AN OUTPOST OF PROGRESS
I
There were two white men in charge of the trading station. Kayerts, thechief, was short and fat; Carlier, the assistant, was tall, with a largehead and a very broad trunk perched upon a long pair of thin legs. Thethird man on the staff was a Sierra Leone nigger, who maintained thathis name was Henry Price. However, for some reason or other, the nativesdown the river had given him the name of Makola, and it stuck to himthrough all his wanderings about the country. He spoke English andFrench with a warbling accent, wrote a beautiful hand, understoodbookkeeping, and cherished in his innermost heart the worship of evilspirits. His wife was a negress from Loanda, very large and very noisy.Three children rolled about in sunshine before the door of his low,shed-like dwelling. Makola, taciturn and impenetrable, despised the twowhite men. He had charge of a small clay storehouse with a dried-grassroof, and pretended to keep a correct account of beads, cotton cloth,red kerchiefs, brass wire, and other trade goods it contained. Besidesthe storehouse and Makola's hut, there was only one large building inthe cleared ground of the station. It was built neatly of reeds, with averandah on all the four sides. There were three rooms in it. The onein the middle was the living-room, and had two rough tables and a fewstools in it. The other two were the bedrooms for the white men. Eachhad a bedstead and a mosquito net for all furniture. The plank floor waslittered with the belongings of the white men; open half-empty boxes,torn wearing apparel, old boots; all the things dirty, and all thethings broken, that accumulate mysteriously round untidy men. There wasalso another dwelling-place some distance away from the buildings. Init, under a tall cross much out of the perpendicular, slept the man whohad seen the beginning of all this; who had planned and had watchedthe construction of this outpost of progress. He had been, at home, anunsuccessful painter who, weary of pursuing fame on an empty stomach,had gone out there through high protections. He had been the first chiefof that station. Makola had watched the energetic artist die of feverin the just finished house with his usual kind of "I told you so"indifference. Then, for a time, he dwelt alone with his family, hisaccount books, and the Evil Spirit that rules the lands under theequator. He got on very well with his god. Perhaps he had propitiatedhim by a promise of more white men to play with, by and by. At any ratethe director of the Great Trading Company, coming up in a steamer thatresembled an enormous sardine box with a flat-roofed shed erected on it,found the station in good order, and Makola as usual quietly diligent.The director had the cross put up over the first agent's grave, andappointed Kayerts to the post. Carlier was told off as second in charge.The director was a man ruthless and efficient, who at times, but veryimperceptibly, indulged in grim humour. He made a speech to Kayerts andCarlier, pointing out to them the promising aspect of their station.The nearest trading-post was about three hundred miles away. It was anexceptional opportunity for them to distinguish themselves and toearn percentages on the trade. This appointment was a favour done tobeginners. Kayerts was moved almost to tears by his director's kindness.He would, he said, by doing his best, try to justify the flatteringconfidence, &c., &c. Kayerts had been in the Administration of theTelegraphs, and knew how to express himself correctly. Carlier, anex-non-commissioned officer of cavalry in an army guaranteed fromharm by several European Powers, was less impressed. If there werecommissions to get, so much the better; and, trailing a sulky glanceover the river, the forests, the impenetrable bush that seemed to cutoff the station from the rest of the world, he muttered between histeeth, "We shall see, very soon."
Next day, some bales of cotton goods and a few cases of provisionshaving been thrown on shore, the sardine-box steamer went off, not toreturn for another six months. On the deck the director touched his capto the two agents, who stood on the bank waving their hats, and turningto an old servant of the Company on his passage to headquarters, said,"Look at those two imbeciles. They must be mad at home to send me suchspecimens. I told those fellows to plant a vegetable garden, build newstorehouses and fences, and construct a landing-stage. I bet nothingwill be done! They won't know how to begin. I always thought the stationon this river useless, and they just fit the station!"
"They will form themselves there," said the old stager with a quietsmile.
"At any rate, I am rid of them for six months," retorted the director.
The two men watched the steamer round the bend, then, ascending arm inarm the slope of the bank, returned to the station. They had been inthis vast and dark country only a very short time, and as yet alwaysin the midst of other white men, under the eye and guidance of theirsuperiors. And now, dull as they were to the subtle influences ofsurroundings, they felt themselves very much alone, when suddenly leftunassisted to face the wilderness; a wilderness rendered more strange,more incomprehensible by the mysterious glimpses of the vigorous lifeit contained. They were two perfectly insignificant and incapableindividuals, whose existence is only rendered possible through the highorganization of civilized crowds. Few men realize that their life,the very essence of their character, their capabilities and theiraudacities, are only the expression of their belief in the safety oftheir surroundings. The courage, the composure, the confidence; theemotions and principles; every great and every insignificant thoughtbelongs not to the individual but to the crowd: to the crowd thatbelieves blindly in the irresistible force of its institutions andof its morals, in the power of its police and of its opinion. Butthe contact with pure unmitigated savagery, with primitive nature andprimitive man, brings sudden and profound trouble into the heart. To thesentiment of being alone of one's kind, to the clear perception of theloneliness of one's thoughts, of one's sensations--to the negationof the habitual, which is safe, there is added the affirmation ofthe unusual, which is dangerous; a suggestion of things vague,uncontrollable, and repulsive, whose discomposing intrusion excites theimagination and tries the civilized nerves of the foolish and the wisealike.
