CHAPTER VII
THE DIARY
Reflecting that time evidently had made little change in Jeekie, Alan
studied this route map with care, and found that it started from Old
Calabar, in the Bight of Biafra, on the west coast of Africa, whence
it ran up to the Great Qua River, which it followed for a long way.
Then it struck across country marked "dense forest," northwards, and
came to a river called Katsena, along the banks of which the route
went eastwards. Thence it turned northward again through swamps, and
ended in mountains called Shaku. In the middle of these mountains was
written "Asiki People live here on Raaba River."
The map was roughly drawn to scale, and Alan, who was an engineer
accustomed to such things, easily calculated that the distance of this
Raaba River from Old Calabar was about 350 miles as the crow flies,
though probably the actual route to be travelled was nearer five
hundred miles.
Having mastered the map, he opened the water-soaked diary. Turning
page after page, only here and there could he make out a sentence,
such as "so I defied that beautiful but terrific woman. I, a Christian
minister, the husband of a heathen priestess! Perish the thought.
Sooner would I be sacrificed to Bonsa."
Then came more illegible pages and again a paragraph that could be
read--"They gave me 'The Bean' in a gold cup, and knowing its deadly
nature I prepared myself for death. But happily for me my stomach,
always delicate, rejected it at once, though I felt queer for days
afterwards. Whereon they clapped their hands and said I was evidently
innocent and a great medicine man."
And again, further on--"never did I see so much gold whether in dust,
nuggets, or worked articles. I imagine it must be worth millions, but
at that time gold was the last thing with which I wished to trouble
myself."
After this entry many pages were utterly effaced.
The last legible passage ran as follows--"So guided by the lad Jeekie,
and wearing the gold mask, Little Bonsa, on my head, I ran through
them all, holding him by the hand as though I were dragging him away.
A strange spectacle I must have been with my old black clergyman's
coat buttoned about me, my naked legs and the gold mask, as pretending
to be a devil such as they worship, I rushed through them in the
moonlight, blowing the whistle in the mask and bellowing like a bull.
. . . Such was the beginning of my dreadful six months' journey to the
coast. Setting aside the mercy of Providence that preserved me for its
own purposes, I could never have lived to reach it had it not been for
Little Bonsa, since curiously enough I found this fetish known and
dreaded for hundreds of miles, and that by people who had never seen
it, yes, even by the wild cannibals. Whenever it was produced food,
bearers, canoes, or whatever else I might want were forthcoming as
though by magic. Great is the fame of Big and Little Bonsa in all that
part of West Africa, although, strange as it may seem, the outlying
tribes seldom mention them by name. If they must speak of either of
these images which are supposed to be man and wife, they call it the
'Yellow-God-who-lives-yonder.'"
Not another word of all this strange history could Alan decipher, so
with aching eyes he shut up the stained and tattered volume, and at
last, just as the day was breaking, fell asleep.
At eleven o'clock on that same morning, for he had slept late, Alan
rose from his breakfast and went to smoke his pipe at the open door of
the beautiful old hall in Yarleys that was clad with brown Elizabethan
oak for which any dealer would have given hundreds of pounds. It was a
charming morning, one of those that comes to us sometimes in an
English April when the air is soft like that of Italy and the smell of
the earth rises like that of incense, and little clouds float idly
across a sky of tender blue. Standing thus he looked out upon the park
where the elms already showed a tinge of green and the ash-buds were
coal black. Only the walnuts and the great oaks, some of them pollards
of a thousand years of age, remained stark and stern in their winter
dress.
Alan was in a reflective mood and involuntarily began to wonder how
many of his forefathers had stood in that same spot upon such April
mornings and looked out upon those identical trees wakening in the
breath of spring. Only the trees and the landscape knew, those trees
which had seen every one of them borne to baptism, to bridal and to
burial. The men and women themselves were forgotten. Their portraits,
each in the garb of his or her generation, hung here and there upon
the walls of the ancient house which once they had owned or inhabited,
but who remembered anything of them to-day? In many cases their names
even were lost, for believing that they, so important in their time,
could never sink into oblivion, they had not thought it necessary to
record them upon their pictures.
And now the thing was coming to an end. Unless in this way or in that
he could save it, what remained of the old place, for the outlying
lands had long since been sold, must go to the hammer and become the
property of some pushing and successful person who desired to found a
family, and perhaps in days to be would claim these very pictures that
hung upon the walls as those of his own ancestors, declaring that he
had brought in the estate because he was a relative of the ancient and
ruined race.
