THE ADVENTURE BEGINS
Now, it is not to be expected that when a man has been living for
three years among "stiffs" and "sunfish", with only occasional lapses
into decency, he can suddenly turn around and rank as a gentleman and
a scholar for ever after, with never a fall from grace.
It would be very nice to chronicle such a miracle in the life of
Cyrus Hammer, and would, no doubt, afford great pleasure to the
average reader; but it would afford great disgust to the average
student of human nature, such as John Solomon.
"Regeneration is all werry well," as that peculiar individual said,
"but it ain't to be 'ad with a 'op, skip, and jump, I says. 'Umans
is 'umans, and nature ain't to be denied, as the parson remarked when
'e smashed the constable in the eye. If so be as a man's a saint,
why, 'is place ain't 'ere on earth, says I."
Accordingly, in the due course of events, Hammer and the rest were
entertained at the Mombasa Club, where Harcourt found numerous old
friends now "in the service".
These, with the American Consul, were so cordial to Hammer that he
and Harcourt spent one glorious evening around a punch-bowl at the
club, and about midnight Hammer was lost in the shuffle. At 3 A.M.
he was located by a native policeman, who patiently extricated him
from the embraces of a half-caste Portuguese and two sailors from an
oiler in port.
The extrication was a matter of time and trouble, Hammer vowing that
he was not being shanghaied and had no intention of being so; and
before the question was settled the half-caste had a broken head, two
constables were _hors de combat_, and half Mombasa was watching the
riot in unholy glee--for Hammer managed to hold the cathedral steps
against all comers until taken from behind.
Undoubtedly, it was a highly disgraceful scene, and Hammer was duly
contrite when his fine had been paid and he was returned to the
yacht. Harcourt made no mention of the occurrence thereafter, and
the American savagely determined not only to stay away from the club
but to get out of Mombasa altogether.
Wherefore it was not long until he was given charge of the
"impedimenta" belonging to Dr. Krausz, and found himself steaming up
the coast aboard the government packet _Juba_ with half a dozen of
the crew.
Krausz himself had gone on to Melindi as soon as the investigation
into the death of Schlak was finished. And it was quickly finished,
for the authorities, after hearing the evidence, directed that the
finding of the _Daphne's_ log be confirmed, there being no direct
evidence against either Solomon or Jenson.
Whereupon the former had at once drawn his pay and disappeared, and
the latter had gone to Melindi with his master in the yacht's launch.
Harcourt remained in charge of the yacht for the present.
The trip up-coast was fairly uneventful, and at Melindi he found
Jenson waiting with the launch in which to take the men on. He
himself was given a native guide, and was forced to get the boxes
unshipped two miles from shore, swung into surf boats, landed, and
then loaded onto a gang of Kiswahili porters to be taken overland.
From the Kiswahili guide Hammer extracted the information that their
destination was two days' march north from Melindi, and, perforce, he
resigned himself to the situation, roundly cursing Jenson for leaving
him in the lurch.
An English cotton-planter whom he met on the wharfs came to the
rescue, however, took charge of his boxes and porters, and set off
with him for the first few miles--for all of which Hammer was
intensely grateful.
He was like a child in a strange house, at first; but by the time the
planter stopped off at his own place the American had got into the
swing of things. The planter sent him down a couple of boys for
personal attendants, and after Hammer had attended to one insolent
porter he had no further trouble whatever.
They were headed for a small ruined fort, dating from the Portuguese
occupation, which lay sixteen miles up the coast from Melindi. Owing
to the difficulties of the march and the roundabout track they were
compelled to follow, it was not until the evening of the second day
that the guide declared the fort to be near at hand.
It had formerly been built at the head of a small bay, but, owing to
changes in the conformation of the coast, the sea had left it a
half-mile away and the bay had vanished.
As the little safari broke from a thicket of brush and trees Hammer
saw the ruins on a small eminence from which the trees had been
cleared.
At one side were two large tents, with the smaller tents and brush
huts of the native workmen scattered down the hillside. There seemed
to be no one in sight, however, and Hammer sent the guide on to stir
up Dr. Krausz or his assistants.
