It was no easy matter to bring the _Gamecock_ up to the island, for the
river had swept down so much silt that the banks extended for many miles
out into the Atlantic. The coast was hardly to be seen when the first
white curl of the breakers warned us of our danger, and from there
onwards we made our way very carefully under mainsail and jib, keeping
the broken water well to the left, as is indicated on the chart. More
than once her bottom touched the sand (we were drawing something under
six feet at the time), but we had always way enough and luck enough to
carry us through. Finally, the water shoaled very rapidly, but they had
sent a canoe from the factory, and the Krooboy pilot brought us within
two hundred yards of the island. Here we dropped our anchor, for the
gestures of the negro indicated that we could not hope to get any
farther. The blue of the sea had changed to the brown of the river, and,
even under the shelter of the island, the current was singing and
swirling round our bows. The stream appeared to be in spate, for it was
over the roots of the palm trees, and everywhere upon its muddy, greasy
surface we could see logs of wood and debris of all sorts which had been
carried down by the flood.
When I had assured myself that we swung securely at our moorings, I
thought it best to begin watering at once, for the place looked as if it
reeked with fever. The heavy river, the muddy, shining banks, the bright
poisonous green of the jungle, the moist steam in the air, they were all
so many danger signals to one who could read them. I sent the long-boat
off, therefore, with two large hogsheads, which should be sufficient to
last us until we made St. Paul de Loanda. For my own part I took the
dinghy and rowed for the island, for I could see the Union Jack
fluttering above the palms to mark the position of Armitage and Wilson’s
trading station.
When I had cleared the grove, I could see the place, a long, low,
whitewashed building, with a deep verandah in front, and an immense pile
of palm oil barrels heaped upon either flank of it. A row of surf boats
and canoes lay along the beach, and a single small jetty projected into
the river. Two men in white suits with red cummerbunds round their
waists were waiting upon the end of it to receive me. One was a large
portly fellow with a greyish beard. The other was slender and tall, with
a pale pinched face, which was half concealed by a great mushroom-shaped
hat.
“Very glad to see you,” said the latter, cordially. “I am Walker, the
agent of Armitage and Wilson. Let me introduce Dr. Severall of the same
company. It is not often we see a private yacht in these parts.”
“She’s the _Gamecock_,” I explained. “I’m owner and captain—Meldrum is
the name.”
“Exploring?” he asked.
“I’m a lepidopterist—a butterfly-catcher. I’ve been doing the west coast
from Senegal downwards.”
“Good sport?” asked the Doctor, turning a slow yellow-shot eye upon me.
“I have forty cases full. We came in here to water, and also to see what
you have in my line.”
These introductions and explanations had filled up the time whilst my
two Krooboys were making the dinghy fast. Then I walked down the jetty
with one of my new acquaintances upon either side, each plying me with
questions, for they had seen no white man for months.
“What do we do?” said the Doctor, when I had begun asking questions in
my turn. “Our business keeps us pretty busy, and in our leisure time we
talk politics.”
“Yes, by the special mercy of Providence Severall is a rank Radical and
I am a good stiff Unionist, and we talk Home Rule for two solid hours
every evening.”
“And drink quinine cocktails,” said the Doctor. “We’re both pretty well
salted now, but our normal temperature was about 103 last year. I
shouldn’t, as an impartial adviser, recommend you to stay here very long
unless you are collecting bacilli as well as butterflies. The mouth of
the Ogowai River will never develop into a health resort.”
There is nothing finer than the way in which these outlying pickets of
civilization distil a grim humour out of their desolate situation, and
turn not only a bold, but a laughing face upon the chances which their
lives may bring. Everywhere from Sierra Leone downwards I had found the
same reeking swamps, the same isolated fever-racked communities and the
same bad jokes. There is something approaching to the divine in that
power of man to rise above his conditions and to use his mind for the
purpose of mocking at the miseries of his body.
“Dinner will be ready in about half an hour, Captain Meldrum,” said the
Doctor. “Walker has gone in to see about it; he’s the housekeeper this
week. Meanwhile, if you like, we’ll stroll round and I’ll show you the
sights of the island.”
The sun had already sunk beneath the line of palm trees, and the great
arch of the heaven above our head was like the inside of a huge shell,
shimmering with dainty pinks and delicate iridescence. No one who has
not lived in a land where the weight and heat of a napkin become
intolerable upon the knees can imagine the blessed relief which the
coolness of evening brings along with it. In this sweeter and purer air
the Doctor and I walked round the little island, he pointing out the
stores, and explaining the routine of his work.
