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[Illustration: "He watched her go down the stairway."--See page 279.]
LONG ODDS
by
HAROLD BINDLOSS
Author of "Alton of Somasco," "The Cattle-Baron's
Daughter," "The Mistress of Bonaventure,"
"Winston of The Prairie," "Delilah of
The Snows," etc.
[Illustration: SCIRE QVOD SCIENDVM]
Boston
Small, Maynard & Company
1908
Copyright, 1908, by
Small, Maynard & Company
(Incorporated)
CONTENTS
CHAPTER PAGE
I THOMAS ORMSGILL 1
II RESTITUTION 16
III HIS OWN PEOPLE 29
IV THE SUMMONS 44
V A DETERMINED MAN 60
VI DESMOND MAKES AN ADMISSION 73
VII ORMSGILL KEEPS HIS WORD 86
VIII THE BONDSWOMAN 97
IX ANITA BECOMES A RESPONSIBILITY 108
X ORMSGILL ASKS A FAVOR 118
XI DESMOND VENTURES A HINT 129
XII LISTER OFFERS SATISFACTION 141
XIII HIS BENEFICENT INFLUENCE 152
XIV HERRERO'S IMPRUDENCE 165
XV NARES COUNTS THE COST 176
XVI NEGRO DIPLOMACY 189
XVII THE AMBUSCADE 201
XVIII DOM CLEMENTE LOOKS ON 213
XIX THE DELAYED MESSAGE 225
XX DESMOND GOES ASHORE 237
XXI ON THE BEACH 250
XXII UNDER STRESS 264
XXIII THE SLACKENING OF RESTRAINT 280
XXIV BENICIA MAKES A BARGAIN 294
XXV DOMINGO APPEARS 307
XXVI THE DAY OF RECKONING 320
XXVII AN ERROR OF JUDGMENT 332
XXVIII THE CHEFE STANDS FAST 344
XXIX DOM CLEMENTE STRIKES 356
XXX ORMSGILL BEARS THE TEST 369
XXXI ON HIS TRIAL 381
XXXII BENICIA UNDERTAKES AN OBLIGATION 392
LONG ODDS
CHAPTER I
THOMAS ORMSGILL
It was towards the middle of a sweltering afternoon when Commandant
Dom Erminio roused himself to wakefulness as he lay in his Madeira
chair on the veranda of Fort San Roque, which stands beside a muddy
river of Western Africa. As a rule Dom Erminio slept all the
afternoon, which was not astonishing, since there was very little else
for him to do, and if there had been he would conscientiously have
refrained from doing it as long as possible. It is also very probable
that any other intelligent white man similarly circumstanced would
have been glad to spend part, at least, of the weary day in merciful
oblivion. San Roque is one of the hottest places in Africa, which is
saying a good deal, and at night a sour white steam, heavy with the
exhalations of putrefaction, rises from the muddy river. They usually
bring the white man who breathes them fever of one or several kinds,
while even if he endures them scatheless the steamy heat melts the
vigor out of him, and the black dejection born of it and the monotony
crushes his courage down. San Roque is scorched with pitiless
sunshine during part of the year, but it is walled in by never-lifting
shadow, for all round the dark forest creeps close up to it.
On the afternoon in question the Commandant's rest was prematurely
broken, because his dusky major-domo had not had the basket chair
placed where it would remain in shadow, and a slanting shaft of
sunlight struck hotly upon the sleeper's face. A dull throbbing sound
also crept softly out of the heavy stillness, and it was a sound which
usually promised at least an hour or two's distraction. Dom Erminio
recognized it as the thud of canoe paddles, and sat upright in his
chair looking about him drowsily, a little, haggard, yellow-faced man
in white uniform, with claw-like hands whose fingers-ends were stained
by tobacco. He lived remote from even such civilization as may be met
with on the coast of Western Africa, with a handful of black soldiers
and one white companion, distinctly on sufferance, since the fever and
certain tribesmen who showed signs of resenting the white men's
encroachments might at any time snuff him out. He was, however, of
Iberian extraction, and it was characteristic of him that he did not
concern himself greatly about the possibility of such a catastrophe or
consider it worth while to take any steps to avert it which he might
perhaps have done.
