The stranger walked slowly across to his own quarters in a frame of mind
very unwonted with him. Something had moved him--moved him powerfully.
A new vista opened before him, and what a promise of the good things of
life did he behold. The past, too, came before him, but it he put aside
with sneering and bitterness.
Two female slaves greeted him with subservient smiles. They were not of
this race, but had been brought from much farther inland. They were
much lighter in colour, physically fine symmetrical specimens, and not
without good looks. Their smiles he returned with a frown that made
them cower.
"No more of these," he muttered in English, staring at them. "White--
red and white--white and gold--golden hair--volumes of it--every kind.
Aha! No more of this soot."
They cowered still more before his stare, wondering which of their
recent or further back delinquencies had come to his knowledge or what
their fate would be. But now he ordered them to begone, and, while
trying not to show their relief, they lost no time in obeying.
He got out a bottle of rum and poured out a strong, stiff measure. This
he tossed off like water. The beginning of a debauch? Oh no. This man
knew better than that. He was never seen intoxicated--he valued his
influence too much--and were he once seen in a state of incapacity he
knew full well that his influence would be gone; further, that it would
not be long before his life followed. There were times, however, when
he had taken enough liquor to have sent two ordinary hard-headed men to
the ground, and at such times the black savages among whom he dwelt were
careful to give this white savage a very wide berth indeed. That was
all.
His private quarters were in no way ringed off from the rest of the
town, in which was reason. No combination could thus be formed against
him, or any hostile plan unknown to himself be carried out, as might be
the case were he more shut away. But his huts were better and more
spacious than the rest, that mostly occupied by himself attaining almost
to the dignity of a bungalow--and, indeed, in such dread was this place
held that his possessions were as sacred as though guarded by iron
safes. For the acquisitive savage had found it unhealthy to pilfer from
this his white brother. At first he had tried it. One attempt had been
met by a wholly unlooked-for shot, killing the offender. On another
occasion a large and heavy knife had fallen unexpectedly from nowhere,
penetrating the brain of the would-be thief, with similar result. This
was the more singular in that at the time of both attempts he whom they
would have plundered was about fifty miles away, so that it needed not
many recurrences of further disaster--in each case mysterious, and
taking a varying form--to render this man's goods absolutely safe.
The secret of the extraordinary ascendency of this white savage over the
black, apart from the fact that he never interfered in the slightest
degree with their manners and customs, especially when he had led them
personally in some sanguinary and victorious raid, may have lain in the
fact that he tolerated no opposition. If he considered his subordinate
devils had a real grievance he would listen to it and redress it, and of
this we have seen at least one gruesome instance. Otherwise he simply
rose up and killed the offender--killed him with his own hand.
Now he went outside his house, called a name, and issued an order. In
the result, about three quarters of an hour saw him in possession of
Wagram's pocket-book. This he proceeded to investigate with quite
unwonted hurry. A few visiting cards and the notes Wagram had mentioned
were all it contained. The latter he put aside. Cash was always--cash.
For Wagram himself another long, trying, well-nigh sleepless night was
in store--a night of wearing suspense, and the certainty of a most
dreadful disappointment. For he could not disguise from himself the
consciousness that something had gone suddenly wrong--that the train of
the negotiation had, at a certain point, left the rails--for what
otherwise could be the meaning of the sudden change of tone and manner
on the part of the stranger directly the agreement was completed? Had
he merely been fooling him with promises of escape until he had put his
name to a document binding him to pay down a very large sum? At first
blush it looked like this, but further reflection served to show that,
failing his own co-operation, the document was useless for the purpose
of obtaining one single shilling--in a word, was utterly unnegotiable.
Could it be that the man was touched in the brain, and subject to sudden
and dangerous impulses--hence his unlooked-for change of manner--or was
he a renegade, who had, perhaps, undergone the penalty of former crime
and hated those of his own blood and colour in consequence? Anyway the
whole affair was a mystery, which the morning might solve; and that it
would solve it in a way that was speedily favourable to himself he
devoutly hoped and prayed.
He fell into an uneasy sleep; and it seemed he had hardly done so when
he was aroused by a touch. He opened his eyes, to meet those of a
savage who was standing over him, and a shudder of loathing ran through
him; and this not entirely due to the strong musky odour wherewith the
new-comer seemed to be poisoning the air--the fact being that, since the
scene he had yesterday witnessed, these were no longer human beings in
his eyes but so many horrible ghouls. This one, however, beckoned him
to get up and go with him.
