THE AVENGER
It was a hot night up at the fort, a night eloquent of the coming rains.
The door of the guest house stood open and the light of the paraffin lamp
lay upon the veranda and the ground of the yard, forming a parallelogram
of topaz across which were flitting continually great moth shadows big as
birds.
Andreas Meeus was seated at the white-wood table of the sitting room
before a big blue sheet of paper. He held a pen in his hand, but he was
not writing just at present; he was reading what he had written.
He was, in fact, making up his three-monthly report for headquarters, and
he found it difficult, because the last three months had brought in little
rubber and less ivory. A lot of things had conspired to make trade bad.
Sickness had swept two villages entirely away; one village, as we know,
had revolted; then, vines had died from some mysterious disease in two of
the very best patches of the forest. All these explanations Meeus was now
putting on paper for the edification of the Congo Government. He was
devoting a special paragraph to the revolt of the village by the Silent
Pools, and the punishment he had dealt out to the natives. Not a word was
said of torture and slaughtering. "Drastic Measures" was the term he used,
a term perfectly well understood by the people to whom he was writing.
On the wall behind him the leopard-skin still hung, looking now shrivelled
at the edges in this extreme heat. On the wall in front of him the Congo
bows and poisoned arrows looked more venomous and deadly than by the light
of day. A scorpion twice the size of a penny was making a circuit of the
walls just below the ceiling; you could hear a faint scratch from it as it
travelled along, a scratch that seemed an echo of Meeus's pen as it
travelled across the paper.
He held between his lips the everlasting cigarette.
Sitting thus, meditating, pen in hand, he heard sounds: the sound of the
night wind, the sound of one of the soldiers singing as he cleaned his
rifle--the men always sang over this business, as if to propitiate the gun
god--the scratch of the scorpion and the "creak, creak" of a joist warping
and twisting to the heat.
But the sound of the wind was the most arresting. It would come over the
forest and up the slope and round the guest house with a long-drawn,
sweeping "Ha-a-a-r," and sob once or twice, and then die away down the
slope and over the forest and away and beyond to the east, where
Kilimanjaro was waiting for it, crowned with snow on his throne beneath
the stars.
But the wind was almost dead now--the heat of the night had stifled it.
The faintest breathing of air took the place of the strong puffs that had
sent the flame of the lamp half up the glass chimney. As Meeus listened,
on this faint breath from the forest he heard a sound--
"Boom--boom"--very faint, and as if someone were striking a drum in a
leisurely manner.
"Boom--boom."
A great man-ape haunted this part of the forest of M'Bonga like an evil
spirit. He had wandered here, perhaps from the west coast forests. Driven
away from his species--who knows?--for some crime. The natives of the fort
had caught glimpses of him now and then; he was huge and old and gray, and
now in the darkness of the forest was striking himself on the chest,
standing there in the gloom of the leaves, trampling the plantains under
foot, taller than the tallest man, smiting himself in the pride of his
strength.
"Boom--boom."
It is a hair-lifting sound when you know the cause, but it left Meeus
unmoved. His mind was too full of the business of writing his report to
draw images or listen to imagination; all the same, this sinister
drum-beat acted upon his subconscious self and, scarcely knowing why he
did so, he got up from the table and came outside to the fort wall and
looked over away into the dark.
There was not a star in the sky. A dense pall of cloud stretched from
horizon to horizon, and the wind, as Meeus stepped from the veranda into
the darkness, died away utterly.
He stood looking into the dark. He could make out the forest, a blackness
humped and crouching in the surrounding blackness. There was not a ray of
light from the sky, and now and again came the drum--
"Boom--boom."
Then it ceased, and a bat passed so close that the wind of it stirred his
hair. He spat the taint of it from his mouth, and returning to the house,
seated himself at the table and continued his work.
But the night was to be fateful in sounds and surprises. He had not been
sitting five minutes when a voice from the blackness outside made him drop
his pen and listen.
It was a European voice, shouting and raving and laughing, and Meeus, as
he listened, clutched at the table, for the voice was known to him. It was
the voice of Berselius!