Kayerts and Carlier walked arm in arm, drawing close to one anotheras children do in the dark; and they had the same, not altogetherunpleasant, sense of danger which one half suspects to be imaginary.They chatted persistently in familiar tones. "Our station is prettilysituated," said one. The other assented with enthusiasm, enlargingvolubly on the beauties of the situation. Then they passed near thegrave. "Poor devil!" said Kayerts. "He died of fever, didn't he?"muttered Carlier, stopping short. "Why," retorted Kayerts, withindignation, "I've been told that the fellow exposed himself recklesslyto the sun. The climate here, everybody says, is not at all worse thanat home, as long as you keep out of the sun. Do you hear that, Carlier?I am chief here, and my orders are that you should not expose yourselfto the sun!" He assumed his superiority jocularly, but his meaningwas serious. The idea that he would, perhaps, have to bury Carlier andremain alone, gave him an inward shiver. He felt suddenly that thisCarlier was more precious to him here, in the centre of Africa, than abrother could be anywhere else. Carlier, entering into the spirit of thething, made a military salute and answered in a brisk tone, "Yourorders shall be attended to, chief!" Then he burst out laughing, slappedKayerts on the back and shouted, "We shall let life run easily here!Just sit still and gather in the ivory those savages will bring. Thiscountry has its good points, after all!" They both laughed loudly whileCarlier thought: "That poor Kayerts; he is so fat and unhealthy. Itwould be awful if I had to bury him here. He is a man I respect." . . .Before they reached the verandah of their house they called one another"my dear fellow."
The first day they were very active, pottering about with hammers andnails and red calico, to put up curtains, make their house habitable andpretty; resolved to settle down comfortably to their new life. For theman impossible task. To grapple effectually with even purely materialproblems requires more serenity of mind and more lofty courage thanpeople generally imagine. No two beings could have been more unfittedfor such a struggle. Society, not from any tenderness, but because ofits strange needs, had taken care of those two men, forbidding them allindependent thought, all initiativ
e, all departure from routine; andforbidding it under pain of death. They could only live on condition ofbeing machines. And now, released from the fostering care of men withpens behind the ears, or of men with gold lace on the sleeves, they werelike those lifelong prisoners who, liberated after many years, do notknow what use to make of their freedom. They did not know what use tomake of their faculties, being both, through want of practice, incapableof independent thought.
At the end of two months Kayerts often would say, "If it was not formy Melie, you wouldn't catch me here." Melie was his daughter. He hadthrown up his post in the Administration of the Telegraphs, though hehad been for seventeen years perfectly happy there, to earn a dowry forhis girl. His wife was dead, and the child was being brought up by hissisters. He regretted the streets, the pavements, the cafes, his friendsof many years; all the things he used to see, day after day; allthe thoughts suggested by familiar things--the thoughts effortless,monotonous, and soothing of a Government clerk; he regretted all thegossip, the small enmities, the mild venom, and the little jokes ofGovernment offices. "If I had had a decent brother-in-law," Carlierwould remark, "a fellow with a heart, I would not be here." He had leftthe army and had made himself so obnoxious to his family by his lazinessand impudence, that an exasperated brother-in-law had made superhumanefforts to procure him an appointment in the Company as a second-classagent. Having not a penny in the world he was compelled to accept thismeans of livelihood as soon as it became quite clear to him that therewas nothing more to squeeze out of his relations. He, like Kayerts,regretted his old life. He regretted the clink of sabre and spurs ona fine afternoon, the barrack-room witticisms, the girls of garrisontowns; but, besides, he had also a sense of grievance. He was evidentlya much ill-used man. This made him moody, at times. But the two mengot on well together in the fellowship of their stupidity and laziness.Together they did nothing, absolutely nothing, and enjoyed the senseof the idleness for which they were paid. And in time they came to feelsomething resembling affection for one another.
They lived like blind men in a large room, aware only of what came incontact with them (and of that only imperfectly), but unable to seethe general aspect of things. The river, the forest, all the great landthrobbing with life, were like a great emptiness. Even the brilliantsunshine disclosed nothing intelligible. Things appeared and disappearedbefore their eyes in an unconnected and aimless kind of way. The riverseemed to come from nowhere and flow nowhither. It flowed through avoid. Out of that void, at times, came canoes, and men with spears intheir hands would suddenly crowd the yard of the station. They werenaked, glossy black, ornamented with snowy shells and glistening brasswire, perfect of limb. They made an uncouth babbling noise when theyspoke, moved in a stately manner, and sent quick, wild glances out oftheir startled, never-resting eyes. Those warriors would squat inlong rows, four or more deep, before the verandah, while their chiefsbargained for hours with Makola over an elephant tusk. Kayerts sat onhis chair and looked down on the proceedings, understanding nothing. Hestared at them with his round blue eyes, called out to Carlier, "Here,look! look at that fellow there--and that other one, to the left. Didyou ever such a face? Oh, the funny brute!"
Carlier, smoking native tobacco in a short wooden pipe, would swaggerup twirling his moustaches, and surveying the warriors with haughtyindulgence, would say--
"Fine animals. Brought any bone? Yes? It's not any too soon. Look atthe muscles of that fellow third from the end. I wouldn't care to get apunch on the nose from him. Fine arms, but legs no good below the knee.Couldn't make cavalry men of them." And after glancing down complacentlyat his own shanks, he always concluded: "Pah! Don't they stink! You,Makola! Take that herd over to the fetish" (the storehouse was in everystation called the fetish, perhaps because of the spirit of civilizationit contained) "and give them up some of the rubbish you keep there. I'drather see it full of bone than full of rags."
Kayerts approved.
"Yes, yes! Go and finish that palaver over there, Mr. Makola. I willcome round when you are ready, to weigh the tusk. We must be careful."Then turning to his companion: "This is the tribe that lives down theriver; they are rather aromatic. I remember, they had been once beforehere. D'ye hear that row? What a fellow has got to put up with in thisdog of a country! My head is split."
