'He seems rather smitten,' I admitted. 'He certainly raved a bit
last night; but, then, so many people do that when they first
come out.'
Drayton looked at me as if he might have said much more. But I
changed the subject; it never occurred to me then that it might
be a thrilling one. I went home later on and sat on the stoep and
talked to my host. Browne had very little to say. He went off for
a sunset walk, and never came to church at night. We sat up in
the moonlight waiting for him afterwards. He came in at last and
joined us on the stoep, but he was very silent. He would not have
any supper. He smoked away furiously till bed-time.
I arranged a riding trip for all three visitors next morning.
They were to off-saddle under some high kopjes about ten miles
from town; they were to have a picnic and an amazing view. I
could not go myself, as I had an appointment to keep. But I sent
two Mashona boys to be their retinue; one of them was Johannes,
my own right hand at home. I solemnly entrusted the strangers and
their steeds to his keeping.
When I came in about sunset that Monday evening they had not
returned. But before the daylight failed, three of them were back
Mrs. Browne, Drayton, and the under-boy. Where were Browne and
Johannes? Mrs. Browne seemed to be a little uneasy, but she
affected to make light of what had happened. She said that her
husband had wanted to see the country beyond, so he had gone on
with the boy. He was sure to be back to-morrow, as he had taken
so little food with him. Drayton said nothing at the time, but
after dinner, when we were smoking on the stoep, he began to
quote to me:
'I met a lady in the meads,
Full beautiful a faery's child;
Her hair was long, her foot was light,
And her eyes were wild.'
'What do you mean to insinuate?' I said.
'Oh, I don't mean anything libelous. Browne hasn't gone off with
a comely Mashona. But, for all that, I believe he's taken Africa
much too seriously. She has a grim fascination for me, but she
doesn't stop at that with him. She grips him and orders him to
come along.'
'Tell me about today,' I said.
'Browne acknowledged a little to me three days ago,' Drayton
said. 'He told me that this huge Tamburlaine (or rather
Zenocrate) of a country was giving him too heady a welcome. He
said she was still in the Middle Ages, and not only there, but
more than half outside the pale of Christendom, such as it was
then. So she had strange forces at work in her, and used
incantations to allure, in prodigal variety. He talked about
Lapland, and some footling researches he had made into the magic
of the north. He also told me a horrible tale or two of the South
that he had found in the Bodleian. One was a real curdler, I can
tell you. Jerry Browne's own moustache seemed to turn up like a
German's as he imparted it to me. You know he's romantic enough
in his way, though he does lead such a repressed life. You should
see him at home.'
'But do tell me why he's gone off so suddenly,' said I, with some
impatience.
'I can't tell you very much,' said Drayton. 'We rode out, and
Jerry seemed tremendously cheerful quite sportive. Anyone who'd
only known him in Park Crescent would have been much surprised to
watch him and listen to the things he said. Mrs. Browne seemed a
bit puzzled, I thought, at last. Then we came to the kopjes where
there was a consummate view. You could see a long way to the
north across a hugely wide plain. Browne climbed up on the
highest rock with me a sort of flat slab, whereon you might
immolate a hecatomb. He seemed more exhilarated than ever just
then. Soon he slipped away down the rocks and left me smoking my
pipe on high. About five minutes after I observed him making
tracks across the northern plain. He was cantering his dappled
mule for all it was worth; he was carrying nothing so far as I
could see.
'I made haste down. I found that boy you said we could trust. I
gave him two or three picnic rugs and what was left of our food
to carry. I asked him to follow the rideaway, to stick to him,
and to bring him back as soon as ever he could. Then I went to
Mrs. Browne. She was sitting behind some bushes crying. She said
Browne had said such a curious good-bye to her. He had spoken of
riding on to see more of the country he had said he would be back
in the morning. She had tried to dissuade him, but he seemed
hardly to listen. She could scarcely believe that he had really
gone without blankets or food. I reassured her, telling her that
I had sent the boy and that you had said the boy was a good
'un. But if she thinks, or you think, that the old man will come
back tomorrow, I don't.'
