, to announce their safe
return.
Thus it came about that Templemore and Maud, while still talking, were
not greatly surprised at the sudden appearance of Matava, who stated
that he had come down with the doctor's party, who would follow very
quickly on his heels.
Maud, who knew the Indian and his mother well, received him
kindly; and, to his great delight, was able to inform him that his
'young master'--as he always called Leonard Elwood--had returned to
Georgetown, and was at present with them.
Matava had, indeed, expected this, for he had heard of Leonard's
intention at his last visit to the coast some six months before. He
was greatly pleased to find he was not to be disappointed in his
expectation. Moreover, the Indian declared, he had news for him--"news
of the greatest importance"--and begged to be allowed to see him at
once. So Maud sent him into the house--where he knew his way about
perfectly--to find Leonard; and then, turning to Templemore, she said,
laughing,
"I wonder what his 'important' intelligence can be? Some deeper secret
than 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 on
this mad-cap expedition he has so long had in his mind," Templemore
returned; "for," looking at her with a sigh, "if he _should_ make up
his mind to start, I am, in effect, pledged to go too, whether I wish
or not."
"Why should you expect it? and how are you obliged to go?" Maud
inquired 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 upon
which the doctor was then setting out, he was much annoyed at being
unable to join him. He said, however, that he should be in Georgetown
himself in a few months, and hoped to see the doctor on his return; and
he particularly asked him to try to collect for him all the information
and particulars he could concerning the best route by which to make
the journey to Roraima. Dr. Lorien told me all this before he left
us, adding that he felt certain Leonard's object in coming again
to Georgetown was quite as much to arrange for an expedition as his
ostensible one of looking after his property. And _I_ know, too, from
what I have seen since Leonard has been back, that his thoughts are
full of the idea. You say he does not now talk much of it to you or to
others?"
"No; and as I told you just now, we had begun rather to think he had
given up his former romantic yearnings for adventure; and, when you
have referred to them before him, I have thought that you were only
teasing him a little about old times."
"Oh dear no; by no means. Whatever he may say, or leave unsaid to you
and his general acquaintances, he is, in his heart, just as much set
upon it as ever."
"It is odd, that," Maud observed thoughtfully, "because he used to
be so fond of telling us about his dreams and visions and all the
castles in the air and half-mystical imaginings he used to build upon
them. But," she went on slowly, "I have noticed that, since his long
absence from us, Leonard Elwood is very different from what he was as
I remember him. He seems, at times, so reserved and distant, I almost
feel 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 you
speak to him, while he collects his thoughts--brings them back from the
distant skies or wherever they have gone a-wandering--before he replies
to you. Not that he is intentionally cool or distant, I think; and I
am sure he is just as good-hearted as ever. Yet there _is_ a change of
some sort. Stella says the same. And, do you know, he sometimes gives
me a sort of feeling as though he were not English at all, but of some
other race, and that he feels half out-of-place amongst us, a fish out
of water, as it were? I wonder whether he is in love!" And Maud gave a
ringing little laugh.
Templemore shook his head.
"If he were, it would be with some young lady on the other side of the
Atlantic," he returned. "And he would not be desirous of prolonging
his stay on this side. No; _I_ know what is the matter with him. He
talks freely enough to me. And, now that he is expecting Dr. Lorien
back, he is gradually working himself up into a state of excitement
and expectation. He has quite made up his mind for some news or
information--Heaven only knows why--and that is what makes him by turns
restless and preoccupied. If, therefore, what Matava has to tell has
anything to do with what I know to be so much in his thoughts, it may
be 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 her
hand; "Leonard, some time ago, made me a very handsome--to me a very
tempting--offer if I would make up my mind to start with him on this
vague expedition. He offered me £300 clear, he paying all expenses,
and giving me, besides, half of whatever came out of it. Unfortunately
for myself, I am not now in a position to say 'no' to such an offer. I
have been, now, nearly a year waiting for something to 'turn up.' My
mother has barely enough to live on, and depends upon me for ordinary
comforts, to say nothing of little luxuries; and what I had saved up
from former engagements is steadily getting less and less, and will
shortly disappear. I do wish with all my heart I could get anything
else, almost, rather than this wild-goose affair of Leonard's. Yet
nothing has offered itself; so what am I to do? For your sake, for the
hope 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 and
difficulty for my sake. But I see clearly enough you must do it, if it
be again offered, for your mother's sake. Yes, for hers, you must." The
girl hesitated, and it was easy to see she found it hard to say the
words, 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 with
emotion. "Yes, I cannot well refuse; and I know I may look to you to
console my mother. You will comfort each other."
Just then they heard Leonard's voice calling out in excited tones for
Templemore. 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 time
before his hearers grasped his meaning.
His news amounted, in effect, to this. A white man had been staying
for some time near the Indian village at which Carenna and her son
Matava lived; and he had had many talks with both about a project for
ascending the mountain of Roraima. It being an arduous undertaking, he
sought the co-operation of one or two other white men; and Leonard's
old nurse had urged him to communicate with her young master, who
would shortly be in Georgetown, assuring him that he would be the very
one--from the interest and enthusiasm he would feel--to join him and
help him to achieve success if success were possible. Matava, who knew
of Dr. Lorien's presence in the district, had suggested to the stranger
to go to see him, and a meeting had thus been brought about. The doctor
would tell him the result; but the main thing was that the stranger had
sent 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, from
the Indian canoes in which they had been brought down the river, his
botanical treasures and other trophies of his journey. If Leonard
wished 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. Otherwise
they would be on their way back in a day or two; which would involve
the organising of a fresh expedition--a matter of great trouble--should
Leonard 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 too
glad. But, if not, I may be able to find some one else; or I shall go
alone. So I shall send word at once to keep the boats and the Indians."
"But," objected Maud Kingsford, "consider! You know nothing of this
stranger; he may be a blackleg, an escaped murderer or desperado, or
all 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 any
doubtful character. Dr. Lorien, too, and Harry have seen him, and
talked with him, and think well of him; so Matava says. I shall know
more when I see them in a day or two. Meantime, I shall keep the canoes
and Indians, and risk 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 been
one thing to talk vaguely of what they would do in case Leonard should
take what at the time seemed a very unlikely step. It was quite another
to be thus suddenly brought face to face with it.
Maud turned very pale and seemed about to faint. She felt keenly how
hard it would be to see her lover depart upon an adventure of this
uncertain character, the end or duration of which no one could even
guess 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 to
the 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 for
us both. But go--and go with a good heart. Be sure I will be a daughter
to 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 for
my mother's; in the hope that some success may result; but not--Heaven
knows--for the mere sordid hope of gain."