"According to M. Florence, he first tried to scare us; it was again our unknown enemy, I agree, who more recently stirred up trouble with our personnel, and who now has somehow arranged, by some method I can't understand, to palm a false escort off on us. But please remember that he has shown evidence of great moderation. This false escort, instead of merely deserting, could easily have slaughtered us! It has done nothing of the kind. Also it has been thoughtful enough to leave us our provisions, our amis, our ammunition, our mounts, and our merchandise. These proceedings are not very terrible."
"There's Tongane." Dr. Chatonnay pointed out gently.
"Tongane is a Negro," Barsac replied, "and for many people the life of a Negro doesn't count."
"M. Barsac is right," Florence put in. "Yes, the methods used against us do show signs of a real moderation, and certainly so far nobody has sought our life. I say 'so far,' because our unknown adversary may well take to stronger methods if we keep on going in a direction he dislikes. The way they wounded Tongane" is enough to show that those whom we annoy are swift to strike."
"Quite right," the doctor agreed.
Dr. Chatonnay's approval was followed by several minutes' silence, which Barsac spent in profound reflections. Certainly Amedee Florence was right; and most decidedly the Honourable Deputy from the Midi was not going to compromise his precious existence solely to avoid the criticisms awaiting him in Paris, should he return without completing his Mission. But wouldn't it be possible to reply to them?
"All things considered," he said, anxious to try on his audience the arguments he meant to use later on his colleagues of the Chamber, "I support the proposals of M. Amedee Florence, as amended by our honourable colleague, Dr. Chatonnay. I vote, then, for return to Sikasso, with Segou Sikoro for our final objective. If then, gentlemen. . .."
Here Amedee Florence, feeling the discourse a little heavy, gave up listening to the orator and thought about something else.
"If then, gentlemen, anyone should seek to blame us for having interrupted this journey unnecessarily, I should reply that the responsibility devolves upon the Government, whose duty was to ensure that our Mission was adequately protected. It should, therefore, when forced to change our escort, have either ensured that a troop of adventurers could not substitute themselves for the detachment assigned to us, or else, if such a substitution has not taken place, to choose a leader with so much integrity that he would not yield to solicitations whose origin it is not our business to see. The enquiry which I demand, the enquiry, gentlemen, will tell us. . . ."
"Pardon, Monsieur?" Amedee Florence interrupted. "If you will allow me.. .."
The reporter had at first suggested the wisest course, which his practical nature had realized at once. But his proposition ceased to interest him as soon as he realized it was going to be adopted. A few minutes later he ceased to press it because he felt sorry that this journey seemed about to end, just when it promised to become interesting.
At this point his glance happened to fall on two of his companions. He had then interrupted Barsac with as little hesitation as he had ceased to listen to him earlier.
"If you will allow me, M. le President, I must point out that we are taking our decision without having asked the advice of Mlle Mornas and M. de St. Berain, who ought, I suppose, to have as much say as ourselves in the debate."
Indeed, while this discussion was going on, the two had listened in silence, without taking any part in it whatever.
"Monsieur Florence is right," Barsac admitted. "If it would please you, Mademoiselle, to let us know your opinion. .. ."
"I thank you for being good enough to consult me," Jane Mornas replied calmly, "but we ought not to join in a discussion which does not concern us."
"Which doesn't concern you? Why not, Mademoiselle? It seems to me we're all flying the same flag."
"Not at all, Monsieur," Jane Mornas replied. "If, through force of circumstances, you renounce your own aim, we have not changed ours. We do not wish to leave you at the very moment when you have so much to distress you, but we have always meant to continue our journey as planned."
"Then you persist in going as far as Gao?"
"More than ever."
"Alone? Without an escort?"
"We never expected anything else."
"With no porters?"
"We shall engage others. If we can't, we shall do without them."
"In spite of this enmity whose origin we don't know but whose reality we can't question?"
"In spite of this enmity, which I think must be aimed rather against you than against us."
