UNDER STRESS
When Desmond left him Ormsgill did not march directly east towards the
interior, but headed northwards for several days. There were reasons
which rendered the detour advisable, especially as he desired to avoid
the few scattered villages as much as possible, but he had occasion to
regret that he had made it. He pushed on as fast as possible until one
hot afternoon when the boys wearied with the march since early morning
lay down in the grass, and he wandered listlessly out of camp. Their
presence was irksome, and he wanted to be alone just then.
There are times when an unpleasant dejection fastens upon the white
man in that climate, and when he is in that state a very little is
usually sufficient to exasperate him. The boys were muttering drowsily
to one another, and Ormsgill felt he could not lie still and listen to
them. He had also a tangible reason for the bitterness he was troubled
with. Desmond had brought him no message from Ada Ratcliffe, and
though she had as he knew no sympathy with what he was doing and had
never shown him very much tenderness, it seemed to him that she might,
at least, have sent him a cheering word. It was, in view of what it
would cost him to keep faith with her, and that was a thing he
resolutely meant to do, a little disconcerting to feel that she did
not think of him at all.
In the meanwhile it was oppressively hot, and the air was very still.
His muscles seemed slack and powerless, his head ached, and the
perspiration dripped from him, but he wandered on until he reached a
spot where a little patch of jungle rose amidst a strip of tall grass
in the mouth of a shallow ravine. Ormsgill stood still in its shadow
and looked about him. Not a leaf shook, and there was not a movement
in the stagnant air. In front of him the patch of jungle cut harshly
green against the glaring blue of the sky, and beyond it there was
sun-baked soil and sand on the slopes of the ravine.
Then there was a flash in the shadow and one of his legs gave away. He
staggered and reeled crashing into a thicket, and when a minute later
he strove to raise himself out of it one leg felt numb beneath the
knee except for the spot where there was a stinging pain. Ormsgill
also felt more than a little faint and dizzy, and for a few moments
lay still again blinking about him. A wisp of blue smoke still hung
about the leaves, and he could hear a low crackling that grew fainter
as he listened. It was evident that the man who had shot him was bent
on getting away, and he made shift to roll up his thin duck trousers,
and looked down at his leg. There was a bluish mark in the middle of
the big muscle with a little dark blood about it, and he took out his
knife. He set his lips as he felt the point of it grate on something
hard, and then closed the knife and sat still again with a little
gasp of pain.
There was, he knew, a piece of the broken cooking pot the West African
usually loads his flintlock gun with embedded in his leg. That, at
least, was evident, but he did not know who had shot him, and, indeed,
was never any wiser on that point. It was, perhaps, a negro who had
supposed him to be a trader or official against whom he had some
grievance, but, after all, that seemed scarcely likely, and Ormsgill
fancied it was some dusky sportsman who had fired at a venture when he
heard a movement, and had then gone away as fast as possible when he
saw that he had hit a white man. This appeared the more probable
because they were not very far from the coast, where men do not often
attempt each other's life, and Ormsgill had only been struck by one
piece of iron.
In any case, the faintness was leaving him by the time the startled
boys came up and found him sitting in the shadow. It was evident that
the wound was not very serious in itself, but he realized that a man
could not expect to travel far in that climate with a piece of iron
rankling in his leg. Somebody must cut it out for him, and he did not
care to entrust any of his thick-headed carriers with the operation.
Without being much of a physiologist he knew that there are arteries
in one's leg which it is highly undesirable to sever. He also
recognized that while the thing was, perhaps, possible to one with
nerve enough, he could not get it out himself, which was, however,
rather more than one could reasonably have expected of a man born and
brought up in a state of civilization, for there are a few points on
which the primitive peoples excel us. Still, the life he had led had
made him hard, and when he had quieted the boys he bound up the wound,
and filling his pipe with hands that were tolerably steady, lay still
awhile to consider.