Such profitable visits were rare. For days the two pioneers of trade andprogress would look on their empty courtyard in the vibrating brillianceof vertical sunshine. Below the high bank, the silent river flowed onglittering and steady. On the sands in the middle of the stream, hipposand alligators sunned themselves side by side. And stretching awayin all directions, surrounding the insignificant cleared spot of thetrading post, immense forests, hiding fateful complications of fantasticlife, lay in the eloquent silence of mute greatness. The two menunderstood nothing, cared for nothing but for the passage of days thatseparated them from the steamer's return. Their predecessor had leftsome torn books. They took up these wrecks of novels, and, as they hadnever read anything of the kind before, they were surprised and amused.Then during long days there were interminable and silly discussionsabout plots and personages. In the centre of Africa they madeacquaintance of Richelieu and of d'Artagnan, of Hawk's Eye and of FatherGoriot, and of many other people. All these imaginary personages becamesubjects for gossip as if they had been living friends. They discountedtheir virtues, suspected their motives, decried their successes; werescandalized at their duplicity or were doubtful about their courage.The accounts of crimes filled them with indignation, while tender orpathetic passages moved them deeply. Carlier cleared his throat and saidin a soldierly voice, "What nonsense!" Kayerts, his round eyes suffusedwith tears, his fat cheeks quivering, rubbed his bald head, anddeclared. "This is a splendid book. I had no idea there were such cleverfellows in the world." They also found some old copies of a homepaper. That print discussed what it was pleased to call "Our ColonialExpansion" in high-flown language. It spoke much of the rights andduties of civilization, of the sacredness of the civilizing work, andextolled the merits of those who went about bringing light, and faithand commerce to the dark places of the earth. Carlier and Kayerts read,wondered, and began to think better of themselves. Carlier said oneevening, waving his hand about, "In a hundred years, there willbe perhaps a town here. Quays, and warehouses, and barracks,and--and--billiard-rooms. Civilization, my boy, and virtue--and all. Andthen, chaps will read that two good fellows, Kayerts and Carlier, werethe first civilized men to live in this very spot!" Kayerts nodded,"Yes, it is a consolation to think of that." They seemed to forget theirdead predecessor; but, early one day, Carlier went out and replanted thecross firmly. "It used to make me squint whenever I walked that way,"he explained to Kayerts over the morning coffee. "It made me squint,leaning over so much. So I just planted it upright. And solid, I promiseyou! I suspended myself with both hands to the cross-piece. Not a move.Oh, I did that properly."
At times Gobila came to see them. Gobila was the chief of theneighbouring villages. He was a gray-headed savage, thin and black, witha white cloth round his loins and a mangy panther skin hanging overhis back. He came up with long strides of his skeleton legs, swinging astaff as tall as himself, and, entering the common room of the station,would squat on his heels to the left of the door. There he sat, watchingKayerts, and now and then making a speech which the other did notunderstand. Kayerts, without interrupting his occupation, would fromtime to time say in a friendly manner: "How goes it, you old image?" andthey would smile at one another. The two whites had a liking forthat old and incomprehensible creature, and called him Father Gobila.Gobila's manner was paternal, and he seemed really to love all whitemen. They all appeared to him very young, indistinguishably alike(except for stature), and he knew that they were all brothers, and alsoimmortal. The death of the artist, who was the first white man whomhe knew intimately, did not disturb this belief, because he was firmlyconvinced that the white stranger had pretended to die and got himselfburied for some mysterious purpose of his own, into which it
was uselessto inquire. Perhaps it was his way of going home to his own country?At any rate, these were his brothers, and he transferred his absurdaffection to them. They returned it in a way. Carlier slapped him on theback, and recklessly struck off matches for his amusement. Kayerts wasalways ready to let him have a sniff at the ammonia bottle. In short,they behaved just like that other white creature that had hidden itselfin a hole in the ground. Gobila considered them attentively. Perhapsthey were the same being with the other--or one of them was. He couldn'tdecide--clear up that mystery; but he remained always very friendly. Inconsequence of that friendship the women of Gobila's village walkedin single file through the reedy grass, bringing every morning to thestation, fowls, and sweet potatoes, and palm wine, and sometimes a goat.The Company never provisions the stations fully, and the agents requiredthose local supplies to live. They had them through the good-will ofGobila, and lived well. Now and then one of them had a bout of fever,and the other nursed him with gentle devotion. They did not think muchof it. It left them weaker, and their appearance changed for the worse.Carlier was hollow-eyed and irritable. Kayerts showed a drawn, flabbyface above the rotundity of his stomach, which gave him a weird aspect.But being constantly together, they did not notice the change that tookplace gradually in their appearance, and also in their dispositions.
Five months passed in that way.
Then, one morning, as Kayerts and Carlier, lounging in their chairsunder the verandah, talked about the approaching visit of the steamer,a knot of armed men came out of the forest and advanced towards thestation. They were strangers to that part of the country. They weretall, slight, draped classically from neck to heel in blue fringedcloths, and carried percussion muskets over their bare right shoulders.Makola showed signs of excitement, and ran out of the storehouse (wherehe spent all his days) to meet these visitors. They came into thecourtyard and looked about them with steady, scornful glances. Theirleader, a powerful and determined-looking negro with bloodshot eyes,stood in front of the verandah and made a long speech. He gesticulatedmuch, and ceased very suddenly.
There was something in his intonation, in the sounds of the longsentences he used, that startled the two whites. It was like areminiscence of something not exactly familiar, and yet resemblingthe speech of civilized men. It sounded like one of those impossiblelanguages which sometimes we hear in our dreams.
"What lingo is that?" said the amazed Carlier. "In the first moment Ifancied the fellow was going to speak French. Anyway, it is a differentkind of gibberish to what we ever heard."
"Yes," replied Kayerts. "Hey, Makola, what does he say? Where do theycome from? Who are they?"