As he glanced round he saw the straggling line of stockade which was
falling down in places, for, being what he was, it had not occurred to
him to mend it; the black soldiers' thatched quarters; and the
ramshackle residency, which was built in part of wood and in part of
well rammed mud. Beyond them rose the forest, black and mysterious,
cleft by the river's dazzling pathway, and a faint look of
anticipation crept into Dom Erminio's eyes as the thud of paddles grew
louder. The river was one stage of the road to civilization, and he
could not quite give up the hope that certain political friends in his
own country would remember him some day. Then his look of interest
died away, for it became evident from the beat of paddles that the
occupants of the approaching canoe were traveling faster than any one
in the Government service usually thought it worth while to do.
Besides that, the Government's messengers were not addicted to
traveling at all in the heat of the afternoon.
"Ah," he said, with a wave of his unlighted cigarette which was
vaguely expressive of resignation, "it is the Englishman Ormsgill or
the American missionary. Perhaps, by a special misfortune, it may be
both of them."
His companion, who leaned upon the balustrade, nodded, for Englishmen
and Americans are not held in great esteem in that country, nor are
missionaries of any kind. They see too much, and some of them report
it afterwards, which, when now and then the outer world pricks up its
ears in transient interest or indignation, is apt to make trouble for
everybody. Still, the Lieutenant Luiz was a lethargic man and a
philosopher in his way, so he said nothing, though he waved the comely
brown-skinned girl who had been sitting near him back into the house.
There was, at least, no occasion to provide a weapon for the enemy,
and Marietta had made several attempts to run away lately.
Commandant Erminio smiled approvingly. "What one suspects does not
count," he said. "In this land of the shadow one suspects everything
and everybody. There are even envious and avaricious men on the coast
down yonder who fling aspersions at me."
If Lieutenant Luiz had been an Englishman he would probably have
grinned, but he was too dignified a gentleman to do anything of that
kind, though there was a faint twinkle in his languid dark eyes. Then
a canoe swung into sight round a bend, and slid on towards the landing
with wet paddles flashing dazzlingly. Four almost naked negroes swung
them, but another man, who wore white duck and a wide gray hat also
plied a dripping blade just clear of the awning astern, which was a
very unusual thing in that region.
"It is certainly the Englishman Ormsgill," said Dom Erminio. "That is
a man the fever cannot kill, which is, perhaps, a pity." Then he waved
his cigarette again. "Still, it is possible that Headman Domingo will
settle with him some day."
The canoe slid up to the pile-bound bank, and the two white men who
got out strode towards the residency, which was characteristic, since
on a day of that kind an Iberian would certainly have sauntered. The
first of them was tall, and thinner even than most white men are who
have had the flesh melted from them in tropical Africa. His face was
hollow, though he was apparently only some thirty years of age, but
it was the face of a strong-willed man, and there was a certain
suggestion of optimism in it and his eyes, which was singularly
unusual in the case of a man who had spent several years in that
country. Even nature is malignant there, and man is steeped in lust
and avarice and cruelty, but in spite of this Watson Nares was an
optimist as well as an American medical missionary.
He returned the Commandant's greeting, which was punctiliously
courteous, and sitting down in the chair a negro brought for him,
waited until his companion, who had turned to give an order to the
canoe boys, came up. The latter was of average height, a strongly
built man of about the missionary's age, with a brick red face, fair
hair thinned by fever, and wrinkles about his gray eyes. They were
steady, observant eyes, though a half-cynical, half-whimsical twinkle
crept into them now and then, as it did when he glanced towards the
Commandant. The latter would have clapped his shoulder, but he avoided
the effusive greeting with a certain quiet tactfulness which was usual
with him.
