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Title: The Red Gods
Author: Jean d'Esme
Translator: Moreby Acklom
Release date: July 8, 2026 [eBook #79053]
Language: English
Original publication: New York: E. P. Dutton, 1924
Other information and formats: www.gutenberg.org/ebooks/79053
Credits: Tim Lindell, Mary Meehan and the Online Distributed Proofreading Team at https://www.pgdp.net (This book was produced from images made available by the HathiTrust Digital Library.)
*** START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK THE RED GODS ***
THE RED GODS
(_LES DIEUX ROUGES_)
By JEAN D'ESME
A ROMANCE
_Translated from the French by_
MOREBY ACKLOM
NEW YORK
E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY
681 FIFTH AVENUE
COPYRIGHT, 1924
BY E. P. DUTTON & COMPANY
_All Rights Reserved_
Printed in the United States of America
TRANSLATOR'S NOTE
This extraordinary story undoubtedly had its inception in a peculiar
passage in the Report of a French official mission in Indo-China in
1912, entitled _Les Jungles Moïs_ (The Moï Jungles). The translation of
the passage runs as follows:
"This is not the first time that I have met this strange story of
savage men, dwellers in the forests of the mountains. They have
been reported from the wild region of the Annamite range. According
to the local descriptions these 'savages' must be covered with a
thick mat of red hair. They have been very seldom met with and are
now never seen; but everywhere one still comes upon the traces
which they left behind them."
Romances of the discovery of prehistoric or vanished races are not
uncommon; but I cannot recall any in which the discovery was made the
subject of as splendid a piece of descriptive work, and at the same
time of as poignantly tragic a drama as in this instance. I think even
the most hardened reader of adventure-stories will admit that in _The
Red Gods_ he has got something distinctly out of the common.
M. A.
CONTENTS
PROLOGUE: IN TSEN-TAC'S OPIUM DEN
I. SAIGON
II. UP THE RIVER
III. A FELLOW TRAVELER
IV. POST 32
V. AT THE MISSION
VI. AN ENTHUSIAST DISCOURSES ON PRE-HISTORIC REMAINS
VII. THE SILENT VILLAGE
VIII. LOVE IN THE FOREST
IX. AN INTERVIEW WITH A SORCERESS
X. THE FUGITIVE
XI. A DESPERATE ADVENTURE
XII. THOSE LEFT BEHIND
XIII. THE FUGITIVE'S STORY
XIV. INTO THE UNKNOWN
XV. DEEPENING MYSTERY
XVI. NEAR THE END OF THE JOURNEY
XVII. A FREAK OF NATURE
XVIII. BACK IN THE STONE AGE
XIX. OUTSIDE THE TEMPLE
XX. INSIDE THE TEMPLE
XXI. THE LAW OF GONDWANA
XXII. WANDA TELLS HER STORY
XXIII. A TERRIBLE BARGAIN
XXIV. THE RESCUE
XXV. ESCAPE
XXVI. A MESSAGE FROM JIENG
THE RED GODS
LIST OF PRINCIPAL CHARACTERS
_Europeans_
PIERRE DE LURSAC A young administrative official of French Indo-China.
FATHER RAVENNES Priest of the Apostolic Mission to the Banhars.
MICHAEL REDESKI Of the French army: Lieutenant in service in Indo-China.
WANDA His sister.
RABAUD Captain of an up-country river steamer.
JULES BRESSOND The narrator of the story: a boyhood friend of de Lursac's.
_Natives_
JIENG Chief sorceress and high priestess of the Moï tribes.
MAA-WANG "The-Man-who-goes-in-Front."
NGUR }
PÂA } Native guides.
HMON A woman of the Stieng tribe.
_Scene_: The city of Saigon (capital of French Indo-China) and
the unexplored, inaccessible forests surrounding the Pou-Kas, the
principal peak of the Annamite range.
THE RED GODS
PROLOGUE
IN TSEN-TAC'S OPIUM DEN
This is the door, here, in front of me! A heavy door of teak, black and
shiny. However, with my hand on the iron latch, I hesitate, fighting
the subtle uneasiness and irritation which I feel rising in me. At the
back of my mind a question forms: why do I come here, to the bottom
of this hidden alley at night, I, who seldom or never touch the opium
pipe? Hardly at all: perhaps five or six pipes now and again on Sundays
at the hour of siesta! Six little pipes, that's nothing! Any regular
opium-smoker will tell you so. Then, why have I come here tonight? Why?
As a matter of fact I feel that my presence here, behind this back-shop
in the heart of the Chinese town of Cho-lon is silly and without
excuse.... So silly and aimless that already I have withdrawn my hand,
with my mind made up to retrace my steps along the sombre corridor
and back through the sumptuous mart of the worthy Tsen-Tac, who sells
to knowing connoisseurs precious silks and out-of-the-way curiosities
brought by the big-bellied junks from China ... and who in addition
dispenses, with discretion, to a few genuine and carefully chosen
smokers, the priceless calm of opium.
Yes, I shall not stay.... It will be better. The darkling spirit of the
Drug shall not glide through my blood tonight. I am off.... But fate at
this very moment decides otherwise. At my back, in the thick shadows a
raucous voice cries:
"In the name of Confucius, get on there!"
And instinctively, pushing the swing-door, I enter. A puff of acrid
odor, the smell of the wonderful perfume of Shandoo, at once rough and
voluptuous, assails my senses and makes my heart leap!
Behind me the closed door swings open roughly, and the man who
addressed me stumbles into the room. Pushing by me, he advances to
the "boy" who has run up to meet him. For a second I follow him with
my eyes. His form is broken and bent, very tall, and so thin that it
accentuates the fullness of the white linen clothes which flap about
his limbs and at moments soften the jagged outline of his bones. A
curious figure, like that of an old man, skeletonized and moribund; and
the more surprising, in that certain signs reveal the strange contrast
of an undeniable youthfulness in him. Sure signs: his step, rapid and
full of strength; his movements, quick and jerky, peculiar to those who
are under the domination of the Drug, when the brown hour of the smoke
has arrived. But what do I care about this unknown man? He hurries on
toward the bottom of the room and disappears. Without knowing why, I
sigh with relief, and in my turn step forward. The "boy," as I come,
smiles, showing his black enamelled teeth, and points out to me the
bed which lies along the wall, the great plank platform on which the
smokers lie and dream their strange dreams, while about them watches
and drifts the spirit of the opium.
With a nod, I assent and give my order.
"Bamboo: small pipe."
And, heavily, my body weary, I fling myself down on the bare wood
polished with use, the coolness of which, through the cloth of my coat,
penetrates deliciously to my flesh....
* * * * *
The time drifts away.... How many hours? I do not know, I do not care
to know. Stretched out on my side, with my eyes fixed on the little
crystal lamp topped with its conical globe in which the flame, like a
living tongue, points upward, steady and reddish, I watch the movements
of the "boy" plunging the steel needle into the sticky Shandoo, turning
it over the lamp and rolling it on the brown bowl of the pipe.
With my lips glued to the bamboo tube, blackened by opium and soaked
with its deadly taste, I breathe in slowly, taking the long inhalations
of the practiced smoker. Then, with my head thrown back on the pillow
of smooth hollowed-out wood, I fix my eyes on the acrid smoke which
trickles from my expanded nostrils, and of which the clouds, circling
in spirals, rise slowly to the beams of the ceiling. All is silence.
The only sound besides the bubbling of the cooked pills of opium is the
scratching of the needles on the pipe bowls. Across the room a divine
happiness floats, filling with dreams the warm dusk which the light of
the great silken Chinese lanterns does not disturb,--just as it should
be!
Indescribable smell of opium smoke! I no longer think of anything else!
It is the whole universe for me now; and my whole life flows in the
great sweetness which drifts through my veins, lulling my senses and
making the very marrow of my bones and the fibres of my muscles weak
with pleasure!...
Eighth or tenth pipe? What does it matter! The curtains are drawn, the
air is still and pleasant, the light is faint, as it ought to be, too
faint for any eyes but those of the smokers. Here and there along the
platform the little lamps burn, like will-o-the-wisps dancing on the
dark and sleeping surface of the wood, and the stretched-out bodies lie
along the wall, the bamboo tubes in their mouths, while the "boy" bends
over and puts fresh opium in the empty pipes.
Slowly, very slowly,--for what is the good of hurrying--are not dreams
everlasting?--I raise my hand. My lips, stiff, clumsy, manage to form
the single word:
"Tea."
Silently the Annamese goes off, and I smile with satisfaction that he
has been able to understand me without having made me go through the
effort of explaining myself. Decidedly Tsen-Tac is a worthy proprietor,
whose servants have been trained by practiced opium-smokers. I let my
eyes close. Under my neck I feel the wood of the pillow like a cool and
comforting hand, and in my brain, which has become clear and subtle,
all sorts of strange things appear and move about,--apparitions which
may be souvenirs of another life or visions of another world,--things
reserved for the initiates of opium,--at any rate things which are
strangely alive in the recesses of my brain and which one day without
doubt will come into my human thoughts ... unless, when the effects of
the opium have passed away I forget them--which is quite possible. For
everything is possible! Everything! Except the one thing: that anyone
should touch or interfere with a smoker who is dreaming over his pipe.
I lift my lids and turn my head slightly towards the hand which has
just dropped on my shoulder and committed this most inexcusable
offence. My glance steals upwards, full of disgust, along the wrist and
the arm, up to the face of the man who does not even know that one must
pay absolute respect to the intoxication of the opium-smoker. At first
with disgust, then in astonishment. It seems to me, indeed, that I know
the face bent towards me. Where have I seen that expression before ...
and when? It was a long time ago, certainly, a very long time. The eyes
are deep and black and despairing, eyes which one does not quickly
forget.
Now the man speaks in a hoarse, muffled voice. Calling me by my name,
he says:
"Good evening, Jacques. I see that you are always sensible, as usual.
You have had only ten pipes and here you are waiting for the green tea
of Yun-nan which the boy is making for you. Only ten pipes, and already
you are disgusted at me!"
He has sat himself down in the attitude of one of those Lao-ese idols,
with his legs crossed, his hands flat on his thighs, and he smiles upon
me with a faint baffling smile.
"Yes, I see this surprises you. But I understood your look at once when
you raised your head towards me. Yes, I saw your scorn at the bottom
of your eyes; exactly as I recognized you at once, when you came to
stretch yourself out beside me, without noticing, and I said to myself:
Here is he with whom I spent my childhood, and who does not know
me,--_because I have aged so much_,--I have aged too soon, much too
soon for other men to know me, even when they have been my childhood
friends."
He bends over me and looks at me strangely. He has something ironical
and yet almost tender in his expression that I observe with curiosity.
Then he lifts his head and speaks out loud the very thought which has
just crossed my mind.
"No. I am neither drunk nor mad! Scarcely twenty-five pipes. At this
moment I have had my exact dose. Just enough to make me extraordinarily
subtle and clairvoyant; and it is because of that I am speaking to
you. I admit I hesitated a long time ... or a short one, I do not know
which. What do you think of it? Is it worth the trouble?
"Who am I? Bah!... I already told you: your best friend, he with whom
you lived for years side by side, who shared your games, your pleasures
and your sorrows of childhood. Don't you remember? Well, I am not
surprised. I always thought that you had a mediocre brain. Unlucky that
the Drug itself has not succeeded in improving it."
He interrupts himself for a second to shrug his shoulders with a yawn
of pity. His silence seems to expect an answer, yet nothing in me
protests against the impertinence, at once brutal and kindly, of this
unknown. The opium has permeated my soul with wisdom, kindliness and
peace. Indifferent to his questions, I let my eyes wander over the
panels inlaid with mother-of-pearl; the red hangings, embroidered with
yellow characters, which cover the walls of the smoke-room; the faint
white-clad forms, which move fitfully from time to time on the long
vista of the platform, sighing heavily. But already the harsh voice of
the stranger is beginning again:
"Really, don't you remember Dinard? The beach at Port Blanc, blazing
in the sunshine; the green water of the little bay in which we bathed
every day in July? Don't you remember the house where we spent our
vacations, covered all over with wild vine, its two little doorways
of green wood, the spindle trees in line along the railings, and the
clumps of hydrangeas on which the sun, striking through the trees,
flung splashes of gold in which the blackbirds used to come and
scold?...
"And then later, don't you remember our school, the dear old Colonial
School of the Avenue d'Observation, and the Luxembourg,--the old Luco
where we used to leave our 'box' on autumn evenings and go to gaze at
the falling dusk and the first yellow leaves which the breeze drove
fluttering down from the trees and rolled gaily round the white statues
on their gray pedestals?...
"What! You don't? You remember nothing?... Doesn't that recall anything
to you? Poor brute!..."
Again he has bent over me, and he smiles with his face close to mine.
But in vain I seek in my past and dig among the recollections of dead
days in the corners of my memory. I cannot manage to recognize this man
who pretends to have been the play-fellow of my youth. However, Yes!...
I feel that everything that he has just reminded me of is right, and
that these scenes that he has revived were formerly the background of
my life! But what about him? I fling down my eyes with weariness and
even with irritation.
Nevertheless, his voice goes on, sadder and more confidential than ever.
"No! I won't insist on it, but nevertheless open your eyes and look.
Yes, that's right. Look at me long and carefully. Well? Is my poor face
ugly enough, with its white hair, its wan gray skin withered by fever,
washed by the rain, torn by the thorns? Is it terrible enough, with its
bones that stick out all over it, with all these wrinkles which make it
look like an old tragic mask from some Chinese theatre?
"Disgusting face, isn't it? Well! I have just come out of hospital
after four months in bed--four months in bed--and before that, four
months more of suffering, weariness, and ghastly terror, of daily fear
and deadly companionship! That changes a man, I tell you; and I forgive
you for not knowing me, since even I myself at times have recoiled with
fright before the unknown image that the looking-glass shows me!"
He lifts his head. A twitch, a sort of intermittent cramp of his lip
drags his mouth to one side violently, changing and deforming the
face, which becomes livid, while in his staring eyes a sudden terrible
light shines for an instant and passes away. He lifts his arms in a
gesture of despair and weariness; then in a low voice, as if it were to
himself, with a little dry laugh which comes and goes in jerks:
"Just a rag! This is what one year in this country has made of me. Yes,
this healthy and vigorous body and this willing brain which I brought
here a few months ago are nothing now but rags and tatters, used up and
withered, in which my soul and youth, though still alive, flutter and
are slowly dying. And soon I shall be nothing but a vague memory which
will gradually fade out day by day in the hearts of those who love me.
Then soon,--so quickly--yes, so quickly--I shall have gone altogether.
Then, who in this vile life will think of Pierre de Lursac?"
"--_Pierre!_"
I must have spoken too loud. Upon the sleeping-platform two or three
smokers, like white spectres, begin to move and grumble at the intruder
who is disturbing the serenity of the place.... What does that matter
to me! With my arms stretched out, I repeat, my voice trembling:--
"--_Pierre! Pierre!_"
He bends towards me and with his two hands gripping my shoulders he
holds me down.
"Quiet ... yes ... it is I.... But quiet. I am satisfied.... Don't
move. There is nothing important enough to allow of your disturbing
your opium trance, and nothing is worse than getting excited when you
have just finished smoking your dose.... Don't trouble to talk."
He falls silent, his expression grave and thoughtful. On my part, while
anxiously watching him, I dream of my childhood days and my youth.
_Lursac!_... Is it really he whom I have before me? Once more I see him
in my mind coming ashore at Saigon some few months after his graduation
from college, scarcely a year ago.... I recall his enthusiasm, his
ardor, his thirst for adventure, and the air of strength and manliness,
of youth and good looks, which glowed in him. And now I look at him
feverishly again. He is right ... a rag ... a miserable rag....
"But why? Why?... What can have happened?"
With a sombre eye he stares at me in silence. Slowly he changes his
attitude of a Buddhist statue and stretches himself on his side, his
hollowed face turned towards my lamp. Without words and without a
wasted movement, he takes up the pipe that I have laid down. His long
hands, fleshless and transparent, busy themselves in the prescribed
motions, always the same. With eyes closed he smokes.
Pipe follows pipe. A great silence weighs upon the human beings who
stagnate in this hall filled with the oppressive perfume of the Drug. A
silence only broken now and again for a moment by the distant striking
of a gong, which marks the swallowing up of one hour after another
in eternity ... and, from time to time, unreal and without echo in
this house of nothingness, a woman's nervous laugh sends a spasm of
discomfort through the calm.
Then, in my turn I take up the pipe again....
* * * * *
Then, suddenly, Lursac is talking. I watch him with vague curiosity. He
is stretched out on his back. The pupils of his wide-open eyes, dilated
and black, stare out, immobile and sightless, like two dead beasts.
He speaks. My brain, soaked in the bitter smoke, picks its way among
the aimless swarming of thoughts which rise up, melt away, and vanish
without leaving any trace....
One after the other, the smokers get up and go. They have the
staggering and hesitating gait of drunkards. Their linen clothes make
patches of ghostly white against the red hangings of the hall.... The
dull slam of the door signals the departure of each in turn....
Lursac is still talking....
Each one of his words falls into my brain and is engraved there so
indelibly that I am sure that the next time I smoke opium and become
entranced as I am now, I shall be able to reproduce them all, from
the first to the last, without omitting a single one.... Yes.... I am
absolutely certain of that.
However, tonight I do not feel able to distinguish whether all this is
not a silly dream--the recollection of some life I have lived before in
some other world....
Yes, I'm drunk with opium, drunk ... drunk ... drunk, to such a point
that I am unable to recognize this long pale thing,--this hand that he
is playing with and caressing ... this thing which looks like a
hand ... a woman's.... Idiot! What is it?... Pshaw!... Let's go to
sleep....
* * * * *
Time flows on.... Seconds and minutes, parted one by one from the
present, plunge themselves inevitably into the shadowy ocean of the
always growing past.... On the walls the red hangings begin to get
paler. They become pink, then mauve, under the gentle fingers of the
dawn which steals bluely through the window panes and between the
shutters into the smoke-clouded opium hall. The last words of Lursac
penetrate to my ears in a vague murmur.
"There you are, I'm finished.... Now, you know ... and nobody but you
will know.... Nobody!... But I am glad to have told all this to you
whom chance has placed at the last mile-stone of my journey. It would
have worried me that you might have thought me mad, judging me by the
gossip of some commonplace incident, or have supposed me crazed by the
Drug and fever; as there will be those who will not fail to cry it
aloud in their miserable papers!!! One lunatic the less! ... a quick
and easy epitaph, but one which fits me well...."
There is a long untroubled silence. Then a violent explosion seems to
tear my brain apart. What is the fool playing at--?... Warm, heavy
drops are falling on my hand ... and as I half open my eyes I spring
up, staring and haggard. Pierre is lying beside me ... bent double,
like a useless, broken toy. From his face, disfigured by a gaping hole,
blood rolls, covering my cheek, my forehead, my clothes. And I sit
there stupefied, without understanding. Only after the first minutes of
disturbance and agitation, and while they are carrying away his great
bony body, do I see at the end of the arm, hanging down and swaying
as the carriers stagger along with their terrible burden, the shining
steel of a revolver, round which his fingers are still clenched.
* * * * *
Eight days ... that was eight days ago!...
And every evening since--because my nerves were torn to pieces and
because the Shandoo, as I had foreseen, allowed all the details of my
friend's story to rise from the bottom of my memory,--every evening
since then, I have written, bit by bit, faithfully, the strange story
that he told me before killing himself. I have not written it for
myself, _who know_, but for others--for the people here, for the people
in France; in a word, for all those unbelievers who in the darkness of
their blindness think they know everything, although they are beset
with ignorance, and believe that they have dislodged the Unknown from
the last shadowy haunt in which it is hiding. Although they have no
suspicion, even, of the mystery which is here, there, everywhere, close
to them, and which I am the only one to hold under my hands.... The
only one!...
* * * * *
... There, I have finished.... I have left out nothing:--not a single
particular, not a word. Everything has been reproduced exactly.
In any case I could not forget anything, because of this woman's
hand,--this long pale hand so perfectly embalmed that one would swear
it was alive and ready to move any minute. There it is: the signet on
its ring-finger bears the following charge: _Dexter, argent, a lion
sable--Sinister, azure, a chevron or_ ... and now, out through the
window, open to the sweet and placid night of Annam, I am going to
fling it, so that I may be no longer haunted by it, may no longer have
to see it there....
There it goes, _splash_!
It must have fallen in the canal. And there the black mud will soon
cover it for ever....
... And I shall never smoke opium again, never!... But that has nothing
to do with this....
And here is the story that he told me[1]....
[Footnote 1: Captain Jacques Bressond fell on the French front, July
28, 1917, in the attack on the Chemin des Dames. At the bottom of
his dispatch case among the personal souvenirs which he had asked me
to send to his family if he was killed, there lay a large yellow,
commercial-looking envelope with the inscription "For Jean." In the
envelope there were the pages that follow, accompanied by a roll of
parchment covered with unknown characters, probably in the Banhar
language. My sole care has been to see to the publication of Bressond's
text with a mixed feeling of respect and tenderness for his heroic
death and friendship for the man himself. Although the names given by
Bressond are real ones I have not changed a single word of his story,
for the correctness of which I take full responsibility.
J. D'E.]
CHAPTER I
SAIGON
On the threshold of the office Pierre de Lursac stopped.
Behind him the beaded hanging rustled as it fell into place. Carefully
he folded up the paper of instructions that had been handed to him a
few minutes earlier by the Director of Personnel, and as he thought
over the orders which he had just received he crossed the veranda.
Below the balustrade of the porch lay stretched the tropical vegetation
of the gardens of Government House. Walks, shining and carefully
tended, wound about the clumps of rhododendrons and the green lawns
over which the flame-trees and tamarinds flung round patches of shade.
When he came to the foot of the main staircase of gray stone which led
to the park, Pierre ordered the _linh_ who was on guard a few steps
away:
"My rickshaw."
The rifleman immediately barked a short order, and a light vehicle
appeared from one of the side avenues. Following the lively and
cadenced jog-trot of its coolie, it described a semicircle and drew up,
shafts on the ground, in front of the young man.
Jumping nimbly into it, Pierre lay back on the cushions cased in white
coverings, and then, as the runner, ready to start, looked up at him
with a questioning face expecting directions, Lursac signed to the
_linh_ to come closer.
"I don't speak Annamese well enough to make myself understood. Tell him
I want to go back to the hotel."
The rifleman gave an elaborate salute, and this military gesture,
usually sharp and formal, seemed astonishing when performed by this
little puny soldier who looked like a mixture of a toy and a warrior
out of a comic operetta.
He acknowledged the order:
"_Gia bam qua lon._"[2]
[Footnote 2: Very well, sir.]
And he immediately launched forth into verbose explanations to the
coolie, the nasal syllables echoing strangely in the sonorous silences
of the park. The coolie nodded and started off with a supple and
rhythmic gait; while Pierre, lying spread out against the back of the
little car, watched the naked back of the runner, down which great
drops of sweat were already beginning to roll. As soon as they left the
shady alleys of the park, and while they were crossing the square which
stretches in front of the Government offices, a wave of heat enveloped
them. It was nearly four o'clock. From the burning ground the hot air
rose in waves, while above the trees, flooded with dazzling light,
the lifeless and quivering atmosphere vibrated in the heat. Although
he wore a cork helmet and was clothed in the lightest of white linen,
Pierre experienced a feeling of prostration at the touch of this fiery
breath. When the rickshaw at last entered the shade of the avenue of
lofty tamarinds, he sighed with relief. A little coolness caused by
the rapidity of their progress caressed his face, relaxed the feeling
of depression in his temples, spread along his body and refreshed him
with a sensation of well-being. He flung himself back, stretched out
his legs, and shut his eyes, giving himself up to the swaying of the
light vehicle whose rubber-tired wheels rode softly on the dust of the
roadway.
As the running coolie slowed down a little in consequence of a block in
the traffic, Lursac heard a voice calling to him.
"Hullo! Pierre!"
Surprised, he turned his head and shot a quick glance along the edge
of the street. On the sidewalk, smiling and waving to attract his
attention, a lieutenant of colonial infantry was standing and calling
to him:
"Come here!"
Lursac recognized him immediately.
"Jacques!"
Touching the shoulder of the coolie with his walking stick, he cried:
"Toi.... Toi...."
It was the one word which he had so far succeeded in remembering of the
Annamese language since his arrival in Saigon.
Prodded from behind, the runner had immediately stopped, and Pierre,
jumping out of the rickshaw, hurried toward the officer who came to
meet him. They greeted each other with the light of pleasure in their
eyes: then Jacques Bressond, drawing back a couple of steps, looked his
friend up and down. Lursac, upright in the middle of the sidewalk, drew
himself up to his full height so that his white tunic clung tightly to
his figure and threw into relief his splendid chest, the free swing of
his shoulders and the harmonious strength which showed itself in his
erect carriage and the spring of his legs. In fact, a fine figure of a
man, whose strong, talented face was set off by two brilliant dark eyes
deeply set. Jacques took him by the arm.
"I found your message when I got back from my trip this morning; I
immediately ran off to your hotel, where I shouted till the whole place
rang!... The service boy, after bowing and scraping, gibbered at me:
'M. Lursac been gone, two o'clock.' It was enough for me to understand
what he meant.... What luck to meet you like this!... What are you
doing?"
"Nothing," said Pierre, "I am just going back to the hotel."
"All right, then I will take charge of you. We will go and take an
aperitif together and then we will make the 'Tour of Inspection' in a
carriage."
"Tour of Inspection?"
"Yes, the swagger thing to do, the Avenue des Acacias of Saigon
high-life, the fashionable six-to-eight-o'clock affair.... It is
curious and instructive, as you will see! You'll come, won't you?"
Lursac agreed.
"With pleasure. I have been here for three days now, and already I am
beginning to feel my loneliness weighing on me. They told me that you
were going to be absent for another fortnight."
He threw some change to the rickshaw coolie, who made himself scarce.
"Yes, but I had to turn in here to get new instructions before
continuing my journey of official inspection."
They had resumed their walk side by side down the Rue Catinat. Under
the sun which beat down from a sky of hard, cloudless blue that glowed
like a metal dome, the life of the town stagnated, prostrated by the
heat.
In the shops, which the lowered shades protected with a zone of shadow,
the customers seated at their ease bargained casually over the precious
knick-knacks in lacquer, ivory, and mother-of-pearl which every now
and then gave off a vivid sparkle of light. On their haunches at their
benches behind the glass of the shop front the native jewelers, clad
only in the soft _cai-ao_ of fine linen, hammered out complicated and
original designs on the gold or silver of an umbrella handle which
would eventually be the prized possession of some coarse western
barbarian!
The interior of the shops, guessed at rather than seen through the
opening of the drawn curtains, seemed like oases of shade and coolness,
and attracted with some subtle charm.
As they went along Jacques explained:
"Since I found on my table this morning all your letters from France
announcing your arrival here I have been thinking of nothing but Paris.
I have been living in the midst of the recollections which you have
brought to life again.... Do you remember when we used to start off for
the Valley de Chevreuse on Saturdays?"
They crossed the square, at the bottom of which the municipal theatre
reared its ornate façade in imitation of a Greek temple, opposite the
wide semicircle from which the Boulevard Charner could be seen blazing
with light and baking in the sun.
When they had arrived on the pavement opposite, Jacques Bressond,
pointing out the café which occupied the angle between the Square and
the Rue Catinat, said:
"Let us stop here. We will take a seat on the terrace. For you who
are new to Saigon the sight will be worth while. This is exactly the
right moment, the exquisite moment, for now, at the slight pretence of
coolness that the evening breeze brings with it, the fashionable people
of the town gather to suck iced drinks through straws--milky absinthe
shot with iridescent colors, emerald crème de menthe and the entire
gamut of cocktails, dark and light and rainbow-hued."
Pierre smiled, and seating himself he asked:
"Do you like the country?"
"Well, like every other place, it has its good side and its bad side.
However, it seems to me that the pleasures are more numerous than the
troubles. And then, why shouldn't I like Saigon? Of the last six months
I have spent four or five exploring the bush, in climbing sandy hills,
wandering through the impenetrable confusion of the forests of Annam
and upper Tonkin, and in floundering about in the green mud of the
canals and the creeks of Laos...."
"Do you know Laos, then?"
"Pretty well. I have made two trips there on geodetic surveys."
"Splendid. You can give me some information then. Here, see where the
chief is sending me."
He pulled out of his pocket the paper of instructions that he had been
given earlier in the day and extended it to Bressond.
The boy, clothed in a long tunic of white linen and with his head
wound in a turban of linen set down before them on the bamboo table a
tray heaped with bottles of many colors. While he measured and mixed
with the precision of habit the liquids and ingredients of an oyster
cocktail in the glasses filled with cracked ice, Jacques Bressond ran
over the paper which Lursac had handed him.
The boy, having completed the mixture, placed the glasses before the
young men and disappeared.
Bressond passed back the paper of instructions to Lursac.
"Post 32? Don't know it. Haven't they given you any other details?"
"No.... Oh, yes, wait a minute, ... yes. The Chief of Personnel told me
that the post was at the foot of the Pou-Kas."
Jacques Bressond raised his head.
"Ah, wait.... Pou-Kas? Isn't the post on the bank of the canal?"
"Yes, I have to go there part of the way in an ox-cart and part in a
boat.... Do you know it?"
The officer sucked a few drops of his cocktail from the end of his
straw and reflected.
Beside him with stretched out legs Pierre watched with curiosity the
Rue Catinat, along which people were beginning to appear. Five o'clock
struck in the distance with clear metallic strokes. The terrace of the
café at once began to fill with patrons in white waistcoats and light
dresses. Like a swollen river, the fashionable artery of Saigonese
life brimmed with a noisy wave of carriages, of street hawkers and
promenaders. From café to café the newsboys ran, slipping from one
table to another, yelping the name of a local newspaper; while,
opposite, two Chinese with crumpled features got out of a malabar and
disappeared into a tailor shop.
The café orchestra suddenly dashed into a waltz. Sharp bursts of
music dominated the confused noise which mounted from the pavement,
and a languorous tune just imported from Europe was borne aloft on
two squeaky violins accompanied by a husky-voiced piano and a shaky
mandoline.
Vaguely soothed, Pierre abandoned himself to the pleasure of being
there, peacefully situated under the punkahs, with an iced drink in
front of him, in the midst of this tumult and heat which surrounded him.
Bressond's voice stirred his placidity:
"The Pou-Kas.... I seem to remember that.... I must have passed it
on my last trip but one. I have trekked about the country more than
a little. That was certainly one of my roughest trips. Yes ... wait,
now I remember.... It is the region which stretches at the foot of the
great Annamite mountain-chain, in the middle of the forest, almost on
the Burmese frontier ... a ghastly country, my poor old chap! You will
never find anything to amuse yourself with there."
Pierre smiled absent-mindedly. His eyes ran along the side of the wall
and followed the jerky progress of a _congai_ whose black silk tunic
and large white _cai-quan_ appeared and disappeared amongst the throng.
"Bah!" said he, "I didn't come here for amusement. In any case they
didn't pretend at the office that the post possessed anything to
recommend it."
Bressond sipped his cocktail and shrugged his shoulders.
"Nothing to recommend it? I should say not! To begin with, you will
arrive there in the middle of the rainy season. Secondly, you will have
to live in the middle of this clump of mountains hardly explored as
yet, alone with a dozen native soldiers of the military station, and
... it's a very advanced point, isn't it?"
"Yes, Post 32. Moï territory, it appears."
Bressond started.
"In Moï territory.... Number 32.... By Buddha!... Now I know. It's even
worse than I thought. Well, well! You are certainly going strong for
a beginner.... But ... what on earth do they want to send a military
administrator out there for?"
Pierre, nettled by the tone in which he made this exclamation, looked
at him fixedly.
"They are sending me to join a lieutenant who has just been nominated
to the post. It is a special appointment. My business will be to
inaugurate the civil organization. But what is there unusual about this
Post 32?"
Bressond shook his head.
"What is there unusual? I do not know exactly ... and nobody here
knows anything more than I do. At any rate it is the worst hole in the
whole of Upper Laos! But, of course you know how they speak of it ...
'recently established' ... all humbug, my boy!"
And as Pierre shot a look of interrogation at him he continued:
"Yes, all humbug! As a matter of fact, the post was instituted for the
first time at least six or seven years ago. It was Longères who had it.
At the end of six months, no Longères, no Post 32. A flood had swept
away the settlement and its inhabitants. At least that is the version
that the surviving members of the garrison gave of the accident....
One had to be satisfied with that.... However, for three years no one
mentioned Post 32. Then one fine day some official or other digging
through his papers discovered that for the security of our dominion in
Indo-China it was indispensable that the post should be re-established."
A driver, curled up on the seat of his victoria, passed on his way up
the street. Bressond broke off to make him a sign. At the same time
he threw a coin on the table and as the boy ran up he pushed Pierre
de Lursac before him into the carriage, giving a brief order to the
coachman.
"The tour of inspection through the Botanical Gardens. You understand?"
"I understand, O Mandarin of two stripes."
At a lively trot the two native ponies, tossing their ruffled manes as
they went, drew the carriage down the Rue Catinat, turned to the left
and followed the line of the quays, along which in a brown and black
medley the sampans showed their masts and the lines of their decks.
Something resembling coolness floated down the bed of the river; the
light began to soften, melting its violent golds into shades of mauve.
The dying day threw over the white town some of its purple splendor.
And under the hoofs of the horses a slight dust rose like a delicate
honey-colored cloud.
Pierre had put his hand on his friend's arm.
"And then?" he asked.
Bressond turned to look at him.
"Then what?... Ah! yes.... Post 32! Well! they re-established it, as
I told you. And this time it was Dorcel who took charge. For a year
everything went all right. And then suddenly the news burst like a bomb
in the newspapers: all over with Post 32 again! But, as it had been
rebuilt on a spur of the mountain, this time it wasn't a flood, but a
fire, that had destroyed it. As for Dorcel, he just managed to arrive
at the hospital and died without being able to throw the slightest
light on this second accident to the celebrated Post 32...."
The victoria, now having caught up with the procession of carriages
which was defiling along the promenade, slackened speed and took its
turn.... In the opposite direction another line of vehicles was passing
at a foot pace--buggies with thin wheels, high-seated tilburys, gigs
drawn by horses driven tandem, shining victorias whose cushions were
rich with bright dresses and brilliant umbrellas.
Bressond's hand was ever at his military cap in the salute, while here
and there he shot a smile or a nod to acquaintances or ladies whom he
knew.
Leaning against the backboard of the carriage, Pierre de Lursac amused
himself by contemplating this long row of colonial fashion. Before his
unaccustomed eyes, Saigon society lay spread, offering its celebrities
and its peculiarities for his inspection.
Bressond meanwhile, a guide as willing as thoroughly informed,
explained and made comments. In a few quick picturesque words, he drew
a portrait, sketched a caricature, made an imputation and gave the
whole story of the person at the bar.
When they had arrived at the end of the promenade, they turned and
went back by the way they had come, still followed and preceded by
the other carriages. The daylight faded softly. From each side of the
long dusty reddish road the flooded rice-fields stretched away like
swampy checker-boards, on which the docile black buffaloes driven by
ragged youngsters slowly plodded along with their enormous curved horns
silhouetted against the pale sky in the shape of widely rounded lyres.
With shrill cries a flock of herons floated down over a clump of palms,
in the shade of which was a huddle of huts.
The countryside, which was gradually dropping to rest in the peace of
the dying day, was archaic, oriental and primitive beyond belief.
Pierre remarked upon it, and Bressond, with a shrug, assented:
"It is a beautiful country--beautiful but strange, and not the least
like the conventional Far East that is so popular in France!"
He thought a minute and went on:
"After all, that is not so astonishing, for very few people, even here,
know Indo-China ... very few...."
"But...."
"No, believe me, it is a country that no one among us really knows, nor
will know for a long time yet. It isn't enough, in order to understand
it, to have traveled through it, not even to have spent two years,
three years or more in it.... No; neither you nor I, who come here
with our European souls and with the mentality of conquerors, neither
you nor I, nor the others of our kind, will ever be able to understand
this race!... For instance, look at the stupidity, the ignorance, of
this official who for the third time has re-established a military
post in an unknown region in the middle of a country not yet
conquered, and which no one has been able to explore and not even
to penetrate ... no one! and on the top of that they send out
an administrator!... To administrate what? ... and above all to
administrate whom? Well, anyway, you will have the chance of meeting
Redeski there.... And that's that."
Pierre turned to him.
"Redeski?"
"Yes, he is the man who commands the fort there....
Jacques-Boleslas-Michael Redeski, of an old Polish family; a real
count, but as poor as Job of biblical memory. A naturalized Frenchman,
educated in Paris, graduated from St. Cyr: Morocco, the Soudan,
Indo-China, everywhere, in fact, where war and adventure can still
be had. A balanced mind but an emotional nature, at once sympathetic
and sceptical. To sum up, most amusing and original, and the best of
friends. For nearly two years we patrolled the forests together on the
frontier of China.
"There now, you know him. And anyway you couldn't have started out with
a better comrade, especially in a hole like that...."
He interrupted himself to look at his watch.
"Oh, damn! Half past seven!... We have just time to get back."
They had reached the alleys of the Botanical Garden. Getting up, he
touched the back of the driver.
"_Mao ... Mao!_[3]... Stop at the Continental." Turning back to Lursac,
he explained:
"You will excuse me: I am on duty tonight. I have to dine at the club
with the chief engineer of Hong-Hai. An official dinner...."
[Footnote 3: Quick, quick!]
The victoria, extricating itself from the long row of carriages, turned
off into an avenue and the ponies were put to a trot.
Night had fallen. The alleys, over which the branches of the trees met,
looked like long tunnels. Under the arches a warm scent wandered. To
the perfume of opening hibiscus and the purple flame-trees was added
the heavy scent of the sap-filled flowers and the thick rich soil of
Indo-China.
Through the evening peace which had so suddenly fallen about them the
shrill voices of the crickets mingled their chirping with the echoes of
the ponies' hoofs. Then, suddenly breaking from the shadow and silence,
the carriage swung into the full tide of Saigon's restless noise.
Above the streets the electric globes poured down their violent
illumination. A tossing crowd surged through the avenues and jammed the
windows of the brilliantly lighted shops. Autos, with blasts of their
horns, forced themselves a passage through the crowds of rickshaws and
malabars descending the Boulevard Charner. In the cafés the orchestras
played feverishly. The carriage, following the Boulevard, turned to
the right and after having traversed part of the Rue Catinat stopped
opposite the Continental. Pierre jumped out on the sidewalk. Leaning
from the carriage, Bressond took leave of him.
"Good bye, Pierre, and good luck, old man! I would like to have done
more for you, but tomorrow I start out on a mission to Upper Tonkin and
it is very unlikely that I shall be able to see you again here."
Lursac gave him a strong friendly hand clasp.
"Good bye, Jacques! and good luck to you also. I will write you from
Post 32."
"So do, and remember me to Redeski. Now, quick to the club!"
Drawing the whip sharply over the team, the driver started off.
When the victoria had disappeared, lost in the crowd of other vehicles,
Pierre crossed the street towards his hotel, but, just as he got to the
sidewalk he started violently: a guttural voice close to him had flung
out the words:
"_The Pou-Kas is not for white people._"
He turned round suddenly and with a quick glance searched the
surroundings. In front of him the passers-by were hurrying on their
way. Three _congais_ walked arm in arm, chattering and laughing. Two
rickshaws, side by side, were having a race and were already far
past him. A soup-peddler, his two jars suspended at the ends of a
bar balanced on his shoulders, advertised his wares with a clapper
and cried their merits aloud, while, interfering with his trade, a
street-boy with a basket of earth-n
uts on his arm, called out in a
sing-song voice for customers....
Was it he? ... or perhaps this Chinaman, wrapped in a tunic of lavender
silk, who uttered the strange warning?... Or was it not rather this
blind beggar who passed, slow and doubtful, tapping the road with his
staff?
How was he to know?
Already the cry of the nut-vendor was losing itself in the general
hubbub; the variegated crowd continued to roll by, carrying away with
it the three _congais_, the Chinaman, the beggar and the soup-vendor,
whose little stove left a red glow in the darkness. More coolies, more
natives came and passed, all nameless, all alike, with their faces
equally yellow and their expressions equally grinning and ape-like.
In doubt, Pierre stood motionless on the edge of the pavement. Before
him, Saigon, the cosmopolitan meeting place of all races of Europe
and Asia, where the Annamese, the Chinese, the Hindoo, the Malay, the
French, the English, the Japanese, the Russian elbowed each other and
mixed with the confusion--Saigon the Magnificent, the whirlpool of all
religions and all civilizations, the most modern side-by-side with
the most ancient--and lastly, Saigon the French city, in the midst of
tzigane orchestras imported from Europe, awoke and stretched herself
languorously under the warm voluptuous caresses of the Annamese night.
Regardless of this whirlpool of life which flung itself violently at
him, Pierre, overcome by a strange presentiment of ill fortune and a
wave of loneliness, crossed the threshold of his hotel.
Inside the door, two "boys," clad in the conventional white tunic,
received him with the customary three salaams, ... three deep salaams,
of which the outward respectfulness could not hide altogether the
servile insolence.
CHAPTER II
UP THE RIVER
The captain pulled the cord of the ship's whistle. The shrill sudden
call tore its way through the air, floated along the yellow surface
of the water, lingered along the banks of the river and finally lost
itself in the depths of the forest.
The _Vien-Thian_ turned through a quarter of a circle, nosing out her
way slowly between the banks of mud which showed almost level with
the current, like brown backs of great sleeping saurians. There was
a second call from the whistle, longer this time and more lingering,
which died away softly in the moist, still air.
Suddenly awakened, Lursac drew himself up and looked about him. Through
the round porthole, beneath which the water slid and gurgled, the
yellow light trickled, showing the gray walls of the cabin. The narrow
little den stowed away in the 'tween decks of the boat vibrated heavily
with every throb from the engine-room next door. Jumping out of his
bunk, Pierre hastily flung on his clothes and went out. In two strides
he reached the ladder screwed to the wall of the passage and climbed
it. The spectacle which the waist of the ship offered him made him stop
for a moment. On the wooden deck, littered with all kinds of parcels,
the natives still lay sleeping,--a picturesque mixture of Annamese,
Chinese, Cambodians and Lao-ese. Amidst the scattered medley of chests,
mats and baskets of all shapes and sizes, their bodies entwined and
pressed close against each other gave the effect of a many-colored
carpet. From the all too narrow deck they had spread into the gunwales
and were even stretched upon the bulwarks in a dangerous sleep,
balanced above the slimy waters of the river.
Hesitatingly the day broke, dimly showing the left bank of the Me-Kong,
which stretched away into the distance straight and low. Thin and
persistent, the rain fell like gray ashes, streaking the countryside,
while over the earth, still drowned in fog, the light seemed powerless
to spread.
Pierre had now got as far as the bridge. Upright before the binnacle,
his eyes fixed on the course of the ship, the captain snapped his
orders through the engine-room speaking tube. He was an old man, tall
and thin, but erect, and clothed in khaki-colored linen. His lined
face, baked by the sun and tanned by the weather, had a reddish tinge
which gave him the peculiar appearance of having been kneaded from a
block of the Cambodian earth which showed brick-colored along the sides
of the river. A sailor of the old school, he sported whiskers, whose
whiteness framed and emphasised the softness of his deep blue eyes.
Approaching him, Pierre gave him a friendly greeting and asked:
"Are we getting there?"
Without letting his glance stray from the current against which the
screws were pushing the vessel, the old man replied briefly:
"Not yet; we are just entering the 'drowned forest.' Look!"
As a matter of fact, the boat, turning about, was pointed directly
towards the bank.
Leaning on the bulwarks, Pierre watched the land as it loomed nearer
and larger. The bank, slowly becoming plainer, stretched to the
horizon, cutting the yellow waters with its narrow flat marshy outline.
Gradually the eye could discern the details of the scene: hanging over
the muddy earth and bathing their innumerable roots in the current
the mangroves, with their twisted branches, and the palms with their
slender stems, stood in ranks upon the fen which stretched far to the
west, leprous with moss and spotted with clumps of cane and brush. Far
away, their tops girdled with fog, the rounded masses of the hills
sloped gradually upward. Little by little everything came nearer and
grew larger. In the middle of the current floating masses of leafage
torn from the palms by the rising waters turned slowly round and round
as they drifted by. In spots the trees which the flood had overtaken
stretched their dark tops above the flat water; for the river, breaking
loose, had conquered the giant wood and submerged it. Against the bow
of the boat from time to time branches crashed and were pushed aside
with a dull scraping sound.