"How do you know that, when we've been following the same route? Anyhow it will be against you, I fear, that our unknown enemy will direct his attack, if you go on alone towards the Niger."
"If that is so, we shall brave him."
"But this is madness!" Barsac cried. "If we have to use force we shall not allow you, Mademoiselle, to commit such an imprudence just for the sake of what you yourself call a whim."
Mlle Momas paused a moment then replied sadly: "Unfortunately, it's not only a question of a whim."
"What is it a question of, then?" Barsac asked, surprised.
Jane Mornas hesitated again. Then, after a brief silence, she said gravely: "Of duty."
The others looked at her with mixed feelings, wondering what she meant and what duty could be so imperious as to drag her to the limits of the Niger Bend. But the reporter who, by temperament, had always supposed that his companions had their own reasons for finishing the journey, now felt only a deep satisfaction on realizing that at last he was going to understand the one so far concealed from him.
Jane Mornas continued: "Forgive me, gentlemen, I have deceived you. . .."
"Deceived us?" Barsac replied, with increasing astonishment.
"Yes, I have been deceiving you. Though M. de St. Berain has given you his real name and he is as French as you are, I myself have travelled under a false name and a borrowed nationality. I am English, and my name is Jane Blazon. I am the daughter of Lord Blazon and the sister of Captain Blazon, and near Koubo is the last resting place of my ill fated brother. So it is there I must go, for there and there alone that I can accomplish the task I have set myself."
Then Jane Blazon, as henceforth she shall be called, described the tragedy of Koubo, the infamous accusation brought against George Blazon, the circumstances of his death, the shame and despair of his father. She explained her sacred task; to rehabilitate her brother, to effect the stain on the family honour, and to restore peace to the old man whose life was ending in the sad loneliness of Uttoxeter Castle.
Her hearers were powerfully gripped by emotion. They could not help admiring this young girl who for such reasons had dared to encounter, and would again encounter, so many fatigues and dangers.
When she finished: "Miss Blazon," said Amedee Florence, somewhat harshly, "let me lodge a complaint against you."
"A complaint? . . . Against me?" Jane was amazed, having expected quite a different response.
"Yes, a complaint, and a serious one! What a strange, and not very flattering, opinion have you got, Miss Blazon, of the French in general and of Amedee Florence in particular?"
"What are you trying to say, Monsieur Florence?" stammered Jane, disturbed.
"What!" cried the reporter indignantly, "you thought that Amedee Florence would let you make that little trip to Koubo, without him?"
"Oh, Monsieur Florence. . . ." Jane protested feelingly, as she realized what he meant.
"That's a nice thing!" Amedee Florence went on, pretending to be deeply annoyed. "And how selfish!"
"I don't quite see . . ." Jane began, half smilingly.
"Please let me speak," Florence interrupted her firmly. "So you have forgotten that I am a journalist, and indeed a reporter, and that I've got a strange thing, an editor? Do you know what my editor will say if he hears that I've shirked an assignment so sensational as the Blazon business? Well, he'll say: 'My little Florence, you're noth
ing but a nincompoop!' And he'll show me the door in two twos. Well, I want to keep my job. So I'm going with you."
"Oh, Monsieur Florence!" Jane repeated; she was deeply moved.
The reporter looked her in the face. "I'm going with you, Miss Blazon," he declared firmly. "And don't waste your time trying to contradict me, for I think I know better than you."
Jane took the gallant fellow's hand: "I accept, Monsieur Florence," she answered, while tears came into her eyes.
"And I, Miss Blazon, will you accept me also?" the deep voice of Dr. Chatonnay suddenly asked. "You, Doctor?"
"Undoubtedly. Such an expedition cannot dispense with a doctor. As you seem likely to get yourself cut into little pieces, I must be there to sew you up."
"Oh, Doctor," cried Jane, who was beginning to cry.
But what did she feel when she heard Barsac exclaiming in angry tones: "Well, but what about me? I don't count, it seems, for nobody dreams of asking my opinion?"
