INEZ
We had sighted the house from far away shortly after sunrise and by
midday we were there. As we approached I saw that it stood almost
immediately beneath two great baobab trees, babyan trees we call them
in South Africa, perhaps because monkeys eat their fruit. It was a
thatched house with whitewashed walls and a stoep or veranda round it,
apparently of the ordinary Dutch type. Moreover, beyond it, at a little
distance were other houses or rather shanties with waggon sheds, etc.,
and beyond and mixed up with these a number of native huts. Further on
were considerable fields green with springing corn; also we saw herds
of cattle grazing on the slopes. Evidently our white man was rich.
Umslopogaas surveyed the place with a soldier’s eye and said to me,
“This must be a peaceful country, Macumazahn, where no attack is
feared, since of defences I see none.”
“Yes,” I answered, “why not, with a wilderness behind it and bush-veld
and a great river in front?”
“Men can cross rivers and travel through bush-veld,” he answered, and
was silent.
Up to this time we had seen no one, although it might have been
presumed that a waggon trekking towards the house was a sufficiently
unusual sight to have attracted attention.
“Where can they be?” I asked.
“Asleep, Baas, I think,” said Hans, and as a matter of fact he was
right. The whole population of the place was indulging in a noonday
siesta.
At last we came so near to the house that I halted the waggon and
descended from the driving-box in order to investigate. At this moment
someone did appear, the sight of whom astonished me not a little,
namely, a very striking-looking young woman. She was tall, handsome,
with large dark eyes, good features, a rather pale complexion, and I
think the saddest face that I ever saw. Evidently she had heard the
noise of the waggon and had come out to see what caused it, for she had
nothing on her head, which was covered with thick hair of a raven
blackness. Catching sight of the great Umslopogaas with his gleaming
axe and of his savage-looking bodyguard, she uttered an exclamation and
not unnaturally turned to fly.
“It’s all right,” I sang out, emerging from behind the oxen, and in
English, though before the words had left my lips I reflected that
there was not the slightest reason to suppose that she would understand
them. Probably she was Dutch, or Portuguese, although by some instinct
I had addressed her in English.
To my surprise she answered me in the same tongue, spoken, it is true,
with a peculiar accent which I could not place, as it was neither
Scotch nor Irish.
“Thank you,” she said. “I, sir, was frightened. Your friends look——”
Here she stumbled for a word, then added, “terrocious.”
I laughed at this composite adjective and answered,
“Well, so they are in a way, though they will not harm you or me. But,
young lady, tell me, can we outspan here? Perhaps your husband——”
“I have no husband, I have only a father, sir,” and she sighed.
“Well, then, could I speak to your father? My name is Allan Quatermain
and I am making a journey of exploration, to find out about the country
beyond, you know.”
“Yes, I will go to wake him. He is asleep. Everyone sleeps here at
midday—except me,” she said with another sigh.
“Why do you not follow their example?” I asked jocosely, for this young
woman puzzled me and I wanted to find out about her.
“Because I sleep little, sir, who think too much. There will be plenty
of time to sleep soon for all of us, will there not?”
I stared at her and inquired her name, because I did not know what else
to say.
“My name is Inez Robertson,” she answered. “I will go to wake my
father. Meanwhile please unyoke your oxen. They can feed with the
others; they look as though they wanted rest, poor things.” Then she
turned and went into the house.
“Inez Robertson,” I said to myself, “that’s a queer combination.
English father and Portuguese mother, I suppose. But what can an
Englishman be doing in a place like this? If it had been a trek-Boer I
should not have been surprised.” Then I began to give directions about
out-spanning.
We had just got the oxen out of the yokes, when a big, raw-boned,
red-bearded, blue-eyed, roughly-clad man of about fifty years of age
appeared from the house, yawning. I threw my eye over him as he
advanced with a peculiar rolling gait, and formed certain conclusions.
A drunkard who has once been a gentleman, I reflected to myself, for
there was something peculiarly dissolute in his appearance, also one
who has had to do with the sea, a diagnosis which proved very accurate.
“How do you do, Mr. Allan Quatermain, which I think my daughter said is
your name, unless I dreamed it, for it is one that I seem to have heard
before,” he exclaimed with a broad Scotch accent which I do not attempt
to reproduce. “What in the name of blazes brings you here where no real
white man has been for years? Well, I am glad enough to see you any
way, for I am sick of half-breed Portuguese and niggers, and
snuff-and-butter girls, and gin and bad whisky. Leave your people to
attend to those oxen and come in and have a drink.”
