VI

Two days later, or not quite three days later, the galley and the

motor-boat whose accidental encounter brought about the events of this

narrative met again. This second meeting took place in the Karun, as

before, but at a point some fifty or sixty miles below Bund-i-Kir. And

now the moon, not the sun, cast its paler glitter between the high dark

banks of the stream. It was a keen-eared young Lur who first heard afar

the pant of the mysterious jinni. Before he or his companions descried

the motor-boat, however, Gaston, rounding a sharp curve above the island

of Umm-un-Nakhl, caught sight of the sweeps of the barge flashing in the

moonlight. The unexpected view of that flash was not disagreeable to

Gaston. For, as Gaston put it to himself, he was sad--despite the

efforts of his friend, the telegraph operator at Ahwaz, to cheer him up.

It is true that the operator, who was Irish and a man of heart, had

accorded him but a limited amount of cheer, together with hard words not

a few. Recalling them, Gaston picked up a knife that lay on the seat

beside him--an odd curved knife of the country, in a leather sheath.

There is no reason why I should conceal the fact that this knife was a

gift from Gaston's Bakhtiari henchman, who had presented it to Gaston,

with immense solemnity, on hearing that there was a war in Firengistan

and that the young men of the oil works were going to it. What had

become of that type of a Bakhtiari, Gaston wondered? Then, spying the

flash of those remembered oars, he bethought him of the seigneur of a

Brazilian whose hospitable yacht, he had reason to know, was not

destitute of cheer.

When he was near enough the barge to make out the shadow of the high

beak on the moonlit water he cut off the motor. The sweeps forthwith

ceased to flash. Gaston then called out the customary salutation. It was

answered, as before, by the deep voice of the Brazilian. He stood at the

rail of the barge as the motor-boat glided alongside.

"Ah, _mon vieux_, you are alone this time?" said Magin genially. "Where

are the others?"

"I do not figure to myself," answered Gaston, "that you derange yourself

to inquire for my sacred devil of a Bakhtiari, who has taken the key of

the fields. As for Monsieur Guy, the Englishman you saw the other time,

whose name does not pronounce itself, he has gone to the war. I just

took him and three others to Ahwaz, where they meet more of their

friends and all go together on the steamer to Mohamera."

"Really! And did you hear any news at Ahwaz?"

"The latest is that England has declared war."

"Tiens!" exclaimed Magin. His voice was extraordinarily loud and deep in

the stillness of the river. It impressed Gaston, who sat looking up at

the dark figure in front of the ghostly Lurs. What types, with their

black hats of a theater! He hoped the absence of M'sieu Guy and the

Brazilian's evident surprise would not cloud the latter's hospitality.

He was accordingly gratified to hear the Brazilian say, after a moment:

"And they tell us that madness is not catching! But we, at least, have

not lost our heads. Eh? To prove it, Monsieur Gaston, will you not come

aboard a moment, if you are not in too much of a hurry, and drink a

little glass with me?"

Gaston needed no urging. In a trice he had tied his boat to the barge

and was on the deck. The agreeable Brazilian was not too much of a

seigneur to shake his hand in welcome, or to lead him into the cabin

where a young Lur was in the act of lighting candles.

"It is so hot, and so many strange beasts fly about this river," Magin

explained, "that I usually prefer to travel without a light. But we must

see the way to our mouths! What will you have? Beer? Bordeaux?

Champagne?"

Gaston considered this serious question with attention.

"Since Monsieur has the goodness to inquire, if Monsieur has any of that

_fine champagne_ I tasted before--"

"Ah yes! Certainly." And he gave a rapid order to the Lur. Then he stood

silent, his eyes fixed on the reed portière. Gaston was more impressed

than ever as he stood too, _béret_ in hand, looking around the little

saloon, so oddly, yet so comfortably fitted out with rugs and skins.

Presently the Lur reappeared through the reed portière, which aroused

the Brazilian from his abstraction. He filled the two glasses himself,

waving his attendant out of the cabin, and handed one to Gaston. The

other he raised in the air, bowing to his guest. "To the victor!" he

said. "And sit down, won't you? There is more than one glass in that

bottle."

Gaston was enchanted to sit down and to sip another cognac.

"But, Monsieur," he exclaimed, looking about again, "you travel like an

emperor!"