But Makola, who seemed to be standing on hot bricks, answered hurriedly,"I don't know. They come from very far. Perhaps Mrs. Price willunderstand. They are perhaps bad men."
The leader, after waiting for a while, said something sharply to Makola,who shook his head. Then the man, after looking round, noticed Makola'shut and walked over there. The next moment Mrs. Makola was heardspeaking with great volubility. The other strangers--they were six inall--strolled about with an air of ease, put their heads throughthe door of the storeroom, congregated round the grave, pointedunderstandingly at the cross, and generally made themselves at home.
"I don't like those chaps--and, I say, Kayerts, they must be from thecoast; they've got firearms," observed the sagacious Carlier.
Kayerts also did not like those chaps. They both, for the first time,became aware that they lived in conditions where the unusual may bedangerous, and that there was no power on earth outside of themselvesto stand between them and the unusual. They became uneasy, went in andloaded their revolvers. Kayerts said, "We must order Makola to tell themto go away before dark."
The strangers left in the afternoon, after eating a meal prepared forthem by Mrs. Makola. The immense woman was excited, and talked much withthe visitors. She rattled away shrilly, pointing here and there at theforests and at the river. Makola sat apart and watched. At times he gotup and whispered to his wife. He accompanied the strangers across theravine at the back of the station-ground, and returned slowly lookingvery thoughtful. When questioned by the white men he was very strange,seemed not to understand, seemed to have forgotten French--seemed tohave forgotten how to speak altogether. Kayerts and Carlier agreed thatthe nigger had had too much palm wine.
There was some talk about keeping a watch in turn, but in the eveningeverything seemed so quiet and peaceful that they retired as usual. Allnight they were disturbed by a lot of drumming in the villages. Adeep, rapid roll near by would be followed by another far off--then allceased. Soon short appeals would rattle out here and there, then allmingle together, increase, become vigorous and sustained, would spreadout over the forest, roll through the night, unbroken and ceaseless,near and far, as if the whole land had been one immense drum booming outsteadily an appeal to heaven. And through the deep and tremendous noisesudden yells that resembled snatches of songs from a madhouse dartedshrill and high in discordant jets of sound which seemed to rush farabove the earth and drive all peace from under the stars.
Carlier and Kayerts slept badly. They both thought they had heard shotsfired during the night--but they could not agree as to the direction. Inthe morning Makola was gone somewhere. He returned about noon with oneof yesterday's strangers, and eluded all Kayerts' attempts to close withhim: had become deaf apparently. Kayerts wondered. Carlier, who had beenfishing off the bank, came back and remarked while he showed his catch,"The niggers seem to be in a deuce of a stir; I wonder what's up. I sawabout fifteen canoes cross the river during the two hours I was therefishing." Kayerts, worried, said, "Isn't this Makola very queer to-day?"Carlier advised, "Keep all our men together in case of some trouble."
II
There were ten station men who had been left by the Director. Thosefellows, having engaged themselves to the Company for six months(without having any idea of a month in particular and only a very faintnotion of time in general), had been serving the cause of progress forupwards of two years. Belonging to a tribe from a very distant partof the land of darkness and sorrow, they did not run away, naturallysupposing that as wandering strangers they would be killed by theinhabitants of the country; in which they were right. They lived instraw huts on the slope of a ravine overgrown with reedy grass, justbehind the station buildings. They were not happy, regretting thefestive incantations, the sorceries, the human sacrifices of their ownland; where they also had parents, brothers, sisters, admired chiefs,respected magicians, loved friends, and other ties supposed generallyto be human. Besides, the rice rations served out by the Company did notagree with them, being a food unknown to their land, and to which theycould not get used. Consequently they were unhealthy and miserable.Had they been of any other tribe they would have made up their minds todie--for nothing is easier to certain savages than suicide--and so haveescaped from the puzzling difficulties of existence. But belonging, asthey did, to a warlike tribe with filed teeth, they had more grit, andwent on stupidly living through disease and sorrow. They did very littlework, and had lost their splendid physique. Carlier and Kayerts doctoredthem assiduously without being able to bring them back into conditionagain. They were mustered every morning and told off to differenttasks--grass-cutting, fence-building, tree-felling, &c., &c., which nopower on earth could induce them to execute efficiently. The two whiteshad practically very little control over them.
In the afternoon Makola came over to the big house and found Kayertswatching three heavy columns of smoke rising above the forests. "What isthat?" asked Kayerts. "Some villages burn," answered Makola, who seemedto have regained his wits. Then he said abruptly: "We have got verylittle ivory; bad six months' trading. Do you like get a little moreivory?"
"Yes," said Kayerts, eagerly. He thought of percentages which were low.
"Those men who came yesterday are traders from Loanda who have got moreivory than they can carry home. Shall I buy? I know their camp."
"Certainly," said Kayerts. "What
are those traders?"
"Bad fellows," said Makola, indifferently. "They fight with people, andcatch women and children. They are bad men, and got guns. There is agreat disturbance in the country. Do you want ivory?"
"Yes," said Kayerts. Makola said nothing for a while. Then: "Thoseworkmen of ours are no good at all," he muttered, looking round."Station in very bad order, sir. Director will growl. Better get a finelot of ivory, then he say nothing."
"I can't help it; the men won't work," said Kayerts. "When will you getthat ivory?"
"Very soon," said Makola. "Perhaps to-night. You leave it to me, andkeep indoors, sir. I think you had better give some palm wine to our mento make a dance this evening. Enjoy themselves. Work better to-morrow.There's plenty palm wine--gone a little sour."
Kayerts said "yes," and Makola, with his own hands carried bigcalabashes to the door of his hut. They stood there till the evening,and Mrs. Makola looked into every one. The men got them at sunset. WhenKayerts and Carlier retired, a big bonfire was flaring before the men'shuts. They could hear their shouts and drumming. Some men from Gobila'svillage had joined the station hands, and the entertainment was a greatsuccess.