Well, it was the way of the world, and perhaps it must be so, but the
thought of it made Alan Vernon sad. If he could have continued that
business, it might have been otherwise. By this hour his late
partners, Sir Robert Aylward and Mr. Champers-Haswell, were doubtless
sitting in their granite office in the City, probably in consultation
with Lord Specton, who had taken his place upon the Board of the great
Company which was being subscribed that day. No doubt applications for
shares were pouring in by the early posts and by telegram, and from
time to time Mr. Jeffreys respectfully reported their number and
amount, while Sir Robert looked unconcerned and Mr. Haswell rubbed his
hands and whistled cheerfully. Almost he could envy them, these men
who were realizing great fortunes amidst the bustle and excitement of
that fierce financial life, whilst he stood penniless and stared at
the trees and the ewes which wandered among them with their lambs, he
who, after all his work, was but a failure. With a sigh he turned away
to fetch his cap and go out walking--there was a tenant whom he must
see, a shifty, new-fangled kind of man who was always clamouring for
fresh buildings and reductions in his rent. How was he to pay for more
buildings? He must put him off, or let him go.
Just then a sharp sound caught his ear, that of an electric bell. It
came from the telephone which, since he had been a member of a City
firm, he had caused to be put into Yarleys at considerable expense in
order that he might be able to communicate with the office in London.
"Were they calling him up from force of habit?" he wondered. He went
to the instrument which was fixed in a little room he used as a study,
and took down the receiver.
"Who is it?" he asked. "I am Yarleys. Alan Vernon."
"And I am Barbara," came the answer. "How are you, dear? Did you sleep
well?"
"No, very badly."
"Nerves--Alan, you have got nerves. Now although I had a worse day
than you did, I went to bed at nine, and protected by a perfect
conscience, slumbered till nine this morning, exactly twelve hours.
Isn't it clever of me to think of this telephone, which is more than
you would ever have done? My uncle has departed to London vowing that
no letter from you shall enter this house, but he forgot that there is
a telephone in every room, and in fact at this moment I am speaking
round by his office within a yard or two of his head. However, he
can't hear, so that doesn't matter. My blessing be on the man who
invented telephones, which hitherto I have always thought an awful
nuisance. Are you feeling cheerful, Alan?"
"Very much the reverse," he answered; "never was more gloomy in my
life, not even when I thought I had to die within six hours of
blackwater fever. Also I have lots that I want to talk to you about
and I can't do it at the end of this confounded wire that your uncle
may be tapping."
"I thought it might be so," answered Barbara, "so I just rang you up
to wish you good-morning and to say that I am coming over in the motor
to lunch with my maid Snell as chaperone. All right, don't
remonstrate, I /am coming/ over to lunch--I can't hear you--never mind
what people will say. I am coming over to lunch at one o'clock, mind
you are in. Good-bye, I don't want much to eat, but have something for
Snell and the chauffeur. Good-bye."
Then the wire went dead, nor could all Alan's "Hello's" and "Are you
there's?" extract another syllable.
Having ordered the best luncheon that his old housekeeper could
provide Alan went off for his walk in much better spirits, which were
further improved by his success in persuading the tenant to do without
the new buildings for another year. In a year, he reflected, anything
might happen. Then he returned by the wood where a number of new-
felled oaks lay ready for barking. This was not a cheerful sight; it
seemed so cruel to kill the great trees just as they were pushing
their buds for another summer of life. But he consoled himself by
recalling that they had been too crowded and that the timber was
really needed on the estate. As he reached the house again carrying a
bunch of white violets which he had plucked in a sheltered place for
Barbara, he perceived a motor travelling at much more than the legal
speed up the walnut avenue which was the pride of the place. In it sat
that young lady herself, and her maid, Snell, a middle-aged woman with
whom, as it chanced, he was on very good terms, as once, at some
trouble to himself, he had been able to do her a kindness.
The motor pulled up at the front door and out of it sprang Barbara,
laughing pleasantly and looking fresh and charming as the spring
itself.
"There will be a row over this, dear," said Alan, shaking his head
doubtfully when at last they were alone together in the hall.
"Of course, there'll be a row," she answered. "I mean that there
should be a row. I mean to have a row every day if necessary, until
they leave me alone to follow my own road, and if they won't, as I
said, to go to the Court of Chancery for protection. Oh! by the way, I
have brought you a copy of /The Judge/. There's a most awful article
in it about that Sahara flotation, and among other things it announces
that you have left the firm and congratulates you upon having done
so."
