NARES COUNTS THE COST
It was getting late and the night was very hot, but Nares was still
busy in his palm-thatched hut. The creed he taught was not regarded
with any great favor by the authorities, and, perhaps, was also by
virtue of its very simplicity a little beyond the comprehension of the
negro, who not unnaturally finds it a good deal easier to believe in a
pantheon of mostly malevolent deities, but if his precepts produced no
very visible result, there were, at least, many sick who flocked to
him. It was significant that the door of his hut stood wide open, as
it always did, though there were men in that forest who had little
love for him. The priests of the heathen also practice the art of
healing, and it is not in human nature to be very tolerant towards a
rival who works without a fee.
He sat with the perspiration trickling down his worn face beside a
little silver reading lamp, a gift from somebody in the land he came
from. Now and then there was a faint stirring of the muggy air, and
the light flickered a little, while the blue flame of a spirit lamp
that burned beneath a test tube was deflected a trifle, but the weary
man scarcely noticed it as he pored over a medical treatise. Nor did
he notice the crackling that unseen creatures made in the thatch
above his head, the steamy dampness that soaked his thin duck jacket,
or the sickly smell of lilies that now and then flowed into the room.
He was too intent upon the symbols of certain equations, letters and
figures, and crosses of materialistic significance, with the aid of
which he could, at least, mitigate bodily suffering and fight disease.
They were always present, and it was a valiant fight he made in a land
where the white man's courage melts and his faith grows dim.
At last there were voices and footsteps in the compound, which he
heard but scarcely heeded, and he only looked up when a man stood in
the doorway smiling at him.
"Ah," he said, "I scarcely expected to see you, Father. What has
become of your hammock boys, and where have you sprung from?"
Father Tiebout waved his hand, and dropped into the nearest chair.
"The boys are already in the guest hut," he said. "I have come from
San Roque, but not directly. In fact, I found it advisable to make a
little detour."
"In your case that is not a very unusual thing," and Nares laughed.
"Still, you appear to get there, arrive, as you express it, at least
as frequently as I do."
The priest made a little gesture. "When one finds a wall he can not
get over across his path it is generally wiser to go round. Why should
one waste his strength and bruise his hands endeavoring to tear it
down? It may be a misfortune, but I think we were not all intended to
be battering rams. The metaphor, however, is not a very excellent
one, since it is in this case a lion that stands in the path of our
friend Ormsgill. For a minute or two you will give me your attention."
Nares listened with wrinkled forehead, leaning forward with both arms
on the table, and then there was a faint twinkle in his eyes as he
looked at his companion. It was, after all, not very astonishing that
he should smile, for he was accustomed to disconcerting news.
"I wonder if one could ask how you learned so much?" he said. "It is
scarcely likely that the Chefe or his Lieutenant would tell it you."
"For one thing, I heard a few words that were not exactly meant for
me; for another, I laid unauthorized hands upon a certain letter. One,
as I have pointed out, must use the means available."
"The results justify it--when he is successful, which is, no doubt,
why you so seldom fail? Under the circumstances you can not afford to.
There may be something to say for that point of view, but our fathers
were not so liberal in Geneva."
Father Tiebout smiled good-humoredly. "We will not discuss the point
just now. The question is what must be done? We have a friend who will
walk straight into the jaws of the lion unless--some one--warns him."
"It is not impossible that he will do so then."
The priest spread his hands out. "Ah," he said, "how can one teach the
men who delight in stone walls and lions a little sense? Still,
perhaps, it would be a pity if one could. It is possible that folly
was the greatest thing bestowed on them when they were sent into this
world. That, however, is not quite the question."
"It is--who shall go?" and Nares, who closed one hand, thrust his
chair back noisily. "There are you and I alone available, padre, and
we know that the one of us who ventures to do this thing will be laid
under the ban of Authority, openly proscribed or, at least, quietly
thwarted here and there until he is driven from his work and out of
the country. There are many ways in which those who hold power in
these forests can trouble us."
Father Tiebout said nothing, but he made a gesture of concurrence,
with his eyes fixed steadily on his companion, and Nares, who could
not help it, smiled a trifle bitterly.
"Well," he said, "you have your adherents--a band of them--and what
you teach them must be a higher thing than their own idolatry. If they
lost their shepherd they would fall away again. I, as you know, have
none. My call, it seems, is never listened to--and it is plain that
circumstances point to me. Well, I am ready."
His companion nodded gravely. "It is a hard thing I have to say, but
you are right in this," he said. "I have a flock, and some of them
would perish if I left them. For their sake I can not go. It is not
for me to take my part in a splendid folly, but"--and he spread his
thin hands out--"because it is so I am sorry."
It was clear that Nares believed him, though he said nothing. He knew
what the thing he was about to do would in all probability cost him,
but he also realized that had circumstances permitted it the little
fever-wasted priest would have gladly undertaken it in place of him.
