Читать книгу The Dark Road - Harold Bindloss - Страница 12
Оглавлениеcarthew's obstinacy
A puff of wind touched the cottonwood leaves and Welland looked about. He hardly thought he had slept, but the belt of shade was wider and slow ripples rolled up the yellow creek. Carthew and Huysler advanced along the bank, and the porters got up from their resting-places behind the buttress roots. Their white cotton clothes were ragged, and their leaf hats were thick and large. They did not bother about stockings, but their rawhide shoes were good, for in the swamps one guards one's feet.
When the party got on board, Huysler's look was excited and Carthew put a folded palm-leaf on the mat. Two peons in the stern seized their poles, two more swung the paddles, and the rocking dugout crawled ahead. Another canoe followed her muddy wake, and where the poles disturbed the slime, marsh gas bubbled.
"You might show them our find, sir," said Huysler presently.
Carthew opened the leaf packet, and the others saw six or seven rather large beads of gum. While Nilson looked over his shoulder, Welland picked up one or two. The stuff was nearly transparent, but seemed to hold and liquefy the light; the color was pale, rosy orange. But that the beads were smoothly globular, he imagined the surface would sparkle like a diamond, and although he had in Africa bought and studied gum, he had not handled stuff like that before. The queer thing was, it did not look as if the peons were interested. Seeing the others waited, he declared his satisfaction.
"After our experiments at the Huysler laboratories, I believe no other gum combines crystalium's useful qualities," said Carthew in a quiet voice. "The beads stick to the branches and the trees are small, but there was not much use in stopping to search the island. I do not expect to get a large quantity until we are some distance from the town."
"Crystalium's great stuff and we are on the proper track," said Huysler excitedly. "When you begin to exploit a tropical product, I suppose you hire up natives to gather it in the bush?"
"Something like that," Carthew agreed. "Another plan is to build a buying factory at a railhead or a river-mouth, and pay in goods or money for all your customers bring. I believe both plans are wasteful, because the native collector destroys the trees. But Welland, no doubt, knows."
"In Africa, British companies now cultivate the oil palm. Rubber, of course, has been cultivated for some time."
"There's our line," said Huysler with boyish enthusiasm. "When we hit the proper stuff, we'll plant crystalium. The old man will put up the money and the President's our friend. In a few years, when our plantations are producing, the Huysler Company will control the article. We'll cut motor roads and build a fleet of gasoline boats. At length, I reckon I've got a useful job."
Welland looked up. Close in front the mangrove branches locked across the creek. Slimy roots arched above the water; the pale-colored trunks were blurred and indistinct along the shadowy tunnel.
"There's a drawback," he said dryly. "Where the trees that love a hot soil thrive and the anopheles mosquito swarms, the white man dies."
Huysler turned to Carthew, as if for his support, but the dugout slid into the shadow and the boy said nothing. Under the blotched, sickly foliage, the gloom somehow was daunting; the air was hot and damp like steam, and carried a strange, sour smell.
At sunset the mangroves got thin, and where big cottonwoods sprang from firm soil the dugout was moored a yard or two from the bank. The party carried ground-sheets and tents, but nobody was keen to camp under the trees, and the peons stopped on board their canoe. Although a half-moon rose behind the high, black cottonwoods, mist floated about the creek, and when dinner was over Welland threw fresh wood on the fire the cook had used. A hearth of sand and stones occupied the dugout's waist, and the curling smoke kept off the mosquitoes.
Nobody but the peons had used much muscular effort, but all were dull and slack. Huysler talked, rather languidly, about cultivating gum, and Nilson about his hunting excursions in the North. Father Sebastian drowsed and brooded, and Carthew smoked his pipe. Welland smelt musk, and by and by water swirled across the creek and the canoe rocked.
"A sharp-nosed crocodile," said Carthew. "I don't know if the brutes are dangerous, but I'd sooner not experiment. Anyhow, all sharks are not man-eaters. I expect you have been capsized from a surf-boat on the Guinea coast, Welland?"
"That is so," said Welland. "When the moon was bright one evening I leaned against the Biafra's taffrail in Lagos roads. Fifty or sixty yards off, her sister boat rolled about; our surf-boat's crew hung on to her guess-warp. An engineer, sitting on her bridge-deck rails, played a banjo, and she perhaps rolled harder than he thought, for he went overboard. We saw his white clothes vanish and water splash. The surf-boat boys were quick, but when they got out their paddles the man was gone."
He stopped and Carthew turned his head. Where the moonlight pierced the shade, a hammock lurched about; the porters' dark figures swaying awkwardly on broken ground. After a few moments they put down their load and a man in white clothes hailed the canoe. Huysler pulled her to the bank and the stranger got on board.
"Your Worships' servant, Martin Ramos, department secretary to Señor Galdos, whose authority all acknowledge," he said. "Since your arrival was expected, my duty is to carry my master's compliments."
Carthew gave him a drink, and waited. Don Martin, using French and Castilian, began to talk about the heat and the drawbacks of traveling in the swamps. It accounted for his arriving in the dark and not inviting the party to visit at his house.
Welland had imagined negotiations would begin like that, and when Don Martin took another drink, he carelessly threw fresh wood on the fire. Little snapping flames leaped up, and he saw the fellow's skin was very dark and his hair was short and crisp. Moreover, he talked with the fluent plausibility native lawyers use at Sar Leone. Welland imagined Carthew knew the type; but he agreed urbanely with his guest's remarks. Father Sebastian smoked a cigarette, as if he were bored.