He was in an ill-humour, and made no secret of it. On that two days'
march he had been tortured by insects, irritated by his porters, and
plagued by the remembrance of what had occurred at Mombasa; he
decided that he thoroughly hated East Africa, and longed to be once
more out at sea on the bridge of the _Daphne_.
"By Godfrey," he ejaculated, staring at the silent camp ahead, "when
I get out of this devilish country I'll stay out! The ocean is good
enough for me, and no mistake. I wonder what's happened to this
place, anyhow? Where are all those Dutchmen?"
The guide had run ahead to the two large tents, where a few other
natives appeared, talking to him. Above, the cleared hilltop showed
long lines of ruined stone-walls three or four feet in height,
crowned by one or two spreading mimosa-trees which had evidently been
too large for removal.
It was a naked-looking place, with the deep jungle behind and around
and running down toward the shore where the sunset gleam was striking
the ocean and the eastern skies to flame, and Hammer wondered where
water came from for camp use--a thought born of his late experiences.
This was answered by the sight of two or three Kiswahili coming from
the ruins with kettles, and the American realized that the fort must
have been built around a spring or well.
The porters slowly wound up the hill, singing happily enough, and
half a dozen natives crowded around the guide as he returned to meet
them. All were capering and dancing like children, but Hammer was in
no mood to handle them gently.
"Well," he snapped, "where are the sahibs?"
"They are not here, sar," returned the guide. "Here is one man from
them," and he pointed to a grinning fellow who stepped out boldly.
"I am Potbelly, sar; very good mission-boy," he announced
complacently. "Missy Professor she say she not see you, not well in
the stomach. The Herr Doctor, he went off this morning, sar, with
all men hereabouts, in order to engage native help from nigger
village inside of the coast. He will be back very immediately, sar,
and Missy Professor say you take tent----"
"You're blamed right, I'll take his tent," ejaculated Hammer angrily,
"and you see that these boys are attended to after the stuff is
piled--savvy?"
Potbelly savvied and guided Hammer to one of the two large tents.
Here he found comparative comfort, his two personal boys making a
bath ready; but his reception was vexing in the extreme.
The Missy Professor, of course, was Professor Sara L. Helmuth. She
probably had the other tent, with her own attendants, and of course
Krausz would never have gone off and left her alone unless she was
perfectly safe here. The doctor was losing no time, evidently, since
he was already off engaging workmen and getting things under way.
The chop-box which the planter had sent with his boys had been used
up, and as there was no sign of eatables about the doctor's tent,
Hammer changed into some of the German's clothes and went forth to
investigate in a vile temper.
His proficiency in Arabic, of a sort, had vastly increased since
leaving Melindi, and, finding that the natives were gathered about
the boxes which he had brought outside Professor Helmuth's tent, he
strode into the midst and demanded dinner.
Now, whether it was that the American over-estimated the intelligence
of the Kiswahili and Arab half-castes, or whether the absence of
Potbelly in his mistress's tent left the other boys helpless, nothing
ensued save a violent jabbering, in which every native tried to talk
at once, the whole gradually rising to a shrill outburst of angry
shouts, and Hammer's temper gave way.
Relying on the safety of his Arabic the American made himself heard
above the uproar, lashing about with a convenient bullock-whip hide
and pouring out a raging flood of invective and expletive.
Before the face of his anger the Kiswahili melted away in terror, and
long ere his rage was exhausted he found himself standing alone,
glaring around vainly for someone on whom to finish his vocabulary.
A moment later Potbelly appeared jauntily from Professor Helmuth's
tent, bearing a slip of paper. With a watchful eye on the whip he
handed it to Hammer and skipped out of reach, vanishing with a final
grin. The American opened the paper, and was dumbfounded. He read:
DEAR SIR:
I would thank you to remember that there is a lady within
hearing. If common decency will not restrain your language, I
shall be compelled to take other measures which will have that
effect. SARA L. HELMUTH.
"Good Lord!" gasped Hammer in dismay. "I never had any idea--why,
she must know Arabic! Oh, darn it all, anyway--I wish I was out of
this confounded place! Mixed up with blue-eyed fat men and
short-haired women and Dutchmen--good _night_!"
