The Pools of Silence Part 25

"Ahi, ahee!"

Then, at last, a dim red glow shone through the foliage before them and bursting their way through the leaves they broke into an open s.p.a.ce where, alone, by a small fire of dry branches and brushwood, sat a native, stark naked, except for a sc.r.a.p of dingy loincloth, and looking like a black gnome, a faun of this horrible place, and the very concretion of its desolation and death.

He was sitting when they caught their first glimpse of him, with his chin supported on his hand, but the instant he saw the faces of the white men he rose as if to escape, then the porter called out something that rea.s.sured him, and he sat down again and s.h.i.+vered.

He was one of the rubber collectors. He had reached this spot the day before, and had built himself a shelter of leaves and branches. He would be here for ten days or a fortnight, and his food, chiefly ca.s.sava, lay in a little pile in the shelter, covered over with leaves.

The porter continued speaking to the collector, who, now regaining the use of his limbs, stood up before the white men, hands folded in front of him, and his eyes rolling from Berselius to Adams.

"M'Ba.s.sa," said Adams, touching the porter, pointing to the collector, and then away into the forest in the direction he fancied Fort M'Ba.s.sa to be.

The porter understood. He said a few words to the collector, who nodded his head furiously and struck himself on the breast with his open hand.

Then the porter turned again to Adams.

"M'Ba.s.sa," said he, nodding his head, pointing to the collector, and then away into the forest.

That was all, but it meant that they were saved.

Adams gave a great whoop that echoed away through the trees, startling bats and birds in the branches and losing itself without an echo in the depths of the gloom. Then he struck himself a blow on the chest with his fist.

"My G.o.d!" said he, "the tent!"

They had only travelled an eighth of a mile or so from the camping place, but they had wandered this way and that before the porter had found the true direction of the call, and the tent, provisions, and everything else were lost as utterly and irrevocably as though they had been dropped in mid-ocean.

To step aside from a thing--even for a hundred yards--in this terrible place was to lose it; even the rubber collectors, from whom the forest holds few secrets have, in these thick places, to blaze a trail by breaking branches, tying lianas and marking tree trunks.

"True," said Berselius in a weary voice, "we have lost even that."

"No matter," said Adams, "we have got a guide. Cheer up, this man will take us to Fort M'Ba.s.sa and there you will find the road again."

"Are you sure?" said Berselius, a touch of hope in his voice.

"Sure? Certain. You've forgotten Fort M'Ba.s.sa. Well, when you see it, you will remember it, and it will lead you right away home. Cheer up, cheer up; we've got a fire and a bit of shelter for you to sleep under, and we'll start bright and early in the morning, and this black imp of Satan will lead you straight back to your road and your memory--hey! Uncle Joe!"

He patted the collector on the naked shoulder and a faint grin appeared on that individual's forlorn countenance; never had he come across a white man like this before. Then, bustling about, Adams piled up the fire with more sticks, got Berselius under the shelter of the collector's wretched hut, sat himself down close to the fire, produced his pipe, and proceeded, in one glorious debauch, to finish the last of his tobacco.

This rubber collector, the last and the humblest creature on earth, had given them fire and shelter; they were also to be beholden to him for food. His wretched ca.s.sava cakes and his calabash of water gave them their breakfast next morning, and then they started, the collector leading, walking before them through the dense growth of the trees as a.s.suredly as a man following a well-known road. It was a terrible thing for him to leave his post, but the white men were from M'Ba.s.sa and wished to return to M'Ba.s.sa, and M'Ba.s.sa was the head centre of his work and the terrible Mecca of his fears. White men from there and going to there must be obeyed.

This was the last phase of the great hunt. Berselius had been slowly stripped by the wilderness of everything now but the clothes he stood up in, his companion and two porters. Guns, equipment, tents, stores, the Zappo Zap, and the army of men under that ferocious lieutenant, had all "gone dam." He was mud to the knees, his clothing was torn, he was mud to the elbows from having tripped last night and fallen in a quagmire, his face was white and drawn and grimy as the face of a London cabrunner, his hair was grayer and dull, but his eyes were bright and he was happy. At M'Ba.s.sa he would be put upon the road again--the only road to the thing he craved for as burning Dives craved for water--himself.