Tuesday passed anxiously both for Mrs. Browne and for me. Drayton
was anxious in the wrong way, unless I misjudged him. I seemed to
read triumph in his face as the hours went by and brought no
Browne.
I grew haggard when evening drew on. What was I to do? But about
sunset tidings came. A native, who had traveled into town from
the north, brought me a penciled note from Johannes: 'My father,
I ask you to come to us. Let your horse make haste. The white man
will not turn. He has finished his food. He goes to the hills, he
says. I think that he is mad. Pray for us! Johannes.'
I went to Mrs. Browne at once. I remember I found her sitting
under a flaming hibiscus bush. She looked very pale and washed-out
against it. I told her that her husband wanted to extend his
tour. She burst into tears, and said she could not understand it.
Then I told her that I meant going after him in the morning to
try to hasten his return. She brightened up at that, and fell to
planning what I should take with me. What comforts could she send
Gerald in the comfortless desert without overloading me? I showed
Johannes' note to Drayton after dinner. He whistled, and, to his
credit, looked grave.
'I'm to go after him to-morrow,' I said. 'I've thought over it,
and I think you may as well come too. You may be useful, as
knowing his ways.'
He nodded. 'Rather bad about his running out of skoff, isn't it?'
he asked. 'I wonder if he's out of baccy and just breaking his
heart.' His plump face was pitiful.
'Don't you fret,' I answered. 'It only means he's run out of our
food. They'll surely buy monkey-nuts or sweet-potatoes or rice in
the kraals. He's probably developed a passion for native food by
now, also for native snuff. He'll be able to buy some of that,
surely.'
'Just so,' said Drayton. He began to quote again in a sort of
droning chant as if he were a chorus recording the onsweep of a
tragedy:
'I set her on my pacing steed, And nothing else saw all day long,
For sidelong would she lean, and sing A faery's song.
'She found me roots of relish sweet, And honey wild, and manna-dew,
And sure in language strange she said I love thee true.'
In the morning we got a flying start after all, though Drayton
was in bed when I came back from church. We went away at eight,
and soon found, to our joy, that we were really well mounted. It
was joy, too, to remember what a stubborn mule Browne had for
pacing steed. He had not got away far, we assured ourselves. But
we did not catch him that night.
We asked at kraals as we went along, and struck a hot scent about
three in the afternoon. A white man had passed that morning a
white man riding a dappled mule, with a boy carrying blankets
behind him. Straightway we gave our ponies an off-saddle.
Afterwards we rode on hard in what we deemed to be the right
direction till darkness fell: We sought shelter at a village
then. There was no village gossip, alas! about the passing of a
white man that day! They were good to us, though, those
villagers, and gave us beans and monkey-nuts for supper and
mealies for our ponies. After we had finished eating we spread
out the rush-mat they had lent us and lay down to smoke and
meditate and surmise as to our passionate pilgrim. They had given
us a hut that was old and grimy with fires. Its floor teemed with
life.
Therefore we changed our resting-place and went out to camp under
a rocky eminence. There with a bedrock of austere granite we
slept in peace. At glimmer of dawn we were saddling up. We rode
to another kraal, but the folk there had no news for us.
We were close on the hills now at last. We came to a low river at
the foot of them. We chose a landlocked pool that seemed to be
immune from crocodiles, for a plunge. Next I girded myself for
Sacrifice, and he served me. Then we made a fire and cooked a
huge breakfast in the hungry morning air. Drayton grew quite
lyrical as to the charm of the country before the meal was over.
'Browne's not far wrong about her,' he said; 'but there's reason
in all things.'
That whole day we heard no news and found no spoor or sign. The
hill-country gave us stiff climbing and rocky paths to ride.
