condition was hopeless; she lay upon "a rude bed formed of boxes, but
covered with a soft mattress," and thus, her husband beside her, she
died in the heart of the great continent for which she and those most
dear to her had spent themselves.
[Sidenote: Lady Baker]
An even greater African explorer than Mrs. Livingstone was Lady Baker,
wife of Sir Samuel Baker. She was a Hungarian, and married Baker in
1860, when he had already done some colonisation work by settling a
number of Englishmen in Ceylon. In the year following their marriage,
the Bakers went to Egypt, determined to clear up that greatest of all
mysteries to African explorers--the secret of the Nile sources. Arrived
at Khartoum, they fitted out an expedition and set off up the river with
twenty-nine camels.
One day, as they pushed on slowly in that silent, burning land, they
heard that white men were approaching; and sure enough, there soon
appeared before them the figures of Speke and Grant, two well-known
explorers who had gone out a year before and whom many feared to have
been lost. These men had found the source of the Nile in the Victoria
Nyanza. But they told the Bakers a wonderful story of how they had heard
rumours from time to time of the existence of another lake into which
the Nile was said to flow.
The minds of Baker and his wife were fired to emulation. Parting from
their newly-met countrymen, they pressed onwards and southwards. They
had to go a long distance out of their way to avoid the slave-traders
who were determined to wreck their plans if they could.
"We have heard a good deal recently of lady travellers in Africa," said
the _Times_ a long time afterwards, "but their work has been mere
child's play compared with the trials which Lady Baker had to undergo in
forcing her way into a region absolutely unknown and bristling with
dangers of every kind."
But after encountering many adventures, the determined traveller and his
brave wife at last reached the top of a slope from which, on looking
down, they saw a vast inland ocean. No eye of white man had ever beheld
this lake before, and to Lady Baker, not less than to her husband,
belongs the glory of the discovery of the lake which all the world knows
to-day as the Albert Nyanza.
"Thus," to quote an earlier passage in the same _Times_ article, "amid
many hardships and at the frequent risk of death at the hands of Arab
slavers and hostile chiefs, Baker and his wife forged one of the most
important links in the course of one of the world's most famous rivers."
After many further difficulties, the explorers found their way back to
the coast, and thence to England. But their fame had gone before them,
and everywhere they were welcomed. And though it was Baker who was
awarded a gold medal by the Royal Geographical Society, all must have
felt that the honour belonged, not less, to his courageous wife.
[Sidenote: Mary Kingsley]
It may be said that Lady Baker was not alone in her journeys. On the
other hand, Mary Kingsley, another woman African traveller, led her own
expeditions. Moreover, her travelling was often done through territory
reeking with disease. At the age of twenty-nine she explored the Congo
River, and visited Old Calabar, and in 1894 ascended the mountain of
Mungo Mah Lobeh. After her return to England she lectured upon her
adventures. One more journey, this time not of exploration, was she to
make to the great African continent. In 1900 she volunteered as a nurse
during the war, and went out to the Cape. Here she was employed to nurse
sick Boer prisoners. But her work was done. Enteric fever struck her
down and, before long, the traveller had set out upon her last journey.
The names we have mentioned have been those of famous travellers--women
whose work is part of the history of discovery. But there are hundreds
of courageous women to-day, not perhaps engaged in exploration, but who,
nevertheless, are living in remote stations in the heart of Africa, in
the midst of the Australian "never-never," in the lonely islands of the
Pacific--women whose husbands, whose fathers, whose brothers are
carrying on the work of Empire, or the greater work of the gospel.
Often one of these women is the only white person of her sex for
hundreds of miles. Perhaps she is the first who has ever set foot in the
region wherein she lives. Yet her courage does not fail. When, as
sometimes she does, she writes a book describing her adventures, it is
sure to be full of high spirits and amusing descriptions of the
primitive methods of cooking and housekeeping to which she must submit.
The other side of the picture, the loneliness, the intense heat or cold,
the mosquitoes or other pests, the compulsion, through absence of
assistance, to do what at home could be done by a servant--all this is
absent.
Women may have changed, but certainly woman in the difficult places of
the Empire, whether she be missionary, squatter, or consul's wife, has
lost nothing in courage, in perseverance, in cheerful or even smiling
submission to hard conditions.
[Sidenote: A rural story this--of adventurous youngsters and a pathetic
figure that won their sympathy.]