"They'll think I have put it in," groaned Alan as he glanced at the
head lines, which were almost libellous in their vigour, and the
summaries of the financial careers of Sir Robert Aylward and Mr.
Champers-Haswell. "It will make them hate me more than ever, and I
say, Barbara, we can't live in an atmosphere of perpetual warfare for
the next two years."
"I can, if need be," answered that determined young woman. "But I
admit that it would be trying for you, if you stay here."
"That's just the point, Barbara. I must not stay here, I must go away,
the further the better, until you are your own mistress."
"Where to, Alan?"
"To West Africa, I think."
"To West Africa?" repeated Barbara, her voice trembling a little.
"After that treasure, Alan?"
"Yes, Barbara. But first come and have your lunch, then we will talk.
I have got lots to tell and show you."
So they lunched, speaking of indifferent things, for the servant was
there waiting on them. Just as they were finishing their meal Jeekie
entered the room carrying a box and a large envelope addressed to his
master, which he said had been sent by special messenger from the
office in London.
"What's in the box?" asked Alan, looking somewhat nervously at the
envelope, which was addressed in a writing that he knew.
"Don't know for certain, Major," answered Jeekie, "but think Little
Bonsa; think I smell her through wood."
"Well, look and see," replied Alan, while he broke the seal of the
envelope and drew out its contents. They proved to be sundry documents
sent by the firm's lawyers, among which were a notice of the formal
dissolution of partnership to be approved by him before it appeared in
the /Gazette/, a second notice calling in a mortgage for fifteen
thousand and odd pounds on Yarleys, which as a matter of business had
been taken over by the firm while he was a partner; a cash account
showing a small balance against him, and finally a receipt for him to
sign acknowledging the return of the gold image that was his property.
"You see," said Alan with a sigh, pushing over the papers to Barbara,
who read them carefully one by one.
"I see," she answered presently. "It is war to the knife. Alan, I hate
the idea of it, but perhaps you had better go away. While you are here
they will harass the life out of you."
Meanwhile with the aid of a big jack-knife and the dining-room poker,
Jeekie had prized off the lid of the box. Chancing to look round
Barbara saw him on his knees muttering something in a strange tongue,
and bowing his white head until it touched an object that lay within
the box.
"What are you doing, Jeekie?" she asked.
"Make bow to Little Bonsa, Miss Barbara, tell her how glad I am see
her come back from town. She like feel welcome. Now you come bow too,
Little Bonsa take that as compliment."
"I won't bow, but I will look, Jeekie, for although I have heard so
much about it I have never really examined this Yellow God."
"Very good, you come look, miss," and Jeekie propped up the case upon
the end of the dining-room table. As from its height and position she
could not see its contents very well whilst standing above it, Barbara
knelt down to get a better view of it.
"My goodness!" she exclaimed, "what a terrible face, beautiful too in
its way."
Hardly had the words left her lips when for some reason unexplained
that probably had to do with the shifting of the centre of gravity,
Little Bonsa appeared to glide or fall out of her box with a startling
suddenness, and project herself straight at Barbara, who, with a faint
scream, fearing lest the precious thing should be injured, caught it
in her arms and for a moment hugged it to her breast.
"Saved!" she exclaimed, recovering herself and placing it on the
table, whereon Jeekie, to their astonishment, began to execute a kind
of war dance.
"Oh! yes," he said, "saved, very much saved. All saved, most
magnificent omen. Lady kneel to Little Bonsa and Little Bonsa nip out
of box, make bow and jump in lady's arms. That splendid, first-class
luck, for miss and everybody. When Little Bonsa do that need fear
nothing no more. All come right as rain."
"Nonsense," said Barbara, laughing. Then from a cautious distance she
continued her examination of the fetish.
"See," said Jeekie, pointing to the misshapen little gold legs which
were yet so designed that it could be stood up upon them, "when anyone
wear Little Bonsa, tie her on head behind by these legs; look, here
same old leather string. Now I put her on, for she like to be worn
again," and with a quick movement he clapped the mask on to his face,
manipulated the greasy black leather thongs and made them fast. Thus
adorned the great negro looked no less than terrific.
"I see you, miss," he said, turning the fixed eyes of opal-like stone,
bloodshot with little rubites, upon Barbara, "I see you, though you no
see me, for these eyes made very cunning. But listen, you hear me,"
and suddenly from the mask, produced by some contrivance set within
it, there proceeded an awful, howling sound that made her shiver.
"Take that thing off, Jeekie," said Alan, "we don't want any banshees
here."
