THE FOREST OF HAPPY DREAMS.
Sanders was tied up at a "wooding," being on his way to collect taxes
and administer justice to the folk who dwell on the lower Isisi River.
By the river-side the little steamer was moored. There was a tiny bay
here, and the swift currents of the river were broken to a gentle flow;
none the less, he inspected the shore-ends of the wire hawsers before he
crossed the narrow plank that led to the deck of the _Zaire_. The wood
was stacked on the deck, ready for to-morrow's run. The new water-gauge
had been put in by Yoka, the engineer, as he had ordered; the engines
had been cleaned; and Sanders nodded approvingly. He stepped lightly
over two or three sleeping forms curled up on the deck, and gained the
shore. "Now I think I'll turn in," he muttered, and looked at his watch.
It was nine o'clock. He stood for a moment on the crest of the steep
bank, and stared back across the river. The night was black, but he saw
the outlines of the forest on the other side. He saw the jewelled sky,
and the pale reflection of stars in the water. Then he went to his tent,
and leisurely got into his pyjamas. He jerked two tabloids from a tiny
bottle, swallowed them, drank a glass of water, and thrust his head
through the tent opening. "Ho, Sokani!" he called, speaking in the
vernacular, "let the _lo-koli_ sound!"
He went to bed.
He heard the rustle of men moving, the gurgles of laughter as his subtle
joke was repeated, for the Cambul people have a keen sense of humour,
and then the penetrating rattle of sticks on the native drum--a hollow
tree-trunk. Fiercely it beat--furiously, breathlessly, with now and then
a deeper note as the drummer, using all his art, sent the message of
sleep to the camp.
In one wild crescendo, the _lo-koli_ ceased, and Sanders turned with a
sigh of content and closed his eyes--he sat up suddenly. He must have
dozed; but he was wide awake now.
He listened, then slipped out of bed, pulling on his mosquito boots.
Into the darkness of the night he stepped, and found N'Kema, the
engineer, waiting.
"You heard, master?" said the native.
"I heard," said Sanders, with a puzzled face, "yet we are nowhere near a
village."
He listened.
From the night came a hundred whispering noises, but above all these,
unmistakable, the faint clatter of an answering drum. The white man
frowned in his perplexity. "No village is nearer than the Bongindanga,"
he muttered, "not even a fishing village; the woods are deserted----"
The native held up a warning finger, and bent his head, listening. He
was reading the message that the drum sent. Sanders waited; he knew the
wonderful fact of this native telegraph, how it sent news through the
trackless wilds. He could not understand it, no European could; but he
had respect for its mystery.
"A white man is here," read the native; "he has the sickness."
"A white man!"
In the darkness Sanders' eyebrows rose incredulously.
"He is a foolish one," N'Kema read; "he sits in the Forest of Happy
Thoughts, and will not move."
Sanders clicked his lips impatiently. "No white man would sit in the
Forest of Happy Thoughts," he said, half to himself, "unless he were
mad."
But the distant drum monotonously repeated the outrageous news. Here,
indeed, in the heart of the loveliest glade in all Africa, encamped in
the very centre of the Green Path of Death, was a white man, a sick
white man--in the Forest of Happy Thoughts--a sick white man.
So the drum went on and on, till Sanders, rousing his own _lo-koli_ man,
sent an answer crashing along the river, and began to dress hurriedly.
In the forest lay a very sick man. He had chosen the site for the camp
himself. It was in a clearing, near a little creek that wound between
high elephant-grass to the river. Mainward chose it, just before the
sickness came, because it was pretty. This was altogether an inadequate
reason; but Mainward was a sentimentalist, and his life was a long
record of choosing pretty camping places, irrespective of danger. "He
was," said a newspaper, commenting on the crowning disaster which sent
him a fugitive from justice to the wild lands of Africa, "over-burdened
with imagination." Mainward was cursed with ill-timed confidence; this
was one of the reasons he chose to linger in that deadly strip of land
of the Ituri, which is clumsily named by the natives "The
Lands-where-all-bad-thoughts-become-good-thoughts" and poetically
adapted by explorers and daring traders as "The Forest of Happy Dreams."
