THE DOCTOR FINDS UNEXPECTED WORK IN THE WILDERNESS, AND A MYSTERIOUS
STRANGER IS INTRODUCED.
It has been said that the travellers--for we cannot now appropriately
style them fugitives--had reached a more open country, and that
Hockins's fight with the wild bull had taken place on the margin of a
wide grassy plain.
This plain, however, was limited. In front of them the scenery was
undulating and beautifully varied--almost park-like in its character,
and only in one direction--to the right--did it extend like a sea of
waving grass to the horizon. Behind them lay the dense forest through
which they had passed. The forest also curved round to their left, and
stretched away, apparently unbroken, on to still far-off mountains.
After they had breakfasted, packed their dried meat, and sallied forth
on the journey of another day, they walked in silence until they reached
the edge of the plain, where there was room to walk abreast.
"Now, comrades," said Mark Breezy, "we will go to the top of yon mound,
see how the land lies, and hold a council of war."
"Just so, cap'n; take our bearin's an' lay our course," assented
Hockins.
They soon reached the spot, and found the view from it unexpectedly
beautiful. The whole landscape was clothed with tropical verdure. Past
the foot of the mound ran a considerable stream, which opened out into a
series of lakelets in the hollows beyond, the waters of which seemed to
be the home of considerable numbers of wild-fowl,--but there was no sign
of the presence of man.
"Strange," said Mark, in a low voice, "that such a lovely scene should
have been created a solitude, with no one to profit by or enjoy it."
"Well now, sir," remarked the sailor, "d'ee know that same thought has
puzzled me now an' again; for although my purfession is the sea, I've
travelled a good bit on the land--specially in South America--and I've
seen miles on miles o' splendid country, that made me think of Adam an'
Eve in paradise, with never a soul, as you say, to make use of or enjoy
it. I've often wondered what it was all made for!"
"Don't you tink," said Ebony, with his head a little on one side, and
his earnest eyes betraying the sincerity of his nature, "don't you tink
dat p'r'aps de ducks an' geese, an' sitch-like, makes use ob an' enjoys
it? to say nuffin' oh de beasts, hinsects, an' fishes."
"You may be right, Ebony," returned Hockins, with an approving nod; "we
human being's is apt to think too much of ourselves. Moreover, it has
come into my mind that Great Britain was a solitood once--or much about
it--an' it's anything but that now; so mayhap them lands will be
swarmin' wi' towns an' villages some day or other. What d'ee think,
Doctor?"
But the young doctor said nothing, for while his companions were thus
indulging in speculations, he was anxiously considering what course they
should pursue.
"You see, comrades," he said, turning to them abruptly, "if we go to the
right and traverse this fine country we may very likely fall in with
villages, but the villagers may be savages, like those we met on the
coast. On the other hand, if we go to the left, we shall have to
traverse the somewhat dark and difficult forests, but then we shall be
making for the mountains and table-lands of the interior; and as the
capital, Ant--Ant--"
"Anty-all-alive-O!" suggested Hockins.
"No, 's not dat. It ends wid `arrive O!' w'ich is just what we wants."
"Well, whatever may be its name, I know that it is in the centre of the
island somewhere, and the centre of any land always means the mountains;
so I think we had better decide to go to the left, and--"
"Hallo! look yonder, sir," said Hockins, pointing towards a low cliff
which rose in front of them not a quarter of a mile from the spot where
they stood.
Turning in the direction indicated, they observed a man running swiftly,
as if in pursuit of something. They could see that he was clothed, and
that he carried several spears, from which they judged that he was a
hunter. Coming to the foot of the cliff before mentioned, the man
ascended the face of it with wonderful agility, and had almost gained
the top, when a treacherous root or stone gave way, causing him to lose
his hold and roll violently to the bottom.
"Poor fellow, he's killed!" cried Mark, running towards the fallen
hunter, who lay on the ground motionless.