Kraals and clusters of gardens places where we might hope to hear
tidings how few they were in that hill-country! We camped
disconsolately at last in a forlorn garden among grey boulders
where stumps of trees were burning. We found no trouble in
building up a good night fire of half-burnt logs. We gave our
ponies their nosebags and ate our own bread and bully rather
silently. Then we surmised with some weariness and gloom over our
pipes. At last we slept under the many eyes of the heavens.
About first cock-crow, when a chill struck through my blanket, I
opened my eyes and looked towards the fire. Someone was sitting
beside it watching me. Now that he saw me stirring he greeted me.
It was Johannes. 'I saw your fire but just now,' he said. 'Our
fire is up there beyond great rocks. The white man has been very
sick. I think he will come home now.'
I sprang to my feet and roused Drayton. He would not get up for a
long time. I suspect he combined breakfast and lunch fairly often
at Oxford. But I roused him mercilessly. I told him the news.
He argued in desperate fashion at first. 'How far's the sick
bed,' he asked.
'Not more than a mile or so,' said I.
'Need we go till morning?' said he.
'Shame!' said I.
At last he sprang up.
As we clambered among the boulders, piloted by Johannes, he
droned away at his chorus part:
'She took me to her elfin grot, And there she wept, and sighed
full sore, And there I shut her wild, sad eyes With kisses four.
'And there she lulled me asleep, And there I dream'd Ah woe
betide! The latest dream I ever dream'd On the cold hill's side.'
We found Browne in a nook among the rocks. A fire was burning
beside him. He seemed to be sleeping.
'He looks as if he'd been sick,' I said. 'We'd better let him
sleep on!'
'Yes; let's go to bed ourselves,' said Drayton, yawning.
So we lay down on opposite sides of the fire. Such a red and
splendid fire that cold cock-crow time!
Browne kept giving sharp little moans in his sleep, just as a dog
will do of nights.
'He's started a nightmare,' said I. 'I wish we could help him to
better dreams. I'd like to see what he sees just now.'
Drayton began to drone from his side of the fire:
'I saw pale kings and princes, too; Pale warriors death-pale were
they all. They cried, "La Belle Dame sans Merci" hath thee in
thrall.
'I saw their starved lips in the gloom With horrid warning gaped
wide, And I awoke and found me here On the cold hill's side.'
I asked a question: 'What will Browne like for breakfast,
Drayton?'
'If he's come back to his civilized tastes, you'd better open
that tin of sausages,' he said. 'You've got some squish, too,
haven't you? Don't give him that bush-tea of yours!'
I was up long before Drayton. I had secured Browne's confidences
before the sun had been risen an hour. 'I've had a sort of
miserable ague,' he said. 'A cold and hot fever has been plaguing
me. Some part of this last night has been savagely horrible. But
I've sweated pounds of my weight away, and my fever's gone.
Strange, isn't it?'
'Quite ordinary in this part of Africa,' I said, sharply and
minimizingly. I handed him a shirt, and he doffed his drenched
one. He did not tell me any more just then. His eyes watched me
in a dazed, miserable way. I asked him to excuse me, and went off
with Johannes to my service. When I came back his eyes were
clearer, they had less of their look of wan-hope.
'Sinister country, this Africa,' he said. 'I was infatuated with
her yesterday. Today I can't understand just what the attraction
was. Her desolate moors seemed to make me drunk. See how she's
served me! I never felt quite so sick as I've done most of this
last day and night. Just before I woke it seemed to me I saw them
in my dreams tens and twenties of her victims; men she's charmed
and led on and on, and demoralized, ruined, killed and buried,
and helped down-hill the way of the bottomless pit. I am better
now; but I'm shaken. How thankful I'll be if only I get out of
her, and can only stop thinking about her after that.'
I listened with grave attention. Then I gave him some bread and
sausages, and he ate away ravenously. How ever many cups of tea
did he drink afterwards?'
The above was all the avowal that Browne made to me. I do not
think that he said nearly as much to Drayton as he did to me.