And then, suddenly, clear and mysterious like an avenue in some
nightmare park, the channel appeared. Slowly the _Vien-Thian_ forced
itself into the deep and mysterious heart of the great Cambodian
forest, through which in the dry season the native hunters were wont
to go with their ears pricked and their eyes on the watch questing for
their daily prey. Hidden under the great masses of tamarinds, teak
trees and sandalwoods, of which only the tops were still visible above
the water, the banks of the river had suddenly vanished. Against the
enormous trunks the current frothed and grumbled. Above the submerged
forest-land the fog was gradually lifting: it wound itself between the
rounded summits of the trees and floated gradually towards the sky.
Half seen now through the mist, islets showed, fringed by branches
mixed with giant grasses which draggled in the muddy waters.
On the deck the crowd of native passengers began to move confusedly. A
deep silence still brooded over them: crushed one against another, the
men smoked without speaking, while crouched on their mats, the women,
silent and shivering, watched the gloomy scene slide by the bow of the
vessel.
Leaning on the rail, Pierre de Lursac felt all the magic of this
strange voyage in the heart of the "drowned forest," on an invisible
river peopled by ghosts of trees and shadows of islands. Denser and
denser the fog again closed round the boat: and the mob of natives
could only be seen as a vague dark mass.
On the bridge, hidden in fog, even the captain was no longer visible.
All that remained of him was the sound of his sharp orders shot from
time to time into the mouthpiece of the engine-room speaking tube, with
which amidst the brooding silence he ruled the rhythmic throb of the
engine.
Suddenly a clear and vigorous feminine voice sounded:
"What a mad-looking country!"
In his isolation and amid the monotonous sadness of this voyage, which
had now lasted for a week, the sound of this voice seemed to Pierre the
most unexpected and the most extraordinary of adventures.
He turned round swiftly and tried to penetrate with his eyes the cold
wall of fog which hung over everything; but he could see nothing. Then,
however, a conversation began between the mysterious unknown and the
captain.
"Good morning, Père Rabaud. Aren't you surprised, after my hiding
myself for eight days, to meet me on the bridge? Yes, I decided to
clamber up here, you see.... I should have been sorry to miss all this.
What a peculiar sight!"
"Good morning, Mademoiselle. I don't wonder you think so! But this part
of the world has got a lot of strange things to show! As you said just
now, it's a queer country! You'll see lots of other strange things, no
fear of that."
The woman's voice with its peculiar metallic timbre sounded again.
"So much the better."
The captain groaned.
"Phew! You say that ... but if you lived as I have for twenty years in
this cursed country ... it isn't quite the same thing as Paris, I can
tell you!..."
A long ripple of laughter broke the silence.
"Yes ... but as for me, I have lived in Europe; and there existence is
so monotonous and so exactly the same day after day that I am tired of
it."
Then there was a short silence and the captain said in a lowered voice:
"Then you are still determined to go on with your plan?"
"More than ever, as I feel that he needs me.... Oh! he does not
complain, but in between the lines of the letters that he has written
me I have felt that his loneliness has weighed on him terribly.... Yes,
I know, ... you are going to tell me that my place is not here and that
I shall be a nuisance to him. But he is alone, you understand, and for
him as for me, there can be nothing worse than this isolation which we
have never been able to get used to and against which we have never
ceased to struggle with all our love for each other."
The tone of her voice had become grave with an undertone of deep
earnestness. Then suddenly it changed and rose again.
"Are we far from Khône-Sud?"
"No, ... even now we are getting out of the great 'drowned forest,' and
see, ... the fog is lifting."
Pierre had to imagine a gesture which he could not see but which a
short silence emphasised; then the captain went on in a low voice and
in a bantering, confidential tone:
"I have a fellow-traveler for you...."
Vibrant and authoritative her response leapt out:
"I don't want one.... I prefer to be independent...."
The captain gave a jovial laugh.
"Yes, yes ... of course ... but I have my responsibility to consider;
I have promised to do what I can for you to help you to get there,
and...."
He called out sharply:
"Monsieur de Lursac!"
Pierre jumped. He took two steps forward quickly and then stopped dead.
A sentence which the unknown had spoken had arrested him in mid career.
"No!" she cried, with irritation, "No ... I shall not thank you for
that!"
"But heavens and earth!" swore the captain, "how can I leave a woman
to play the adventurer here all alone, without escort in a country
in which the men themselves daren't go about without all kinds of
precautions! That would be foolishness!..."
"Foolishness or not, I have made up my mind. Do not let us speak of it
again."
Pierre had turned away. The fog was now thinning; the sun, yellow and
rayless, appeared between two clouds. The river had broadened into a
great loop and the last scattered trees of the "drowned forest" could
be seen dotted about the immense waste of waters. Picking its way
between islands of mud, the _Vien-Thian_, coming out into the open,
pointed straight towards the bank of the Me-Kong, which appeared in
the distance as a vague brown line marked in the middle with a white
splash, the memorial erected to Commandant Diacre, who had been drowned
there some years before. With hoarse cries a flock of herons rose and
wheeled; while, in the rigid attitude of sleepers, three cormorants,
perched on a tree trunk, each with one claw drawn up under his gray
breast, snapped their beaks with loud clacking noises and watched the
boat suspiciously as it passed them.
* * * * *
Forcing himself to seem unaware of the conversation he had overheard,
Pierre pretended to be absorbed once more in the contemplation of the
bank which was rapidly growing plainer. Behind him, however, he was
conscious of the Unknown whose unexpected presence on board excited
his curiosity. With this feeling was mingled one of hurt pride. Who
was she? Who was this man of whom she had spoken in terms which were
certainly open to misconstruction? And what was he to her? Pierre would
have given anything to know. But the roughness of the young woman's
response when Captain Rabaud had offered her a traveling-companion had
hurt his feelings.
He lit a cigarette and pulled his sketch-book out of his pocket.
* * * * *
Now over the bow of the boat appeared the river bank, every detail
clear and distinct. A long rank of palm trees stood on the edge of
the stream, revealing under their thin straight shadows a shed with a
thatched roof. A kind of primitive landing stage made of planks roughly
thrown together on some cross beams projected into the water of the
river. Beyond, over the tops of the palms, stretched toward the horizon
a brown land dotted with scanty bushes, while in the distance the
rapids of Hou-Sadan frothed and snarled.
Pointing out the yellow thatched roof with his finger, the captain
announced:
"Khône-Sud!"
A confused noise rose from the waist of the ship filled with native
passengers. They had all risen to their feet, and pressed tight
against the bulwarks they disputed among themselves, exchanged remarks
and busied themselves over their meagre baggage. Tanned, brown and
powerful, the Cambodians folded up their square flat mattresses and
hoisted their bundles to their shoulders to be ready for landing.
Small and noisy, the Annamese pushed here and there, cursing aloud,
shoving their women, boxing the ears of the children who screamed with
ear-splitting yells. In a corner, collected together in a separate
group, the Chinese methodically and without hurry counted over their
bags of merchandise, lined up their boxes and got their papers ready.
Nonchalant and frail, the Lao-ese, with their pale faces, smiled and
hummed the chants of their native country, remaining stretched out on
the gunwales.
Thinning into long slanting wisps, the fog cleared away. Almost as
suddenly as it had fallen, it was gone, and the sun shone in the sky,
warm, sparkling and golden.
The _Vien-Thian_ came about, slackened her speed and cautiously laid
herself alongside the landing stage, which gave to her weight with
creakings and groanings. Across the gangway, which was immediately
lowered, the natives rushed, fighting among themselves for room to pass.
Pierre made hurriedly for his cabin. Forcing a way through the crowd
on the lower deck, he reached his little stateroom and strapped up his
valise. Then two Cambodians took charge of his baggage, and having
carried it up to the deck piled it up at the head of the gangway.
Beside his own things, heavy and massive, each one of which carried
in large black letters his name and destination, Pierre observed some
copper-covered trunks and leather suitcases carefully shrouded in blue
cloth coverings. He guessed that they must belong to her whom he, with
some irritation, had named "The Unknown." Mechanically, he drew near to
the baggage. Bending over the aristocratic-looking things, he attempted
uselessly to discover the name of their proprietor. On the trunks and
the leather of the bags the same initials were repeated in slender
strokes: a W and an R, intertwined, in a lozenge-shaped monogram.
He expressed his disappointment by an impatient gesture. Once again his
curiosity remained ungratified. He put out his hand and stopped the
porters who were beginning to take his trunks down, and told them to
wait for him.
The crowd of yellow passengers was now thinning out: beyond the wall
and the primitive shed which, with three or four straw-thatched huts,
constituted the entire town of Khône-Sud, they could be seen trailing
off in groups, becoming smaller and disappearing. Only a few Lao-ese
still waited in the shade of the palms, where their variegated attire
broke the shade with little moving spots of color. Before the landing
stage some ox-carts were standing, while on the bank, up to their knees
in the river, six elephants, undisturbed, were squirting jets of water
over their backs. Upon their brown wrinkled flanks the water splashed
and ran down, while the mahouts, crouched on the enormous necks of the
brutes, mingled their guttural cries with the noise of the pouring
water.
Pierre guessed that this extraordinary outfit, elephants and ox-carts,
was the caravan that had been got together for his journey to Post 32.
He smiled with amusement. At the same time a feeling of depression shot
through him. The monotony of this voyage up the unending river, through
scenery everlastingly the same, with only the continued tramping
backward and forward on the narrow deck for amusement or the reading
of a few volumes picked out of Captain Rabaud's library, had left him
with a feeling of lassitude and nervousness. He wanted to get on shore
to continue his journey, to get to the end of this pilgrimage where the
mysterious Post 32 and the strange land of which Bressond had spoken
were awaiting him.
With a few bounds he reached the top of the ladder leading to the
bridge. Still standing in the corner which he used as a look-out,
Captain Rabaud was saying good bye to the unknown woman. Just as she
parted from him, after a final _au revoir_, Pierre came forward. Their
paths crossed. The young man raised his hat. She acknowledged the
salute with a slight nod and passed him quickly.
Struck by the unusual and peculiar beauty of the face and eyes,
half-seen under the shadow of her large white felt hat, Pierre stopped.
Behind him the light decided footsteps of the young woman were growing
fainter. Already she must be descending the ladder to the lower deck.
Almost carried away by his sudden desire to look at her again and fix
her features in his memory, Pierre had hard work not to run back and
follow her. But there came to him the remembrance of that haughty and
reserved look which she had just flashed upon him as she passed, and he
stood motionless, not even daring to turn his head.
CHAPTER III
A FELLOW TRAVELER
Somewhere in the night, a gong sounded the hour of the second watch.
In the silence the ringing notes swelled out and vibrated. From other
spots nearby, fading away into the distance, the sound of three other
gongs rose into the still air, taking up the signal and prolonging it.
The night was vast, motionless and cold. Leaning on the rail in front
of the hut which served him as a hotel, Pierre watched a wan moon rise
slowly above the river. In front of his hut, built on piles in the Moï
fashion, the footpath which represented the main street of Khône-Sud
stretched away to the north, cutting through the neighboring forest
whose solid mass stretched like a vast gulf of blackness under the
moonlit sky dappled with moving clouds.
Towards the south, the handful of five or six huts which composed the
village lay silent and dark. On board the _Vien-Thian_, made fast to
the landing stage opposite, a single light kept watch.
Pierre, unable to sleep, thought of his departure. He called to mind
the visit that he had made late in the afternoon to the civil service
clerk who occupied the position of Chief of the Post at Khône. His
caravan prepared in advance for him was waiting: it was that which he
had seen from the deck of the boat on his arrival some hours before:
four ox-carts with their bamboo-thatched tops and enormous wooden
wheels, and six elephants whose pack saddles were ready to receive
their loads: as escort a dozen Lao-ese riflemen and a guide.
His baggage had been parcelled out as soon as it came off the boat.
The large packages--two great chests of clothes and three cases of
books and instruments solidly packed--were destined for the elephants.
One of the ox-carts was to serve him by turns as carriage by day and
sleeping apartment at night, and on its rough planking protected by
the rounded top they had stretched a Cambodian mattress. The smaller
parcels--suitcases, arms, munitions and provisions for the journey--had
been distributed between two more of the ox-carts. The fourth remained
empty, and Pierre had remarked concerning it to the clerk who
accompanied him:
"No good taking this one, too. I'll leave you that ... it might...."
But the other, laughing, had interrupted him.
"No nonsense, old man!... They ordered me to provide you with four
vehicles. The requisitions have been made and the accounts passed; your
escort have been paid in advance. If you leave one of your carts on
my hands I shall have official letters and all sorts of troubles for
the next three months. They told me 'four carts.' You will then start
with four carts! As for the empty one, do what you like with it: make
a smoking room of it, a dining-room, library--but for the love of the
government, take it away from here."
Remembrance of the incident made Lursac smile.
Now, the moon was fully risen. It could be seen, reddish and dull,
floating between two strips of cloud.
Across the sky a flight of birds passed in a triangular line, and the
breeze, blowing from nowhere, scattered the cloudlets banked in the
northern sky. Over the river a sheet of fog began to rise, climbing
the bank, overtopped it and then suddenly pouring down flooded the
countryside. Pierre shuddered, and re-entering his cabin pulled-to the
shutter which served as a door.
Stretched out on his camp bed he still remained for a few minutes
unable to sleep. On the chest which served as a table the flame of the
lamp was on the point of dying. Out in the night a buffalo bellowed.
The hoarse cry, carried by the wind, floated through the cabin; and as
his lamp with a final flicker of light died out, Pierre fell asleep.
* * * * *
The vague impression that there was a light in the room woke him.
He opened his eyes and turned his head instinctively to the door.
Immediately he was on his feet. In the doorway, now wide open, outlined
against the milky sky illuminated by the moonlight, a shadow was
standing.
Without giving him time to speak it made some steps towards him. The
shutter which it no longer held back slammed heavily and the room was
again in black darkness. At the same time a feminine voice spoke:
"Do please light your lamp, Monsieur de Lursac."
Pierre trembled: he recognized the sound of this voice, its precision,
its metallic timbre and even its slight foreign accent. He immediately
knew it was his "Unknown," she of the _Vien-Thian_.
The lamp relighted, he saw her actually standing there, motionless,
in the middle of the cabin. She had put off the large felt hat that
she had been wearing on the boat. Now a fur toque imprisoned her pale
blonde hair, allowing only a few stray wisps of it to show on the
forehead and temples, and at the sides two little curls that shone
like gold. She was dressed in a gray tailored suit of which the coat
was clasped to her figure by a wide belt of red leather. Heavy brown
boots, very high cut, protected her legs: in her slim gray-gloved hands
she nervously twisted a riding-whip. Her cold glance, and even her
attitude, showed a curious desire to provoke him, a sort of cavalier
haughtiness at once brusque and determined.
Pierre, saying nothing, watched her. With easy grace she flung the whip
on the bed, seated herself and said:
"I imagine, sir, that you know who I am."
The ambiguity of the phrase made Lursac hesitate. Was he to see in it
a deliberate rudeness or simply an allusion to their meeting on board
the boat? Although it struck him as lacking in tact, Pierre chose the
second hypothesis. Forcing himself to remain passive, he replied:
"I think, as a matter of fact, I saw you on board the _Vien-Thian_."
He bowed politely: "And what can I do for you?"
He had set the lamp on the bench by her and, standing in front of the
young woman, he awaited her answer.
With methodical quick movements she undid her gloves, took them off and
rolled them up. Her hands were visible, long and pale, without a jewel.
There was silence for a minute, then she said:
"M. de Lursac, would you kindly allow me a few minutes' talk with you?"
In spite of himself, Pierre smiled ironically.
"The question seems to me...."
She interrupted him brusquely.
"I know, sir. My sudden intrusion into your room has hardly left you
any choice."
And with her eyes suddenly grown hard, she added:
"I beg you to believe that I have not acted with this lack of courtesy
without having the most important reasons."
Pierre, in all sincerity, agreed:
"I have no doubt of it."
She let her cold glance fall on him. Her voice softened.
"The exceptional situation in which I find myself must excuse anything
in my behavior which seems extraordinary. For the rest you must think
of me as you will: that doesn't matter."
The young man bit his lips. Once more her words seemed to him to
possess a tinge of combined haughtiness and aggressiveness which
irritated him. But immediately she continued:
"M. de Lursac, you start tomorrow morning at dawn, do you not?"
Pierre assented:
"Four o'clock in the morning exactly, for Post 32."
"I know," said she, "I found out about it."
Pierre's annoyance increased: sarcastically, he thanked her.
"I am indeed overcome with the interest which you show in my movements."
She seemed not to hear him, but an involuntary tightening of her lips
showed that his answer had not escaped her. And this slight motion had
in it something so sad that Pierre could not help regretting his having
given way to irony.
"It is on the very subject of this journey that I have a request to
make to you," she continued.
Then looking him full in the face she said slowly:
"I wish to join Lieutenant Redeski at Post 32; you would lay me under a
great obligation if you would take me there with you."
As he made a sudden gesture of refusal, she hastened to explain:
"You are going to tell me that I ought to have addressed myself to the
chief of the government service at Khône. I have not failed to do so.
But he, not content with refusing me the aid on which I had counted,
told me that he would, on the contrary, put as many difficulties in my
way as possible. He had received formal instructions on this point: no
women are to go into the region which you are about to enter, or at
least no women with the consent of the government. You see, sir, that
I am putting the case before you with as much clearness and frankness
as possible; and nevertheless, having told you all that, I renew my
request: will you take me with you?"
Pierre looked at her reflectively. With her figure leaning lightly
forward, her pale hands lying listless on the bench, and her glance
focussed in the far distance, she sat waiting for an answer. He made a
few steps back and forth, thinking, then he sat himself down next to
her.
"No," he declared coldly. "No, I will not take you."
She remained motionless, her glance still lost in the distance. Only a
slight wrinkling of her forehead betrayed her disappointment. A long
silence fell, filled only by the low rumble of the rapids of Hou-Sadan.
Getting up, she said quietly:
"I shall have to arrange in some way to go by myself."
He too had risen: he looked at her. All her pride seemed gone; she
lowered her head. Instead of the expression she had worn up to that
moment, a different face--the true one, perhaps--appeared: a young and
tender face; and it seemed suddenly to Pierre that it was another woman
that stood before him. She looked up, and he could see tears in the
depths of her brown eyes.
She shrugged her shoulders wearily.
"Oh!" she said, "that would have made things so much easier. I should
have seen him again sooner.... This journey has been so long ... so
long and so horrible! And I have no one else in the world but him, no
one at all since we lost our mother."
Astonished, Lursac ejaculated:
"Your mother?"
She gave a little half-smile.
"Yea, I have only forgotten one thing; to introduce myself! I am Wanda
Redeski, and it is my brother who commands Post 32."
"Ah!" said he.
And without being able to explain why, he felt a strange happiness
spread throughout his being.
In a low voice she continued:
"Yes, he is my brother, and I have come all this way from the furthest
part of Poland to rejoin him and to say to him: Our mother is dead, and
I have no one left but you; let me live beside you!..."
Suddenly raising her suppliant face to him, she renewed her request:
"Take me! ... take me!..."
Two tears glittered down her cheeks and she caught him by the arm.
Pierre for a moment looked down at the slim, beautiful hand whose long
thin pale fingers trembled on his wrist, and suddenly walking towards
the door, he said:
"Come, then, since you wish it!"
* * * * *
The dawn was breaking. Along the horizon across the flooded river an
amber light began to spread, rising almost imperceptibly towards the
heavens where the stars were still twinkling. The rain had stopped.
On the threshold of the forest, among the trees whose branches were
still dripping with the damp of the night, the great black forms of
six elephants, laden with cases and trunks, showed. Half seen in the
growing light, heavy and formidable, they moved their trunks aloft,
plucking young twigs from the trees on either side of them. Behind them
the four ox-carts, each furnished with its span of draft oxen, showed
the brown of their thatched tops in line.
Pierre threw a final look over his caravan. Crouched on the poles of
their wagons the drivers, whip in hand, awaited his orders, while in
their places on the necks of the elephants, the mahouts, waiting, spoke
endearments to their beasts. In front, the guide, his machete in hand,
was listening attentively to the sounds of the forest.
Coming up to the last but one of the ox-carts, Lursac drew aside the
canvas that closed the rounded ends of the top and asked:
"Are you absolutely decided?"
The voice of Wanda Redeski came to him concise and clear, with a
strange sweetness in it, as she said:
"Absolutely, M. de Lursac."
Pierre, turning to the escort, raised his hand.
"_Paï, vaï, vaï!_"[4] he cried.
[Footnote 4: Start forward, quickly.]
And going to the head of the procession, he swiftly entered the bluish
penumbra of the heavy Lao-ese forest, while gradually the shadows of
the night faded from the sky.
CHAPTER IV
POST 32
The man gave a couple of heavy strokes with his paddle. His canoe
turned, met the current at an angle and slid towards the bank of the
canal, head-on. Mud squirted up and the canes on the bank crashed
backwards; and the light skiff lay motionless in its bed. Jumping up on
to the limb of a mangrove, the savage tied his canoe; then, picking up
his bow and quiver, he slid from branch to branch on to dry land.
Standing at the edge of the level ground, he looked about him. To his
right the double palisade of the military post could be seen, topped by
the roofs of its newly finished buildings. He turned in that direction.
At the postern gate he knocked loudly, and then, sitting down with his
back to the heavy door, he waited patiently, his chin on his knees.
The Moï who ran up at the noise opened the door cautiously, then asked
angrily:
"Was it you who knocked? What do you want?"
"It was I," said the man calmly. "I want to speak to the chief."
The other looked at him carefully, up and down.
"The lieutenant is away ... it is the priest who, while awaiting his
return...."
"Go then: it is Father Ravennes that I will see...."
The convert grumbled:
"Come in. I will go and tell him."
And already he was hurrying off when the other called to him:
"Tell him what? You fool!"
And as the Moï, abashed, stared at him, he ordered:
"You will say to him that I have arrived from the west and that I bring
news...."
And disdainfully shrugging his shoulders, he began to roll a cigarette.
"Hurry, now!" he added.
Suppressing his anger, the convert went off. He found the missionary in
front of the look-out post. Standing in the gateway, Father Ravennes
was directing the final efforts of those who were putting the finishing
touches to the building. Around the various erections, of which the
freshly plastered walls shone white in the sunshine, a few _linhs_ and
some twenty women were busied.
The arrival of the convert drew his attention.
"What is it? A courier from Khône-Sud?" said he. "Bring him here."
The man appeared at the entrance of the court, and while he was
salaaming before him the missionary looked him over. It was one of
the wild Stiengs, small-built but strong. His body was bare except
for a brown cloth about his loins; his face, of pronounced features,
emphasized by the square, projecting chin, was almost brutal, but
lighted by gray metallic-looking eyes. He spoke in a loud voice,
slightly hoarse and rather guttural, in sonorous syllables which now
and then fell into a rhythmic chant. He made no gestures; merely from
time to time lifting his heavy crossbow of shining redwood from one
broad shoulder to the other.
"Lieutenant Darty of Post 30 sends you greeting. He wishes to inform
you that the Sedangs of his region have deserted the village. Things
are happening around him which he does not understand and which make
him feel anxious. If you go towards the west, do not fail to go and see
him. He would like to speak to you about these things. Meanwhile he
warns you to be on your guard."
The missionary smiled carelessly.
"Ah!" said he, "for the three years that I have been here I have done
nothing else! Never mind, the advice is always good. On your way back
to Khône-Sud you will give my thanks to Lieutenant Darty. You will also
tell him that I will come to see him and as soon as I can. Is that all?"
"No. There is a new chief at Post 28. The former one has gone back to
Saigon on a vacation. In the low country through which I have come the
flood has carried away two villages...."
"And the mail carrier? The letters, the papers?"
"Nothing left! The sampan that carried the mail was wrecked near Post
28, the mail sacks were lost."
"Very good," said Father Ravennes, "you can go and rest yourself."
The man remained motionless.
"I have still this to tell you," said he, "Inspector Keratel, of
Khône-Sud, greets you. He has ordered me to tell you that the
administrator who was to join the lieutenant here has started on his
way and will be here soon."
Father Ravennes lit his pipe.
"How soon? They announced his arrival for the end of the month, and
this is the 6th.... When will he be here, according to you?"
The man considered for a minute and looked at the sky.
"Before the sun has set," said he. "We left Khône-Sud together one
moon[5] and four nights ago, but after three days of the journey I
left him to take a short cut, and came up the canal in my canoe.
Unfortunately, the flood had made the rapids impassable. I nearly got
drowned in making an attempt to cross at Ong-Sep and I had to wait
until the water went down. That kept me back for at least two days. The
others cannot be far behind me."
[Footnote 5: "Moon" is used by the Indo-Chinese natives to signify a
single phase of the moon, not a month, which would be four "moons."]
He fell silent, yawned and stretched himself. Down his slender chest
and along his thighs the muscles rippled and stood out.
Father Ravennes dropped a hand on his shoulder.
"When do you go back?" he asked.
"In about two hours or so. I shall only stay long enough to repair the
hole in my canoe."
"Good! I will give you some letters to take back before you go. Is
there anything you need?"
Shaking his head proudly, the man pointed to the bow which he held in
his hand and the quiver full of arrows hanging at his side.
"No," said he, "with that I have everything I need."
He saluted and made ready to go, but the missionary still held him back.
"Do you know the name of the administrator who is coming here?"
"The _cai_ who was in command of the escort told me his name; it is the
Sahib Lursac."
The missionary considered.
"Lursac? I do not know that name."
He turned towards the courier.
"Very good," said he, "you can go now."
But the man had already started. He crossed the court. The blazing sun
made his naked body shine, and caught with a sparkle of light the steel
point of the crossbow laid across his shoulder.
Father Ravennes watched him pass through the postern and disappear. He
repeated thoughtfully to himself:
"Lursac? Lursac? A new arrival probably. A strange idea to pick him out
to send here!"...
He remained thoughtful a minute, and then murmured:
"But that's what they always do at Saigon!..."
Shrugging his shoulders, he strode off towards the office.
* * * * *
"There is the Post," said Pierre.
And he stood motionless while the convoy, debouching from the forest,
reached the edge of the valley. Standing beside the young man, Wanda
looked around the scene with curiosity.
On her right the river flowed between its low banks edged with canes
and mangroves. On the brink of the water the station stood, defended
by its double horseshoe-shaped palisade only broken by a heavy gateway
with a double door. Wrapping it round on all sides and separated from
the fortifications only by a narrow clearing, the great Lao-ese forest
stood about it in a dark and rustling circle which extended even to the
very banks of the canal. Facing the fort towards the north rose hilly
slopes, and behind them, blocking out the sky, the chaotic mass of the
great Moï range stretched its sombre crests and its threatening bulk,
striped with alternate zones of shadow and sunlight. On the other side,
all the back country across the river was nothing but a great plain of
monotonous red soil which stretched towards the south as far as one
could see.
"Look," said Pierre, "they must have seen us!"
Up the mast standing by the entry gate a flag was crawling, and as the
great double doors opened a trumpet call resounded.
Pierre turned to the girl.
"Come," said he.
They walked forward. Behind them the elephants and then the ox-carts
lumbered in their turn, escorted by the native riflemen.
The trumpet ceased. The shadow of night crept upward into the day. A
flight of wild geese crossed the gathering dusk and their cries floated
over the plain.
Standing before the doorway, Father Ravennes awaited them. When Pierre
de Lursac had come within a few paces of him he came quickly to meet
them. His look fell on Wanda and his forehead wrinkled. Suppressing his
surprise, he introduced himself:
"Father Ravennes, of the Apostolic Mission to the Banhars."
"Administrator Pierre de Lursac."
The missionary looked the young man over with a swift glance. His face
relaxed and he stretched out his hand.
"I am glad to welcome you to Post 32, in the absence of Lieutenant
Redeski," said he.
"Ah!" said Wanda, "Michael is not here?... Nothing has happened to him,
has it?"
The priest turned towards her. Pierre caught the questioning glance
which he threw first on the young girl and then on him. He blushed.
"Mademoiselle Redeski," said he, "sister of the lieutenant."
And at the same time he in his turn looked the priest over.
He saw a man of some 45 years of age, clothed, Annamese style, in a
black tunic and white trousers. Above his long bony body and planted
on broad shoulders his small head with its thin face and pronounced
features gave a singular impression of sweetness and energy combined.
The forehead, high and smooth, and the chin prominent, with a short
grayish beard, gave to his face an expression of strength of will,
almost of severity; but his eyes, large and pale, lit with dreams
and such as the apostles of the early ages of the Faith must have
had, illuminated the ascetic face, at once virile and tender, with
intelligence and kindness. The missionary bowed.
"Do not be disturbed, Mademoiselle, your brother started three days ago
on a tour of inspection round the district. We did not expect M. de
Lursac for another three weeks, and Redeski expected to be back here
before that. I believe further that he did not know ... at least he
never told me...."
The young girl laughed aloud.
"No, he doesn't even know of my arrival in Indo-China. That will be a
surprise for him."
They had meanwhile been walking on and had entered the courtyard of
the fort. Behind them the convoy had crossed the fortifications and
the gate had been closed. The priest climbed the wooden outside stair
leading to the officers' quarters. Crossing the veranda which ran round
the whole façade of the building, he conducted the young people through
the rooms.
"A domiciliary visit," said he, laughingly. "It will not be a very long
one. Five rooms: an office, a dining room, three bedrooms. Because of
the damp ground, everything is built upon piles."
"Oh!" said Wanda, "how strange!"
She had lifted a large screen of plaited bamboo, and the river and the
plain lay before her. The yellow waters of the canal flowed at the very
base of the building and gurgled against the pillars that supported it.
Above the land floated a fine dust which the setting sun gilded and
turned to clouds of rosy jade. A sky of shining mauve stretched away to
the vague horizon, which was cut in two by a dark patch.
The missionary pointed out this last to the young people. "That is the
clump of trees which surrounds my Mission," said he. "I am your nearest
neighbor, ten miles away. The other posts, 30 and 28, are, the one, ten
days' journey to the east, and the other, eight days to the west...."
He had let the screen fall into its place again and continued his
explanations.
"The arrangement of the rooms is very simple. They are all in a row and
have communicating doors. To the south they look over the plain; on the
north, that is to say the side of the veranda, they open towards the
mountains. As for the furnishing, it is very primitive--as you see:
beds, a few tables, a dozen chairs, and chests everywhere. On the other
hand you have four oil lamps and two candle lamps; a luxury which you
will soon come to appreciate at its right value."
They went out on the veranda again.
In the middle of the court the riflemen were finishing the unloading of
the ox-carts. The elephants, already free of their burdens, were tied
in their sheds beside the oxen.
The missionary pointed out the subsidiary buildings, one by one.
"On the right, against the palisade, the barracks for the men, the
store-rooms, the cook-houses, the cabins for the servants and the
drivers; on the left, facing them, the sheds for the draft animals and
the stables; this little thatched hut raised above the ground by the
entry-gate houses the guard who keeps watch every night from the first
night-watch to the first morning-watch. And that's all."
He drew himself up; his expression became grave, and while with a wave
of his arm he included the whole countryside, he said:
"Your whole life from now on will be passed within this double
stockade. Redeski, when he gets back, will explain to you all the
details of the service. But for the present, I shall be bold enough to
give you some advice: Do not go too far from the fort in the course of
your walks or rides, at least at first...."
Wanda, turning towards him, demanded:
"Why?"
"Because you are here in the middle of an unsubdued region and on the
very threshold of the Moï country into which no European has yet been
able to penetrate."
The young girl looked at him. Her voice took on a troubled note.
"But what about Michael?..."
The priest realized her anxiety and the question which she hardly dared
to ask.
"Oh," said he, "Redeski has taken his precautions. He is accompanied by
eight armed native soldiers, and, besides, he is not travelling in the
direction of the Pou-Kas...."
The sky darkened rapidly, the distant flank of the mountains behind
which the sun had disappeared had deepened to a blackish blue. The
shadows stretching down from their crests reached almost to the Post,
and already the plain lay blotted out. Above the river the hoarse
night-cry of a water fowl grated through the silence. The last packages
of the convoy had been carried into the store sheds, and around the
empty court a few fowls were straying and pecking in the dust.
"It is time for me to go," said Father Ravennes, "I will come back in
two or three days to see if I can be of any service to you. In any case
if you need me you know where the Mission is. You only have to cross
the canal and go straight forward towards that clump of trees in the
middle of which it is hidden. It is only a matter of three-quarters of
an hour or so on horseback, and everything there is yours as much as
mine.... _Au revoir!_"
"Thank you," said Pierre, "we will come very soon."
The priest descended the narrow stairway. His form grew vague and
smaller and then mingled with the shadows with which the court was
flooded.
Leaning over the rail of the balcony, Wanda called after him in her
turn:
"We will come as soon as we have got our things put straight. _Au
revoir!_"
His voice, already distant, floated up to them.
"_Au revoir!_"
Leaning on their elbows side by side, Wanda and Pierre listened a
minute longer to the footsteps of the priest as they became fainter and
fainter and at last died away in the night. Then, turning and looking
at each other, they smiled softly....
CHAPTER V
AT THE MISSION
Father Ravennes crossed the courtyard of his Mission with great
strides. In front of the chapel he stopped. It was a rectangular
building with a mud roof surmounted by a simple black cross; from each
side of the building, like windows, three bays stood out covered with
great screens of woven rattan. A single door gave access to it, massive
and reënforced by crossbeams roughly squared, closed by two staples
through which passed the hasp of a heavy padlock.
Before the chapel, suspended to a wooden bracket, a gong hung with its
wooden striker. Seizing the hammer the priest with swift violent blows
made the bronze resound. The sonorous vibrations swelled out through
the air and filled the whole court, penetrating to the interior of the
narrow huts perched on their bases of piles against the stockade of
pointed bamboo.
Disturbed in their morning hour of quiet a dozen or so of blackbirds
flew out and scattered with sharp cries. The fowls that were pecking
about ran off in fright, flapping their wings. From the house of the
priest next the chapel a native dog, lean and surly, charged out and
began running round and round in front of the gong, barking madly.
"Quiet, Jang!" cried the priest.
He had restored the striker to the bracket, and was watching his flock
who, hurriedly emerging from their huts, had come to group themselves
in front of him.
There were some thirty, all told; a miserable crowd composed
principally of women and children. And according to the order of their
arrival, after a respectful salaam, they sat back on their heels
holding their children by the hand. Behind them, standing up, a few men
showed their hollowed faces turned towards the priest, and their naked
bodies in which the bones seemed almost ready to come through the brown
and dirty skin.
Father Ravennes looked at them steadily. But they turned away their
eyes, submitting to his inspection with an appearance of annoyance and
constraint which he noted.
When he saw them all ranged before him, he stretched his hand toward
the mountain of which the blue slopes showed faintly far away towards
the north.
"What did you go to do over there last night?" he demanded.
There was a deep silence. Motionless, their faces as expressionless as
masks, the men hung their heads.
Father Ravennes leaned forward.
"Why did you go there?" he questioned again.
He seemed this time to address himself to the women and his voice
became imperious. But they remained silent, simply clasping their
children tighter to them.
The missionary, drawing back, made a few steps to the rear.
"Very well," he said roughly, "since you have nothing to say...."
A voice interrupted him:
"We went for a walk in the forest, Father, it was a hot night...."
The priest advanced towards the one who had just spoken and stared him
out of countenance.
"It was a hot night ..." he repeated.
The other, small and puny, with an air of insincerity, turned his eyes
away.
"Yes, very hot and we couldn't sleep, and...."
Father Ravennes drew himself up to his full height. He loomed large,
bony and strong, dominating them all with his powerful carriage. He
caught the man by the arm and forced him to turn his face to him.
"Why are you lying?" he demanded.
The other stammered:
"But I am not lying, Father, I...."
The missionary passionately cut him short:
"Be silent. I tell you that you are lying. You are all lying."
Two of his flock at his side made a gesture of protest which he saw.
"Yes, true," said he, "I am unjust: you were not in it, you two, and I
am very glad.... But these others?..."
He flung away violently the man he had been holding.
"Away with you!" said he.
Then turning towards the still silent group of his converts he flung at
them:
"What you refuse to tell me I am going to tell you. You went to the
_Bo-Jaou_.[6] How many times have I told you and told you, that a
Christian cannot believe in sorcery. When I think that you have been
here for more than a year, and that in spite of all, all that I have
told you, you continue to take part in the mummeries of this ... it's
enough to drive me mad! A saint himself would lose patience with you,
and I am not a saint."
[Footnote 6: Sorceress; _Bia-bo-Jaou_: Queen of the sorceresses, the
high priestess.]
A clear voice interrupted him:
"Oh! Father Ravennes, I am afraid that we have arrived at the wrong
time. We have come to ask you for lunch. Can we come in?"
The missionary swiftly turned his head. On the other side of the
palisade behind the entrance gate he saw Wanda and Pierre.
"Certainly," said he, "come in, and welcome! It is true that I am
sinning terribly at this moment, but God will not call me to account
for it; it is for the good of the Faith! Just look at them!"
With a circular gesture he pointed out the group of converts. The
sleeve of his tunic swept the air around him. On his great chest the
silver cross suspended by its rosary jumped. He repeated passionately:
"Look at them! They came to me pitiful, wretched and suffering: I took
them in. For more than a year every day I have preached the Gospel to
them, and all of them--men and women--have begged me to teach them the
truths of our holy religion. One by one, I have cared for them, cured
them, and little by little came to love them as my children, and then I
baptized them. Look at that one, Ngui...."
With his forefinger he pointed at one of the men.
"Scarcely a fortnight ago, when the time came for him to receive
baptism, and I put to him the questions set down in the ritual: '_Do
you believe in God? Do you renounce Satan?_' instead of answering me
as I had taught him: '_I renounce him_,' this fellow, forgetting his
instructions in an enthusiasm which filled my priest's heart with
joy, cried out, '_Yes, yes, I renounce him with all my heart and for
ever!_' And yet in spite of that, last night it was he who was at their
head and guided them when they were on their way to take part in the
ceremonies of Bo-Jaou!"
He walked towards the frightened group, and catching at random a woman
with a child hanging on to the edge of her tunic, he shook her roughly:
"For I followed you, do you hear? And when you ran away, seeing a
shadow which you did not wait to recognise, I saw you, and I know
enough of it all to be able to describe to you all your underhand
doings. Indeed I will describe them to you."
Letting go of the woman he thumped the shoulder of a man who stood near
him.
"It was you," he said, "who opened the gate for them. It was eleven
o'clock, and while they slid out you stayed on watch to see if I
noticed anything. You were quite satisfied, weren't you? At that time
I am always asleep. But the good God arranged it so that on that very
afternoon I overheard one of you saying, 'The sign is cut upon the
sacred banyan tree. It will be tonight!' I became suspicious. Aroused
to full watchfulness I watched you from behind my blinds, and when you
had gone out, with Ngui at the head and you at the end of the line, I
set out on your track.
"You ran across the plain. The night was dark, only lighted up a little
here and there by a ray of moonlight from between the clouds. You went
towards the mountain. I saw you take the canoes on the bank of the
river and cross it, go round the fort and disappear in the forest.
As you had taken away all the canoes, I followed you by swimming.
That took time. When I reached the other side of the river you had
disappeared. Before me rose the first outpost of the Pou-Kas. I was
unarmed! But nevertheless, after a short prayer, I set out towards a
vague light which appeared and disappeared in the distance between the
trees. After a walk of half an hour, on reaching a clearing I saw you,
you, Nmur, you, Dok, all of you ... all of you, ranged around the jar
of the libations and watching Jieng who was dancing before a brazier
and howling while she gashed her face, her arms and her breast with
sword-cuts!"
Pierre de Lursac came forward excitedly.
"Jieng, the famous sorceress of whom you spoke to us. Have you seen
her?..."
Father Ravennes, turning round to him, broke into his speech.
"Chut!" said he. "Let me finish with these people."
And with a sudden turn he faced the converts and continued:
"Yes, you were all there and when you saw a shadow--mine--in front of
you, you all ran away, Jieng at your head, scattering among the shadows
of the forest. But by the abandoned fire I found this, which I brought
back with me."
As he spoke, going to one of the windows of the chapel, he raised the
screen and picked up a Moï sword. The thick blade, short and tapering
to a point, shone spotted here and there with reddish stains. He held
it a moment above his head high in the air, then flinging it with all
his force into the middle of the court he cried:
"There is the sword which was used in the ceremonies. Now, will you
still deny it?"
And he stood silent, trembling with emotion, drawn to his full height
and facing the group of his converts who turned towards him faces full
of woe and distress.
Standing at his side even Wanda and Pierre shuddered. The same emotion
moved them both. They looked wonderingly at this man who lived there,
lost in the depths of the Lao-ese forest, sustained only by his ideal
of a priest's duty, and they gave him the tribute of their admiration,
thinking of all that he had abandoned, of all that he had not hesitated
to leave behind him--fatherland, parents, friends--to try and gain for
his faith a few strays of this primitive and uncivilized race.
But already gaining control of himself the priest turned again to his
converts.
"And now," said he in a deep voice, "listen to me: I came here from
Pho-Rang,[7] my country, to live among you. You were slaves and I have
made you free men and women. Your souls were wandering in the darkness,
and I have tried to save those ignorant souls, purchased by the blood
of Jesus Christ; but you have remained blind; you have not wanted to
believe; you have had for me double hearts and double minds. To my love
you have answered only with hypocrisy, lies and daily deceits...."
[Footnote 7: France.]
He made a gesture which seemed to sweep them all away from him.
"I am tired," said he, "of struggling for you against yourselves...
Go away from here. Return to your villages. I send you off.... Go....
Go...."
A silence of surprised horror weighed upon them. Then a woman's cry
rang out, taken up and echoed by the voices of the others:
"Father, O Father! ... keep us here!..."
The women had risen to their feet; they ran up, trying to fling
themselves at the feet of the priest.
"Not that.... O Father.... Not that. We can't go back to the mountain!
Spare us!"
Fear shook them all, an incomprehensible and unexpected fear.
In his turn a man broke out into supplication:
"Pardon us, Father.... It is true ... we did go there, but we didn't
know, we didn't think that that would make you angry ... forgive us!"
The missionary gazed at them thoughtfully. Kneeling at his feet, their
hands stretched out toward him, a mask of very terror distorting their
features, they groaned and trembled; and although this sudden terror
seemed to him as yet another mystery, the priest felt a great pity
sweep over him. His glance strayed about him.
From a pale metallic sky the sun was beating fiercely down. It filled
the entire court, like a huge cup, with dazzling heat and light:
above it the air throbbed and palpitated. The blackbirds, who had
been frightened for a minute, had now returned to their familiar
roosting-places and were hopping about among the bamboo stakes of the
palisade, squawking and whistling, intoxicated with the glare.
In the centre of the court the great black cross which dominated the
chapel threw its shadow, and its wide-spread arms traced on the yellow
soil the Christian symbol of pardon and redemption.
Father Ravennes raised his hand.
"Very well," said he slowly, "but this is the second time that I have
pardoned you, and by the holy Cross, whose servant I am, I swear to you
that if I catch you a third time I shall be inexorable."
A voice promised:
"We will obey...."
And a confusion of cries immediately arose:
"We will never go to the forest any more! We swear it, Father! We all
swear it! Believe us! Oh, believe us!"
The missionary nodded. His strong face, drawn with fatigue, grew soft.
"It is well," said he, "go now and resume your regular life."
CHAPTER VI
AN ENTHUSIAST DISCOURSES ON PRE-HISTORIC REMAINS
"Then really," said Wanda, "you are not worried?"
The priest turned his glance upon her. He observed her anxiety.
Although she forced herself to hide it, her pale face was shadowed and
her eyelids fluttered lightly. He tried to reassure her.
"No," said he, "certainly I would prefer to know that Redeski had
reached Post 28. He ought to have got there last week, but when
you come to think of it, what of it? He is only six days late on
his schedule, and in the forest that's nothing--especially at this
season...."
Pierre nodded agreement.
The three of them were finishing their lunch on the balcony of the
priest's house. Once more clouds had invaded the sky, and across the
courtyard of the Mission their shadows lay and sped swiftly between two
shafts of sunlight.
The young girl lifted her relaxed face to the priest with a brave
attempt at smiling.
"I suppose I am absurd, but Michael means so much in my life.... I have
no one but him...."
"I understand," said the missionary with tenderness, "but do not
torture yourself unnecessarily. He will be here in a fortnight at most,
telling us why he was late.... Besides...."