“There’s a certain romance about the place,” said he, in answer to some
remark of mine about the dulness of their lives. “We are living here
just upon the edge of the great unknown. Up there,” he continued,
pointing to the north-east, “Du Chaillu penetrated, and found the home
of the gorilla. That is the Gaboon country—the land of the great apes.
In this direction,” pointing to the south-east, “no one has been very
far. The land which is drained by this river is practically unknown to
Europeans. Every log which is carried past us by the current has come
from an undiscovered country. I’ve often wished that I was a better
botanist when I have seen the singular orchids and curious-looking
plants which have been cast up on the eastern end of the island.”
The place which the Doctor indicated was a sloping brown beach, freely
littered with the flotsam of the stream. At each end was a curved point,
like a little natural breakwater, so that a small shallow bay was left
between. This was full of floating vegetation, with a single huge
splintered tree lying stranded in the middle of it, the current rippling
against its high black side.
“These are all from up country,” said the Doctor. “They get caught in
our little bay, and then when some extra freshet comes they are washed
out again and carried out to sea.”
“What is the tree?” I asked.
“Oh, some kind of teak I should imagine, but pretty rotten by the look
of it. We get all sorts of big hardwood trees floating past here, to say
nothing of the palms. Just come in here, will you?”
He led the way into a long building with an immense quantity of barrel
staves and iron hoops littered about in it.
“This is our cooperage,” said he. “We have the staves sent out in
bundles, and we put them together ourselves. Now, you don’t see anything
particularly sinister about this building, do you?”
I looked round at the high corrugated iron roof, the white wooden walls,
and the earthen floor. In one corner lay a mattress and a blanket.
“I see nothing very alarming,” said I.
“And yet there’s something out of the common, too,” he remarked. “You
see that bed? Well, I intend to sleep there to-night. I don’t want to
buck, but I think it’s a bit of a test for nerve.”
“Why?”
“Oh, there have been some funny goings on. You were talking about the
monotony of our lives, but I assure you that they are sometimes quite as
exciting as we wish them to be. You’d better come back to the house now,
for after sundown we begin to get the fever-fog up from the marshes.
There, you can see it coming across the river.”
I looked and saw long tentacles of white vapour writhing out from among
the thick green underwood and crawling at us over the broad swirling
surface of the brown river. At the same time the air turned suddenly
dank and cold.
“There’s the dinner gong,” said the Doctor. “If this matter interests
you I’ll tell you about it afterwards.”
It did interest me very much, for there was something earnest and
subdued in his manner as he stood in the empty cooperage, which appealed
very forcibly to my imagination. He was a big, bluff, hearty man, this
Doctor, and yet I had detected a curious expression in his eyes as he
glanced about him—an expression which I would not describe as one of
fear, but rather that of a man who is alert and on his guard.
“By the way,” said I, as we returned to the house, “you have shown me
the huts of a good many of your native assistants, but I have not seen
any of the natives themselves.”
“They sleep in the hulk over yonder,” the Doctor answered, pointing over
to one of the banks.
“Indeed. I should not have thought in that case that they would need the
huts.”
“Oh, they used the huts until quite recently. We’ve put them on the hulk
until they recover their confidence a little. They were all half mad
with fright, so we let them go, and nobody sleeps on the island except
Walker and myself.”
“What frightened them?” I asked.
“Well, that brings us back to the same story. I suppose Walker has no
objection to your hearing all about it. I don’t know why we should make
any secret about it, though it is certainly a pretty bad business.”
He made no further allusion to it during the excellent dinner which had
been prepared in my honour. It appeared that no sooner had the little
white topsail of the _Gamecock_ shown round Cape Lopez than these kind
fellows had begun to prepare their famous pepper-pot—which is the
pungent stew peculiar to the West Coast—and to boil their yams and sweet
potatoes. We sat down to as good a native dinner as one could wish,
served by a smart Sierra Leone waiting boy. I was just remarking to
myself that he at least had not shared in the general flight when,
having laid the dessert and wine upon the table, he raised his hand to
his turban.
“Anyting else I do, Massa Walker?” he asked.
“No, I think that is all right, Moussa,” my host answered. “I am not
feeling very well to-night, though, and I should much prefer if you
would stay on the island.”
I saw a struggle between his fears and his duty upon the swarthy face of
the African. His skin had turned of that livid purplish tint which
stands for pallor in a negro, and his eyes looked furtively about him.
“No, no, Massa Walker,” he cried, at last, “you better come to the hulk
with me, sah. Look after you much better in the hulk, sah!”
“That won’t do, Moussa. White men don’t run away from the posts where
they are placed.”