Over-confidence had generally been Mainward's undoing--over-confidence
in the ability of his horses to win races; over-confidence in his own
ability to secure money to hide his defalcations--he was a director in
the Welshire County Bank once--over-confidence in securing the love of a
woman, who, when the crash came, looked at him blankly and said she was
sorry, but she had no idea he felt towards her like that----
Now Mainward lifted his aching head from the pillow and cursed aloud at
the din. He was endowed with the smattering of pigeon-English which a
man may acquire from a three months' sojourn divided between Sierra
Leone and Grand Bassam.
"Why for they make 'em cursed noise, eh?" he fretted. "You plenty
fool-man, Abiboo."
"Si, senor," agreed the Kano boy, calmly.
"Stop it, d'ye hear? stop it!" raved the man on the tumbled bed; "this
noise is driving me mad--tell them to stop the drum."
The _lo-koli_ stopped of its own accord, for the listeners in the sick
man's camp had heard the faint answer from Sanders.
"Come here, Abiboo--I want some milk; open a fresh tin; and tell the
cook I want some soup, too."
The servant left him muttering and tossing from side to side on the
creaking camp bedstead. Mainward had many strange things to think about.
It was strange how they all clamoured for immediate attention; strange
how they elbowed and fought one another in their noisy claims to his
notice. Of course, there was the bankruptcy and the discovery at the
bank--it was very decent of that inspector fellow to clear out--and
Ethel, and the horses, and--and----
The Valley of Happy Dreams! That would make a good story if Mainward
could write; only, unfortunately, he could not write. He could sign
things, sign his name "three months after date pay to the order of----"
He could sign other people's names; he groaned, and winced at the
thought.
But here was a forest where bad thoughts became good, and, God knows,
his mind was ill-furnished. He wanted peace and sleep and happiness--he
greatly desired happiness. Now suppose "Fairy Lane" had won the
Wokingham Stakes? It had not, of course (he winced again at the bad
memory), but suppose it had? Suppose he could have found a friend who
would have lent him 16,000, or even if Ethel----
"Master," said Abiboo's voice, "dem puck-a-puck, him lib for come."
"Eh, what's that?"
Mainward turned almost savagely on the man.
"Puck-a-puck--you hear'um?"
But the sick man could not hear the smack of the _Zaire_'s stern wheel,
as the little boat breasted the downward rush of the river--he was
surprised to see that it was dawn, and grudgingly admitted to himself
that he had slept. He closed his eyes again and had a strange dream. The
principal figure was a small, tanned, clean-shaven man in a white
helmet, who wore a dingy yellow overcoat over his pyjamas.
"How are you feeling?" said the stranger.
"Rotten bad," growled Mainward, "especially about Ethel; don't you think
it was pretty low down of her to lead me on to believe she was awfully
fond of me, and then at the last minute to chuck me?"
"Shocking," said the strange, white man gravely, "but put her out of
your mind just now; she isn't worth troubling about. What do you say to
this?"
He held up a small, greenish pellet between his forefinger and thumb,
and Mainward laughed weakly.
"Oh, rot!" he chuckled faintly. "You're one of those Forest of Happy
Dreams Johnnies; what's that? A love philtre?" He was hysterically
amused at the witticism.
Sanders nodded.
"Love or life, it's all one," he said, but apparently unamused. "Swallow
it!"
Mainward giggled and obeyed.
"And now," said the stranger--this was six hours later--"the best thing
you can do is to let my boys put you on my steamer and take you down
river."
Mainward shook his head. He had awakened irritable and lamentably weak.
"My dear chap, it's awfully kind of you to have come--by the way, I
suppose you _are_ a doctor?"
Sanders shook his head.
"On the contrary, I am the Commissioner of this district," he said
flippantly--"but you were saying----"
"I want to stay here--it's devilish pretty."
"Devilish is the very adjective I should have used--my dear man, this is
the plague spot of the Congo; it's the home of every death-dealing fly
and bug in Africa."
He waved his hand to the hidden vistas of fresh green glades, of
gorgeous creepers shown in the light of the camp fires.
"Look at the grass," he said; "it's homeland grass--that's the seductive
part of it; I nearly camped here myself. Come, my friend, let me take
you to my camp."
Mainward shook his head obstinately.
"I'm obliged, but I'll stay here for a day or so. I want to try the
supernatural effects of this pleasant place," he said with a weary
smile. "I've got so many thoughts that need treatment."