But it was ordained that he should find that questionably desirous person before reaching M'Ba.s.sa.

They had been on the march for an hour when Adams, fussing like a person who is making his first journey by rail, stopped the guide to make sure he was leading them right.

"M'Ba.s.sa?" said Adams.

"M'Ba.s.sa," replied the other, nodding his head. Then with outspread hand he pointed before them and made a semicircular sweep to indicate that he was leading them for some reason by a circuitous route.

He was making, in fact, for open ground that would bring them in the direction of the fort by a longer but much easier road than a direct line through the jungle. He was making also for water, for his scant supply had been exhausted by his guests, and he knew the road he was taking would lead him to broad pools of water. Adams nodded his head to imply that he understood, and the man led on.

CHAPTER XXIX

THE VISION OF THE POOLS

Somewhere about noon they halted for a rest and some food. It was less boggy here, and the sunlight showed stronger through the dense roof of foliage. The ca.s.sava cakes were tainted with must, and they had no water, but the increasing light made them forget everything but the freedom that was opening before them.

Adams pointed to the empty calabash which their guide carried, and the collector nodded and pointed before them, as if to imply that soon they would come to water and that all would be well.

Now, as they resumed their way, the trees altered and drew farther apart, the ground was solid under foot, and through the foliage of the euphorbia and raphia palm came stray glimmers of suns.h.i.+ne, bits of blue sky, birds, voices, and the whisper of a breeze.

"This is better," said Berselius.

Adams flung up his head and expanded his nostrils.

"Better, my G.o.d!" said he; "this is heaven!"

It was heaven, indeed, after that h.e.l.l of gloom; that bog roofed in with leaves, the very smell of which clings to one for ever like the memory of a fever dream.

All at once patches of sunlight appeared in front as well as above. They quickened their pace, the trees drew apart, and, suddenly, with theatrical effect, a park-like sward of land lay before them leading to a sheet of blue water reflecting tall feather-palms and waving speargra.s.s, all domed over with blue, and burning in the bright, bright suns.h.i.+ne.

"The Silent Pools!" cried Adams. "The very place where I saw the leopard chasing the antelope! Great Scott!--Hi! hi! hi! you there!--where are you going?"

The collector had raced down to the water's edge; he knew the dangers of the place, for he divided the gra.s.s, filled his calabash with water, and dashed back before anything could seize him. Then, without drinking, he came running with the calabash to the white men.

Adams handed the calabash first to his companion.

Berselius drank and then wiped his forehead; he seemed disturbed in his mind and had a dazed look.

He had never come so far along the edge of the pools as this, but there was something in the configuration of the place that stirred his sleeping memory.

"What is it?" asked Adams.

"I don't know," replied Berselius. "I have dreamt--I have seen--I remember something--somewhere--"

Adams laughed.

"I know," said he; "you come along, and in a few minutes you will see something that will help your memory. Why, man, we camped near here, you and I and Meeus; when you see the spot you'll find yourself on your road again. Come, let's make a start."

The collector was standing with the half-full calabash in his hands.

He had not dared to drink. Adams nodded to him, motioning him to do so, but he handed it first to the porter. Then, when the porter had drunk, the collector finished the remains of the water and the last few drops he flung on the ground, an offering, perhaps, to some G.o.d or devil of his own. Then he led on, skirting the water's edge. The loveliness of the place had not lessened since Adams had seen it last; even the breeze that was blowing to-day did not disturb the spirit of sweet and profound peace which held in a charm this lost garden of the wilderness; the palms bent as if in sleep, the water dimpled to the breeze and seemed to smile, a flamingo, with rose-coloured wings, pa.s.sed and flew before them and vanished beyond the rocking tops of the trees that still sheltered the camping place where once Berselius had raised his tent.

Again, with theatrical effect, as the pools had burst upon them on leaving the forest, the camping place unveiled itself.