Barsac was really furious. He too had at once thought of joining Miss Blazon. He would thus kill two birds with one stone, because the route the girl was to follow resembled his own, and because its imprudence was justified by an aim whose nobility touched him. Moreover, four men, four Frenchmen, could they coldly abandon this child in the bush and let her face this hazardous adventure alone? Florence and Dr. Chatonnay had stolen his lines, as they say in the theatre, and that's always unpleasant.
"I'm not speaking for Monsieur Florence," he continued, somewhat exaggerating his real annoyance. "He is a free agent. But as for you, Doctor, you form part of the Mission I'm head of, I suppose. Are you going to be the next to desert, leaving your Chief bereft by the last of his followers?"
"I assure you, Monsieur Barsac . . The doctor babbled; he had not thought of this.
"If that wasn't what you meant, Doctor, did you imagine that I too should go on to Koubo? But is it your business to decide what route we're to follow? Above all, is it your business to take the initiative just to keep me in my place?"
"Let me assure you . . ." the poor doctor tried to plead.
"No, Doctor, no, I shall not allow it," replied Barsac, his voice rising gradually. "And understand this that I, the leader responsible for the Niger Mission, do not approve of your plans. On the other hand, considering that the only guide left us was engaged by Miss Blazon and is solely under her orders, considering that we cannot understand the natives without her help and that of M. de St. Berain, the only ones who understand their language, I wish, I mean, I COMMAND. ..."
Barsac, whose voice had gained an impressive loudness, paused judiciously then ended more quietly: "That we all make for the Niger by way of Koubo."
"Why, Monsieur Barsac . . ." stammered Jane, fearing she had misunderstood him.
"That's right, Miss Blazon," Barsac cut her short. "You must resign yourself to our company to the end."
"Oh, Monsieur Barsac . . ." she murmured the second time. By now she was crying quite openly.
She was not the only one with moist eyes. The feeling was general. But as the men strove, to conceal it, it somewhat unnerved them and showed itself in a torrent of meaningless words.
"It's quite an easy trip," announced Florence, "for we've got plenty of food."
"For five days," said Dr. Chatonnay, in the same tone as he might have said six months.
"Only four," Barsac corrected him. "But we can buy more."
"Besides, there's hunting," the doctor suggested. "And fishing," added St. Berain.
"And fruit, which I'm not quite ignorant of," the doctor agreed.
"Me know plants," Tongane put in a word.
"Me make Ce butter," Malik improved upon him.
"Hip, hip, hip, hurrah!" cried Amedee Florence. "It's Capua, it's the Land of Canaan, it's the Earthly Paradise."
"We shall set off tomorrow," Barsac summed things up. "We must get ready without losing a moment."
It is worth noticing that M. Poncin had not opened his mouth. But as soon as it was decided that they should all go to Koubo, he had taken out his notebook, and was now covering it with endless calculations.
"That's all very well," he said in response to Barsac's decision. "It's no odds that the Koubo route, compared with that of Segou-Sikoro represents an increase of 250 miles. Our paces being, as is well known, twenty-five inches, that makes...."
But nobody was listening. The others were already busy getting ready for next day's journey, and M. Poncin was wasting his calculations on the desert air.
CHAPTER XII
THE FOREST GRAVE
Accompanied by six porters provided by the head man, the remnants of the Barsac Mission left Kadou early on the 24th of February. However disquieting the events which had disorganized it, its members were quite cheerful. With the possible exception of M. Poncin, whose feelings were still inscrutable, they were all agreeably over excited at having accomplished a creditable, indeed almost an heroic, act, and they congratulated one another on their decision.
Moreover, there had been no more losses. Including Tongane, who shared his mount with Malik, they still had their horses, and there was no lack of weapons, provisions, or trade goods. Moreover, the country seemed quiet, and there was reason to hope that the unknown adversary whom they had involuntarily annoyed would bring his persecutions to an end, as the Mission was no longer strong enough to disquiet anyone. They had every hope of reaching Koubo without serious difficulty.
