When we had finished reading these notes I turned to de Morin and
said to him—
"Does the Baron de Guéran remind you of Ladislas Magyar?"
"I remember the name," replied, de Morin, "but I cannot recall any
circumstances in connection with him."
"He was a Hungarian explorer," I replied, "employed in a house of
business in Benguela, a country of western Africa. His business
obliged him, in 1849, to take a trip into the interior, where he had
the misfortune to take the fancy of Ozoro, the lovely daughter of the
king of Bihé, who compelled him to marry her. As Ladislas Magyar was
never seen again, it was supposed that the jealousy of his wife, and
the _surveillance_ put in force by her over him, kept him away from
his family and his country."
"By quoting this historical and geographical incident," said de Morin
to me, "do you wish to advance the opinion that M. de Guéran is the
happy lover of Venus in ebony? When I suggested that a moment ago,
you scouted the idea."
"Not at all, my dear fellow, you quite misunderstood me. On the
contrary, I agreed with you; I merely maintained that the charms of
Walinda would not be powerful enough to induce a Parisian to settle
down and naturalize himself in Africa. M. de Guéran's letter
strengthens me in that conviction. After all, the Baron is flesh and
blood like ourselves, capable of becoming, either by force or fancy,
the lover of the Queen. But this weakness would not prevent his
hankering after freedom. He is perfectly sincere, rely upon it, when
he speaks of the work of regeneration which he has in hand. M. de
Guéran, the _protégé_, the godson, I believe, of Livingstone, has in
his veins some drops of that African missionary's blood. A feverish
longing for discovery was not the only motive which induced him to
leave his country and his beloved wife; he has also, and above all,
the fervour of an apostle, or perhaps, a martyr. Do not destroy my
illusion; I experience a certain pleasure in forming this high
opinion of the husband of Madame de Guéran. I absolutely refuse to
believe that such a right-minded, clear-headed woman would have, of
her own free will, chosen a mere seeker after adventures."
"So far from trying to do away with your illusion, as you call it, I
share it. I look upon M. de Guéran, the husband, as my personal
enemy, and I always place my enemies on a pedestal so that I may gain
all the more credit for upsetting them when I get the chance.
Besides, it is not the first time that my thoughts have turned upon
M. de Guéran. I often heard him spoken of in France, and I formed a
high opinion of him. I respect his memory, and should like to admire
his conduct. He is a missionary, an apostle, a martyr, I admit, but
he is also a rather queer specimen of humanity, _blasé_ with Parisian
life and European customs. He knows all the secrets of our countries,
and he must needs dive into the mysteries of another continent. He is
quite comfortable, believe me, in the midst of this menagerie of wild
beasts called amazons, and by the side of this splendid, ferociously
amorous queen, whose lord and slave he is at one and the same time."
"Our opinions," I replied, "are not so far apart after all. M. de
Guéran is a working missionary, but a layman, if I may so express
myself, without any religious 'call;' he does good, civilizes
savages, and preaches Christian morality. But he knows also how to
mingle the profane with the sacred, and he manages to pass the period
of his apostolate as pleasantly as possible. So far we agree. When,
however, he speaks of the dangers which lie before us amongst the
Walindis, and the utter impossibility of rescuing him, do you believe
that he is sincere?"
"I do. His information is strictly correct. He is convinced that we
shall be crushed, smashed to pieces, or cut up into little bits, if
we try to save him; but he is mistaken. In his idea, our expedition
differs in no way from any other; we are depending on ourselves
alone, as indeed we had to do for a long time, and our caravan
consists of a hundred bearers and a weak escort—that is his idea. He
could not know by intuition that we have at our disposal a hundred
and fifty soldiers, armed with European rifles, and more than five
thousand men disciplined by us, and roused to fanaticism by their
King."
"Then, according to you, under these circumstances we should pay no
attention to his warnings and his prayers?"
"Certainly not. Moreover, allow me to observe that if it suits M. de
Guéran to plant himself in Africa, to establish there his electoral
freehold, and to die there, we are not bound in the same way. We want
to get back again to our own country; one route only is open to us—
that towards the south, and we are going that way. If we come across
the Baron in Ulindi, so much the better, or so much the worse for
him, but go that way we must and will. Do you follow me?"