"Ho!" laughed Magin, with a quick glance at Gaston. "I am well enough

here. But there is one difficulty." He looked at his glass, holding it

up to the light. "I travel too slowly."

Gaston smiled.

"In Persia, who cares?"

"Well, it happens that at this moment I do. I have affairs at Mohamera.

And in this tub it will take me three days more at the best--without

considering that I shall have to wait till daylight to get through the

rocks at Ahwaz." He lowered his glass and looked back at Gaston. "Tell

me: Why shouldn't you take me down, ahead of my tub? Eh? Or to Sablah,

if Mohamera is too far? It would not delay you so much, after all. You

can tell them any story you like at Sheleilieh. Otherwise I am sure we

can make a satisfactory arrangement." He put his hand suggestively into

his pocket.

Gaston considered it between sips. It really was not much to do for this

uncle of America who had been so amiable. And others had suddenly become

so much less amiable than their wont. Moreover that Bakhtiari--he might

repent when he heard the motor again. At any rate one could say that one

had waited for him. And the Brazilian would no doubt show a gratitude so

handsome that one could afford to be a little independent. If those on

the steamer asked any questions when the motor-boat passed, surely the

Brazilian, who was more of a seigneur than any employee of an oil

company, would know how to answer.

"_Allons!_ Why not?" he said aloud.

"Bravo!" cried the Brazilian, withdrawing his hand from his pocket.

"Take that as part of my ticket. And excuse me a moment while I make

arrangements."

He disappeared through the reed portière, leaving Gaston to admire five

shining napoleons. It gave him an odd sensation to see, after so long,

those coins of his country. When Magin finally came back, it was through

the inner door.

"Tell me: how much can you carry?" he asked. "I have four boxes I would

like to take with me, besides a few small things. These fools might

wreck themselves at Ahwaz and lose everything in the river. It would

annoy me very much--after all the trouble I have had to collect my

objects of virtue! Besides, the tub will get through more easily without

them. Come in and see."

"_Mon Dieu_!" exclaimed Gaston, scratching his head, when he saw. "My

boat won't get through more easily with them, especially at night." He

looked curiously around the cozy stateroom.

"But it will take them, eh? If necessary, we can land them at Ahwaz and

have them carried around the rapids."

The thing took some manoeuvering; but the Lurs, with the help of much

fluent profanity from the master, finally accomplished it without

sinking the motor-boat. Gaston, sitting at the wheel to guard his

precious engine against some clumsiness of the black-hatted

mountaineers, looked on with humorous astonishment at this turn of

affairs. He was destined, it appeared, to be disappointed in his hope of

cheer. That cognac was really very good--if only one had had more of it.

Still, one at least had company now; and he was not the man to be

insensible to the fine champagne of the unexpected. Nor was he

unconscious that of many baroque scenes at which he had assisted, this

was not the least baroque.

When the fourth chest had gingerly been lowered into place, Magin

vanished again. Presently he reappeared, followed by his majordomo, to

whom he gave instructions in a low voice. Then he stepped into the stern

of the boat. The majordomo, taking two portmanteaux and a rug from the

Lurs behind him, handed them down to Gaston. Having disposed of them,

Gaston stood up, his eyes on the Lurs who crowded the rail.

"Well, my friend," said Magin gaily, "for whom are you waiting? We shall

yet have opportunities to admire the romantic scenery of the Karun!"

"Ah! Monsieur takes no--other object of virtue with him?"

"Have you so much room?" laughed Magin. "It is a good thing there is no

wind to-night. Go ahead."

Gaston cast off, backed a few feet, reversed, and described a wide

circle around the stern of the barge. It made a strange picture in the

moonlight, with its black-curved beak and its spectral crew. They

shifted to the other rail as the motor-boat came about, watching

silently.

"To your oars!" shouted Magin at them. "Row, sons of burnt fathers! Will

you have me wait a month for you at Mohamera?"

They scattered to their places, and Gaston caught the renewed flash of

the sweeps as he turned to steer for the bend. It was a good thing, he

told himself, that there was no wind to-night. The gunwale was nearer

the water than he or the boat cared for. She made nothing like her usual

speed. However, he said nothing. Neither did Magin--until the dark

shadow of Umm-un-Nakhl divided the glitter in front of them.