"You cannot go much farther by water," Don Martin said by and by. "There are no roads, the paths are bad, and the country is disturbed. In front is the negro belt, and one senses a sort of restlessness—In fact, something we do not know goes on." He shrugged meaningly. "Our country is volcanic, gentlemen."
"Are the negroes West Indians?" Carthew inquired.
"A number are native born, the descendants of the Spaniards' slaves; but some are from Cuba, Jamaica, and Haiti, and a few, I think, emigrated from Liberia. On the whole, they are mala gente; in English, a d——bad lot."
"You perhaps have got some Voodoo men? I expect the Leopards do not emigrate," said Welland.
Don Martin gave him a queer, searching glance. In the reflections from the hearth, his white eyeballs were rather conspicuous. It looked as if he were afraid.
"A few use some sort of magic, about which we know nothing," he replied. "Some others call themselves Metodistas."
"All are mala gente," Father Sebastian remarked.
Nilson laughed. "I am a Methodist, padre, although I do not claim to be a first-class example."
Father Sebastian gave him an indulgent smile, and Nilson was not annoyed. Yet Don Martin had annoyed him. The fellow pretended to be a white man, but one sensed a subtle, treacherous vein. Well, Carthew, for all his urbanity, was not a fool.
"Father Sebastian's Indians are Catholics, but it is said they have sacrificed children to the old Aztec gods," Don Martin resumed. "Travelers' tales, perhaps; but the Government thinks he ought not to trust his flock, and we understood he was ordered to the coast. Well, I am discreet, and I do not inquire where he is going."
"I go where you dare not," said Father Sebastian, in a quiet, scornful voice.
The other shrugged indulgently. "It is possible; I am not ambitious to be a martyr." He turned to Carthew. "Just now the neighborhood you plan to search is not altogether safe for foreigners. If the negroes had but a leader, I think they would revolt. In the circumstances, the comandante's friendship might be worth something."
"The trouble is, Señor Galdos's friendship is expensive," Carthew rejoined. "We are not rich, but you might perhaps state the smallest sum that would satisfy him."
Don Martin did so, and for a few minutes Carthew pretended to cogitate. He saw Huysler's and Nilson's interest, but they trusted him, and waited.
"I am sorry, but I am afraid we must let it go," he said. "The permits we got at the capital cost us much, and since we have not yet found the gum we cannot be extravagant."
"Oh, well, Señor Galdos is not greedy, and he makes another proposition. The country is disturbed and all our soldiers and rurales have not good rifles."
"Those who have rifles have not much ammunition," said Father Sebastian. "Cartridges cost something, but the Government must reward its supporters."
Don Martin laughed, but not as if he were much amused.
"There is the drawback. Well, we are informed Señor Huysler's relations are important and they might help to satisfy a Connecticut manufacturer who could supply the goods we want. In fact, if he will go with me to headquarters—"
"I certainly am not going," Huysler declared in English. "So long as he gets that, you need not bother to be polite, sir."
Carthew turned to Don Martin, with an apologetic smile.
"My friend is not keen, and I hesitate to persuade him. Our negotiations were with the President, and one does not send military supplies to a country except by the direct sanction of its Government. If we had authority, in Señor Vallon's hand, it would be another thing."
"My chief is responsible for his department," Don Martin replied, and was quiet for a few moments. Then he shrugged and got up. "Well, I cannot persuade you; the path is bad and I have some distance to go. One respects your courage. Your servant, gentlemen!"
Calling his porters, he jumped for the bank. The moon shone on his white clothes and the lowered hammock; and then the stooping porters lifted the pole. Leaves rustled, branches cracked, and Don Martin was gone.
"I expect you agreed, Jack?" said Carthew.
"Altogether, sir," Huysler replied. "The fellow annoyed me. I felt he was treacherous. Anyhow, he's a grafter and I hate to be robbed." He turned to the priest. "A ladron, padre?"
"Todos ladrones. All his sort are thieves," Father Sebastian agreed.
"The queer thing was, he did not urge us much. Somehow, I felt he thought it did not matter if he persuaded us or not."
"Lo mismo. To him it was equal," said Father Sebastian.
Huysler said nothing. When the padre was about, one could not be altogether frank. Carthew began to talk about something else, and after a time poles were fixed and the tents stretched like an awning across the canoe. The fire burned down, mosquitoes droned behind the muslin bar, sometimes the current gurgled, and land-crabs scratched the bank. Welland imagined Carthew did not sleep, and when the other beckoned he crawled noiselessly from his mat.
"I expect we have turned down Galdos's last offer, but his messenger's indifference puzzles me," Carthew said in a quiet voice. "He may have thought to entangle us in a plot against Vallon, but since we are not important, I don't see his object."
"I imagine Father Sebastian does see, but does not mean to enlighten us," Welland replied. "The President, however, gave us an official permit, and if we did not return, awkward inquiries might be made from Washington. The United States is the predominant foreign influence. When Don Martin stated the country is volcanic, I think he did not exaggerate. Do you think he expects an eruption?"
"There is not much use in speculating, but I'd like to know. Well, we undertook to find the gum, and I suppose we must face the risks and go ahead."
Welland agreed and crawled back to his mat bed. He, like Carthew, sprang from Northern stock and was not subtle. The dark-skinned people's cunning had baffled him before, but where one could not see a light Carthew's plan was good. One set one's mouth and calmly went ahead.
Sometimes the canoe rocked. Mosquitoes droned behind the bar. A pale flame leaped from the ashes in the hearth and sank, but Welland did not know.