"Look here," said Sanders roughly, "you know jolly well how this forest
got its name; it is called Happy Dreams because it's impregnated with
fever, and with every disease from beri-beri to sleeping sickness. You
don't wake from the dreams you dream here. Man, I know this country, and
you're a newcomer; you've trekked here because you wanted to get away
from life and start all over again."
"I beg your pardon." Mainward's face flushed; and he spoke a little
stiffly.
"Oh, I know all about you--didn't I tell you I was the Commissioner? I
was in England when things were going rocky with you, and I've read the
rest in the papers I get from time to time. But all that is nothing to
me. I'm here to help you start fair. If you had wanted to commit
suicide, why come to Africa to do it? Be sensible and shift your camp;
I'll send my steamer back for your men. Will you come?"
"No," said Mainward sulkily. "I don't want to, I'm not keen; besides,
I'm not fit to travel."
Here was an argument which Sanders could not answer. He was none too
sure upon that point himself, and he hesitated before he spoke again.
"Very well," he said at length, "suppose you stay another day to give
you a chance to pull yourself together. I'll come along to-morrow with a
tip-top invalid chair for you--is it a bet?"
Mainward held out his shaking hand, and the ghost of a smile puckered
the corners of his eyes. "It's a bet," he said.
He watched the Commissioner walk through the camp, speaking to one man
after another in a strange tongue. A singular, masterful man this,
thought Mainward. Would he have mastered Ethel? He watched the stranger
with curious eyes, and noted how his own lazy devils of carriers jumped
at his word.
"Good-night," said Sanders' voice; and Mainward looked up. "You must
take another of these pellets, and to-morrow you'll be as fit as a
donkey-engine. I've got to get back to my camp to-night, or I shall find
half my stores stolen in the morning; but if you'd rather I stopped----"
"No, no," replied the other hastily. He wanted to be alone. He had lots
of matters to settle with himself. There was the question of Ethel, for
instance.
"You won't forget to take the tabloid?"
"No. I say, I'm awfully obliged to you for coming. You've been a good
white citizen."
Sanders smiled. "Don't talk nonsense!" he said good-humouredly. "This is
all brotherly love. White to white, and kin to kin, don't you know?
We're all alone here, and there isn't a man of our colour within five
hundred miles. Good-night, and please take the tabloid----"
Mainward lay listening to the noise of departure. He thought he heard a
little bell tingle. That must be for the engines. Then he heard the
puck-a-puck of the wheel--so that was how the steamer got its name.
Abiboo came with some milk. "You take um medicine, master?" he inquired.
"I take um," murmured Mainward; but the green tabloid was underneath his
pillow.
Then there began to steal over him a curious sensation of content. He
did not analyse it down to its first cause. He had had sufficient
introspective exercise for one day. It came to him as a pleasant shock
to realise that he was happy.
He opened his eyes and looked round.
His bed was laid in the open, and he drew aside the curtains of his net
to get a better view.
A little man was walking briskly toward him along the velvet stretch of
grass that sloped down from the glade, and Mainward whistled.
"Atty," he gasped. "By all that's wonderful."
Atty, indeed, it was: the same wizened Atty as of yore; but no longer
pulling the long face to which Mainward had been accustomed. The little
man was in his white riding-breeches, his diminutive top-boots were
splashed with mud, and on the crimson of his silk jacket there was
evidence of a hard race. He touched his cap jerkily with his whip, and
shifted the burden of the racing saddle he carried to the other arm.
"Why, Atty," said Mainward, with a smile, "what on earth are you doing
here?"
"It's a short way to the jockey's room, sir," said the little man. "I've
just weighed in. I thought the Fairy would do it, sir, and she did."
Mainward nodded wisely. "I knew she would, too," he said.
"Did she give you a smooth ride?"
The jockey grinned again. "She never does that," he said. "But she ran
gamely enough. Coming up out of the Dip, she hung a little, but I showed
her the whip, and she came on as straight as a die. I thought once the
Stalk would beat us--I got shut in, but I pulled her round, and we were
never in difficulties. I could have won by ten lengths," said Atty.
