Читать книгу The Expedition Of Captain Flick - Fergus Hume - Страница 6

Table of Contents

“Child of the torrid zone,

Burnt black ’neath tropic skies;

From lands unseen, unknown,

By tempests northward blown,

Hither you come alone

Where England’s banner flies.

“You, who have stormless seas,

And warm winds bearing balms;

Weep as the wintry breeze,

Shakes the complaining trees,

And long for former ease

Beneath your native palms.”

That Captain Flick should so pointedly stimulate our curiosity was, to my mind, a proof of his determination to secure both yacht and owner for the proposed expedition. Outspoken as he feigned to be, no one could be closer when nothing was to be gained by babbling; and that he had admitted even so much of his schemes sufficiently betrayed the bent of his thoughts. It needed little subtlety to see that the visit would terminate to his liking; for he possessed, in an eminent degree, the art of adapting circumstances to forward his aims.

Yet, as is often the case with the crafty, it seemed to me that his diplomacy was scarcely needed, as Harry was fairly set on joining in the enterprise. The very vagueness which environed Flick’s destination, stirred up the venturesome spirit of the lad; and his patience was sorely tried during those seven days of suspense. In nowise pleased that Harry should risk life and limb in what promised to be a mad undertaking, I talked seriously of what he owed to his estate and tenants; pointing out, and I think justly, that absenteeism was the ruin of landed interests. But all to no purpose, for I might as easily have bidden the Taw turn on its course, as move this would-be pioneer from his determination.

All afire for exploration and adventure, he indulged in a thousand conjectures as to the motive and direction of the journey; and he wearied brain and eyes in tracing on the chart imaginary routes, which tended—so ignorant was he of Flick’s purpose—to the four points of the compass. The expedition could not, he thought, be designed for the Polar regions, as Flick hinted at Southern waters and negroes. These terms more directly indicated Africa; though such stress was laid on the possession of the yacht, that it would seem that the captain contemplated taking her whither she would be of more use than skirting continental coasts. But to all such surmises the wary Flick said neither “yea” nor “nay.”

Entering the library, I found Harry twirling the terrestrial globe, and chuckling over this latest outcome of his thoughts. With some pride he communicated the same, and sought my opinion thereon. I must premise that his mode of addressing me was the result of high spirits and familiarity.

“Here you are, Old Sobersides,” said he disrespectfully; “I was about to look for you, to tell of my discovery.”

“Have you found out Flick’s mare’s nest?”

“Mare’s nest it may be, but that we shall see. Here, old lad, I believe this expedition has to do with an island in the Indian Seas, t’other side of Capricorn. Flick wants to obtain something from that island, and to use the boat in order to escape.”

“An island!” I repeated, bending over the chart spread out on the table. “Roaring Tom talks of negroes and Africa—”

“Pish! It has nothing to do with Africa. If it had, we could easily get there by a Donald Currie, or a “Union” liner, and Flick would be bent on borrowing money for the engaging of carriers and guides. He wouldn’t want my boat, for it would be of no use in an overland journey, and she is overdeep in the draught for river travelling. No, Denis, it’s an island the old man is hankering after.”

“What sort of an island, and where?”

“Ask me something easier. I’ve been poring over this map till I know every inch of it. If the island is unknown, I’m blest if I can spot any possible place where it can hide. The Indian Ocean is as well known as Piccadilly.

“No doubt, Hal. Still, the liners keep more or less to their regular routes; and it is just possible that in the intervening spaces there may lie some unconsidered geographical trifle.”

“It’s near Africa, anyhow. You heard the old man talk of negroes.”

“The term might include all dark-skinned folk, from the Central African type to the South American half-caste,” said I reflectively. “By some people, Arabs, Hindoos, Guaches, Polynesians, and such like, are all denominated niggers. I wouldn’t pin my faith to so comprehensive a term, Hal. To my mind the strangest of his hints is the coupling of Greece and negroes. What have the latter to do with the former, I should like to know?”

“So should I, my lad of Shropshire. But,” added Harry in a more hopeful tone, “there’s that nigger servant of his.”