"I entirely agree with you. M. de Guéran is a mere accessory. In
saving ourselves we may possibly save him."
"Precisely so, and in that way he will have nothing to thank us for.
That pleases me all the more, for I confess that his gratitude would
annoy me slightly."
We might have added that even if we wished to avoid the Walindis and
retrace our steps, King Munza would prevent us by insisting on our
following him. Our conversation was scarcely at an end, when we heard
loud shouts proceeding from the Monbuttoo camp, and emanating,
apparently, from the entire army. Whilst we had been discoursing,
Munza had taken an innings too. He had called together his troops,
and, following the invariable custom of African chiefs, had made a
sort of proclamation to them. He narrated his grounds of complaint
against the Queen of the Walindis, expatiated with great skill upon
the riches of her kingdom and the beauty of the women inhabiting it,
and asked his soldiers if they would not like to get possession of
the riches and make a razzia amongst the inhabitants.
The army replied, as armies generally do to the addresses of their
commanders, by loud applause. "_Ee, Ee, tchupy, tchupy, Ee, Manza,
Ee_," resounded on every side, the drums and trumpets began their
horrid din once more, bows and lances were waved in the air, and the
Monbuttoos, without waiting for marching orders, burnt their camp and
made ready to advance against the enemy.
We were obliged to calm this excitement, and prevail upon Munza not
to start until the following day; we had several preparations to
make, and it appeared to us a very dangerous proceeding to cross the
frontier at nightfall.
When the hour of departure was settled, we had to apprise Madame de
Guéran of our proceedings. She was waiting for us. As soon as she saw
us she came forward, and, without either hesitation or embarrassment,
held out her hand.
"The doctor tells me," she said, "that in spite of the warnings of M.
de Guéran you are bent upon making an attempt to rescue him?"
"No," said de Morin; "there you are mistaken. We are not going to
rescue anybody; we are only going back to Paris by the shortest
possible way."
"No other is open to us," I added, "unless we go back by the way we
came, and take up our abode amongst the Monbuttoos for the remainder
of our existence."
"You may possibly succeed," she replied, with a smile, "in deceiving
yourselves, and being mistaken as to the motives which actuate you,
but I know you, and for some time past have formed my estimate of
your courage, your generosity, and your self-denial. Depreciate
yourselves, if you like, I know what value to place upon you, and you
will ever have in my heart the large place which you deserve. I
accept this fresh proof of your devotion, and I do not feel inclined
even to thank you for it. One does not thank men like you, one
admires and esteems them."
The arrival of Delange cut short this conversation.
"Give me the benefit of your advice," he exclaimed, "for I am
terribly puzzled about Miss Poles. She has just been to me, in my
tent, in a state of the greatest excitement. 'Doctor,' she cried,
'Doctor, protect me, I beseech you, from myself.'"
"Good heavens!" said I; "what danger is she in?"
"After much beating about the bush, and an immense amount of maidenly
hesitation, she ended by confessing that she was madly in love with
Kadjoro."
"We suspected as much," said do Morin; "but, my dear Delange, we hand
her over to your tender mercies with every confidence."
"No, no, never!" exclaimed Delange. "Oh, what a mistake I made in
coming with you instead of Dr. Desrioux! When I think that on this
25th of November, 1873, whilst we are menaced with so many dangers,
he is seated quietly by a nice fire, with his friend Pommerelle at
his side, and that they are both sticking pins on maps of Africa,
following us from tribe to tribe, with their feet on the fender—"
"Oh, bother," said de Morin. "Very likely they are not following us
any longer, but have forgotten all about us."
Madame de Guéran, who was present and had smilingly listened to
Delange's rhapsody, thought it high time to interfere in defence of
Desrioux.
"He has not forgotten us," said she; "and if it had not been for his
mother, whom he would not leave, he would have been with us, and
would have shared our dangers."
November 26th.—The sun is just rising in all its radiant glory. The
army of the King of the Monbuttoos is already on the march, and we
are off after it.