"Take the narrower channel," he ordered then. And when they were in it

he added: "Stop, will you, and steer in there, under the shadow of the

shore? I think we would better fortify ourselves for the work of the

night. I at least did not forget the cognac, among my other objects of

virtue."

They fortified themselves accordingly, the Brazilian producing cigars as

well. He certainly was an original, thought Gaston, now hopeful of

experiencing actual cheer. That originality proved itself anew when,

after a much longer period of refreshment than would suit most gentlemen

in a hurry, the familiar flash became visible in the river behind them.

"Now be quiet," commanded the extraordinary uncle of America. "Whatever

happens we mustn't let them hear us. If they take this channel, we will

slip down, and run part way up the other. We shall give them a little

surprise."

Nearer and nearer came the flash, which suddenly went out behind the

island. A recurrent splash succeeded it, and a wild melancholy singing.

The singing and the recurrent splash grew louder, filled the silence of

the river, grew softer; and presently the receding oars flashed again,

below the island. But not until the last glint was lost in the shimmer

of the water, the last sound had died out of the summer night, did the

Brazilian begin to unfold his surprise.

"_Que diable allait-on faire dans cette galère!_" he exclaimed. "It's

the first time I ever knew them to do the right thing! Let us drink one

more little glass to the good fortune of their voyage. And here, by the

way, is another part of my ticket." He handed Gaston five more

napoleons. "But now, my friend, we have some work. I see we shall never

get anywhere with all this load. Let us therefore consign our objects of

virtue to the safe keeping of the river. He will guard them better than

anybody. Is it deep enough here?"

It was deep enough. But what an affair, getting those heavy chests

overboard! The last one nearly pulled Magin in with it. One of the

clamps caught in his clothes, threw him against the side of the boat,

and jerked something after it into the water. He sat down, swearing

softly to himself, to catch his breath and investigate the damage.

"It was only my revolver," he announced. "And we have no need of that,

since we are not going to the war! Now, my good Gaston, I have changed

my mind. We will not go down the river, after all. We will go up."

Gaston, this time, stared at him.

"Up? But, Monsieur, the barge--"

"What is my barge to you, dear Gaston? Besides, it is no longer mine. It

now belongs to the Sheikh of Mohamera--with whatever objects of virtue

it still contains. He has long teased me for it. And none of them can

read the note they are carrying to him! Didn't I tell you I was going to

give them a little surprise? Well, there it is. I am not a man, you

see, to be tied to objects of virtue. Which reminds me: where are my

portmanteaux?"

"Here, on the tank."

"Fi! And you a chauffeur! Give them to me. I will arrange myself a

little. As for you, turn around and see how quickly you can carry me to

the charming resort of Bund-i-Kir--where Antigonus fought Eumenes and

the Silver Shields for the spoils of Susa, and won them. Did you ever

hear, Gaston, of that interesting incident?"

"Monsieur is too strong for me," replied Gaston, cryptically. He took

off his cap, wiped his face, and sat down at the wheel.

"If a man is not strong, what is he?" rejoined Magin. "But you will not

find this cigar too strong," he added amicably.

Gaston did not. What he found strong was the originality of his

passenger--and the way that cognac failed, in spite of its friendly

warmth, to cheer him. For he kept thinking of that absurd Bakhtiari, and

of the telegraph operator, and of M'sieu Guy, and the others, as he sped

northward on the silent moonlit river.

"This is very well, eh, Gaston?" uttered the Brazilian at last. "We

march better without our objects of virtue." Gaston felt that he smiled

as he lay smoking on his rug in the bottom of the boat. "But tell me,"

he went on presently, "how is it, if I may ask, that you didn't happen

to go in the steamer too, with your Monsieur Guy? You do not look to me

either old or incapable."

There it was, the same question, which really seemed to need no answer

at first, but which somehow became harder to answer every time! Why was

it? And how could it spoil so good a cognac?

"How is it?" repeated Gaston. "It is, Monsieur, that France is a great

lady who does not derange herself for a simple vagabond like Gaston, or

about whose liaisons or quarrels it is not for Gaston to concern

himself. This great lady has naturally not asked my opinion about this

quarrel. But if she had, I would have told her that it is very stupid

for everybody in Europe to begin shooting at each other. Why? Simply

because it pleases _ces messieurs_ the Austrians to treat _ces

messieurs_ the Serbs _de haut en bas_! What have I to do with that?