The Kiswahili had vanished. Potbelly had vanished. Even the
daylight had almost vanished, and without a word Hammer flung down
the whip, tore the note into pieces and threw it to the breeze, then
turned to the tent of the "lady professor", as he mentally termed her.
"Very sorry, Professor Helmuth." He raised his voice, but without
especial civility in his tone. "I apologize, of course. I didn't
know you understood Arabic. I'll trouble you no more."
As no answer came he returned to the other tent, and in desperation
seated himself on a camp-stool. With his pipe alight, he faced the
fast-gathering shadows outside, and a few moments later was startled
by a wild outburst of yells.
Knowing nothing of the country, when the yells grew closer and more
threatening the American leaped to the conclusion that the natives
were on the war-path, and he leaped up.
Almost at his side stood a heavy, double-barrelled shotgun, and,
making sure that this was loaded, he stepped to the front of the tent
to investigate. No one seemed to be in sight, for darkness was
almost on the camp; but, seeing a light in the other tent, he walked
toward it with the idea of defending the lady professor.
The place was an inferno, what with the shrill yells and occasional
shots; and from the noise, Hammer concluded that the camp must be
surrounded by hundreds of men.
Suddenly a dark figure loomed up in the dusk a few feet away, and
instantly he brought up his weapon.
"Hold on!" he shouted angrily. "Who the devil are you?"
For answer he felt the barrel of the gun gripped and flung up, and
found himself looking into the wrong end of a revolver. Then----
"_Mein Gott_! It iss Mr. Hammer!"
"Krausz--good Lord, I nearly plugged you. man! What's going on
here, an attack?"
The other stared at him a moment, their faces close. Hammer was
quick to observe a startled suspicion in the Teuton's heavy features,
and the revolver did not go down.
"What are you doing with that gun?" demanded Krausz threateningly.
"Holding it," was the American's laconic response. Then, at a fresh
outburst of yells: "You aren't going to stand here and be murdered, I
hope?"
"Murdered? _Hein_?" For an instant the other was puzzled, then his
teeth flashed in a sudden laugh as he understood.
"Oh, you thought it wass an attack, yess? And so you got out the
gun--ho-ho! Come to my tent---- Pardon, me, but I must laugh, for
it iss but my home-coming, Mr. Hammer. Have you dined?"
"I haven't anything. I'm stiff and sore and grouchy, and all I want
is to get out of this blasted country as quick as I can."
The doctor laughed again, and they returned to the tent together.
Before Krausz had finished his bath the camp had undergone a
transformation in Hammer's eyes. Fires had been built, around which
masses of natives were grouped; there was a smell of roasting meat in
the air, and brush huts were being quickly put up by the dozen.
Jenson received a sound berating for not having attended to Hammer's
wants in better fashion at Melindi, and by the time they sat down to
mess with the secretary and Baumgardner, the American was feeling
more like himself.
Still, he reflected, if the country was as peaceable and quiet as the
scientist declared it to be, that revolver had flashed out with
marvellous promptitude.
Professor Helmuth had been on the ground nearly two weeks, and had
made things ready generally against the doctor's arrival, with the
assistance of a few mission-boys.
The Kiswahili, it seemed, had refused to leave their fields to work
for a woman, even at the urging of the district commissioner; but
Krausz had easily procured two hundred of them, who would dig
trenches and bring in food supplies for the whole camp.
Now that he was here, he confidently predicted that things would go
forward with a rush; but whether it was the champagne, served
abundantly with dinner, or whether the remembrance of that flourished
revolver still stuck in Hammer's crop, he did not exactly like the
way in which the archaeologist referred to his assistant.
He learned that the lady professor kept strictly to herself after
working hours, even to taking her meals apart; and this did not raise
her in the American's estimation.
In her position, he considered, she should frankly accept such things
and not be so stuck on conventions. None the less, when he expressed
himself in such wise f Dr. Krausz took it as a huge joke and poked
Jenson familiarly in the ribs, upon which another bottle of champagne
was opened.
