Of coming things stride on before their issues.
There is nothing that brings men so close to each other as a common grievance or a common danger. Men who find pleasure in the same game or the same pursuit are drawn together by a common taste; but in the indulgence of it there is sure to arise, sooner or later, a spirit of competition. Now, this spirit, which is in most human affairs, is a new bond of union when men are fighting side by side against a common foe.
During the three days that followed Durnovo's departure from Msala, Jack Meredith and Oscard learnt to know each other. These three days were as severe a test as could well be found; for courage, humanity, tenderness, loyalty, were by turns called forth by circumstance. Smallpox rages in Africa as it rages nowhere else in these days. The natives fight it or bow before it as before an ancient and deeply dreaded foe. It was nothing new to them, and it would have been easy enough for Jack and Oscard to prove to their own satisfaction that the presence of three white men at Msala was a danger to themselves and no advantage to the natives. It would have been very simple to abandon the river station, leaving there such men as were stricken down to care for each other. But such a thought never seemed to suggest itself.
The camp was moved across the river, where all who seemed strong and healthy were placed under canvas, awaiting further developments.
The infected were carried to a special camp set apart and guarded, and this work was executed almost entirely by the three Englishmen, aided by a few natives who had had the disease.
For three days these men went about with their lives literally in their hands, tending the sick, cheering the despondent, frightening the cowards into some semblance of self-respect and dignity. And during these three days, wherein they never took an organised meal or three consecutive hours of rest, Joseph, Meredith, and Oscard rose together to that height of manhood where master and servant, educated man and common soldier, stand equal before their Maker.
Owing to the promptness with which measures had been taken for isolating the affected, the terrible sickness did not spread. In all eleven men were stricken, and of these ten died within three days. The eleventh recovered, but eventually remained at Msala.
It was only on the evening of the third day that Jack and Guy found time to talk of the future. They had never left Durnovo's house, and on this third day they found time to dine together.
“Do you think,” Oscard asked bluntly, when they were left alone to smoke, “that Durnovo knew what was the matter?”
“I am afraid that I have not the slightest doubt of it,” replied Jack lightly.
“And bolted?” suggested Oscard.
“And bolted.”
Guy Oscard gave a contemptuous little laugh, which had a deeper insult in it than he could have put into words.
“And what is to be done?” he inquired.
“Nothing. People in books would mount on a very high pinnacle of virtue and cast off Mr. Durnovo and all his works; but it is much more practical to make what use we can of him. That is a worldly-wise, nineteenth-century way of looking at it; we cannot do without him.”
The contemplativeness of nicotine was upon Guy Oscard.
“Umph!” he grunted. “It is rather disgusting,” he said, after a pause; “I hate dealing with cowards.”
“And I with fools. For everyday use, give me a coward by preference.”
“Yes, there is something in that. Still, I'd throw up the whole thing if—”
“So would I,” said Jack, turning sharply in his chair, “if—”
Oscard laughed curtly and waited.
“If,” continued Jack, “I could. But I am more or less bound to go on now. Such chances as this do not turn up every day; I cannot afford to let it go by. Truth is, I told—some one who shall be nameless—that I would make money to keep her in that state of life wherein her godfathers, etc., have placed her; and make that money I must.”
“That is about my position too,” said Guy Oscard, somewhat indistinctly, owing to the fact that he habitually smoked a thick-stemmed pipe.
“Is it? I'm glad of that. It gives us something in common to work for.”
“Yes.” Guy paused, and made a huge effort, finally conquering that taciturnity which was almost an affliction to him. “The reason I gave the other night to you and that chap Durnovo was honest enough, but I have another. I want to lie low for a few months, but I also want to make money. I'm as good as engaged to be married, and I find that I am not so well off as I thought I was. People told me that I should have three thousand a year when the governor died, but I find that people know less of my affairs than I thought.”
“They invariably do,” put in Jack encouragingly.
“It is barely two thousand, and—and she has been brought up to something better than that.”
“Um! they mostly are. Mine has been brought up to something better than that too. That is the worst of it.”
Jack Meredith leant back in his folding chair, and gazed practically up into the heavens.
“Of course,” Guy went on, doggedly expansive now that he had once plunged, “two thousand a year sounds pretty good, and it is not bad to start upon. But there is no chance of its increasing; in fact, the lawyer fellows say it may diminish. I know of no other way to make money—had no sort of training for it. I'm not of a commercial turn of mind. Fellows go into the City and brew beer or float companies, whatever that may be.”
“It means they sink other people's funds,” explained Jack.
“Yes, I suppose it does. The guv'nor, y' know, never taught me how to make a livelihood; wouldn't let me be a soldier; sent me to college, and all that; wanted me to be a litterateur. Now I'm not literary.”
“No, I shouldn't think you were.”
“Remains Africa. I am not a clever chap, like you, Meredith.”
“For which you may thank a gracious Providence,” interposed Jack. “Chaps like me are what some people call 'fools' in their uncouth way.”
“But I know a little about Africa, and I know something about Durnovo. That man has got a mania, and it is called Simiacine. He is quite straight upon that point, whatever he may be upon others. He knows this country, and he is not making any mistake about the Simiacine, whatever—”
“His powers of sick-nursing may be,” suggested Jack.