In the middle of the night, Carlier waking suddenly, heard a man shoutloudly; then a shot was fired. Only one. Carlier ran out and met Kayertson the verandah. They were both startled. As they went across the yardto call Makola, they saw shadows moving in the night. One of them cried,"Don't shoot! It's me, Price." Then Makola appeared close to them. "Goback, go back, please," he urged, "you spoil all." "There are strangemen about," said Carlier. "Never mind; I know," said Makola. Then hewhispered, "All right. Bring ivory. Say nothing! I know my business."The two white men reluctantly went back to the house, but did not sleep.They heard footsteps, whispers, some groans. It seemed as if a lot ofmen came in, dumped heavy things on the ground, squabbled a long time,then went away. They lay on their hard beds and thought: "This Makola isinvaluable." In the morning Carlier came out, very sleepy, and pulledat the cord of the big bell. The station hands mustered every morningto the sound of the bell. That morning nobody came. Kayerts turned outalso, yawning. Across the yard they saw Makola come out of his hut, atin basin of soapy water in his hand. Makola, a civilized nigger, wasvery neat in his person. He threw the soapsuds skilfully over a wretchedlittle yellow cur he had, then turning his face to the agent's house, heshouted from the distance, "All the men gone last night!"
They heard him plainly, but in their surprise they both yelled outtogether: "What!" Then they stared at one another. "We are in a properfix now," growled Carlier. "It's incredible!" muttered Kayerts. "I willgo to the huts and see," said Carlier, striding off. Makola coming upfound Kayerts standing alone.
"I can hardly believe it," said Kayerts, tearfully. "We took care ofthem as if they had been our children."
"They went with the coast people," said Makola after a moment ofhesitation.
"What do I care with whom they went--the ungrateful brutes!" exclaimedthe other. Then with sudden suspicion, and looking hard at Makola, headded: "What do you know about it?"
Makola moved his shoulders, looking down on the ground. "What do I know?I think only. Will you come and look at the ivory I've got there? It isa fine lot. You never saw such."
He moved towards the store. Kayerts followed him mechanically, thinkingabout the incredible desertion of the men. On the ground before the doorof the fetish lay six splendid tusks.
"What did you give for it?" asked Kayerts, after surveying the lot withsatisfaction.
"No regular trade," said Makola. "They brought the ivory and gave it tome. I told them to take what they most wanted in the station. It isa beautiful lot. No station can show such tusks. Those traders wantedcarriers badly, and our men were no good here. No trade, no entry inbooks: all correct."
Kayerts nearly burst with indignation. "Why!" he shouted, "I believe youhave sold our men for these tusks!" Makola stood impassive and silent."I--I--will--I," stuttered Kayerts. "You fiend!" he yelled out.
"I did the best for you and the Company," said Makola, imperturbably."Why you shout so much? Look at this tusk."
"I dismiss you! I will report you--I won't look at the tusk. I forbidyou to touch them. I order you to throw them into the river. You--you!"
"You very red, Mr. Kayerts. If you are so irritable in the sun, youwill get fever and die--like the first chief!" pronounced Makolaimpressively.
They stood still, contemplating one another with intense eyes, as ifthey had been looking with effort across immense distances. Kayertsshivered. Makola had meant no more than he said, but his words seemed toKayerts full of ominous menace! He turned sharply and went away to thehouse. Makola retired into the bosom of his family; and the tusks, leftlying before the store, looked very large and valuable in the sunshine.
Carlier came back on the verandah. "They're all gone, hey?" askedKayerts from the far end of the common room in a muffled voice. "You didnot find anybody?"
"Oh, yes," said Carlier, "I found one of Gobila's people lying deadbefore the huts--shot through the body. We heard that shot last night."
Kayerts came out quickly. He found his companion staring grimly overthe yard at the tusks, away by the store. They both sat in silence fora while. Then Kayerts related his conversation with Makola. Carlier saidnothing. At the midday meal they ate very little. They hardly exchangeda word that day. A great silence seemed to lie heavily over the stationand press on their lips. Makola did not open the store; he spent the dayplaying with his children. He lay full-length on a mat outside his door,and the youngsters sat on his chest and clambered all over him. It wasa touching picture. Mrs. Makola was busy cooking all day, as usual.The white men made a somewhat better meal in the evening. Afterwards,Carlier smoking his pipe strolled over to the store; he stood for a longtime over the tusks, touched one or two with his foot, even tried tolift the largest one by its small end. He came back to his chief, whohad not stirred from the verandah, threw himself in the chair and said--
"I can see it! They were pounced upon while they slept heavily afterdrinking all that palm wine you've allowed Makola to give them. A put-upjob! See? The worst is, some of Gobila's people were there, and gotcarried off too, no doubt. The least drunk woke up, and got shot for hissobriety. This is a funny country. What will you do now?"
"We can't touch it, of course," said Kayerts.
"Of course not," assented Carlier.
"Slavery is an awful thing," stammered out Kayerts in an unsteady voice.
"Frightful--the sufferings," grunted Carlier with conviction.
They believed their words. Everybody shows a respectful deference tocertain sounds that he and his fellows can make. But about feelingspeople really know nothing. We talk with indignation or enthusiasm; wetalk about oppression, cruelty, crime, devotion, self-sacrifice, virtue,and we know nothing real beyond the words. Nobody knows what sufferingor sacrifice mean--except, perhaps the victims of the mysterious purposeof these illusions.