He broke off, for the serving boy who had placed a basket of fruit on
the table asked:
"Will the Father take his coffee here?"
Father Ravennes consulted his guests with a look.
"No," said he, "we will take it in 'the Cave!'"
Wanda, who was picking out a fruit, made a sudden movement. The purple
and yellow pyramid of mangoes and lichis rolled scattered about the
table. Absent-mindedly she queried:
"The Cave?"
The boy had silently disappeared.
"The room reserved for my prehistoric collection," explained the
priest, stretching out his legs, and with a laugh he continued:
"It is true ... though of course you could not know it! I am absorbed
in everything prehistoric, and I realize that this prepossession has
become a regular passion with me!"
And with a sort of ingenuous doubt he enquired: "You don't see anything
sinful in that, do you?"
Lursac smiled.
"No," said he, "and I absolve you in advance! Although this scientific
pre-occupation seems to me neither very Christian nor warranted by the
doctrines of the Church, and that...."
The missionary protested strongly:
"You are wrong," said he, "there is nothing to prevent priests from
making a study of this sort.... I was already taken up with it while I
was at the Seminary of Foreign Missions at Paris, and my masters never
told me...."
"However," said Wanda in her turn, "doesn't the Old Testament tell us
that man was created by God not more than six thousand years ago?"
Pierre remarked:
"Well, well, Mademoiselle, I would not have believed you so versed in
theological matters."
Then turning towards the missionary:
"Well, what have you to say to that?"
Father Ravennes shrugged his shoulders.
"Simply this," said he, "that Mademoiselle is making a very common
mistake. You can open the Sacred Book and you will find in Genesis no
precise date at which primitive man must have been born. It is the
chronologists who, since the fifteenth century, have endeavored to
force biblical facts into their system of chronology. The best proof of
that is that the Church has never consented to making it an article of
faith that the creation of man took place six thousand years ago."
Lursac, who had just finished peeling a mango, went on teasing him:
"But I don't think, however, that many priests occupy themselves with
such problems as this."
The missionary disputed the statement:
"Yes indeed!... Abbés Bourgeois and Delaunay, Monseigneur Meignan
himself--just to quote those who are in some sort my predecessors--have
all written important works on this very question. Of the present day I
can cite you Abbés Breuil and Bremond...."
He got up, and walking in front of them he guided them towards "the
Cave." It was a long room, of which the entire furnishings consisted of
a narrow bench which ran round the walls and was divided by partitions,
and a long table on trestles littered with stones, arms and other
strange and primitive instruments. A large bay with the usual screen
of plaited bamboo lighted the room, cutting a great rectangle in the
mud wall through which the sun poured in. On the other walls, from the
bench up to the ceiling, hung all sorts of prehistoric remains, forming
an extraordinary mixture. Crowded against each other, each one provided
with its label or its inscription, they enriched the gray background
with outlandish patterns. Rough, heavy knives, axes and scrapers of
flint hung close together beside bone daggers and bodkins worn smooth
by the lapse of centuries. Further along, gruesome fragments of human
skeletons colored like old ivory were mixed with pieces of animal bones
on a large panel, flanked by rags of clothing and strips of hide. In an
angle near the bay two yellow and angular skulls lay on a shelf. Their
empty jaws with the mouths hanging open and their hollow eye-sockets
formed great holes filled with shadows.
The room thus decorated gave the strange and complex effect of a museum
of bric-a-brac and a tomb combined.
Wanda and Pierre had sat themselves down on the bench.
Standing before the table Father Revennes gazed affectionately at his
collection.
"My harvest, gathered in the three years that I have been here," he
said with naïve pride.
Lursac showed his surprise.
"Three years? I didn't know that Laos was so rich in prehistoric
remains!"
The missionary had taken one of the skulls between his sunburnt hands
and while he spoke he handled it gently with motions that were almost
caressing. He did not seem to have heard Lursac's remark. With his eyes
full of admiration he repeated:
"My most beautiful specimen.... A quarternary human skull! A real
wonder, for it is unique.... Do you realize it?... Unique! And I defy
anyone in Europe to show me one as truly characteristic and in such
perfect condition. Their 'Cro-Magnon'? Pooh! Trash compared to this
one...."
He gave a smile of triumph at once naïve and solemn.
"And when I think," said he with enthusiasm, "that in this bony cup,
over forty thousand years ago, there used to be a brain that created
thoughts, desires, and feelings, which were doubtless exactly the same
as our thoughts, desires and feelings...."
He stopped, regarding with a sort of affection the skull which he had
put on the table before him. Then touching his own forehead with his
fingers he murmured:
"The same forehead, and--who knows--perhaps the same soul, which time
has simply kept apart from this one without separating them."
The voice of Wanda broke in.
"O Father! can we have the same soul as a superior ape?"
Father Ravennes jumped round.
"Primitive man, an ape!" said he, "where have you read that heresy? In
Lamarck, in Carl Vogt, or in Huxley? But it is an outrageous theory,
long ago given up."
He went on, his voice trembling with excitement:
"It is enough to have eyes and to look at them; a child couldn't be
deceived. How could such a gross error have originated? Everything
proves that the human type is independent of the animal.... Look!" he
said, as he took from the shelf the second skull and placed it on the
table beside the first, and emphasising his words with his finger, he
continued:
"They pretend to base their opinion on anatomical comparison. The
ignoramuses! Look! Here is a man's skull from the earliest of primitive
ages, and here is a baboon's, the simian species which is nearest to
the human type. See here and here: the chin, the teeth, the general
appearance, the structural lines of these two skulls proclaim their
distinct origin and prove that the ape belongs to a totally different
species from man."
Relieved by his own violence he shrugged his shoulders with scorn.
Lursac and Wanda had risen and were standing one on each side of the
missionary. In silence they regarded the hollow bony forms standing on
the table before them, which, dull and dirty, grinned back at them with
toothless mouths and missing noses and their whole surfaces spotted as
with leprosy.
"What does it matter?" said Wanda. "What surprises me as it does Lursac
is this extraordinary abundance of fossils in the neighborhood."
Father Ravennes turned to them.
"You are right; and my astonishment was even greater than yours. I
didn't expect such rich discoveries! Just remember that usually it
needs ten, a dozen, perhaps fifteen years of exploration and of digging
to discover and bring to light a few anthropological specimens, less
rare and, above all, in a much worse state of preservation than most
of these you see here. But what is really extraordinary about it is
the way in which I found them. It would be natural enough to find here
in the depths of the Lao-ese forest some remains of quaternary man.
General opinion agrees, as a matter of fact, that our first ancestors
were born and lived in central and southern Asia before spreading
themselves over different parts of the globe.... Yes, here! somewhere
around us, must have been the cradle of the human race...."
"You said," interrupted Pierre, "that you found these things in some
extraordinary way.... How was that?"
The missionary smiled mysteriously.
"Listen," said he. "When I first arrived here I built myself a hut,
and every morning, after I had said mass, I started out on horseback.
I just followed my nose, attempting to spread the Word of God. One day
I lost myself in the forest on the border of the Moï country, opposite
your fort."
Lursac cried:
"Ah! in the Dead Zone?..."
"Yes," said the missionary. "Yes, that is where I have made all
my finds; and on each occasion the axes, the tools, the arms, the
skeletons or the clothes were in a heap, piled round a black stone
curiously shaped, erected like a fetich before a _nihuer_.[8] Therefore
it is absolutely certain that it was the natives who must have brought
them there. But where did they find them and why do they attach to
them this sacred character which seems to be denoted by their presence
before the altar of incantations?"
[Footnote 8: Altar for performing incantations.]
Lursac thoughtfully listened to him. With his thoughts dwelling on
these savage hosts in the midst of which the fort and the Mission stood
up like two lost islands he called to mind the counsels of prudence
which the missionary had given them the evening of their arrival. And
suddenly there flashed across him the mysterious fate of Longères and
Dorcel. With some abruptness he asked:
"Don't you think that this may be one of the elements of this unknown
religion whose presence we feel all about us?"
Father Ravennes lighted his pipe. Through the open window, beyond the
bamboos and the trees which surrounded the Mission, the russet-colored
plain was visible, with the widening line of the canal marked by its
border of mangroves, and further away the bulk of the Pou-Kas, holding
up against the luminous sky the dark wildness of its vast flanks.
The missionary, after a long silence, looked at the young man.
"It is a question," said he, "about which I have often thought. It
seems probable, as a matter of fact, that these prehistoric remains do
serve some function in the mysterious religion which holds in its grip
this entire region from the mountain to the plain! Perhaps, indeed, it
is even the very essence of it."
"Perhaps?" enquired Wanda. "Have you never then tried to find out? That
surprises me! It seems that I...."
"Find out! ..." said the missionary with a gesture of weariness, "find
out! Everything that surrounds us here, as I have already told you, is
vague and incomprehensible. We are struggling in a mass of tricks, of
lies and hypocrisies from a race that hates us and of which we know
practically nothing. Find out! I have tried, certainly!... I began by
questioning those who came to me. But directly one touches the subject
one finds oneself at a stone wall. Then if one goes on to speak of this
sorceress, this Jieng, whose power, although it is hidden, is none the
less actual and far-reaching, they tremble and become terrified. Then
if one presses them yet further, they say it is a legend and that there
is no such person as Jieng and never was."
He turned towards the young people.
"However," said he, "you know that I came on them last night with her
in the forest. But she holds them by some sort of magical charm and
religious fear.... Never having been able to get anything out of my
converts, I made up my mind to look for myself. I paid them back trick
for trick, patience for patience. I became desperate, driven by a
curiosity which has gradually turned into a strange mixture of fear and
obsession...."
He broke off to replace the two skulls on the shelf.
"And this is what I finally discovered," he went on. "It's little
enough and it's so vague in meaning that I have almost hesitated
to speak to you about it. It was about three years ago--I had just
arrived, and Post 32 had just been destroyed for the second time--I
was returning from a circuit that I had made towards the mountain and
night had overtaken me on my journey--a summer night, warm, milky and
starlit. I was riding slowly, letting my horse take his own time. When
I got to the bank of the canal I stopped, looking for the ford by which
to cross it. Before me, stretching to the horizon, the plain lay lit
by the moon with that light at once intense and subdued which one sees
only in the night of the far east. Suddenly my attention was drawn to
something unusual: across the sandy hills streamed processions of black
spots, tiny and almost invisible. From the distance it looked like an
army of ants on the march. I made out four, then six, then eight--eight
columns, which, crossing the plain, were advancing directly towards me.
They seemed to come from the extreme edge of the landscape, beyond the
deserted plain in the middle of which the Mission stands. Intrigued,
I turned back into the shade of the forest, hid myself and continued
watching. The eight columns kept on moving. They joined into one the
other side of the canal, crossed it by the ford, mounted the bank
on this side and, passing in front of me, commenced to ascend the
mountain. I followed them carefully, and I noticed with astonishment
that this strange procession was composed exclusively of women. Walking
on the edges of it, a couple of dozen men at most, with lances in their
hands and crossbows on their shoulders, accompanied them. At the head
of the line went a group of sorceresses, dancing and gesticulating,
yelling incomprehensible and strident invocations, and lifting towards
the pallid moon animal-like faces, seamed with scars. When they reached
the threshold of the Sacred Forest they came to a stop. The women lined
up in a vast semicircle and I recognized among them girls of every
age, of every sort and of every race: Reungaos, Halong, Jelung, Benoun
of the great tribe of Banhars; Keumrang, Duan, Hêre, of the powerful
clan of the Sedangs; Djiru, Heun, Oy, Sapuan, who all belong to the
Bolovens.... Every tribe and every dialect of the Moï country was
represented there. A gathering extraordinary and incredible to anyone
who knows the love for their own village and the jealous passion of
separatism with which each of these clans is animated!... And seeing
all these various and dissimilar faces turned towards the sorceresses
with the same expression of submission and anxiety upon them, I first
realized the danger, yes the danger, of an unsuspected religion, and
it was there in that clearing on the border of the Sacred Forest that
suddenly I got some idea of the terrible power wielded by Jieng.
"She had at that moment risen up, lame, her face scarred with wounds,
and with a single gesture she made them all bend, men and women, in one
simultaneous terrified movement of obeisance. Then with a sharp command
she sent the men off. 'No males can enter the Dead Country. Your women
will be returned to you on the seventh night of the fourth moon from
now. Go!' And they went, their heads hanging, without a word; while on
their side the great column of women, re-formed under the directions of
the sorceresses, resumed its march and continued the ascent toward the
Pou-Kas, slowly entering the great forest and disappearing among its
shadows...."
He ceased, took several strides about the room, then still holding in
his eye the vision of the scene which he had just recalled he said:
"That is what I saw.... I know no more!"
Wanda gave a short sigh and asked:
"But where did they go? And what was the meeting for?"
The missionary made a vague gesture.
"I do not know," he said.
Then hesitating and picking his words:
"I imagine,--please notice that I assert nothing because I know
nothing exactly,--I imagine that in the depths of the Pou-Kas there
must be a sanctuary,--a temple perhaps--or it may be only a place of
pilgrimage, to which only women have the right of approach.... Remember
that sentence of Jieng's, 'Males may not enter the Dead Country.'" He
repeated thoughtfully:
"A religion of mystery, peculiar to the women and the secret of which
no man can penetrate, no man, not even those of their own blood!..."
Still seated on the bench, her chin in her hand, Wanda watched him.
With a light burning in her eyes she asked:
"And this temple ... where is it?"
The missionary shrugged his shoulders. He swept his hand across the
window and his gesture seeming to include the whole confused mass of
mountains which stood along the horizon:
"Without any doubt, there!" he said.
Wanda rose. Her lingering glance for a long time searched the blue
slopes of the Pou-Kas, the sharp crest of which, barred with forest and
clothed with jungle, dominated the entire range.
She stood, thoughtful, for a moment, then repeated:
"There!..." And smiled strangely.
CHAPTER VII
THE SILENT VILLAGE
"Believe me when I say it, Lursac, that it would be simply foolishness
for you to venture through the forest at this time of year."
Pierre remained quiet. An answer came to his lips which he suppressed.
An answer which in another place and some weeks earlier he had heard
given by a young girl.
He contented himself with nodding doubtfully.
Father Ravennes, getting out of his chair, strode up and down the
veranda, his steps sounding loudly on the bare planking. He went on:
"At least wait until we have an answer from Post 28. The messenger that
I sent there cannot be very much longer before returning; and, again,
you must think of Mademoiselle Redeski whom you could not leave alone.
I only hope that you will never have to repent having brought her up
here."
Pierre shook his head.
"She would have come just the same without help.... As for leaving her
alone, I have thought of that; she will come and stay with you here at
the Mission."
Rising in his turn he took the missionary by the arm and strode with
him for several paces.
"I suppose," he said, "that you understand the situation as well as I
do. It is now ten days since Redeski ought to have returned. The last
news we have had of him dates from three weeks back. He was then on the
Moï plateau marching north. Since that, nothing!... Something serious
must have happened evidently; it would be childish for us to ignore the
fact."
"I don't wish to do so," said the priest. "The best proof of that is
that I have sent out three of my converts to beat the countryside in
search of information."
"Well?" asked Pierre anxiously.
"Two of them got back yesterday. No results!... No trace of Redeski or
of his escort."
Pierre shot him a glance. "You see!" said he.
The priest grumbled.
"Yes, I see! I see!... But then again we have no accurate information:
we don't even know in which direction to search. And on the other hand,
nothing goes to prove that Redeski is in any danger, and very likely
we are disturbing ourselves quite unnecessarily. The wisest thing, I
repeat, is to await our answer from Post 28."
"When shall we have it?" asked Pierre.
"In eight days, ten, at the most. Then it will be time enough to
organize our expedition."
Pierre shrugged his shoulders.
"Our expedition! ... that's a rather large word."
The missionary, taking out his pipe, filled it carefully, and having
loaded it he looked thoughtfully at the young man.
"Listen to me," he said hesitatingly, "I ... I do not know if you
understand why I speak to you in this way, but...."
Pierre looked at him.
"I imagine that you consider yourself responsible...."
The face of the missionary lighted up with a friendly smile.
"The fact is," he said, "that you are just like a child in this
country."
And as Pierre made a motion of protest he added quickly:
"You misunderstand me.... Bravery has nothing to do with this matter.
Others who certainly were just as brave as you have lost their lives
here. The fact is that there are definite rules for the conduct of the
struggle which we are waging.... And they had no idea of them--while I,
who have lived fifteen years in the forest, I know the game from the
bottom up. I say it without any kind of pride and with all sincerity;
although since my arrival here nothing has yet appeared to confirm my
suspicions, I have the feeling that of all the parts of Indo-China in
which I have lived this one is the most unsafe...."
Lursac, attentive to his words, watched the face of the priest.
"What do you mean? I suppose you are thinking of the stories of
Longères and Dorcel? You know about them of course?"
The missionary made an affirmative motion.
"Yes," said he simply.
A silence fell between them. From the court the voice of the corporal
calling the men for the night watch came up to them.
"Bao, first watch. Tran, second watch. Vinh and Pâa, the watch over the
sheds of the elephants and oxen...."
Pierre, facing the priest, asked:
"You know something about their affair?"
Fingering his beard the missionary replied:
"I know nothing ... nothing ... except that we live in the middle of
a people unknown, who hate us and flee us, and whose invisible spies
watch around us--around your Post as around my Mission--spying on our
gestures, watching our comings in and our goings out and our slightest
actions."
With a movement of his head Pierre signified his doubt.
"Are you certain of all that?" he queried.
The priest thought for a minute, then stretching his hand towards the
sombre mass of the Pou-Kas standing aloft in front of the fort, he said:
"Look before you."
Pierre raised his head. His look traveled over the scene stretched out
in front of him. Above the dull-colored gullies of the mountain a livid
rayless sun was setting slowly. In the middle of the mass of foliage
carpeting the first slope of the mountain showed a Moï village, with
its conical thatched huts dotted along a pathway edged with banana
trees and defended by a triple zareba of brush.
In the declining daylight this lifeless silent village seemed to lie
asleep.
The priest began to speak again in a louder voice as he pointed to the
huts:
"How many inhabitants are there there? Fifty?... Three hundred?... What
do they do? How do they live? We shall never know!..."
Pierre continued to watch the two fortresses, hostile towns, small and
difficult of attack, which stood, as it were, opposite to each other
and appeared to watch each other: here, down on the plain and on the
very bank of the canal the military station; up there, shadowed by the
trees of the forest the strange native village, the inhabitants of
which no European had ever seen.
He murmured:
"They are there, nevertheless. Look!"
On the mountain side, every instant becoming less distant, among the
huts of the Moï village a mysterious liveliness seemed indeed to
have arisen. Here and there hearth-fires were lit, and among their
flickering lights human forms could be seen passing. The breeze,
beginning to blow at the approach of dusk, came lightly over the flanks
of the mountain and flowed towards the narrow valley, bringing to the
Post the lingering sound of a litany chanted by women's voices.
"Yes!" said Father Ravennes, "they are there.... But no more than
Redeski and no more than me, no more than Longères and Dorcel,
doubtless, will you succeed in seeing them or taking them unawares, as
their watchword is definite: as soon as white men are seen approaching,
create a wilderness around them, disappear...."
And as Pierre made a vague gesture he said sharply:
"The best thing would be for you to have experience of it yourself: a
simple experiment will make you understand the country better. Perhaps
then you will attach to my advice the importance that it merits....
Come with me."
The priest strode along swiftly. Before the guardhouse the sentinel
saluted him without his taking the slightest notice. He cleared the
gateway with a vigorous stride. In his hurry he had forgotten to take
his hat and his hair, gray, and standing out in tangled masses, hung
round his face. He threw it back with a characteristic shake of his
head. His hand held in a strong clasp the heavy walking stick from
which he was never separated.
Pierre caught up to him. Side by side they mingled with the shadows
of the valley through which a narrow footpath wound. Before them,
shouldering upwards into the red sky was the formidable mass of the
distant Pou-Kas. From the village the monotonous chant of the women
continued to flow downward to the plain. They reached the first spurs
of the mountain. The path disappeared: to the tall grass there had
succeeded a denser, heavier vegetation of trees and bushes.
Suddenly Pierre stood still.
"Listen!" whispered the priest.
Arrested in their progress they leaned forward and listened with all
their ears. The unknown singers had suddenly stopped their mournful
song. There was a short interval, and then the heavy sound of a gong
spread itself abroad in the forest carried far and near by the echoes
of the mountain. Then everything became inexplicably silent, and the
forest appeared more vast, more threatening. From the sky of mauve and
pink, night was about to fall; and under the final caresses of the sun
the forest prepared to receive it with a vast immobility of silence and
stillness. The missionary drew himself up again.
"Let us go on," said he.
They set themselves to continue their climb. With eyes alert they slid
from tree to tree up towards the mysterious forest, the threshold of
which like a dark and living wall was stretched out above them. From
time to time the bark of a wolfhound mixed with the clucking of a fowl,
without it being possible to say whether it came upwards from the fort
or downwards from the village.
Finally they penetrated the real forest. Its bluish-green heavy damp
shadow fell about them, the shadow peculiar to the virgin undergrowth
which the rays of the sun never reach and which seems all the denser
and all the colder from its dark stagnation unbroken by anything or
anybody. Under their feet the soft spongy soil gave and slid.
And suddenly, after their having climbed a last ledge walled about with
century-old _dau_ trees with enormous trunks, they found themselves
before the exterior of the village. A narrow path ran forward between
two massive walls of thorny brush and was blocked by a heavy gate.
Without the least hesitation Father Ravennes dashed into the outlandish
enclosure with Pierre close behind him. They no longer took any
precautions against being seen. They went swiftly, silently, and with
their attention fixed ahead, following the open runway before them.
They found two other gates similar to the first one, but lower, and
they had to bend to get through them. Finally they came out in the
middle of the village. In the centre of an open space, bordered on
either side by a row of banana trees, four long dark huts showed
pointed roofs. In front of each of them a sort of primitive tripod made
of twisted bamboos supported curiously shaped stones.
As quickly as possible Lursac and the missionary made their way
forward. Between the shining trunks of the bananas a few fowls ran
off cackling. From the first hut a hoarse barking arose, and a mangy
wolfhound with its ribs sticking through its skin dashed out. He made
for the two men, ran round them growling, from time to time throwing up
his pointed muzzle towards the sky and howling.
They went through the huts rapidly one after the other, looking
carefully at the rough walls and searching the shadows which clung
about the rice-bins and gathered under the straw roofs blackened by
soot and the smoke of household fires. In one of these dwellings,
consisting of a single room like all the rest, in the middle of
a rectangle of stamped down earth surrounded by a great family
sleeping-bench a few live coals were just dying, showing here and
there a red spark which was answered by the light of two other smaller
hearth-fires in the corners of the room set beside the bench on small
sheets of clay. A warm smell of cooked rice hung heavy in the air. Here
and there rags were scattered about, and under a beam a crossbow still
swung suspended from a peg.
The priest turned to Pierre.
"Well! what do you say to that? Is it perfectly plain? Do you
understand now that to make your way through such a country as this,
an ... expedition is necessary?"
His voice hesitated and then emphasised the word "expedition."
Lursac spoke his thought aloud.
"How the devil could they have been warned?"
The priest smiled.
"Well, what do you make of the gong that sounded while we were coming
up here?... The system is perfectly simple: they saw us come out from
the Post and begin to mount towards the village. One of the native
braves, while we were struggling in the middle of the forest, ran here,
got ahead of us, gave three or four bangs on the gong and every one
cleared out!..."
A feeling of depression came over Pierre.
"They cleared out, certainly, but how? We arrived at the entrance
to the village a few minutes after the gong sounded, we should have
seen them if they had come out that way, for at any rate they are not
invisible!..."
The missionary nodded assent.
"Perfectly right," said he, "follow me!"
He led the way to the last _cai-nha_, and going in, went to the
furthest angle of the room; then, kneeling down, he slid under the
bench and disappeared. Pierre imitated him. He immediately discovered
in the surface of the wall an opening, carefully cut, over which a slab
of board could be lowered like a shutter.
Going forward on his hands and knees he found himself outside. He then
saw running through the midst of a mass of tangled underbrush a little
footpath blocked by a doorway like those at the entrance of the village.
Beside him, Father Ravennes explained.
"The service entrance! ... but I myself have my spies too...."
And as Pierre made a step towards the path he interrupted himself to
shout violently:
"Don't stir!" at the same time taking him by the arm and pulling him
backwards. Pierre flinging a rapid look around asked:
"What's the matter? Is there danger?"
The missionary shook his head.
"No good looking at the forest, it isn't what you think. These animals
are too cunning to attack us from the front. No, it is not around us
that the danger lies, but at our feet!"...
Flinging down his eyes Pierre examined the soil carefully. About a
yard before him on the other side of the open gate the path, muddy
and covered with a carpet of dead leaves and crushed grass, ran with
sharp turns between its two walls of brush. It seemed to him peaceful
and familiar, calling up in his mind the memory of those narrow,
trough-like lanes of Brittany along which he used to go in his boyhood,
picking the blackberries and the yellow honeysuckle clinging among the
brambles and wild vines.
He said:
"I see nothing."
"Evidently," said the priest. "I also, in my first experience of them,
found nothing suspicious, and I paid dearly for it!"
He drew back the edge of his white _cai-quan_, showing his right leg
which stood out strongly, grooved with veins and studded with muscles.
With his finger he outlined a sort of long furrow of dark red which ran
down the flesh of the calf. He explained:
"An extraordinary piece of good luck got me out of it with just this
slight wound. A few inches lower and I should have had my tendon cut
and have been permanently lamed ... and then again, I have never been
able to understand why they did not poison their devilish device, since
it is their habit to do so! Our lives here, more than anywhere else,
are in the hands of Providence...."
While speaking he made a few steps forward with great care. Bending
over in the opening of the gate he grubbed with the point of his
walking stick in the mud path and the scattered leaves, showing solidly
bedded in the earth and pointing obliquely upwards a series of arrows
with sharpened points cut to a fine edge and tipped with a reddish
stain made by successive dippings in vegetable poison.
He started back.
"Look there!" said he, "no boot sole could stand against that, and no
flesh and blood either. A slight or a deep cut, and the result would
be exactly the same: a few minutes after the accident a burning in
the wounded limb, followed almost immediately by a general stupor, by
faintings and fever; then after an hour or two of atrocious suffering,
the end,--unavoidable and without any possible remedy!..."
He stopped speaking. Bending over towards the soil he scraped carefully
back over the ground which he had uncovered the scattered leaves and
grass. Pierre said nothing.
Drawing himself up again the missionary pointed out a sort of terrace
which the forest left uncovered above them.
"And there," said he, "in that exact spot begins what they call 'the
Dead Country,' that is to say, the zone into which no man is allowed to
penetrate, even if he is of the Moï race.... Then again, in order to
reach as quickly as possible the last stage of Redeski's journey which
we know of, it is across the forbidden country that we must cut. Let us
wait then. If it is necessary we will organise your troop...."
Pierre still said nothing. Re-covered with their carpet of leaves, the
arrow heads were no longer visible. Nevertheless, with his features
drawn, his fists clenched, the young man continued watching the path
with a fixed and savage stare. He was thinking; and his thoughts,
whirling and broken, took on a bitter and terrible tinge, a feeling of
rage and death.
There they stood, the two of them, motionless and wrapped in thought,
Pierre with his back against the dingy wall of the _cai-nha_ and the
priest before him watching him. Around them the dusk flowed through the
forest. The trembling dark sea of trees became every moment more huge
and more menacing. The clear line of the Pou-Kas when they raised their
eyes to it became lost in a purple sky already invaded by darkness.
And, through the silence of the world over which the dark kept watch,
there rose only from time to time the hoarse voice of the wolfhound
left alone in the village and baying at the night.
CHAPTER VIII
LOVE IN THE FOREST
The winter season drew along and came near to its end. From the
piled-up accumulation of clouds which lay on the great group of
mountains the rain pelted with more violence but at longer intervals
each day. Between storms the clouds rolled away and opened, blown
by sudden winds, leaving in the sky great sparkling blue deeps
through which the rays of the sun flamed and fell upon the Post. The
atmosphere, one moment dark and thick, and the next suddenly full of
light, was heavy, moist, and charged with deadly heat.
Wanda and Pierre since their arrival at the Post had introduced a
certain regularity into their daily life. The same monotony brought
them together in their difficulties as well as in their pleasures.
Every morning they went over to the Mission where Father Ravennes gave
them a lesson in Banhar, the rough and primitive dialect of the natives
of the region. In the afternoon they wandered on horseback all about
the station, some days by themselves and others accompanied by the
missionary. Now and then they climbed up towards the mountain, making
a circuit about the mysterious village, but always being careful not
to get too deep into the forest. Then, in the evening, after dinner,
on the seats under the veranda at the Post they talked together, while
through the night rose the thin sound of the flutes with which the
_linhs_ accompanied their homesick chants which they had brought with
them from their country of Laos.
And this was the peaceful hour--the hour they liked best--during which
unconsciously both of them put aside restraint at the call of this
mysterious destiny which had brought them together in the depths of the
forest alone, each with a heart so ardent and so young.
Lursac, particularly, fell under the charm of this camaraderie and
enjoyed it to the full, light-heartedly. But soon with this plain
and simple feeling something more complex, less peaceful also, had
become mingled. Pierre had very soon indeed found awakening in himself
for this strange, wilful and beautiful girl a tenderness in which
admiration, fear, and weakness were mingled. Then, spending his days
side by side with her, he had felt an eager love take possession of
him little by little with its hitherto unguessed-at sweetness, and,
finally, flood his whole being with its irresistible power. Wanda,
however, continually bewildered him. Generally distant or reserved,
she sometimes became childlike and tender. At such moments she flung
constraint to the winds without any warning: then as suddenly froze
again, disconcerting him by these sudden changes in humor, by the
caprices of a heart whose secret he could never fathom. So in her
presence he remained hesitant and timid, irritated by his own weakness
and impatience, feeling her difficult to understand, impossible to
follow, with every fibre of his being in revolt against her instability
of temperament which day by day forced him to put off the avowal which
he had sworn to himself to make.
On this particular afternoon they were taking their usual ride.
Through thick foliage shining with the damp the path led away,
obstructed here and there with swamps and blocked in places by trunks
of uprooted trees. At their regular, undeviating pace, the sure-footed
ponies followed it, the bridles hanging on their necks. Around them
the great Lao-ese forest pressed in upon them, vast and deep, cradling
between its enormous upspringing shafts, which gave it the aspect of
a giant cathedral, the heavy perfume of rotting earth, voluptuous and
unhealthy. Among the bushes and the undergrowth a bluish-green daylight
drifted, uncertain and deceptive--a sunless daylight, transparent,
the color of green leaves, such as sifts sometimes through the dusty
windows of an old sanctuary long abandoned and given up to shadows and
forgetfulness....
Plucking as she went an orchid which hung from a thorny creeper, Wanda
announced:
"We will stop at the first clearing: I feel tired...."
Absorbed in contemplation of her, Pierre gave no answer. Clothed
in her gray tailored suit--the same that she had worn that night,
already so long past, on which she had paid him that strange visit at
Khône-Sud--she rode before him, and he with his mind lost in a vague
thoughtfulness watched her. His glance slowly dwelt on the dainty
outline which not even the jolting trot of the ponies could dishevel,
and every detail came to him with a new joy:--a bit of her neck shining
white in the shadow of the felt hat; the curve of her shoulders, as
the strong and flexible figure gave gracefully to the motion of the
horse; the supple waist, and the long delicate line of her leg outlined
in red leather, and the fine arch of the foot strongly planted in the
stirrup....
With her hand lying on the croup of her animal she turned back towards
him. Catching the long look charged with emotion and admiration with
which he seemed to embrace her, she blushed.
"Do you hear me, Pierre, I am tired."
Her voice a little sharp, she spoke louder than usual.
He started, and pushed his mount alongside that of the girl.
"Certainly," said he, "we will stop as soon as you wish."
And he fell again into his dream. At last, watching him out of the
corners of her eyes, she said:
"You are not very pleasant this morning. I suppose you slept badly?"
He nodded his head.
"True," said he, "I hardly closed my eyes."
And as he spoke there came before him the sleepless night that he had
just passed. A troubled and feverish night, through which he had done
nothing but think long thoughts of Wanda; and the visions which had
obsessed him and kept him wide awake at his window came back into his
mind. With the sudden beating of his heart there flowed upon him once
more the violent emotion which had tormented him through the night;
and the same question which had then haunted him faced him again for
solution: Did Wanda love him?
The uncertainty was no longer to be borne.
The path, now widening, opened into a clearing. Wanda jumped down from
her horse and Pierre imitated her. With the bridles over their arms
they made a few steps side by side.
"Now," thought Pierre, "I will speak to her, I will tell her...."
But the girl's voice breaking the silence interrupted him.
"A poor harvest!" said she.
And sitting on a stump overgrown with moss she spread out before him a
few curiously shaped stones. She repeated:
"A poor harvest! Father Ravennes will not be able to congratulate us on
that!"
He stood facing her.
"You are right," he said sharply. "Since Father Ravennes showed you his
collection of prehistoric remains there doesn't seem to be anything
else that interests you!"
"Yes, he made a good convert of me," she said, smiling. "Here am I, who
two months ago didn't even know there was such a thing as anthropology
or palæontology, now mad about carved flints and dreaming of nothing
but axes and scrapers and skeletons. But how learned he is on the
subject, and what words he finds to describe his dear prehistoric
man!... I shall never forget his face, at once horrified and amazed,
when I told him that our ancestors must have been horribly ugly.
'Quaternary man _ugly_!' cried he, 'Who put that into your head?
Uncivilized, savage, wild, without doubt!--but _ugly_? Good Heavens!
No! Unless you find horrible anything that resembles nature, anything
that is strong, powerful and active! Primitive man? He was certainly
a rough, strong being, with rude health, formidable muscles, and a
splendid lithe body; a primitive athlete, superb in strength, browned
by the sun and burned by the weather, hardened by privations and as
dangerous to the wild beasts as to his fellows....'" She remained a
moment thoughtful and then:
"After all, suppose he was right?"
Pierre had sat down beside her. With hanging head he absently handled
the stones laid on the earth before her.
"Yes," said he, "and for a whole week I have beaten the forest with you
looking for fossils...."
She turned to him and looked at him:
"Are you complaining of it?"
He protested:
"No.... No...."
And, suddenly making up his mind, in an uncertain voice he continued:
"No ... but today, if you will let me, we will not talk of prehistoric
things, I have something to tell you...."
She drew herself lightly away, but still turned towards him she watched
him attentively with her frank glance.
He felt his heart beat furiously in little short feverish throbs.
"Something to say to you ...," said he, "a confession ... I...."
Quickly she stretched out her arm and laid her hand across his lips:
"I know," she said steadily, "you love me...."
Pierre, seizing her hand, kissed it passionately.
"No," said he, "you do not know.... It was back there on the
_Vien-Thian_, when I saw you for the first time!... You were talking to
Captain Rabaud. Do you remember?... I do not know why the sound of your
voice attracted me, and when you had refused to take me for a fellow
traveler I felt disappointment and a strange pain ... and then you came
to see me at Khône...."
She did not withdraw her fingers. With her head lowered and her eyes
half-shut she seemed to be thinking deeply.
"I hardly saw you that morning going on shore, and yet, nevertheless,
somehow I knew that you would not refuse my request," she said.
"Yes ... and your victory was so easy and so complete that you must
have been surprised at it yourself!"
She raised her eyes to his. He noticed the softened look in them, one
which he had never seen there before. Profoundly moved, he stammered:
"Wanda ... Wanda ... I love you,--so, so much. Tell me, you believe me?"
Her look flowed into his and seemed to search into the most hidden
corners of his heart.
There was a little silence which she suddenly broke:
"Yes," she said simply, "I believe you...."
He breathed heavily as though freed from some agony. A wave of joy
spread over his face.
"When your brother comes back I will speak to him ... you wish me to,
do you?"
She got up and walked towards her horse.
He followed her.
"Answer me, Wanda!" he implored, his voice hoarse with emotion.
Her foot in the stirrup, she sprang up lightly and settled herself in
the saddle.
His hand on the neck of her horse and his head raised in anxiety he
repeated:
"I may?... Tell me!..."
She bent towards him. Their faces were so close that the details of her
features seemed to escape him and before his eyes Pierre could only
see two brown eyes wonderfully liquid, the color of dead leaves, and
palpitating with the beating of the dark lashes.
His look fell lower and caught sight of the moist crimson lips like a
marvellous fruit.
A violent spasm of emotion overwhelmed him, he shut his eyes and
shivered at the thought of those lips laid on his in a kiss.
At the same time, with his hands moist and his throat dry, he searched
vainly for words, for some tender phrase to serve as a plea for his
love. But in his feverish brain one single question, the same, came to
the surface like an obsession and for the third time he asked:
"Will you let me?"
She bent a little over him and suddenly taking his face between her
hands she kissed him on the lips almost savagely while her breath
mingled with his.
"Yes," she cried, "for I, I love you also."
And she repeated passionately:
"I love you!... I love you!..."
Then flinging herself quickly back from him, she whipped up her pony,
which started off at a gallop.
He caught up with her in a few seconds, and then they descended
together the flank of the mountain, letting their animals go as they
liked. Between the springing shafts of the _dau_ trees, the _igieurs_,
the _trueuls_, the path zigzagged, here turning to go round a bush and
there avoiding a mass of creepers. Side by side they jogged along, as
they went building castles in Spain for the future, and sketching their
lives together according to their most secret longings.
Suddenly pulling his signet ring from his ring-finger, Pierre held it
out to the girl.
"I have no other ring to offer you just now," he said, "no jewel, no
diamond! ... will you wear this for me meanwhile?"
She took the ring, slipped it on to her finger and with her long pale
hand raised before her eyes she asked:
"Is it very old?"
"Yes, my great-great-grandfather had it when he was killed at the
battle of Fontenoy. Since then it has passed from father to eldest son."
She examined the coat of arms:
"A lion.... A chevron...."
"_Dexter, argent, a lion sable--Sinister, azure, a chevron or_," he
quoted, smiling.
She repeated the heraldic description slowly.
"Very well," she said, "I shall know now how to blazon our arms, and I
will keep them faithfully--as faithfully as my love...."
And in her turn she smiled, with a look at once solemn and tender.
CHAPTER IX
AN INTERVIEW WITH A SORCERESS
That afternoon, for a change, the weather was soft and clement. Side by
side, abreast, they descended towards the plain at the easy-going pace
of their mounts. Between the trees below them they saw the Moï village,
its straw roofs, long and pointed, piercing the forest like gold
arrows, while, rising from one of the cabins, a thin column of smoke,
straight and blue, stood in the motionless air.
Suddenly breaking the silence, the girl asked him:
"Don't you think that that village must be one of the haunts of Jieng?"
"It is possible, Father Ravennes thinks so, but he is no more sure of
it than we are."
Wanda flung him a sharp glance.
"You speak of it as if it did not matter! Doesn't that interest you in
any way? For my part, I should like to discover the mysterious power
that this woman represents and of which Father Ravennes obtained proof
that night in the forest. And then perhaps she could tell us something
about what has happened to Michael. Ah! if only I could catch her."
Lursac with a shrug of his shoulders signified lack of interest.
"What good would that do you? You don't imagine that she would tell you
her secrets?"
Wanda remained thoughtful.
"Who knows?" said she, after a moment's thought. "And, anyway, what
should I risk? She might say nothing or she might tell me things that
weren't true."
"Yes," said Pierre, "certainly, and also perhaps you might get an
unexpected spear-thrust or a dagger in your back!"
The young girl made a motion of scorn.
"She would not dare," said she, "and, besides, this is a very excellent
chance! Let us try it together!"
"Wanda!" cried Pierre, "Wanda!" He stretched out his hand to try to
hold her back, but on the word she had pushed forward her horse and was
galloping down the slope.
He immediately realized that it was too late to stop her; and he
then had only one thought, to protect her. He whipped up his horse
mercilessly.
They arrived abreast at the entrance to the village. Pierre recognized
the path of brush by which he and Father Ravennes had a week earlier
penetrated into the settlement.
Flat down on the neck of his pony he took the lead of Wanda and passed
the three gates one after the other. At his side he heard the heavy
breathing and the hoof-beats of Wanda's horse galloping close behind,
and when, on coming out on the village square, he stopped, he found the
girl beside him. He took her by the arm and brought her to a standstill.
"For the love of Heaven!" he cried, "let me do it!"
Jumping to the ground he ran towards a cabin, whose wide-open door
showed a black rectangle in the midst of which flickered the flame of a
hearth-fire.
On the threshold of the single room reeking with bitter smoke he stood
still, searching the shadows before him. Squatted before a fire of
branches some twenty savages, with long Moï pipes in their mouths, were
silently smoking. A stupor seemed to hold them all motionless in their
places. Seated on the bench before the semicircle of warriors a woman
had just that instant stopped speaking.
Pierre, taking no notice of the men, strode towards her and, by chance
remembering the description which Father Ravennes had given him, he
said, in Banhar:
"I greet you, O Jieng!"
Wanda, biting back an exclamation, examined the sorceress eagerly.
Her bent, crouching body appeared that of a child. Ragged and filthy
cotton drawers, rolled round her waist and descending below the knee,
left in plain sight thin, bony shoulders, a withered skin creased with
wrinkles and hacked with scars. On the hearth a little log was burning.
In the dancing light the hideous face of Jieng could be plainly seen;
under her gray hair and narrow forehead showed the bloody marks of
an outlandish tattooed design gashed into the skin. A single eye was
alive, half-closed, dull and blinking: the other with its bleared,
corroded lids gave the effect of a running abscess. A cut, still
unhealed, disfigured the chin, stretching up towards the cheek, and,
circling the lips, gave to the toothless mouth, stained with betel-nut,
the aspect of a raw wound slashed across the face.
Alone in the middle of her dumbfounded people she remained unmoved. She
turned her mutilated face towards the young folk and regarded them with
her single eye without showing any emotion whatever.
"I greet you," she replied.
She raised her hand, showing on her arm rings of copper which glistened
in the dusk. Pointing to the door, she said to the men:
"Go!"
They got up doubtfully. The fire on the hearth lit up their thick, bony
forms, brought out their strong arms and thighs and revealed their red
bodies in which the supple, powerful muscles rippled under the skin.
Pierre noted that they were equipped for war, their faces painted
white, hatchets on their shoulders, curved daggers stuck into the belts
of their loin-cloths and their long hair plaited up into knots, while
collars of animals' teeth rattled round their necks, and their ankles
and knees were ornamented with copper rings. Already they were in the
act of taking down their bows and quivers that hung on the wall.
But the young man, with a brusque gesture, signed to them to stop.
"No!" he ordered, "no one is to move."
In her flat level voice Jieng asked:
"Why do you want them?"
And as he hesitated she looked straight into his face.
"Those who sit by our hearth, however they came there," said she in the
same calm indifferent tone, "have nothing to fear. Were you not aware
of that?"
And once more pointing to the door, she repeated:
"Go!"
One by one they filed out without Pierre attempting to prevent them.
On the threshold each stood still for a moment and bowed towards the
_Bo Jaou_. The salute revealed a wild and haughty servility, a sort of
fanaticism mixed with fear and suppressed rage. Their supple, gliding
walk, as of animals in captivity, at once crafty, obedient and ready
for revolt, suggested the idea of wild animals which give way before
the tamer, crouching, bent double, kept down by fear, but nevertheless,
always waiting and ready to give a deadly blow of the paw.
The last of them, a great big fellow with massive shoulders and thick
hands, cast on the young man a look of hate so heavy, so threatening,
that the latter felt it cover him almost like something tangible.
They looked each other up and down for a second, and then, when the
warrior disappeared, Lursac turned back to the sorceress. Her legs
folded under her, her body rigid and her hands flat upon her withered
thighs, she continued to preserve her attitude of a Buddhist idol
and her expressionless face of a statue. She pretended to ignore the
presence of the young man, just as she did Wanda sitting beside her on
the bench, and this indifference, at once haughty and careless, worried
Pierre.
"This lady," he explained, pointing to Wanda, "wanted to see you."
The sorceress turned her head slightly and, with a glance, she examined
Wanda:
"She is beautiful," she said simply.
The girl smiled.
"I wanted to know you," said she. "They have talked to me about you so
much."
Jieng remained unmoved. A short cough shook her and made her hunch her
shoulders.
"Who, then, talks of an old woman like me?"
"Everyone," said Wanda.
And abruptly she challenged her:
"Do you not reign over this country?"
A light, immediately veiled, flashed in the dull eye of the sorceress.