Again I saw the passionate struggle in the negro’s face, and again his
fears prevailed.
“No use, Massa Walker, sah!” he cried. “S’elp me, I can’t do it. If it
was yesterday or if it was to-morrow, but this is the third night, sah,
an’ it’s more than I can face.”
Walker shrugged his shoulders.
“Off with you then!” said he. “When the mail-boat comes you can get back
to Sierra Leone, for I’ll have no servant who deserts me when I need him
most. I suppose this is all mystery to you, or has the Doctor told you,
Captain Meldrum?”
“I showed Captain Meldrum the cooperage, but I did not tell him
anything,” said Dr. Severall. “You’re looking bad, Walker,” he added,
glancing at his companion. “You have a strong touch coming on you.”
“Yes, I’ve had the shivers all day, and now my head is like a
cannon-ball. I took ten grains of quinine, and my ears are singing like
a kettle. But I want to sleep with you in the cooperage to-night.”
“No, no, my dear chap. I won’t hear of such a thing. You must get to bed
at once, and I am sure Meldrum will excuse you. I shall sleep in the
cooperage, and I promise you that I’ll be round with your medicine
before breakfast.”
It was evident that Walker had been struck by one of those sudden and
violent attacks of remittent fever which are the curse of the West
Coast. His sallow cheeks were flushed and his eyes shining with fever,
and suddenly as he sat there he began to croon out a song in the
high-pitched voice of delirium.
“Come, come, we must get you to bed, old chap,” said the Doctor, and
with my aid he led his friend into his bedroom. There we undressed him,
and presently, after taking a strong sedative, he settled down into a
deep slumber.
“He’s right for the night,” said the Doctor, as we sat down and filled
our glasses once more. “Sometimes it is my turn and sometimes his, but,
fortunately, we have never been down together. I should have been sorry
to be out of it to-night, for I have a little mystery to unravel. I told
you that I intended to sleep in the cooperage.”
“Yes, you said so.”
“When I said sleep I meant watch, for there will be no sleep for me.
We’ve had such a scare here that no native will stay after sundown, and
I mean to find out to-night what the cause of it all may be. It has
always been the custom for a native watchman to sleep in the cooperage,
to prevent the barrel hoops being stolen. Well, six days ago the fellow
who slept there disappeared, and we have never seen a trace of him
since. It was certainly singular, for no canoe had been taken, and these
waters are too full of crocodiles for any man to swim to shore. What
became of the fellow, or how he could have left the island is a complete
mystery. Walker and I were merely surprised, but the blacks were badly
scared, and queer Voodoo tales began to get about amongst them. But the
real stampede broke out three nights ago, when the new watchman in the
cooperage also disappeared.”
“What became of him?” I asked.
“Well, we not only don’t know, but we can’t even give a guess which
would fit the facts. The niggers swear there is a fiend in the cooperage
who claims a man every third night. They wouldn’t stay in the
island—nothing could persuade them. Even Moussa, who is a faithful boy
enough, would, as you have seen, leave his master in a fever rather than
remain for the night. If we are to continue to run this place we must
reassure our niggers, and I don’t know any better way of doing it than
by putting in a night there myself. This is the third night, you see, so
I suppose the thing is due, whatever it may be.”
“Have you no clue?” I asked. “Was there no mark of violence, no
blood-stain, no footprints, nothing to give a hint as to what kind of
danger you may have to meet?”
“Absolutely nothing. The man was gone and that was all. Last time it was
old Ali, who has been wharf-tender here since the place was started. He
was always as steady as a rock, and nothing but foul play would take him
from his work.”
“Well,” said I, “I really don’t think that this is a one-man job. Your
friend is full of laudanum, and come what might he can be of no
assistance to you. You must let me stay and put in a night with you at
the cooperage.”
“Well, now, that’s very good of you, Meldrum,” said he heartily, shaking
my hand across the table. “It’s not a thing that I should have ventured
to propose, for it is asking a good deal of a casual visitor, but if you
really mean it——”
“Certainly I mean it. If you will excuse me a moment, I will hail the
_Gamecock_ and let them know that they need not expect me.”
As we came back from the other end of the little jetty we were both
struck by the appearance of the night. A huge blue-black pile of clouds
had built itself up upon the landward side, and the wind came from it in
little hot pants, which beat upon our faces like the draught from a
blast furnace. Under the jetty the river was swirling and hissing,
tossing little white spurts of spray over the planking.
“Confound it!” said Doctor Severall. “We are likely to have a flood on
the top of all our troubles. That rise in the river means heavy rain
up-country, and when it once begins you never know how far it will go.