Wagram obeyed. He had no immediate fears for his personal safety, in
view of the presence of a fellow white man in that nest of demons; and
as he followed his repulsive guide he glanced around upon the life of
the place--the morose, evil-looking inhabitants, fiend-like with their
long spikes of plaited wool sticking up from their heads, and their
round, black progeny tumbling about like so many sooty imps. There was
no trace of the light-hearted, careless good humour of the negro among
these. He had never seen one of them laugh, for instance; and their
grin had something malevolent about it--something that was more than
half a snarl. Could it be that their awful unnatural appetite affected
them mentally too, and that by feeding on the bodies of their
fellow-demons the spirit of the latter entered into theirs? But his
speculation on this head was cut short. He and his guide had arrived at
a much larger hut than the others, and there, seated on a native stool
in front of it, was the strange white man.
"Well, I've got back that pocket-book of yours," began the latter
unceremoniously. "Here it is; only I'm sorry to say the notes are no
longer in it. Rum thing that these devils should have any idea of the
value of money, especially paper money."
He broke off, and emitted a shrill whistle. A slave girl appeared. A
monosyllabic order, and she reappeared, bearing a bottle and two
glasses.
"Have a tot," he said. "You don't look over-bobbish, and it'll pick you
up. None of your poisonous trade rum this, but real old Jamaica."
"Thanks; it may. I've had another sleepless night, and can do with a
little picking up."
In fact, he felt the better for it. And what he was about to witness
required some stimulating, for now the other uttered a loud, peremptory
call.
It was answered with amazing and startling celerity. A number of
spiky-haired blacks came crowding up in front of the place. Wagram,
watching his strange host, saw the latter draw himself up to his full
stature as, with a scowl that was perfectly demoniacal, he harangued
them for some minutes, working himself up to a perfect paroxysm of fury.
His eyes glared, and his deep tones took on the thunderous roar of an
angry mastiff. Immediately a man was thrust to the forefront of the
group. The white man walked down off his verandah and stood confronting
this fellow, whose brutal face blenched and lowered before the scathing,
stare. Then he seized a great spear from one of the lookers-on, and,
half hurling, half stabbing, he drove the blade clean through the body
of the ugly, cowering savage, who sank to the earth, pouring forth his
life-blood in torrents.
Wagram felt himself growing pale. The slayer, not content with his
swift and sudden vengeance, had withdrawn the formidable weapon, and,
his eyes rolling and bloodshot, was brandishing it over the staring
black crowd, literally foaming at the mouth as he roared forth his
deep-toned imprecations. The assembly seemed turned to stone as those
fierce eyes swept over it, lighting first on one and then on the other,
while the great spear twirled and quivered in that sinewy grip. Each
thought that he might be the next victim; and, indeed, it seemed so, for
that towering form looked as though endowed with the strength and
malevolence of a fiend. Then with a last fierce and frenzied shout he
bade them begone, and they, for their part, did not wait to be told
twice.
"What was it all about?" said Wagram, hardly able to conceal the disgust
and horror which he felt.
The other turned on him his restless, bloodshot eyes. "Your lost
pocket-book. It ought to have been brought to me, and wasn't. See?"
"Good God! And you killed a man for that!" The tones of disgust and
reproach seemed to sting the other.
"Killed a man for that!" he repeated with a beast-like growl.--"Rather!
And I've killed a dozen men for far less--if you call these cannibal
swine men. And I'll do it again. No; you know, all these sickening old
canting ideas you were raised in don't count with me--not a straw. I'm
God here, you understand--and I mean to be."
"Steady. Don't be blasphemous," said Wagram. "Oh, it's you who are
going to give me orders, is it!" said the other, not loudly, but in a
tone of deadly, quiet resentment. "Well, we shall see; and, by way of
beginning, I may as well tell you I've changed my mind since yesterday.
In a word, I'd like the pleasure of your company here a little longer."
"But--our agreement?"
"Our agreement? Oh, here it is. That for it!" tearing in several
fragments the paper he had just produced. "I don't get the advantage of
the improving society of such a good and holy man as you every day, and
now I've got it I mean to profit by it--for a time. See?"
Wagram was simply nonplussed. What did it all mean? Was this a madman?
It seemed like it. The document under which he stood to obtain a
really splendid sum he had torn up in a fit of gusty rage. But the
fearful look on the man's face as he stood glaring down on him was
something to reckon with--and the jeering tones. He began to conceive
for him an even greater repulsion than for the black, cannibal savages
themselves.
"We can easily rewrite it," he said in a conciliatory tone. "Think
again. It will be to both our interests; and if there is any service I
can render you I will willingly do so."
"Service be damned!" said the other roughly. "I rather think the boot's
on the other foot, since it entirely depends upon me, Wagram Gerard
Wagram, whether you ever see home again, or furnish beefsteaks for the
noble image of God you see around here. Upon me, do you hear? Upon me
only."