"How could I?" she asked. "Look at me. Death is waiting for me. For a
long time I have seen him beckoning to me. The gate is open for me...."
A second attack of coughing tore her skinny chest; choking and
suffocating, she spat, gasping and twisted with pain.
Already Wanda, full of compassion, was beginning to sympathize with her.
An exclamation from Pierre, however, turned the current of her thoughts
and reawakened her curiosity.
"Look, Wanda, more prehistoric remains."
She cast a glance at the corner of the cabin at which he was pointing.
Against a partition of split bamboo, on a large wooden stand, round a
tiny hearth where a few live coals were gradually dying, flint hammers
and axes and some bones were set out in a semicircle. A skull dominated
them, set upon a block of wood; and the red glow from the little hearth
flecking the ivory of the bones with red, created two pools of shadows
in the empty eye-sockets.
Wanda examined the peculiar altar with passionate interest. Then her
attention, up to that time concentrated on the sorceress, passed to the
entire cabin. On the walls blackened with smoke she noticed the heads
of animals and the skins of wild beasts; yellow skeletons and tawny
furs; elephants' ears; monkeys' hands, twisted and brown, showing red
palms stretched towards the bundles of bows and lances.
Triumphantly, she jerked out:
"And what is that? This skull and these flint weapons?"
The sorceress made an evasive gesture.
"Yes!" said she, "trifles ... that we find in ... in the mountain...."
Wanda imperiously demanded particulars:
"Why do you put them on an altar, as if they were sacred things?"
"These ... these are fetiches, ... the fathers of our fathers did this
... and in our turn we...."
The girl recognised the hopelessness of her question. She took the
sorceress by the arm.
"Don't you know? Who, then, is the high-priestess of this religion?
Aren't _you_?"
Jieng parried the question adroitly.
"We worship everything that seems strange to us--strange ... yes ...
and above us,--a fire, thunder.... Is that what you mean?"
She had pulled away her arm, but not quickly enough to prevent Wanda
feeling the shiver which had shaken it: at the same time, with her
single eye persistently upon him, she watched Pierre standing in front
of her.
"No," said Wanda, "I am talking of the religion which everywhere brings
together all the Moï women in mysterious pilgrimages. Where do they go?
And why only the women?"
The sorceress started. She twisted herself slightly. Once more her
eye was riveted on the young man. With a sort of tired obstinacy, she
repeated:
"I don't understand. Really, I don't understand...."
As if crushed, trembling, she began to cough again.
A cruel bronchial rattling seemed to choke her: she groaned, pressing
her emaciated sides with her two hands.
Pierre shrugged his shoulders angrily.
"I told you," said he, "that you would not get anything out of her."
Wanda rose. A thought had just come into her mind, while a sentence of
Father Ravennes' sounded in her ears: "A mysterious religion reserved
for women, and of which no man must penetrate the secret."
Her look fell in turn on Jieng and Pierre de Lursac.
And to herself she murmured:
"No man ... no man...."
Aloud she said:
"You are right. Let us go. Look and see if the horses are there!"
Standing in the middle of the hut, she followed him with her eyes. On
the threshold, he turned back and looked at Jieng for an instant.
"Poor old woman!" he said, "she can't last very much longer; in any
case, she is nothing to be afraid of."
With a doubtful smile on her lips, Wanda remained silent, but directly
he had gone out she walked resolutely up to the sorceress.
"Jieng," said she, "have you really nothing to tell me?"
The old woman raised her head. Her glance met that of the young girl--a
new glance, intelligent, acute and deep, which seemed to want to
penetrate the most secret thoughts of the stranger.
She made no answer.
"Nothing?" ... insisted Wanda. "Not even to me who am a woman. To me
alone?"
A flash shone from the eye of the sorceress and made it glitter
strangely. Her entire face seemed to reflect doubt and hesitation.
"To you alone?" she said, uncertainly, "to ... to you, alone?"
Suddenly her visage became stone and took on its mask of passive
indifference.
"Your companion is calling for you," she said.
Through the open door could be heard the sounds of the approaching
horses, and the voice of Pierre:
"Wanda, are you coming?..."
The young woman bent over and whispered, quickly:
"If I come back alone, two days from now, at sunset, will you be here?"
Jieng hung her head, her single eye closed.
"Perhaps," she said simply.
But a meaning grin flickered over her mouth and twisted her lips almost
imperceptibly.
CHAPTER X
THE FUGITIVE
Father Ravennes turned to face the congregation. His joined hands
separated:
"_Ite, missa est._..."
In the cool, dark chapel his gesture of benediction seemed to spread,
bowing the heads of the worshipers.
And while the missionary once more facing the tabernacle recited the
closing gospel, "_In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was
God_ ..." the converts one by one left the chapel.
Wanda and Lursac came out last. Above them, the sonorous voice of the
bell shed abroad its solemn rhythmic cadences. Torn, as it were, by
long tremblings, the transparent atmosphere vibrated, throbbing slowly
across the little Christian settlement, as the warm earth reflected the
dazzling light of the sun and the shadow of the trees and the clear
outline of the buildings stood rigid and heavy against the glare.
Father Ravennes, coming out in his turn, joined the young folk who were
waiting for him before the door of the chapel.
Wanda immediately took his arm.
"Your courier has got back from Post 28, I hear. Now what?"
They were walking across the court towards the priest's house. The
bell had ceased to sound. A vast silence, soft and peaceful, once more
covered everything.
The missionary, saying nothing, made a slight movement with his head.
Wanda noticed his air of constraint.
"There is no news, I suppose?"
Her trembling voice, slightly hoarse and heavy with anxiety, moved the
priest. He made no direct answer, avoiding her question with strategy:
"They believe, back there, that Redeski must have turned off towards
the west in order to strike for the Post by the southern route. The
idea is not unlikely; it even seems to fit in very well with the
information which I got from the last of the messengers I sent to
enquire in that neighborhood...."
Pierre watched him carefully, trying to read in his expression the
whole truth of which his words suggested only a small portion. He
caught the swift, imperceptible sign that the priest flung him. His
uneasiness grew. He understood that the missionary considered the
situation grave, and that under his apparent calm was concealed real
anxiety.
"Think of it, Father Ravennes, it is now nearly three weeks since
Michael ought to have been back among us," said Wanda. "We must decide
something, do something, we cannot go on like this in uncertainty...."
The missionary flung a glance sideways towards the mountain.
"I know someone," said he, "who could clear up our doubt, if only we
could get at her and hold her!"
Pierre, who had followed his glance, immediately guessed.
"Jieng!" he exclaimed.
"Jieng? But we saw her the day before yesterday," said Wanda.
The missionary stopped abruptly:
"You caught sight of Jieng?" he asked curtly. "Where, and when?"
"No," said she, "not caught sight of her, but actually saw her. I even
talked to her, the day before yesterday, in her village in the midst of
her warriors."
Astounded, the priest murmured:
"It was madness to dare to do that all by yourself."
The girl, between her half-closed lids, shot a curious look at him.
"Pierre was with me," she said simply.
Then, relating her arrival at the village, she described the assembly
of men, sketched the portrait of the old woman in agony upon her bench,
pictured the hut with its walls hung with skins of wild beasts and
furs, and finally portrayed the strange altar in its corner dedicated
to prehistoric arms and surmounted with its human skull.
The missionary became excited:
"A skull!" said he, "a skull? Did you examine it?"
"We didn't think of that," said Lursac, "we were too much interested in
trying to make Jieng talk. You see, we had more or less the same idea
as you."
Father Ravennes started forward:
"Ah!" said he, excitedly, "did you manage it?"
Wanda answered him:
"No. And in any case she is by no means the imperious and tyrannizing
priestess we have imagined her, but a very old woman, exhausted, dying."
"Just that," agreed Lursac, "an old beggar whom they no doubt show
respect to because of her age." And he gave a short laugh. "When I
think that we took her for this mysterious and maleficent power which
holds the countryside in terror! Ah! What an idea!..."
The missionary remained silent.
They had resumed their walk. Before the house where the converts lived
in common they stopped for an instant. Sheltered under the floor of
the hut, to which the piles which supported it gave the air of a huge
pigeon-cote, women were grinding rice in a mortar and the heavy sound
of the pestle kept time with the chant with which they lightened their
labor. About them a group of youngsters, crouched in a circle, were
playing at knuckle-bones. As the missionary came up, they stopped their
game and ran to meet him. Hanging on to his tunic with their heads
raised towards him, they surrounded him. Their thin faces, unused to
smiling, were spread with joyous grins.
Father Ravennes tapped them softly on the head.
"Good morning, children!" said he.
His voice, usually piercing and imperious, became caressing. He took
one of the youngsters and held him up.
"It's nicer here than in the forest, eh! little scamp?" said he,
tenderly.
The child laughed as he swung his legs happily, stretching out his
hands and plunging them into the missionary's gray beard. His eyes
lighted up with kindness, the priest smiled on him; then putting him on
the ground he cried:
"Attention! Who wants to win a piece of sugar?"
Immediately the court resounded with the children's cries.
Father Ravennes bent his long back.
"Now, listen," he explained, "do you see this key?"
And at the same time taking from his girdle the key of the chapel, he
flung it in front of him. It flew up sideways, fell, bounced, and came
to rest finally close to the gate, some thirty yards away.
"The one that brings me that will have the reward."
Already, the children were starting to dash after it....
The priest stopped them.
"Gently! ... gently!... Little ones in front, now ... the big ones
here.... Good. Everybody ready? Now.... Go!..."
Shouting and pushing, the tiny troop rushed off. Wanda followed them
with her eyes.
"How pretty they are!" she cried.
Across the court, blazing with light, the little naked bodies, clad
only with loin-cloths, shone agile and supple in the sun.
"Yes," said Father Ravennes, "true, they are beautiful! With all the
grace and all the bubbling joy of childhood. And it is of them that I
am thinking when I pardon their parents all their deceits and all their
weaknesses. Poor little mites!... Who would have the courage to throw
them back into the moral misery and the physical degeneracy of the
forest? Yes, ... my real work is there, and this strength and health
that I have brought into being around me for the little ones, for...."
Sharp cries interrupted him. Their dash suddenly cut short, the
children had come to a full stop several yards from their goal. In a
group before the gate, they gesticulated. One of them made a few steps,
bent over, and then quickly ran back and immediately with a single
impulse the whole band rushed back to the priest.
They encircled him, out of breath, crying:
"Ah! ... a woman ... a dead woman!"
Lursac caught one of them by the arm.
"What? What are you telling us? A woman!... Where?"
"There before the gate ... dead, dead...."
Wanda and the missionary hurried off. Pierre came up with them before
the heavy entrance gate, now blocked by a doubled-up body with the legs
bent under it and the arms stretched wide.
Father Ravennes, on his knees, lifted the head gently. Between the
tangled locks of hair a woman's face was visible, covered with dust, as
with a red mask, her eyes closed and lips bloodless. From a wound on
the forehead, near the temple, a narrow streak of blood trickled round
the corner of the eye, down the cheek and chin, towards the throat. She
was almost naked, only the loins and the upper part of the thighs being
covered with a wide kilt of brilliant-colored cloth.
The missionary, seeing it, remarked:
"A wild Stieng.[9] It is the only tribe whose women do not wear a
tunic. But how the devil did she get here?"
[Footnote 9: An independent tribe of Upper Laos.]
"Dead?" asked Wanda.
"No. In a faint. We'll try and bring her to."
He signed to Lursac and to one of his converts:
"Please bring her to my house: I'll go and get what's necessary."
The faithful who had run up were crowding round in order to see better.
The missionary waved them away with a gesture. Lursac and the man took
the body and lifted it; they crossed the court again and climbed up to
the priest's house and took their burden into "the Cave." Stretched out
on the bench, the woman was seen to be tall and thin, very young, her
chest furrowed with scratches and her legs stained with black mud.
Wanda had dropped to her knees at her side. With her handkerchief she
stanched the blood, which was trickling from the temple down to the
lips. The woman gave a slight shiver, her chin trembled, her fingers
contracted and a gentle moan came from her throat.
Father Ravennes bent over her and bathed her forehead. The moaning
ceased; a long groan, broken and gasping, followed which fretted the
silence of the room with hoarse sound.
"Ah!" said Wanda, "listen, she is trying to talk."
They gathered round her, bending over, the better to catch her
fragmentary and uncertain words.
"No ... no ... not to the temple.... Thanks! Drink ... drink!..."
Wanda moistened her lips and dropped between the clenched teeth a few
drops of alcohol.
The voice begged:
"More! ... more!..."
A short silence followed, during which, with her face relaxed she
eagerly swallowed a little water flavored with rum.
Then she opened her eyes. Her glance wandered around her, vague and
anxious, then meeting the face of Father Ravennes it fixed itself. In
the depths of her dark eyes a light came and went, grew, and slowly
took on the appearance of intelligence and life.
Suddenly, she pulled herself up:
"Father! ... Father! ... save me! They want to take me away to the
mountain ... they want to take me ... they are coming...."
And, her face distorted by fear, she went off into delirium.
"The Bo-Jaous.... There they are, waiting for me.... Look.... Look....
their hands are making signs to me and their faces are grinning at
me...."
Then, with her arms stretched out towards the bay, opening to the
plains, she shrieked:
"There ... there ... see Jieng, coming to fetch me for tonight ...
tonight ... the pilgrimage of the sixth month!"
With her clenched fingers she had seized the tunic of the missionary,
who was trying to calm her; panting, mad with terror, her bloodshot
eyes fixed on the sunlit square, she clutched the black cloth.
"No ... no ... I will not go! You can try and take me, I won't go!...
Off with you! Off with you! or I will kill you with my nails ...
with my teeth.... Not me ... not me.... You already have the white
officer--the sahib with the two stripes."
Wanda, flinging herself on the woman, shook her wildly:
"The white officer? What white officer? Speak ... speak...."
Father Ravennes and Lursac looked at each other, their faces suddenly
pale. The missionary, pulling the young woman away, leant over the
Stieng. He took her hands and looked into her eyes. The gaze of the
savage meeting that of the priest became fixed; her lids fluttered. The
priest bent still closer to her, bringing his face down till it almost
touched that of the girl. They remained thus for a moment.
In a calm decided tone the missionary asked:
"Do you mean the sahib with two stripes? Is it the one who was here,
and who set out towards the north three months ago?"
The woman started and shivered. Her lips moved, but she remained
silent. The look of the priest became more insistent. With all his will
power concentrated, he dominated her.
"Speak!" he said. "Is it he?"
She attempted to answer. The effort she made convulsed her face: deep
vertical wrinkles came in her forehead; but she was unable to speak.
She simply made an affirmative sign.
Wanda cried:
"Michael!"
"Be quiet!" said the priest. "Let me manage this!"
He had not let his eyes wander for an instant from those of the woman.
"And it was the sorceresses who took him prisoner? Yes, very well. A
long time ago? Two weeks--less? Yes! You know where they have taken him
to? No? You are sure you don't know?"
The woman twisted herself in agony and shook her head several times.
And as the missionary drew back and let go her hand, she started up
from her couch with a bound, dashing into the middle of the room,
where, erect, with a red foam on her lips, she seemed to be struggling
with some invisible presence. She gasped:
"There! ... there! ... Jieng! She has come back again ... she ... she's
taking me! ... she's taking me away! No! ... no! ... I won't go!"
She made several steps as if fighting against the vision which had once
more got her in its power, and her voice rose to a shriek as she called:
"Father ... Father...."
Then, suddenly crumpling up, she rolled over on the mat and lay
motionless, her face crushed into the ground and the right arm
stretched out, while she continued to mutter in a hoarse whisper:
"Jieng! ... Jieng!..."
The missionary and Lursac, who had run to her immediately, picked her
up and laid her back on the bench.
Standing motionless at her side, Wanda watched her.
"Jieng!... Always Jieng!..." she murmured meaningly.
Father Ravennes twisted his beard and flung a glance at Lursac.
"Do you remember," said he, sarcastically, "what you said to me hardly
an hour ago: 'When I think that we took her for this mysterious and
maleficent power which holds the countryside in terror. Ah! what an
idea!'"
Lursac and Wanda turned aside their heads.
"However," said Lursac, "we saw her just the same, bent with age and in
agony...."
"In agony?" quoted the missionary, "are you so certain of that? But
that is not the question; we must get to work preparing the expedition
at once."
Turning to the young man, Wanda begged:
"Yes. Start at once ... immediately, Pierre. Tomorrow go to help him!
Set him free!"
The missionary did not let her continue.
"Tomorrow? No chance of that!... It will take at least from eight to
ten days to get together the necessary provisions, supplies, prepare
the baggage and organize the escort...."
The girl cried out:
"But between this time and that they will have killed him, tortured
him!"
Father Ravennes shook his head.
"I think not," said he. "This is war beginning. For the third time
the people of the forest, led by their sorceresses, have made up
their minds to arrest the advance of the white man, to push back the
conquerors whose presence annoys them and whose knowledge perhaps
renders them uncomfortable. Redeski has been taken as a hostage...."
Wanda, lifting towards him a face tortured with fear, repeated:
"They will kill him ... kill him.... You must start at once!"
The priest looked at her almost coldly.
"Above everything," he said, "we must succeed in our attempt and for
that it will be necessary to make plans and act with prudence...."
Pierre interrupted with a violent gesture:
"Come! come!" he complained, "plans and prudence! That is doing too
much honor to this mob of thieves and bandits! I intend simply to
follow Redeski by his tracks, and every time that I meet this rabble I
shall fall upon them suddenly and sweep them aside with our rifles and
revolvers."
Father Ravennes shook his head thoughtfully:
"That would be simply inviting failure! What is the good of deceiving
ourselves? We are face to face with a religious organization whose
full power, I am afraid, we thoroughly underestimate and whose aims we
are entirely ignorant of; but there is no doubt that its innumerable
ramifications cover the whole of Laos in a formidable network. Think
the matter over. To deliver Redeski would be a matter of force and
boldness, but simple enough, if it were not for that. But as it is,
you will be obliged to penetrate to the heart of this forbidden region
against the will of this unknown organization, and in doing so it
stands to reason that you will discover its secrets. Think of it well,
Lursac; this is that great mystery which for centuries has dominated
this entire country, and you are going to challenge it; and its people
of the forest and their sorceresses will rise and fight against you
to defend their beliefs and this power which they have decided we
must at any cost know nothing of. Now do you understand what you have
undertaken?"
Silence fell, and lasted some moments. Then the young girl going
towards the bay leant against the side of it and stayed there
motionless. Her glance, passing by the plain and the canal, fixed
itself on the mountain-chain, towering above which the crest of the
Pou-Kas traced a clear line against the sky.
"So," said she without turning round, "Pierre will not be able to start
before eight or ten days? I...."
She broke off.
"Not earlier than that," said the priest, "you...?"
"Nothing, ..." said she.
But her eyes continued to search the distant flank of the mountain
and to look for the village where she had met Jieng two evenings
ago. Thinking of the rendezvous which she had arranged for this very
evening, she brusquely asked:
"What time is it?"
"Six o'clock," said Pierre.
The girl turned towards the two men.
"Au revoir," said she, "I feel very tired!" And she made as if to go.
"I'll go with you," said Pierre.
She stopped in the doorway.
"No," said she, "you must discuss the details of your expedition with
Father Ravennes ... your line of march."
He agreed:
"You are right. I'll rejoin you in about two hours."
She repeated slowly, as if making a calculation:
"Two hours. Very well...."
She looked at him with a troubled expression, but her voice was
perfectly firm.
"In two hours," said she. "All right, I shall expect you."
And she went out quickly.
CHAPTER XI
A DESPERATE ADVENTURE
In the village square, along which the banana trees threw their shadows
in a regular pattern, Wanda stopped. Looking round her, she examined
the village. Behind their mud walls the cabins appeared silent and
lifeless ... the quiet wrapped them round and seemed to stifle them
with its great weight. Wanda stood in doubt. From these huts carefully
closed and shuttered and about which the dusk was already creeping,
from this deserted square, from all this silence and this stillness of
people and things she drew a peculiar impression of doubt and hostility.
In spite of herself, the feeling possessed Wanda. She stood motionless,
unable to make up her mind. For a moment she hesitated between the
temptation of keeping the appointment which Jieng, with her reticent
half-finished sentence, had practically promised her, and the
sensation, every moment more strong, that danger was about her.
The day slowly faded. Driven by the breeze, the last of the clouds were
moving overhead in piled up fleecy rolls which the sun here and there
fringed with scarlet.
From the forest round about the discordant cries of a peacock shrilled
like a trumpet, and the sounds of the night began to make themselves
heard: the sweet and tremulous calling of a pair of wood pigeons, the
ringing call of a wild cock, and the sharp whistlings of the mandarin
birds....
The image of Michael, imprisoned by the sorceress, came imploringly to
the mind of the young girl.
Immediately making a decision, she walked straight to the hut of the
priestess. As she came near it, the door opened and Jieng appeared. The
crimson light of the flame from the hearth at the back of the cabin
showed her in clear silhouette. Watchfully, she stood regarding the
young girl. Wanda greeted her.
"You see, Jieng, I am punctual."
She spoke in Banhar, slowly, and picking her words.
The sorceress bent her head slightly.
"I expected you," she said, simply; and she drew aside to let the
stranger enter.
Keeping their eyes on each other, they sat down on the bench side by
side....
There was silence for several seconds. Then, resolutely, Wanda began
the contest.
"I have come alone," said she, "alone, as I said I would."
Jieng looked up.
"So I see," said she.
And putting aside all the ambiguity and roundabout phrases of the
native tongue, she asked:
"What do you want to know?"
The directness of the question surprised Wanda, bewildered her. She
remained silent; and it was the sorceress who continued:
"Was it that that astonished you?"
And stretching out her hand she pointed to the altar with its
prehistoric arms, its bones and its shining skull.
"Yes, that," said Wanda quickly, "and also the pilgrimage of the women
every season...."
She stopped speaking, feeling that the moment had not yet come to
reveal the principal object of her visit.
With a sidelong glance, Jieng watched her.
"That only?" she asked.
"Yes," said Wanda. "Where do they go, and why do they have these
meetings?"
Jieng broke into a fit of coughing.
"They go to pray," said she finally, "to the gods who protect husbands
and mothers."
She spoke quickly, without hesitation, in a clear voice.
"Ah!" said Wanda, "and these prayers, where do they take place? In a
temple?"
Her voice, although she was still in command of it, trembled slightly
as the thought came to her that it was towards this unknown place of
pilgrimage that they must have taken Michael.
The sorceress shrugged her shoulders.
"What does that matter to you?" she asked. "Here, there or everywhere
are the altars of our gods, of the guardian spirits of those in whose
veins runs the blue blood of the Moïs, the free savages who live in
the mountains among the inhabitants of the forest, and whom nobody has
ever been able to enslave.... Nobody ... neither the Annamese nor the
Lao-ese nor the Siamese ... and not even you others, you white folks,
in spite of all your efforts!"
While speaking, she had risen. With her figure supple, her chest thrown
out, her gestures full of life, she seemed a new and different being
from the suffering old woman whom Wanda remembered and of whom nothing
seemed to remain except the face wasted with wounds and the shoulders
seamed with scars.
"Indeed," cried she, "what has it got to do with you? Our gods belong
to us as yours belong to you. Who among us tries to find out the
mysteries of your religion?"
"Oh!" said Wanda, "some of them do! And Father Ravennes...."
Spitting on the ground with disgust, Jieng broke in:
"Traitors," said she, "renegades! They shall die!..."
She stared the young girl in the face and grinned fiendishly.
"Do you see? I am speaking frankly. I am telling you everything, even
at the risk...."
It was Wanda's turn to interrupt.
"Then," said she without any change of expression, "since you are
telling me everything, tell me what they have done with the lieutenant
who was in command of the Post."
Jieng remained unmoved. She neither answered the question nor took the
trouble to make any denials.
"He is in the hands of the gods," she said simply.
The young girl had a feeling of foreboding.
"By what right ..." she began.
The sorceress, resuming her seat, stopped her.
"By what right did he penetrate into the Dead Country, into the forest
where no man, not even if he is of our own blood, dare enter?"
Without taking any notice of the interruption, the young girl went on:
"He is alive, is he not?... You ... you have not...."
Jieng smiled ironically.
"How does this stranger interest you?" she asked.
Wanda, seizing the priestess by the wrists, clutched convulsively.
"He is my brother," she groaned. "Where have you taken him? Is he
alive? I must know. Do you hear? Either willing or unwilling, you shall
tell me...."
With a sudden shake, the sorceress got free. She took a few steps about
the hut, and came up to the young girl again. With her face twisted by
an evil grin, she said:
"Do you want to know? Do you?"
"Yes!" cried Wanda.
And she plunged her fingers into the pockets of her jacket. Coins
jingled, and she withdrew her hands full of money which she threw
on the bench. The money rolled in all directions on the dark wood,
scattering sparks of light.
"I will give you all that.... But answer me...."
Jieng took not the slightest notice. With her head drooped in thought,
she was considering. Finally, she looked the young girl straight in the
eyes.
"I cannot tell you anything, as I have no authority ... but...."
She held back the young girl, who had flung herself upon her.
"But, ... this evening the pilgrimage of the sixth month takes place."
"I know.... I know.... What then?"
The sorceress hesitated. A flash lit her eye, which she quickly veiled
with lowered lids.
"I suppose," said she, slowly, "that in order to learn everything that
you want, you would be willing to mingle with the women who are going
to enter the Dead Country ... and that you would follow them wherever I
lead them...."
She made a pause; between her half-open lids a direct glance flashed
sideways on the brown eyes of the young girl.
"That is only a supposition, you understand!"
"Then," said Wanda, who had become very pale, "then suppose that I do
follow you...."
A triumphant smile came and went on the priestess' face.
"If you were to do that, I am certain that no one would prevent you ...
no one...."
The young girl, gripping the sorceress by the shoulder, laughed:
"No one, of course not, only there would be just one more victim on
your altar, wouldn't there?"
Jieng did not flinch.
"No harm would come to you," she said calmly.
And as the young girl continued to smile ironically, she went on:
"No one would dare to touch you ... I tell you that for a fact."
Then repeated sarcastically:
"A victim!"
And she shrugged her shoulders.
"You came, you and that white man, into my village. My warriors were
there. You were alone; there were a dozen of them. If I had wanted
victims, why should I have waited? Were you not caught there in my hut
just as surely as a wild beast in a trap?"
Again she shrugged her shoulders scornfully and stopped speaking.
The silence lasted some moments. Wanda thought of Michael. Her tortured
heart was stronger than her reason; she reflected rapidly:
"I don't risk much.... I shall tell Pierre about it, he will follow my
track and will catch up with me. Meanwhile I shall get the better of
Jieng, and when he arrives...."
She stopped thinking. She saw just the one thing: here was a chance of
reaching Michael, of seeing him, helping him, perhaps of aiding in his
escape.... She cried:
"So be it! I will follow the women on their pilgrimage. What must I do?"
The priestess remained deep in thought for a second, then picking up in
a businesslike way the coins scattered under the bench, she hid them in
her belt.
"You must dress like one of our women."
And as the young girl began to protest, she stopped her with a gesture.
"It must be so, or you cannot come with us," she said with an air of
final authority: "Decide!"
"Very well," said Wanda. "When do we start?"
Jieng bent down, rummaged under the bench and drew out a tunic, a pair
of loose trousers and a turban which she handed to the young girl.
"Here are your clothes," she said, "in ten minutes I will come for you."
And she went off.
Wanda called after her:
"Can I leave a message for my friends?"
The face of the priestess took on a peculiar expression. Wanda thought
she heard her laugh, but she had not the time to be uneasy about it.
Jieng assented.
"Yes," said she, "that will be better."
And she went out, shutting the door behind her.
* * * * *
When Wanda emerged from the hut a few minutes later, the dusk was
falling on the mountain. A torch in her hand, Jieng was waiting for
her. The girl gave her the leaf that she had torn out of her notebook.
"Here is a letter for Father Ravennes."
"He shall have it tonight," promised the sorceress.
And without another word she started off, Wanda following her. It was
warm; into the stormy looking sky swollen clouds were climbing heavily.
The dark bluish outlines of the mountain stood out solidly among the
shadows that were beginning to creep over them. On the very tip of the
crest of the Pou-Kas a last ray of sunlight spread in purplish gold,
and the shining wave-like line of light stretched further and further
until the mountain looked like the body of a great sleeping monster.
They went on and on together, both of them silent. Above them, dull and
confusedly in a sort of scattered murmuring, the noise of human voices
gradually became audible--the subdued hubbub of a multitude.
Still they climbed. Little by little the noise became more definite,
and finally developed into a wild recitative sung by many voices and
marked by the rhythmic bang of gongs and resounding blows on copper
tom-toms.
It was the procession of the pilgrims, who, before entering the Dead
Country, were invoking their mysterious gods.
Suddenly, at a curve in the path, the body of women could be seen in
a large opening. Crouched in a thin, wide semicircle, and guarded by
sorceresses, there were perhaps a hundred of them. Around them torches
stuck into the ground waved smoky flames, throwing streaks of red light
on the white-clad backs which were now all bowed in a simultaneous
obeisance: patches of heavy smoke whirled upward into the dark: the
bitter smell of burning resinous wood drifted slowly into the air:
around them stood the dark wall of the inviolate forest.
At an order from Jieng, the women got up and took their places. They
were now silent. Above, on the mountain which the darkness now hid, a
vast silence seemed to weigh.
A short incantation, sung in unison by all, a sharp order, and then the
procession got under way and entered the forest, where it was rapidly
swallowed up in the damp shadows of the trees.
Left behind by herself, Wanda looked about her. The abandoned clearing
seemed suddenly increased in size by the darkness which had fallen
on it, now that the torches had been carried away. Before her, she
could feel, vast and threatening, the Pou-Kas hidden in the blackness.
Impulsively, she turned to look behind her, and far below her, in the
valley, she could pick out the lights of the Post which twinkled feebly
across the darkness. Her heart shook: thinking of Pierre, she could
imagine his anxiety on account of her absence, and for a moment her
resolution was shaken.
A wave of tenderness compounded of weakness and sweetness flowed
through her. _He_ was there in the hollow of the plain, watching for
her return!... These lights which beckoned to her were those of the
lamps that she lighted every evening while she waited for him! Before
her eyes she saw the little round table in the dining room where the
two of them met every night at dinner-time. She could actually see the
circle of light thrown by the pink-shaded lamp which broadened and
illuminated the interested face of the young man as he talked to her.
She could even distinguish his expression and his familiar gestures.
She noticed once again the nervous knack he had of pulling his light
moustache in little jerks. Above all, there came to her his laugh,--a
clear bantering laugh which drew his lips to one side and showed a
corner of his white teeth. Then, feeling the gray eyes of the young
man full upon her, she smiled across the night to him. Her head thrown
lightly back, her face forward, she seemed gently to offer him her
lips, instinctively repeating the gesture which had become habitual,
a gesture in which mingled the lure of a caress and the flicker of a
smile and which always had a strangely intoxicating effect upon Pierre.
But quickly shaking off her weakness, she recalled the image of
Michael, whom she was going to find and whom she would save at whatever
cost. Remembrances of her childhood, in which he was inextricably
mingled, brought to life again different moments of her past. Her
heart, captured again by the days gone by, was full of him, and
sisterly love once more dominated her.
Her head erect, with a noble gesture of sweetness and passion, she
opened her arms and closed them again slowly as if to embrace once more
the love she was leaving down there in the hollow of the shadow-drowned
valley.
Then with her teeth clenched she turned back, and hurried to catch
up with the troop of women who were mounting towards the mysterious
sanctuary in the heart of the Dead Country.
CHAPTER XII
THOSE LEFT BEHIND
Night had taken possession of the Post. Over-flowed by the shadows, the
palisades were invisible, and the buildings ranged on the edge of the
canal formed a single confused mass along the base of which the gliding
water lapped monotonously. The dreary slopes of the Pou-Kas were lost
in night and the whole world, smothered under a sky heavy with rain,
seemed nothing but a limitless gulf.
Leaning on the balustrade of the veranda, Pierre, who had been back for
over an hour, watched the darkness. In the court, a body of riflemen
and mahouts were working feverishly in getting ready for the coming
expedition. Somewhere or other the sound of the flute rose gently,
lulling the night.
Turning back to the dining room, where the boy was at his work, he
asked:
"What o'clock is it?"
"The second watch has just struck, sahib."[10]
[Footnote 10: The night-watches are four in number, of three hours
each, beginning at six o'clock in the evening.]
Pierre strode nervously up and down the veranda. The silence deepened.
Finally, not being able to stand it, he asked:
"About how long ago did Mademoiselle go out?"
The boy, a rough Méo with thick hands and a bony face, whom the priest
had engaged for the young people, stopped in the doorway.
"She came just before they sounded the first night-watch, and she
started out again immediately."
Pierre stepped up to him quickly.
"What! She said something, and you didn't tell me?..."
The Méo fixed his expressionless eyes on Lursac.
"The sahib did not...."
"Idiot!" cried Pierre. "What did she say? Tell me quickly!"
Flurried, and his broad forehead wrinkled in a frown, the other
murmured:
"Mademoiselle said, 'If the gentleman asks for news, you will tell him
that I have returned to the house of the Cross.'"
Lursac drew himself up abruptly.
"To the Mission?" said he, in surprise. "How strange that we didn't
cross each other on the way!"
He reflected for a moment.
"What horse did she take?"
The boy bent his head and looked up at him.
"She went on foot."
Pierre remarked his hesitating and uncomfortable expression.
"On foot? To go seven miles? What sort of nonsense are you telling me?"
He grasped the man by the shoulder and shook him.
"You know something! Where has she gone?"
The Méo opened his large hands and spread out his arms:
"I don't know anything, sahib ... I swear. Only what Mademoiselle told
me to tell you and that she started on foot.... That's all. Yes, really
and truthfully."
"Ah!" said Pierre.
And in spite of himself his voice trembled. Understanding that he
would get nothing more out of him, he flung the boy from him. A vague
distress had taken possession of him. He went to the balustrade of the
veranda again.
The flute was now silent. A slant of wind went whirling into the
darkness, a hoarse call sounded from somewhere.... The minutes crawled
by....
Anxiously, with his face stretched towards the forest, Pierre searched
the night with his glance. The noises of the mountain reached him,
distinct, and apparently nearer. The same hoarse cry rose again on
the slope of the mountain and, echoing back from the river, died away
slowly. Then other cries arose, multiplied and mixed in the depths of
the underwoods. And almost immediately from one slope to the other
of the mountain the people of the forest awoke and took up the rough
discordant song, the wild song of the free forest. The coughing of
hunting tigers mingled with the snarling of panthers; the sudden
trumpeting of a herd of elephants crashing through the silence filled
with its sonorous flourishes of sound the shadows already heavy with
the distressed bellowing of a stag at bay and the screeching cry of a
pair of nocturnal birds of prey wheeling over the plain.
Thick, heavy clouds had accumulated overhead, rolling up in billows
like a stormy sea. A few warm, heavy drops fell and drummed on the dry
rustling straw of the hut roofs. Then suddenly, like a waterfall, the
rain beat down in a roar. Lursac shuddered.
"No," he murmured to himself, "she is not at the Mission. However," he
at once thought, "she told the boy that she was going there and I have
never yet known her to say anything that was not true. Perhaps, as I
was late in coming back, she wanted to know the arrangements we had
made...."
Buoyed up by this hope, he thought:
"Yes.... It must be that. But why on foot? Why?"
His anxiety suddenly greater, he burst out:
"I cannot wait any longer, I must know. Whatever it is, I am going over
there."
Turning round, he cried to the boy:
"Sao! I am going to the priest's house. If Mademoiselle comes in while
I am gone, send someone at once to tell me."
And in a few strides he was down the steps.
Before the quarters of the riflemen he stopped for a moment to give
orders to the corporal:
"Have the gate opened and the sampan ready to cross the canal; I am
going to the Mission."
And he made rapidly towards the stables.
* * * * *
Through the rain which fell continuously the pony galloped, with his
hoofs splashing into the spongy soil of the plain and the mud squirting
up at every step.
Regardless of the water which whipped his face in the squalls, with his
eyes intent on piercing the darkness, Pierre pushed his mount brutally,
and the poor animal was gasping, his breath coming heavily and his legs
laboring, while a bitter smell of sweat mounted from his skin.
Then suddenly a blackness still blacker than the surrounding dark
showed where the stockades of the Mission stood. They took shape,
framing the narrow entrance-gate defended by its heavy door of solid
wood reënforced with beams.
Down off his horse in an instant, Pierre called out. Minutes, which
seemed appallingly long, went by. Then the door grated halfway open,
and the young man, violently pushing to one side the convert who had
come to admit him, dashed forward and ran. He crossed the court, which
was now wrapped in sleep, and strode up the steps leading to the
missionary's cabin. Suddenly, as he reached the veranda a hope relaxed
the tension. His heart beat more naturally and more calmly. Through the
chinks of the door rays of light filtered out.
"She is there: they are still talking," he sighed.
He grasped the latch, but instantly his agony returned, for the door
opened, and in the doorway, with a lamp in his hand, stood Father
Ravennes. He was completely dressed, and wrapped in a waterproof cloak.
"Who is there?"
He raised his lamp so that the light fell upon Pierre and quickly came
towards him.
"Lursac! Great Heavens! What a state you are in! I was this very minute
coming to the Post.... You know, then?"
In a hoarse voice, Pierre cried:
"Wanda? Where is Wanda?"
The priest looked at him. He saw the tortured face of the young man,
his eyes shining with distress, his soaked and muddy clothes. His voice
softened:
"Come in," said he, "come in.... I want to speak to you."
He took Pierre by the arm and drew him into the room. Flinging himself
on the only stool, Lursac drooped his head and closed his eyes.
The priest had put the lamp on the table. He came up to Pierre and
thoughtfully looked the young man over.
A long silence fell while each followed his own thoughts. Then Pierre,
raising his eyes to the missionary, asked:
"You ... you have not seen her, have you?"
His voice trembled and seemed ready to break at any minute. He stopped.
The priest looked down on him slowly. Finally, he shook his head.
"No, but she has written to me."
He rummaged in his pocket and stretched out a leaf of paper to the
young man.
"Here!" he said. "Read it!"
Pierre sat up suddenly; a spasm passed over his face. In a voice
suddenly changed, he asked:
"She has written to you?... To _you_?... Why?"
"Read it!" repeated the priest, gently.
Snatching the letter from the hand of the missionary, Pierre read:
"_Dear Father: I dare not write to Pierre. I have seen Jieng.... The
pilgrimage of the sixth month starts this evening for its mysterious
meeting place, the location of which I do not know. I only know that
Michael is alive. I have managed to join the women who are going and
I have not courage enough to wait for Pierre's expedition. Anyway, he
would have refused to take me! Tell him; and both of you pardon me the
anxiety which I am going to cause you.... WANDA._"
Pierre blanched. He cried out:
"They have enticed her into an ambush ... she is lost! ... lost!..."
His heart seemed to break. He raised his drawn face to the priest.
"Ah! you don't know; I love her.... I love her.... We've been engaged
for two days ... a secret engagement ... and I have held her in my
arms, and still upon my lips is the very imprint of...."
The missionary took his hands:
"My poor boy," said he, "I understand your agony, but nothing is
lost. I have sent one of my men, the one I can trust best, to Jieng's
village. He has orders to pick up Mademoiselle Redeski's track and to
note carefully any signs which may serve to make our search easy. Wait
for him...."
"Ah!" said he, "we are losing time! And Wanda...."
The priest leant from the window to listen to the multiple voices which
the silence of the night carried.
"No," replied he, "we can do nothing before dawn."
And he repeated:
"Let us wait."
Slowly the minutes drifted away, one by one, long and mournful.
Minutes, hours, a portion of the night.... Pierre kept no count. He
strode up and down the narrow room. On the mats his feverish footsteps
rustled dryly. From time to time, tired, with his mind empty, he stood
still and listened. Through the open window the continuous noise of
the rain penetrated into the room and filled it with an all-pervading
whisper in the midst of which the splashing of a stream of water from
the roof mingled its own special sad and haunting note. Again he set
himself to pacing up and down between the lowly folding bed and the
bare wall, in the middle of which shone the only ornament of the
chamber, a great ivory crucifix, pale and suggestive.
The third night-watch struck, and then the fourth, and still the time
drifted away.
Rigid, in the same position, his breast supported by the window ledge,
Father Ravennes stood silent and thoughtful. Finally drawing himself
up, he said:
"Here he is...."
Pierre rushed to the door and flung it open.
"Well?" cried he.
Muddy, drenched with rain, his features drawn with fatigue, the man
entered, speechless.
Under his arm he held a parcel which he spread out on the ground.
Clothing unrolled from it and a woman's boot fell against the foot of
the bed.
Pierre gave a cry.
"Wanda's clothes!"
"Yes," said the man, "which I found in Jieng's hut, hidden under the
sleeping bench; that's all I found!"
He leaned, panting, against the wall.
"And she? She? ..." asked Pierre.
"No trace, sahib. After searching all the huts in the village,
nothing.... Then I ran into the forest, I called, I shouted, I
looked...."
He lifted up his bleeding hands and showed his body torn with
scratches, and repeated:
"Nothing.... They must have taken her into the Dead Country."
The priest looked at him steadily.
"Listen," said he, slowly, "we are going to start tomorrow. You and
Pâa, you are the only ones in whom I put my trust, the only ones also
who know the country. You will come with us as guides."
The man shivered: his face went gray.
"Men," he whispered, "do not go into the Dead Country."
The missionary, taking him sternly by the arm, fixed his eyes upon the
man's.
"You will come with me," said he, yet more sternly.
The savage bowed his head.
"With you ... very well, Father!"
Father Ravennes patted his shoulder in a friendly way:
"That's right," said he, "I knew it ... good!... Go and get ready."
He went back to Pierre.
"We will save her, Lursac; her and Redeski."
The young man bent his head despairingly.
"Remember Odend'hal, Robert, Paris and the others: Longères ...
Dorcel...."
Heavily he lapsed into silence. Before his eyes the tragic victims of
Indo-China's history rose, one by one: Odend'hal, enticed into the
hut of the Fire King, the mysterious and all-powerful chief of the
sorcerers, and treacherously beaten to death with bludgeons and then
burnt; Robert, attacked at his post in broad daylight and assassinated,
with twenty-four wounds in his body; Longères, who had disappeared in
this very place, disappeared without anyone ever having succeeded in
finding out what had become of him; and, finally, Dorcel, brought back
to Saigon in agony, and who died of an unknown disease without even
having regained consciousness.
He shuddered. It seemed to him at that moment that the universal terror
which lay upon this whole region was beating on the Mission, that it
found its way into the room in which the two of them stood--the only
ones of their race--alone in the middle of the immense Lao-ese forest
in which prowled invisible powers and unknown rulers.
"We will find her," repeated the missionary insistently.
Pierre raised his head.
"Yes," said he, "but how? We are two--two against a whole people. And
then, where have they taken her? We have no idea whatever! What shall
we do? Search the whole mountain range? Beat the entire forest?"
He gave a gesture of despair.
Motionless, Father Ravennes considered. Suddenly an idea flashed into
his mind. He stepped up to the young man and with his two hands on
Pierre's shoulders, he spoke:
"Come, Lursac, pull yourself together. You must keep your self-control
above everything. We will find your fiancée! Listen: what we have got
to do is to reach this sanctuary to which the pilgrimages are made."
His voice sounded calm and solemn. The atmosphere of anguish which had
filled the chamber seemed put to flight. A feeling of certainty and
tranquil force took its place, relaxing Lursac's nerves and restoring
his balance. Almost calm, he answered:
"Yes, but where are we to look for the sanctuary? Do you know?"
"No," admitted the missionary, "but that is what we are going to find
out. Come."
He went out. Almost persuaded, Lursac followed him. Together they
crossed the court towards the huts of the converts, the pointed roofs
of which could be seen over the dark mass of the chapel.
It was no longer raining. From the thatched roofs, still wet, and from
the bending trees the moisture continued to drip. And under the vast
silence of the heavens, across which the clouds were still driving
in wandering squadrons, there was no sound heard now but the sharp,
distant noise of the dripping on the earth.
Before the door of a hut marked with a white cross the priest stopped
and banged on it with his fist. The wood of the door rattled, and
while a voice from inside began asking questions, he entered, Lursac
following him. He pushed back the door and lighted a torch. On the
sleeping bench set against the wall a woman was sitting up, bending
forward, half-dressed.
Pierre seized the arm of the missionary, gripping it strongly.
"The wild Stieng woman whom you saved," said he; "I understand now."