He could not push on towards the interior as he was, and there were,
he believed, one or two doctors in the city, which was not very far
away. He was aware that he was liable to be arrested there, but it
seemed possible that he might enter it unobserved at night and
purchase secrecy from any one who took him in. In such a case he would
be the safer because it was about the last spot in which those
interested in his capture would expect to come across him, and in a
few more minutes he had made up his mind. Though the hammock is not so
frequently used as a means of conveyance in that country where the
trek-ox is generally available as it is in most other parts of Western
Africa, he had provided himself with one.
"Get the hammock slung," he said. "We will go on towards the west when
you are ready."
Half an hour later the bearers hove the pole to their woolly crowns,
and plodded on again. They were not men of any great intelligence, and
were usually content to do what they were told without asking
questions, which was a custom that had its advantages. They had also
an unreasoning and half-instinctive confidence in the man who led
them, and in due time they plodded into sight of the town one night
when the muggy land breeze was blowing. Like other West African
towns, the place straggles up and back from the seaboard bluff, with
wide spaces between the houses, and nobody seemed stirring when
Ormsgill's boys marched into the outskirts of it. Remembering what the
priest of San Thome had told him of the man whose wife he had sent the
girl Anita to, he presently bade them stop outside the building which
stood well apart from the rest. Some of them were roofed with
corrugated iron, and some with picturesque tiles, but the top of this
one was flat, which Ormsgill was pleased to see. He recognized that it
was built in the older Iberian style which is not uncommon in Western
Africa and ensures the inmates privacy. There are no outbuildings
where this plan is adopted. The house stands four-square and
self-contained, presenting an almost unbroken wall to the outer world,
though there is usually an open patio in the midst of it. One of the
boys rapped upon a door, and when it was opened by a negro his
comrades unceremoniously marched down an arched passage under the
building until they reached the enclosed patio. Ormsgill had impressed
them with the fact that the most important thing was to get in.
Then lights appeared at one or two windows, and when a little,
olive-faced gentleman in white linen with a broad sash about his waist
came down the stairway from a veranda Ormsgill raised himself in the
lowered hammock.
"You will forgive this intrusion, Señor," he said.
The other man made him a little formal salutation. "I," he said dryly,
"await an explanation."
Ormsgill offered him one, and the little gentleman looked at him
thoughtfully for a moment or two.
"I have heard of you--from the fathers up yonder who are friends of
mine," he said. "Perhaps it is my duty to inform the Authorities that
you are here, but in the meanwhile that is a point on which I am not
quite certain. You can, at least, consider this house as yours until
we talk the matter over. The boys may sleep in the patio to-night, but
they will first carry you in."
They did it at Ormsgill's bidding, and left him sitting in a basket
chair in a big, cool room, after which his host brought in a few
cigars and a flask of wine.
"They are at your service, señor," he said. "I would suggest that you
give me a little more information. I am one who can, at least, now and
then respect a confidence."
Ormsgill looked at him steadily, and made up his mind. It was clear
that if his host meant to hand him over to the Authorities there was
nothing to prevent him doing so, and reticence did not appear likely
to serve any purpose, since he was wholly in his hands. He spoke for a
few minutes, and the other nodded.
"I think it was wise of you to tell me this," he said. "There are, I
may mention, others besides myself who desire to see certain changes
made in our administration, and they would, I think, sympathize with
you. Some of them are gentlemen of influence, but we have confidence
in Dom Clemente and another man of greater importance--and we are
waiting. To proceed, I think it would not be difficult to keep you
here awhile without anyone we would not wish to know becoming aware of
it. The thing is made easier by the fact that my wife and the girl
Anita are away, and my sister, who is very deaf and does not like
society, rules the household. Now if it is permissible I will examine
your leg."
He did so, and looked a trifle grave after it. "I know a little of
these matters, and it is advisable that this should be seen to," he
said. "Now the Portuguese doctor is not exactly a friend of mine, and
might ask questions as to how you got hurt and where you came from,
but there is a half-breed who I think is clever, and he would probably
refrain from mentioning anything that appeared unusual if he is
remunerated sufficiently. It is"--and he made a little expressive
gesture, "a thing he is accustomed to doing."
