The Rev Arthur Rosebury passed many miserable hours when the sun was
down, for then he began to think of Helen Perowne, and wondered where
she was. It was a terrible thought that she was in the power of the
Malays; and in a dreamy, despairing manner, he wondered how matters were
at the station, and whether any steps would be taken to set him at
liberty.
But as soon as the daylight came there was solace for the solitary
prisoner, for he was amongst wonderful plants, such as he had never
before seen, and his guards or attendants, whichever they might be
called, were always ready to help him, and to supply him with any
specimens he required.
He had lost count of time by devoting himself so earnestly to the
botanical treasures of the garden; and one morning, after asking himself
whether he ought not to make some effort to escape, he was out in the
grounds of his prison-house once more, when, having pretty well
exhausted its treasures, he walked straight to the gate.
His guard, who had been seated beneath the veranda calmly chewing his
betel-nut, snatched out his kris, and darted fiercely after the
chaplain, who was evidently about to escape; but on coming in sight of
the prisoner, and finding him stooping over a cluster of orchids in a
damp place in the jungle, the man stopped short, a contemptuous smile
crossed his face, and he slowly replaced his kris, folded his arms and
leaned against a tree.
In his eyes the botanist was a simple maniac, and so long as he made no
vigorous effort to escape, it did not seem to matter if he went a little
way into the jungle to collect his plants.
Stepping back quietly a few yards, the man held up his hands in a
peculiar way, and a couple of dark figures armed with spears, glided
from the house to his side, the little party crouching down amongst the
dense growth, and holding a consultation for a few minutes, the result
of which was that the two last arrivals glided back a short distance,
while the principal guard slowly followed the chaplain some twenty or
thirty yards behind, and always unseen by him he watched. The foliage
was so dense that there was never the slightest difficulty in this, and
hence it was that as the Reverend Arthur, forgetful now of everything
but his favourite pursuit, went slowly on into the more easily
penetrated parts of the jungle, his guards were always close at hand,
forming as it were the links of a chain between his prison and himself.
At intervals he would perhaps stop and think of Helen, wondering where
she was, and whether he ought not to make some strenuous effort to find
her; but as often as not, in the midst of these thoughts, he would catch
sight of some fresh flower or woodland moss, objects that he had
worshipped long before Helen Perowne had disturbed the tranquillity of
his peaceful life, and then he would eagerly stoop down to pick it, most
likely ending by kneeling in some wet place, while he fixed a powerful
lens in his eye, examined the plant carefully, and stopped to think.
Then most likely he would pick some huge leaf to lay upon the ground,
and with that as tray to hold the various portions of his specimen, he
would take out a penknife, and proceed to dissect the plant, examining
its various parts with the greatest care before making the most rigid
notes, and then consigning his treasure to the basket he had brought
with him.
This went on day after day, till he got into the habit of going off
directly after his morning meal, and penetrating some distance along
some narrow jungle path, generally losing himself completely at last,
and pausing to stare about him, hungry, faint, and bewildered.
It was always the same; after staring about him for a few minutes,
wondering what he should do, and feeling oppressed by the vastness and
silence of the jungle, he would catch sight of a tall dark figure,
standing some little distance off, leaning upon a spear, and go to it
for help.
The quiet helplessness of the prisoner seemed to win his guards over to
him; and as day after day glided slowly by, and he showed not the
slightest disposition to make an attempt at escape, he was allowed more
latitude by the Malays and travelled farther and farther from the place
that had been made his prison.
It was only natural under the circumstances, that, with the cord that
metaphorically held him so much relaxed, it would grow weaker and
weaker, and so it proved. In fact, had the chaplain been as other men
were, he would have had but little difficulty in making his escape. But
after thinking deeply of the possibilities of getting away, the Reverend
Arthur concluded that not only was it next to impossible, but that,
situated as he was, it was his duty to stay where he was, especially as
he believed himself to be near Helen, who was also a captive, and whom,
sooner or later, he would be called upon to help and protect. He had,
too, a half-formed, nebulous idea that it would be better to leave
matters to fate, for in his helpless state he could do nothing; and then
one day he began to think that his wanderings about the jungle might
prove beneficial in giving him a knowledge of the country, and on the
day in question this idea had come upon him strongly.
He actually reproached himself for being so supine, and went off
uninterrupted for some distance, growing more and more animated as he
went, and telling himself that he felt sure Helen Perowne was somewhere
near, and that he must strive to find her.
The result was that he walked laboriously on for miles, till he was hot,
weary, and exhausted; and then seating himself upon the trunk of a huge
palm, which being situated in a more open place than usual, had been
blown down by some furious gale, he began to wipe the drenching
perspiration from his face, sighed deeply, and then saw clustering close
by his feet a magnificent group of orchids of a species that was quite
new.
The Reverend Arthur Rosebury had gone on well into middle life without
so much as dreaming of love, and then he had seen Helen Perowne, and his
love for her had not prospered. Still it had burned on steadily and
brightly month after month, and only wanting a little fostering care
upon the lady's part to make it burst forth into a brilliant flame; but
somehow his old pursuits retained an enormous power over his spirit, and
although upon this particular day he had come out determined to make
some effort--what he hardly knew, but still to make some effort--he was
turned at once from his project by the flowers at his feet; and that day
Helen's face troubled him no more.