And he looked at the young woman with anxiety. Would she know anything,
and could she be made to speak?
Father Ravennes sat down. With a gentle movement he took the hands
of the woman. She raised her head. Her face, which the flickering
torch brought into relief with purple shadows, appeared young and
almost pretty, in spite of the short and flattened nose, and of the
small suspicious eyes deeply sunk under a rounded forehead. The thin,
clearly cut lips trembled, giving to the whole face an air of knowing
intelligence, an appearance strangely mobile and alive, almost feline.
The missionary riveted on her his grave, compelling eyes.
"Listen," said he. "When I found you this morning by the gate, dying,
tortured with hunger and thirst, half mad with terror, I didn't ask
whence you came or who you were; I didn't question you at all. I took
you in and took care of you and protected you without thinking of the
hatred and the vengeance that my action might bring on me."
He stopped a moment and looked at her still harder. He spoke slowly
in the Banhar dialect, while Lursac standing beside him watched the
woman's face for the effect of his words. She listened to the priest
attentively, trying to understand all his meaning.
After a moment, looking down, she said simply:
"I know your goodness, Father!"
Then with a note of supplication in her voice she asked:
"You will keep me with you?"
The missionary promised:
"Whatever happens you shall stay here as long as you wish. But in my
turn, today I have need of your help. Will you give it?"
"What can I do?" she asked.
"Answer the questions I am going to put to you. Answer them without
evasion and without trickery, freely and loyally."
And he repeated sternly the question which she had avoided a few
seconds earlier.
"Will you?"
She shut her eyes and bent her head.
"Yes," said she. "What I know I will tell you truly."
Father Ravennes sighed heavily: his face relaxed. He threw a glance
sideways at Lursac. For several moments he did not speak, concentrating
his thoughts; then forcing the young woman to look at him he asked:
"It was this evening that the pilgrimage of the sixth month began, was
it not?"
She shivered, turning away her eyes and slowly made a sign in the
affirmative with her head.
"Good!" said the priest. "Where was it to start from?"
In a very low voice she said:
"From the third clearing above the village. From there...."
"From there?"
She got up suddenly, a look of distress on her face and an air of
listening.
"From there?" insisted Father Revenues.
She stood rigid in the middle of the room.
"I cannot ... I cannot," she murmured. "If they knew that I had told
you this they would kill me."
"Come now," growled the priest, "no pretences, please. No one will know
what you are saying. We are alone with you.... Speak."
She broke out wildly.
"I don't want to die, and they are all round us. Listen! You can hear
them walking, quite close to us! No, I am not lying. Come, look for
yourself."
As she spoke, she had taken the priest by the hand and was pulling him
towards the door. Violently she pushed the heavy slab, which slammed
back against the wall. A fresh smell of wet earth and damp herbage blew
into the room. Standing on the threshold of the hut the missionary
shot a quick glance around him. The dawn was already on its way. In
the clean-washed sky the innumerable stars were beginning to pale and
disappear. The rising light was slowly putting the dark to flight;
and before the advance of the morning which trembled on the horizon,
the night was thinning out and melting into a river of shadows in the
middle of which the Mission buildings stood up with vague, uncertain
outlines. Round the angle of the chapel, close by, a human shadow
glided, fled away and disappeared.
With her finger the young woman pointed it out to the priest.
"You see!" she cried.
And shutting the door again, she re-seated herself on the sleeping
bench and remained motionless.
"Ask me anything," she said, "except what I cannot tell you, the thing
that they have forbidden me to speak."
Angrily, Lursac demanded:
"They? What they? Of whom do you speak?"
She listened to him with eyes full of fear. A shudder ran through her
body.
"They.... The Red Gods! ..." she whispered.
* * * * *
The two men looked at each other. The flickering flame of the torch lit
up their pale faces twisted anew with anguish. For the first time the
names of the unknown gods whom the mysterious sorcerers served had been
pronounced, and before their eyes swam blood-stained visions.
The torch, burned down to its socket, began to splutter and a heavy
smoke filled the room with an acrid fog, and suddenly with a last leap
of flame it expired. Cold and livid, the dawn filtered into the hut.
Pierre thought of Wanda. Beside him the missionary repeated feverishly:
"The Red Gods!... The Red...."
Shaken with a frightful shudder the young man looked at him, and once
again despair seized him in its grip.
CHAPTER XIII
THE FUGITIVE'S STORY
Shrugging his shoulders, Father Ravennes took some strides about the
hut. Suddenly stopping before the young woman he took her by the arm
and forced her to stand up.
"Follow me," said he.
And he pushed her outside, led her to the chapel and opened the door.
"Come in!"
He pushed her before him, stood aside to let Pierre pass, and then
entering in his turn into the sanctuary he carefully bolted the heavy
door.
Through the blinds a vague light stole in. The Stieng woman looked
round her with curiosity. She saw the pale walls with their cheap
copies of the Way of the Cross, each of the colored chromos framed with
a simple casing of black wood. Then she saw the painted roof of thatch
with its confusion of unsquared beams, and below it, in front of her,
slightly raised on a few shallow steps, the altar--modest and simple,
and on which all the light of the glowing dawn seemed to concentrate
itself between the groups of candles. In the centre, dominating the
tabernacle, a large Christ on the Cross twisted his body in agony.
Father Ravennes made the young woman sit down on the altar steps.
"You are afraid," said he, "that somebody will overhear your words, but
here no one can hear us. See for yourself. The chapel is too large for
your voice to be heard outside."
He raised his hand, pointing to the crucifix above them. His voice, at
once grave and ardent, continued:
"And there is our God--the omnipotent and merciful God of the white
people, whose sovereign power directs the world. We are all in His
keeping, and if I have brought you here into His very shadow it is
that He may protect you and preserve you. Now if He wills it, you will
speak. May His will be done!..."
He stopped speaking and closed his eyes. The heavy silence of
expectation bent their heads. The lips of Father Ravennes moved slowly
in words that were inaudible: he was praying.
The woman with a sudden shrug of the shoulders seemed to fling off a
burden.
"I believe you," said she. "I will tell you everything that I know,
everything that happened to myself. Is that what you wish?"
The missionary opened his eyes, now animated by a strange expression of
thankfulness and joy.
"Yes," said he.
And in a low voice he murmured:
"Thy goodness be praised, O God!"
Already the woman was talking.
"My name is Hmon, of the village of Khon-Ko-Xan, of the country of the
Stiengs, where I am a free woman among the free people of the forest.
Four years ago my parents married me to the chief of the village. Our
first two years were happy ones. Then little by little hatred came to
us and took up its abode in our hut. It was because, in spite of all
my prayers and all my sacrifices to the gods, I had given no child to
my husband. Then one afternoon at the men's council I was named with
a group of other childless wives to take part in the great pilgrimage
which twice a year goes up into the Dead Country to pray to the Red
Gods.
"There were eight of us women, and three men fully accoutred for war
were to accompany us. And the very same evening we started on our
journey. The seventh night after our departure, at the hour of the
second watch, we arrived at the threshold of the Sacred Forest.... At
its very threshold indeed, sahib!..."
She fell silent as a shudder ran through her. Father Ravennes took hold
of her hand.
"Continue," said he softly.
She gave one look at the missionary and then in little, short,
disconnected sentences she continued:
"The priestesses took charge of the group which had come up from the
entire country. They arranged us in ranks, and counted us one by one.
Then, having sent off the men, they showed us the way towards the
mountain.
"After five hours of marching we reached the clearing, the meeting
place. Jieng, the chief sorceress, was waiting for us there. After a
short stop we took to the track again. Four times the sun, towards
which we were advancing, rose and set, and at the beginning of the
fifth night as the moon was rising and getting larger and larger, we at
last caught sight of the temple hanging on the very edge of the crest
of the Pou-Kas."
The missionary grasped Lursac's wrist.
"The temple ... on the very edge of the crest of the Pou-Kas," he
whispered.
The woman did not hear him. She continued:
"When it was perfectly dark they made us enter. Between the two high
centre towers there was a long gallery two stories high; then a huge
interior court, square, and paved with ancient stones. Around the whole
ran a platform reached by four wide staircases. Between these stairs
against the wall below the platform were ranged statues of warriors and
priests, of horses and elephants in war-harness, keeping guard. Between
the stones of the courtyard banyan trees were growing. The air sang
among their branches, but our hearts were bowed in agony. It was warm.
Above our heads, in the small area of sky that we could see, flowed the
night, the same night which we knew at home. We had seated ourselves.
I heard the creaking of an insect close by me. In this way an hour
passed, and then from the building opposite to the entrance gallery of
which the walls seemed built right into the cliff of the Pou-Kas, a
chant arose, sahib.
"At the same moment Jieng appeared and cried:
"'Those from the village of Dong-Track, in the land of the Reungaos....'
"Five women arose and she made them enter the temple.
"More time passed, and again Jieng returned and called out:
"'Those from the village of the Xieng-Khon in the land of the
Sedangs....'
"And only three women came forward, who in their turn penetrated into
the sanctuary.
"From time to time she came and called thus. And all the women of the
Moï, all the wives from the free clans of the mountain and forest were
taken into the palace of the gods, to whom they were going to pray that
their sterile bodies might bear fruit.
"'Those from the village of Khon-Ko-Xan in the land of the Stiengs.'
"Our moment had come. I took the lead. When I reached Jieng, I bowed
to the ground humbly, like the others, and entered. We crossed a long
narrow room with thick walls entirely covered with carvings. Before us
a curving subterranean passageway led down. Its sweating walls were
lighted by braziers on heavy copper tripods. While we went forward the
chant came nearer. We walked on for some time. Finally after a sharp
turn we came out into a round room, the floor of which was hollowed
out into a large basin. Eight sorceresses with torches in their hands
were waiting for us ranged round the sides of the room. After we had
been dipped in the waters of the basin they took charge of us. First of
all they put on us black tunics and then covered our faces with sacred
masks, the soft moist skin of which was cut with four openings for the
eyes, the mouth, and the nose. Then escorting us they opened a door and
drew us through. The chant which had been still going on all this time
suddenly burst louder on our ears, and we understood that we were in
the sanctuary in which was enthroned the image of the gods we had come
to implore.
"With my throat grown dry, and trembling to the tips of my fingers
I looked round me. On my right, an enormous serpent with nine heads
supported a heavy column. A little further, an animal with the body of
a dragon and the head of a bird appeared to be flapping its wings; and
as far as I could see on both sides other pillars spread upward towards
the roof, invisible in the shadows.... But I had not time to look about
me any longer; a push forced me forward.
"We were going on. Under every monster a sorceress stood with a torch
to light our way. There were some sixty sorceresses on the right and
on the left, while we marched between them. Their faces slashed with
wounds, their eyes fixed in front of them, they stared at us as we
passed. They made no movement, but sang without stopping. Now we had
come to the foot of the altar. We had come to the end of the columns,
the sanctuary grew nearer. Before us were three wide semi-circular
recesses, each led up to by three steps; each recess was hidden by a
transparent veil embroidered with silver under which we had to creep
after we had made obeisance on our faces. When the last curtain was
passed I saw at last the statue of the god. He was sitting with his
legs folded under him. His swelling chest was covered with a brown fur,
his red body sparkled and his beautiful face smiled strangely. From his
shoulders hung twelve arms with great open hands, the palms turned flat
towards the earth in a sweeping gesture of blessing.
"Then behind us the voice of Jieng ordered:
"'Go, and each one of you place her head under one of the hands of the
God of wives'
"We drew near with our heads bowed. I was on the right, under the
fourth hand. Slowly I drew myself up until my forehead felt the weight
of the cold hard palm. I stammered the words of the ritual:
"'O God of barren women, give life to my body!'
"Beside me seven other voices repeated continuously:
"'O God of barren women, give life to my body!'
"On my throbbing temples I felt the metal fingers which seemed to get
heavier and heavier. A sweet perfume, floating about me, took me by the
throat and rendered me dizzy.
"I fell, and night flowed into me."
Again she stopped. Father Ravennes asked:
"Is that all?..."
The woman shook her head.
"No," said she, "or I should not be here. When I woke up I found myself
in the same place lying on the stone floor. I looked up. Above me the
red hands were still outstretched. Nothing had changed; except that the
sorceresses still standing at their posts were no longer singing. There
was a great silence, peaceful and satisfying. The voice of Jieng once
more rose:
"'Go,' said she. 'The Red Gods will lend a favorable ear to your
prayers.'
"I got up. My head was heavy and a great feeling of tiredness possessed
my whole being. In the chamber of ablutions I took off my mask and put
on my usual clothes. Outside I found a surprise. The sun was setting on
the horizon. I had been more than four watches at the feet of the gods.
"Ten days afterwards I was back in my village, and once again the god
of happiness took up his abode in our house. I waited with confidence,
knowing that the gods had worked innumerable miracles. But a year went
by without my hope being realized. For the second time I returned to
the Dead Country and bent under the image of the god. Again, eleven
months during which anger and hatred were my portion continually.
"Three weeks ago, considering me incapable of giving him a child, my
husband called the council of chiefs together. My case, unique in our
clan, was discussed and I learned that the men's meeting had decided
to make a gift of me to the Red Gods. The morning after, a sorceress
came to talk with my husband. The same evening she took me away, after
having announced to the clan the capture of the sahib of the two
stripes, who was in command of the Post here.
"Fear took possession of me. I became nothing more than a trembling
body without will. Continually I recalled the laws of the Dead Country,
the laws of the sorceresses. I remembered that only ugliness is
pleasing to the Red Gods, and that all those who are set aside to serve
them must be tortured and disfigured. I thought of Reung, whose arms
are now only stumps; of Saond, whose leg, broken and destroyed, drags
along behind her like a hanging rag; and finally of Jieng, with her
dead eye, her cut-about lips and her flayed nose.
"All the tortures that I would have to undergo came before me,
surrounded me, and seemed to squeeze my brain. I was almost insane,
sahibs, and one morning at dawn I fled. For ten days I wandered into
the forest, tracked by the priestesses and pursued by all the clans of
the forest; and I arrived here the very morning of the pilgrimage of
the sixth month, this pilgrimage on which I was to have been taken to
the Dead Country in order to have been consecrated as a sorceress."
She turned towards the priest a face in which there was reflected a
shadow of the fear which she had just recalled, and with a long look at
him she said:
"They told me you were kind, O Father, and I came to you. You received
me and took care of me, and my heart--the heart of a free woman of the
forest--will not forget. I have told you everything that I know. Truly,
I have told you everything. Have I told you what you wanted?"
And as with a gentle motion of his head the missionary answered in the
affirmative, she added with a strange cry, pointing to the crucifix:
"May He guard me, as I know that death is round about me! But what does
it matter? You have saved me; in my turn I have done you a service. As
for the rest we are in the hands of the gods."
The two men had risen.
"Yes," said Father Ravennes, "I know that you have told me everything,
without concealing anything and without lying, as I asked you. I thank
you. Now go!"
And as she went Lursac said:
"We now know what we wanted to. It is towards the Pou-Kas that we must
bend our steps. The pilgrimage has only about twelve hours' start of
us, and it is composed of women. If we travel night and day we shall
perhaps be able to catch up with them...."
The missionary looked at him.
"Catch up with them? ... but we shall not be able to make one hour's
march towards the Pou-Kas without their being warned of it. And when
we arrive before the sanctuary either we shall find it abandoned or we
shall have to fling ourselves against defences thoroughly prepared and
against which all our efforts will be useless. We shall be lucky indeed
if they do not have us massacred on the way there. No! Will you put
your trust in me?"
Together they left the chapel. Around them, under a sky like a blue
crystal basin, everything still slept.
In the air, growing every moment more beautifully transparent, the
whistling of the blackbirds quarrelling on the stockades broke the
silence.
"When do we start?" demanded Lursac sharply.
Father Ravennes calculated:
"Allow one hour for you to get back to the fort and two hours to
make our preparations. Take only what is indispensable. Twenty days'
provisions per man. We must march swiftly. As few cases and packages
as possible, and no more men than we really need: the six elephants
with their mahouts to carry our outfit, and fifteen riflemen with the
corporal. Above all, on no account tell them where we are going."
He stretched his hands to Pierre. A short grasp brought them together
for an instant, mingled their emotions and made their hearts beat in
harmony.
The missionary released his fingers almost roughly.
"Start, start," said he, "I will join you there in three hours."
And while the young man hurried towards the gate, he made off with
great strides in the direction of his cabin.
In the middle of the court he stopped suddenly, wrinkling his brow
thoughtfully. From the other side of the palisade came the sound of the
galloping of Lursac's pony, rapidly fading into the distance.
Mechanically the priest listened until he could no longer hear it,
while with raised head he watched the Pou-Kas of which the distant
summit barred the heavens with a clear horizontal line.
"There must be some roundabout way, some path where they do not set a
watch!" thought he. "Why did not I remember to ask about it, for that
is the one we shall have to follow if we do not wish to be stopped."
He hesitated a minute, then turning back on his steps he walked to the
hut set aside for Hmon, the Stieng woman. Through the wide-open door he
saw her lying at the foot of the sleeping bench, her forehead on the
black wood and her arms stretched out.
He entered and placed one of his hands on the uncovered shoulder of the
young woman.
"Hmon," said he, "I have yet this...."
The words died on his lips. He jerked away his fingers, disagreeably
surprised by the touch of her cold, rough flesh. He bent over her.
Along her amber-colored neck a thin trickle of blood, almost coagulated
already, came from under the hair, and making a bend over the left
shoulder, lost itself inside the tunic below.
"Hmon! Hmon!" he called.
At the same time, taking the woman's head, he raised it. The face
was gray, marbled with pale spots; the eyes, half-shut, showing the
eyeballs, sightless and strangely fluid. The thin, discolored lips,
however, seemed to smile at him strangely from the other side of the
Unknown.
Father Ravennes gently let the forehead fall back, and the body in its
black tunic once more resumed its attitude of supplication and prayer.
Against the dark wood of the sleeping-bench the long livid hands
showed up clearly. The paleness of the bent neck was emphasized, and
suddenly among the lowest strands of hair at the base of the skull he
saw the head of a large pin, curiously ornamented with a grinning mask,
sticking out, glittering and ominous.
The missionary looked at it for a second; then, taking from his neck
the beads, from the end of which hung his crucifix, he passed it about
the shoulders of Hmon the Stieng, and going down on his knees, he
clasped his hands and prayed.
Outside, the brisk crow of a cock vibrated, saluting the warm and
golden resurrection of the day.
CHAPTER XIV
INTO THE UNKNOWN
Over the crest of the mountains the sun showed its edge, and slowly
rose. An elephant, lifting his brown trunk towards it, trumpeted long
and loud. The pink and gray of the daylight filtered into the sky and
drove away the shadows lying deep in the ravines of the mountain. The
pachyderms chained to their pickets before the gate of the fort rocked
slowly from side to side.
Seated on a packing-case Pierre was overseeing the loading of the
baggage. By blows of their ankuses and with cries and insults the
mahouts made their beasts bend their necks and forced them to kneel.
On the square pack-saddles, strengthened by thick belts of split
bamboo, the sacks of rice and the packages of provisions were heaped.
Each elephant, after its loading was finished, with a slow pitching
movement raised itself and took up its place ready for the start.
The mahouts, crouched on their great necks, exchanged jokes with the
Cambodian riflemen camped around them and to whom the headman, standing
before the emptied packing-cases distributed munitions and arms: a Gras
musket, model of 1874, and one hundred and fifty cartridges to each man.
A flock of egrets rising from the bank of the canal flew across the
shining sky. Their sharp cries made Father Ravennes lift his head. He
watched for a moment their glittering flight in the direction of the
mountain, then he turned to his two guides:
"You understand, do you not? We are to cross the canal and strike
towards the east. No one except you two, Sahib Lursac and myself is to
know the exact object of the expedition."
The two men made a sign of agreement. Their long Moï lances in their
clenched hands, their loins swathed in narrow cloth bands, they
stretched their naked bodies, over which the muscles stood out clearly,
and smiled with an animal pleasure in the growing warmth of the day.
One of them said:
"That's understood, Father. For three nights we are to march across
the plain, then on the morning of the fourth day we are to turn and go
straight towards the Pou-Kas."
"Yes," agreed Lursac, "that is right. But shall we have, by that time,
got far enough round the mountain to take it in the rear? Understand me
well: it is absolutely necessary for us to come out on the other face
of the plateau and not before the temple itself. What we have to do is
to surprise them. To do that there is only one way: to arrive there by
a path which no one has thought of, and to catch them in the rear. It
is above all necessary that before attacking the Pou-Kas itself we must
have got well round it."
The man who had already spoken again assured him:
"We understand: the three days' march towards the east will be plenty.
But then those people will see where we are going, and..."
With his finger he pointed at the riflemen and the mahouts grouped
before the fort.
Lursac stopped him.
"Don't worry about them," said he, "I will undertake to make them
march."
The man looked at him thoughtfully.
"Perhaps it would have been better to tell them, but you are the
master...."
A ray of sunshine slanting towards the valley shed an oblique light
upon it and illuminated the fort. The bespattered straw roofs showed
their steep slopes of blazing yellow against the morning sky.
Pierre watched contemplatively the familiar scene now so vividly
illuminated by the sunlight. He thought of his arrival three months
earlier. The missionary dropped his hand upon his shoulder.
"The time is come," said he.
Pierre shivered and signalled to the guides.
"Start!"
The two men set out towards the canal and behind them the caravan
stirred into motion.
* * * * *
They were struggling through the desert. Around them the sun
beat heavily upon the naked sandy plain which reflected its rays
mercilessly. Here and there dried-up swamps showed their clay bottoms
covered all over with heat cracks, while the herbage, which during
the rainy season had made a girdle of green about them, hung yellow,
withered and sapless.
Far away, in the west, along the blue horizon, the banks of the canal
with their string of reddish mangroves made a thin edging which grew
smaller and smaller with every hour of their march. Distant and
threatening, the Moï mountains now made under the burning sky but a
single confused crowd of peaks above which the Pou-Kas alone soared
clear and dominating.
Towards evening the first hillocks made their appearance. Like small
waves stricken into stillness the plain broke into undulations which
ran east and west so that the setting sun shining over their tops
barred them alternately with light and shade.
Between two hillocks where the course of a dried-up stream had still
left a patch of stagnant water the guides called a halt. Then, in the
limpid night, the fires of their first camp shot up in twisted flame
and threw against the shoulders of the hills the magnified shadows of
the elephants sporting in the slimy water.
On the summit of one of the hillocks one of Father Ravennes' guides
had taken his stand as sentinel. He stood erect, immobile, leaning on
his lance. Against the milky sky his body stood out in its barbaric
profile, and through the night, until the dawn, his guttural voice
cried out the hour of the watch at the measured time.
For two days more, the march resumed at dawn continued all day till
night across the Waterless Country, a gloomy land made desolate by
drought. Under the sky, shining like a polished steel mirror, the
desert flamed monotonous and endless. The wind tearing down from the
high plateau to the north swept it with long strokes. The sand rose up
in clouds and rolled round the caravan, whipping the faces of the men,
scorching their throats and leaving between their cracked lips voices
which had sunk to a hoarse whisper and their breath dry and laboring.
The heat of the ground burnt their feet through their sandals, and upon
their backs bent by marching the implacable sun fell like flame.
* * * * *
The third night found them seventy miles from the station, on the edge
of a water-course cut between two hillocks. The muddy banks, burnt hard
by the terrible heat, had broken away under the enormous weight of the
elephants. Between the sandy slopes under the meagre shade cast by a
prickly gum-tree was a large pool of stagnant water, now transformed
into red mud by the trampling of the elephants. In their tent, pitched
on the point of the dune, Father Ravennes and Lursac were listening
while the headman made his daily report.
He was an old Cambodian with dreamy eyes and leisurely movements. In
his sing-songy voice sounded caressing inflections which suggested the
sweetness and tenderness of the love-songs of the Lao-ese country which
he was in the habit of singing to his men on the march to keep them in
step.
"Then, to sum up," said Lursac, "we now have four men sick?"
"Yes, three have fever and the fourth was wounded in the right foot
this morning. His comrades have had to carry him here."
Lursac looked at the headman and his eyebrows drew together making a
bar across his forehead.
"That man," said he, "cannot go on. He would be a nuisance to us and
would keep us back. And the others? Is it just a slight fever or a
serious attack?"
The headman flung his arms wide with an air of disgust.
"Who knows?" said he, "they complain. Their feet and legs are swollen,
and when we camp they don't eat and don't sleep. They spend the whole
night crouched before the fires, close enough to roast themselves."
Lursac turned towards Father Ravennes.
"What do you think of it?"
The missionary nodded his head thoughtfully.
"I am afraid that they are seriously ill. These feeble constitutions of
theirs, ready to contract any disease, always take the fever badly and
with distressing violence. I would rather they had got something else.
Quinine does not act on them, and in any case, they need, in order
to fight the disease, an energy and a moral force which they do not
possess."
Pierre asked:
"Then you think that the best thing we can do is to leave them behind?"
"I am sure that it would be dangerous to encumber ourselves with
sick men. From the minute we enter the forest our approach will be
signalled. It's no good deceiving ourselves. A body of men like this
cannot march unseen. From that moment our principal chance of success
will lie in the swiftness of our march. We must get up there as quickly
as possible."
Pierre assented with a nod. He signed to the headman.
"You will pick out two men from the less serviceable ones and at
sunrise they are to start back and return to the Post with the four
invalids."
He rapidly scratched a few words in his notebook, tore out the page and
handed it to the headman.
"Here are their marching orders. We will give them six days' rations
of rice and dried fish. The sick men are to keep their muskets and
thirty cartridges each. The two men of the escort will take fifty each.
The ammunition which they leave behind is to be distributed among the
remaining riflemen. That's one thing settled. Have you anything else to
tell me?"
"Nothing, sahib."
"Good. Start at the same hour tomorrow. That's all. You can return to
the camp."
The man bowed.
"I salute you, sahib."
"I salute you, Ket-Noi."
With a bitter smile on his lips Pierre turned to Father Ravennes.
"Six men less," said he, "and we have not yet even entered the forest!"
The missionary made a soothing movement.
"What matter? Six men more or less! The important thing is that our
troop, however much it may be reduced, should continue a solid,
homogeneous force, well in hand. These days of march across the
Waterless Country have naturally provided a sort of preliminary
trial,--the first selective process, of distinct value. The mountain is
probably keeping for us a second and more difficult one. I am afraid
of it, because it is a moral one. From tomorrow it will not be only
fatigue, fever, bad weather and privation that the men must face; there
will be something else."
He was silent. Motionless in the middle of the opening of the tent he
turned his eyes towards the confused huddle of the Moï mountains of
which the vague cloudy masses under the tender sky made one think of
some slowly passing troop of animals monotonously heading towards the
north.
Lursac, standing beside him, followed his look. The priest finished his
thought:
"There will be also, and above all, fear," he murmured.
Pierre remained silent.
The warm dark came; and the quiet brought to their ears the sound of
talking among the native soldiers camping by the bed of the dried-up
torrent and the stamping of elephants in the swamp, the guttural calls
of the mahouts and even the crackling of the fires.
Above the hillocks the rushing flight of a night-bird passed, faded
into the distance, and came back with beating wings, and at the sound
of its flight which seemed to fill the night with invisible rustlings,
the image of Wanda arose and filled all the dark spaces about him.
* * * * *
"Lursac, come and look at this...."
Pierre, who was prone before the fire, towards which he was stretching
his hands, got up and went over to Father Ravennes. Kneeling down, with
his body bent over the black, leaf-covered earth, the missionary looked
thoughtfully at an object which it was difficult to distinguish clearly.
"What is it?" asked Lursac.
The priest raised his head: there was a strange ring in his voice.
"Here, look what I have just found under this thin coating of leaves."
He stretched out to him over his shoulder a sort of hammer made of
stone set in the end of a forked branch. The young man threw a rapid
glance over the weapon. It seemed to him clumsy, commonplace and of no
particular interest.
"A skull-smasher left by some Moï?" said he.
The missionary continued to look thoughtful.
"Have you ever before seen any instrument of theirs like this?" he
asked. "I am well acquainted with most of the savage tribes of this
region. They are all armed with the lance, the crossbow, the curved
sword, and sometimes with a little iron hatchet with two cutting edges,
but never yet have I found among them a weapon in any way resembling
this...."
He returned to his place before the fire. He continued to examine the
primitive instrument, turning it about between his hands.
"No," said he, "this is certainly an axe belonging to prehistoric
times. Observe the oval shape of the flint, flattened on the two
sides and shaped by hand over its entire circumference. But there
is something even more strange about this simple stone. Look at it
carefully. Don't you notice anything?"
"No," said Pierre absent-mindedly, "and I fail to understand your
surprise. Have you not already picked up more than thirty of the same
kind? As for me, I see no difference whatever between this hatchet and
all those I have already examined in your cabin."
The priest said slowly:
"The fact is that you do not know how to see."
He held the flint close to the fire. On the regularity of its facets
the flame was reflected in small, sharp patches of light.
"Look at these flakings still fresh from the cutting! That is what is
the peculiar thing about it. It's that that bewilders me and astounds
me. If I could trust to appearances I would swear that this weapon,
which all my anthropological knowledge tells me must be not less than
30,000 years old, has been cut by the maker within a few months. If
I were in Europe I should not hesitate to assert positively that the
thing was a fake, and that it came from one of these factories of
'prehistoric' arms that exist wherever the scientists dig for real
ones."
Pierre smiled in amusement.
"Ah!" said he, "and sometimes they do manage to humbug the
palæontologists."
The missionary quickly protested:
"Not now, but when the science was in its infancy, it was a trade that
often proved lucrative; but to imagine that here in the depths of
the Moï country there could be an industry of that sort would be too
preposterous!... However ..."
He stopped and looked the weapon over once more with the greatest care.
"However, I am not dreaming. This dull look is too characteristic for
me to be deceived about it. These are fresh fractures. The perfect
state of preservation of the stone itself signifies nothing, I know;
but the absence of patina,[11] of dentrites,[12] and of coloration on
this flint--how will you explain that? This is indeed one of the most
extraordinary problems that I have ever encountered since I have been
interested in prehistoric remains."
[Footnote 11: A greenish gray discoloration which occurs on ancient
bronzes and other worked articles.]
[Footnote 12: Faint branching marks, which occur on flints which have
been worked by men of prehistoric times. These designs are due to the
long-continued oxidisation of the iron and manganese in the stone.]
"Bah!" said Pierre, "a Moï may have found the weapon in a hollow in
some ravine and used it himself and made these new fractures that seem
so strange to you."
Father Ravennes made a sign of incredulity.
"Yes," said he, "I thought of that. That explanation would be likely
enough if this find were my only one; but in the two days that we have
been in the forest this is the eleventh discovery that I have made.
Yesterday four scratching pins and two other hatchets; today, two
knives, two scrapers, and now this hatchet.... And every one of these
instruments without exception offers the same appearance of newness and
the same recent fractures. No, believe me, Lursac, this is one more
mystery added to the other, to the great secret towards the discovery
of which we are marching."
He remained thoughtful. The flame of the camp-fire flickered in his
pale pupils. He had a peculiar expression in his eyes.
"At least," said he, "there may be one single mystery, and this,
perhaps, is just one of its elements, one of its unforeseen aspects."
Pierre looked him up and down sharply.
"What do you mean?" he asked. "You seem to have thought of something!"
The missionary avoided the pointed enquiry of his eyes.
"Nothing," said he evasively, "I am groping my way. Amid the darkness
which surrounds me I seem sometimes to find a ray of light. It
appears suddenly, flickers, flees and disappears. A light ... I am
searching...."
He thought for a minute and then continued:
"I say to myself that in the heart of this Moï country, whose people
still live a life which is animal and primitive, an existence very
similar to that which the men of the first days of life on the earth
must have lived, there lies a great temple without doubt several
centuries old. How and by whom was this temple built? That is the
first question. In this sanctuary mysterious divinities reign--the
Red Gods--of whom an image in purple metal, probably copper, is
enthroned in the centre of the main hall. But these gods themselves,
what are they? That is the second question. Sometimes the people call
them the Living Gods. Do you remember Hmon's story? What then? Are
they Lamas, living Buddhas, similar to those who reign on the lofty
plateaus of Thibet? There would be nothing impossible in the thing,
nothing unlikely. And the sect that worships them? To what faith do
they belong? Buddhism, Taoism, Brahmanism, or just fetichism? Finally,
why is the matter wrapped about with secrecy so impenetrable and so
fiercely protected? The natives must know that their religion, whatever
it is, has nothing to fear from French rule. The pagodas and bonzes of
Annam, Tonkin, of Cochin-China and Cambodia are there to bear witness
to that! What then?... No! there is evidently behind all that, behind
and beyond it, something or somebody: a secret association, or a
mysterious personage, of which this temple is the dwelling place. The
religious question is only the camouflage that the sorceresses keep up
carefully, and which they use to hide this reality of which I have long
suspected the existence without ever having been able to discover in
what it consists. Hmon only told us the least important part of it ...
and I am searching...."
Pierre shrugged his shoulders.
"What is the good of imagining all these worries? In three days we
shall be up there and we shall know with what we have to deal. As for
these weapons, the reason for their presence here is probably much
simpler and much less romantic than you think. Prehistoric man probably
had one of his first dwelling places on these plateaus. Didn't you tell
me so yourself? The Moïs must have found some of the caves which these
prehistoric men used to occupy, and in the caves these remains which
they left lying about throughout the region. What worries me much more
than that is the behaviour of our men and of our beasts."
The missionary made no answer. He seemed to accept Pierre's explanation
but his eyes retained their expression at once thoughtful and anxious.
In any case, the last remark of the young man had brought up other
matters for concern.
* * * * *
The night before, they had plunged into the maze of the mountain
masses. The sudden change of direction, which had been ordered at
dawn of the fourth day, had obviously provoked among the men of the
escort an anxious disquiet, a sort of vague uneasiness. Nevertheless,
the roughness with which Pierre had imposed his will upon them seemed
to have dominated them. The mahouts on their heavily swaying beasts
had followed the guides, but their eyes remained glued to the forest
of which the details slowly came nearer and grew clearer. The native
soldiers behind them walked without speaking to each other, and the
caravan went forward in the midst of a troubled silence in which
nothing was heard but the dull trampling of the elephants. Little by
little the scenery changed. To the sandy desert had succeeded the
dazzling monotony of a grassy plain which in turn gave way to the
first slopes of the mountain range carpeted by the bamboo-grass of
the forest clearings, with slender shrubs and the _Irui_, whose long,
pointed purple buds stretched themselves skyward like solid flames.
Here and there stagnant creeks lay across their path, green and slimy,
attracting the elephants so that the mahouts had to stab their ears
with heavy ankus blows to prevent them rolling in the sticky blackish
hollows encircled by thorny, twisted and misshapen trees. Then the
mountain, heaving up its giant flanks, had barred the way of the
expedition with its steep declivities. Immediately difficulties had
arisen. Among the tangled confusion of twisted trunks, of creepers,
of cane-palms, of pandanus trees and of interlacing undergrowth, the
riflemen, axe in hand, had had to cut a way for the beasts. The ground,
covered with a heavy carpet of sodden leaves, sweated a perpetual
moisture; and wherever they trod the decay from the rotting masses of
vegetation underneath burst upwards in black bubbles.
From the piled débris covering the path hungry leeches, the innumerable
red leeches of the Moï forests, swarmed in their turn, crawling to
attack the men. They tore them off as they walked, but the first
evening, just before camp had been made, three of the men, with their
legs streaked with long trickles of blood and covered with wounds, the
muscles swollen and stiff, had rolled over groaning. Dull and resigned,
their faces drawn with pain, they had seated themselves on the trunk of
an uprooted tree where they shook their naked feet mottled with bloody
spots to which clung new leeches, avid and persistent. It had been
necessary to dress their wounds and to help them to walk to the camp.
And next morning, before continuing the march, Pierre found himself
obliged to send them back. Worse than that, the elephants, worn with
exertion, weary from having hauled their great weight up slopes of
hills and ravines and furiously shaking their great ears all bloody
from the recent stabs of the ankuses, had shown throughout the day
signs of growing terror.
* * * * *
And now, before the camp-fires the mahouts were on guard. They had
doubled the chains that secured their beasts, as at night, even more
than during the day, the thick brains of the pachyderms seemed to swarm
with obscure thoughts of rebellion and angry confusion.
Around his picket Bookobomo-of-the-Forest, the leader of the elephant
file, could be heard stamping heavily. He was an enormous male recently
captured on the high Boloven plateaus. He had retained a lively
remembrance of the noises of the forest and the mountain passes; and
when, during the afternoon, he had crossed the track of a herd of wild
elephants and stopped long to sniff at it, for a long time after he had
trumpeted deafeningly and savagely towards the depths of the woods,--a
trumpeting in which vibrated unaccustomed tones and through which
seemed to sweep the rude breath of the wind bending the great grasses
in which, a few months before, he had lived his wild free life. The
other beasts of the convoy--the females--were under the influence of
his force and ascendancy. Slow and docile they had followed him on the
march.
Hearing the hammer blows of his stamping, Pierre became anxious.
He repeated with seriousness:
"Yes, what worries me is the behavior of the men, and even more so that
of the beasts...."
He looked around him. Grouped before a large camp-fire which the two
guides in turn attended to, the riflemen lay wrapped in a heavy sleep
broken by nervous movements.
The voices of the mahouts, camped with their elephants near a swamp at
some little distance, came to him through the curtain of the trees.
The atmosphere, cold and heavy, shed its damp in a thin steam, and an
inexpressible weight seemed to bear down upon the forest. Giving way
to the universal torpor which the night distilled around him, Pierre
stretched himself and yawned, then remembering Wanda he rose to his
feet. With his eyes set in an expression of stern determination, and
shaking off his premonition of failure, he stiffened his will and
stilled his doubts with an energetic affirmation:
"I will get there, with or without them--alone, if necessary."
Roughly, almost violently, he repeated it looking at the missionary:
"I will get there ... I will get there...."
But the forest, drowned in darkness, seemed to stifle his voice; and
the priest, deeply absorbed in his own thoughts, said nothing.
CHAPTER XV
DEEPENING MYSTERY
"_Bay chon?_"
"_Breil koil toxo!_"[13]
[Footnote 13: What is it?
They have gone, they have fled!]
The cries of the two guides rose followed by a string of oaths.
Awakened with a start, Pierre looked around him. Lying on his back,
with his hands crossed over his chest, Father Ravennes still slept.
His face even in his sleep wore an air of serenity and kindness which
struck the young man afresh. Around them was beginning to float a
grayish clearness.
The voices of the Moïs came nearer and louder, and the flap of the
tent, pulled violently aside, gave entrance to the men. With their
lances in their hands they burst in, shouting and gesticulating.
Instinctively Pierre stretched out his hand and seized the revolver
which lay beside him in its holster.
Jumping to his feet with a single spring, the missionary broke in:
"What's happening?"
The guides both together cried out:
"They've gone, all of them ... all of them ... while we were asleep!"
They stammered: their eyes were dazed and their movements jerky.
Lursac looked at them without understanding. He imagined they were
drunk.
"Gone, where? Of whom are you speaking?"
Ngur swore:
"The _linhs_, those sons of dogs.... Gone, run off! I told you, sahib!
It would have been better to tell them. We should have known at once
what to expect...."
Pierre no longer listened. He had gone suddenly pale and then a wave
of red surged into his face. He elbowed the two men aside and rushed
out. Father Ravennes hurried at his back. In the middle of the glade
they stopped. The camp-fires were going out. Among the warm ashes a few
live coals still glowed. Here and there lying on the ground abandoned
haversacks still showed the marks of the heads which had lain on them
during the night. Around lay packets of cartridges.
His teeth clenched in fury, Pierre mechanically counted some twenty of
them.
"The brutes! ..." he groaned. "The brutes!..."
He turned toward the guides.
"But what on earth came over them? Last night when the headman made his
report we guessed nothing, suspected nothing. There was not a sign that
could lead us to think of a desertion. When did you become aware that
they had disappeared?"
Ngur answered:
"Just a few minutes ago. We were sleeping in the middle of them. Pâa
was lying by the headman's side. Waking up, we were surprised not to
see any of them ... and then finding _this_ close by our faces we
understood!"
And with the point of his lance he pushed two bunches of half-burnt
roots.
Father Ravennes bent over quickly to look at them.
"Ah!" said he, rising again, "_koh-heun-kauang_, the smoke of which
intoxicates and stupefies. They made sure of the silence of our guides
by burning this stuff under their noses during the night. They must be
a long way off by now!"
He turned to question the guides.
"How long ago did they start, do you think?"
The two men looked carefully at the half-dead fires and the abandoned
haversacks.
"See for yourself, Father. The sacks are damp, but rain has not fallen
since the second watch, the mahouts tell us, therefore, they must have
started before it stopped."
Pierre gave a start. He turned abruptly on his heel.
"The elephants? The elephants?"
And running, he reached the swamp ringed about with trees and thick
undergrowth, on the edge of which the mahouts had made their camp.
Sunk to their knees in the blackish water of the creek, the beasts were
squirting their muddy sides with great jets from their bent trunks.
Seated beside the saddles on the ground the mahouts were talking among
themselves.
Pierre experienced a profound relief, and he slackened his pace
and entered the group of La-oese who had risen respectfully at his
approach. Standing among them he examined their faces. He scrutinized
their eyes with a quick look. He found them emotionless and passive,
awaiting his instructions, and the sight of their indifference brought
back to him his own self-control.
He said nothing to them about the desertion of the riflemen. Quietly
lighting a cigarette he gave the order to load the elephants. Then
he went back towards the clearing. His mind upset for an instant had
recovered its equilibrium. His decision was made: the march must
continue.
He found the missionary at the place where he had left him several
minutes before, still arguing with the guides. He avoided the glance
with which the priest acknowledged his return and addressed himself to
Ngur and Pâa:
"Go and help the mahouts. We will start as soon as they are ready."
The two men showed no signs of surprise or of wishing to dispute the
order. They assented:
"Very well, sahib"; and without a word set off at their habitual easy
gait.
Roughly, with the object of impressing his will and cutting short all
arguments, Lursac said:
"It is too late to go back. If we tried to catch up with the riflemen,
what would be the good? First of all we should probably be unable
to catch them; and then, secondly, supposing we did get them and
bring them back, we should only have lagging behind us a body of men
prostrated with terror, a mob of cowards, who at the first occasion
would desert us afresh."
He stopped, awaiting a reply. The missionary remained silent: with a
rather sad smile upon his lips he contented himself with listening
attentively to the young man.
"And anyway," continued Pierre, "the elephants with their mahouts
remain to us; the guides also. They are the ones that are really
necessary. Once we have arrived at the top I shall consider, I shall
make a plan which afterwards I can modify according to circumstances."
He intentionally left the missionary out in explaining his project.
The words that he had spoken the evening before came back to his lips
instinctively and once more he spoke them to alleviate his distress:
"I will get there ... alone if necessary.... I will get there!... I
will get there!"
Abruptly he fell silent. His eyes met those of the priest, and before
the latter's meaning glance, his long look charged with reproach, he
hung his head. He was ashamed of having doubted him, of having tried
to impose his own authority upon him. The missionary, however, did not
seem to notice: he said simply:
"I shall go on with you, if you will let me."
But the smile with which he accompanied the words was sadder and graver
than ever.
* * * * *
Towards night they came to the bank of a river, before which Bookobomo
stopped distrustfully. Behind him the other elephants stood motionless
in file. The rain had begun to fall again. Under the flood which
drenched them and made them shiver, the men, chilled and covered with
sticky mud, looked down at the gray waters of the river which the
downpour seemed to riddle with innumerable perforations.
Above the rift, which the course of the waters had notched in the
forest, hung a lane of gray sky marbled with heavy, round clouds that
lay dark and motionless. The five mahouts who had swarmed down from the
necks of their beasts were grouped round the great male whose driver
was the only one remaining at his post. Crouched over the bony head of
his beast, the man talked to his mount while he stroked its wrinkled
neck and encouraged it. Slowly swinging his trunk, Bookobomo began to
go forward, descending the bank and stepping cautiously into the water.
The current slid between his great pillar-like legs, rose to his knees,
then to his stomach, washed his wrinkled sides, rose yet further and
continued to rise....
Then with a sudden turn, Bookobomo flung himself backwards, stumbled
out of the water and with his feet driven into the mud of the bank he
defied all attempts to move him. Around him the cries of the mahouts
and the guide broke out, mixed with insults and entreaties. Armed with
sticks they tried to make him turn round and face the water again.
Persisting in his resistance, Bookobomo trumpeted but refused to stir.