“Thank you, Mr. Robertson——”
“Captain Robertson,” he interrupted. “Man, don’t look astonished. You
mightn’t guess it, but I commanded a mail-steamer once and should like
to hear myself called rightly again before I die.”
“I beg your pardon—Captain Robertson, but myself, I don’t drink
anything before sundown. However, if you have something to eat——?”
“Oh yes, Inez—she’s my daughter—will find you a bite. Those men of
yours,” and he also looked doubtfully at Umslopogaas and his savage
company, “will want food as well. I’ll have a beast killed for them;
they look as if they could eat it, horns and all. Where are my people?
All asleep, I suppose, the lazy lubbers. Wait a bit, I’ll wake them
up.”
Going to the house he snatched a great sjambok cut from hippopotamus
hide, from where it hung on a nail in the wall, and ran towards the
group of huts which I have mentioned, roaring out the name Thomaso,
also a string of oaths such as seamen use, mixed with others of a
Portuguese variety. What happened there I could not see because boughs
were in the way, but presently I heard blows and screams, and caught
sight of people, all dark-skinned, flying from the huts.
A little later a fat, half-breed man—I should say from his curling hair
that his mother was a negress and his father a Portuguese—appeared with
some other nondescript fellows and began to give directions in a
competent fashion about our oxen, also as to the killing of a calf. He
spoke in bastard Portuguese, which I could understand, and I heard him
talk of Umslopogaas to whom he pointed, as “that nigger,” after the
fashion of such cross-bred people who choose to consider themselves
white men. Also he made uncomplimentary remarks about Hans, who of
course understood every word he said. Evidently Thomaso’s temper had
been ruffled by this sudden and violent disturbance of his nap.
Just then our host appeared puffing with his exertions and declaring
that he had stirred up the swine with a vengeance, in proof of which he
pointed to the sjambok that was reddened with blood.
“Captain Robertson,” I said, “I wish to give you a hint to be passed on
to Mr. Thomaso, if that is he. He spoke of the Zulu soldier there as a
nigger, etc. Well, he is a chief of a high rank and rather a terrible
fellow if roused. Therefore I recommend Mr. Thomaso not to let him
understand that he is insulting him.”
“Oh! that’s the way of these ‘snuff-and-butters’ one of whose
grandmothers once met a white man,” replied the Captain, laughing, “but
I’ll tell him,” and he did in Portuguese.
His retainer listened in silence, looking at Umslopogaas rather
sulkily. Then we walked into the house. As we went the Captain said,
“Señor Thomaso—he calls himself Señor—is my manager here and a clever
man, honest too in his way and attached to me, perhaps because I saved
his life once. But he has a nasty temper, as have all these
cross-breeds, so I hope he won’t get wrong with that native who carries
a big axe.”
“I hope so too, for his own sake,” I replied emphatically.
The Captain led the way into the sitting-room; there was but one in the
house. It proved a queer kind of place with rude furniture seated with
strips of hide after the Boer fashion, and yet bearing a certain air of
refinement which was doubtless due to Inez, who, with the assistance of
a stout native girl, was already engaged in setting the table. Thus
there was a shelf with books, Shakespeare was one of these, I
noticed—over which hung an ivory crucifix, which suggested that Inez
was a Catholic. On the walls, too, were some good portraits, and on the
window-ledge a jar full of flowers. Also the forks and spoons were of
silver, as were the mugs, and engraved with a tremendous coat-of-arms
and a Portuguese motto.
Presently the food appeared, which was excellent and plentiful, and the
Captain, his daughter and I sat down and ate. I noted that he drank gin
and water, an innocent-looking beverage but strong as he took it. It
was offered to me, but like Miss Inez, I preferred coffee.
During the meal and afterwards while we smoked upon the veranda, I told
them as much as I thought desirable of my plans. I said that I was
engaged upon a journey of exploration of the country beyond the
Zambesi, and that having heard of this settlement, which, by the way,
was called Strathmuir, as I gathered after a place in far away Scotland
where the Captain had been born and passed his childhood, I had come
here to inquire as to how to cross the great river, and about other
things.
The Captain was interested, especially when I informed him that I was
that same “Hunter Quatermain” of whom he had heard in past years, but
he told me that it would be impossible to take the waggon down into the
low bush-veld which we could see beneath us, as there all the oxen
would die of the bite of the tsetse fly. I answered that I was aware of
this and proposed to try to make an arrangement to leave it in his
charge till I returned.
