"I say! Was I very `dotty'?"
"Pretty well. But that's only natural under the circs."
"Talk much, and all that sort of thing--eh, did I?"
"Oh, yes. The usual incoherencies. But that's nothing. We're used to
it. In fact, we now and then take a turn at it ourselves when this
beastly up-country fever strikes us. Eh, doctor?"
"We do," answered Dr Ahern, turning away to attend to the unpacking and
examination of some scientific specimens, but not before he had added:--
"I wouldn't talk too much if I were you. It won't hurt you to keep
quiet a little longer."
A fortnight had gone by since the rescue of the solitary fugitive when
in his last and desperate extremity; and, indeed, nothing but the most
careful tending had availed to save his life even then--that, and his
own constitution, which, as Dr Ahern declared, was that of a bull.
Several days of raging and delirious fever had delayed the expedition at
the place where it had found him, and then it had moved on again, though
slowly, carrying the invalid in an improvised litter. At last the fever
had left him, and his wounds were healing; by a miracle and the
wonderful skill of the doctor he had escaped blood-poisoning.
The latter's back turned, the convalescent promptly started to disregard
his final injunction.
"I say," he went on, lowering his voice, "it won't hurt me to talk a
little, will it?"
The other, his tall frame stretched upon the ground, his hat tilted over
his eyes, and puffing contentedly at a pipe, laughed.
"I don't know. Doctor's orders, you see. Still--well, for one thing,
we've been wondering, of course, who you are, and how you got into the
hobble we found you in."
"Well, I'm Oakley, and I've been inland a year and a half in the
plant-hunting line."
"That so? I'm Haviland, and I've been up rather more than two years in
the bug-hunting line, as the Americans would call it. Ornithology,
too."
"So! Made a good haul?"
"Uncommonly. We've got some specimens here that'll make our names for
us."
"Let's see them," said the other eagerly. "I was--am, in fact--keen on
beetles, but I'm professionally in plants now."
And then these two enthusiasts set to work comparing notes. They clean
forgot about the circumstances of their meeting or knowing more about
each other; forgot recent perils and the brooding mysteries of the
wilderness, as they hammered away at their pet subject, and talked bird
and beetle to their hearts' content. In the midst of which a displeased
voice struck in:--
"I'd like to ask if that's what you call keeping quiet, now."
Both started guiltily.
"My fault, doctor," said Haviland. "I let him go on. He's in the same
line as ourselves, you know."
"Is he? He'll be in a different line from any of us if he gets thinking
he's all right before he is. Sure, the constitution of a bull won't
pull a man through everything--not quite."
The patient accepted this grave rebuke with a smile, and lay still. He
had not yet put these friends in need in full possession of the facts of
his misfortunes, but there was plenty of time for that.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Ten years had gone by since last we saw Haviland, in imminent danger of
expulsion from Saint Kirwin's, and which it is probable he only escaped
through a far greater grief than that--the death of his father; and for
the most part of that period his career has been pretty much as we find
him now--a wandering one, to wit. He had not returned to Saint
Kirwin's, for the potent reason that the parson had left his family in
somewhat of straits, and the eldest member thereof was old enough, at
any rate, to do something for himself. This had taken the form of a
bank clerkship, obtained for him by an uncle. But to the young lover of
Nature and the free open air and the woods and fields, this life was one
that he loathed. It told upon his health at last, and realising that he
would never do any good for himself in this line, the same relative
assisted him to emigrate to South Africa. There he had many ups and
downs--mostly downs--and then it occurred to him to try to turn his
much-loved hobby into a profession. He obtained introductions to one or
two scientific men, who, seeing through the genuineness of his gifts,
offered him employment, sending him as assistant on scientific
expeditions, and finally entrusting the leadership of such entirely to
his hands. And he succeeded wonderfully. He had found his line at
last, and followed it up with an entire and whole-hearted enthusiasm.
Yet such expeditions were no child's play. A capacity for every kind of
hardship and privation, indomitable enterprise, the multifold perils of
the wilderness to face, starvation and thirst, the hostility of fierce
savage tribes, treachery and desertion or overt mutiny on the part of
his own followers, and the deadly, insidious malaria lurking at every
mile in the miasmatic equatorial heat. But the same spirit which had
moved those midnight poaching expeditions at Saint Kirwin's was with
Haviland now, and carried him through in triumph. Young as he was--well
under thirty--he had already begun to make something of a name for
himself as a daring and successful exploring naturalist.