Ormsgill suggested that the man should be sent for early next morning,
and went to sleep an hour later in greater comfort than he had enjoyed
for a considerable time. He did not, however, sleep soundly, and was
awake when the half-breed doctor came into his room next morning. The
latter set to work and managed to extract the piece of iron, but
before nightfall the fever which had left him alone of late had
Ormsgill in its grip. It shook him severely during several days, and
then, as sometimes happens, left him suddenly, limp and nerveless in
mind and body. He was content to lie still and wait almost
unconcernedly. Nothing seemed to matter, and he felt that effort of
any kind was futile.
He lay one morning in this frame of mind when there were footsteps on
the veranda outside his door, and he heard a voice that sounded
curiously familiar. Then the door opened, and Benicia Figuera who came
into the room started when she saw him. Ormsgill, however, betrayed no
astonishment. He was too languid, and he lay still gravely watching
her. The sunlight that streamed in through the open door fell full
upon her, gleaming on her trailing white draperies and forcing up
bronze lights in her dusky hair. He did not see the faint tinge of
color that crept into the ivory of her cheek, but he vaguely noticed
the pity shining in her eyes. She seemed to him refreshingly cool and
reposeful.
He did not remember exactly what she said, though he fancied she
mentioned that she had some business with his host's sister, and he
had no recollection of his own observations, but he sank into tranquil
sleep when she went away and awoke refreshed, to wonder when she would
come back again. As it happened, she came next day, bringing him
choice fruits and wine, and it was by her instructions he was carried
out on the veranda above the patio where she sat and talked to him.
Her voice was low and tranquil, her mere presence soothing, and she
did not seem to mind when he grew drowsy. Once or twice again, when
she was not aware that he was watching her, he saw compassion in her
eyes. Afterwards, though this was not quite in accordance with Iberian
customs, she came for an hour or two frequently, and Ormsgill grew
curiously restless when she stayed away. Sometimes his host sat with
them and discoursed on politics, but more often he left his deaf
sister, who would wander away to superintend the dusky servants' lax
activities.
The house, like others of the same type, might have been built for a
fortress, and afforded those within it all the seclusion any one could
desire. One arched entrance pierced the tall white walls, which had a
few little windows with heavy green lattices set high in them. Within,
the building rose, tinted a faint pink and terraced with verandas
supported by tottering wooden pillars, about a quadrangular patio, and
it was characteristic that it was more or less ruinous. When the outer
windows were open the sea breeze blew through it, and sitting in cool
shadow one could hear the drowsy murmur of the surf. Ormsgill found
the latter inexpressibly soothing when Benicia sat near him, and he
would lie still contentedly listening to her and watching the shadow
creep across the patio. Weak as he was in body, with his mind relaxed,
he allowed no misgivings to trouble him. He was vaguely grateful for
her presence as a boon that had been sent him without his request, and
whether Benicia understood his attitude, or what she thought of it,
did not appear.
That was at first, however, and by degrees he took himself to task as
his strength came back, until in the hot darkness of one sleepless
night he realized towards what all this was leading him. As it
happened, Benicia did not appear the next day, and he had nerved
himself for an effort by the one that followed. He had an interview
with his host and the half-breed doctor, who both protested, and then
lay waiting for the girl in a state of tense expectancy. He recognized
now what it was most fitting that he should do, but that, after all,
is a good deal less than half the battle. It was late in the afternoon
when she came, and the first glance showed her that there was a change
in Ormsgill.
He lay in a canvas lounge smiling gravely, but he had dressed himself
more precisely than usual, and there was a suggestion of resolution in
his haggard face which had not been there before. There was also
something in his eyes which conveyed the impression that the
resolution had cost him an effort, and Benicia laid a certain
restraint upon herself, for she knew what had happened. The days in
which he had leaned upon her and permitted her unquestioningly to
minister to his comfort had, undoubtedly been pleasant, but, after
all, she had not expected them to continue.