"You could have won by ten lengths," repeated Mainward in wonder. "Well,
you've done me a good turn, Atty. This win will get me out of one of the
biggest holes that ever a reckless man tumbled into--I shall not forget
you, Atty."
"I'm sure you won't, sir," said the little jockey gratefully; "if you'll
excuse me now, sir----"
Mainward nodded and watched him, as he moved quickly through the trees.
There were several people in the glade now, and Mainward looked down
ruefully at his soiled duck suit. "What an ass I was to come like this,"
he muttered in his annoyance. "I might have known that I should have met
all these people."
There was one he did not wish to see; and as soon as he sighted Venn,
with his shy eyes and his big nose, Mainward endeavoured to slip back
out of observation. But Venn saw him, and came tumbling through the
trees, with his big, flabby hand extended and his dull eyes aglow.
"Hullo, hullo!" he grinned, "been looking for you."
Mainward muttered some inconsequent reply. "Rum place to find you, eh?"
Venn removed his shining silk hat and mopped his brow with an awesome
silk handkerchief.
"But look here, old feller--about that money?"
"Don't worry, my dear man," Mainward interposed easily. "I shall pay you
now."
"That ain't what I mean," said the other impetuously; "a few hundred
more or less does not count. But you wanted a big sum----"
"And you told me you'd see me----"
"I know, I know," Venn put in hastily; "but that was before Kaffirs
started jumpin'. Old feller, you can have it!"
He said this with grotesque emphasis, standing with his legs wide apart,
his hat perched on the back of his head, his plump hands dramatically
outstretched: and Mainward laughed outright.
"Sixteen thousand?" he asked.
"Or twenty," said the other impressively. "I want to show you----"
Somebody called him, and with a hurried apology he went blundering up
the green slope, stopping and turning back to indulge in a little dumb
show illustrative of his confidence in Mainward and his willingness to
oblige.
Mainward was laughing, a low, gurgling laugh of pure enjoyment. Venn, of
all people! Venn, with his accursed questions and talk of securities.
Well! Well!
Then his merriment ceases, and he winced again, and his heart beat
faster and faster, and a curious weakness came over him----
How splendidly cool she looked.
She walked in the clearing, a white, slim figure; he heard the swish of
her skirt as she came through the long grass--white, with a green belt
all encrusted with gold embroidery. He took in every detail
hungrily--the dangling gold ornaments that hung from her belt, the lace
collar at her throat, the----
She did not hurry to him, that was not her way.
But in her eyes dawned a gradual tenderness--those dear eyes that
dropped before his shyly.
"Ethel!" he whispered, and dared to take her hand.
"Aren't you wonderfully surprised?" she said.
"Ethel! Here!"
"I--I had to come."
She would not look at him, but he saw the pink in her cheek and heard
the faltering voice with a wild hope. "I behaved so badly, dear--so very
badly."
She hung her head.
"Dear! dear!" he muttered, and groped toward her like a blind man.
She was in his arms, crushed against his breast, the perfume of her
presence in his brain.
"I had to come to you." Her hot cheek was against his. "I love you so."
"Me--love me? Do you mean it?" He was tremulous with happiness, and his
voice broke--"Dearest."
Her face was upturned to his, her lips so near; he felt her heart
beating as furiously as his own. He kissed her--her lips, her eyes, her
dear hair----
"O, God, I'm happy!" she sobbed, "so--so happy----"
* * * * *
Sanders sprang ashore just as the sun was rising, and came thoughtfully
through the undergrowth to the camp. Abiboo, squatting by the curtained
bed, did not rise. Sanders walked to the bed, pulled aside the mosquito
netting, and bent over the man who lay there.
Then he drew the curtains again, lit his pipe slowly, and looked down at
Abiboo.
"When did he die?" he asked.
"In the dark of the morning, master," said the man.
Sanders nodded slowly. "Why did you not send for me?"
For a moment the squatting figure made no reply, then he rose and
stretched himself.
"Master," he said, speaking in Arabic--which is a language which allows
of nice distinctions--"this man was happy; he walked in the Forest of
Happy Thoughts; why should I call him back to a land where there was
neither sunshine nor happiness, but only night and pain and sickness?"
"You're a philosopher," said Sanders irritably.
"I am a follower of the Prophet," said Abiboo, the Kano boy; "and all
things are according to God's wisdom."