“Dosk! Well, what clue can that hideous piece of ebony afford you?”

“Don’t you think it possible that he comes from Flick’s unknown island?”

“Assuredly I do not, and for two reasons. Firstly, nothing has been said about an unknown island; and, secondly, if Dosk came from one, how could Flick converse with him in his own tongue? An unknown island, an unknown race—an unknown race, an unknown tongue, and there tumbles down your fine castle of fancy.”

“Deuce take your syllogisms!” retorted Harry, by no means inclined to surrender his point. “I don’t see the connection at all. However, let us grant your argument, and come to the tattooing.”

“That’s better! Have you seen it?”

“No. The creature is muffled up in that sailor rig, which makes him look like a monkey on a barrel-organ. I can’t strip the man, so I fail to see how I can get a glimpse of his black hide.”

“Try strategy,” I suggested; “inveigle Dosk to Raleigh’s Pool, and induce him to swim. Then you can see the illustrations on his chest.”

“I might do worse,” replied Harry, accepting my jocular hint in all seriousness. “All is fair in love or war, and as the secret of the expedition is shown by the tattooing, I should like to forestall Flick’s communication, and score one off that tantalizing Polyphemus. By the way, where is he?”

“With the ladies, no doubt. An ocean Hercules thrall to a couple of Devonian Omphales. Both Bertha and Aunt Chrissy are enamoured of this noble sea captain.”

“The old rhinoceros!” laughed Harry, rolling up the map. “I don’t wonder at it—there is something likeable about him. He is a prime favourite here, at all events.”

Harry spoke no more than the truth; for Captain Flick, with his blunt speech and frank simplicity, which latter was, I think, in part assumed, had ingratiated himself with all. That Aunt Chrissy, mindful of her youthful romance, should like him, was to be expected; but I wondered that the haughty Bertha should manifest such pleasure in the society of a rough seaman. Indeed, so much did she affect his company, that I laughingly congratulated myself that the lure of adventure would shortly remove so dangerous a rival. Flick followed her about everywhere, and greatly amused her by his quaint remarks and openly confessed appreciation of her beauty.

“Upon my word, Bertha,” said I one afternoon, “I don’t think it is safe for me to leave my Devonian nymph in the clutches of Polyphemus. Ere I return, you may be carried off like another Galatea.”

“He is a delightful old bear,” said Bertha, smilling; “and his compliments, if plain-spoken, are genuine. I wish the poor old man would settle down quietly, instead of venturing his life on a perilous voyage.”

Mrs. Barber, who was present, looked up from her knitting at this last speech, and shook her head, with a glance around to see if Flick was within hearing.

“He wouldn’t thank you to call him a ‘poor old man,’ my dear,” said she dryly. “Thomas thinks of himself as one in the flower of manhood.”

“He’s so optimistic that he can persuade himself into any belief, aunty. All the same, he is a gallant old gentleman, and were I not engaged to Denis, I should set my cap at Roaring Tom.”

“There’s a confession to make in the hearing of your future husband,” said I, lingering at the door.

“If my future husband will leave me so much alone, he must expect to find a rival. One of sixty-five is better than nothing. Where are you going this afternoon, Denis?”

“With Harry, for a swim in Raleigh’s Pool. That is the ostensible reason, but Harry has some scheme in his head.”

“I see that Dosk creature is with him,” replied Bertha, glancing out of the window. “Has it to do with him?”

“Yes; and with the expedition.”

“I believe you are bitten with the mania also, Denis, and encourage Harry in his folly.”

“On the contrary, I go to dissuade him, if possible.”

This was hardly true, as I was as curious as Harry about the tattooing; but it served as an excuse to take my leave. On the lawn I found Harry and the negro, and, on my joining them, we all three turned down a path towards Raleigh’s Pool. This was a large cistern dug out of the earth, faced with stone, and brimmed with the coldest of water. Fed by subterranean springs, it was chilly on the hottest days, and therefore much affected in summer by those who stayed at Bucksford. Tradition ascribed its conception and execution to Sir Walter Raleigh, but of the truth of this I am ignorant. Nevertheless, it was called by the name of that famous Elizabethan; and, as I never heard his claim to its creation disputed, I presume there was a grain of truth, as there generally is, in the common rumour.