"The padre and I are going back to the concession," he said in
Portuguese. "If you have any hammock boys we would like to borrow
them."
The Commandant said that this was unfortunately not the case. Two of
his carriers had dysentery, and another a guinea worm in his leg; and
there was only the little twinkle in Ormsgill's eyes to show that he
did not believe him.
"Besides," said Lieutenant Luiz, "the country is not safe. There is a
rumor that the Abbatava men are watching the lower road."
Ormsgill laughed, though he fancied that Dom Erminio had flashed a
quick glance at his subordinate before the latter spoke.
"Still, I scarcely think the Abbatava people will trouble me, and in
any case some of them would be sorry if they did," he said. "Well,
since you have no carriers we will get on again. It is a long way to
the concession, and Lamartine is very ill. I brought up the padre to
see if he could do anything for him."
Dom Erminio shrugged his shoulders. "It is a wasted effort, which is a
thing to be regretted in this land, where an effort is difficult to
make. Lamartine has been ill too often, and if he is ill again he will
certainly die. As you have heard, the bushmen are in an unsettled
state, and there are several sick men here. It is, perhaps, convenient
that the Señor Nares should stay at San Roque."
He made a little suggestive gesture which seemed to indicate that the
road was unsafe, turning towards his subordinate as though for
confirmation, but once more Ormsgill fancied there was a warning in
his glance.
"Of a surety!" said the Lieutenant Luiz. "Lamartine is probably not
alive by now. Still, if the Señor Nares insists on going it is well
that he should take the higher road."
In the meantime the canoe boys had unrolled a canvas hammock and
lashed it to its pole. Nares stood up as they approached the veranda
stairway with the pole upon their wooly crowns.
"I will come back and look at your sick," he said. "We have only the
one hammock, Ormsgill."
Ormsgill smiled. "There is nothing very wrong with my feet, and I
haven't had a dose of fever for some time. It isn't your fault that
you have one now."
He made the two officers a little inclination as he took off his hat,
and Nares, who shook hands with them, crawled into his hammock. He, at
least, had the fever every two or three months or so. Then the boys
struck up a marching song as they swung away with their burden into
the steamy shadow, and the Commandant leaned on the balustrade
listening with a little dry smile until the crackle of trampled
undergrowth and sighing refrain died away.
"When one desires to encourage such men it is generally wise to point
out the difficulties," he said. "One would fancy that they were fond
of them, especially the Señor Ormsgill, who is of the kind the customs
of this world make rebels of."
"And the other?" asked Lieutenant Luiz, who had, not without reason, a
respect for the wisdom of his superior. He had found that it was, in
some ways at least, warranted.
The Commandant lighted his cigarette, and watched the first smoke
wreath float straight up into the stagnant air. "He would be a martyr.
It is a desire that is incomprehensible to you and me, but there are
others besides him who seem to cherish it--and in this land of the
devil opportunities of satisfying it are generally offered them."
He looked at Lieutenant Luiz, and once more the latter's face relaxed
into the nearest approach to a grin his sense of dignity allowed. One
could have fancied there was an understanding of some kind between the
men.
In the meanwhile Nares' bearers were plodding down a two-foot trail
walled in by thorny underbrush and festoons of as thorny creepers that
flowed down in tangled luxuriance between the towering cottonwood
trunks. There was dim shade all about them, and the atmosphere was
like that of a Turkish bath, steamy and almost insufferably hot, only
that there was in it something which checked instead of accelerated
the cooling perspiration. Now and then the bearers gasped, and
Ormsgill's face was flushed as he walked beside the hammock.
"We should get through by to-morrow night if we take the lower road,"
he said. "I believe that would be advisable, though I'm not quite sure
of it. At least, it's the nearer one, and Lamartine was going down
hill very fast when I left him. In fact, he sent two of the boys to
the Mission for Father Tiebout. In one way, the thing's a trifle
invidious, but, you see, Lamartine is of his persuasion."