"You are stronger to-day," she said, with a composure that was a
little difficult to assume, as she took a chair beside him.
"I am," said Ormsgill quietly. "In fact I have been getting stronger
rapidly of late, and I am glad of it. You see, I have been blissfully
idle for a while and I have a good deal to do."
Benicia knew what was coming, but she smiled. "You are sure of that?"
she said. "I mean, you still think it is your business?"
"Perhaps it's a little absurd of me, but I do. Anyway, I don't know of
anybody else who is willing to undertake it."
"Ah," said Benicia, "would it matter greatly if it was not done, after
all? There are so many things one would have altered in Africa--and
they still go on. It is possible that nobody will ever succeed in
changing them."
It was, though she was, perhaps, not aware of this, a very strong
argument she used, one whose force is now and then instinctively
realized by every thinking white man in the western half of Africa,
and in other parts as well. It is a land that has absorbed many
civilizations and continued in its barbarism. Nature unsubdued is
against the white man there, and against her tremendous forces his
most strenuous efforts are of little avail. Where the air reeks with
germs of pestilence and there are countless leagues of swamps breeding
corruption, one can expect very little from a few scattered hospitals
and an odd mile of drains. Besides, there is in the lassitude born of
its steamy heat something that insidiously saps away the white man's
will until he feels that effort of any kind is futile, and that in the
land of the shadow it is wiser to leave things as they are.
Ormsgill nodded gravely. "Yes," he said, "one recognizes that, but,
you see, I don't expect to do very much--merely to keep a promise, and
set a few thick-headed heathen at liberty. I think I could accomplish
that."
"Why should you wish to set them at liberty?"
"It's a trifle difficult to answer," and Ormsgill laughed. "After all,
the motive is probably to some extent a personal one. Anyway, it's not
a thing I have any occasion to inflict on you. There was a time when
you didn't adopt this attitude, but sympathized with me."
The girl made a little gesture. "I would like to understand. You and
Desmond have all that most men wish for. Why are you risking your life
and health in Africa?"
A curious little smile crept into Ormsgill's eyes. "Well," he said
reflectively, "there are respects in which one's possessions are apt
to become burdensome. They seem to carry so many obligations along
with them that one falls into bondage under them, and I think some of
us are rebels born. We feel we must make our little protest, if it's
only by doing the thing everybody else considers reprehensible."
He stopped a moment, and his face grew a trifle grim when he went on
again. "In my case it must be made now since I shall probably never
have an opportunity of doing anything of the kind again."
Benicia understood him, for she had watched Miss Ratcliffe carefully
at Las Palmas. In fact, she had understood him all along. That he
should shrink from any claim to philanthropy was only what she had
expected from him, and it was also characteristic that he should have
made as little as possible of his motives. Admitting that he had to
some extent been swayed by the rebellious impulse he had mentioned,
she knew there was beneath it a chivalrous purpose that was likely to
prove the more effective from its practical simplicity. The Latins can
appreciate chivalry, though they do not invariably practice it now,
and she realized vaguely that there is nothing in man more knightly
than the desire to strike a blow for the oppressed or at his peril to
redress a wrong. Ormsgill's sentiments and methods were, perhaps, a
trifle crude, and, from one point of view, somewhat old fashioned. He
did not preach a crusade, but couched the lance himself. After all, he
belonged to a nation which had once, using crude effective means,
swept the slavers off that coast, and still stamps its coinage with
the George and Dragon.
It was, however, after all, not so much as a redresser of grievances
and a friend of the oppressed, but as a man that Benicia regarded her
companion, for she knew that she loved him. She said nothing, and in a
minute or two he spoke again.
"There is a thing that has been on my mind the last few days," he
said. "The fever must have left me too shaky to think of it before. I
am afraid, though it was very pleasant to see you, I haven't quite
kept faith with your father in allowing you to come and talk with me.