Next morning they saw Makola very busy setting up in the yard the bigscales used for weighing ivory. By and by Carlier said: "What'sthat filthy scoundrel up to?" and lounged out into the yard. Kayertsfollowed. They stood watching. Makola took no notice. When the balancewas swung true, he tried to lift a tusk into the scale. It was tooheavy. He looked up helplessly without a word, and for a minute theystood round that balance as mute and still as three statues. SuddenlyCarlier said: "Catch hold of the other end, Makola--you beast!" andtogether they swung the tusk up. Kayerts trembled in every limb. Hemuttered, "I say! O! I say!" and putting his hand in his pocket foundthere a dirty bit of paper and the stump of a pencil. He turned his backon the others, as if about to do something tricky, and noted stealthilythe weights which Carlier shouted out to him with unnecessary loudness.When all was over Makola whispered to himself: "The sun's very stronghere for the tusks." Carlier said to Kayerts in a careless tone: "Isay, chief, I might just as well give him a lift with this lot into thestore."
As they were going
back to the house Kayerts observed with a sigh: "Ithad to be done." And Carlier said: "It's deplorable, but, the men beingCompany's men the ivory is Company's ivory. We must look after it." "Iwill report to the Director, of course," said Kayerts. "Of course; lethim decide," approved Carlier.
At midday they made a hearty meal. Kayerts sighed from time to time.Whenever they mentioned Makola's name they always added to it anopprobrious epithet. It eased their conscience. Makola gave himself ahalf-holiday, and bathed his children in the river. No one from Gobila'svillages came near the station that day. No one came the next day, andthe next, nor for a whole week. Gobila's people might have been dead andburied for any sign of life they gave. But they were only mourning forthose they had lost by the witchcraft of white men, who had broughtwicked people into their country. The wicked people were gone, butfear remained. Fear always remains. A man may destroy everything withinhimself, love and hate and belief, and even doubt; but as long as heclings to life he cannot destroy fear: the fear, subtle, indestructible,and terrible, that pervades his being; that tinges his thoughts; thatlurks in his heart; that watches on his lips the struggle of his lastbreath. In his fear, the mild old Gobila offered extra human sacrificesto all the Evil Spirits that had taken possession of his white friends.His heart was heavy. Some warriors spoke about burning and killing, butthe cautious old savage dissuaded them. Who could foresee the woe thosemysterious creatures, if irritated, might bring? They should be leftalone. Perhaps in time they would disappear into the earth as the firstone had disappeared. His people must keep away from them, and hope forthe best.
Kayerts and Carlier did not disappear, but remained above on this earth,that, somehow, they fancied had become bigger and very empty. It was notthe absolute and dumb solitude of the post that impressed them so muchas an inarticulate feeling that something from within them was gone,something that worked for their safety, and had kept the wilderness frominterfering with their hearts. The images of home; the memory of peoplelike them, of men that thought and felt as they used to think andfeel, receded into distances made indistinct by the glare of uncloudedsunshine. And out of the great silence of the surrounding wilderness,its very hopelessness and savagery seemed to approach them nearer, todraw them gently, to look upon them, to envelop them with a solicitudeirresistible, familiar, and disgusting.
Days lengthened into weeks, then into months. Gobila's people drummedand yelled to every new moon, as of yore, but kept away fromthe station. Makola and Carlier tried once in a canoe to opencommunications, but were received with a shower of arrows, and had tofly back to the station for dear life. That attempt set the country upand down the river into an uproar that could be very distinctly heardfor days. The steamer was late. At first they spoke of delay jauntily,then anxiously, then gloomily. The matter was becoming serious. Storeswere running short. Carlier cast his lines off the bank, but the riverwas low, and the fish kept out in the stream. They dared not strollfar away from the station to shoot. Moreover, there was no game in theimpenetrable forest. Once Carlier shot a hippo in the river. They had noboat to secure it, and it sank. When it floated up it drifted away, andGobila's people secured the carcase. It was the occasion for a nationalholiday, but Carlier had a fit of rage over it and talked about thenecessity of exterminating all the niggers before the country could bemade habitable. Kayerts mooned about silently; spent hours lookingat the portrait of his Melie. It represented a little girl with longbleached tresses and a rather sour face. His legs were much swollen, andhe could hardly walk. Carlier, undermined by fever, could not swaggerany more, but kept tottering about, still with a devil-may-care air, asbecame a man who remembered his crack regiment. He had become hoarse,sarcastic, and inclined to say unpleasant things. He called it "beingfrank with you." They had long ago reckoned their percentages on trade,including in them that last deal of "this infamous Makola." They hadalso concluded not to say anything about it. Kayerts hesitated atfirst--was afraid of the Director.
"He has seen worse things done on the quiet," maintained Carlier, witha hoarse laugh. "Trust him! He won't thank you if you blab. He is nobetter than you or me. Who will talk if we hold our tongues? There isnobody here."
That was the root of the trouble! There was nobody there; and being leftthere alone with their weakness, they became daily more like a pairof accomplices than like a couple of devoted friends. They had heardnothing from home for eight months. Every evening they said, "To-morrowwe shall see the steamer." But one of the Company's steamers had beenwrecked, and the Director was busy with the other, relieving verydistant and important stations on the main river. He thought that theuseless station, and the useless men, could wait. Meantime Kayerts andCarlier lived on rice boiled without salt, and cursed the Company, allAfrica, and the day they were born. One must have lived on such diet todiscover what ghastly trouble the necessity of swallowing one's foodmay become. There was literally nothing else in the station but riceand coffee; they drank the coffee without sugar. The last fifteen lumpsKayerts had solemnly locked away in his box, together with a half-bottleof Cognac, "in case of sickness," he explained. Carlier approved. "Whenone is sick," he said, "any little extra like that is cheering."
They waited. Rank grass began to sprout over the courtyard. The bellnever rang now. Days passed, silent, exasperating, and slow. When thetwo men spoke, they snarled; and their silences were bitter, as iftinged by the bitterness of their thoughts.