Nares smiled. "I'm to have the care of his body, and Father Tiebout of
his soul. Well, we have fought as allies on those terms before, and I
guess I don't mind."
"You're quite sure? After all, in one way, the soul of Lamartine would
be something of a trophy."
The American looked up at him with a faint kindling in his eyes.
"Tiebout has so many to his credit--and he could afford to spare me
this one. Still, at least, I can heal the body, if I am called in in
time."
"Which is a good deal. Especially in a land where it is singularly
difficult to believe that men have souls at all."
Nares shook his head. "If I didn't feel quite so played out I'd take
your challenge up," he said. "Guess we'll join issue on that point
another time. You mentioned once or twice that Lamartine was very
sick?"
"There's about one chance in twenty we get there before he's dead.
It's one of the reasons I'm taking the lower road. It's the nearest."
It was characteristic that Ormsgill did not state that it was also one
of the reasons he had traveled for four days and most of four nights
under an enervating heat. Lamartine was an alien of dubious character,
and in some respects distinctly uncongenial habits, but Ormsgill had
not spared himself to give his comrade that one chance for his life.
"Didn't Lieutenant Luiz' recommendation count?" asked Nares.
"No," said Ormsgill, reflectively. "I don't think it did. At least,
not as he meant it to, though I've been trying to worry out what he
did mean exactly. One thing's certain. He wasn't prompted by any
solicitude for our safety. You see, he might have been counting on my
distrust of him, or my usual obstinacy, and wanted me to take the
higher road after all. Or he may have been playing another game. I
don't know. That's why we'll take the nearest way and not worry. When
you're in doubt, it's generally wisest to do the obvious thing."
Nares made a little drowsy gesture of concurrence. "Straight to the
mark--and you get there now and then. At least, it can't be the wrong
path--and if one doesn't finish the journey it's only a falling out by
the way. A good many of us have done that in this country."
Ormsgill said nothing. He had somewhere buried deep in him a vague,
unformulated faith which, however, seldom found expression of any kind
in words, and was tinged with a bitterness against all conventional
creeds, which was not altogether astonishing in the case of a man who
had lived as he had done in the dark land. Still, he had traveled four
days and nights to bring his sick comrade the assistance he felt would
arrive too late and now, when he dragged himself along dead weary
through the steamy shade, he had reasons for surmising that there was
peril somewhere down the winding trail.
Nares was asleep when they passed the forking and held on by the lower
road, and Ormsgill did not tell the boys that he had seen a huddled
black figure lying a few yards back among the undergrowth. He did not
even stop to look at it. Labor is in demand in that country, and when
it is supplied by a dusky contractor who collects the raw material in
the bush the unfortunate who sickens on the long march from the
interior usually dies. Transport on the human head makes provisions
costly in a devastated country, and it is not economy to feed a man
who will bring one nothing in. A white man, as everybody knows, may
not own or sell a slave in any part of Africa under European control,
but he must have labor, and there are in practice ways of getting over
the obvious difficulty. They are not ways which are discussed openly,
and, so far as one can ascertain, are by no means satisfactory to the
negro for whose benefit they are sometimes said to be devised. In
this, and a few other matters, the negro's opinion is not, however,
deferred to. It is his particular business to gather rubber for the
white man and grow his cocoa, and the fact that he is not as a rule
content to recognize this obligation is very seldom taken into
consideration.
It had been dark two hours, and the bearers could go no further
without a rest, when Ormsgill camped on a ridge beneath tall tufted
palms at least a hundred yards from the trail. There was a reason for
this, and also for the fact that he allowed no fires to be made,
though of all things the negro loves a cheerful blaze. The powers of
evil are very real to him, which is by no means astonishing
considering the land he lives in. The boys sat huddled about the empty
hammock among the palms, while the two white men lay upon a waterproof
ground sheet some fifty yards apart from them and nearer the trail.
Ormsgill had had very little sleep during the last four nights, but
he was very wide awake then, and a good magazine rifle, which had been
smuggled through San Roque without the Commandant's notice, lay across
his knees.