They had every hope, too, of reaching it more quickly, now that they were no longer retarded by a large troop of donkeys, some sure to be obstinate. Still, they had had to make heavy sacrifices. In return for the head man's assistance, they had given him part of their trumpery, though they had enough left to take them to Gao.
A more serious sacrifice was the need to abandon their tents, but, they kept one although she energetically forbade this for the exclusive use of Jane Blazon. The men would either find shelter in the villages, or sleep in the open; in the dry season, on so short a journey, this would not trouble them greatly. It was only a matter, when all was said and done of travelling about three hundred miles, about fifteen to twenty day's march. So they should be in Koubo between the 10th and the 15th of March.
The start of the journey harmonized with these favourable auspices. The porters, fresh and full of energy, kept up a good speed, and they took only five days to cross the ninety miles from Kadou to Sanabo, where they arrived on the 28th. No incident marked this part of the journey. As they had expected, they could usually find a night's lodging in the native huts, very dirty indeed but none the less adequate: and the nights in the open air, away from any village, were quite peaceable. Well received everywhere, the travellers got fresh supplies of food without difficulty, and when they left Sanabo on March 1st, they still retained their reserve stores. So far they had no reason to regret the course they had adopted.
"I should say it's too good!" Amedee Florence announced to his friend St. Berain, as on 2nd March they rode side by side. "The deep thinker whom I'm following may get uneasy about this, and calculate to what fraction the balance- heet of good and evil has worked out to our benefit. I prefer to think, all the same, the destiny can occasionally model itself on M. Poncin and ignore the odd fractions."
"You see what comes of a good action, my friend," replied St. Berain. "You didn't want to forsake us, and Heaven will reward you."
"From the way things are going we shan't deserve much," said Dr. Chatonnay, turning round on his saddle.
"Who knows?" asked St. Berain. "We haven't got there yet."
"Bah!" cried Amedee Florence, "we'll be all right. We've got the wind behind us, this time. I say that we'll arrive at Koubo in an arm-chair, without the slightest adventure to put on record, and that isn't very pleasing to a journalist whose editor . . . Hey there!" he suddenly interrupted himself, speaking to his horse, which had just stumbled heavily. "What's up?" asked Barsac.
"It's my horse," Florence explained. "He's kept on stumbling all day. I sh
all have to examine...."
He hadn't time to finish. The horse, which had suddenly halted, trembled and swayed on its legs. The reporter had barely time to put his foot to the ground, and hardly had he left the saddle when the animal's knees failed, and it fell to earth.
They ran to help the poor beast, which was breathing with difficulty and groaning. They loosened the girth, and moistened its nostrils with water from the adjacent stream. Nothing could be done. Within an hour it was dead.
"I ought to have touched wood just then," lamented Amedee Florence, now become a pedestrian. "Boasting about your luck always brings misfortune, everybody knows that."
"You're superstitious, Monsieur Florence?" Jane Blazon asked smilingly.
"Not exactly, Mademoiselle. Only put out, badly put out in fact."
Tongane's horse was transferred to the reporter and Jane gave a lift to Malik. Then after a halt of half an hour, they proceeded, leaving the body of the horse and its harness. The march had to be shortened correspondingly.
At nightfall they halted at a clump of trees alongside the road. Situated on a slight rise, so that a look-out could be kept in all directions against the ever-present danger of surprise, this was a good place to spend the night. Certainly its advantages had impressed earlier travellers, who, it soon became clear, had camped at the same spot. To judge by their tracks, they must have been quite numerous and had a number of horses.
Who were these people? Negroes or whites? The latter was the most probable, for Negroes do not use horses much. This became a certainty when Amedee Florence found a small object which their predecessors had forgotten. Insignificant in itself, for it was only a button, this was none the less the product of civilization and witnessed irrefutably to its former owner's colour.
The condition of the trampled grass, which was already reviving, showed that their previous journey had taken place at least ten clays ago. As they had not met them, the Mission came to the decision that the others were also travelling north eastwards, so that the two parties were hardly likely to meet.
Jules Verne - [Barsac Mission 01] Page 16