Drayton plied me with questions that night, and I told him too
much, to my regret.
Months afterwards a copy of an undergraduate paper, containing a
fantasia on the events that I have recorded, reached me. It
comprised much African coloring and some little humor. I wonder
if it reached Browne or Mrs. Browne?
We got Browne home in little over a day. He hurried on,
oftentimes when we wanted to rest. He seemed as anxious to emerge
from the African desert as he had been to explore the deeps of
it. He looked rakish and wretched as he bumped about upon his
mule. His face was livid, and his black beard, that he used to
cut so formally, desperately out of trim. His eyes were strangely
bloodshot.
We reached home safely with our prize by noon on Saturday.
Browne, as I have said, was all for getting on fast, and when we
once started, his stubborn mount went well. It was won to
emulation by the willingness of our ponies, I imagine.
Mrs. Browne was delighted at her Gerald's return. Yet I think it
must have taken some months to restore her confidence in his
sanity. She had had a sore shock. Drayton and I, indeed, were
both discreet in our brief narratives of what had really
happened. But I was heedless enough to forget Johannes. I did not
caution him in time. So Mrs. Browne gathered rather a bizarre
account from him while we were at church on Sunday evening. It is
to her credit that, despite her thrift, she gave the boy a whole
gold sovereign.
The three travelers left by the slow down-train on the Monday
morning. I went to the station with them. I saw Drayton into a
smoking-carriage, and climbed in and sat with him. There was
still ten minutes' grace allowed us.
'Where's Browne, and where's Mrs. Browne?' I asked.
'Along there, ever so far!' he said; 'with Professor Ayres and
the Misses Ayres, and all sorts of good company. But, hullo! Look
there!'
Browne was coming up the platform towards the bookstall, looking
forlorn and sad.
'Ah! what can ail thee, wretched wight, Alone and palely
loitering?' murmured Drayton. 'It's a bad job for me, Jerry's
getting off-color like this. How's he going to train men for
Firsts next June, when he's gone in himself?'
'Oh. he'll pick up as soon as he gets out of Africa, never fear.'
I reassured him.
Browne loitered up to the stall and amassed two month-old English
magazines. Then he stood by the stall, looking on to the
distances near and far behind it. Our feverish contact had not
spoilt much of the landscape there as yet. Beyond a few railway
sheds showed some bushes, as it were, of wild cherry-blossom,
flaunting a true white under the sky's true blue. Spring colors
dressed the woodland behind them red and bronze, and also the two
famous colors of Faeryland. Behind that, again, the view was
spread out widely diverse, certain blue hills standing up very
delicately. Meanwhile in the near foreground some Kaffir herds
helped the picture not a little. They were driving their flock
between the white-blossomed bushes.
Browne stood a long while and watched that landscape. I would
have given something to have read his face all the while, but his
back was turned to us.
At last he began to pace up and down by the bookstall. Then he
stood to gaze again, scouring, as it seemed, the far distance
with eyes straining their utmost. Our eyes followed his.
Did not some ironstone kopjes rise up dimly to the north there?
Assuredly Browne saw those blue peaks and ridges, and remembered
them.
'Do you remember them?' I asked Drayton.
'Don't I just?' he said.
He began again in his chanting chorus tone: he was reading and
transposing from a pocket copy of Theocritus.
'They all call thee a "gipsy," gracious Africa, and "lean" and
"sunburnt," 'tis only I that call thee "honey-pale." Yea, and the
violet is swart, and swart the lettered hyacinth, but yet these
flowers are chosen the first in garlands. . . . Ah, gracious
Africa, thy feet are fashioned like carven ivory, thy voice is
drowsy sweet, and thy ways, I cannot tell of them.'
The engine whistled. Browne roused himself to my intense relief,
and climbed into the train.
'Good-bye,' I called to him as they steamed away.
'Au revoir,' he called back to me.