Father Tiebout was one who recognized his duty, but there was also the
Latin fire in him, and Nares did not think it was merely because he
liked it he submitted to Authority and walked circumspectly,
contenting himself with quietly accomplishing a little here and there.
Then Father Tiebout made a gesture which seemed to imply that there
was nothing further to be said on that subject, as he pointed through
the open door to the steamy bush.
"You and I have, perhaps, another duty," he said. "We know what is
going on up yonder, and, as usual, those in authority seem a trifle
blind. If nothing is done there will be bloodshed when the men with
the spears come down."
Nares was by no means perfect, and his face grew suddenly hard.
"That," he said, "is the business of those who rule. They would not
believe my warning, and I should not offer it if they would. There are
wrongs which can only be set right by the shedding of blood, and I
would not raise a hand if those who have suffered long enough swept
the whole land clean."
Father Tiebout smiled curiously. "There is, I think, one man who would
have justice done. It is possible there are also others behind him,
but that I do not know. He is not a man who takes many into his
confidence or explains his intentions beforehand. I will venture to
send him Herrero's letter--and a warning."
He rose with a soft chuckle. "I almost think he will do--something by
and by, but in the meanwhile it is late, and you start to-morrow."
"No," said Nares simply. "I am starting as soon as the hammock boys
are ready."
He extinguished the spirit lamp, and lighting a lantern went out into
the darkness which shrouded the compound. He spent a few minutes in a
big whitened hut where two or three sick men lay and a half-naked
negro sat half-asleep. There was, as he realized, not much that he
could do for any of them, and after all, his most strenuous efforts
were of very slight avail against the pestilence that swept those
forests. He had not spared himself, and had done what he could, but
that night he recognized the uselessness of the struggle, as other men
have done in the land of unlifting shadow. Still, he gave the negro a
few simple instructions, and then went out and stood still a few
moments in the compound before he roused the hammock boys.
There was black darkness about him, and the thicker obscurity of the
steamy forest that shut him in seemed to emphasize the desolation of
the little station. He had borne many sorrows there, and had fought
for weeks together, with the black, pessimistic dejection the fever
breeds, but now it hurt him to leave it, for he knew that in all
probability he would never come back again. He sighed a little as he
moved towards one of the huts, and standing in the entrance called
until a drowsy voice answered him.
"Get the hammock ready with all the provisions the boys can carry. We
start on a long journey in half an hour," he said.
Then he went back to his hut, and set out food for himself and his
guest. They had scarcely finished eating when there was a patter of
feet in the compound and a shadowy figure appeared in the dim light
that streamed out from the door.
"The boys wait," it said. "The hammock is ready."
Nares rose and shook hands with his companion. "If I do not come
back," he said, "you know what I would wish done."
The priest was stirred, but he merely nodded. "In that case I will see
to it," he said.
Then Nares climbed into the hammock, and once more turned to his
companion.
"I have," he said, "failed here as a teacher. At first it hurt a
little to admit it, but the thing is plain. I may have wasted time in
wondering where my duty lay, but I think I was waiting for a sign.
Now, when the life of the man you and I brought back here is in peril
I think it has been given me."
"Ah," said the little priest quietly, "when one has faith enough the
sign is sometimes given. There are, I think, other men waiting on the
coast yonder, and one of them is a man who moves surely when the time
is ripe."
Nares called to the hammock boys, who slipped away into the darkness
with a soft patter of naked feet, while Father Tiebout stood still in
the doorway with a curious look in his eyes. He remembered how Nares
had first walked out of that forest and unobtrusively set about the
building of his station several years ago. Now he had as quietly gone
away again, and in a few more months the encroaching forest would
spread across the compound and enfold the crumbling huts, but for all
that, the man he had left behind could not believe that what he had
done there would be wholly thrown away.
It was a long and hasty march the woolly-haired bearers made, and they
did not spare themselves. It is believed in some quarters that the
African will only exert himself when he is driven with the stick, and
there are certainly white men in whose case the belief is more or less
warranted, but Nares, like Ormsgill, used none, and the boys plodded
onwards uncomplainingly under burning heat and through sour white
steam. They hewed a way through tangled creepers, and plunged knee and
sometimes waist deep in foul morasses. The sweat of tense effort
dripped from them, and thorns rent their skin, but they would have
done more had he asked it for the man who lay in the hammock that
lurched above them.
Nares on his part knew that Ormsgill was well in front of him, and
Ormsgill as a rule traveled fast, but it was evident that he must have
made a long journey already, and the Mission boys were fresh. That, at
least, was clear by the pace they made, but it did not greatly slacken
when weariness laid hold on them. They pushed on without flagging
through the unlifting shade, and the ashes of their cooking fires
marked their track across leagues of forest, until late one night they
stopped suddenly in a more open glade, and Nares, flung forward in his
hammock, seized the pole and swung himself down.
He alighted in black shadow, but he could dimly see one of the boys in
front of him leaning forward as though listening. A blaze of moonlight
fell upon the trail some forty yards away, and two great trunks rose
athwart it in towering columns, but there was nothing else visible.