He was not killed, however, though stunned and bleeding profusely from a
deep wound in the arm, caused by one of his own spears while in the act
of falling. When the three strangers suddenly appeared the hunter
grasped one of the spears and made a vigorous attempt to rise, evidently
under the impression that he was about to be attacked; but the fall and
the loss of blood were too much for him. He sank back with a groan, yet
there was a look of quiet dignity about him which showed that he gave
way to no craven spirit.
Our young doctor, kneeling down beside him, proceeded at once to staunch
the wound and bind up the arm with his pocket-handkerchief. While he
was thus engaged, Hockins brought some water from a neighbouring stream
in a cup which he had extemporised out of a piece of bark, and applied
it to the man's lips. Ebony stood by, with a look of profound pity on
his face, ready for whatever might be required of him.
The hunter showed by the expression of his handsome brown features that
he was grateful for these attentions. Yet, at the same time, there
seemed to be something of perplexity, if not surprise, in his looks as
he gazed on the white men's faces. But he did not utter a word. When
the dressing of the arm was completed--of course in a most businesslike
manner--he again attempted to rise, but was so weak from loss of blood
that he fell back fainting in the Doctor's arms.
"This is a most awkward business," said Mark, as he laid the man
carefully on the ground, and put a bundle of grass under his head for a
pillow. "It behoves us to push on our journey without delay, yet it
will never do to leave him here alone, and we can't very well take him
on with us. What _is_ to be done!"
Both Hockins and the negro _looked_ their incapacity to answer that
question. Just then the answer came in the form they least expected,
for a sound of many voices in clamorous talk suddenly broke on their
ears. The speakers, whoever they might be, were still distant, and the
formation of the ground prevented our travellers being seen by them.
"Savages!" exclaimed Mark and Hockins in the same breath.
"Hide!" cried Ebony, with a roll of his huge eyes, as he suited the
action to the word, and leaped into the bushes. The others followed his
example, and running about a hundred yards back into the woods, climbed
into the branches of a lofty tree, from which outlook, well screened by
leaves, they saw a band composed of some hundreds of natives walking
smartly over the open plain. From the manner of their approach it was
evident that they searched for some one, and as they made straight for
the cliff where the wounded man lay, it seemed probable that they were
following up his trail.
"We're done for," said Mark, in a tone of despair, as he noted this.
"Why d'ee think so, Doctor?" asked Hockins, who did not by any means
seem to take such a gloomy view of their case.
"Don't you see? Savages can follow up people's trails almost as well as
dogs. They'll easily trace us to the foot of this tree by our
footprints, and then they've only to look up!"
"That's true. I had forgotten that."
"Dere's time to drop down yit, massa, and squatilate," suggested the
negro, excitedly.
Mark shook his head.
"Might as well try to run from tigers as from savages," he returned,
"unless you've got a good start."
"But they ain't all savages, sir," whispered Hockins, as the band drew
nearer. "Some o' the naked black fellows look savage enough, no doubt,
but there's a lot of 'em lightish brown in the skin, an' clothed in fine
though queer garments. They carry themselves, too, like gentlemen.
P'r'aps we'd better go for'ard an' trust them."
"Trust to 'em, 'Ockins!" said Ebony with a decided shake of the head,
"trust men wid _brown_ faces? Nebber!"
The whispered conversation ceased at this point for a loud shout of
surprise mingled with alarm was raised as the band came to the foot of
the cliff and found what appeared to be the dead body of the wounded
man. Evidently they were friends, for while some of them kneeled down
beside the injured hunter to examine him, others gave way to gestures
and exclamations of grief.
Presently the watchers observed that one of those who kneeled beside the
body looked up with a smile and a nod of satisfaction as he pointed to
his chest.
"They've discovered that he's not dead," said Mark.
"Yes, massa, an' dey've diskivered de bandaged arm."
"Ay, an' it seems to puzzle 'em," added the seaman.
It did more than puzzle them. They had not observed it at first,
because, just before running into the woods, Mark had covered it with a
loose shawl--a sort of linen plaid--which the man had worn round his
shoulders. When they removed this and saw the bandage which was wound
round the limb in the most careful and perfect manner, they looked at
each other in great surprise; then they looked solemn and spoke in low
tones, glancing round now and then with saucer-like eyes, as if they
expected to see something frightful.