The men on all sides began beating him. A fit of rage seized the
pachyderm. He tried to get rid of the man crouching on his back. He
scraped himself against the trunk of a mangrove and then lay suddenly
down on his side, but the Lao-ese, who had drawn back to the rear end
of the beast, outside the range of his trunk, continued to beat him
on the head with his ankus.... Supported by one hand caught in the
ropes of bamboo which secured the pack-saddle he tirelessly raised and
let fall on the head of the beast the heavy pole of wood shod with an
iron point, until the blood squirted from the neck and forehead and
ran down in rivulets along the brown skin. Getting up and shaking his
massive body violently, with his trunk rolled backwards in its fighting
position and his head held high, Bookobomo trumpeted afresh. Then with
a dash he flung himself into the current and swam furiously. Reaching
the other bank he climbed it and turned his great head towards his
companions who remained on the other side, and again the call of his
trumpeting broke out savagely, sounding rebellion and defiance. On
the edge he had just left, the trumpeting of the females rang out in
response.
The guides standing beside Pierre and the missionary exchanged an
anxious glance which Father Ravennes caught.
"What is worrying you?" he asked.
Ngur pointed at the five females who were getting ready to cross the
creek.
"They are calling too loud," said he, "and he," pointing at Bookobomo,
"since he got into the forest is thinking too much of the mountains of
the Bolovens where he used to live in freedom. We shall have to watch
them tonight."
"Yes," Pâa said in his turn, "the elephant which cries in the forest is
on his way to becoming wild again."
"The advice is good," said Pierre. "We will watch them."
* * * * *
When the four men in their turn reached the other bank, the night
was already falling. A flurrying wind blowing the rain before it in
slanting torrents invaded the forest, making the trees groan beneath it.
Camping on the threshold of the wood, a quarter of a mile beyond the
creek, the men made their meagre meal. The elephants, attached by their
hind feet to the trunks of trees, pulled down the branches above them
and ate the leaves slowly. From time to time they stopped, and with
waving trunks and pricked-up ears seemed to be listening to the voice
of the wind as it sang through the aisles of the forest. Gathered
together round a single fire the two guides and the mahouts warmed
themselves. One of them recited aloud an adventure at once puerile and
complicated, a story of love and terror in which the embraces of a
Pou-Sao[14] rewarded the fabulous exploits of a buffalo-hunter. And the
others, like children, listened intently.
[Footnote 14: A Cambodian girl.]
In the middle, rolled up in their cloaks and lying side by side, Lursac
and Father Ravennes talked in low voices.
"Tomorrow?" asked Pierre. "Shall we get there tomorrow?"
His voice trembled.
"I think so," said the missionary, "we are not more than five hours'
march from the Pou-Kas. Five hours ... four, perhaps! And we will allow
as much more for the finding of the mysterious entrance to the temple
which we none of us know...."
He hesitated for a moment, and then in his turn asked the question:
"What do you think?"
Pierre signified doubt by a vague movement.
"I know nothing about it," said he. "The desertion of the riflemen has
upset all my plans. We can no longer hope to rescue Wanda from them by
force."
He turned suddenly to the priest.
"Do you know how much we have got left in the way of arms and
ammunition? My service revolver and a dozen cartridges which I had on
me! All the rest was carried off by the riflemen! Ah! the brutes! If
they only had left us even two rifles, one each...."
The priest looked at him with his kind eyes.
"Only one of them would have been used," said he gently. "God alone,
who gives life to men, has the right to take it away from them. I have
no right to kill. My only hope...."
He interrupted himself and smiled.
"I beg your pardon," said he. "It seems as if I were preaching a sermon
and this is not the time, and still less is it the place. I will come
back to my question: What will you do when you reach there?"
Pierre looked vaguely in front of him. His thoughts had gone back in
search of a memory and were already in the past. He swiftly lived over
again his declaration to Wanda in the forest; the feel of the kiss
that she had given him--of the only kiss that he had ever had from
her,--came again to his lips. With a slight tightening at the corners
of his mouth and his eyelids beating rapidly he closed his eyes.
"We will hide somewhere near the temple and wait for an opportunity
to get inside," said he. "We shall have to make use of patience
and subtlety. We must remain invisible and watch the goings-in and
comings-out. The whole thing will be to see the most favorable moment
and be quick to use it."
The missionary approved.
"That is the wisest plan, and the one which I had myself thought best
from the beginning; but is also the one which will demand calm heads
and the power of waiting passively. The least imprudence, the first
too-hasty movement, will deprive us of any chance of success. We must
succeed at the first attempt...."
"Have no fear," said Pierre, "I will wait as long as necessary, and I
will not act except on a certainty. For the rest...."
The trumpeting of the elephants interrupted him. Straining hard at
their bonds they had all together flung a sudden loud call into the
night. The mahouts and the guides, suddenly ceasing their talk,
nervously watched the brutes who were snorting and restlessly moving
about. They had stopped eating. With their heads turned towards the
depths of the forest they seemed to be listening to mysterious voices
which were inaudible to the ears of man.
Ngur murmured:
"They are calling...."
But one of the mahouts, shaking his head, corrected him:
"No ... worse than that.... They are answering! Listen!"
They all remained intensely on the alert. Having thrown aside their
cloaks, Lursac and Father Ravennes sat up. With their eyes, like the
others', instinctively fixed on the sombre masses of the woods, they
listened absorbedly.
Confused noises far in the distance came to them, so vague that they
could not define them. Then they grew louder and more definite. It
sounded like the trampling of a great herd of animals on the march
through the underbrush. It came nearer and nearer, until it was
apparently opposite them: they could hear the heavy thuds of feet mixed
with the crashing of the torn-up bushes and the breaking of trees and
smashing of branches. It stopped. There was a short silence: then the
noise began again, diminished, turned to the right, went behind them,
then to the left and finally was heard once more opposite, having made
a great circle about the camp, with the caravan as its centre.
Wrapping his trunk round the _klong_-tree to which he was tied, and
leaning his whole weight against it, Bookobomo shook it in a desperate
effort to uproot it. The top of the tree waved violently, scraping the
trees around it with its branches. However, it stood firm. The elephant
became enraged and pulled still harder. The slim, straight tree-trunk
trembled: around the roots cracks came in the soil and Bookobomo roared
in a voice vibrating with triumph, while, following him, the females
in their turn trumpeted into the shadows. Again there fell a silence.
Then suddenly in the distance a great call rose up to the sky and tore
through the night, a strange call which resembled the trumpeting of
the elephants but which was somehow different, more sonorous, and with
sharper inflections, wilder and stronger.
Father Ravennes shivered. He had that strange look on his face which
Pierre had noticed two days earlier.
"Extraordinary," he murmured. "I must clear this up!"
He had already risen to his feet, but Ngur stepped in front of him.
"No, Father, it will be better for you to stay here because of those
people." Indicating the mahouts with a movement of his chin, he added:
"I will go myself."
The missionary was on the point of protesting, but at this moment the
mahouts, jumping up in excitement, shouted:
"Torches! Quick ... quick!..."
And at the same time with flaming firebrands in their hands they flung
themselves at their beasts, making a circle of flame about them. Lursac
and the priest took part in it. They all ran round and round the
elephants, shouting and waving their torches and striking the elephants
with heavy blows from their ankuses.
For over an hour the pachyderms turned and circled round the trees to
which they were attached, rocked from foot to foot, reared up on their
hind legs and made desperate efforts to get loose. Finally, however,
blinded by the torches, in agony from the ankus blows, their excitement
diminished and they stood sulkily by their trees, stilled and conquered.
Meanwhile, about them the disturbance of the mysterious herd that had
been prowling there, became more distant and gradually quieted down,
seeming to make its way towards the north from which it had come.
"A herd of wild elephants who were coming down to drink at the river,"
said Pierre, "our presence must have...."
But the return of Ngur cut short his explanation. At the sight of the
face of the usually impassive Moï, now transfigured with emotion and
completely changed in this short time, he lapsed into silence.
The man stood apart and called to Father Ravennes with a gesture.
The missionary took Pierre's arm.
"Come," said he.
Throwing down their torches, they went to speak to Ngur.
"Well," asked the priest, "what is the matter?"
Wiping his face, down which the rain was streaming, with the back of
his hand, the guide said:
"I saw them. They were elephants, but of a kind I do not know and which
I have never met before."
Eagerly the missionary questioned him:
"What were they like?"
The man spread his arms wide.
"The one which passed in front of me," said he, "was, perhaps, twice as
big and twice as heavy as Bookobomo, with its body covered with hair
and a long head."
"And its tusks? Its tusks?" demanded the missionary.
The hoarseness and jerkiness of his voice astounded Lursac.
"I did not have the time to see properly. He charged through the
undergrowth and passed ahead of me, going very fast. Perhaps the tusks
were broken. Further away I saw other great male elephants running in
file."
The missionary remained a moment without speaking, listening to the
sound of the rain falling through the forest.
"They are a long way off now," he murmured.
His words seemed to carry a feeling of regret which he immediately
admitted:
"Ah! if I had been there myself! You are sure that they had their
bodies covered with hair?"
"Sure, Father! Long hair, which came down to the bottom of their legs
and made a sort of mane round their necks."
The missionary's face lit up and became eager. He seemed to have
forgotten the guide and Lursac.
With his head hung forward, he stared a moment absorbedly in thought.
Then slowly in a changed voice he murmured:
"Long hair, which comes to the bottom of their legs and lies in a mane
along their backs. Can it possibly be that what I saw three days ago is
true? After all, why not? All the same it would be terrible if--....
No, it is impossible and beyond all reason. It is no good my
looking ... there isn't a link missing in the chain that I have
followed, in the chain that has led me to this conclusion. Nothing!...
But what then?..."
Pierre, astounded, heard him give a loud laugh, bitter and strange,
which the scene about them made yet stranger....
CHAPTER XVI
NEAR THE END OF THE JOURNEY
The dawn found them once more on the march. The rain still fell, fine
and persistent. Its pattering had now become familiar music to them. It
formed the setting of their words and of their movements, and they had
become so thoroughly accustomed to the vast sound of splashing by which
they were surrounded that they no longer noticed it. The rest of the
night had been spent in watching the elephants and keeping guard over
their still dangerous excitement. Only the missionary, quite careless
of the general anxiety, had remained apart from the others with his
back against a tree, taking no notice of the rain which poured over
him, turning over in his mind thoughts for which he had no words and
the hidden current of which left his face drawn and his eyes filled
with shadows.
Now, lost in his meditations, he walked at the tail of the procession.
Pierre, tired of his silence, had gone on to join the two guides. The
elephants advanced rapidly. The soil, now spotted with patches of
moss, gave better footing for their heavy steps. The last slope of the
towering mountain whose successive heights they had climbed during the
last few days offered itself to their advance in a gentle declivity,
which they were ascending with comparative ease. Towards the middle
of the day they reached the last height. Before them, surrounded by
the forest which reached halfway up its sides, the very crest of the
mountain stood naked, rising out of a billowing sea of giant grasses.
Pierre gave a deep sigh. Here, this very ground on which he was
treading, was the extreme summit of the "Moï Country": this hill, of
which the caravan was already beginning to descend the reverse, was the
roof of the whole of Indo-China. He forgot his fatigue, his suffering,
his disappointments. Around him lay unrolled on every side the country
which no one had yet reached, the immense territory into which no
European, up to that moment, had succeeded in penetrating. The spirit
of the great explorers inspired him for a moment--their soul and their
keen pride of achievement.... Towards the south and the east, violet,
blue and gray, crests of all shapes and sizes--rounded, domed and
pointed--one behind the other spread away in ranks like the steps of a
great staircase marking the stages of the route which they had followed.
The glance of the young man then turned towards the west. The mountain
on which he was standing culminated in a short, steep slope, from the
foot of which, level and boundless and clad in its thick mantle of
trees, the plateau of the Pou-Kas stretched to the horizon, the plateau
on the other edge of which, facing the south, stood the temple of the
"Red Gods." At the same time his mood of exaltation suddenly fell away
from him. The totally unexpected contour of the ground near at hand
became clear to him. A sort of natural fault in the rock, about a mile
and a half wide, crossed it, encircling it, as it were, with a deep
gulf which stretched to the very edge of the forest. He calculated
that in order to reach the western side of the plateau on which the
sanctuary was built it would be necessary to follow the edge of this
crevasse for a distance of at least thirty miles.
"Two more days' march at least," he thought aloud.
The voice of the missionary, answering him unexpectedly, made him start.
"Perhaps!" he said; "but on the other hand, perhaps we have already
arrived."
Pierre turned quickly and saw the priest standing behind him. His arms
crossed on his breast, his head bare, regardless of the rain which was
whipping his face and moulding his tunic to his body, he was looking at
the strange valley that lay before him.
"I don't understand you," said Lursac. "It will be absolutely necessary
to go round this crevasse."
The missionary looked as if he didn't hear him. He followed out his own
thoughts.
"Notice," said he, continuing to gaze before him, "the direction of
this gulf. It runs parallel to the edge of the plateau. Notice also
how the cliff on the further side which faces us comes in places quite
close to this edge."
"Yes," said Pierre, "there only seems to be a space of about half a
mile between them just here."
"Good! Well, now remember what Hmon told us--'before us a subterranean
passage descended and turned downwards. Walls trickling with moisture
were lighted up from time to time....' Among many others, these phrases
struck me. They came to my mind immediately when I saw this great
canyon in the rocks. Have they no meaning for you? Doesn't that suggest
an idea to you--the same one which has just crossed my own mind?"
"Ah!" cried Pierre, "the other entrance to the sanctuary, which no one
knows, but which, however, must exist?"
The priest nodded his head.
"Go on," said he, "finish your thought; this entrance?..."
"You believe that it is to be found at the bottom of this crevasse?"
"The more I think of it the more the thing seems likely. Anyway, it is
quite easy to make sure of it. We can wait till evening on the edge of
this canyon; spend the night in it and tomorrow...."
"Tomorrow," murmured Pierre, "always tomorrow!"
And he began to descend the slope of the mountain. A cry from Father
Ravennes stopped him halfway. He turned round so quickly and with such
anxiety that he was astonished at himself.
At the same time he called:
"Ravennes! Ravennes!"
The sound of his own voice, changed by emotion, seemed strange to him,
and he suddenly understood the quality and force of the affection which
bound him to his companion.
The priest at this moment appeared running towards him.
"Ah!" said Pierre, "how you frightened me. What's the matter?"
The missionary, taking him by the arm, pulled him in the direction of
the plain.
"Come," said he, "come!"
And as they went together he explained:
"It seemed to me from up there that I could see ... but I thought I
must be mistaken. Here ... look ... yes ... at the angle of the glade
down there, on the left, just where the level ground begins."
Pierre bent over and examined the glade which a single unexpected ray
of watery sunshine clothed in a veil of gold; it seemed to him to be
empty and dominated by the top of an enormous mango-tree which stood in
its centre.
They continued their descent. The top of the giant tree, making a
motionless patch of darkness in the midst of the packed undergrowth
served them as a goal. When they got to the level they did not even
need its aid. Through the high grass a sort of track was visible. They
followed it. Before them, describing great circles in the transparent
sky three tawny eagles sailed with long metallic cries, encircling the
leafy summit of the mango-tree in their flight.
The missionary began to hurry, almost running. When he arrived in front
of the glade he had to stop, gasping for breath. He was trembling with
exhaustion and emotion. The beating of his heart shook his entire
body and hammered in his temples. Supporting himself against a tree
he looked over the clearing. It was long and narrow, and surrounded
with thorny undergrowth. In the centre the gigantic mango-tree soared
aloft, casting all around a heavy shadow from its leafy branches about
which the three eagles still turned slowly in wide circles. Everything
was silent and still. The ray of sunshine having passed on, the whole
place was clothed in shadow except that just behind the tree a single
luminous spot remained.
Walking towards it, the missionary murmured:
"It is there."
Then he was silent.
In the middle of a splash of gold which the sunlight made on the earth
and which was getting smaller minute by minute a large hole in the
ground had just become visible to him, with a thin covering of branches
and grass which lay gaping open, as though torn by some shock.
Pierre, who had caught him up, thought he understood what it meant.
"An elephant trap!"
At the same time seeing a ragged tunic lying on the ground close to the
hole, he cried:
"Ravennes ... there.... Look!"
The missionary made no answer.
Kneeling on the edge of the pit he was separating the branches and
pulling the covering of grass away, bending over to see better.
Suddenly he flung himself back, his face as white as a sheet.
Pierre, bending down, in his turn, looked also.
He saw an excavation which seemed several yards deep, with sharpened
stakes sticking upwards from the bottom. Caught on one of them lay a
white man. Below him on the ground lay spread the bones of a skeleton
still decorated with rags of clothes.
The priest gave a hoarse sigh:
"Redeski!"
Clinging to the wall of the trap he climbed down into it. The officer's
body was hanging from a stake; the sharpened point of the picket had
pierced his side and was sticking out through the abdomen. On the other
side the head dangled down, the hair falling loose. In the waxen face
the mouth hung open with a red froth around it, while on the shirt
above the heart there spread a large purple patch which looked like the
blood-colored flower of the flame-tree.
Down the haft of the spike the blood had flowed slowly and dried in a
black stream.
Father Ravennes lifted the pallid head and looked at the blue eyes half
open in death. A vast sadness oppressed him.
"The poor boy!" he said, "the poor boy! They got rid of him by flinging
him there...."
He gently wiped the red slime from the lips, and slowly and tenderly,
shaken by heavy shudders, he lifted the body with its horrible ragged
wound off the spike.
Stretched out on the ground on his back with his arms wide open the
young officer seemed thin and very tall. His face, although drawn with
terrible suffering, still seemed to bear a strange expression of calm
and strength.
Father Ravennes bowed himself in prayer.
"O God," said he, "receive him in thy divine mercy. We lived three
months together and I found him upright, ardent and young: his soul was
that of a man. O God, accept him!"
Then taking the body in his arms he lifted it out of the pit to Pierre,
who took it. Between them, without speaking and as quickly as possible,
they managed to dig a grave in the shadow of the mango-tree. When the
simple burial was over, they stood up and looked at each other. Pierre,
pale and with his fists clenched, murmured:
"It is only a few days since they killed him, isn't it? Ah! the
savages!..."
The missionary, however, had not heard him. Having gone back to the
edge of the pit and bending over, he was looking down into it at the
skeleton which lay there. One of the rags of cloth hanging to it still
bore a metal button. Seeing it, he murmured:
"A strip from a tunic. The remains of another white man for certain."
He stayed there for a long time wrapped in thought; and when he got up
and looked for Pierre, he found that the young man had started back
towards the caravan. The priest sighed, and then heavily, with bent
shoulders, he in his turn followed towards the plain and rejoined his
companion, while above the mango-tree the three eagles resumed their
circling flight, with their stretched-out wings flashing red in the
light of the setting sun.
* * * * *
They had been back in the shelter of the forest for some time now. The
rain, so fine that it seemed to float softly like a watery dust rather
than fall, mingled under the trees with the mist which rose from the
soil to create an atmosphere of damp stagnation. One seemed to breathe
water; and night, which was coming on, darkened the landscape, sucking
the color from everything and turning the surroundings into a dull
uniform sombreness--the end of another gray and sullen day.
And, suddenly, as the darkness fell over the plateau, Pierre ordered
a halt. They had come, without warning, to the edge of the forest: a
narrow belt of ground, about fifty yards across and covered with short
turf, alone separated it from the sunken canyon. In the open the wind
was whipping the plateau and buffeting it with billowing gusts.
While the mahouts and guides were busied about their beasts, Lursac and
the missionary walked forward cautiously. On the lip of the crevasse
they bent over, eagerly plunging their eyes into its depths. But they
saw nothing; for the night had taken possession of the precipice and
had made of it a formless and endless gulf, a gigantic pit brimming
with matted shadows.
They flung themselves down on the ground side by side with their heads
over the edge and listened. No sound came up to them. The missionary
stretched down his arm and fingered the rocky wall below him, feeling
over it carefully: it was hard and cold, cut sheer down through the
rock in a vertical cliff.
For a long time they remained thus, silent and motionless. The rain
whipped their faces and drenched them to the skin; now and again a
short shiver would shake one of them, while the quick beatings of their
hearts resounded dully against the soil and beat like hammers in their
brains.
"Nothing! ..." said Pierre. "Nothing! ... emptiness! ... silence!..."
They were getting ready to rise when the missionary, gripping him
violently by the shoulder, whispered:
"Opposite ... a little to the left ... lights!"
Striking through the darkness two luminous points had just become
visible. They seemed far away, against the opposite side of the
crevasse, and diminished by distance they winked feebly in the middle
of a little yellow halo. Then around them other lights sprang up one by
one. Lursac counted seven altogether.
"The gulf is inhabited," said he. "Without doubt those are the guards
of the entrance."
The missionary gave a silent laugh. His hand on Pierre's shoulder
trembled and tightened.
"It is inhabited," said he; "these lights prove it; but one would think
that they were on the wall itself."
He repeated several times in an absent-minded tone:
"On the wall itself...."
Then he added:
"Caves, doubtless ... perhaps the underground entrances to the
temple ... or perhaps something else!..."
The extraordinary tone of his voice made Pierre shudder, and he was
just about to question him when a thought suddenly flashed through his
mind.
"Our own fires!" he murmured.
And flinging himself backwards he ran as hard as he could towards the
encampment, reaching it just in time to see the first flame spring
up from a pile of leaves and branches around which the mahouts were
crouched. One man bending over the fire was blowing to hasten its
igniting. Pierre with a push shoved him away, and then with great kicks
scattered the brands and beat them out.
"No fires," said he, "do you hear me? None!"
The darkness which had thickened around him prevented him seeing the
men, but the noise of torn branches revealed the neighborhood of the
elephants. He called the guides:
"Ngur and Pâa! Where are you?"
The two Moïs approached.
"Here, sahib!"
Pierre turned to them.
"You know where the bundle of rope is that we brought with us," he
said; "get it, and meet me at the edge of the crevasse. I will wait for
you there with Father Ravennes."
Before starting, he flung another order.
"The mahouts will remain to watch the beasts. I definitely forbid you
to stir from here. Understand that?"
And without waiting for any answer he set off.
He found the missionary at the same spot, where he continued to lie
motionless, taking no notice of the return of his companion. Pierre
seized his arm.
"Come," said he, "we must make up our minds."
The missionary suddenly came out of his trance. He looked about him and
sighed deeply.
"Oh!" said he, "you! I was thinking over some means of getting down
there."
"I only see one," said Pierre. "The cliff goes sheer down. We shall
have to use ropes, so I have ordered the guides to bring them here."
"Will they be long enough? We know nothing of the height of this wall
of rock."
"Well," said Pierre, "I shall go on trying. We have at least two
hundred and fifty yards of rope. If there is any need of it we could
tie the lashings of the elephants' pack-saddles to that. That would
give us another fifty yards. Say a total of three hundred...."
"Yes," said the priest, "that is the best plan; but should we take the
risk of doing it at night?"
"I say yes," said Pierre. "In daylight we should be discovered
immediately. Once we get down there we can wait for daylight in order
to creep near the caves. In any case I will go first, alone."
Father Ravennes gave a start.
"Alone," said he, "what are you talking about? We will go together.
Ngur and Pâa can watch over our descent and draw us up again in case of
need."
Pierre felt for the missionary's hand and grasped it in silence.
"Don't thank me," said the priest, disengaging his fingers; and in a
low voice he confessed with a sort of humility mixed with discomfort:
"You do not know. My attitude during the last days must have seemed
strange to you, very strange. Perhaps there is a good deal of
selfishness in my devotion. I hope, however, that you will pardon me
when ... but that will wait! For the moment understand this: nothing
could make me give up exploring, with you or without you, the bottom of
this fissure."
He repeated in a louder voice:
"Nothing ... nothing...."
"Very well," said Pierre; "we will go down as soon as the guides get
here."
All that was necessary having been said, they were both silent.
In the crevasse the seven lights continued to flicker, and, as the
fog thickened about them it enveloped them with halos which minute by
minute became larger and more livid....
CHAPTER XVII
A FREAK OF NATURE
Letting down his legs cautiously, Pierre tried the ground. The level
bare soil reassured him: he stood upright. Searching the night with his
glance, he made a few steps before him at random, trying to explore his
surroundings. He realized that he was on a narrow platform of rock;
some thirty yards below he thought he could see the bottom of the
fissure revealed by a dark patch made by a clump of trees. A gentle
slope led down to it. Crouching down, the young man felt the ground
in front of him and found it covered with grass, and here and there
spotted with patches of lichen. He made a gesture of satisfaction: it
would be possible to walk without making a noise.
Undoing the rope which was round his body under the armpits, he
returned to the foot of the rocky wall. He gave three quick jerks at
equal intervals, the signal agreed upon, and an answer came to him in
a few seconds: three answering jerks, which set the rope swinging, and
while it was being slowly pulled up he leant his back against the wall
of rock and waited.
The minutes passed. Around him silence reigned; opposite him the fires
continued to burn, but now in order to see them he had to raise his
head, and he estimated at a guess that he must be sixty yards above
the level of the bottom of the crevasse. He also tried to calculate
the height of the rock walls by recalling approximately the time he
had taken in reaching the bottom; but he had no exact idea of the rate
of his descent so that he gave that up. Moreover, violent emotion was
keeping his ideas in a whirl, and although he compelled himself to
remain calm his heart, haunted continually by the image of Wanda, beat
wildly with an irregular feverish rhythm. She was there in the heart
of this rocky mass which contained the temple, and of which these
winking lights certainly indicated the entrance. His hands clenched,
a shivering fit ran through him. How was he going to find her? For he
was now certain of seeing her again. Concerning that he had no doubt
whatever. This certainty had come to him suddenly, and took possession
of him as an article of faith or an instinct which dominated him and
concerning which there could be no argument. He was going to see her
again! soon ... tomorrow ... in a few days perhaps, what would it
matter! He would have again before him her subtle face, her luminous
and tender eyes, her long pale hands and her warm lips, all of those
lineaments, the exact image of which he treasured in the recesses of
his memory.
A scraping above his head made him raise his eyes. He drove away the
thought-phantom and called softly:
"Ravennes!"
The missionary's voice, discreetly muffled, came down to him:
"Here I am.... But what an oven! I can't see a yard in front of me...."
Pierre raised his arms and found the legs of the missionary.
"Let yourself go ... there ... that's right ... you're there."
Getting rid of the ropes which surrounded him, the priest whispered:
"Ouf! I thought I should never get here. Do you know how much rope is
left unused up there? Less than thirty yards including the binding
ropes of the elephants' pack-saddles. Two hundred and sixty yards of
perpendicular depth. You were not very far out in your calculations."
A kind of deep joy seemed to animate him. His voice was full of
restrained vibration. He drew himself up to his full height. Pierre
heard his joints crack; he asked:
"You have left instructions with Ngur and Pâa?"
"Yes," said the missionary, "they are to pull up the rope as soon as
I have given them the signal. There, that's done! Their orders are
to remain continually on the edge of the cliff and wait for us. At a
single revolver shot they are to send down the rope: at the second shot
they are to haul it up. The mahouts will help them. That is for the
day-time, but all night, and every night, the rope is to be left down.
Three pulls is a signal that they are to haul up, two pulls, they are
to send down provisions. This is to go on for fifteen days. If between
now and then they have no news of us they are to return to the Post.
They understood thoroughly, and on this point we can remain perfectly
at ease. Anything new on your side?"
"Nothing," said Pierre. "The bottom of the crevasse lies at the foot of
this short descent. Do you see that clump of trees, there, opposite? I
think that the best thing we could do would be to make for it and wait
for the day there."
The missionary peered into the darkness.
"Yes, I am beginning to see a little better ... your advice seems
excellent, let us follow it at once: the dawn will not be long in
breaking."
With his hand he brushed the rocky wall.
"Good," said he, "the rope is no longer here. They have begun to pull
it up. Let us start."
Slowly trying out the ground with every step they made their way down
towards the bottom of the ravine. The wet grass wound round their legs
and made them stumble. The ground sloped gently, regularly, without
obstacles. The thick silence was broken by no creaking of insects, no
rustling of leaves, the air was motionless, heavy and stagnant.
They reached the threshold of the wood and made their way in. The
darkness became even thicker around them: between the black trunks was
a mass of tangled bushes, making a double layer of vegetation: on the
top the trees with their bushy crowns forming a dome, and below, the
compact undergrowth--a tangle of bushes, interlacing creepers and giant
tree-ferns.
They advanced with the greatest difficulty, climbing between the bushes
until their faces and their hands were scarred with scratches and the
sweat rolled down them, often mingled with their blood. They took turns
in carrying the bag which contained the three days' provisions which
they had brought down with them from the plateau. From time to time,
Pierre stopped and raised his head looking for the lights in the caves.
And suddenly, as for perhaps the tenth time he searched, he saw them
before him on the right. They had reached the west angle of the wood.
They stopped there for a considerable time, panting, unable to think,
simply exhausted with the efforts that they had made.
In front of the thicket, and extending from the wood proper, some
scattered shrubs pushed out. Their shadows made dark patches on the
surface of a swamp, the fog arising from which prevented Lursac and
Father Ravennes from seeing how far it stretched. They could see
nothing whatever of the rest of their surroundings. The fog buried
everything and stretched around the two men a pallid veil only pierced
by the seven fires on the cliff. A faint sweet scent floated in the air.
Father Ravennes, seated by Pierre, fingered the trunk of a tree. He
pulled off strips of bark and murmuring to himself turned them about
and about. Pierre caught fragments of phrases.
"Strange!... I should have said it was the smell of the prickly Brazil
tree ... hard, compact tissue ... sugary taste...."
Pierre saw him searching the ground around him.
"Flat seed pods, oblong, spongy, four seeds.... It certainly is ...
the Brazil tree ... in the middle of the Moï country! But then? But
then?..."
He had got up, a prey to violent agitation.
"What is it?" said Pierre. "What is the matter?"
The question of the young man seemed to pacify him suddenly. He sat
down again.
"Ah!" said he, "I have just made a most astounding discovery: a tree
essentially characteristic of the Brazilian flora, here, in Indo-China!
Admit that there is something to be surprised about in that...."
Pierre, with his eyes passionately fixed on the lights of the cliff,
remained indifferent to this botanical problem. His thoughts, circling
about the caves, awoke in him contradictory and confused ideas, and he
answered absent-mindedly:
"Truly remarkable!"
But the vague and careless voice showed no curiosity. Falling back into
their silence they resumed their watch. The damp enwrapped them and
made them shiver from time to time. The fatigue, stillness and silence
weighed heavily upon them. A torpor stole upon them and overcame them.
They slept heavily.
A shrill cry brought them to their feet at a bound facing each other.
Some time had passed.... Some time ... minutes or hours? They did not
know.
"Did you hear?" asked Pierre.
"Yes," said the priest, "it seemed to me...."
They took a few steps and listened. The silence was unbroken....
Looking about them they began to distinguish the details of the valley,
above which now floated the dawn.
The light, clearer each minute, sucked up the fog and dissolved it,
and the surroundings little by little stood revealed. Immediately in
front of them the swamp stretched with its dead waters, its muddy
banks marked out with giant grasses. It appeared large and triangular
in shape, with its sharpest angle pointing towards the wood. Beyond,
rising from the mist the whole depth of the ravine lay visible. Lursac
and the missionary looked at it eagerly. It was very long, longer than
they had believed. The wood in which they were, extended on their
right and joined itself to the edge of a forest of which the dark
solidly-packed frondage, filling the entire width of the valley, ran up
against the cliffs on both sides and lost itself in the distance. On
the left of the marsh spread a great grassy plain, seven or eight miles
in length, dotted with thick copses and bristling with rocky masses:
beyond it, a second forest stretched towards the south, strangled
between the walls of the ravine, which there drew closer together until
its further end was lost to sight beyond a turn in the rock.
The fog, drawn up by the sun, grew thinner and thinner, and the
cliffs, revealed in their full height, were gradually clothed in the
glory of the warm and luminous morning. Straight and sheer they fell
perpendicularly into the valley, shutting it round with enormous
unscalable walls. A little to the right of the marsh, about two hundred
and fifty yards from the threshold of the first forest, the caves cut
dark mouths in the rock. Pierre counted seven of them, grouped on the
same level, close together. They were all dug in the face of the rock
about fifty yards above the ground, with a gentle grass-covered slope
leading up to them.
With his face stretched forward, and his eyes fixed eagerly on the
cliff, the priest began to talk to himself.
"Yes, it's certainly that: Gneiss! ... a solid fragment of a
prehistoric mountain-chain ... a whole block of the land of
Gondwana.... Hairy elephants ... my tree of last night.... _Elephas
primigenius_.... Brazilian tree...."
He followed Pierre, who had begun to go forward. While advancing, the
young man explained:
"We will reach the forest and work along the edge of it. Taking
advantage of the cover of the trees, we shall be able, without showing
ourselves, to get near the caves and establish ourselves in their
neighborhood to keep watch over them."
The missionary mechanically acquiesced.
"Yes, yes, excellent!"
But he was not listening. Absorbed in his own thoughts, he pulled
feverishly at his beard.
"I know that I am not mistaken.... I know it.... Intuition stronger
than reason tells me so. The truth is there, however extraordinary it
may be."
They had reached the forest. The undergrowth being too scattered to
hide them made it necessary for them to make their way well into it
in order to seek the obscurity of its recesses. And as they pushed
forward, the trees, at first slender, became larger and taller, and
finally enormous, with an entirely changed appearance. The usual
vegetation of the Moï country became rarer, altered in appearance and
soon an entirely new flora, unknown to Pierre, took its place--an
unfamiliar, astounding flora.
Stammering like a drunken man, Father Revenues named the different
species as he recognized them, and with each one his agitation
increased. He seemed to be struggling against some sort of internal
excitement, and his face reflected a mixture of feelings--joy, terror
and doubt.
"There ... yes: this enormous bulk of which the rust-covered trunk is
perhaps fifty yards round and whose roots spread out over the soil.--Do
you know what that is? No? A baobab!... Do you hear, Lursac! A baobab!
The _Adamsonia digitata_ of the Soudan, of Darfour and of the Congo;
the tree of such long life that it requires from six to ten thousand
years to attain its full growth! And there ... there, on the right,
that other giant, a mammoth among trees, a _Wellingtonia gigantea_, an
extinct species which is preserved only in California on the Sierra
Nevada where Lobb discovered them quite recently. This one is at least
from four to five thousand years old ... and then look again further
along. Yes, that one that looks like a palm tree with all its branches
terminating in bunches of fleshy leaves stretched up towards the sky: a
_Dracæna draco_ of the Canary Islands, a dragon tree, a more beautiful
one and huger even than the specimen at Orotava, celebrated as that is
for its size and its age: seven to eight thousand years!... Here again
this shrub, an Australian _Banksia_!..."
He had caught Pierre by the arm, and was shaking him as he dragged him
from one tree to another. He trembled, patting the wrinkled trunks and
caressing them: the excitement which was stirring his whole being broke
out in jumbled words, in short confused and unfinished phrases. He
jumped from one idea to another in a whirl of excitement.
"Well, what have you got to say about it? Astounding, isn't it? Here
in the middle of Indo-China, in the Moï country, at the bottom of this
ravine, gathered side by side, not as fossils but alive, thoroughly
alive ... specimens of Brazilian flora, trees of Africa, of America,
of Australia and even of the Canary Islands! ... growing together as
they did formerly ... as they did forty or fifty thousand years ago and
perhaps very much earlier[15] when the remains of the great equatorial
continent of Gondwana were still in being and the Brazilian-African
plateau united in a single mass Central America, Africa, India, Arabia,
Indo-China and Australia ... there is the _only_ explanation!... The
explanation which several days ago I foresaw and had to face."
[Footnote 15: Father Ravennes was considerably out in his estimate.
The continent of Gondwana of which he spoke dates from the first part
of the secondary era in which the great Hercynian upheaval took place.
The discovery of radium has given us a method of establishing the
distance of that era from our time as about four million years. If we
admit then that the Gondwana ravine discovered by Lursac and Ravennes
only dated from the end of the secondary era it would be separated from
the present day by the entire tertiary era and the beginning of the
quaternary era in which we now are. According to the calculations of
Dana, of Lord Kelvin and of Edmond Perrier, the tertiary era and what
has elapsed of the quaternary make a total of at least one million five
hundred thousand years.]
Violently he dug his heel into the ground.
"And now it forces itself upon us, bewilderingly, blindingly! However
fantastic that may seem, this ground that we are standing on is the
same--yes, the very same--as that which in the great geographical
periods of the globe cradled the germs of life. We are mounting to
the first ages of the world ... we are living backwards ... a great
fragment of the past has risen before us, uncovering for us the first
hours of Genesis!"
Pierre listened to him with bewilderment.
"The ancient strata of the secondary era," continued the missionary,
"pushed aside by the Hercynian movement, and then later by the
Alp-Himalayan upheaval, broke up and disappeared; but a vertical crack
must have been produced here which the upheavals of succeeding times
have left untouched, while around it the great secular changes have
worn down mountain summits, parted continents, and dug the seas. This
cleft in the rocks, preserved by I know not what mysterious destiny,
has remained intact and been preserved unchanged!..."
He remained where he stood, turning round and round and stamping on the
ground. Pierre took him by the arm and drew him aside.
"Come on," said he. "We have no time to lose if we want to reach the
neighborhood of the caves before night."
The missionary followed him with docility. They continued their
advance. The heat increased and became overwhelming. About midday
they halted and hurriedly ate a few biscuits, resuming their journey
immediately. They walked side by side without a word and finally it was
Pierre who, after a long while, first broke the silence:
"Are you quite sure of that?" he asked.
The priest showed no surprise. He understood that the same thoughts
were working in Pierre as in himself.
"Well," he confined himself to saying, "you have seen as much as I
have!"
But as the young man made a vague gesture he immediately said:
"I know, I know.... Someone may have planted them, or at least have
brought the seeds here. That is your idea!... You see that has already
suggested itself to me. I thought of that at once when I found the
Brazil tree ... as for that ... it was possible ... but for these
others, the age of which varies from six to ten thousand years? The
others! The baobabs ... the dragon-trees ... what does that lead to?...
Who could have worked to make a sort of botanical garden in this
out-of-the-way corner, a kind of forcing-bed for the flora of five
continents? No, we are actually on the very land of Gondwana, on the
ancient secondary soil."
A shudder shook him: his eyes flashed.
"And I am thinking," said he eagerly, "about the beings who have
certainly lived here, of the monstrous reptiles and the prodigious
birds that came from it, of the huge mammals and of all the crowd of
gigantic beasts which today have disappeared!"
He gave a peculiar smile and continued immediately:
"Disappeared?... Not all of them! ... the invisible herd on the banks
of the creek which prowled round our camp on the evening of our first
arrival, that herd, one of the members of which Ngur described to me as
an elephant with long hair and a mane, was nothing else than a herd of
mammoths!"
A cry of stupefaction escaped from the young man:
"Living mammoths? You are crazy!"
The priest did not flinch. Quite calmly he assented.
"That's exactly what I said to myself when the thought came to me the
first time with a shock.... I did not want to believe it.... I took
it for granted that there must be a race of elephants as yet unknown.
Then other ideas came to me which had already been rising obscurely at
the back of my brain, other ideas which my successive discoveries have
clarified and confirmed...."
"Other ideas?" said Pierre. "What ones?"
The missionary gave him a long look. He hesitated; then shook his head
in token of refusal.
"No, don't ask me! In two cases already you have questioned me and
each time I have asked you to wait: this will be the last time. Have
patience yet for a few hours. I do not want to speak before being
certain of what I say. I don't mind your believing me crazy! To change
the subject, here we are at the end of the forest, and the further
cliffs are before us. We have therefore crossed the entire width of the
ravine. Now the question is to get near the caves."
Pierre turned about. Before them, running along almost at the foot
of the cliff a hollow way under the trees stretched in a southerly
direction. They turned and followed it. It wandered about, making sharp
curves, going round swampy spots and avoiding rocky masses overgrown
and buried in vegetation. Little by little the trees began to get
smaller and shorter and thinned out. The path broadened and finally
came to an end in an open circle surrounded by trees. Between the slim
trunks they could see that the day was beginning to fade.
The two men hurried on. The tree-trunks became fewer and more
scattered; masses of bushes succeeded to them. Gliding between these,
Lursac and Father Ravennes came out opposite the left bank of the
swamp. The failing light threw a mantle of softness over the valley,
above which the clouds and mists stretched to the level plateau
forming, as it were, a fleecy and delicate tent. The scene which they
had observed at dawn they now saw from another angle. The marsh was not
as big as they had thought it. Between it and the cliff in which the
caves were a grassy way stretched as far as the plain: beyond that the
second forest stood in a compact mass. Looking back, Pierre saw on his
left the edge of the wood which they had quit some hours earlier. At
the same time he made out the cliff down which they had come.
A hoarse cry suddenly forced itself from his throat.
"The scream ... the scream this morning!" He pointed out the wall of
rock against which, halfway up, two corpses attached to a rope, _their_
rope doubtless, were hanging.
The missionary looked back swiftly and his face seemed to shrivel, it
went white and his lips trembled.
"Ngur and Pâa," he murmured almost in a whisper.
The breeze, forerunner of the evening dusk, began to blow, making the
trees rustle; while against the gray rock wall the naked bodies of the
two guides swung gently. Above them on the edge of the plateau three
elephants of gigantic proportions were walking in file; and against the
mauve background of the sky their hairy bulk and their curved tusks
showed up with extraordinary distinctness.
The missionary stretched his hand towards them.
"Mammoths!" said he, in a voice strangely calm.
But Pierre saw his hand tremble.
CHAPTER XVIII
BACK IN THE STONE AGE
Lursac, the first to turn away his head, touched Father Ravennes' arm.
"We no longer have any choice," he said. "If we wish to get out of here
we shall have to find our way up to the temple, or at any rate climb
one of the cliffs."
The missionary reluctantly turning from his contemplation of the
mammoths shook his head.
"No," said he, "they are all smooth and absolutely unscalable."
"Then it remains to discover this entrance."
"I have thought of that," said the priest, "but...."
"But?" questioned Pierre.
"What can we hope from that?... Think of it, Lursac, we are two and
they, up there in the temple...."
The young man shrugged his shoulders with restrained impatience:
"Have you another plan to propose to me?" he broke in.
And as the missionary shook his head, he went on bitterly:
"And in any case that's the only chance that we have of finding Wanda,
perhaps of saving her...."
He looked at the priest and repeated still more forcibly:
"We must find the entrance to the temple and manage to get in somehow.
After that, it is in the hands of God!"
The missionary saw him make a gesture which spoke of both resolution
and despair.
"So be it!" said he. "According to the directions of Hmon, the
sanctuary faced towards the Post, and consequently to the south. As we
have come on it from behind, it is there, towards the south, that we
shall find it."
He stretched his hand in front of him towards the extremity of the
ravine which an angle in one of the cliffs prevented them from seeing.
"And what about the caves?" asked Pierre, surprised, "I thought--as you
did for the matter of that...."
"No," said the priest, "no, I have come to a different conclusion since
then...."
He hesitated, and his voice took on a peculiar intonation while he
added:
"The caverns are used for ... something else ... at least I think
so.... Look!"
Together they raised their heads in the direction of the dark openings.
They were not now more than a hundred yards from them and they could
distinguish details clearly.
The darkness which was gathering prevented their seeing into the
interiors, but each of the caves had in front of it a platform with
a gentle grassy slope leading down to the valley. The mouths of the
caves, cut roughly and irregularly into the rock, remained empty and no
sound or sign of life gave token that they were inhabited.
Slowly the dusk fell. Little by little the surroundings lost their
distinctness: the ceiling of fog began to flow downward between the
cliffs, while above the two forests at each end of the great depression
and over the surface of the swamp a fine mist floated and spread. From
the opposite end of the valley a confused murmuring arose. Astonished,
the missionary looked across the marsh and searched the plain. By
turns, visible and disappearing among the clumps of trees, he could see
a brown spot. At the same time the noise which had surprised him became
more distinct. It was a heavy beating of the ground like a hurried
stamping of a herd in flight. He touched Pierre's arm. Both of them
gazed eagerly. The spot grew larger, came nearer, and disappeared into
a streak of fog and reappeared suddenly at the corner of a copse.
"Buffaloes!" whispered Pierre.
The missionary made no answer.