Leaving Dosk, who, child of the tropics as he was, shivered most pitifully in the shade of the trees, to mind our clothes on the bank, Harry and myself plunged into the pool, and refreshed ourselves greatly On all sides rose the trunks of oak, and ash, and sycamore, girdling the water with a verdant ring of whispering leaves, while overhead arched the blue and sunny sky. Engrossed in our swimming, we failed to take notice of the negro; but he was recalled to our minds by the rising of a melancholy chant. In some amazement, for the music was fitful and barbaric, we climbed out of the water to listen and look.

Dosk had wandered to the end of the pool, and was grovelling before a statue of Venus which stood white and nude amid the surrounding green. He bowed abjectly before the image, raised his arms as in supplication, and again chaunted his invocation to the goddess. To my astonishment he thrice repeated the name of Aphrodite; and then, his orisons ended, he crept back to where we were drying ourselves.

“That’s strange, Hal,” said I, desisting for a moment in sheer amazement; “he calls on and worships Aphrodite.”

“And Flick talked about Greece,” cried Harry greatly excited; “depend upon it, Denis, I am right. This man is an inhabitant of the island whither Flick is bound, and, judging from his late occupation they there worship Hellenic deities.”

“Nonsense! What can an island of the Indian Ocean have to do with Greece?”

“And why should a negro of that island call upon Aphrodite?” retorted Harry. “There’s some connection between the two, strange as it may appear.”

“Well, have a look at the tattooing, and see if that will help you,” said I carelessly; “though, unless Dosk is a descendant of the blameless Ethiopians with whom Zeus dined, I don’t see how such extremes as classic and barbarian can meet.”

While I dressed myself, Harry pointed to the pool, and intimated to Dosk that he should plunge in. In place of refusing, as I thought he would, the negro stripped himself with the utmost celerity, and seemed only too pleased at the chance of a bath. But before we could even gain a glimpse of his chest, Dosk sprang into the water, and proved himself as at home there as any fish. He dived and swam like an otter—another proof, as Harry remarked, that he belonged to an insular race. By the time we had finished our toilets he was on bank again, drying himself with one of our towels. Then we saw certain vermilion scorings on his chest, which strongly excited our curiosity.

Standing naked in the strong sunlight, Dosk looked like some grotesque idol of ebony. Never was there so black a skin, so misshapen a frame, so controted a visage. His ugliness was absolutely perfect, and he resembled those fantastic Japanese images, carven so as to utilize the excrescences of the wood for limbs and trunk. Broad, squat, bandy-legged, with arms of abnormal length, he was more ape than man; and a wide mouth, oblong eyes, and huge ears, accentuated his barbaric look. The degraded Bushman of South Africa was a step higher—at least as regards physical attributes—in the scale of creation, than this dwarfish monstrosity.

“My stars!” said Harry, as the negro shuffled into his clothes; “this creature is certainly the missing link! He is the ugliest little reptile I ever set eyes on. Maybe he is of an unknown race, for I never saw a thing like him claiming humanity.”

“Never mind that at present,” I returned impatiently; “you had better be sharp and examine the tattooing, or he’ll have his clothes on in a minute.”

Thus adjured, Harry advanced towards Dosk, who had by this time assumed the greater portion of his garments, and gently laid his hand on the bare shoulder of the negro. With a gesture of alarm, the black creature sprang back, and showed his teeth like a snarling dog, doubtful of unasked for attentions. I was close behind, looking over Harry’s shoulder, and I took in at a glance the extraordinary tracings marked on the dark skin of the dwarf. Thereon was scored in bright scarlet lines the representation of a nude woman standing on an island; a dove perched on the finger of her left hand, and the right arm pointed aloft to a five-rayed star. The whole of this symbolism was encircled by the convoluted coils of two snakes.