We’ve had the island nearly covered before now. Well, we’ll just go and
see that Walker is comfortable, and then if you like we’ll settle down
in our quarters.”
The sick man was sunk in a profound slumber, and we left him with some
crushed limes in a glass beside him in case he should awake with the
thirst of fever upon him. Then we made our way through the unnatural
gloom thrown by that menacing cloud. The river had risen so high that
the little bay which I have described at the end of the island had
become almost obliterated through the submerging of its flanking
peninsula. The great raft of driftwood, with the huge black tree in the
middle, was swaying up and down in the swollen current.
“That’s one good thing a flood will do for us,” said the Doctor. “It
carries away all the vegetable stuff which is brought down on to the
east end of the island. It came down with the freshet the other day, and
here it will stay until a flood sweeps it out into the main stream.
Well, here’s our room, and here are some books, and here is my tobacco
pouch, and we must try and put in the night as best we may.”
By the light of our single lantern the great lonely room looked very
gaunt and dreary. Save for the piles of staves and heaps of hoops there
was absolutely nothing in it, with the exception of the mattress for the
Doctor, which had been laid in the corner. We made a couple of seats and
a table out of the staves, and settled down together for a long vigil.
Severall had brought a revolver for me, and was himself armed with a
double-barrelled shot-gun. We loaded our weapons and laid them cocked
within reach of our hands. The little circle of light and the black
shadows arching over us were so melancholy that he went off to the
house, and returned with two candles. One side of the cooperage was
pierced, however, by several open windows, and it was only by screening
our lights behind staves that we could prevent them from being
extinguished.
The Doctor, who appeared to be a man of iron nerves, had settled down to
a book, but I observed that every now and then he laid it upon his knee,
and took an earnest look all round him. For my part, although I tried
once or twice to read, I found it impossible to concentrate my thoughts
upon the book. They would always wander back to this great empty silent
room, and to the sinister mystery which overshadowed it. I racked my
brains for some possible theory which would explain the disappearance of
these two men. There was the black fact that they were gone, and not the
least tittle of evidence as to why or whither. And here we were waiting
in the same place—waiting without an idea as to what we were waiting
for. I was right in saying that it was not a one-man job. It was trying
enough as it was, but no force upon earth would have kept me there
without a comrade.
What an endless, tedious night it was! Outside we heard the lapping and
gurgling of the great river, and the soughing of the rising wind.
Within, save for our breathing, the turning of the Doctor’s pages, and
the high, shrill ping of an occasional mosquito, there was a heavy
silence. Once my heart sprang into my mouth as Severall’s book suddenly
fell to the ground and he sprang to his feet with his eyes on one of the
windows.
“Did you see anything, Meldrum?”
“No. Did you?”
“Well, I had a vague sense of movement outside that window.” He caught
up his gun and approached it. “No, there’s nothing to be seen, and yet I
could have sworn that something passed slowly across it.”
“A palm leaf, perhaps,” said I, for the wind was growing stronger every
instant.
“Very likely,” said he, and settled down to his book again, but his eyes
were for ever darting little suspicious glances up at the window. I
watched it also, but all was quiet outside.
And then suddenly our thoughts were turned into a new direction by the
bursting of the storm. A blinding flash was followed by a clap which
shook the building. Again and again came the vivid white glare with
thunder at the same instant, like the flash and roar of a monstrous
piece of artillery. And then down came the tropical rain, crashing and
rattling on the corrugated iron roofing of the cooperage. The big hollow
room boomed like a drum. From the darkness arose a strange mixture of
noises, a gurgling, splashing, tinkling, bubbling, washing,
dripping—every liquid sound that nature can produce from the thrashing
and swishing of the rain to the deep steady boom of the river. Hour
after hour the uproar grew louder and more sustained.
“My word,” said Severall, “we are going to have the father of all the
floods this time. Well, here’s the dawn coming at last and that is a
blessing. We’ve about exploded the third night superstition anyhow.”
A grey light was stealing through the room, and there was the day upon
us in an instant. The rain had eased off, but the coffee-coloured river
was roaring past like a waterfall. Its power made me fear for the anchor
of the _Gamecock_.
“I must get aboard,” said I. “If she drags she’ll never be able to beat
up the river again.”
“The island is as good as a breakwater,” the Doctor answered. “I can
give you a cup of coffee if you will come up to the house.”
I was chilled and miserable, so the suggestion was a welcome one. We
left the ill-omened cooperage with its mystery still unsolved, and we
splashed our way up to the house.
“There’s the spirit lamp,” said Severall. “If you would just put a light
to it, I will see how Walker feels this morning.”