“Yes, that's it. We'll put it that way if you like.”
“Thanks, I do prefer it. Any fool could call a spade a spade. The natural ambition would be to find something more flowery and yet equally descriptive.”
Guy Oscard subsided into a monosyllabic sound.
“I believe implicitly in this scheme,” he went on, after a pause. “It is a certain fact that the men who can supply pure Simiacine have only to name their price for it. They will make a fortune, and I believe that Durnovo knows where it is growing in quantities.”
“I cannot see how it would pay him to deceive us in the matter. That is the best way of looking at it,” murmured Jack reflectively. “When I first met him, the man thought he was dying, and for the time I really believe that he was honest. Some men are honest when they feel unwell. There was so little doubt in my mind that I went into the thing at once.”
“If you will go on with it I will stand by you,” said Oscard shortly.
“All right; I think we two together are as good as any half-bred sharper on this coast, to put it gracefully.”
Jack Meredith lighted a fresh cigarette, and leant back with the somewhat exaggerated grace of movement which was in reality partly attributable to natural litheness. For some time they smoked in silence, subject to the influence of the dreamy tropic night. Across the river some belated bird was calling continuously and cautiously for its mate. At times the splashing movements of a crocodile broke the smooth silence of the water. Overhead the air was luminous with that night-glow which never speaks to the senses in latitudes above the teens.
There is something in man's nature that inclines him sympathetically—almost respectfully—towards a mental inferior. Moreover, the feeling, whatever it may be, is rarely, if ever, found in women. A man does not openly triumph in victory, as do women. One sees an easy victor—at lawn tennis, for instance—go to his vanquished foe, wiping vigorously a brow that is scarcely damp, and explaining more or less lamely how it came about. But the same rarely happens in the “ladies' singles.” What, to quote another instance, is more profound than the contempt bestowed by the girl with the good figure upon her who has no figure at all? Without claiming the virtue of a greater generosity for the sex, one may, perhaps, assume that men learn by experience the danger of despising any man. The girl with the good figure is sometimes—nay, often—found blooming alone in her superiority, while the despised competitor is a happy mother of children. And all this to explain that Jack Meredith felt drawn towards his great hulking companion by something that was not a mere respect of mind for matter.
As love is inexplicable, so is friendship. No man can explain why David held Jonathan in such high esteem. Between men it would appear that admiration is no part of friendship. And such as have the patience to follow the lives of the two Englishmen thus brought together by a series of chances will perhaps be able to discover in this record of a great scheme the reason why Jack Meredith, the brilliant, the gifted, should bestow upon Guy Oscard such a wealth of love and esteem as he never received in return.
During the silence Jack was apparently meditating over the debt of confidence which he still owed to his companion; for he spoke first, and spoke seriously, about himself, which was somewhat against his habit.
“I daresay you have heard,” he said, “that I had a—a disagreement with my father.”
“Yes. Heard something about it,” replied Oscard, in a tone which seemed to imply that the “something” was quite sufficient for his requirements.
“It was about my engagement,” Jack went on deliberately. “I do not know how it was, but they did not hit it off together. She was too honest to throw herself at his head, I suppose; for I imagine a pretty girl can usually do what she likes with an old man if she takes the trouble.”
“Not with him, I think. Seemed to be rather down on girls in general,” said Oscard coolly.
“Then you know him?”
“Yes, a little. I have met him once or twice, out, you know. I don't suppose he would know me again if he saw me.”
Which last remark does not redound to the credit of Guy's powers of observation.
They paused. It is wonderful how near we may stand to the brink and look far away beyond the chasm. Years afterwards they remembered this conversation, and it is possible that Jack Meredith wondered then what instinct it was that made him change the direction of their thoughts.
“If it is agreeable to you,” he said, “I think it would be wise for me to go down to Loango, and gently intimate to Durnovo that we should be glad of his services.”
“Certainly.”
“He cannot be buying quinine all this time, you know. He said he would travel night and day.”
Oscard nodded gravely.
“How will you put it?” he asked.
“I thought I would simply say that his non-arrival caused us some anxiety, and that I had come down to see if anything was wrong.”
Jack rose and threw away the end of his cigarette. It was quite late, and across the river the gleam of the moonlight on fixed bayonets told that only the sentries were astir.
“And what about the small-pox?” pursued Oscard, more with the desire to learn than to amend.
“Don't think I shall say anything about that. The man wants careful handling.”
“You will have to tell him that we have got it under.”
“Yes, I'll do that. Good-night, old fellow; I shall be off by daylight.”
By seven o'clock the next morning the canoe was ready, with its swarthy rowers in their places. The two Englishmen breakfasted together, and then walked down to the landing-stage side by side.
It was raining steadily, and the atmosphere had that singular feeling of total relaxation and limpness which is only to be felt in the rain-ridden districts of Central Africa.
“Take care of yourself,” said Oscard gruffly as Jack stepped into the canoe.
“All right.”
“And bring back Durnovo with you.”
Jack Meredith looked up with a vague smile.
“That man,” he said lightly, “is going to the Plateau if I have to drag him there by the scruff of the neck.”
And he believed that he was thinking of the expedition only.