Berselius, who was hundreds of miles away in the elephant country!
Meeus heard his own name. It came in to him out of the darkness, followed
by a peal of laughter. Rapid steps sounded coming across the courtyard,
and the sweat ran from Meeus's face and his stomach crawled as, with a
bound across the veranda, a huge man framed himself in the doorway and
stood motionless as a statue.
For the first moment Meeus did not recognize Adams. He was filthy and
tattered, he wore no coat, and his hunting shirt was open at the neck, and
the arms of it rolled up above the elbows.
Adams, for the space of ten seconds, stood staring at Meeus from under his
pith helmet. The face under the helmet seemed cast from bronze.
Then he came in and shut the door behind him, walked to the table, took
Meeus by the coat at the back of the neck, and lifted him up as a man
lifts a dog by the scruff.
For a moment it seemed as if he were going to kill the wretched man
without word or explanation, but he mastered himself with a supreme
effort, put him down, took the vacant seat at the table and cried:
"Stand before me there."
Meeus stood. He held on to the table with his left hand and with his right
he made pawing movements in the air.
The big man seated at the table did not notice. He sat for a few seconds
with both hands clasped together, one making a cup for the other, just as
a man might sit about to make a speech and carefully considering his
opening words.
Then he spoke.
"_Did you kill those people by the Silent Pools?_"
Meeus made no reply, but drew a step back and put out his hand, as if
fending the question off, as if asking for a moment in which to explain.
He had so many things to say, so many reasons to give, but he could say
nothing, for his tongue was paralyzed and his lips were dry.
"_Did you kill those people by the Silent Pools?_"
The awful man at the table was beginning to work himself up. He had risen
at the second question, and at the third time of asking he seized Meeus by
the shoulders. "_Did you kill those people----?_"
"Punishment," stuttered Meeus.
A cry like the cry of a woman and a crash that shook the plaster from the
ceiling, followed the fatal word. Adams had swung the man aloft and dashed
him against the wall with such force, that the wattling gave and the
plaster fell in flakes.
Meeus lay still as death, staring at his executioner with a face
expressionless and white as the plaster flakes around him.
"Get up," said Adams.
Meeus heard and moved his arms.
"Get up."
Again the arms moved and the body raised itself, but the legs did not
move. "I cannot," said Meeus.
Adams came to him and bending down pinched his right thigh hard.
"Do you feel me touching you?"
"No."
Adams did the same to the other thigh.
"Do you feel that?"
"No."
"Lie there," said Adams.
He opened the door and went out into the night. A moment later he
returned; after him came the two porters bearing Berselius between them.
Berselius was quiet now; the brain fever that had stricken him had passed
into a muttering stage, and he let himself be carried, passive as a bag of
meal, whilst Adams went before with the lamp leading the way into the
bedroom. Here, on one of the beds, the porters laid their burden down.
Then they came back, and under the directions of Adams lifted Meeus and
carried him into the bedroom and placed him on the second bed.
Adams, with the lamp in his hand, stood for a moment looking at Meeus. His
rage had spent itself; he had avenged the people at the Silent Pools. With
his naked hands he had inflicted on the criminal before him an injury
worse than the injury of fire or sword.
Meeus, frightened now by the pity in the face of the other, horribly
frightened by the unknown thing that had happened to him, making him dead
from the waist down, moved his lips, but made no sound.
"Your back is broken," replied Adams to the question in the other's eyes.
Then he turned to Berselius.
* * * * *
At midnight the rains broke with a crash of thunder that seemed to shake
the universe.
Adams, worn out, was seated at the table in the living room smoking some
tobacco he had found in a tin on the shelf, and listening to the rambling
of Berselius, when the thunder-clap came, making the lamp shiver on the
table.
Meeus, who had been silent since his death sentence had been read to him,
cried out at the thunder, but Berselius did not heed--he was hunting
elephants under a burning sun in a country even vaster than the elephant
country.
Adams rose up and came to the door; not a drop of rain had fallen yet. He
crossed the yard and stood at the fort wall looking into blackness. It was
solid as ebony, and he could hear the soldiers, whose huts were outside
the wall, calling to one another.