Poor Jane's Brother
BY
MARIE F. SALTON
Ever since the twins could remember Poor Jane had lived in the village.
In fact, she had lived there all her life, though one could not expect
the twins to remember that, for they were very young indeed, and Poor
Jane was quite old.
Poor Jane did not dress like other folks. Her boots were so large and
sloppy that her feet seemed to shake about in them, and she shuffled
along the ground when she walked. These boots could never have been
cleaned since Jane had had them, and the twins firmly believed that they
always had been that queer dust-colour, until one day Nan told them that
when they were quite new they were black and shiny like ordinary boots.
Poor Jane always wore a brown, muddy, gingham skirt, frayed and
tattered, and the torn pieces hung like a frill from her knees to the
tops of her dust-coloured boots. Over her chest she wore a dark-grey
woollen cross-over, and on her head was a dirty shawl, which hung down
her back, and was pinned across her breast. Little straw-like wisps of
straight brown hair stuck out from under the shawl over her forehead
and ears. Her face was dried up and shrivelled, and her cheek-bones were
so sharp that they tried to prick through the skin.
Poor Jane did not often wash, so her wrinkles, and what Dumpty called
her "laughing lines," were marked quite black with dirt. Her lips were
not rosy and fresh like mummie's or Dumpty's, but they were of a
purple-grey colour, and when she opened her mouth, instead of a row of
pearly white teeth showing, there was only one very large yellow tooth,
which looked as if it could not stay much longer in the gum.
The twins always thought that she must live on milk, as babies do before
they have any teeth, but to their amazement they heard that last
Christmas, at the Old People's Tea, Poor Jane had eaten two plates of
salt beef.
"Do you think she sucked it?" Dumpty asked her brother that evening when
nurse was safely out of the way. Humpty asked daddy the next day at
lunch how old people managed to eat when they had only one tooth.
[Sidenote: Humpty's Experiment]
Daddy said they "chewed," and showed Humpty how it was done, and there
was a scene that afternoon in the nursery at tea, when Humpty practised
"chewing" his bread and honey. And in the end Dumpty went down alone to
the drawing-room for games that evening, with this message from Nan:
"Master Humphrey has behaved badly at the tea-table, and been sent to
bed."
[Illustration: BARBARA'S VISIT.]
But although the children met Poor Jane every time that they went into
the village they had never once spoken to her. That was because she was
not one of nurse's friends, like old Mrs. Jenks, whom Barbara, the
twins' elder sister, visited every week with flowers or fruit or other
good things. Nan considered that Poor Jane was too dirty for one of her
friends.
Poor Jane was so interesting because she had so much to say to herself,
and, as daddy said, "gibbered like a monkey" when she walked alone.
All day long she would wander up and down the village street, and when
the children came out of school and the boys began to tease, she would
curl her long black-nailed fingers--which were so like birds' claws--at
her persecutors, and would run towards them as if she meant to scratch
out their eyes.
Early last spring the twins met with their first real adventure. They
had had lots of little adventures before, such as the time when Humpty
fell into the pond at his cousins' and was nearly drowned, and when
Dumpty had a tooth drawn, and because she was brave and did not make a
fuss, daddy and mummie each presented her with a shilling, and even the
dentist gave her a penny and a ride in his chair.
But this time it was a real adventure because every one--twins
included--was frightened.
The twins had just recovered from bad colds in their heads, which they
had passed on to all the grown-ups in the house, and a cold in the head
makes grown-ups particularly cross, so the twins found.
Mum came up to the nursery with a very hoarse voice and streaming eyes,
but when she saw Nan she forgot about her own cold, and said that Nan
must go to bed at once, and have something warm to drink, and put a nice
hot-water bottle between the sheets. For a long time Nan said that
nothing would make her go to bed, but at last mum, who is very sweet,
and of whom Nan is really quite afraid, persuaded her to lie down, and
herself brought up a dose of quinine.
It had rained all the morning, but the sun was shining so brightly now
that the twins stood looking longingly out of the nursery window, while
mummie helped Nan into bed.
"Can we go out, mum?" asked Humpty.
"There is no one to take you out, darling," said mummie thoughtfully;
"but it is so nice and sunny now that I think you ought to go. It is too
wet to play in the garden, and if you go alone you must promise to
walk along the road to the end of the village, and straight back again.
