The Fire-Gods A Tale of the Congo, Charles Gibson [most life changing books .txt] 📗

The strong brows, the firm

mouth, the great hatchet chin--these had not been given him for naught.

He may have had the strength of Hercules; yet he had never accomplished

his journey down the river, had it not been for the indomitable strength

of his mind. And now that he realized that the victory was his, that

his efforts had been crowned with success, the will, on a sudden,

relinquished its task, as a helmsman gives way to his successor at the

wheel--and Crouch fell forward in a faint.

 

At dawn, the sun found them lying together on the mud, and by the warmth

of its rays set the blood coursing more freely in their veins.

 

Max was the first to revive. He tried to lift himself, but found that

he was not able to do so, because of the weight of Crouch’s body on his

chest. He fell back again, and lay for some time with opened eyes,

staring upward at the sky.

 

He saw the colours change in the heavens. He heard the cries of the

birds upon the marsh. Then, once again, he struggled to an elbow.

 

With difficulty he lifted Crouch; and then, looking into the captain’s

face, he wondered where he was, and how it had come about that they two

were stranded, side by side, in the midst of surroundings with which he

was wholly unfamiliar.

 

Then he remembered, by degrees. The struggle with the Arab in the

back-water--his headlong rush throughout the length of the rapids--the

vision he had had of Crouch, frantic on the bank. And then--the ravine,

and at the end, the cataract--the thunder of the water--the rushing in

his ears.

 

The truth was not difficult to guess; indeed, there was no other

explanation. He tried to rise to his feet, but could not do so. At

that, he lay back again, to rest, and gave silent thanks in his heart to

Divine Providence by means of which he had been saved as by a miracle.

He had undergone the sensations of death, and yet he lived.

 

He had lain quite still and motionless, it may have been for an hour,

when Crouch sat up and looked about him. And when he had taken in the

scene, he let fall the following irrelevant remark--

 

"I’ve lost my pipe," said he.

 

He then got to his feet, and walking to the water’s edge--which was but

a few feet distant--he knelt down, scooped the water in his hands, and

drank.

 

Then he returned to Max, and seated himself by his side.

 

"Feeling queer?" he asked.

 

Max answered that he was very weak.

 

"Your strength ’ll return," said Crouch; "but you must have some cover

for your head."

 

He took off his coat, which was nothing but a bundle of tatters, and

rolling this into a kind of turban, he placed it upon Max’s forehead to

protect him from the heat of the sun. Then he went back to the water’s

edge, washed the blood from his face and hands, and bathed the back of

his neck. As he returned, he found the barrel of his broken rifle, and

stooped and picked it up.

 

"Look at that!" said he. "That was once the best rifle in this forsaken

continent. Not worth its weight as scrap-iron!"

 

"I suppose," said Max, "you’ll be offended if I try to thank you?"

 

"You suppose right," said Crouch. "Do you feel able to walk?"

 

"I think so."

 

"You don’t," said the captain. "There’s no hurry." Then he began to

think aloud. "If we work up-stream," said he, "we’ll be on the wrong

side of the river. By now Cæsar will have found our canoe. We’re not

armed; we have no food. There are precisely three ways in which we

might die: first, starvation; second, Cæsar; third, a buffalo. The

first’s a certainty. Both of us are too weak to swim the river at Hippo

Pool--to say nothing of crocodiles. On the other hand, if we go

down-stream, walking will be easy till we get to the mangrove swamp.

Have you got a knife?"

 

Max felt in his pockets, and produced the article in question. Crouch

looked at it.

 

"That’ll do," said he. "With this we should be able to dig out a canoe,

and make a couple of paddles. If we don’t die at the job, we ought to

work our way up to Date Palm Island. As soon as you’re ready, we’ll

start."

 

"I’m ready now," said Max.

 

"Then come along," said Crouch.

 

The mud lay in ridges, which had been baked hard by the sun. Between

these the water lay in long pools which, as they progressed farther to

the north, became more and more still, less disturbed by the current

that issued from the falls. Crouch patted his clothes as he limped

along.

 

"I’ve lost every blamed thing," said he; "pipe, pouch and baccy,

compass, knife and ammunition."

 

Max answered nothing. He thought it would not be wise to sympathize.

Crouch was a peculiar man in many ways.

 

Soon after midday they came to the mangrove swamp; and the crossing of a

mangrove swamp is a thing that most African explorers have accomplished.

The roots of the short, stunted trees stand out upon the surface of the

water. It is necessary to pass by way of these, stepping from one root

to another; and some knowledge of the art of balancing is utterly

essential. If you lose your foothold, you fall into the swamp, and

there you are set upon by leeches. Some of these are large--sometimes

as large as snails--but the kind generally met with is an animal so

small that it can work its way through the eye-holes of your boots.

Once this creature has laid hold upon your skin, and begun to suck your

blood, it begins to swell until it has attained the size of a cherry.

 

At the edge of the mangrove swamp Crouch and Max took off their boots,

and hung these across their shoulders. With bare feet they could get a

better footing upon the twisted roots of the trees.