"I do believe, Doctor," whispered the seaman, "that they think your work
has been done by a goblin of some sort!"
It would indeed seem as if some such idea had entered the minds of the
band, for instead of examining the ground for footprints and following
them up--as was natural to have done--they silently constructed a litter
of branches, covered it with some of their garments, and quietly bore
the wounded and still unconscious man away in the direction of the
plains.
With thankful hearts our travellers slid to the ground, and hurried off
in the opposite direction towards the mountains.
That night they came to a deeply-shaded and rugged piece of ground in
the heart of the forest where there were caverns of various sizes. Here
the solitude seemed to be so profound that the fear of pursuit gradually
left them, so they resolved to kindle a cheerful fire in one of the
caves, cook a good supper, and enjoy themselves. Finding a cave that
was small, dry, and well concealed, they soon had a bright fire blazing
in it, round which they sat on a soft pile of branches--Mark and Hockins
looking on with profound interest and expectation while the negro
prepared supper.
"If I only had a quid o' baccy now," said Hockins, "I'd be as happy as a
king."
"I have the advantage of you, friend, for I am as happy as a king
without it," said the young doctor.
"Well, there's no denyin'," returned the seaman, "that you have the
advantage o' me; but if I only had the baccy I'd enjoy my disadvantage.
P'r'aps there's a bit left in some corner o'--"
He plunged his hands into each pocket in his garments, one after
another, but without success until he came to the left breast-pocket of
his coat. When he had searched that to its deepest recesses he stopped
and looked up with a beaming countenance.
"Ho! got 'im?" asked Ebony, with interest.
Hockins did not reply, but, slowly and tenderly, drew forth--not a quid,
but--a little piece of brown wood about five or six inches long.
"A penny whistle!" exclaimed Mark.
"Speak with reverence, Doctor," returned the sailor, with a quiet smile,
"it ain't a penny whistle, it's a flageolet. I stuck it here the last
time I was amoosin' the crew o' the _Eastern Star_ an' forgot I hadn't
putt it away. Wait a bit, you shall hear."
Saying this Hockins put the tiny instrument to his lips, and drew from
it sounds so sweet, so soft, so melodious and tuneful, that his
companions seemed to listen in a trance of delight, with eyes as well as
with ears!
"Splendid!" exclaimed Mark, enthusiastically, when the sailor ceased to
play. "Why, Hockins, I had no idea you could play like that! Of course
I knew that you possessed musical powers to some extent, for I have
heard the tooting of your flageolet through the bulkheads when at sea;
but two or three inches of plank don't improve sweet sounds, I suppose."
"Ho! massa, didn't I tell you t'ree or four times dat he play mos'
awrful well?"
"True, Ebony, so you did; but I used to think your energetic praise was
due to your enthusiastic disposition, and so paid no attention to your
invitations to go for'ard an' listen. Well, I confess I was a loser.
You must have played the instrument a long time, surely?"--turning to
the seaman.
"Yes, ever since I was a small boy. My father played it before me, and
taught me how to finger it. He was a splendid player. He used
sometimes to go to the back of the door when we had a small blow-out,
an' astonish the company by playin' up unexpectedly. He was great at
Scotch tunes--specially the slow ones, like this."
He put the little instrument to his lips again, and let it nestle, as it
were, in his voluminous beard, as he drew from it the pathetic strains
of "Wanderin' Willie," to the evidently intense enjoyment of Ebony, who
regarded music as one of the chief joys of life--next, perhaps, to
cooking!
But Mark and Ebony were not the only listeners to that sweet strain.
Just outside the mouth of the cave there stood a man, who, to judge from
the expression of his face, was as much affected by the music as the
negro. Though he stood in such a position as to be effectually screened
from the view of those within, a gleam of reflected light fell upon his
figure, showing him to be a tall, handsome man in the prime of life. He
was clothed in what may be styled a mixed European and native costume,
and a gun on which he rested both hands seemed to indicate him a hunter.