"Well, of course, it does," answered Wagram, realising that the man was
going through a sort of paroxysm of blind, well-nigh delirious rage.
"But I should think you would hardly hand over a fellow-countryman to
the mercy of a lot of cannibal savages. I have a better opinion of you
than that."
"Have you? Then keep your damned opinion for where it's wanted. Now,
come with me."
Thinking it best to humour him Wagram did not hesitate. The other led
the way through the outskirts of the town. One thing struck Wagram
during their progress. The inhabitants hardly noticed them. All seemed
to be hurrying towards one point. Soon the same acrid, horrible odour
fell upon his nostrils as that which had sickened him on arriving at the
human shambles. He stopped.
"I won't go any further, thanks," he said. "I don't want to see that
place again."
"But you must," replied the other in a tone that was perfectly fiendish
in its menace. "You've no choice. I'm God here, remember."
What could he do? He was unarmed; therefore, to that extent, at
everybody's mercy. He had others to think of beside himself--one other
especially. So he steeled himself.
The dreadful place of slaughter was thronged, it seemed, with the whole
population of the town. Through these a word from his guide cleared a
prompt way. Several wooden blocks were let into the ground, and upon
one of these a victim was being bound down in such wise that the body,
turned face upwards, formed an arc, the head being fixed so as to draw
the upturned throat to the fullest tension. And the horrified,
blood-chilled spectator observed that the victim was a large stalwart
black very much akin in aspect to the one he had seen struck down by the
mysterious blow in that eerie temple of devil-worship within the heart
of the forest.
"I've let them have a little compensation for killing one of themselves
just now," broke in his companion's voice with hideous callousness. "It
was a biggish man among them--as far as I allow any of them to be big.
So I've stood them a feed. These belong to another breed, and they like
them, and I can get plenty more. See?"
"But, you'll never allow this?" cried Wagram. "Stop it, do you hear?
Stop it, man--devil--or whatever you are. Stop it, or I will."
Without waiting for any reply he sprang forward. A tall black fiend
armed with a great curved knife had stepped to the side of the victim,
whose agonised, livid, terror-stricken face was sufficient to haunt
Wagram to his dying day. It was done in a moment. Quick as thought
Wagram had snatched the murderous implement from the grasp of the
savage, at the same time dealing him a straight-out blow behind the ear
which sent him staggering, and had cut through the bonds which held the
wretched victim, who rolled heavily to the ground. A howl, as of a pack
of famished wolves balked of its prey, arose from the crowd. A rush was
made. But somehow the sight of this man--who had never shed human blood
in his life--standing there at bay, a new and entirely whole-hearted
Berserk rage blazing from his eyes as he rolled them around, holding the
formidable weapon ready, seemed to tell, and they hesitated, still
mouthing and yelling like hell let loose. Then great, heavy-hafted
spears were raised, ready for casting. But a word from the other white
man checked the decisive throw, though still unwillingly. They growled
and muttered like dogs, looking from one to the other.
"Give me your promise that he shall be spared," cried Wagram.
"Otherwise not a man comes near him while I am alive."
"You fool. Are you prepared to stand there for the rest of the day?"
was the answer. "After you are dead, will it be any the better for
anybody else?"
"I shall die while doing my duty at any rate. As for you--why, the most
loathsome savage here is not so loathsome as you."
"Ha--ha! That's all gas. Well, it doesn't suit me that your life shall
be taken, Wagram--at least not until I choose. So I'll give you my
promise. Like yourself, I'm not a liar, whatever I may be."
He harangued the assembled fiends, and in the result the wretched man,
still livid with the fears of death, was allowed to slip away, while the
crowd sullenly dispersed--Wagram, of course, being totally unaware that
he was promising them another victim, whom they might despatch and feast
upon at their leisure, when there should be nobody present to interrupt.
Thus his promise was kept--in the letter.
"I thought I'd just let you see where I come in," he said as they walked
away together. "Man, you think you have done something blasted heroic,
don't you?--but let me tell you that a word from me would have seen you
strapped down to one of those blocks too. You don't suppose you could
have kept them off with that knife for many minutes, do you?"
Wagram did not answer. His disgust and repulsion for the other had
reached such a pitch that he did not deem it advisable to speak, for
fear of betraying it.
"You'd better hug your own quarters for a day or two after this," went
on the latter. "None too safe to be prowling around. You understand?"
"Yes; I understand."
Hope, raised once more, had fallen to the ground. For some reason or
other this white savage had seen fit to detain him prisoner--probably
with the object of extracting more in the way of ransom. Indeed, now it
dawned upon him that in forcing him to behold all the more horrible side
of the life of these barbarians the other was working to bring his mind
up to such a pitch that he would be glad to purchase emancipation at any
price, however great.