Now, remember to walk where it is clean and dry, and keep moving, and do
not stop to play with the puddles, and when you come in you shall have
tea with me."
"Hooray!" shouted the children; "two treats in one afternoon!"
It did not take the twins long to get ready for their walk that
afternoon. They were so excited, for they had never been out alone for a
walk before, though, of course, they used to play by themselves in the
garden.
Each was inwardly hoping that they might meet Poor Jane, and so they
did. As they came out of the drive gate they saw Poor Jane shuffling
quickly up the road.
"Let's walk slowly," whispered Dumpty, quivering with excitement, "and
perhaps she will catch us up."
In a few minutes the old woman had overtaken them.
[Sidenote: Jane's New Gloves]
All Nurse's injunctions were forgotten. The children stood still and
stared, for Poor Jane was wearing a pair of brand new, red woollen
gloves! Poor Jane saw them looking, and she crossed from the other side
of the road and came near the children. Dumpty gave a little scream of
terror, but Humpty caught her by the hand, so that she could not run
away.
"Good afternoon," he said; "what nice red gloves you have!"
The old woman looked at her hands with great pride. "Beautiful red
gloves," she said, spreading out her fingers. "I had the chilblains bad,
so Mrs. Duke gave 'em to me. Beautiful red gloves!" She began cackling
to herself, staring hard at the children as she did so. She had brown,
staring eyes that looked very large and fierce in her thin face.
"Where's your nuss?" she asked, beginning to walk along by the side of
the children.
"Our what?" asked Dumpty, puzzled.
"She means nurse," said Humpty, with great emphasis. "Nan is ill with a
cold in her head," he explained, "and mum has just made her go to bed
and drink hot milk."
"I often see ye passin'," said Poor Jane conversationally.
"Yes," said Humpty, who was still holding his sister's hand tight, "we
often come this way for a walk, and we always see you."
"You always walk this way, don't you?" said Dumpty bravely, though she
still trembled with fright.
"Yes, I allus come along 'ere, every day, wet or fine."
"Why?" asked Humpty, who had an inquiring mind.
Then the old woman seized him by the arm. Humpty turned white with
terror, but his courage did not forsake him.
"Why?" he repeated boldly.
The old woman pinched his arm.
"Don't you know why I come here?" she asked, her voice getting shriller
and shriller; "don't you know why I walk up and down this road every
day, fine or wet, through snow and hail?" She lowered her voice
mysteriously, and clutched hold of Dumpty, who could not help shrieking.
"You're a lucky little miss; you keep your brother as long as you can.
Ah! my poor brother, my poor brother!"
"Is your brother dead?" asked Dumpty sympathetically. She was not so
frightened now, for although the old woman still held her pretty tight
she did not look as if she meant to hurt them.
"No, he is alive! He is alive! They tell me he is dead, but I know
better. A circus came to Woodstead" (the little shopping-town two miles
from the village), "and he joined that--he had to go; the circus
people--they was gipsies most of 'em--forced him--and he 'ad to go; 'e
is a clown now."
"A clown!" cried the twins.
"Yus, and they won't let 'im come back to his poor old Jane. They're a
keepin' us apart, they're a keepin' us apart!" And her voice died away
in a wail. She stopped in the middle of the road.
"Poor Jane!" whispered Dumpty; "poor Jane! I am so sorry"; but Jane took
no more notice of them, but went on murmuring to herself, "Keepin' us
apart--keepin' us apart."
"Come on, Dump," said Humpty at last; "it's no good staying, she doesn't
seem to want us." Dumpty joined him, and there were tears in her eyes.
What Poor Jane had said was so very, very sad. The twins had so much to
think about now that they talked very little during their walk, but when
they did, it was all about Poor Jane and her brother, who was the clown
in a circus.
When they got home the children had tea and games downstairs, and
altogether it was great fun, but they did not mention their meeting with
Poor Jane. That was their secret.
For days afterwards they talked it over and wondered whether Jane would
speak to them the next time they met on the road, but when they went
down the village again with nurse the old woman passed them by without a
sign of recognition.
Three months passed and June had come, and one day Nan and the children
went down to the village shop to buy slate-pencils.
[Sidenote: Mrs. Moses' Question]
"Are you taking the children to the circus?" asked Mrs. Moses, the
shopwoman.
The twins pricked up their ears.
"When is it?" asked Nan.
