THE RIVER OF GOLD
Next morning they started.
The corporal, three of the soldiers, and the two porters made up the
escort.
Berselius, who was strong enough to walk a little way, began the journey
on foot, but they had not gone five miles on their road when he showed
signs of fatigue, and Adams insisted on him taking to the litter.
It was the same road by which Félix had led them, but it was very
different travelling; where the ground had been hard underfoot it was now
soft, and where it had been elastic it was now boggy; it was more gloomy,
and the forest was filled with watery voices; where it dipped down into
valleys, you could hear the rushing and mourning of waters. Tiny trickles
of water had become rivulets--rivulets streams.
Away in the elephant country it was the same, the dry river-bed where they
had found the carcass of the elephant, was now the bed of rushing water.
The elephant and antelope herds were wandering in clouds on the plains. A
hundred thousand streams from Tanganyika to Yandjali were leaping to form
rivers flowing for one destination, the Congo and the sea.
On the second day of their journey, an accident happened; one of the
porters, released for a spell from bearing the litter, and loitering
behind, was bitten by a snake.
He died despite all Adams's attempts to save him, and, leaving his body to
be buried by the leopards, they passed on.
But the soldiers, especially the corporal, took the matter strangely.
These bloodthirsty wretches, inured to death and thinking nothing of it,
seemed cast down, and at the camping place they drew aside, chattered
together for a few minutes, and then the corporal came to Berselius and
began a harangue, his eyes rolling toward Adams now and then as he
proceeded.
Berselius listened, spoke a few words, and then turned to Adams.
"He says you have brought something with you that is unlucky, and that
unless you throw it away, we shall all die."
"I know what he means," replied Adams; "I have brought a relic from that
village by the Silent Pools. I shall not throw it away. You can tell him
so."
Berselius spoke to the man who still stood sullenly waiting, and who was
opening his mouth to continue his complaints, when Adams seized him by the
shoulders, turned him round, and with a kick, sent him back to his
companions.
"You should not have done that," said Berselius; "these people are very
difficult to deal with."
"Difficult!" said Adams. He stared at the soldiers who were grouped
together, slapped the Mauser pistol at his side, and then pointed to the
tent.
The men ceased muttering, and came as beaten dogs come at the call of
their master, seized the tent and put it up.
But Berselius still shook his head. He knew these people, their treachery,
and their unutterable heartlessness.
"How far are we from the river now?" asked Adams, that night, as they sat
by the fire, for which the corporal by some miracle of savagery had found
sufficient dry fuel in the reeking woods around them.
"Another two days' march," replied Berselius, "I trust that we shall reach
it."
"Oh, we'll get there," said Adams, "and shall I tell you why? Well, we'll
get there just because of that relic I am carrying. God has given me it to
take to Europe. To take to Europe and show to men that they may see the
devilment of this place, and the work of Satan that is being carried out
here."
Berselius bowed his head.
"Perhaps you are right," said he, at last, slowly and thoughtfully.
Adams said no more. The great change in his companion stood as a barrier
between him and the loathing he would have felt if Berselius had been
still himself.
The great man had fallen, and was now very low. That vision of him in his
madness by the Silent Pools had placed him forever on a plane above
others. God had dealt with this man very visibly, and the hand of God was
still upon him.
Next day they resumed their journey. The soldiers were cheerful and seemed
to have forgotten all about their grievance, but Berselius felt more
uneasy than ever. He knew these people, and that nothing could move them
to mirth and joy that was not allied to devilment, or treachery, or
death.
But he said nothing, for speech was useless.
Next morning when they woke they found the soldiers gone; they had taken
the porter with them, and as much of the provisions as they could steal
without disturbing the white men.
"I thought so," said Berselius.
Adams raged and stormed, but Berselius was perfectly calm.
"The thing I fear most," said he, "is that they have led us out of our
road. Did you notice whether we were in the track for the last mile or so
of our journey yesterday?"
"No," replied Adams, "I just followed on. Good God! if it is so we are
lost."
Now, the rubber road was just a track so faint, that without keeping his
eyes on the ground where years of travel had left just a slight indication
of the way, a European would infallibly lose it. Savages, who have eyes in
their feet, hold it all right, and go along with their burdens even in the
dark.
Adams searched, but he could find no track.
"We must leave all these things behind us," said Berselius, pointing to
the tent and litter. "I am strong enough to walk; we must strike through
the forest and leave the rest to chance."
"Which way?" asked Adams.
"It does not matter. These men have purposely lost us, and we do not know
in the least the direction of the river."
Adams's eyes fell on a bundle wrapped in cloth. It was the relic.
He knelt down beside it, and carefully removed the cloth without
disturbing the position of the skull.
He noted the direction in which the eye-holes pointed.
"We will go in that direction," said he. "We have lost ourselves, but God
has not lost us."
"Let it be so," replied Berselius.
Adams collected what provisions he could carry, tied the skull to his belt
with a piece of rope taken from the tent, and led the way amidst the
trees.
Two days later, at noon, still lost, unutterably weary, they saw through
the trees before them a sight to slay all hope.
It was the tent and the litter just as they had left them.
Two days' heart-breaking labour had brought them to this by all sorts of
paths.
They had not wandered in a circle. They had travelled in segments of
circles, and against all mathematical probability, had struck the camp.
But the camp was not tenantless. Someone was there. A huge man-like form,
a monstrous gorilla, the evil spirit that haunted the forest, bent and
gray and old-looking, was picking the things about, sniffing at them,
turning them over.
When they saw him first, he was holding the tent-cloth between both his
hands just as a draper holds a piece of cloth, then he ripped it up with a
rending sound, flung the pieces away, and began turning over the litter.
He heard the steps of the human beings, and sat up, looking around him,
sniffing the air. He could not see them, for he was purblind.
The human beings passed on into the terrible nowhere of the forest.
When you are lost like this, you cannot rest. You must keep moving, even
though you are all but hopeless of reaching freedom.
Two days later they were still lost, and now entirely hopeless.
To torment their hearts still more, faint sun-rays came through the leaves
overhead.
The sun was shining overhead; the sun they would never see again. It was
the very end of all things, for they had not eaten for twelve hours now.
The sun-rays danced, for a breeze had sprung up, and they could hear it
passing free and happily in the leaves overhead.
Berselius cast himself down by a huge tree and leaned his head against the
bark. Adams stood for a moment with his hand upon the tree-bole. He knew
that when he had cast himself down he would never rise again. It was the
full stop which would bring the story of his life to a close.
He was standing like this when, borne on the breeze above the tree-tops,
came a sound, stroke after stroke, sonorous and clear. The bell of a
steamboat!
It was the voice of the Congo telling of Life, Hope, Relief.
* * * * *
Berselius did not hear it. Sunk in a profound stupor, he would not even
raise his head.
Adams seized his companion in his arms and came facing the direction of
the breeze. He walked like a man in his sleep, threading the maze of the
trees on, on, on, till before him the day broke in one tremendous splash
of light, and the humble frame-roof of M'Bina seemed to him the roofs of
some great city, beyond which the river flowed in sheets of burnished
gold.