He was listening intently, but could hear nothing except an occasional
rustling among the creepers and the heavy splash of moisture on the
leaves. Nor could he see very much, for though here and there a star
shown down between the towering trunks, a sour white steam hung almost
a man's height about the dripping undergrowth. Save for the splash of
moisture it was so still that Nares, with imagination quickened by the
tension the fever had laid upon his nerves, could almost fancy he
could hear things growing. The growth, at least was characteristic of
the country in that it was untrammeled, luxuriant, and destructive
rather than beneficent. Orchids and parasites sucked the life blood
from the trees, and throve upon their ruin; creepers strangled them
and tore them down half-rotten. It was a mad, cruel struggle for
existence, and Ormsgill, whose hot hands were clenched upon the rifle,
clearly recognized that man must take his part in it. As a matter of
fact, he was not averse to doing so. There was a vein of combativeness
in him, and circumstances had hitherto usually forced him well to the
front when there was trouble anywhere in his vicinity.
What he and Nares talked about was of no particular consequence. They
were men whose inner thoughts only became apparent now and then, and
their conversation largely concerned the merits of certain Congolese
cigars. By and by, however, Nares stopped abruptly, as a hand that
evidently did not belong to his companion touched his arm, but it was
characteristic of him that he did not start. He looked round instead,
and saw an indistinct and shadowy figure rise out of the undergrowth.
It pointed up the trail, and Ormsgill, who seemed to listen for a
moment or two, nodded.
"I really think Lieutenant Luiz meant us to take the other road," he
said. "That must be Domingo bringing down another drove, and as it is
evidently a big one it is just as well we didn't meet him on the
trail. Domingo doesn't like either of us, and he has been getting
truculent lately."
Nares said nothing, and a faint patter of naked feet that grew
steadily louder crept out of the silence. It was dragging and
listless, the shuffle of weary and hopeless men; and it was evident
that the hammock boy who sank down again into the undergrowth close
beside Ormsgill was badly afraid. Five minutes later a shadowy figure
appeared among the trees below them where the mist was thinner, grew a
trifle plainer as it slipped across an opening and vanished again, but
there were others behind, and for several minutes a row of half-seen
men flitted by. Here and there one of them draped in white cotton
carried a flintlock gun, but the rest were half-naked, and last of all
a few plodded behind a lurching hammock. They went by without a sound
but the confused patter of weary feet upon the quaggy trail, and left
an impressive silence behind them when they plunged into the gloom
again.
Then Ormsgill smiled grimly as he tapped the breech of his rifle.
"If homicide is ever justifiable it would have been to-night," he
said. "One could hardly have missed that bulge in Domingo's hammock,
and the longing to drive a bullet through it was almost too much for
me."
Nares made no attempt to rebuke him. "That man," he said, "is
permitted to be--one must suppose as part of a great purpose. The
mills of the gods grind slowly, but they do their work thoroughly."
"It seems so," and Ormsgill laughed a little bitter laugh. "Anyway,
the stones are wet with blood, and a good many of us have passed
between them. One wonders now and then how long the downtrodden will
endure that terrible grinding."
"It is for a time only. Day and night the cry goes up in many
tongues."
"And the gods of the heathen cannot hear; and those of the white men
may, it seems, be propitiated by masses in the cathedral and stained
windows bought with cocoa and rubber dividends. Well, one must try to
believe that Domingo's laborers enlisted for the purpose of being
taught agriculture by the white men of their own free will. At least,
that is the comfortable assurance usually furnished the civilized
powers, and as they have their own little problems to grapple with
they complacently shut one eye. I only wonder how many played-out
niggers' throats Domingo has cut on the way. In the meanwhile,
Lamartine is dying, and we may as well get on again."
He called to the hammock boys, who still seemed afraid, and in another
five minutes the little party was once more floundering onwards
through the silence of the steamy bush.