You, of course, don't understand exactly how the Authorities regard
me."
Benicia smiled a little, for she understood very well. "I don't think
that counts," she said, "and what is, perhaps, more to the purpose, my
father is not here; he has gone, I believe, on business of the State,
into the bush country. If you had remembered earlier you would have
been anxious to send me away?"
She leaned forward looking at him, and saw the tension in his face. It
told her a good deal, and she felt that for all his resolution she
could, if she wished, bend him to her will.
"No," he said, "I'm not sure I could have done it if I had wished. In
fact, the week--is it a week?--I have lain here has been such a one as
I have never spent before. Now I am horribly sorry that it is over."
There was something in his voice which fully bore out what he had
said, but Benicia was aware that it was she who had forced the
admission from him without his quite realizing its significance. She
knew that he would speak more plainly still if she kept her eyes on
him.
"It is over? You can countenance no more of my visits, then?" she
asked.
"I am," said Ormsgill gravely, "going away again before to-morrow."
Benicia sat very quiet, and contrived that he did not see her face for
a moment or two. She had, at least, not expected this, and it sent a
thrill of dismay through her. Steady as his voice was, she was aware
that the simple announcement had cost the man a good deal.
"You are not strong enough for the journey yet," she said at length.
"It would not be safe."
Ormsgill smiled in a curious wry fashion. "It does not require much
strength to lie still in a hammock, and I shall no doubt get a little
more every day. Besides, I almost think there is a certain danger
here. In fact, it would be safer for me up yonder in the bush."
Benicia was quite aware that he was not thinking chiefly of the danger
of arrest, and again a little thrill that was no longer altogether one
of dismay ran through her. He was, it seemed, afraid of sinking wholly
under her influence. Again she leaned a little forward, and laid her
hand upon his arm.
"You must go? Would nothing keep you here--at least until you are fit
to travel?" she asked.
She saw his lips set for a moment, and the tinge of grayness creep
into his face. Then, with a visible effort, he laid a restraint upon
himself.
"If I do not go," he said simply, "I should be ashamed the rest of my
life. Perhaps, that would not matter so much, but, as it happens, one
can't always bear his shame himself."
Benicia turned a little in her chair, and let her hand fall back
again. She knew that if she chose to exert her power he would not go
at all, but it was probably fortunate that she did not choose. After
all, she was a lady of importance in that land, and had the pride of
her station in her. Though he loved her, she would not stoop to claim
him against his will, and, what was more, she had a vague perception
of the fact that he was right. A wrong done could not be wiped out by
the mere wish to obliterate it, and she felt that if he broke faith
with the Englishwoman in Las Palmas and slackly turned back from the
task which he, at least, fancied was an obligation upon him, there
might come a time when the fact would stand between them and she would
remember the stain upon his shield. She hated the Englishwoman with
Latin sincerity, but in this case her pride saved her from a fall.
There are other people who owe their pride a good deal.
"Then," she said slowly, "one can only tell you to go. Some time,
perhaps, you will come back again?"
She rose, and Ormsgill with an effort stood up awkwardly, and taking
the hand she held out held it a moment. "I do not know," he said with
a faint trace of hoarseness. "It is not often possible for one to do
what one would wish, and there are--duties--laid on me. Still, if it
should be possible--" He broke off for a moment, and then went on
again in a different tone very quietly, "In the meanwhile I must thank
you. I owe you a good deal."
He watched her go down the stairway, and then leaned on the balustrade
for awhile wondering vaguely what would have happened if he had flung
off all restraint and let himself go. He did not know that while he
was nearest to doing so Benicia Figuera had laid a restraint on him,
and that had she permitted it he would have rushed headlong to a fall.
There are times when the strength of a usually resolute man is apt to
prove a snare to him. Then he sat down wearily in the canvas chair
again, and when the land breeze swept through the city that night he
and his handful of carriers slipped quietly out of it.