He carried no other weapon, except a long knife in his girdle. The
mixed character of his garb extended also to his blood, for his skin,
though dark and bronzed from exposure, was much lighter than that of
most natives of the island, and his features were distinctly European.
Quiet gravity was the chief characteristic of his countenance, and there
was also an expression of profound sadness or pathos, which was probably
caused by the music.
When Hockins finished his tune the three friends were almost petrified
with astonishment--not unmingled with alarm--as they beheld this man
walk coolly into the cave, rest his gun on the side of it, and sit
gravely down on the opposite side of the fire.
The first impulse of our three friends, of course, was to spring up, but
the action of the man was so prompt, and, withal, so peaceful, that they
were constrained to sit still.
"Don't be alarmed. I come as a friend. May I sit by your fire?"
He spoke in good English, though with a decidedly foreign accent.
"You are welcome, since you come as a friend," said Mark, "though I must
add that you have taken us by surprise."
"Well now, stranger," said Hockins, putting his musical instrument in
his pocket, "how are we to know that you _are_ a friend--except by the
cut o' your jib, which, I admit, looks honest enough, and your actions,
which, we can't deny, are peaceable like?"
The seaman put this question with a half-perplexed, half-amused air.
The stranger received it without the slightest change in his grave
aspect.
"You have no other means of knowing," he replied, "except by my `jib'
and my actions."
"Dat's a fact, anyhow," murmured Ebony.
"Who _are_ you, and where do you come from?" asked Mark.
"I am an outlaw, and I come from the forest."
"That's plain-speakin', an' no mistake," said Hockins, with a laugh,
"an' deserves as plain a return. We can't say exactly that _we_ are
outlaws, but we are out-an'-outers, an' we're going through the forest
to--to--Anty-all-alive-O! or some such name--the capital, you know--"
"Antananarivo," suggested the outlaw.
"That's it! That's the name--I couldn't recall," said Mark, quickly.
"We are going there, if we can only find the way."
"I know the way," returned the outlaw, "and my reason for coming here is
to offer to show it you."
"Indeed! But how came you to know our intentions, and what makes you
take so much interest in us?" asked Mark, with a look of suspicion.
"My reason for being interested in you," returned the stranger, "is a
matter with which you have nothing to do. How I came to know your
intentions it is easy to explain, for I have followed you from the
sea-coast step by step. I saw you escape from the savages, saw you
frightened out of the cave by my friends the outlaws, who dwell in it,
followed you while you traversed the forest, listened to your
conversations, witnessed your exploit with the bull, and observed you
when you helped and bandaged the wounded native."
It would be difficult to describe the looks or feelings with which the
three friends received this information. Ebony's eyes alone would have
taken at least half-an-hour of the pencil to portray.
"But--but--why?" stammered Mark.
"Never mind the why," continued the outlaw, with a pleasant look. "You
see that I know all about you--at least since you landed--and I also
know that you have been several times in unseen danger, from which I
have shielded you. Now, you have arrived at a part of the forest which
is swarming with brigands, into whose hands you are sure to fall unless
I am with you. I therefore come to offer myself as your guide. Will
you have me?"
"It seems to me," returned Mark, with something of scorn in his tone,
"that we have no choice, for you have us at your mercy--we cannot
refuse. I suppose you are the brigand chief, and are guarding us for
some sinister purpose of your own."
"I said not that I was a brigand," returned the stranger, quietly; "I
said I was an outlaw. What else I am, and my motives of action, I
choose not to tell. You say truly--I have you in my power. That is one
reason why I would befriend you, if you will trust me." The outlaw rose
up as he spoke.
There was such an air of quiet dignity and evident sincerity in the man
that Mark was strongly impressed. Rising promptly, he stretched his
hand across the fire, saying, "We will trust you, friend, even though we
were _not_ in your power."
The outlaw grasped the youth's hand with a gratified look.
"Now," he added, as he took up his gun, "I will go. In the morning at
day-break I will return. Sleep well till then."
With something like a courtly salute, the mysterious stranger left them,
and disappeared into the depths of the forest.