"Banshees? Not know him, he poor English fetish p'raps," said Jeekie,
as he removed the mask. "This real African god, howl banshee and all
that sort into middle of next week. This Little Bonsa and no mistake,
ten thousand years old and more, eat up lives, so many that no one can
count them, and go on eating for ever, yes unto the third and fourth
generation, as Ten Commandments lay it down for benefit of Christian
man, like me. Look at her again, Miss Barbara."
Miss Barbara took the hateful, ancient thing in her hands and studied
it. No one could doubt its antiquity, for the gold plate of which it
was made was literally worn away wherever it had touched the foreheads
of the high priests or priestesses who donned it upon festive
occasions or days of sacrifice, showing that hundreds and hundreds of
them must have used it thus in succession. So was the vocal apparatus
within the mouth, and so were the little toad-like feet upon which it
was stood up. Also the substance of the gold itself as here and there
pitted as though with acid or salts, though what those salts were she
did not inquire. And yet, so consummate was the art with which it had
originally been fashioned, that the battered beautiful face of Little
Bonsa still peered at them with the same devilish smile that it had
worn when it left the hands of its maker, perhaps before Mohammed
preached his holy war, or even earlier.
"What is all that writing on the back of it?" asked Barbara, pointing
to the long lines of rune-like characters which were inscribed within
it.
"Not know, miss, think they dead tongue cut in the beginning when
black men could write. But Asiki priests swear they remember every one
of them, and that why no one can copy Little Bonsa, for they look
inside and see if marks all right. They say they names of those who
died for Little Bonsa, and when they all done, Little Bonsa begin
again, for Little Bonsa never die. But p'raps priests lie."
"I daresay," said Barbara, "but take Little Bonsa away, for however
lucky she may be, she makes me feel sick."
"Where I put her, Major?" asked Jeekie of Alan. "In box in library
where she used to live, or in plate-safe with spoons? Or under your
bed where she always keep eye on you?"
"Oh! put her with the spoons," said Alan angrily, and Jeekie departed
with his treasure.
"I think, dear," remarked Barbara as the door closed behind him, "that
if I come to lunch here any more, I shall bring my own christening
present with me, for I can't eat off silver that has been shut up with
that thing. Now let us get to business--show me the diary and the
map."
"Dearest Alan," wrote Barbara from The Court two days later, "I
have been thinking everything over, and since you are so set upon
it, I suppose that you had better go. To me the whole adventure
seems perfectly mad, but at the same time I believe in our luck,
or rather in the Providence which watches over us, and I don't
believe that you, or I either, will come to any harm. If you stop
here, you will only eat your heart out and communication between
us must become increasingly difficult. My uncle is furious with
you, and since he discovered that we were talking over the
telephone, to his own great inconvenience he has had the wires cut
outside the house. That horrid letter of his to you saying that
you had 'compromised' me in pursuance of a 'mercenary scheme' is
all part and parcel of the same thing. How are you to stop here
and submit to such insults? I went to see my friend the lawyer,
and he tells me that of course we can marry if we like, but in
that case my father's will, which he has consulted at Somerset
House, is absolutely definite, and if I do so in opposition to my
uncle's wishes, I must lose everything except £200 a year. Now I
am no money-grubber, but I will not give my uncle the satisfaction
of robbing me of my fortune, which may be useful to both of us by
and by. The lawyer says also that he does not think that the Court
of Chancery would interfere, having no power to do so as far as
the will is concerned, and not being able to make a ward of a
person like myself who is over age and has the protection of the
common law of the country. So it seems to me that the only thing
to do is to be patient, and wait until time unties the knot.
"Meanwhile, if you can make some money in Africa, so much the
better. So go, Alan, go as soon as you like, for I do not wish to
prolong this agony, or to see you exposed daily to all you have to
bear. Whenever you return you will find me waiting for you, and if
you do not return, still I shall wait, as you in like
circumstances will wait for me. But I think you will return."
Then followed much that need not be written, and at the end a
postscript which ran:
"I am glad to hear that you have succeeded in shifting the mortgage
on Yarleys, although the interest is so high. Write to me whenever
you get a chance, to the care of the lawyer, for then the letters
will reach me, but never to this house, or they may be stopped. I
will do the same to you to the address you give. Good-bye, dearest
Alan, my true and only lover. I wonder where and when we shall
meet again. God be with us both and enable us to bear our trial.
"P.P.S. I hear that the Sahara flotation was /really/ a success,
notwithstanding the /Judge/ attacks. Sir Robert and my uncle have
made millions. I wonder how long they will keep them."
A week after he received this letter Alan was on the seas heading for
the shores of Western Africa.