Still, the boy, who now crouched a trifle, was clearly intent and
apprehensive. He stood rigid and motionless, gazing at the bush, until
he slowly turned his head.
Nares, who could hear no sound, felt his heart beat, for the man's
attitude was unpleasantly suggestive. It seemed that he was following
something that moved behind the festooned creepers with eyes which
could see more than those of a white man, and Nares felt the tension
becoming unendurable as he watched him until the negro flung out a
pointing hand. Then a voice rose sharply.
"Move forward a few paces out of the shadow," it said in a native
tongue.
Nares laughed from sheer relief, for the voice was familiar.
"We'll move as far as you wish, but we're quite harmless," he said.
There was a crackle of undergrowth, and a white-clad figure stepped
out of the bush with something that caught the moonlight and glinted
in its hand. Nares moved forward, and in another moment or two stopped
by Ormsgill's side.
"I might have expected something of the kind, but I scarcely fancied
you were so near," he said. "Anyway, I should not have supposed a
white man could have crept up on us as you have done."
Ormsgill's smile was a trifle grim. "Most white men have not been
hunted for their life," he said. "As a rule it's prudent to take
precautions in the bush. It was not you I expected to see."
"Still, I have come a long way after you."
"Then we'll go back to camp," said Ormsgill. "Bring your boys along."
He sent a hoarse call ringing through the shadows of the bush, and
then turned to his companion as if in explanation.
"One or two of the boys have Sniders, and their nerves might be a
trifle unsteady," he said, "I can't get them to keep their finger off
the trigger."
"Sniders?" said Nares.
Ormsgill laughed. "There are, it seems, a few of them in the country.
I have now and then come across American rifles, too. I don't know how
they got here, and it's not my business, but it is generally believed
that officials now and then acquire a competence by keeping a hand
open and their eyes shut."
Nares, who asked no more questions, followed him through the creepers
and undergrowth until he turned and pointed to a stalwart negro
standing close against a mighty trunk, who lowered his heavy rifle
with a grin. Then the faint glow of a smoldering fire became visible,
and Ormsgill stopped where the moonlight streamed down upon the ground
sheet spread outside a little tent.
"Your boys can camp among my carriers," he said. "You will probably
have fed them, but I can offer you a few biscuits and some coffee.
It's Liberian."
The coffee was made and brought them by a splendid grinning negro with
blue-striped forehead, who hailed from the land where it was grown,
and while they drank it Nares made his errand clear. When he had done
this Ormsgill laid down his cup and looked at him.
"There is one thing you have to do, and that is to go back to the
Mission as fast as you can," he said. "Our friends in authority will
make things singularly uncomfortable for you if they hear that you
have taken the trouble to spoil their plan by warning me."
Nares smiled and shook his head. "You ought to be acquainted with the
customs of this country by now," he said. "I couldn't keep clear of
all the villages on my way up, and, if I had, news of what I have done
would have reached San Roque already."
"Ah," said Ormsgill quietly, "that is probably correct. It is
unfortunate. I won't attempt to thank you--under the circumstances it
would be a trifle difficult to do it efficiently. Well, since you
can't go back to the Mission, you must come on with me."
Nares looked at him in some astonishment. "After what I told you, you
are going on?"
"Of course!" and Ormsgill laughed softly. "I have been trailing
Domingo for a long while, and he is, as you know, in the village a few
days' march in front of us with most of the boys. It is scarcely
likely that I shall have a more favorable opportunity."
"Haven't I made it clear to you that the Headman is a friend of his,
and they are supposed to have arms there? Can't you understand yet
that Domingo will embroil you with him, and arrange that you will have
to fight your way out? Even if you manage it Dom Luiz is close behind
with several files of infantry, and will certainly lay hands on you.
You will have fired upon natives under official protection, and taken
a labor purveyor's boys away from him. It would not be difficult to
make out that you were inciting the natives to rebellion. Do you
expect a fair hearing at San Roque?"
"I don't," and Ormsgill smiled. "In fact, I don't purpose to go there
at all. I expect to be clear again with the boys before Dom Luiz
arrives. From what I know of his habits on the march I should be able
to manage it."
"But it is likely that Domingo, who knows he is expected to keep you
here until Dom Luiz turns up, will sell the boys?"
Ormsgill smiled again. "I don't purpose to afford him the opportunity.
He stole the boys, and I am merely going to make him give them up
again. With a little resolution I believe it can be done. Still, I am
sorry to drag you into the thing."
Nares said nothing for a moment or two. He felt that it would be
useless, and his companion's quiet cold-blooded daring had its effect
on him. After all, check it as he would, there was in him a vague
pride and belief in the white man's destiny, and in the land he came
from the term white man does not include the Latins. This world, it
seems, was made for Americans and Englishmen to rule. A little gleam
crept into his eyes.
"Well," he said, "I don't think I'm going to blame you now I am in."