A great splash of light lit up the whole roof of the forest clear as day,
and the darkness shut down again with a bang that hit the ear like a blow,
and the echoes of it roared and rumbled and muttered, and died, and
Silence wrapped herself again in her robe and sat to wait.
Now, there was a faint stirring of the air, increasing to a breeze, and
far away a sound like the spinning of a top came on the breeze. It was the
rain, miles away, coming over the forest in a solid sheet, the sound of it
increasing on the great drum of the forest's roof to a roar.
Another flash lit the world, and Adams saw the rain.
He saw what it is given to very few men to see. From horizon to horizon,
as if built by plumb, line and square, stretched a glittering wall,
reaching from the forest to the sky. The base of this wall was lost in
snow-white billows of spray and mist.
Never was there so tremendous a sight as this infinite wall and the
Niagara clouds of spray, roaring, living, and lit by the great flash one
second, drowned out by the darkness and the thunder the next.
Adams, terrified, ran back to the house, shut the door, and waited.
The house was solidly built and had withstood many rains, but there were
times when it seemed to him that the whole place must be washed away
bodily. Nothing could be heard but the rain, and the sound of such rain is
far more terrifying than the sound of thunder or the rumble of the
earthquake.
There were times when he said to himself, "This cannot last," yet it
lasted. With the lamp in his hand he went into the sleeping room to see
how Berselius and Meeus were doing. Berselius was still, to judge from the
movements of his lips, delirious, and just the same. Meeus was lying with
his hands on his breast. He might have been asleep, only for his eyes,
wide open and bright, and following every movement of the man with the
lamp.
Meeus, catching the other's eye, motioned to him to come near. Then he
tried to speak, but the roar outside made it impossible to hear him. Adams
pointed to the roof, as if to say, "Wait till it is over," then he came
back to the sitting room, tore the leopard skin down from the wall, rolled
it up for a pillow, and lay down with his head on it.
He had been through so much of late that he had grown callous and
case-hardened; he did not care much whether the place was washed away or
not--he wanted to sleep, and he slept.
Meeus, left alone, lay watching the glimmer of the lamp shining through
the cracks of the door, and listening to the thunder of the rain.
This was the greatest rain he had experienced. He wondered if it would
flood the go-down and get at the rubber stored there; he wondered if the
soldiers had deserted their huts and taken refuge in the office. These
thoughts were of not the slightest interest to him; they just came and
strayed across his mind, which was still half-paralyzed by the great
calamity that had befallen him.
For the last half-hour an iron hand seemed round his body just on a level
with the diaphragm; this seemed growing tighter, and the tighter it grew
the more difficult it was to breathe. The fracture had been very high up,
but he knew nothing of this; he knew that his back was broken, and that
men with broken backs die, but he did not fully realize that he was going
to die till--all at once--his breathing stopped dead of its own accord,
and then of its own accord went on rapidly and shallowly. Then he
recognized that his breathing was entirely under the control of something
over which _he_ had no control.
This is the most terrible thing a man can know, for it is a thing that no
man ever knows till he is in the hands of death.
* * * * *
It was daylight when Adams awoke, and the rain had ceased.
He went to the door and opened it. It was after sunrise, but the sun was
not to be seen. The whole world was a vapour, but through which the forest
was dimly visible. The soldiers were in the courtyard; they had just come
out of the office where they had taken refuge during the night. Their huts
had been washed away, but they did not seem to mind a bit; they showed
their teeth in a grin, and shouted something when they saw the white man,
and pointed to the rainswept yard and the sky.
Adams nodded, and then went back into the house and into the bedroom,
where he found Meeus hanging head downward out of his bed.
Rubber would trouble Andreas Meeus no more; his soul had gone to join the
great army of souls in the Beyond.
It is strange enough to look upon the body of a man you have killed. But
Adams had no more pity or compunction in his mind than if Meeus had been a
stoat.
He turned to Berselius, who was sleeping. The delirium had passed, and he
was breathing evenly and well. There was hope for him yet--hope for his
body if not for his mind.