Hammer, who had absorbed his full share in his bitterness of spirit,
suddenly felt out of humour with the Teutonic attitude of mind toward
women in general. Spectacles or no spectacles, if the lady hailed
from California then she ought to have more sense, and probably these
Germans had handled her coarsely. So he leaned over the table and
said as much with the innate earnestness of his convictions.
"_Nein_," returned the doctor good-humouredly; "I am not German, but
Saxon, yess! So you think she wass not asked rightly, Mr. Hammer?
Perhaps if you asked her then she might come, no?"
"By Godfrey, if she's American I'd take a gamble on it!" blurted out
Hammer, and wagged a long forefinger under the nose of Krausz. "I'll
bet you that I could get her over quick enough! I'll bet a million
dollars I could do it!"
"So?" The archaeologist turned and leered heavily at the others.
"You hear, gentlemen? Then it iss a bet--a bet of one million
dollars, yess! The _fräulein_, she does not like to eat with you,
Jenson, _hein_!"
Jenson babbled something, Baumgardner boomed out a stolid assent, and
Hammer had a sudden conviction that if he took another glass of
champagne he was going to be very very drunk indeed, whereupon he
removed his shoes and climbed inside the doctor's mosquito shelter.
In the morning he realized that that extra glass would have been
entirely superfluous, to judge from his head. It was after nine, but
he had a tub and a cup of coffee and felt considerably improved, and,
finding from the boys that everyone was at work on the hill, he
donned his new sun-helmet and started for the ruins above.
Each of the German sailors had charge of a gang of fifteen or twenty
natives, and trenches were being laid out between the lines of the
old walls, under the supervision of Krausz, who sat beneath a
grass-thatched shelter at a table with Jenson. The doctor greeted
him with a cordial grin, though for some reason--probably the
heat--the ribbon of muscle in his temple was throbbing noticeably.
"And the _fräulein_--she will dine with us this evening?"
"Huh?"
Hammer stared, astonished, until the wager was brought slowly to his
recollection. Then he looked around in some dismay, but the lady
professor had not left her tent and the doctor failed to assign any
reason thereto.
"Then I guess she won't leave for me," and Hammer ruefully related
the incident of the note he had received the evening before, at which
the doctor laughed uproariously, and even Jenson cracked a sly smile.
Krausz explained that Professor Helmuth was an expert in Semitic
languages, and also that the bet was off.
"Your beastly champagne did it," said Hammer irritably.
"But listen!" Earnestness swept into the doctor's heavy black eyes
and his hand went to the American's arm. "If you will do it, yess, I
will pay one hundred dollars----"
"You'll--_what_?" Hammer stared at him a moment, then flung off the
hand as he turned away. "Been hitting up the booze again this
morning, have you? I'll thank you to get that launch ready for me to
get back to Melindi in. As for your she-professor, I'll have her
over to dine this evening just to show you what a blooming fool you
are, doctor. Then I'll start back in the launch after dark. I've
had enough of this place."
How his remarks were received he did not see, for he strode downhill
without once looking back. But the scientist's offer to pay him for
getting Professor Helmuth to dine with them was both disgusting and
illuminating.
It filled him with distaste for everything German--or Saxon--with
particular emphasis upon Krausz' ribbon of muscle; and it also made
him wonder why the she-professor was refusing to honour the general
mess with her company. Did she carry primness to such a limit?
"I'll fix her," he said, and upon reaching his tent sent a boy for
Potbelly. When that individual appeared, Hammer gave him his name,
stated that he was an American, and said to tell Professor Helmuth
that he intended to call on her in ten minutes.
Potbelly's grin vanished and he looked ugly instantly, whereat Hammer
took him by the shoulder and assisted him from the tent with a kick.
He watched Potbelly disappear inside the other large tent, then sat
down and smoked his pipe.
When the ten minutes were up he promptly knocked the ashes out of his
pipe, began to whistle and started for the other tent.
Potbelly looked out, vanished again, and the next minute the
tent-flap was pushed aside and Hammer obtained his first view of
Professor Sara L. Helmuth--and he was undoubtedly the most astonished
man in the whole of British East Africa at that instant.