“That might be managed, Mr. Quatermain,” he answered. “But, man, will
you ever return? They say there are queer folk living on the other side
of the Zambesi, savage men who are cannibals, Amahagger I think they
call them. It was they who in past years cleaned out all this country,
except a few river tribes who live in floating huts or on islands among
the reeds, and that’s why it is so empty. But this happened long ago,
much before my time, and I don’t suppose they will ever cross the river
again.”
“If I might ask, what brought you here, Captain?” I said, for the point
was one on which I felt curious.
“That which brings most men to wild places, Mr. Quatermain—trouble. If
you want to know, I had a misfortune and piled up my ship. There were
some lives lost and, rightly or wrongly, I got the sack. Then I started
as a trader in a God-forsaken hole named Chinde, one of the Zambesi
mouths, you know, and did very well, as we Scotchmen have a way of
doing.
“There I married a Portuguese lady, a real lady of high blood, one of
the old sort. When my girl, Inez, was about twelve years old I got into
more trouble, for my wife died and it pleased a certain relative of
hers to say that it was because I had neglected her. This ended in a
row and the truth is that I killed him—in fair fight, mind you. Still,
kill him I did though I scarcely knew that I had done it at the time,
after which the place grew too hot to hold me. So I sold up and swore
that I would have no more to do with what they are pleased to call
civilisation on the East Coast.
“During my trading I had heard that there was fine country up this way,
and here I came and settled years ago, bringing my girl and Thomaso,
who was one of my managers, also a few other people with me. And here I
have been ever since, doing very well as before, for I trade a lot of
ivory and other things and grow stuff and cattle, which I sell to the
River natives. Yes, I am a rich man now and could go to live on my
means in Scotland, or anywhere.”
“Why don’t you?” I asked.
“Oh! for many reasons. I have lost touch with all that and become half
wild and I like this life and the sunshine and being my own master.
Also, if I did, things might be raked up against me, about that man’s
death. Also, though I daresay it will make you think badly of me for
it, Mr. Quatermain, I have ties down there,” and he waved his hand
towards the village, if so it could be called, “which it wouldn’t be
easy for me to break. A man may be fond of his children, Mr.
Quatermain, even if their skins ain’t so white as they ought to be.
Lastly I have habits—you see, I am speaking out to you as man to
man—which might get me into trouble again if I went back to the world,”
and he nodded his fine, capable-looking head in the direction of the
bottle on the table.
“I see,” I said hastily, for this kind of confession bursting out of
the man’s lonely heart when what he had drunk took a hold of him, was
painful to hear. “But how about your daughter, Miss Inez?”
“Ah!” he said, with a quiver in his voice, “there you touch it. She
ought to go away. There is no one for her to marry here, where we
haven’t seen a white man for years, and she’s a lady right enough, like
her mother. But who is she to go to, being a Roman Catholic whom my own
dour Presbyterian folk in Scotland, if any of them are left, would turn
their backs on? Moreover, she loves me in her own fashion, as I love
her, and she wouldn’t leave me because she thinks it her duty to stay
and knows that if she did, I should go to the devil altogether.
Still—perhaps you might help me about her, Mr. Quatermain, that is if
you live to come back from your journey,” he added doubtfully.
I felt inclined to ask how I could possibly help in such a matter, but
thought it wisest to say nothing. This, however, he did not notice, for
he went on,
“Now I think I will have a nap, as I do my work in the early morning,
and sometimes late at night when my brain seems to clear up again, for
you see I was a sailor for many years and accustomed to keeping
watches. You’ll look after yourself, won’t you, and treat the place as
your own?” Then he vanished into the house to lie down.
When I had finished my pipe I went for a walk. First I visited the
waggon where I found Umslopogaas and his company engaged in cooking the
beast that had been given them, Zulu fashion; Hans with his usual
cunning had already secured a meal, probably from the servants, or from
Inez herself; at least he left them and followed me. First we went down
to the huts, where we saw a number of good-looking young women of mixed
blood, all decently dressed and engaged about their household duties.
Also we saw four or five boys and girls, to say nothing of a baby in
arms, fine young people, one or two of whom were more white than
coloured.
“Those children are very like the Baas with the red beard,” remarked
Hans reflectively.