Besides, this great lady is very far away, and by the time I arrive she

will have arranged her affair. In the meantime there are many others,

younger and more capable than I, whose express business it is to arrange

such affairs. Will one _piou-piou_ more or less change the result of one

battle? Of course not! And if I should lose my hand or my head, who

would buy me another? Not France! I have seen a little what France does

in such cases. My own father left his leg at Gravelotte, together with

his job and my mother's peace. I have seen what happened to her, and how

it is that I am a vagabond--about whom France has never troubled

herself." He shouted it over his shoulder, above the noise of the motor,

with an increasing loudness. "Also," he went on, "I have duties not so

far away as France. Up there, at Sheleilieh, there will perhaps be next

month a little Gaston. If I go away, who will feed him? I have not the

courage of Monsieur, who separates himself so easily from objects of

virtue. _Voilà!_"

Magin said nothing for a moment. Then:

"Courage, yes! One needs a little courage in this curious world." There

was a pause, as the boat cut around a dark curve. "But do not think, my

poor Gaston, that it is I who blame you. On the contrary, I find you

very reasonable--more reasonable than many ministers of state. If others

in Europe had been able to express themselves like you, Gaston, Monsieur

Guy and his friends would not have run away so suddenly. It takes

courage, too, not to run after them." He made a sound, as if changing

his position, and presently he began to sing softly to himself.

"Monsieur would make a fortune in the _café-chantant_," commented

Gaston. He began to feel, at last, after the favorable reception of his

speech, a little cheered. He felt cooler, too, in this quiet rushing

moonlight of the river. "What is it that Monsieur sings? It seems to me

that I have heard that air."

"Very likely you have, Gaston. It is a little song of sentiment, sung by

all the sentimental young ladies of the world. He who wrote it, however,

was far from sentimental. He was a fellow countryman of mine--and of the

late Abraham!--who loved your country so much that he lived in it and

died in it." And Magin sang again, more loudly, the first words of the

song:

"Ich weiss nicht, was soll es bedeuten,

Dass ich so traurig bin;

Ein Märchen aus alten Zeiten,

Das kommt mir nicht aus dem Sinn."

Gaston listened with admiration, astonishment, and perplexity. It

suddenly came back to him how this original Brazilian had sworn when the

chest caught his clothes.

"But, Monsieur, I thought--Are you, then, a German?"

Magin, after a second, laughed.

"But Gaston, am I then an enemy?"

Gaston examined him in the moonlight.

"Well," he answered slowly, "if your country and mine are at war--"

"What has that to do with us, as you just now so truly said? You have

found that your country's quarrel was not cause enough for you to leave

Persia, and so have I. _Voilà tout!_" He examined Gaston in turn. "But I

thought you knew all the time. Such is fame! I flattered myself that

your Monsieur Guy would leave no one untold. Whereas he has left us the

pleasure of a situation more piquant, after all, than I supposed. We

enjoy the magnificent moonlight of the south, we admire a historic river

under its most successful aspect, and we do not exalt ourselves because

our countrymen, many hundreds of miles away, have lost their heads." He

smiled over the piquancy of the situation. "Strength is good," he went

on in his impressive bass, "and courage is better. But reason, as you so

justly say, is best of all. For which reason," he added, "allow me to

recommend to you, my dear Gaston, that you look a little where you are

steering."

Gaston looked. But he discovered that his moment of cheer had been all

too brief. A piquant situation, indeed! The piquancy of that situation

somehow complicated everything more darkly than before. If there were

reasons why he should not go away with the others, as they had all taken

it for granted that he would do, was that a reason why he, Gaston, whose

father had lost a leg at Gravelotte, should do this masquerading German

a service? All the German's amiability and originality did not change

that. Perhaps, indeed, that explained the originality and amiability.

The German, at any rate, did not seem to trouble himself about it. When

Gaston next looked over his shoulder, Magin was lying flat on his back

in the bottom of the boat, with his hands under his head and his eyes

closed. And so he continued to lie, silent and apparently asleep, while

his troubled companion, hand on wheel and _béret_ on ear, steered

through the waning moonlight of the Karun.