He had kept in touch with Mr Sefton, as much as a correspondence of the
few-and-far-between order could so be called, and from time to time
obtained the latest news about Saint Kirwin's. Among other items was
one to the effect that after his own departure the Zulu boy, Anthony--
otherwise Mpukuza--had turned out badly, had become so intractable and
such a power for mischief that the missionary who had placed him there
had been invited to remove him. This was done, and they had lost sight
of him. Probably he had returned to his own land and reverted to
savagery; and this, Haviland thought, was very likely the case. Yet he
himself had been in Zululand, and had made frequent inquiries with
regard to Mpukuza, but could obtain no satisfactory information, even in
the locality where the boy was said to hail from. It was no uncommon
thing for missionaries to take away their children and place them in
schools, declared the inhabitants, and one case more or less was not
sufficiently noteworthy to remain in their recollection. Nor did they
know any such name as Mpukuza, and in the ups and downs of a somewhat
struggling and busy life the matter faded from Haviland's mind as well.
As time went on the injured man, in spite of the steamy heat and a
drained system, had recovered so as almost to regain his former
strength; but, before this, the information he had given to Haviland and
the doctor about himself had caused a change in their plans. Briefly,
it amounted to this. His expedition, consisting of himself and a German
botanist, together with a number of porters, had been surprised at
daybreak by a party of Arabs and negroes who he had every reason to
believe constituted a gang of Rumaliza's slave-hunters. So sudden had
been the attack that the whole party was completely overpowered. His
German comrade was shot dead at his side, and he himself got a cut on
the head with a scimitar which nearly put an end to his days, together
with a spear thrust in the shoulder. He had a distinct recollection of
shooting two of the assailants with his revolver as he broke through
them to run, and then for the whole day some of them had chased him. He
had been wounded again by a spear, thrown by one who had out-distanced
the others, but he had managed to shoot the thrower. Then he had lost
his revolver while extricating himself from a swamp into which he had
sunk waist-deep; and thus that most helpless object on earth, an unarmed
man, and badly wounded into the bargain, had taken refuge in the
deserted village to die.
"And precious hard dying you intended to make of it, old chap," had been
Haviland's comment. "Why, it was the finest thing I ever saw in my
life, the way you were laying about you with those old shin-bones. Make
a fine subject for one of those groups of sculpture. The Berserk at
Bay, one might call it. Eh?"
Well, it was no laughing matter at the time, they all agreed. But the
worst of it was, Oakley had explained, that the ruffians who had
surprised his camp had, of course, seized everything, including the
whole of the specimens he had collected during this expedition, which
latter would, therefore, be so much time, trouble, and expense
absolutely thrown away. As for his bearers, such of them as had not
been massacred had, of course, been seized as slaves, and his property
as loot; but it was just possible that the marauders, finding the
botanical specimens utterly valueless to themselves, might have left
them on the ground, in which event they could be recovered.
If, in their heart of hearts, Haviland and the doctor were not exultant
over this idea, it is hardly astonishing; for, at the rate they had
travelled while bearing the injured man in their midst, to return to the
scene of the tragedy would mean about a fortnight's march, and that not
merely of a retrograde nature, but one which would take them very near
an exceedingly dangerous belt of country. But here was a brother
scientist, the fruits of his toil and risk, the reward of his
enterprise, thrown away, with just a chance remaining of saving them.
It was not in these two, at any rate, to let that chance go by, merely
at the cost of an extra fortnight's march and a certain amount of
potential danger.
Well, the march had been effected, and here they were at last on the
site of Oakley's ravaged camp. A ghastly spectacle met their gaze.
Many of the bearers had been massacred, and the ground was literally
strewn with bones, either clean-picked by the ravenous carnivora of the
surrounding wilderness, or with mangled tatters of flesh and sinew still
depending. Skulls, too; in many cases with the features yet remaining,
but all showing the same hideous distortion of the terror and agony
which had accompanied their deaths. The remains of the ill-fated German
botanist were identified and reverently buried, but everything in the
shape of loot which the camp had contained had been borne away by the
rapacious marauders.
But to the delight of Oakley, to the delight of all of them, his
conjectures had proved correct. Following on the broad track left by
the retreating raiders they came upon the lost specimens. The cases had
been broken open, and, containing nothing but dried plants, had been
thrown away and left. Some had suffered, but the bulk were entirely
uninjured, and in his exultation the tragical fate which had overwhelmed
his companion and followers was quite overlooked by this ardent
scientist. The loot, too, of the camp was nothing. His precious
specimens were recovered--that was everything. The doctor and Haviland,
moved by vivid fellow feeling, rejoiced with him, and that exceedingly.
Yet, could they have foreseen what was before them, their exultation
might have been considerably dashed. Their adventures had been many,
their lives had been largely made up of perilous and startling
surprises; but the greatest of these was yet to come, and that,
perchance, at no very distant date.