Incautiously, for the negro’s attitude was inimical, Harry laid his forefinger on this curious emblem, but scarcely had he touched the bare chest, when Dosk threw back his head with a guttural cry of rage; the next moment he had snatched up his remaining garments, and was racing at top speed up the path leading to the house.

“You’ve done it now, Hal,” said I, as we hastily followed. “Dosk has gone to complain to his master.”

“A woman, a star, an island, a dove,” muttered Harry, taking no notice of my remark; “what do you make of the mixture, Denis?”

“Humph! that requires some consideration. You are evidently right in your surmise that an island is the goal which Flick hopes to gain by means of the Carmen.”

“And the star?”

“Some sidereal religion, no doubt. These negroes may worship the planetary bodies.”

“What about the woman and the dove?”

“That is easier to guess. Dosk worshipped that statue of Venus by the pool, and called on the goddess by her Greek name of Aphrodite. In Greece the dove was sacred to the Cytherean deity; so, going by these facts, I should say that the figure on Dosk’s breast is meant for Venus.”

“But how comes it that a negro should be the votary of a dead and gone creed?”

“Flick alone can explain that,” I answered; “the key to the riddle is in his possession.”

“What about the snakes?” asked Harry after a pause; “the Greeks did not adore serpents.”

“No; but Nagya worship is a prominent feature of many tribal religions of the African continent where—”

“But this negro has nothing to do with Africa, I tell you. He is an islander, I am certain, both from the tattooing and from his swimming powers. No inland man would take to the water so naturally.”

“Well, let us construct a theory. The race to which Dosk belongs came from the great African continent to an island in the Indian Seas, and thereto brought with them the worship of star and serpent. In some inexplicable way this race came in contact with the Hellenes, and borrowed the cult of Aphrodite to mix it with their own barbaric rites. Though, indeed,” I added, smiling, “why such hideous monsters, as Dosk and his countrymen, should devote themselves to the worship of beauty is a puzzle to me.”

“That is all very well,” grumbled Harry crossly; “but why does Flick want to find out this island?”

“You had better ask him, for, upon my word, the tattooing has only deepened the mystery.”

“The seven days are over, thank goodness!” said Harry piously, “and we’ll hear the truth from Captain Flick to-night.”

We turned the corner of the path as he spoke, and emerged from green wood on to lawn. The façade of the house, with its many windows and stately portico, stretched broadly on the rise of the verdant sward, and, on either side, full-foliaged trees enclapsed the mansion in their embrace. The sight thrilled me, as it always did, with the thought of home-life and peaceful days.

“Can you leave that haven,” said I to Harry, “for wild wanderings and perilous voyages?”

“I grow rusty in comfort and ease,” he answered carelessly, “and I am not of the stuff to be content with domestic bliss. But that my father objected, I would have become a soldier, as you well know; and since that career is barred to me, I must shape my desire for action to some more adventurous course. If Captain Flick can perform all he promises, I’ll follow him to the ends of the earth.”

“You should have lived in the spacious times of great Elizabeth, lad.”

More I did not say at that moment, for we were interrupted by Bertha, who moved swiftly across the lawn to meet us. The absence of ornament and colour in her white dress added to, rather than detracted from, her stately beauty; and she moved a very goddess over the grass. Yet her face was disturbed, and it was easily seen that something untoward had occurred to ruffle her habitual serenity. What it was she explained as she paused before us.

“That ugly little negro,” said she in a vexed tone, “he has been annoying me again.”

“Again!” I echoed. “Has he, then, annoyed you before?”

“Yes; only I did not like to tell you. It is a foolish habit he has of falling on his knees every time I meet him.”

“Ho!” cried Harry, with a burst of laughter, “he takes you for Venus.”

“A very classical compliment,” replied Bertha, with a look of surprise; “but what has Venus to do with this black creature and his antics?”

“Ah! what indeed?” said I reflectively. “Only Captain Flick can explain his reasons. To-night, Bertha, your curiosity shall be gratified. Prepare yourself for the hearing of a strange history.”

I was right in my conjecture, for the history detailed by Roaring Tom was stranger than any of us dreamed of, and in the end, as will be seen, it led to still stranger adventures.