The herd was hurrying across the plain. Following the bank of the marsh
opposite which it had debouched from the wood, it gained the grassy
runway, spread along the bottom of the cliff and passed in front of the
caves. The hammering hoofs mingled in a frenzied rush. The troop of
over two hundred beasts tore along with their heads lowered, and the
tall grasses mowed down by their weight were torn apart and trodden
into the ground. The herd was rushing straight for the forest in which
the two men were hiding. Now the animals could be seen with clearness
and the priest shot a glance at Pierre as he corrected him:
"Buffaloes? No,--aurochs!"
The beasts galloping side by side in thick ranks formed a single brown
mass. Leading the herd, a great male bounded along, holding his horns
high and bellowing furiously. He passed in front of Lursac and the
missionary, bearing away slightly to the right. His left haunch was
bleeding; three arrows were sticking up to the heads in his tawny hide;
in his withers, swinging at every bound, they could see the handle of
a great axe sticking out. In a second he was buried in the shadows of
the forest, and behind him with the rush of an avalanche the entire
herd swept under the trees breaking down the bushes, tearing the
thickets apart and smashing everything in their way. In another minute
the thunder of their flight, mixed with bellowings, was separated from
the observers by a screen of leaves and gradually faded away into the
distance leaving silence behind it.
Father Ravennes recalled to his mind the great male who had charged
galloping at the head of the herd, his vast size, his long legs, the
crinkled hair of his head and neck, his great wicked-looking muzzle,
his low-lying horns.
"Yes, ..." said he, "aurochs! The giant bulls of the quaternary epoch,
of which the entire species is now extinct...."
"Ah!" said Pierre, "the hunters! What of the hunters! You saw the
arrows, the axe?..."
The missionary gave him a quick look and turned round towards the
plains.
"The hunters?" said he. "Well, look, there they are!"
Sudden emotion seemed to overcome him, his features were strained into
an expression of intense expectation.
In his turn, Pierre turned to look.
At first he only saw a number of small dark specks, scarcely visible,
which moved at the end of the valley and gradually came closer until
they formed a single group which moved towards the marsh. Following the
passage torn by the herd of aurochs a few moments before, they came
along slowly and still without any regular formation. They reached
the swamp and followed along the bank. The mist which floated on the
waters prevented the watchers from seeing them clearly. They finally
arrived at the entrance of the grassy runway and Pierre began to be
able to see them better. There were about forty of them, divided in
three groups following close after one another. First of all, alone,
walking with great steps, was a Man. It was upon him that Lursac and
the missionary's attention became concentrated.
Night was falling; a dusk of luminous mauve enwrapped the scene,
flinging over everything a veil of indefiniteness and beauty. The
entire plain, with its forests sunk in the shadows of the distance,
with its gray walls and it green grasses and the silvery surface of
its swampy lake, gave the impression of a picture harmoniously and
cunningly put together by some classic artist.
On the background of this sylvan scene the Man advanced. Soon he was
within three hundred yards of them, ... two hundred. His outline,
an outline of strength, tall and vigorous, became larger and more
distinct. Certain details standing out little by little from the
vagueness caught the attention. First of all his raiment; a simple
animal skin with long brown fur, shaped like a chasuble, which fell
down to the middle of his thighs and was bound to him by a cord; then
his weapons--a heavy club which he balanced on his bare arm, a lance on
which he leant now and again with his left hand.
The hunter was by this time at the foot of the caves scarcely one
hundred yards away from the missionary and Lursac. They saw him in
profile. He had stopped, apparently waiting for the rest of the troop
to come up. He lifted his arm and made a sign, and his call mounted in
the silence:
"_O ... ô ... iê ... êp ... iê ... ê ... êp._"
He turned slowly, and his face became visible; red-skinned, crude,
large and low-browed, with high cheek bones and eyes deeply set--a face
simple and uncivilized with something savage and yet sweet in it at
the same time, a fierce and powerful face, framed in long reddish hair
falling to the shoulders....
The missionary seized the young man by the arm, gripping him with
almost painful violence:
"The quaternary man ... the ancestor of the human race. The man of
Cro-Magnon and of Mentone ... alive! ... alive!..."
He trembled; his voice, hardly understandable, seemed to scrape his
throat painfully. He gave the young man no time to give vent to his
astonishment; he went on:
"Yes ... you heard correctly.... I am not drunk! ... this is not a
nightmare.... The Red Gods: a clan of prehistoric men who continue to
lead here in this deep recess which walls them in from the rest of the
world the same life that they have lived for thirty thousand years,
and everything is explained. The mystery with which the sorceresses
envelop this region, the death with which they strike those who wish
to penetrate it, the flint arms which bestrew the entire district, the
legend of the Living Gods, everything! ... everything!..."
"But," said Pierre.
"I am sure of it ... sure of it ... I suspected it long ago. The whole
thing, tangled and obscure, has been turning over and over in my mind
for some time. When I heard Hmon pronounce those words: the Red
Gods ... the Red Ones,[16] that is to say the earliest ... yes ... at
that moment I began to.... However, I was doubtful. It appeared to
me so fantastic that I did not, could not believe it. I looked for
some other explanation. But now the truth is standing there before
me. However incredible it is, I cannot disbelieve it. You have seen
the face of the Man. He belongs to no existing race. His appearance
is neither that of a Moï, a Chinese, a Lao-ese nor yet of a European.
These features are those of the primitive Mongoloids, of the primeval
ancestors of the human race."
[Footnote 16: Father Ravennes was here making allusion to the
traditions of antiquity which are all agreed on the existence of a
prehistoric race called the Red Race which must have been the first
human race. This Red Race was that of the masters, the Gods. The
Egyptian bas-reliefs show (writes M. Michel Manzi in a remarkable
scientific work) that there were then four races, the red, the
yellow, the black and the white. In India the famous Rutas who are
traditionally supposed to have brought civilization to the world are
represented as red men. All the most ancient peoples, the Iberians,
Basques, Chaldeans, etc., claimed to have been of this color and to be
descended from the sons of Ad the first man, the Red. The word Adam
indeed means Red Man.... The Arabs also claim descent from the sons of
Ad, the great antediluvian race, the race of giants who erected vast
buildings of hewn stone.]
An immense joy had taken possession of the soul of the scientist. He
raised his head proudly, his voice filled out with sonorous resonance.
"This extraordinary thing _we_ have been the first to see. It is we,
Lursac, _we_ who have made this astounding discovery. All the old
disputes of the schools, all the theories about which the seeker and
scientist argue, the great problem of the origin of humanity--we have
found their solution! We!... We!..."
* * * * *
Meanwhile the tribe had begun the ascent of the slope leading to the
caves. The hunter with the club walked at their head. Behind him
came eight men carrying on their shoulders a litter made of leaves
and branches. On it lay the body of an animal. Of its monstrous bulk
nothing could be seen but one of its enormous black hairy paws which
hung over the side of the improvised stretcher and swayed gently with
the motion of its carriers.
Then in a compact group the other hunters followed slowly. The sound
of their voices could be heard, now and again dominated by a high
guttural note. They were all armed with lance and pointed axe, and
all alike clad in dark reddish furs. Their faces all showed the same
characteristic features, and were framed by the same long red hair
which fell round their shoulders in bright tawny locks.
Although they were of a stature well above the normal, they seemed less
finely built and less harmoniously developed in every way than the Man
who walked at their head and was evidently their chief. At a sign from
him they stopped.
With his face turned towards the cave's opening, about fifty yards
ahead of him, the hunter once again emitted his hoarse cry:
"_O ... ô ... iê ... êp._..."
And after him the men took up the call and sent it ringing across the
valley. For a moment they all stood motionless, faces turned towards
the platforms of the caves. Already the night was stealing along the
cliffs. The dark mouth of the caverns became indistinct and only the
narrow platforms which stood in front of them still caught a little
light from the bluish dusk.
There was silence. Then other voices thinner and less strong, worn
voices of old men, clear high voices of women and children sounded
through the valley:
"_O ... ô ... iê ... êp._..."
Dark forms swarming out of the caves ran on to the platforms and leaned
over. A few of them separated from the mass and began to descend to
meet the men. A last ray of light shone slanting on the little hill.
The troop of men had resumed their march. The darkness thickened, their
silhouettes became indistinct. On the shoulder of the hill the ray of
light narrowed and retreated. The chief of the clan first, and after
him the body of the hunters, reached it and passed through it, and
their slow procession crossing through the pencil of pale gold again
went into the darkness; while before the caverns the fires, lighting up
one by one, pierced the obscurity with their seven-fold spears of red
light.
CHAPTER XIX
OUTSIDE THE TEMPLE
The two white men were overcome with a feeling of stupefaction.
The night, bitter cold, descended upon them and chilled their bodies,
but they did not feel the bite of the cold: they could think of nothing
but watching. Settled on the platforms the tribe was taking its
evening meal. Before the fire silhouettes were ranged like phantoms,
and their shadows, grotesquely exaggerated, were flung against the
rock, where they jerked about and disappeared suddenly with enormous
gestures and fantastic distortions. A smell of roasting flesh floated
down the valley in thick waves. Now and again a body, elongated by the
flickering light of the fires, appeared momentarily, and the brown fur
with which he was clothed shone out for a second with a bizarre effect.
The hunters were grouped round the fires in bands of six; some women,
a dozen or so of children and some old men joined them. Behind them
yawned the caverns. From time to time could be heard the crackling of
a stick in the fires or the snapping of a bone under the blows of a
hatchet.
When the meal was over the feasters gave themselves up to a period
of relaxation. The tribe, gorged with food and stupefied by the heat
of the fires, lay lounging about the platforms. Men's voices, rough
and monotonous, rose and fell. They spoke little, accompanying their
short phrases with gestures and signs. Here and there a laugh rang
out and echoed in crude and guttural tones against the cliff. In a
corner of the nearest platform near the opening of the cave the skin
of the beast, the flesh of which had provided the feast, was drying,
stretched out on four stakes with its head hanging down. In the clear
light of the fires it stood out distinctly. The missionary examined
with profound interest the enormous black hairy pelt. The massive skull
surmounted by a rounded forehead accentuated by two great lumps, the
gaping muzzle with its formidable teeth left no doubt in his mind.
"_Ursus spelæus_--the cave bear," he whispered, "the usual prey of
primitive man, and the one of which most bones have been found in the
caves of Aurignac, of Sainte-Reine, of Fontaine, of Moutier and of
Lhern.
The old men, the women and children, now rising, went back into their
caverns. A youngster, before disappearing, stopped for a moment in
front of the skin and amused himself by banging the heavy muzzle with
slaps of his open hand. The enormous snout thus put into motion began
to swing backwards and forwards, while at each stroke a drop of blood
fell, which the child caught in mid-air in the palm of his hand and
licked up.
A sharp command sounded from the group of men, and the youngster
stopped his game, hastened into the cave and was lost to sight.
Left alone, the hunters spread round the fires prolonged their session.
From time to time one of them would rise, draw his powerful body erect
and give a long stretch, then sitting down once more would stretch his
hands towards the flame. Others worked: a round stone in their heavy
hands, and another piece of stone between their knees, they shaped the
flint by little precise, minute blows, at which, sparking, the chips
flew up and scattered around the workman. Now and again, neglecting
their task for a minute, they lifted their heads and looked down into
the bottom of the ravine. At such moments their faces, lit up with the
red gleams of the fires, revealed themselves as primitive and violent.
Two hours passed thus; then as the fog became denser they shook
themselves one by one and disappeared into their caves.
The empty platforms suddenly seemed larger: the fires, piled up for the
night, shot their lights higher and further before the caverns: their
circles of purple light were the only things left to watch throughout
the night.
* * * * *
They waited another hour, then Lursac, turning towards the priest, said:
"They must be asleep now ... let us go on."
They began to move forward cautiously, and stole along the foot of
the cliff. Keeping under cover of the shadows at its base they passed
quickly in front of the caves and gained the shelter of the grassy
passage. They worked in the direction of the plain and the further
forest: the grasses among which they slowly forced their way came up to
their waists and their clothes were soon nothing but wet, cold sheaths
bound tight against their bodies.
At last they reached the plain, and the going became easier and faster.
When they turned their heads from time to time they could see behind
them like a long silvered plaque, each time a little smaller and less
distinct, the motionless surface of the marsh, and on the left, high
up, the seven fires marking the entrance to the caverns. In front of
them the threshold of the wood towards which they were moving became
clearer every moment, and between the cliffs which were beginning to
close in towards each other the darkness seemed denser and denser.
Pierre walked ahead. With an instinctive motion, thinking of the skin
of the cave-bear killed by the clan, he loosened his revolver in its
holster and pulled it out when they found themselves among the first
trees of the forest. However, this second forest proved to be less
dense than the one which they had crossed in the morning, and it was
seamed with long tracks, narrow paths it is true, but quite possible
to follow. One of them bearing somewhat to the right followed close
to the base of the cliff. This one they took. As near as they were
able to make it out, it ran in a southerly direction following closely
the very juts and hollows of the cliff. They followed it for a long
time. Occasionally the flight of some invisible animal, an unknown
roaring, or a cry which they did not recognize made them stop. At other
times the bushes thrust apart by the passage of some animal that they
could not see crashed together loudly, the noise being magnified by
the stillness of the night, and they stood rooted to the spot until
the noises ceased. The alarm past, they pursued their way. Fatigue,
however, began to weigh on their limbs and to cloud their minds. As
they walked their motions became no more than a succession of automatic
movements. The dark, however, now became less opaque and a diffused
light began to flow between the leaves. Raising their heads in the
middle of a clearing, they saw above them, bound in a watery halo, a
dull reddish moon swimming in the sky. A few minutes afterwards they
stopped. The forest had come to an end. Between it and the extremity of
the ravine a belt of ground studded with low bushes sloped gradually
upward and terminated in a dark line which seemed to be that of a
foundation wall, above which, rising to about half the height of the
cliffs against which their irregular mass was silhouetted, buildings
arose. Against the grayish sky, roofs could be seen in profile, and
springing above them, still higher and more clearly visible, the
pointed shadows of four towers in a circle.
"The temple!" whispered Pierre.
Without making any answer the priest continued his advance. Gliding
from bush to bush they made their way up towards the buildings and
reached a sort of long, narrow platform. Before them in the solid
shadow stretched a heaped-up mass of rocks.
Father Ravennes looked up; the roofs seemed far above him.
"Let us rest till daylight," he advised, sitting down.
Pierre assented. An immense fatigue gnawed at his powers of endurance.
His arms and legs were stiff with strain and his heavy lids weighed
upon his eyes. He flung himself down on the ground and stretched out
alongside of the missionary.
For a moment his mind remained sentient and he began to make plans and
to consider chances for the rescue of Wanda.
The temple, swathed in darkness, seemed deserted. There was no noise,
no light. The moon, covered with a blanket of clouds, disappeared, and
suddenly the darkness became thicker yet.
The cry of an owl somewhere in the direction of the forest rang through
the night, and from the sallow down-bearing sky a cold mist floated.
Overpowered by exhaustion, Pierre fell asleep. The priest bent over
him. Twisted in an uncomfortable position, his face creased with
nervous lines, the young man began talking out loud in his sleep,
and his incoherent words as well as his panting breath revealed
the nightmare from which he was suffering. In his fevered brain
recollections, images drawn from the depths of his memory--his arrival
at the Post, the course of the expedition--were mixed with visions
called up by Father Ravennes: the continent of Gondwana and its
vanished fauna; its prehistoric inhabitants; giant trees of Africa,
Australia, America; the aurochs; the death of Ngur and Pâa, fantastic
silhouettes of the temple; the sorceresses; Jieng, the mammoths--were
all tangled together to form a grotesque and disordered circle turning
about one clear central figure that dominated them, that of Wanda.
The missionary, perceiving how he suffered, thought of waking him; but
he shook his head:
"What is the good?" he murmured. "There is nothing to do now but to
have patience; and however tormented his sleep is, it will at any rate
enable him to gather a little strength!"
Thoughtfully he watched the sombre mass of the buildings stretching
upwards in the darkness. The cold made him shiver, so he got up and
walked a while along the platform. Then he came back to his place by
Lursac, and sitting with his back against a rock he took his rosary and
slowly began to recite the prayers.
CHAPTER XX
INSIDE THE TEMPLE
The dawn awoke Pierre with a start. He shivered and looked round him
with an empty stare. Then, memory coming back to him suddenly, he got
up and his eyes sought Father Ravennes but did not find him.
Beginning to be uneasy he called out:
"Ravennes!"
"Here.... Come to me."
Turning his head in the direction of the voice he saw the priest
who, hidden between two lumps of rock some twenty yards to the left,
was beckoning to him. Rapidly the young man crawled to his side and
crouched down next to him.
The missionary explained:
"We are at the very base of the temple. Turn slightly to the right ...
yes, there it is.... As an observation post we could not have thought
of anything better than this. Now be silent and let us watch...."
Pierre asked:
"Nothing has stirred?"
"Nothing," said the missionary.
Carefully lifting his head Pierre looked round the scene. Day was
coming--a dull, unpleasant day, shrouded in a thick fog through which
the light could only penetrate very slowly. As the mist rose, the end
of the ravine revealed itself. First of all, the rocky mass on which
the temple was built became visible. Enormous blocks of stone heaped
together rose towards the sky and at each side reached the very walls
of the fissure which they here filled entirely. The ravine at this
point was no more than a gorge, three hundred yards across, deeply
overshadowed by its vertical walls. Out of this chaotic pile of rock
the foundations of the temple rose. They gripped and mixed themselves
with the stone, completing its rugged outline, and carrying it upwards
with the very same rough gray exterior, so that in places Lursac could
not even distinguish where the rock ended and the building began.
Gradually, as the mist lifted higher, the two men were able to perceive
a dozen doors let into the stone at regular intervals in the foundation
wall. The ensemble of the buildings, however, remained still invisible.
For some little while longer they continued to be hidden; then a shaft
of sunlight drove its way through the mist and splashed the cliff on
the right with light. The mist drew away and the entire temple stood
revealed before them little by little. First of all the four towers
of unequal height, built up in tiers, and together resembling one of
those slender tiaras worn by Cambodian and Siamese idols; then the
long, irregular, clear line of the roofs, and finally the gigantic and
wonderful façade, ornamented with porticoes, broken with chapels and
pierced by innumerable windows all barred with rows of small columns.
The voice of the priest trembled with emotion.
"A Kmer temple," said he. "_The_ Temple ... purer in style and more
magnificent than Angkor-Wat itself, and certainly more ancient!"
He had stood up and was staring at the enormous building framed between
the cliffs of the ravine:
"One hundred and fifty yards high.... Prodigious!"
Forgetful of the place and of the circumstances, remembering no longer
their danger or the sorceresses or Wanda, he gave himself up to the
pride of his discovery, to the admiration which overcame him. He almost
laughed.
"Yes.... _The_ Temple! The model, the jewel, the original which those
that came after copied ... and that in the depths of the Lao-ese
forest, among peoples as uncivilized and as primitive as the beasts!
Well, then? Who undertook this gigantic and surpassing work.... Who ...
and why _here_? I...."
He was suddenly silent. Pierre, pushing him back, whispered in his ear:
"Quiet! Be silent!..."
The priest saw him point with his finger towards the forest, on the
edge of which a human being had just become visible. He was strangely
clothed in a brown fur which covered his shoulders and waved about his
figure. On his head was set the muzzle of an ox surmounted with horns
curved in the form of a lyre. The man, walking along the edge of the
wood, reached the foot of the wall, then he crossed the narrow belt of
ground and came to the rocks. Standing upright on one of them he raised
his head towards the façade of the sanctuary.
He was scarcely thirty yards from Lursac and Ravennes, and against the
gray front of the temple his figure was silhouetted with precision. He
was very tall, with astonishingly long legs, a narrow waist and large,
strong shoulders. Turning towards the plain, he first of all watched
the forest; then his glance slid along the cliff and came back to the
buildings, ran over them rapidly and then fixed itself on one of the
windows. He cried with a ringing, and surprisingly sweet, voice:
"_O ... ô ... iê ... iêp...._"
Pierre and the missionary recognized him at the same moment: the hunter
with the club, the chief who had marched at the head of the clan on
their return from the hunt on the evening before.
Suddenly he dashed forward and began to climb the stony blocks. He
mounted towards the temple by supple and accurate leaps, bounding from
one stone to the other and walking with long strides when the ground
permitted it. Each one of his movements and of his attitudes gave a
curious impression of strength and grace. He suggested one of those
great animals of the cat tribe, fierce and full of vital strength at
the same time: his powerful muscular body had the same sinuous movement
combined with suddenness of action, the same sure and silent footfall.
He was now at the very foot of the temple. In front of him stood the
foundation, with its rugged wall broken by the line of doorways;
further up, on a jutting balcony, was another row of doors, of which
each one was flanked by a window barred with small columns.
The Man looked at them carefully. He seemed to hesitate. Then deciding,
he climbed the whole height of the foundation-wall. The irregularities
of the stone which he gripped with his feet, his hands and his knees,
were worn in places and gave way under him; but with a twist of his
body he balanced himself afresh and continued to mount. At last he
reached the cornice and drew himself up on it, and then ran along the
narrow balcony, coming to a stop towards the middle of the façade under
one of the windows.
Standing on tiptoes he raised his arms, seized the auroch's skin by
the horns with which his head was ornamented, and with a sweeping
gesture of one who makes an offering, he hung it up on a jutting piece
of stone. Then he remained motionless, his face pressed against the
columns of the window.
Lursac and Ravennes had breathlessly watched his ascent. With their
eyes fixed on the opening under which the brown auroch's pelt was now
hanging, they noticed with astonishment its extraordinary appearance.
It was surrounded with peculiar offerings, great aurochs' muzzles,
heads of stags, skins of enormous bears, bunches of half-faded flowers,
bundles of fruit, barbaric collars of wild beasts' claws, and in an
angle, set on the same support, a comb of honey from which bright
yellow tears of juice were dropping. Pierre and the missionary looked
at one another, the same question came to their minds: what was this
strange worship? To whom was it addressed? These Red Gods, these
prehistoric men miraculously preserved and perpetuated, these Gods
which were worshipped, did they in their turn worship Something or
Somebody?
With a shake of his head the priest signified the impossibility of
solving the problem.
In any case they had not the time to think of it very much longer.
The Man up there abandoned his position of contemplation, and their
attention was once again concentrated on him. Without giving himself
the trouble to climb down the whole height of the foundations, he
calculated for a moment, leaped, and covering the ten feet or so which
the wall measured, he recovered himself by a simple bending of the
knees. Then, once again turned towards the buildings, he looked at the
strange window. After which he set out towards the valley, disappeared
between the rocky blocks and reappeared further off at the top of a
rounded granite mass, ran down towards the plain, crossed it hurriedly
and re-entered the forest.
The sun, by this time already hot, had dissipated the fog. Lursac
pointed out to the priest the dozen doors set in the wall.
"There is the way we must enter the temple," said he.
With a nod the priest assented.
"Yes, we must try and force one of them at random, it doesn't matter
which! Look, this one, which is opposite to us."
They had now risen and, in their turn hiding themselves as much as
possible in their ascent, they climbed towards the temple.
A mass of granite formed a sort of narrow parapet in front of the door
and on it they stopped bewildered: in the stupendous wall they could
see the door in its doorway and it was half open. Pierre pushed it
gently, and with his revolver drawn ready to fire entered it. Behind
him, the missionary followed.
* * * * *
Thick gloom and clammy cold struck them in the face and clung to them
as they entered. They shivered. Motionless, with every faculty on the
stretch, they waited and listened. The heavy damp silence reassured
them. The missionary struck a match. With a dry scratch the tiny flame
ignited, lighting up dimly the rocky walls and discovering to them,
close by the door by which they had entered, a tripod with its bundle
of resinous branches and dry leaves prepared for lighting.
"Wait," said Pierre, "I will shut the door, then we will set fire to
this."
A few minutes later, by the light of the fire they were able to examine
the cell in which they found themselves. It turned out to be square and
disproportionately high, practically forming a cube. The walls were
gray, on the floor of beaten earth a lance and some hatchets with heavy
flint heads were lying about. On one side was the door by which they
had made their entrance: on the opposite side, a gallery was visible,
separated from the cell by a row of columns set close together and
reaching from the ground to the vaulted ceiling: on the left a stone
wall: on the right a second wall, but pierced by another door, heavy
and re-inforced with metal work, and furnished with a heavy iron lock.
Pierre, going up to it looked at it closely, felt it and tried with the
help of his pocketknife to make it work. The bolt of the lock rattled
and moved. He tried harder, but the blade of his knife broke with a
snap and he gave a growl of fury.
"Curse it!... One must use violence. So much the worse, but we have no
choice."
He flung a look round and noticed the axes. But already the missionary,
bending down, had picked one up. He swung it about for a moment and
fitted the haft of it well into his hand.
Advancing, he pushed Pierre on one side.
"As soon as the door gives way," he said, "we will rush through. The
main hall must be far enough away for us not to be heard. Anyhow we
have no other way of doing it. Are you ready?"
He drew up his great body, raised his arms to their full height and
then heavily brought the club down with his full strength. The lock
rang and sparks flew, while fragments of the flint were scattered
around. Without waiting, he repeated the action several times in
succession with his full strength. Under the echoing vault the noise of
the blows was magnified and made a shattering noise. The lock, injured
and finally broken, gave way revealing its mechanism. With a last blow,
which shattered the wood around it, he made it leap from the door.
Flinging the axe behind him, the missionary, with a violent blow of his
shoulder, pushed back the heavy door and flung himself forward followed
by Pierre. The flickering light of the fire lighted up the entrance
of a subterranean passage. They could distinguish the first steps of
a narrow stairway of which the rest was lost in the darkness. They
commenced to climb it cautiously and soon the shadows closed around
them. The priest mounted slowly, trying the ground at each step. His
hands stretched out before him, Pierre, his revolver ready to fire,
counted the steps one by one.
"Eight ... nine ... ten ... eleven...."
"Lursac!"
The sharp call brought the young man to a sudden standstill; he cried
excitedly:
"Ravennes!"
The cry of the priest, now indistinct, came twice more.
"Lursac!... Lursac!..."
Pierre ran forward and crashed into and thrust aside invisible forms.
He heard the labored breathing of Father Ravennes, and a warning voice:
"Look out!... We are attacked!... Try to...."
At the same time, pushing on him from all directions, a mass of bodies
suddenly materializing out of the night flung itself upon him, carried
him off his feet and overthrew him. His head wrapped in a thick cloth,
his legs encircled, he fell. About him other bodies, clinging to his,
fell with him and rolled over him. There was the sound of stifled
oaths, groans and curses. Then once more all was silent, and he felt
that he was being carried away.
CHAPTER XXI
THE LAW OF GONDWANA
"... _It is written: that those who wish to know--may know. This
is the Law of the Red Gods--the Law of the barren wives, the Law
of Gondwana. But those of our blood only--and among those only
women and the servants of the Gods--may hear it and know it without
dying._"
The voice which was chanting stopped and an order sounded:
"Untie their legs and take off their veils that they may see. The law
is the law."
Pierre, freed from the cloth which had been wrapped round his head,
looked about him with curiosity. He found himself in the middle of an
interior open court, square in shape, of which the four sides were
lined with galleries one above the other, narrowing as they ascended,
and forming a tangle of recesses and stalls and compartments, over
which innumerable canopies and roofs twisted into spiral pinnacles
jutted out, tumbling in all directions, straddling over each other,
crowding one upon the other in an intricate mass.... The centre of the
court was hollowed out, forming a sort of basin paved with large, gray,
flat stones, the spaces between which were green with moss. It was in
this basin that they lay, he and the missionary. Very far up in the
centre of the grotesque and involved crowding of the roofs a section
of blue sky shone. Under the galleries the crowd of sorceresses was
massed. Among the twisted pillars and the square columns could be seen
groups of faces, scarred and twisted with every form of unimaginable
deformity, but all bending eagerly towards the two men. How many of
them were there? One hundred?... Two hundred?... Perhaps more!
Pierre and the missionary examined them eagerly. They looked from one
gallery to another, inspecting the compartments, roving up and down the
long façades; and first one, and then the other, suddenly cried out:
"_Wanda!_"
"_Mademoiselle Redeski!_"
There she was, standing in one of the galleries, bending forward with
her eyes fixed on them. The roof of the gallery in which she stood
flung its shadow over her so that the upper part of her figure, clad
in a black tunic, was in full blaze of light while the rest of her
remained in the shade. She was surrounded with sorceresses. She hung
over a little further. The sun lit up the masses of her hair so that
she seemed haloed with pale gold. With her arms stretched wide she
called:
"Pierre!"
The young man made a motion of rage. She saw that he was ready to rush
blindly towards her, and called out hurriedly:
"No ... no ... don't stir.... Presently ... after the...."
Then she fell suddenly silent. Around her the sorceresses were jostling
one another, drowning her voice with their ironical laughter and sneers.
Motionless, his face turned towards the young woman, Pierre looked at
her long and searchingly. Their glances met and mingled, and their
love, stronger than the sense of danger, flamed up and flowed through
them, overwhelming them both with the same emotion and the same hopes.
It seemed to them that they were close to one another, so that their
lips at the same moment gave and received an imaginary kiss, and they
smiled, taking no thought of their sorry plight.
Once more an order tore through the silence:
"Hear ye all.... This is the true word."
Their ecstasy was shattered.
Pierre, turning towards the voice which had just sounded, recognized
Jieng: Jieng who, now clad in a tunic of white silk and seated in a
stall of carved stone decorated with blazing gold, was presiding over
the strange assembly. She bent a triumphant grin on the young man and
her lids flickered when their eyes met.
Then Lursac looked at the missionary beside him.
"A kind of trial I suppose," said he.
"Yes," said the priest, "but listen!"
The chant continued:
"... _At the time when the Gods descended on the world the temple
was built--built with their hands. And hundreds and thousands of
moons have since then rolled into darkness. Afterwards the Gods
created peoples and animals and last of all they created the
Law--their Law._..."
Once more Pierre turned to face Jieng. She sat motionless in a hieratic
pose copied from Siamese idols: at her feet crouched the woman who was
chanting; and, as she read, the yellow parchment inscribed in unknown
characters unrolling, stretched itself along the floor and seemed to
glide towards the two men.
Jieng made a sign.
"... _And in order that their will should be obeyed they called
together the women who live beyond the mountains in the cold white
country and said to them: This is our Law of which you shall be
the servants, and your power shall be great, for you shall be the
makers and the mothers of the Moï people--the free people of the
forest._"
A murmur arose, and a great wave of pride tingled in the scarred faces
of the priestesses and shone in their eyes.
Father Ravennes interrupted a moment the rosary which he was saying in
a whisper and caught Pierre by the elbow:
"What do you intend to do?" said he calmly.
Jerking himself free, the young man walked towards the high priestess.
When he was only separated from her by the edge of the basin in which
he stood he turned his eyes upon her. For a minute their hates flashed
out and Pierre cried roughly:
"Your religious laws don't interest us! What we want is that white
woman whom you carried away here and whom you are holding against her
will. Do you understand?"
Jieng did not deign to answer. She contented herself with laying her
finger on the shoulder of the reader crouched at her feet....
"... _As the servants did not understand, the Gods told them more:
This is the Temple in which you are to live. Here is the holy
valley, the valley in which time shall stand motionless. And here
are the males of the Race-which-shall-not-change. They shall be the
Living Gods. These shall be Life and they shall be called 'the Red
Gods,' that is to say the First, the Sons of the Queen-race, the
Rmoahal[17]-race._
[Footnote 17: This confirms very precisely the hypothesis made earlier
by Father Ravennes. The Red Gods of the Pou-Kas would, according to
this, be a preserved branch of the great antediluvian race of the sons
of Ad. From these, according to the sacred writings of India, the
different races that peopled the earth had their origin: first the red
race and then the yellow race. The first included, the Rmoahal, the
Zlavakis, the Zoltecs. The Rmoahal, who are evidently the red gods of
Lursac's history are described as follows: "This was the most ancient
race--four or five million years old. The men were walnut brown and
very tall--ten to twelve feet. At the time of the great earth cataclysm
they emigrated towards Upper Asia."]
Pierre stretched his hand towards Jieng:
"Listen," he cried; "if you don't give us back this woman our brothers
will come and destroy your temple and raze it to the ground. You shall
all be dispersed and slain. Our revenge is terrible!"
Jieng, implacable, slowly raised her withered hand:
"... _And henceforth the first Rule of the Law shall be concerning
your fate: you shall be conquered throughout the centuries but you
shall never be subdued. Everything which is taken from you you
shall some day recover, as the free people of the forest, the Moï
people, shall not die. They shall remain a strong people, for the
women of the race whose bodies are sterile shall come here and
shall be the brides for one night of the Living Gods, and they
shall carry back to the people of the forest the life and the
strength of the Race-which-shall-not-change._"
Pierre bent his head; he felt himself fighting against a stupendous
power, in the face of which all resistance would be useless. The
versicles chanted in Banhar by the reader seemed to him a fantastic
story without interest. He thought of nothing but Wanda. Would he ever
be able to set her free? He looked at her. Her face seemed to him
paler, yet more wonderfully sweet and tender, in the midst of these
ravaged faces of the sorceresses! But at the same time he realized his
weakness against their numbers. The disproportion of their forces came
home to him with brutal certainty, and he knew in advance that he would
go down to defeat. He would not save Wanda ... he would not be able to
save her!
To his rage succeeded a dull despair. He turned to the missionary, and
the priest, aware of his sufferings, said gravely:
"Wait, the goodness of the Lord is without bounds: we have no right to
despair...."
The voice of the chantress continuing her litany interrupted him:
"... _They shall be brides of a night--but they shall not know
it, for they shall remain wrapped in slumber, as no woman except
their servants may see the Living Gods. No one--unless her life
henceforth is to be that of one of their servants and that she
remain among them until her death. And this is the second Rule of
the Law._"
Jieng bent forward: she looked the young man up and down.
"Do you hear?" she asked in her expressionless voice. "She wanted to
see the Red Gods. She has seen them, and she must remain among us until
her death. It is the second Rule of the Law...."
She leaned back.
"... _But the women of the free people who have been three times
brides of the Gods and who shall still remain sterile shall become
their servants. Then their portion shall be ugliness and obedience.
Those who are not ugly shall be made so; so that all the women who
are thus offered to the Gods shall alike have faces without thought
and without mind,--as beauty and thought will bring to blossom in
the holy valley as they have in the rest of the world the trees of
love, of hatred and of revolt.--And this is the third Rule of the
Law._"
The parchment, now almost all unrolled, stretched out towards the
hollow in the centre of the court, brushing the feet of the two men
and jerking with every movement of the reader, whose voice, up to that
moment level and expressionless, suddenly became vibrant and sonorous.
"... _Men even of Moï blood shall never see the Temple, and the
Dead Zone shall be their boundary. Nevertheless fifty warriors
shall live in the Temple, but without knowing the Gods; and before
entering there they shall have been made no longer fit to be called
men. This is the penultimate Rule of the Law._"
A long pause, then the voice rose and became strident and flung out
like a defiance or a verdict of death the last section of the Law.
"... _And if a man who is neither of the Moï blood nor of the Moï
country comes to the Temple, drawn by the lust of knowledge or even
by chance, the Slow Death shall be his portion. And this is the
last Rule of the Law._"
Lursac saw the missionary blench.
"Is it this verdict of death which causes you anxiety?" he asked.
The priest shrugged his shoulders:
"Didn't you hear? We are condemned to the Slow Death. I suppose you
know what that means?"
"Yes," said Pierre, "starvation and thirst!"
"No," interjected the priest, "it is something much more horrible,
a punishment which is celebrated in the annals of the Kingdom of
Annam."[18]
[Footnote 18: The "Slow Death" was, to be precise, invented by the
emperor Gia-Long, founder of the dynasty of Nguyen. He practiced it
on the daughters of Huë, chief of the Tay-Son rebels, and on thirty
members of his family. Here is the description of the torture given by
the Annamese historian, Truong-Vin-Ky: "First the flesh of the limbs
is cut off strip by strip and the bones are broken. After which the
abdomen of the victim is cut open and his viscera removed. Finally
after his left hand has been cut off at the wrist the limbs are chopped
off at the trunk. This left hand is then embalmed and sent to the
family of the criminal in order that they may remember his fate and
meditate upon it."]
The voice of Jieng interrupted him. She had risen. With her two hands
sweeping the air in a wide threatening gesture, she cried out:
"The Law is the Law. You have come here to find out, and you have found
out; but now the Law of Gondwana has become your Law. Hear this also
which is the first word, at once the first and the last, as the chain
which binds you is complete.
... _It is written: that those who wish to know--may know. This is
the Law of the Red Gods--the Law of the barren wives, the Law of
Gondwana. But those of our blood only--and among those only women
and the servants of the Gods--may hear it and know it without
dying._..."
A great clamor filled the hall: all the priestesses standing upon their
steps with their eyes turned towards the two men repeated in unison:
"_And the Law of Gondwana is become your Law._"
Clear and sudden, silence fell and lasted for a moment; then Jieng gave
the order:
"Set them in the eighth gallery of the end hall until sunset. Then they
shall be carried to the statue of the God; and when the dawn comes the
last rule of the Law shall be carried out...."
She looked the missionary in the face.
"And now I shall find out how those who serve your God can die," said
she.
Straining towards him she seemed to await his answer. But the priest,
with his eyes in front of him, gave no evidence of having heard her
except by a faint smile.
CHAPTER XXII
WANDA TELLS HER STORY
The eighth gallery in which they were now confined was a peculiar
prison. It was a room about five or six yards long and not more than
a yard and one-half broad--a sort of corridor, with a very lofty
ceiling, its floor tiled with black and white mosaic ornamented with
purple gold. Its strangeness consisted in a feature which gave it a
disquieting and peculiar appearance of a combined cage and chapel. The
one and the only wall was hollowed out into an apse, at the back of
which an enormous idol in red metal smiled a beatific smile, seated in
the hollow of a huge flower formed by the spreading of seven flattened
heads of a gigantic Brahminic cobra. At the other end, opposite, was
the door by which they had been forced to enter the room, and on both
sides, arranged clusterwise, there rose a double row of columns almost
touching each other and leaving between them space hardly large enough
to slip one's arm through.
There was no furniture in the gallery; but on the floor, at the foot
of the Buddhist statue, against the wall, there was stretched a bed of
beasts' skins, with rough thick hair.
Pierre had set himself upon this, while the missionary, his face
pressed between the pillars, watched everything within reach of his
eyes.
The gallery in which they lay formed the short end of an enormous room.
To right and left other halls, one leading into another, stretched
away, separated by lofty arches. Here and there opened dark entries
to semi-visible passages. A bluish-green daylight flowed between the
gray walls from some source which they could not determine. A smell of
stale incense and of mould was over everything. Striking down from some
invisible opening in the roof a dazzling ray of sunlight fell obliquely
on the tiling of the floor, making a broad splash of pale light. The
priestesses came and went. They glided noiselessly from one hall to
another, going about their customary duties, taking no notice of the
two men, not even glancing at them. They simply appeared from some
passage, crossed a hall and were swallowed up in the shadows of another
passage; and sometimes they were accompanied by native warriors with
bare breasts and legs and cloth kilts about their middles.
Somewhere a woman's voice chanted a canticle, a sort of hymn to death;
and amid the vast silence this was the only sound that could be heard.
The minutes passed. Pierre, with his head between his hands, was lost
in vague thought: an immense exhaustion had fallen upon him and bitter
despair. He thought of Wanda: the image of the young woman haunted him
and he was obsessed by the words which she had spoken out there in the
middle of the strange tribunal which had condemned them to Slow Death.
They went round and round in his brain which burned as with fever.
"Presently.... After the...."
His own fate did not disturb him. His nerves prostrated by fatigue and
his will in abeyance, he was a prey to his physical weakness, and,
in the dull stupefaction in his brain there floated only a single
craving--to give up, to lie down on these warm furs and never move
again, never think, and just forget everything.
"Lursac ... come! come quickly!..."
Pierre looked at the missionary with dull eyes, and getting up slowly
and awkwardly he went to join him.
The priest, pointing out the series of rooms in front of him, said
simply:
"Wanda!"
Pressing his face between two pillars, Pierre looked. She had just
appeared at the bottom of the furthest hall. She was running. Under an
arch she had to stop to let a procession of priestesses followed by
a dozen warriors go by. Then she came on again. The long black tunic
which she wore made the pale gold of her unbound hair all the more
luminous by its contrast.
Pierre stretched his arms toward her:
"Wanda!... Wanda!..."
In a moment she was before them. A priestess accompanied her and opened
the door for her, shutting it behind her, and then went off without a
word. Standing in the middle of the gallery, the young woman now gave
way and cried with convulsive spasms of silent weeping. Pierre had
caught her hands and kissed them passionately one after the other.
Words came to him, tumbling out confusedly:
"My dear one!... Wanda!... My love! ... you are here.... Lift up your
head so that I may see your eyes ... yes, that's right.... Don't cry! I
love you!..."
He pressed her to him passionately, stroking her hair, her shoulders.
Then raising her face gently he drew her towards him and bent over her:
their lips came together and clung.
Releasing herself, she saw the missionary who had sat himself down upon
the heap of furs: she called to him:
"My Father!"
Then, running up to him, she knelt and stretched her hands, which he
caught and held.
"My poor child!" said he, "how did you manage to get to us?"
He felt the long, cold fingers tremble in his.
"I am free," she said, "free to come and go throughout the temple. No
one takes any notice of me since ... since I must live here henceforth
until I die."
They were both silent, full of thoughts and conflicting feelings. It
was the young woman who first broke the silence:
"And Michael?" she questioned anxiously, seizing the priest by the arm,
"have you found him?"
The missionary confessed the truth, telling briefly the story of their
descent into the ravine, the death of their guides, and how they made
their way into the temple and had been captured.
She interrupted him, crying aloud again and yet again:
"All that has come about through my fault! Forgive me!... Forgive
me!..."
* * * * *
Then in her turn she spoke:
"I wanted to save Michael! His disappearance, the terror which weighed
on the whole region, the sorceresses, the pilgrimage for women, all
that seemed to be part of a single whole.... I knew that Jieng must
know all about this terrible occult system of which my brother was the
prisoner, and that she must be a part of it...."
She turned to the missionary.
"You said: 'I cannot depend on starting in less than eight days? I
was appalled.... I was afraid that we should arrive too late. When
I left the Mission I went to find Jieng by myself in order to force
information from her, but I got nothing ... nothing, except that if I
accompanied the pilgrimage of the sixth month which was starting that
evening, I should at any rate be able to see Michael.... I thought I
should be able to join him and give you the time to arrive and rescue
him, and perhaps that I could help him to escape. And then, you see,
Jieng allowed me to send you a message. So I set out, one of the troop
of Moï women. I walked with them all the way and arrived in front of
the temple where they made us enter a court...."
"Yes," said Pierre, "we know all about that."
And he recounted the tale which Hmon had told them. She assented to it
with nods of her head as he went along, and without speaking.
When he had finished, she looked at him.
"And then?" she asked.
"That's all," said Pierre. "She waked up at the feet of the idol. What
had happened while she was asleep she knew nothing of...."
The young woman bent her head. Hiding her face between her hands, she
whispered:
"I know.... I know.... When we arrived at the pagoda, Jieng said to me:
'Do you want to see your brother? Perhaps he is here ... mix with the
priestesses and look....' So with the priestesses I made one of those
who lined the passages through which the Moï women walked, and I saw
everything. As soon as they were asleep, four priestesses picked them
up. Behind the statue of the God there was a door through which they
took them. And Jieng again said to me, 'Follow them.' Then immediately,
seeing my movement of instinctive recoil, she said, 'Then stay behind;'
but her scornful smile decided me to go on. I found myself in a
subterranean passage: before me four priestesses were carrying a woman:
behind me two others were walking, with torches in their hands. The
passage came out on a high narrow gallery lighted with braziers set on
tripods. On one side there was a clammy wall dripping with moisture,
and on the other a row of columns close to each other, just like these
of this gallery. Spaced among these pillars were doors,--I counted
twelve of them. One of the priestesses opened one of them, the first.
Leaning against the columns, I looked into a sort of rectangular cave."
The missionary watched Pierre with a sidelong glance:
"Yes, ..." he whispered, "it was through one of those that we got
here...."
The young woman seemed not to hear him: she continued:
"Two doors opened out of it: one through which the sorceresses were
already pushing the body of the woman, the other opposite. Behind this
latter I thought I heard movements and hoarse whispering. I went a
little further down the gallery, and I discovered that behind each of
these twelve doors there was a similar cell, and that in each of those
a sleeping woman was lying on the ground. When I returned to the first
one, the woman that I had seen carried there was lying stretched out
on the ground chained by the wrist. She was still asleep; and only a
single sorceress was by her, who, approaching a tripod on which live
coals were glowing, threw upon it a pinch of powder. A flame shot up,
blinding and livid. Twice more she repeated her action, and then came
back to me. Behind the second door the footsteps approached and became
louder. At the same moment a sharp click made me jump. Behind me the
door by which we had come in was shut. I was alone in the gallery.