 

For three hours they journeyed through the swamp, which was buried in

semi-darkness. It was far darker than the jungle. It is in these

swamps that the mosquitoes swarm in myriads, and all the deadly diseases

of the country are engendered. To pitch a standing camp in the vicinity

of a mangrove swamp, is to court a certain death from malaria or

typhoid.

 

They were weary, faint, and aching in their bones when they came upon

the banks of the Kasai. No wonder this had been named the "Hidden

River." It joined the great tributary of the Congo in a thousand little

streams, all flowing silently through darkness beneath the close-packed

trees.

 

Crouch turned to the right. He had been bearing to the east throughout,

and in a little while they were clear of the swamp, on terra firma.

Seating themselves, they put on their boots.

 

"By Christopher," said Crouch, "I’m weak! I don’t fancy making that

canoe with a jackknife."

 

"Nor I," said Max. "But we’ll do it."

 

Crouch laughed.

 

"We will," said he, but his face was white as a ghost. Then he sat bolt

upright and listened. "What’s that?" he cried.

 

Faint in the distance was a gentle, scraping sound, which grew louder

and louder as the minutes passed. Max at first could not believe the

evidence of his ears. He waited expectantly, and at last heard a

rippling sound, that was like the laughter of a child. He sprang to his

feet, and rushing to the water’s edge, looked up-stream, shading his

eyes with his hand. It was, indeed, the truth--a long canoe was

swinging down upon the tide.

 

 

THE FIRE-GODS - CHAPTER XIII--BACK TO THE UNKNOWN

 

A minute later they saw that the canoe was manned by six of their own

Loango boys, who made the blades of the paddles flash in the sunlight;

and, moreover, they recognized the canoe as the one they had left at

Date Palm Island.

 

Max lifted his voice and shouted from the bank. Whereat the boys ceased

to paddle, and regarded them amazed. Then, recognizing their masters,

they raised a shout in chorus, and drew in towards the bank.

 

Had these natives desired proof of the omnipotence of the Fire-gods,

they could have wished for nothing more. Had they searched Central

Africa from the Equator to the Zambesi, they could have found no two

people more wretched-looking and forlorn. Max was utterly exhausted,

and so faint that he could scarcely stand. As for Crouch, he might have

been mauled by a lion.

 

One of the boys flung himself upon the ground, then rose to a kneeling

position, and lifted his arms as in prayer.

 

"Master," he cried, "what did we tell you? We warned you of the

Fire-gods! We told you the valley was bewitched! We implored you not

to go!"

 

As the boy ran on in the same strain, Crouch gathered himself together,

growing purple in the face. With his tattered garments, which resembled

ruffled feathers, he looked like an infuriated turkey-cock. And then,

without warning, he landed the boy such a kick as lifted him bodily into

the air.

 

"Fire-gods be hanged!" he shouted. "These are jungle marks. If the

valley ’s bewitched, it’s bewitched by thorns. Look here! See for

yourselves!" So saying, he lifted his bare leg, in which the thorns

were sticking like so many pins in a pin-cushion. "I’ve seen the

Fire-gods," he ran on. "You blithering fools, I’ve taken tea with ’em.

I’ve doctored one with a dose of medicine, and I’ve played cards with

the other. And I’ve not done with them, yet--mind that! I’m going

back, by Christopher! and there’ll be the biggest war-palaver you ever

heard of in your lives. Come, get up, and get a move on! But, first,

what are you doing here?"

 

The boys answered that they had come down-stream to shoot hippopotami

for food. They said that about a mile farther down the river there was

a great grassy bank where many of these animals were to be found. Crouch

ordered them to get back into the canoe, saying that as soon as they

arrived at the island he would open a case of supplies--bully beef and

sardines, of which the Loango boys cherished the empty tins. Also, he

promised that in a day or so he would shoot a buffalo, and they would

not want for provisions. There was a certain amount of hippo meat in

the canoe, and that night Crouch and Max partook of the same food as the

boys. It was not until the afternoon of the following day that they

arrived at Date Palm Island.

 

They did not expect Edward Harden for some days. He was still forcing

his way towards the Kasai by way of the portage. In the meantime, not

only were they glad enough of a rest, but this was altogether essential.

It took Crouch some days to rid himself of the thorns which had attached

themselves to his skin. He refused all medical assistance from Max; and

the wonder of it was, that the wound in his thigh was healing rapidly

under his "Bull’s Eye treatment." This was wholly incomprehensible to

the young medical student, who beheld the theories he had studied at

hospital, and on which he had placed such store, dissipated to the

winds. In all probability, the fact was that Crouch had such firm

belief in his own remedy that his cure was an example of "faith

healing"; it is generally admitted in these days that "attitude of mind"

affects the health and can even bring about organic changes, for better

or for worse. At any rate, in three days he was sufficiently recovered

to set forth into the forest of rubber trees on the right bank of the

river in search of the buffalo he had promised the boys. Max--although

on this occasion he remained in camp--had by now completely recovered

his strength.

 

There were few things they carried with them to the Hidden River of

which they had not duplicates at Date Palm Island. Crouch had been able

to secure a new suit of clothes, tobacco and another pipe. As for

rifles, both Edward and Crouch were experienced explorers, and knew