“Yes,” I said, and shivered, for now I understood the awfulness of this
poor man’s case. He was the father of a number of half-breeds who tied
him to this spot as anchors tie a ship. I went on rather hastily past
some sheds to a long, low building which proved to be a store. Here the
quarter-blood called Thomaso, and some assistants were engaged in
trading with natives from the Zambesi swamps, men of a kind that I had
never seen, but in a way more civilised than many further south. What
they were selling or buying, I did not stop to see, but I noticed that
the store was full of goods of one sort or another, including a great
deal of ivory, which, as I supposed, had come down the river from
inland.
Then we walked on to the cultivated fields where we saw corn growing
very well, also tobacco and other crops. Beyond this were cattle kraals
and in the distance we perceived a great number of cattle and goats
feeding on the slopes.
“This red-bearded Baas must be very rich in all things,” remarked the
observant Hans when we had completed our investigations.
“Yes,” I answered, “rich and yet poor.”
“How can a man be both rich and yet poor, Baas?” asked Hans.
Just at that moment some of the half-breed children whom I have
mentioned, ran past us more naked than dressed and whooping like little
savages. Hans contemplated them gravely, then said,
“I think I understand now, Baas. A man may be rich in things he loves
and yet does not want, which makes him poor in other ways.”
“Yes,” I answered, “as _you_ are, Hans, when you take too much to
drink.”
Just then we met the stately Miss Inez returning from the store,
carrying some articles in a basket, soap, I think, and tea in a packet,
amongst them. I told Hans to take the basket and bear it to the house
for her. He went off with it and, walking slowly, we fell into
conversation.
“Your father must do very well here,” I said, nodding at the store with
the crowd of natives round it.
“Yes,” she answered, “he makes much money which he puts in a bank at
the coast, for living costs us nothing and there is great profit in
what he buys and sells, also in the crops he grows and in the cattle.
But,” she added pathetically, “what is the use of money in a place like
this?”
“You can get things with it,” I answered vaguely.
“That is what my father says, but what does he get? Strong stuff to
drink; dresses for those women down there, and sometimes pearls, jewels
and other things for me which I do not want. I have a box full of them
set in ugly gold, or loose which I cannot use, and if I put them on,
who is there to see them? That clever half-breed, Thomaso—for he is
clever in his way, faithful too—or the women down there—no one else.”
“You do not seem to be happy, Miss Inez.”
“No. I cannot tell how unhappy others are, who have met none, but
sometimes I think that I must be the most miserable woman in the
world.”
“Oh! no,” I replied cheerfully, “plenty are worse off.”
“Then, Mr. Quatermain, it must be because they cannot feel. Did you
ever have a father whom you loved?”
“Yes, Miss Inez. He is dead, but he was a very good man, a kind of
saint. Ask my servant, the little Hottentot Hans; he will tell you
about him.”
“Ah! a very good man. Well, as you may have guessed, mine is not,
though there is much good in him, for he has a kind heart, and a big
brain. But the drink and those women down there, they ruin him,” and
she wrung her hands.
“Why don’t you go away?” I blurted out.
“Because it is my duty to stop. That is what my religion teaches me,
although of it I know little except through books, who have seen no
priest for years except one who was a missionary, a Baptist, I think,
who told me that my faith was false and would lead me to hell. Yes, not
understanding how I lived, he said that, who did not know that hell is
here. No, I cannot go, who hopes always that still God and the Saints
will show me how to save my father, even though it be with my blood.
And now I have said too much to you who are quite a stranger. Yet, I do
not know why, I feel that you will not betray me, and what is more,
that you will help me if you can, since you are not one of those who
drink, or——” and she waved her hand towards the huts.
“I have my faults, Miss Inez,” I answered.
“Yes, no doubt, else you would be a saint, not a man, and even the
saints had their faults, or so I seem to remember, and became saints by
repentance and conquering them. Still, I am sure that you will help me
if you can.”
Then with a sudden flash of her dark eyes that said more than all her
words, she turned and left me.
Here’s a pretty kettle of fish, thought I to myself as I strolled back
to the waggon to see how things were going on there, and how to get the
live fish out of the kettle before they boil or spoil is more than I
know. I wonder why fate is always finding me such jobs to do.
Even as I thought thus a voice in my heart seemed to echo that poor
girl’s words—because it is your duty—and to add others to them—woe
betide him who neglects his duty. I was appointed to try to hook a few
fish out of the vast kettle of human woe, and therefore I must go on
hooking. Meanwhile this particular problem seemed beyond me. Perhaps
Fate would help, I reflected. As a matter of fact, in the end Fate did,
if Fate is the right word to use in this connection.