No man, however intrepid, can offend with impunity the most sacred laws
of society. Why-Why proved no exception to this rule. His decline and
fall date, we may almost say, from the hour when he bought a fair-haired,
blue-eyed female child from a member of a tribe that had wandered out of
the far north. The tribe were about to cook poor little Verva because
her mother was dead, and she seemed a bouche inutile. For the price of a
pair of shell fish-hooks, a bone dagger, and a bundle of grass-string Why-
Why (who had a tender heart) ransomed the child. In the cave she lived
an unhappy life, as the other children maltreated and tortured her in the
manner peculiar to pitiless infancy.
Such protection as a man can give to a child the unlucky little girl
received from Why-Why. The cave people, like most savages, made it a
rule never to punish their children. Why-Why got into many quarrels
because he would occasionally box the ears of the mischievous imps who
tormented poor Verva, the fair-haired and blue-eyed captive from the
north. There grew up a kind of friendship between Why-Why and the child.
She would follow him with dog-like fidelity and with a stealthy tread
when he hunted the red deer in the forests of the Alpine Maritimes. She
wove for him a belt of shells, strung on stout fibres of grass. In this
belt Why-Why would attend the tribal corroborees, where, as has been
said, he was inclined to "sit out" with Verva and watch, rather than join
in the grotesque dance performed as worship to the Bear.
As Verva grew older and ceased to be persecuted by the children, she
became beautiful in the unadorned manner of that early time. Her
friendship with Why-Why began to embarrass the girl, and our hero himself
felt a quite unusual shyness when he encountered the captive girl among
the pines on the hillside. Both these untutored hearts were strangely
stirred, and neither Why-Why nor Verva could imagine wherefore they
turned pale or blushed when they met, or even when either heard the
other's voice. If Why-Why had not distrusted and indeed detested the
chief medicine-man, he would have sought that worthy's professional
advice. But he kept his symptoms to himself, and Verva also pined in
secret.
These artless persons were in love without knowing it.
It is not surprising that they did not understand the nature of their
complaint, for probably before Why-Why no one had ever been in love.
Courtship had consisted in knocking a casual girl on the head in the
dark, and the only marriage ceremony had been that of capture. Affection
on the side of the bride was out of the question, for, as we have
remarked, she was never allowed so much as to see her husband's face.
Probably the institution of falling in love has been evolved in, and has
spread from, various early centres of human existence. Among the
primitive Ligurian races, however, Why-Why and Verva must be held the
inventors, and, alas! the protomartyrs of the passion. Love, like
murder, "will out," and events revealed to Why-Why and Verva the true
nature of their sentiments.
It was a considerable exploit of Why-Why's that brought him and the
northern captive to understand each other. The brother of Why-Why had
died after partaking too freely of a member of a hostile tribe. The cave
people, of course, expected Why-Why to avenge his kinsman. The brother,
they said, must have been destroyed by a boilya or vampire, and, as
somebody must have sent that vampire against the lad, somebody must be
speared for it. Such are primitive ideas of medicine and justice. An
ordinary brave would have skulked about the dwellings of some
neighbouring human groups till he got a chance of knocking over a child
or an old woman, after which justice and honour would have been
satisfied. But Why-Why declared that, if he must spear somebody, he
would spear a man of importance. The forms of a challenge were therefore
notched on a piece of stick, which was solemnly carried by heralds to the
most renowned brave of a community settled in the neighbourhood of the
modern San Remo. This hero might have very reasonably asked, "Why should
I spear Why-Why because his brother over-ate himself?" The laws of
honour, however (which even at this period had long been established),
forbade a gentleman when challenged to discuss the reasonableness of the
proceeding.