Heat, hunger, and weariness were all forgotten, and he did not even look
round to see if either of his guards was there, though all the same the
principal of them had for the last hour been following him with lowering
looks. Quite out of patience, and hot and exhausted in his turn, he was
about to close up, take the chaplain by the arm, and lead him back, when
he saw him seat himself, and soon after stoop down and begin to pick the
plants, digging some of them up completely by the roots, and spreading
them before him for a long investigation.
The Malay smiled with satisfaction, and the lowering, angry look left
his face. He, too, found a resting-place, took out his eternal
betel-box, and prepared his piece of nut, chewing away contentedly, like
some ruminating animal, and keeping his eyes fixed upon the Reverend
Arthur as he busied himself with his plants, cutting, laying open, and
making notes. As in the distance the Malay saw the chaplain's pencil
going, he slowly sank back into a more comfortable position; then his
eyes began to open and shut, and open and shut, and then forget to open,
so that by the time the prisoner had begun to gather up his specimens, a
happy smile of content upon his lip, the guard was lying right back,
hidden amongst the dense growth, sleeping heavily, and half-covered by
different kinds of insects which were investigating the nature of the
strange being that had taken possession of their domain.
The time passed, and then the chaplain rose refreshed by his long rest,
looked round to see which way he had come, and after satisfying himself
that he was quite right, went off in a direction that, for taking him
back to whence he came, was quite wrong.
It did not trouble him though in the least, for his mind was intent upon
the plants he passed; and so accustomed was he to giving up his thoughts
entirely to such pursuits as this, that he was quite lost to everything
else, and he went slowly on, finding himself in a more open portion of
the jungle, and surrounded on all sides by new plants.
It was a perfect paradise to him, and he did not feel the want of an
Eve, but culled the specimens here and there, careless of the fact that
there was no path where he was, no trace of human beings having been
there before, but there were choice specimens in abundance, and that was
enough for him.
Once only did his thoughts go back to his friends, and that was when
with much difficulty he had forced his way through some dense thorns
with unfortunate results to his clothes.
"I am afraid that Mary would be rather angry," he muttered, "if she saw
me now. Poor Mary! how happy she seems with the doctor; but she is just
a little too strict sometimes."
Thinking about his sister, he went on in the most abstracted manner, the
thoughts of his sister bringing up Helen Perowne, and he went on talking
to himself half aloud, while a flock of parroquets in the trees above
his head kept travelling on with him, flitting from branch to branch,
climbing by foot and beak, hanging by one leg, heads up and heads down,
and always seeming to watch him, and be mocking and gibing at him like a
set of green and scarlet feathered implings who made derisive gestures,
while they were astounded at the sight of an English clergyman
journeying through that savage place.
"I'm afraid dear Mary would not like it," he said, simply, "even if
finally Helen were to give me her consent. And yet dear Mary would
never be able to resist so much beauty as Helen possesses. I wonder
where she is now?"
He sighed deeply, and then paused to consider the beauty of a lovely
acacia with its graceful pinnate leaves. Then came a hard struggle
through a dense cane-break which left him hot and panting.
"It's much pleasanter travelling through the English woods," he said.
"The heat here is very trying, and I'm getting faint and hungry. I'm
afraid I've lost my way."
He looked about for some little time, but saw nothing till he had
dragged his weary legs on for about another half-mile, when the
appearance of the ground told him that people had not long since passed
that way.
"Then I shall find a village," he said, "and the people will give or
sell me something, and--Bless me, how strange!"
He stopped short and listened, but all was still but the chattering and
whistling of the birds.
"It must have been one of the parrots," he said, "but it sounded
remarkably like a woman's voice. It is an unaccountable thing to me how
it is that nature should have given the parrot family so remarkable a
power of imitating the human voice. Now, as I walked along there I
could have been sure that a woman had called to me aloud for help. It
sounded very peculiar in this wild jungle, echoing and strange, and it
seemed to startle me."
There was a regular chorus of whistling and chattering just now, and the
chaplain started, for there came directly after a loud whirring of
wings; the air seemed full of flashes of green, and blue, and scarlet,
and then the stillness was almost painful.
"How easily one may be deceived!" he said, quietly. "One notices such
things more when one is tired and hungry; and it is very dull work to be
alone out here. I wish Bolter could be my companion and--there it was
again."
The chaplain stopped short and listened, for a wild cry certainly rang
out now; and, willing as he was to attribute the strange noise to a
bird, it seemed impossible that it could have proceeded from one of
them.
"If it is a cry," the chaplain said, hastily, "I must be very near to a
village, and someone is in trouble."
The idea of help being needed roused him so that he hurried on, and kept
thrusting back the hanging and running canes which impeded his way, till
at the end of a few minutes he came suddenly upon an open space
surrounded by trees, with evidently a broad track, leading away towards
what, from the difference in the growth of the foliage, must be a
stream.
Away to the right he could see the gable-end of what was apparently a
large palm-thatched house, and over it there was a group of magnificent
cocoa-palms, such as at another time would have secured his attention;
but now different feelings were awakened, for from out of a low clump of
trees he suddenly saw a Malay woman come running, her gay silken sarong
and scarf fluttering in the breeze.
She saw him evidently, and made signs to him, which, instead of
attracting him to her side, made him shrink away.
"It is some quarrel among themselves," he muttered, for he recalled the
advice he had heard given him as to his behaviour to the people, and the
danger of interfering with their home lives.
As he thought this, he stopped, and was about to turn away, when a fresh
cry smote his ear, and the woman ran a few paces towards him, tottered
as she caught her foot in a trailing cane, and fell heavily to the
ground.