"To-morrow, at Woodstead," answered Mrs. Moses; and she showed the
children two large bills with pictures on them, of a beautiful young
lady with yellow hair, who was walking on a tight-rope, a dark lady
balancing herself on a golden globe, a young man riding, bare-back, on a
fierce white horse, and a lion jumping through flames of fire, while in
the corner was the picture of a clown grinning through a hoop.
"Oh, Nan!" said Humpty, when they were outside, "can we go?"
"I shall ask mummie when we get home what she thinks about it," said
nurse, "but you are not to be disappointed or cross if she won't let
you."
That evening when mummie came up to bid good-night to the twins in bed
they were told that they might go. Nurse had been promised to-morrow
off, so that she might have tea with her sister, who lived at Woodstead,
but she had very kindly said that she would be quite willing to take the
twins with her, and put them into seats in the circus, and then she
would come for them at the end of the performance.
The twins were delighted, and almost too excited to speak. After mummie
had gone they lay awake thinking.
"Humpty," said Dumpty presently, "what are you thinking about?"
"The circus," answered Humpty promptly.
"And I," said Dumpty pensively--"I have been thinking about Poor Jane."
"I have been thinking about her lots too," said Humpty.
"And oh, Humpty! supposing the clown should be her brother, what should
we do?"
"We should bring him back to Poor Jane of course," said Humpty.
"But how shall we know whether he is her brother?"
"He will look like her, of course, stupid," replied Humpty, a little
crossly, for he was beginning to feel sleepy.
[Sidenote: At the Circus]
They had an early dinner next day, and then Edward brought the pony
round to the door, and they set off for Woodstead. Nurse was looking
very smart in a black bonnet and silk mantle, and the children felt
almost as if she were a stranger. Soon they came to a large meadow,
where stood a great tent with steps leading up to it, and a man stood on
the top of the steps beating a drum and crying, "Children half-price!
Walk up! Walk up!"
There was a nice man inside, who led the children past rows of bare
seats, raised one above the other, till he came to a part which was
curtained off from the rest. He drew the curtain to one side to let the
children pass in, and they saw four rows of comfortable seats with
backs, covered with scarlet cloth.
"Yes, these will do nicely," said Nan; "and now, children, you must sit
here quietly till the circus is over, and I shall come and fetch you at
half-past four."
The children now had time to look about. A large plot of grass had been
encircled with a low wooden fence, hung with more red cloth. Inside this
ring some of the grass had been taken up, so that there was a narrow
path where the horses would canter right round the ring. Quite close to
the children was an elegant carriage--wagon-shaped--where the musicians
sat, and made a great noise with their instruments. One of the men
played the drum and cymbals at the same time. On their right the tent
was open and led out on to the meadow, and this was the entrance for the
horses and performers.
After playing the same tune through seven times, the band changed its
music and began a quick, lively air, and in came trotting, mounted on a
black horse with a white nose, a rather elderly lady with golden hair.
She did not sit on an ordinary saddle, but on what appeared to be an
oval tea-tray covered with blue satin. Behind her followed a serious,
dignified gentleman, who was busily cracking a long whip. His name, the
twins soon learned, was Mr. Brooks, for so all the performers addressed
him.
The lady rode twice round the ring, and on dismounting kissed her hands
to the audience in a friendly manner.
"I want to introduce to you, ladies and gentlemen, my wonderful
performing horse Diamond. Diamond, make your bow."
Whereupon Diamond--with some difficulty--bent his knees, and thrust his
head down to the ground.
The twins were enchanted.
But this was by no means the best of Diamond's accomplishments. By
looking at a watch he could tell the time, and explained to the audience
that it was now seventeen minutes past three, by pawing on a plank of
wood with his hoof three times, and then, after a moment's pause,
seventeen times. He could shake his head wisely to mean "yes" or "no";
he could find the lady's pocket-handkerchief amongst the audience, and,
finally, he refused to leave the ring without his mistress, and when she
showed no sign of accompanying him, he trotted behind her, and pushed
her out with his soft white nose.
Next an acrobat came somersaulting in. He did all sorts of strange
things, such as balancing himself upside down on the broad shoulders of
Mr. Brooks, and tying himself into a kind of knot and so entangling his
limbs that it became impossible to tell the legs from the arms.