One day after a lunch of boiled rice, Carlier put down his cup untasted,and said: "Hang it all! Let's have a decent cup of coffee for once.Bring out that sugar, Kayerts!"
"For the sick," muttered Kayerts, without looking up.
"For the sick," mocked Carlier. "Bosh! . . . Well! I am sick."
"You are no more sick than I am, and I go without," said Kayerts in apeaceful tone.
"Come! out with that sugar, you stingy old slave-dealer."
Kayerts looked up quickly. Carlier was smiling with marked insolence.And suddenly it seemed to Kayerts that he had never seen that manbefore. Who was he? He knew nothing about him. What was he capable of?There was a surprising flash of violent emotion within him, as if in thepresence of something undreamt-of, dangerous, and final. But he managedto pronounce with composure--
"That joke is in very bad taste. Don't repeat it."
"Joke!" said Carlier, hitching himself forward on his seat. "I amhungry--I am sick--I don't joke! I hate hypocrites. You are a hypocrite.You are a slave-dealer. I am a slave-dealer. There's nothing butslave-dealers in this cursed country. I mean to have sugar in my coffeeto-day, anyhow!"
"I forbid you to speak to me in that way," said Kayerts with a fair showof resolution.
"You!--What?" shouted Carlier, jumping up.
Kayerts stood up also. "I am your chief," he began, trying to master theshakiness of his voice.
"What?" yelled the other. "Who's chief? There's no chief here. There'snothing here: there's nothing but you and I. Fetch the sugar--youpot-bellied ass."
"Hold your tongue. Go out of this room," screamed Kayerts. "I dismissyou--you scoundrel!"
Carlier swung a stool. All at once he looked dangerously in earnest."You flabby, good-for-nothing civilian--take that!" he howled.
Kayerts dropped under the table, and the stool struck the grass innerwall of the room. Then, as Carlier was trying to upset the table,Kayerts in desperation made a blind rush, head low, like a cornered pigwould do, and over-turning his friend, bolted along the verandah, andinto his room. He locked the door, snatched his revolver, and stoodpanting. In less than a minute Carlier was kicking at the doorfuriously, howling, "If you don't bring out that sugar, I will shoot youat sight, like a dog. Now then--one--two--three. You won't? I will showyou who's the master."
Kayerts thought the door would fall in, and scrambled through the squarehole that served for a window in his room. There was then the wholebreadth of the house between them. But the other was apparently notstrong enough to break in the door, and Kayerts heard him running round.Then he also began to r
un laboriously on his swollen legs. He ran asquickly as he could, grasping the revolver, and unable yet to understandwhat was happening to him. He saw in succession Makola's house, thestore, the river, the ravine, and the low bushes; and he saw all thosethings again as he ran for the second time round the house. Then againthey flashed past him. That morning he could not have walked a yardwithout a groan.
And now he ran. He ran fast enough to keep out of sight of the otherman.
Then as, weak and desperate, he thought, "Before I finish the next roundI shall die," he heard the other man stumble heavily, then stop. Hestopped also. He had the back and Carlier the front of the house, asbefore. He heard him drop into a chair cursing, and suddenly his ownlegs gave way, and he slid down into a sitting posture with his back tothe wall. His mouth was as dry as a cinder, and his face was wet withperspiration--and tears. What was it all about? He thought it must be ahorrible illusion; he thought he was dreaming; he thought he was goingmad! After a while he collected his senses. What did they quarrel about?That sugar! How absurd! He would give it to him--didn't want it himself.And he began scrambling to his feet with a sudden feeling of security.But before he had fairly stood upright, a commonsense reflectionoccurred to him and drove him back into despair. He thought: "If I giveway now to that brute of a soldier, he will begin this horror againto-morrow--and the day after--every day--raise other pretensions,trample on me, torture me, make me his slave--and I will be lost! Lost!The steamer may not come for days--may never come." He shook so that hehad to sit down on the floor again. He shivered forlornly. He felt hecould not, would not move any more. He was completely distracted by thesudden perception that the position was without issue--that death andlife had in a moment become equally difficult and terrible.
All at once he heard the other push his chair back; and he leaped tohis feet with extreme facility. He listened and got confused. Mustrun again! Right or left? He heard footsteps. He darted to the left,grasping his revolver, and at the very same instant, as it seemed tohim, they came into violent collision. Both shouted with surprise. Aloud explosion took place between them; a roar of red fire, thick smoke;and Kayerts, deafened and blinded, rushed back thinking: "I am hit--it'sall over." He expected the other to come round--to gloat over his agony.He caught hold of an upright of the roof--"All over!" Then he heard acrashing fall on the other side of the house, as if somebody had tumbledheadlong over a chair--then silence. Nothing more happened. He did notdie. Only his shoulder felt as if it had been badly wrenched, and he hadlost his revolver. He was disarmed and helpless! He waited for his fate.The other man made no sound. It was a stratagem. He was stalking himnow! Along what side? Perhaps he was taking aim this very minute!
After a few moments of an agony frightful and absurd, he decided to goand meet his doom. He was prepared for every surrender. He turned thecorner, steadying himself with one hand on the wall; made a few paces,and nearly swooned. He had seen on the floor, protruding past the othercorner, a pair of turned-up feet. A pair of white naked feet inred slippers. He felt deadly sick, and stood for a time in profounddarkness. Then Makola appeared before him, saying quietly: "Come along,Mr. Kayerts. He is dead." He burst into tears of gratitude; a loud,sobbing fit of crying. After a time he found himself sitting in achair and looking at Carlier, who lay stretched on his back. Makola waskneeling over the body.
"Is this your revolver?" asked Makola, getting up.