He left me, but was back in an instant with a dreadful face.
“He’s gone!” he cried hoarsely.
The words sent a thrill of horror through me. I stood with the lamp in
my hand, glaring at him.
“Yes, he’s gone!” he repeated. “Come and look!”
I followed him without a word, and the first thing that I saw as I
entered the bedroom was Walker himself lying huddled on his bed in the
grey flannel sleeping suit in which I had helped to dress him on the
night before.
“Not dead, surely!” I gasped.
The Doctor was terribly agitated. His hands were shaking like leaves in
the wind.
“He’s been dead some hours.”
“Was it fever?”
“Fever! Look at his foot!”
I glanced down and a cry of horror burst from my lips. One foot was not
merely dislocated but was turned completely round in a most grotesque
contortion.
“Good God!” I cried. “What can have done this?”
Severall had laid his hand upon the dead man’s chest.
“Feel here,” he whispered.
I placed my hand at the same spot. There was no resistance. The body was
absolutely soft and limp. It was like pressing a sawdust doll.
“The breast-bone is gone,” said Severall in the same awed whisper. “He’s
broken to bits. Thank God that he had the laudanum. You can see by his
face that he died in his sleep.”
“But who can have done this?”
“I’ve had about as much as I can stand,” said the Doctor, wiping his
forehead. “I don’t know that I’m a greater coward than my neighbours,
but this gets beyond me. If you’re going out to the _Gamecock_——”
“Come on!” said I, and off we started. If we did not run it was because
each of us wished to keep up the last shadow of his self-respect before
the other. It was dangerous in a light canoe on that swollen river, but
we never paused to give the matter a thought. He bailing and I paddling
we kept her above water, and gained the deck of the yacht. There, with
two hundred yards of water between us and this cursed island, we felt
that we were our own men once more.
“Well go back in an hour or so,” said he. “But we need a little time to
steady ourselves. I wouldn’t have had the niggers see me as I was just
now for a year’s salary.”
“I’ve told the steward to prepare breakfast. Then we shall go back,”
said I. “But in God’s name, Doctor Severall, what do you make of it
all?”
“It beats me—beats me clean. I’ve heard of Voodoo devilry, and I’ve
laughed at it with the others. But that poor old Walker, a decent,
God-fearing, nineteenth-century, Primrose-League Englishman should go
under like this without a whole bone in his body—it’s given me a shake,
I won’t deny it. But look there, Meldrum, is that hand of yours mad or
drunk, or what is it?”
Old Patterson, the oldest man of my crew, and as steady as the Pyramids,
had been stationed in the bows with a boat-hook to fend off the drifting
logs which came sweeping down with the current. Now he stood with
crooked knees, glaring out in front of him, and one forefinger stabbing
furiously at the air.
“Look at it!” he yelled. “Look at it!”
And at the same instant we saw it.
A huge black tree trunk was coming down the river, its broad glistening
back just lapped by the water. And in front of it—about three feet in
front—arching upwards like the figure-head of a ship, there hung a
dreadful face, swaying slowly from side to side. It was flattened,
malignant, as large as a small beer-barrel, of a faded fungoid colour,
but the neck which supported it was mottled with a dull yellow and
black. As it flew past the _Gamecock_ in the swirl of the waters I saw
two immense coils roll up out of some great hollow in the tree, and the
villainous head rose suddenly to the height of eight or ten feet,
looking with dull, skin-covered eyes at the yacht. An instant later the
tree had shot past us and was plunging with its horrible passenger
towards the Atlantic.
“What was it?” I cried.
“It is our fiend of the cooperage,” said Dr. Severall, and he had become
in an instant the same bluff, self-confident man that he had been
before. “Yes, that is the devil who has been haunting our island. It is
the great python of the Gaboon.”
I thought of the stories which I had heard all down the coast of the
monstrous constrictors of the interior, of their periodical appetite,
and of the murderous effects of their deadly squeeze. Then it all took
shape in my mind. There had been a freshet the week before. It had
brought down this huge hollow tree with its hideous occupant. Who knows
from what far distant tropical forest it may have come. It had been
stranded on the little east bay of the island. The cooperage had been
the nearest house. Twice with the return of its appetite it had carried
off the watchman. Last night it had doubtless come again, when Severall
had thought he saw something move at the window, but our lights had
driven it away. It had writhed onwards and had slain poor Walker in his
sleep.
“Why did it not carry him off?” I asked.
“The thunder and lightning must have scared the brute away. There’s your
steward, Meldrum. The sooner we have breakfast and get back to the
island the better, or some of those niggers might think that we had been
frightened.”