The champions met on a sandy plain beside a little river near the modern
Ventimiglia. An amphitheatre of rock surrounded them, and, far beyond,
the valley was crowned by the ancient snow of an Alpine peak. The tribes
of either party gathered in the rocky amphitheatre, and breathlessly
watched the issue of the battle. Each warrior was equipped with a
shield, a sheaf of spears, and a heavy, pointed club. At thirty paces
distance they began throwing, and the spectators enjoyed a beautiful
exposition of warlike skill. Both men threw with extreme force and
deadly aim; while each defended himself cleverly with his shield. The
spears were exhausted, and but one had pierced the thigh of Why-Why,
while his opponent had two sticking in his neck and left arm.
Then, like two meeting thunder-clouds, the champions dashed at each other
with their clubs. The sand was whirled up around them as they spun in
the wild dance of battle, and the clubs rattled incessantly on the heads
and shields. Twice Why-Why was down, but he rose with wonderful agility,
and never dropped his shield. A third time he stooped beneath a
tremendous whack, but when all seemed over, grasped a handful of sand,
and flung it right in his enemy's eyes. The warrior reeled, blinded and
confused, when Why-Why gave point with the club in his antagonist's
throat; the blood leaped out, and both fell senseless on the plain.
* * * * *
When the slow mist cleared from before the eyes of Why-Why he found
himself (he was doubtless the first hero of the many heroes who have
occupied this romantic position) stretched on a grassy bed, and watched
by the blue eyes of Verva. Where were the sand, the stream, the hostile
warrior, the crowds of friends and foes? It was Verva's part to explain.
The champion of the other tribe had never breathed after he received the
club-thrust, and the chief medicine-man had declared that Why-Why was
also dead. He had suggested that both champions should be burned in the
desolate spot where they lay, that their boilyas, or ghosts, might not
harm the tribes. The lookers-on had gone to their several and distant
caves to fetch fire for the ceremony (they possessed no means of striking
a light), and Verva, unnoticed, had lingered beside Why-Why, and laid his
bleeding head in her lap. Why-Why had uttered a groan, and the brave
girl dragged him from the field into a safe retreat among the woods not
far from the stream. Why-Why had been principally beaten about the head,
and his injuries, therefore, were slight.
After watching the return of the tribesmen, and hearing the chief
medicine-man explain that Why-Why's body had been carried away by "the
bad black-fellow with a tail who lives under the earth," Why-Why enjoyed
the pleasure of seeing his kinsmen and his foes leave the place to its
natural silence. Then he found words, and poured forth his heart to
Verva. They must never be sundered--they must be man and wife! The girl
leaned her golden head on Why-Why's dark shoulder, and sniffed at him,
for kissing was an institution not yet evolved. She wept. She had a
dreadful thing to tell him,--that she could never be his. "Look at this
mark," she said, exposing the inner side of her arm. Why-Why looked,
shuddered, and turned pale. On Verva's arm he recognized, almost
defaced, the same tattooed badge that wound its sinuous spirals across
his own broad chest and round his manly legs. _It was the mark of the
Serpent_!
Both were Serpents; both, unknown to Why-Why, though not to Verva, bore
the same name, the same badge, and, if Why-Why had been a religious man,
both would have worshipped the same reptile. Marriage between them then
was a thing accursed; man punished it by death. Why-Why bent his head
and thought. He remembered all his youth--the murder of his sister for
no crime; the killing of the serpent, and how no evil came of it; the
eating of the oysters, and how the earth had not opened and swallowed
him. His mind was made up. It was absolutely certain that his tribe and
Verva's kin had never been within a thousand miles of each other. In a
few impassioned words he explained to Verva his faith, his simple creed
that a thing was not necessarily wrong because the medicine-men said so,
and the tribe believed them. The girl's own character was all
trustfulness, and Why-Why was the person she trusted. "Oh, Why-Why,
dear," she said blushing (for she had never before ventured to break the
tribal rule which forbade calling any one by his name), "Oh, Why-Why, you
are _always_ right!"
And o'er the hills, and far away
Beyond their utmost purple rim,
Beyond the night, across the day,
Through all the world she followed him.