"Yes," said Kayerts; then he added very quickly, "He ran after me toshoot me--you saw!"
"Yes, I saw," said Makola. "There is only one revolver; where's his?"
"Don't know," whispered Kayerts in a voice that had become suddenly veryfaint.
"I will go and look for it," said the other, gently. He made the roundalong the verandah, while Kayerts sat still and looked at the corpse.Makola came back empty-handed, stood in deep thought, then steppedquietly into the dead man's room, and came out directly with a revolver,which he held up before Kayerts. Kayerts shut his eyes. Everything wasgoing round. He found life more terrible and difficult than death. Hehad shot an unarmed man.
After meditating for a while, Makola said softly, pointing at the deadman who lay there with his right eye blown out--
"He died of fever." Kayerts looked at him with a stony stare. "Yes,"repeated Makola, thoughtfully, stepping over the corpse, "I think hedied of fever. Bury him to-morrow."
And he went away slowly to his expectant wife, leaving the two white menalone on the verandah.
Night came, and Kayerts sat unmoving on his chair. He sat quiet as ifhe had taken a dose of opium. The violence of the emotions he had passedthrough produced a feeling of exhausted serenity. He had plumbed in oneshort afternoon the depths of horror and despair, and now found reposein the conviction that life had no more secrets for him: neither haddeath! He sat by the corpse thinking; thinking very actively, thinkingvery new thoughts. He seemed to have broken loose from himselfaltogether. His old thoughts, convictions, likes and dislikes, things herespected and things he abhorred, appeared in their true light at last!Appeared contemptible and childish, false and ridiculous. He revelledin his new wisdom while he sat by the man he had killed. He argued withhimself about all things under heaven with that kind of wrong-headedlucidity which may be observed in some lunatics. Incidentally hereflected that the fellow dead there had been a noxious beastanyway; that men died every day in thousands; perhaps in hundreds ofthousands--who could tell?--and that in the number, that one death couldnot possibly make any difference; couldn't have any importance, at leastto a thinking creature. He, Kayerts, was a thinking creature. He hadbeen all his life, till that moment, a believer in a lot of nonsenselike the rest of mankind--who are fools; but now he thought! He knew! Hewas at peace; he was familiar with the highest wisdom! Then he tried toimagine himself dead, and Carlier sitting in his chair watching him; andhis attempt met with such unexpected success, that in a very fewmoments he became not at all sure who was dead and who was alive. Thisextraordinary achievement of his fancy startled him, however, and bya clever and timely effort of mind he saved himself just in time frombecoming Carlier. His heart thumped, and he felt hot all over at thethought of that danger. Carlier! What a beastly thing! To compose hisnow disturbed nerves--and no wonder!--he tried to whistle a little.Then, suddenly, he fell asleep, or thought he had slept; but at any ratethere was a fog, and somebody had whistled in the fog.
He stood up. The day had come, and a heavy mist had descended upon theland: the mist penetrating, enveloping, and silent; the morning mistof tropical lands; the mist that clings and kills; the mist white anddeadly, immaculate and poisonous. He stood up, saw the body, and threwhis arms above his head with a cry like that of a man who, waking from atrance, finds himself immured forever in a tomb. "Help! . . . . My God!"
A shriek inhuman, vibrating and sudden, pierced like a sharp dart thewhite shroud of that land of sorrow. Three short, impatient screechesfollowed, and then, for a time, the fog-wreaths rolled on, undisturbed,through a formidable silence. Then many more shrieks, rapid andpiercing, like the yells of some exasperated and ruthless creature, rentthe air. Progress was calling to Kayerts from the river. Progressand civilization and all the virtues. Society was calling to itsaccomplished child to come, to be taken care of, to be instructed, tobe judged, to be condemned; it called him to return to that rubbish heapfrom which he had wandered away, so that justice could be done.
Kayerts heard and understood. He stumbled out of the verandah, leavingthe other man quite alone for the first time since they had been thrownthere together. He groped his way through the fog, calling in hisignorance upon the invisible heaven to undo its work. Makola flitted byin the mist, shouting as he ran--
"Steamer! Steamer! They can't see. They whistle for the station. I goring the bell. Go down to the landing, sir. I ring."
He disappeared. Kayerts stood still. He looked upwards; the fog rolledlow over his head. He looked round like a man who has lost his way; andhe saw a dark smudge, a cross-shaped stain, upon the shifting puri
ty ofthe mist. As he began to stumble towards it, the station bell rang in atumultuous peal its answer to the impatient clamour of the steamer.
The Managing Director of the Great Civilizing Company (since we knowthat civilization follows trade) landed first, and incontinently lostsight of the steamer. The fog down by the river was exceedingly dense;above, at the station, the bell rang unceasing and brazen.
The Director shouted loudly to the steamer:
"There is nobody down to meet us; there may be something wrong, thoughthey are ringing. You had better come, too!"
And he began to toil up the steep bank. The captain and theengine-driver of the boat followed behind. As they scrambled up the fogthinned, and they could see their Director a good way ahead. Suddenlythey saw him start forward, calling to them over his shoulder:--"Run!Run to the house! I've found one of them. Run, look for the other!"
He had found one of them! And even he, the man of varied and startlingexperience, was somewhat discomposed by the manner of this finding. Hestood and fumbled in his pockets (for a knife) while he faced Kayerts,who was hanging by a leather strap from the cross. He had evidentlyclimbed the grave, which was high and narrow, and after tying the end ofthe strap to the arm, had swung himself off. His toes were only a coupleof inches above the ground; his arms hung stiffly down; he seemed to bestanding rigidly at attention, but with one purple cheek playfully posedon the shoulder. And, irreverently, he was putting out a swollen tongueat his Managing Director.
Tales of Unrest Page 4