After he had gone there was a long pause, and then came tottering in,
with slow and painful footsteps, an old, old man. He was dressed in a
dirty black suit, and wore an old battered bowler. His clothes were
almost in rags, and he had muffled up his face with a long black
comforter.
A strange hush came over the audience as he sat down in the ring to
rest, only Humpty and Dumpty leaned forward eagerly to watch. "It is
Poor Jane's brother," said Humpty very loudly.
Mr. Brooks went up to the tired old man. "I am afraid you are very
tired, my good man," he said kindly.
"Very tired, very tired indeed, Mr. Brooks," sighed Poor Jane's brother.
"Mr. Brooks!" cried the owner of that name, "how, sir, do you know that
my name is Brooks?" And then a wonderful thing happened. The old man
sprang to his feet, his rags dropped from him, he tore off the black
comforter, and behold! he was a clown with a large red nose, who cried,
"Here we are again!"
How the children laughed and clapped, and how pleased the twins were to
have discovered Poor Jane's brother!
Oh, the things that clown did! The familiar way in which he spoke to Mr.
Brooks! The practical jokes that he played on him! Then in trotted old
Diamond to join in the fun, and here was a chance for the clown to take
a lesson in riding. He mounted by climbing up the tail, and then he rode
sitting with his back to the horse's head. He tried standing upright
whilst Diamond was galloping, but could not keep his balance, and fell
forward with his arms clasped tightly round the animal's neck. In the
end Diamond, growing tired of his antics, pitched him over his head, but
the clown did not seem to mind, for before he had reached the ground he
turned an immense somersault--then another--and the third carried him
right through the entrance back into the meadow where the caravans were
standing.
"Humpty," asked Dumpty, "what are we to do?"
[Sidenote: To the Rescue!]
"We must go at once and rescue him," answered the boy.
The twins slipped from their seats, and crept to the back of the tent.
"I think we can squeeze under this," said Humpty, as he began wriggling
under the awning. He then helped Dumpty, who was rather fat, and showed
signs of getting stuck.
"How cool it is outside!" remarked Dumpty, who had found it hot and
stifling under the tent. "I would like to know what is going on,
wouldn't you?" she added, as a peal of merry laughter came from the
tent.
"We will go back presently," said Humpty; "but we must first find Poor
Jane's brother."
There were two or three small tents, and one large one, in which the
horses were stabled. Dumpty longed to stop and talk to a dear little
piebald pony, but Humpty carried her on till they came to the caravans.
Four or five men were lying face downwards on the grass--worn out and
tired. Before the steps of one caravan a group of children were playing,
whilst one woman in a red shawl sat on the steps smoking a clay pipe,
and holding a dirty-looking baby in her arms.
The twins stole round the caravan, taking good care not to be seen.
There was as yet no sign of the clown.
At last they found a smaller caravan which stood apart from the others,
and the door was ajar. "Perhaps he is in there," suggested Humpty. "I am
going to see." And he ran up the steps and peeped inside.
"Oh, do come, Dumpty!" he cried; "it is awfully interesting."
Dumpty tumbled up the steps.
"Oh, Humpty!" she said, "how lovely!"
It really was a very nice caravan, and spotlessly clean. There were dear
little red curtains in front of the window and a red mat on the floor.
All over the wall hung baskets made in pretty green and blue straw of
all shapes and sizes. On the chair lay a bundle of peacock's feathers.
"These are like what the gipsies sell," remarked Dumpty. A gipsy's
basket was lying on the floor, in which were tin utensils for cooking,
and two or three saucepans. Bootlaces had been wound round the handle.
The twins were fascinated, and turned everything over with great
interest. They found a large cupboard, too, containing all sorts of
beautiful clothes--lovely velvet dresses, and robes of gold and silver.
"How dark it is getting!" said Humpty presently; "why did you shut the
door?"
"I didn't shut the door," answered Dumpty; "I spect the wind did."
They took a long time in exploring the cupboard. Suddenly Humpty cried,
"We have forgotten Poor Jane's brother!"
They made a rush for the door.
"Here, Humpty, will you open it? This handle is stiff."
Humpty pulled and struggled with the handle until he was red in the
face.
"I can't get it open," he said at last.
"Let me try again," said Dumpty, and she pushed and struggled, but to no
purpose.
For a long time she and Humpty tried alternately to open the door, but
nothing that they could do was of any avail.
[Sidenote: Locked in]