Lying along on the ground, the woman who was there moaned softly in her
sleep. At the same time the second door was violently flung open ...
and...."
She gasped. Through her fingers tears began to drip.
Pierre repeated:
"The door opened, and?"
In spite of himself the words sounded rough.
She sobbed more terribly.
"A man came in," said she, "a red man. He was very tall and clothed in
a reddish fur; he looked round with a hard shining look and ran towards
the woman. I cried out.... He stopped, and flung an enquiring glance
around him; he saw me. He was some steps from me but quite near. I
saw his eyes open wide with astonishment. He looked down at the woman
lying at his feet and then quickly looked up again at me. Fear overcame
me.... I ran along the gallery. From all the cells that I passed I
heard cries and noises: I thought I understood, and an immense horror
overcame me. Staggering, I came back and reached the first cell in
which the man.... He was still there motionless in front of me. His
mahogany-colored face took on an extraordinary expression of curiosity
and respect, then suddenly it moved spasmodically and he ran at me. I
felt his hand on my hair. Ghastly fear made my knees give way. Falling,
I flung myself back with all my might and called out...."
She hesitated. Pierre saw her hands tremble and clench.
"And then? then?" he asked.
"I ... it is all confused in my brain. I had shrunk away ... yes ... as
far as possible! I was afraid! afraid! But I continued to stare at him.
I could neither turn my eyes away nor close them. I saw him standing
against the columns, his closed fist held a lock of my hair and he was
looking at it. He stayed like that for a long time, looking now at the
woman sleeping on the earth and then at me. Finally he drew back slowly
and went out."
She stopped speaking.
The missionary stretched his hand to her in a gentle gesture of pity
and compassion, but Pierre, his face drawn and his teeth clenched,
cried out:
"And then?"
She drew back her hands from her face and cast a gentle look upon him.
"After ... I do not know.... With my face in my arms I cried and cried.
Time went by: silence was everywhere around me. I dragged myself to the
door. I cried aloud and banged on it. Then suddenly, when I had given
up hope, it opened, and Jieng appeared accompanied by two guards. She
turned towards me and grinned. The warriors under her order held me up
and helped me along: they took me back into the temple and conducted
me into a long room with sculptured walls. After having laid me on a
sleeping bench covered with furs they went out. Jieng remained alone
with me. She looked me up and down.
"'This,' she said, 'will be your room. You are free to leave it if
you wish. Do whatever you want. But I said to you one day, 'no harm
will happen to you,' and I don't want a pig of a barbarian to be able
to accuse me of having lied. The priestesses of the Red Gods do not
lie. Go out of the temple if you wish, but do not forget this: Out
there'--she pointed in one direction--'at the principal entrance by
which you came in is the forest, and death for those who are not of our
race. On this side'--and she pointed to the façade of the sanctuary on
which the door and window of my room gave--'on this side dwells the
clan of the Red Gods which you have just seen.' She paused, gave a
short, strident laugh, and went on: 'Do, then, as you will. Whatever
happens to you now it will be only your own wish which has brought you
to it.'
"She went off before I could make even a movement. I remained on the
sleeping-bench, overcome, and my mind empty. I felt incapable of
moving. Affairs presented themselves to me in their true light. Making
use of the disappearance of Michael, Jieng had inveigled me into an
ambush, and from now on I was her prisoner. The words which she had
just said to me echoed in my hollow brain. On one side the unknown
mountain range, a desert which no man left to himself could manage to
cross, on the other the ... the...."
Wanda was silent. Her look was full of a sort of horror. She raised
dull eyes towards the two men and went on:
"When I recovered from my prostration I dragged myself to the window
of my room, which was barred with small columns. The growing light
of dawn showed me a wild landscape: a chaos of rocky blocks massed
perpendicularly on the edge of a gentle slope, and beyond that the dark
sea of the forest buried in a gorge of which the abrupt walls flung
themselves up towards a livid sky and surrounded with their implacable
ranks the entire temple."
"The ravine," murmured Pierre.
"Hush!" said the priest, "let her continue!"
The young woman, without looking at them, went on:
"I stayed there a long time. The sun rose and its light shone into
my room. I was able to see every detail of it. The walls, from top
to bottom, were graven with designs, lotus flowers, impossible
animals, warriors and bonzes in attitudes of struggle or prayer. The
sleeping-platform, two chests and two or three stools, crudely carved,
made up the entire furnishings. The gate to the right of the window
which opened on the façade of the temple fronting the ravine, was heavy
and made of rough wood: a bar almost as big as a squared beam crossed
it. I made sure that it was firmly shut, and then I left the room.
I wandered through the halls of the temple. The priestesses and the
warriors whom I met took no notice of me.... But I heard behind my back
ironical laughs and sneers. I made my way back to my cell, and throwing
myself on my bed I sobbed desperately until fatigue, stronger than
suffering, brought me unconsciousness.
"A ringing cry awoke me suddenly. I got up and looked about me. Between
the columns of my window I made out the face of a man. The face that I
had seen the night before in the cell back there.... I cried out, and
stood ready to run away....
"But he gave an uneasy smile, and lifting up his hands seemed to show
me something which I could not make out properly: then he disappeared.
I waited a few seconds, and carefully approaching the window I dared to
look out. The sun was setting. On my window-sill I found a stag's head
with its antlers. In the distance among the rocks the man was running
away."
The young woman bent her head down and stopped speaking.
Pierre, tortured with doubt, did not dare to ask her any questions;
while the missionary, remembering what he had seen that same morning at
dawn, reflected deeply. Before his mind there came again the picture
of the barbarian and his attitude of silent adoration; and suddenly he
understood what they had taken for the ritual of an unknown worship was
nothing but an expression of adoration--an outbreak of this eternal
instinct of love which down through the ages from the earliest days
of humanity to the present time has taught the males of the species
the same thoughts and the same actions, of which accumulated centuries
of civilization and of progress have only succeeded in reducing the
primordial brutality ... nothing more than this! The silence grew
longer and it was Wanda who of her own accord continued:
"How did he manage to discover which was my window? I do not know.
But from that time on, every morning at dawn, and every evening at
night-fall, he came up to my room and prowled about it. When he left,
a new trophy was added to the others. When I wake in the morning I
see his great face and his gray eyes, and in the evening I perceive
his shadow flung across the window of my cell. For I do not sleep any
more.... I do not sleep any more.... I am afraid.... Although I know I
have nothing to fear; but from dread of feeling there, behind my door,
this invisible presence, of being aware that I have been ceaselessly
watched by this human beast for all of the eight days that I have been
here.... Ah, the horror of it!..."
Her glance became fixed. In the depths of her eyes, grown large with
fear and reddened by sleeplessness, a vision arose, the vision of a
scene which had been enacted the evening before, and of which the
memory, overshadowing her, still made her tremble. She lived again
through those frightful minutes during which, pressed against the wall,
her heart beating wildly, she had listened to the man scratching at her
door, feeling it all over, trying his strength against it, endeavoring
to enter into this room in which lay the female with the gold hair,
the prey which he desired above all else. She recalled again his
appearance at the window, his efforts to break through the columns,
and his cry--this strange cry which had terrified her by the desire,
the wrath, and the sadness which it expressed. Then, mad with terror,
she had rushed at him armed with a torch. She saw again his face which
the purple light of the firebrand had sharply lighted up--the face of
a conquered wild beast, savage, humble, and grief-stricken all at the
same time.
She shuddered.
"Ah! the horror of it! ... the horror of it! ..." she repeated in a low
voice.
Pierre, who had been wildly striding up and down his narrow prison,
came back to her. He seized the hand of the young woman on which still
sparkled the signet ring which he had given her. He stroked it gently,
and passionately kissed the fingers one by one. A great pity had taken
possession of him: he tried to find soothing words:
"My loved one ... my darling ... you must not think of all that, you
must not torture yourself like this ... I love you!..."
She raised her head suddenly. Her face, wet with tears, became
illumined with an expression of longing and passionate love. She drew
him to her.
"I love you!... I love you ..." she whispered, offering him her lips.
And once again their love made them regardless of everything but
themselves.
The missionary, standing beside them, looked into the distance.
Gradually the darkness stole in. The ray of sunlight had long gone from
the furthest arch. Bluish shadows little by little invaded the temple.
The night filtered softly into the halls; the further ones gradually
melted into the obscurity and became invisible.
The priestesses, scarcely seen, continued to go back and forth through
the sanctuary. In the distance the unknown voice continued to chant its
song of death; and the darkness mingling with the sadness of the chant
sung upon two minor tones gave it a peculiar sweetness.
Minutes passed, and then from the dark of a passage a procession of
eight priestesses carrying torches appeared, accompanied by a dozen
warriors, their lances in their hands. The troop, crossing the various
rooms, advanced towards the prisoners.
Jieng was at their head.
The missionary followed their march with his eyes for a minute, then he
murmured:
"_Let them be put in the eighth gallery until the setting of the
sun._... And the sun is set!"
He called to Lursac:
"They are coming to fetch us," he said; and he walked towards the door.
The voice stopped him:
"No ... you will not be taken there for an hour."
Pierre, raising his head, perceived Jieng. Standing before the pillars
she watched the three Europeans: a grin wreathed her face, twisting it
into wrinkles. With a gesture she dismissed her escort; then she spoke
in Banhar, addressing herself to Pierre and the girl.
"You came to see me down there in my village. I have not forgotten it."
And she bowed in an ironical salute:
"In my turn I come to see you.... Is not that the custom among you?"
The young people made no answer: they clung to each other. Jieng gave a
little dry laugh.
"Aïa ... Aïa ..." said she. "Is your curiosity then dead? Has fear
killed it?"
The missionary, as she looked at him, shrugged his shoulders.
"Hé!" he growled, "I wonder what there can be left for us to know now?"
Although he had spoken in a very low voice, the sorceress heard him.
She gave a short laugh.
"What there remains for you to know? Very nearly everything!..."
The three Europeans started violently. The answer had been spoken
in French, slowly but almost without accent. The smile of the
high-priestess became more marked and full of irony.
"Yes," she said, "first of all that: I speak your language."
She enjoyed their astonishment for the space of several seconds, then
she continued:
"You could not imagine that!... And who could have supposed it?...
Here, in the depths of the forest, an old woman shut up in her
hut, leading the existence which animals lead in their lairs--a
savage, brutalized by this primitive and bestial life, just a Moï
beggar-woman--_speaking French_!... Incredible, isn't it? Yes ... I am
beginning to interest you."
The missionary, taken unawares, had instinctively moved towards the
columns.
Her glance settled on him.
"I was certain," said she, "that my visit would not displease you.
The explanation?... How and where I learned your language? It is much
simpler than you imagine. I suppose you know the orphanage of the
Little Sisters of Saigon? I was there eight years, from the age of six
to fourteen. Then suddenly I disappeared. They looked for me. I was
taken away by a street-beggar and brought back among my own people to
be made ready for my present rôle. Ten years of work and initiation,
twenty more years during which I learned all the secrets of the Law
of Gondwana; then at the death of my mother came my nomination as
Bia-Bo-Jaou.[19] I have been that for eighteen years. I was forty-four
at the time. And ever since then, every two years at least, I have
been to Saigon. I was there when this man"--and she pointed to
Lursac--"landed. I shall be there again four months from now. I go
there to follow the course of your conquest, to watch the progress of
your forward movements."
[Footnote 19: Chief of the sorceresses.]
She made a pause: her voice became stronger, and an extraordinary
expression of hardness contracted her deformed face.
"Ah!" said she, "you are powerful: your spirit of order, your system of
violence and persuasion by turns, this mixture of force and subtlety,
of terrorization and of free infiltration, has given you unexpected
results, as, little by little advancing, and settling yourselves as you
penetrate, you have arrived at the very foot of our mountains...."
She made a movement of restrained rage.
"Yes ... you have arrived so far, but at the same time you have
attained the limit which I had set to your encroachments...."
She noticed the somewhat disdainful smile with which Pierre received
her declaration. All the hate in her showed in her face. She growled
out:
"You may smile. I told you just now: you know nothing! Listen ... you
are going to die in a few hours. She--"and her stretched-out finger
pointed to Wanda--"she will never leave the temple again.... You wanted
to find out, like the others--like Lieutenant Redeski and Lieutenant
Longères whose corpses you found in the ravine--like Captain Dorcel,
whom we allowed to return to Saigon because I knew he could never speak
again, and because I thought thus to turn aside the suspicions which
the disappearance of Lieutenant Longères had aroused. Like them you
wanted to know; but also, like them, you will never be able to tell
anybody what you do know."
She stopped to sneer. Father Ravennes mechanically enquired:
"Then ... it is you?..."
She did not allow him to go on; she swelled with pride.
"It is I! But there is more and better to come ... for this is only a
minor issue, an unimportant detail of the contest which I am waging
against you. Remember the rebellion of the Bolovens, a revolt at once
religious and patriotic, the taking of the post of Psi, the putting
to death of Robert, condemned by me because his curiosity began to be
inconvenient! At the same time do not forget the death of Odend'hal who
was too anxious to find out about it."
She stamped her foot and cried out:
"All that ... all that, is my work ... it is my will which has caused
it ... it is my power which has commanded it and brought it about."
The missionary, standing upright before her, looked at her.
"Why?" he asked quietly. "Why? We have never sought to do you any
harm!... We come to you...."
She spat on the ground and interrupted him:
"Done me harm?..." she repeated violently. "By what right do you set
yourselves up as masters? This land is ours! However far you may search
back into the Chinese historians you find that this soil was inhabited
from the beginning by our race. Invasions occurred: the Kmers, the
Chams, the Lao-ese, the Cambodians, the Annamese, all, all invaded us
and fell upon our plateaus like swarms of hungry insects. We gave way
as much as possible. We fled into the most inaccessible forests and on
to the most precipitous mountains. We, formerly the masters of this
country, we fled. The rich, fertile soil of the plains we abandoned to
the greed of our invaders: we were condemned to a miserable life, the
life of the beasts, hunted in the depths of their forests and pursued
even to their lairs. But we remained free, we were always the Free
People of the Mountain."
"Then, in your turn, you came. These fragments of our possessions,
these last vestiges of our territory--even these--you wanted to take
from us. And above all, above all, you wanted to rule us, to make
us subservient to your laws ... to your customs ... to your
religion; ... like those other peoples worn out with debauchery and
weakened with opium, like the Lao-ese, the Cambodians, the Annamese,
we were to have become your servants and the instruments of your
greatness!... Ah! but we would not. And I, on the other hand, I, Jieng,
less than anyone, because, while those others simply dislike you, I
hate you.... I hate you because of your power and your civilization
which make you so formidable. I hate you because, great and strong as
you are, you are for ever thinking how to stretch out your hands over
the miserable territories of a people that you think cannot resist you.
I hate you because your domination would mean the annihilation of all
that our race has done, the work of my people; our customs, our laws,
our habits, our religion: because ten years of European influence is
enough to wipe out the centuries of our history; this history that the
members of my family have built up one after the other, down to me....
I hate you!... I hate you!..."
Little by little her voice had risen in tone, and she flung out her
last words with a sort of furious violence. Then, suddenly, she was
taken with a fit of coughing which bent her double.
Pierre and Wanda, motionless, watched her with immense surprise. The
priest alone remained unimpressed. He listened with grave attention,
and when once more the high priestess was silent he slowly stretched
out his arm towards her:
"What does it matter?" said he. "As for me, I do not hate you: you
serve your religion...."
Jieng lifted her head again.
"I serve my religion?" said she, "Ah! Ah! They think that! ... and
after all that I have just said to them ... they have not even
understood!... Dorcel even was more intelligent than you.... My
religion? You are as simple as all my people.... For them there must
be gods, divine beings whom they never see and whom terror makes them
obey better than they do us plain mortals.... The Red Gods! ... yes,
for them, for all of them, these are gods.... But for me ... for me ...
they are the pure race, the strong race, which makes it possible for me
to preserve in the people of the forest its hardiness, to infuse into
it a new unfettered blood to fight against its bastardization, against
its degradation. It is the giant tree from which I drain into the veins
of the Moï people a new sap ... it is the life which I preserve for my
people in order that the word of the law of Gondwana shall some day
become the truth: _You shall be conquered throughout the centuries but
you shall never be overcome, and everything which has been taken away
from you, some day you shall retake_."
"But," said the priest, "what about them, the men of the tribe?"
The eyes of the priestess looked at him:
"They," said she, "they do not know. Life for them has always been
there, and never anywhere else. The fathers of their fathers have lived
there, and for them the world has no other features but those of this
valley and the rear façade of the temple. Ten male children and ten
girls are enough to assure their perpetuation. Is that what you wanted
to know?"
The resonant note of a gong at the end of one of the halls filled the
vaults with its call and vibrated long under the vaulted ceilings.
Jieng, turning towards her escort, made a sign: the warriors got ready
to march away. The high priestess cried in a loud voice:
"This is the hour!..."
Wanda had fallen on her knees. She sobbed.
Lursac, bending over her, said quickly:
"Follow us, and stay as near as you can to the hall into which they
take us. Perhaps we can manage...."
She gave a cry of despair:
"No! No! They are too strong and there are too many of them!"
The priest in his turn said decidedly:
"Lursac is right. Anything may happen when God wills it."
And as they opened the door of the gallery he crossed the threshold and
of his own accord placed himself between two of the warriors. Pierre
did likewise. Wanda had pulled herself together and went out of the
gallery, and when the priestesses started off she tried to follow them.
Two men stopped her. She struggled and tried to pass in spite of them.
They held her by force, and one of them explained to her with a high,
almost feminine voice:
"Only those who are going to die are allowed to watch under the statue
of the God."
She called out:
"Pierre! Pierre!..."
But the escort had disappeared, swallowed up in the dark mouth of one
of the passages. The warriors had loosed her. They watched her. The one
who had already spoken said baldly:
"Women and female beasts are just alike, they cry after the male...."
Then she fled, and the laughter of the two guards followed her.
CHAPTER XXIII
A TERRIBLE BARGAIN
She had fled into her room. Flung upon her sleeping-bench she
was thinking rapidly. Her tears flowed no longer. With her will
concentrated to a point, she forced herself to subdue the tumult of
her thoughts and to bring order out of the chaos of ideas and emotions
which surged up in her.
The night had flowed into and drowned her cell,--this night which was
to be the last one for Pierre and Father Ravennes. Tomorrow, at dawn,
their torture would begin,--this fearful torture, the Slow Death, which
Jieng one evening had complaisantly described to her: the flesh torn
off bit by bit, the bones broken one by one, the entrails.... With a
bound of horror the young woman flung herself from the couch and stood
upright in the middle of the room. The darkness became unbearable to
her. She lighted the torch fixed in the wall above the window. But the
vision which she had thought to banish in driving away the dark, came
back to her, haunted her.... Pierre cut to pieces, dismembered, a mere
bleeding stump!... Pierre! and all this through her own fault...
Yes, ... through her fault alone....
The details of her last visit to the sorceress flashed through her
mind, and among them the strange look of Jieng when she had given
permission for Lursac and Ravennes to be notified. A bait! That was
it.... She had been a bait used to entice the two men, to bring them
into the trap, to call them to it certainly and irresistibly.
And now, now.... Gripping her arms in her hands she twisted them in
agony; all her love, all her suffering, broke from her in a strangled
sob.... Ah! if it were possible to save them!... To snatch Pierre from
this nameless and horrible death.... To save him.... She thought of
the last words of the young man: "Perhaps we can manage...." She shook
her head wildly: No. Nothing! He could do nothing!... For she knew,
she had seen the warriors and the sorceresses. There were too many of
them! What then? What then? She thought in a flash: "If I went there,
I ... if instead of them Jieng would...." But she stood frozen into
immobility at the thought that it was not she whom they wanted to get
rid of, but they, the men who knew too much, who had discovered too
many secrets,--they who represented the conquerors, the witnesses,--as
they had already got rid of Dorcel, Longères, Redeski.... No, it must
be something else ... she must find some other way.... But what?... The
question obsessed her and would not let her go, beating round and round
the walls of her brain.... What? She could not think of anything ...
and the horrible scene which she visioned in advance dwelt obstinately
before her eyes: the scene of the torture, tomorrow, in a few hours....
Once more, seized by despair, she flung herself across the foot of
the sleeping-bench and with her head buried in her arms she sobbed
convulsively. Suddenly she heard a call, that hoarse, lingering,
drawn-out cry which she had so often heard and knew so well. She
turned her head towards the window and saw the Man. With his face
pressed against the little columns, he was watching her. She remained
motionless: what did he matter? She was now in the grip of a different
fear, a more terrible one, which made her forget the one which had so
long pursued her.
They looked at each other, face to face: he with his eyes shining with
the fever of passion; she with a mechanical stare which hardly saw him.
He drew himself still closer to the window and called once again:
"_O ... ô ... iê ... êp._..."
But his voice now had in it something timid and imploring which made
the girl tremble. His eyelids flickered. She got up and stood facing
him. Leaning against the wall she considered the face of the savage. It
seemed to her now that she saw him for the first time. A line of shade
from one of the columns hid his right ear, a part of his neck and the
middle of his chest; but his heavy square forehead, high, and rising
from bushy eyebrows; his deep-sunk eye-sockets, in the depths of which
under quick flickering eyelids shone the thin, sharp, clinging look
of a bird of prey; his strong red mouth and his hard, prominent chin;
the entire face copper-colored, and softly touched into uncertain,
purplish lights and shadows by the flame of the torch. And this face
now appeared to Wanda strangely beautiful and savage at the same time.
The Man, with a slow, gentle movement, as though afraid of frightening
her, held up an enormous branch, covered with fruit, which he laid on
the sill of the window, and on his face spread a shy boyish smile.
Panting, Wanda suddenly made a couple of steps toward him. She
staggered. With a violent effort which contorted her features, she
conquered her weakness and let her look rest on the Man. A swift flame
flashed in her eyes giving them a desperate expression. Then, dropping
her glance, she stretched her hand and pointed to her door.
When she looked again the window was empty. She trembled with dread
lest he had not seen her sign and had gone away, not to return until
the hour of dawn, according to his usual custom--At dawn, that is to
say, too late! But she suddenly heard his step behind the heavy door
which she had pointed out to him, and this time she was again shaken by
a terrible shudder because he had understood....
Instinctively she recoiled; but again the vision of Pierre being
tortured appeared to her and she groaned. She walked stiffly to the
door, while upon her lips, which she bit in order not to cry out,
little drops of blood sprang out. She stretched out her hand and began
to loosen the enormous wooden bar and let it fall on the ground. Then
she drew back.
The door, pushed violently open, slammed against the wall, and the Man
appeared framed in the doorway of the cell.
He was a magnificent figure. His fur garment girded about his waist
left part of the chest bare and fell to his knees. The free shoulder
was big and rounded, it had the metallic gleam of virgin copper.
Along his bare arms the muscles stood out. From his whole body, at
once massive and beautifully proportioned, radiated a singular sense
of power. As he slowly twisted the upper part of his body, his whole
figure turned with a supple flexion, and the fur which clothed him
moulded still more clearly his athletic torso, showing the rounded
flanks and bringing out the curve of his haunches.
Wanda remained as though petrified in the middle of the room, unable to
turn her eyes from the giant form. With a leap and a growl he was close
to her, so near that she felt on her face the warmth of his breath. For
a second he remained motionless, and then his neck, corded with muscles
and veins, swelled as he stretched his hands to her.
The danger awoke the young woman from the paralysis which held her.
With a sudden movement she flung herself against the wall by the window
under the torch. The Man looked astonished. He hesitated, his eyes
looked suspiciously round the room and came back to the young woman.
Shaking his rough, tawny mane of hair he came towards her. This time
she did not stir: she felt instinctively that the time had come to
face him--to face him and conquer him. This love which he had for her
and which she was going to use must be set free and tamed at the same
time,--and for that it was necessary that he should not suspect the
blind terror which possessed her.
When once again he was close in front of her, he spread wide his arms
and opened his hands. She saw the grip ready to fall on her and seize
her. The face of the Man and his warm breath came close, bending
towards her golden hair which drew him like a charm. And as she felt
on her shoulders the touch of his fingers, at once hard and light, she
flung forward her little white and trembling fist and struck him full
in the face with all her force. The Man, with a deep growl, manifested
his astonishment, but he still held her. With a violent shake she got
free but stood her ground. For a second they looked each other in the
eyes. She saw clearly his fawn-colored pupils in which the reflections
of the torch made red dancing spots; and there she saw suddenly come
to a head all the instincts of violence and all the brutality of his
primitive soul.
She forced herself to stare at him, unwinking, and she spoke in a low,
rather hoarse voice:
"You have come every morning and every night.... You have brought me
offerings. I know.... I have seen you.... I have heard you.... And
tonight, I ... I ... have opened my door...."
She spoke in Banhar, slowly picking her words. She did not consider
what she was saying; the main point was that he should hear the sound
of her voice and listen to it. It was essential that this light in the
depths of his eyes should disappear.
He, for his part, seemed entirely taken up with the contemplation of
her hair, the inexplicable golden-ness of which obsessed him like a
marvellous and unexpected vision.
She went on speaking to him, but louder:
"I have opened my door to you ... because I want to ask something of
you ... something...."
Suddenly he seemed to awake from his daydream: his eyelids beat
rapidly: his lips, half-opened, showed the ivory sparkle of his teeth,
and he savagely brought down his hands and clutched her arms. His
features tightened with a terrific expression of cruelty, and all that
had been awakened in him of softness and hesitation was crowded out
and carried away by the sudden outbreak of primitive instinct: he was
no longer anything but a male facing his desired love-prey. She knew
this, she read it on his contorted face, and her fear sweeping back
upon her she cried out. He lifted her up and sought to carry her off.
She struggled and fought desperately with her nails, her feet, and her
knees. The sleeve of her tunic which he had caught in his grip gave
way: she managed to wriggle out of his grasp, leaving the strip of
black silk between his fingers. Freed, she stumbled, fell against the
columns of the window and remained clinging to them, trembling with
fear and shame.
Recoiling for an instant the Man watched her, while mechanically he
wiped away with the back of his hand the blood from his neck covered
with Wanda's scratches. She raised her arms above her head without
letting her eyes wander from his. With her finger-tips she explored
the wall above her until she felt the handle of the torch. At the same
moment, a hoarse growl coming from the depths of his throat and his
hands stretched out like claws, he flung himself at her. Seizing the
torch she thrust it at him suddenly. The flame twisted in front of his
eyes and a drop of burning resin fell upon his hand. Checked in his
attack he jumped backward several steps. At that she followed him up,
continuing to threaten him with the firebrand. Before the fire, this
mysterious and living thing, this strange red flower, at the same time
kindly and cruel, he slowly broke away. Perhaps there lingered in his
brain the remembrance of another similar scene, of another evening when
she had in the same way obliged him to leave her window and to give
way before her. Or perhaps it was her face and her tragic beauty which
impressed him.
All his violence fell away from him. He still growled low in his
throat but it was no longer savage or cruel: rather, on the contrary,
complaining and imploring.
When she had driven him close to the door by which he had entered,
Wanda stood still and looked him in the eyes. Standing before her,
with his head hanging, he turned away his face. She knew that she had
conquered him, that he had submitted. Then, without taking any notice
of him, she went and replaced the torch in its bracket above the
window. Turning round she saw him standing in the same place, his eyes
moving alternately from her to the door and back. She knew at once that
he was hesitating whether to flee or not; and an agony of suspense came
upon her lest he should disappear. Thinking of Pierre, whose image had
remained with her throughout, she murmured:
"I will save him, ... I will save him at any price!"
Resolutely she went close to the Man. Without making any movement he
watched her approach him; and when she laid her finger on his wrist a
shiver went through him, but he still stood motionless. Again she spoke
to him:
"I said to you that I had something to ask you. You must listen to me,
for then, if you do this thing, then...."
He raised his head and looked at her attentively. She saw him watching
anxiously, trying to understand her; and his desire to comprehend her
words was so acute as to bring a deep wrinkle between his eyebrows.
Then a wave of red flowed into the pallid cheeks of Wanda, and she
finished her sentence:
"Then," she said, "I will go with you--I will go with you always ...
everywhere...."
He breathed deeply and repeated:
"Always ... everywhere, with me...."
She acquiesced with a simple nod and closed her eyes.
While speaking she had made a step in his direction. Now she felt his
arms carefully take hold of her round the back and draw her to him. He
pressed her against him for a second without her attempting to free
herself; then she pushed him gently away and he let go of her.
"Yes," she said, "I will do it if you free my brothers...."
Her voice trembled. She did not even dare to to look at him, but stood
waiting.
"Your brothers?" said he, in his turn.
"Two men of my race, of my blood," she explained. "The servants of the
temple captured them yesterday; they have taken them into the great
hall before the red figure of the god, and they are going to kill them
when day comes, and that--" she almost screamed--"that I will not
have...."
The Man did not answer. In his thick skull obscure thoughts were
beginning to stir. Again she stood in front of him.
"With your companions you could rescue them, carry them away from here
into the forest," said she. "They will go away, and I ... I will stay,
down there...."
And she pointed with her hand in the direction of the ravine.
He trembled and put his arm round the waist of the young woman.
"Good!" said he, "tomorrow, before the rising of the god who lights the
world they shall be free...."
She gave a long, deep sigh.
"But are there enough of you, and will the others consent?"
He drew himself up and threw out his chest, he clenched his fists
roughly.
"There are forty of them," he said with fierce pride, "forty, and
for four seasons the clan has marched behind Maa-Wang.... Where I go
the others will go, for I am Maa-Wang, the Man-who-goes-in-Front,
He-who-carries-the-Club, he whom they follow...."
He stopped and his rough voice softened.
"Your brothers shall be free ... but then it is you whom the servants
of the temple come to look for and will put to death...."
"What does that matter?" said Wanda carelessly.
He gave no heed to her. Like her, some moments earlier, he cried out:
"I will not have that: Follow me!"
And as she instinctively moved back from him, he said more softly:
"You shall wait for Maa-Wang; and when those of your blood are free in
the forest, then only will I come to fetch you."
He had taken her arm as he spoke and drawn her out of the room. On
the threshold she felt herself giving way. All her courage, all her
exaltation vanished. She saw no longer anything but the horror of this
sacrifice of herself: she was on the point of calling to him....
But the savage, seeing her totter, had picked her up. He held her
carefully against his great chest and advanced to the edge of the
outside balcony. She could feel his heart beating in heavy, rhythmic
throbs.
She resigned herself to the sacrifice.
Now the Man was carrying her in one arm. He descended the furthest
wall and when he had reached the granite base on which the building
was planted he stopped a moment searching the shadows. The night was
light and filled with milky mist: above their heads the lighted window
cut a luminous rectangle in the sombre façade of the temple, while the
columns in front of the window flung across the narrow gallery in front
of it alternate bars of shadows and bands of light.
Once more Maa-Wang set forward. He slowly and carefully picked his way
down the massed heap of rocky blocks, trying the ground before him at
every step, and finally came to a sort of deep grotto hollowed between
two enormous stones leaning one against the other. The opening was low
and he had to bend himself to enter. He put the young woman on the
ground: darkness wrapped them in its impenetrable mantle.
"Here," said he, "no one will be able to find you except me."
He was silent. Wanda understood that he was awaiting her reply. She
gathered up all her remaining energy and was finally able to stammer:
"I will wait for you."
She could no longer see him, but she heard the noise of his breathing
which receded and grew fainter, and she knew that he was going. She
then saw his bent silhouette as he glided out of the cavern. Finally
she saw him roll a mass of rock in front of the opening. Then a second
one, and, after it, others, which he heaped on each other. The fragment
of pale night which she could see through the cavern-mouth got narrower
with each stone and finally disappeared altogether. The cave was filled
with black shadows....
The young woman then heard the footsteps of the savage become fainter
and vanish into silence.
Suddenly the veil of unconsciousness fell upon her.
CHAPTER XXIV
THE RESCUE
Drawing up his great muscular form to its full height Maa-Wang
stopped: behind him the whole clan followed his example. The
Man-who-goes-in-Front carefully looked over the façade of the temple.
It was dark. Wanda's window, only, still lighted-up, pierced the gloom
with a thin rectangle of red.
The night was beginning to thin. The roaring of wild beasts sounded
from the valley. The depths of the gorge were still a sea of darkness,
but the foundation wall of the temple, in front of which stood the
tribe, gradually became distinct, and the nearest door showed darker in
the midst of the dark mass.
Maa-Wang turned towards his clan, raised his club aloft and started
off again, a low growl rumbling from his lips. At his back moved the
hunters, all on fire for the battle towards which their chief was
guiding them. They spoke no word: their great hands clutched the
handles of their axes: the flatness of their faces was accentuated:
their clenched jaws and their chins vibrating with impatience stood out
starkly: in their eyes, narrow and flickering, shone strange lights.
They passed through Wanda's cell. The door giving on the gallery
was shattered with a blow from the club and they streamed into the
corridor behind the columns, pushing the wreckage out of their way.
The narrow subway then forced them to form into a procession of two
abreast. Maa-Wang went at the head, silent, his fingers on the wall of
the passage, feeling his way. His fellows followed through the blank
darkness. Several minutes they marched thus, here and there stopping to
listen; but they found nothing but silence, a living silence heavy with
invisible vibrations. Again they started onwards.... An axe now and
again knocked against the wall, and the meeting of the two stones made
a short, clear, clink, greeted by a surly growl. The passage curved and
turned on itself. Then, at the top of the second staircase, guarded by
a narrow rail, the opening suddenly appeared before them, showing a
pointed archway against the lighted depths of the great hall.
Maa-Wang, bending forward with his great body, shouted the call of the
clan:
"_O ... ô ... iê ... iêp._..."
And he rushed forward, club aloft, while behind him the troop streamed
into the sanctuary.
In front of them, with its back to them, rose an enormous statue which
they passed round. Close on their left, the altar revealed its three
steps and the transparent hangings behind which flamed the divinity.
Above the twelve arms which stood out from the body the metal face
reproduced with extraordinary exactness the face of Maa-Wang: the
great swelling forehead, deep eye-sockets, prominent jaw bones and
chin sticking out strongly, hair of a burning red. It was the Man of
the early days, the ancestor of the human race deified. A deep red fur
covered the upper part of the body: in truth it was the Red God,--the
graven image of the "Living Gods"!
At its feet Lursac and the missionary were stretched, gagged, their
legs and arms bound and their clothes torn to ribbons.
Discovering them, the hunters broke out into confused clamor, and while
Maa-Wang ran to the two men, the others stood around them watching them
with stupefied glances. Beyond them the hall unrolled its immensity,
surrounded with enormous square pillars based on fantastic animals who
stretched up towards the dim vaulted room their preposterous muzzles.
In front of each one of these monsters taken from the old Brahmin
legends flamed a brazier, flinging patches of blood-colored light on
the gray scaly stomachs of these granite beasts; and on the white
tiling of the floor the reflections of the quivering light mingled with
the flickering shadows in a grotesque dance.
Pierre, whom the Man had now freed from his bonds, stood up, staggering
and swaying. He could not understand.... He was still stupefied from
the hours of suspense which he had passed at the foot of the statue. It
seemed to be the continuation of the evil dream which throughout the
night had harried him without ceasing: the nightmare of the prehistoric
tribe and then of the priestesses.
But now from all the shadowy recesses and from all the corners
unreached by the lights of the braziers there seemed to arise
sorceresses and Moï warriors. There must have been a hundred of them,
and their cries and calls echoed and re-echoed through the sanctuary.
At their appearance the clan irresolute, turned back and fluctuated
aimlessly. In doubt, Maa-Wang looked at the two Europeans one after the
other.
"Her brothers?" he murmured. "That is what she said...."
The missionary heard him; he nodded, beginning to understand, and
thinking of Wanda.
"Her devotion has been useless," he thought. "We shall never get by
them."
At the same moment pointing out to the Man the army of priestesses and
guards, he said, simply:
"There are too many of them."
The Man said nothing. He gave a hoarse sigh and once again his cry rang
out:
"_O ... ô ... iê ... êp...._"
Shaken out of their surprise, the hunters at once recovered their
natural instincts of violence. The joy of coming battle swelled their
breasts and broke out in guttural exclamations. Maa-Wang, with Lursac
and the missionary on his left hand, took his place at their head.
His lips drawn back in a grin of fury, his eyes flaming, he dashed
upon the hostile forces. Behind him the clan flung itself forward like
a whirlwind, and suddenly the temple filled with screams and yells.
Raising their axes like great wood-choppers the men of Gondwana brought
them down in every direction around them. Skulls split with the crash
of their blows: crushed breasts gave way with a softer sound. The flint
weapons, splashed with blood up to the handles, became bright red.
Over the tumult rang groans and the death-rattle of those who fell.
Two braziers were over-turned, flinging their flaming coals right and
left, and the smell of burning and a cloud of smoke mingled with the
hot and bitter tang of blood. The war-cry of the clan, the long and
sonorous _o ... ô ... iê ... êp_ ..., dominated the strident screams of
the sorceresses. A staggering body, falling, brought down with it other
bodies and the tiled floor became clouded with blood.
Driven back on itself and ripped to pieces, the troop of sorceresses
slowly gave way. A bo-jaou, her smashed face spurting blood, jumped
at Lursac, trying to grasp him with clutching hands. Maa-Wang with a
single blow of his fist knocked her headlong backwards, and plunged
forward, his arms plastered with red patches, his face splashed with
blood, a short low growl coming ceaselessly from his throat, the true
frenzy of fight possessing him utterly. About a dozen hunters who were
all wounded were cornered in an angle of the building and fighting a
losing fight against an encompassing mass of Moï warriors; but he gave
no thought to them. His aim was the door of the sanctuary. In front of
him and around him the cluster of battling human beings swarmed and
circled, gave way, fell and rolled in agony; wounded men, trampled
upon, screamed. A Moï warrior, with an axe sunk deep in his naked back
ran before him, stumbled, and collapsed.
The missionary, his rosary in his hand, walked steadily forward, and
the Man, for a second, threw an astonished glance at this strange being
who walked at his side in the middle of this butchery, calmly, with a
sad face, unarmed and silent. When they had reached the door, he looked
at him a second time, still without understanding, and saw him at that
very moment fling up his arms, stumble and fall, his side laid open by
a sword blow. As Lursac with a cry ran to the priest, he stopped him,
leant over quickly, lifted up the body in his left arm and ran through
the doorway. Behind him, Pierre and some twenty hunters rushed down the
passageway, shouting. Between the walls, lighted up by the tripods, a
confused mass of Moï warriors and sorceresses was running away. The
hunters in their turn ran. The noise of the battle grew less and died
away behind them and once more they found themselves in a silence only
broken by the panting of their own breath....
Outside, in the great court they came to a stop.
In a corner under a tree the six elephants of the expedition, recently
captured by the Moïs, were standing tied to the columns; the mahouts
with their arms and legs bound shivered with fright as they saw these
strange beings approaching them.
Against the lightening sky, still sown with stars, stood out the
piled-up roofs of the buildings. The moon, pale and narrow, was pierced
by the spike of one of the turrets. The air was soft and warm. A gentle
breeze which could hardly be felt brought with it the vast murmur of
the surrounding forest.
Grouped about their chief the hunters stood waiting.
Maa-Wang had laid the body of the missionary on the ground; he looked
around, and seeing the elephants he walked towards them. Dazed, and
with a great gash on his forehead, Pierre had sat himself down on the
root of a banyan tree. From time to time he mechanically wiped away the
blood which flowed down into his eyes and along his nose. Exhaustion
had left his muscles relaxed and his nerves in a pitiable state; and he
remained there motionless, shaken by the throbs of his exhausted heart.
Dizziness, against which he vainly tried to fight, was overcoming him.
Every minute he was coming nearer to complete collapse. He wanted to
get up and walk about, but his drained energy could not bring itself to
the point, and he stayed there, corpse-like and inert.
Near by, under the tree, Maa-Wang unbound a mahout and helped him to
hoist himself on to the neck of one of the animals. Together they came
up to the remnants of the clan and the chief ejaculated a few words,
short and forcible.
Two men picked up Pierre and carried him to the kneeling elephant.
Maa-Wang himself had taken charge of the missionary; he had picked him
up in his arms and carried the long thin body against his breast as
one carries a child. Pierre realized vaguely that he was being bound
on to the back of the beast. Then he felt a sudden pitching movement,
and realized that the animal was getting up. But although he tried
desperately, he was not strong enough to open his eyes; and he gave up,
and, his will in abeyance, lay supine.
Maa-Wang then raised his hand. The elephant, followed by the hunters,
moved forward and passing through the long vaulted entrance came to
a stop again in front of the temple. The tribe, grouped about their
chief, seemed to be waiting. He stretched out his arm and with a
circular gesture pointed to the great territory which lay unrolled
before him,--the vast scene, which appeared to have no limits and which
the strengthening light of the day made clearer, showing a confusion of
the great jumbled mass of mountain crests, plateaus and hills.
"I promised to lead you to the great hunting ground, to the country
without walls, and it is before you.... Go!... As for me ... I stay
here.... Someone else whom you will pick for yourselves will become the
Man-who-goes-in-Front."
He was silent.
Around him the hunters stood wordless; they gazed at the new world
which was being opened to them and their faces reflected the
contradictory feelings which swept through their minds: amazed wonder,
the intoxication of endless spaces across which they were about to
travel, and the fear of the Unknown. One of them suddenly made up his
mind and set off; and the others in small groups ran after him in their
turn.
Maa-Wang watched them go; and when they had faded into almost invisible
shadows he turned to the mahout:
"You are free.... Go. Take these two back where they came from."
Without awaiting an answer from the Lao-ese he lifted the heavy club
and brought it down on the back of the elephant who promptly started
forward. For an instant longer he stared, following with his eyes the
elephant who had already begun to swing up the slope of the Pou-Kas
carrying, hanging at its sides, the two human bodies.
Then, turning round, he ran back to the temple.
* * * * *
He made his way back to the hall of the God, where the battle had taken
place a few minutes earlier. The signs of it were still visible. Bodies
of dead warriors were strewn pell-mell about the sanctuary; the white
tiling was here and there stained with large dark patches which grew
black as they coagulated; the dying coals of the over-turned braziers
sent up a bitter-smelling smoke, the smell of which mingled with the
unmistakable smell of stale blood. In a corner the hunters who had
been overwhelmed by a superior number of Moï warriors lay in a group
of corpses, and the red furs which they had worn were huddled together
with the broken bodies of the Moï guards, with whom, tangled together
even in death, they had fought to the bitter end. Axes, lances and
swords lay about on the ground. Groans and the moaning of a woman lying
on her back with a lance through her chest rose in the cloudy air. At
the foot of a winged dragon a Moï warrior with his side laid open by a
great wound was still twisting about in his last agony.
All this he saw as he went, just as he saw vaguely behind the three
silver embroidered veils the enormous dark red statue in its eternal
attitude of blessing and peace. But he had left it all behind him,
for he had found again the subterranean passage, the gallery and the
cell. And at last he emerged from the temple at the foot of the giant
foundation-wall.
The blaze of the sunshine, after the shadows and darkness of the rooms
and corridors which he had just crossed, dazzled him. He blinked his
eyes, and stopped to make sure of his direction. Then he ran towards
the grotto in which he had enclosed his prey, the living trophy of
his victory. On his breast, on his left thigh, and on his shoulder,
savage wounds ran blood, but he felt them not. He thought only of
the golden-haired woman. His desire for her, and the pride of having
conquered as she had told him to, swept from his mind all other
feeling and all consideration of everything else. He came near the
cave in which she was waiting for him. A last bound brought him to the
entrance--and he saw it yawning open, all the rocks which he had piled
up against it flung to one side.
After a short pause of stupefaction, he jumped into the cave. It was
empty. He remained a second without understanding, looking at the
ground stamped with footmarks, the mouth of the cavern, and the huge
stones flung about the entrance. Then, bending down, he picked up a
strip of white silk tunic, and this rag, which he recognized as the
same material which Jieng wore as her sacred uniform and which he found
now in the very place where he had shut up his vanished prey, filled
him with insane rage....
A cry like that of a wild beast sprang from his throat. All his animal
fury came back in full force: he rushed towards the temple. A single
thought, a single instinct drove him: to find his woman, to take her
and carry her away.... Once more he came out into the sanctuary. His
face contorted in frenzy, he looked about him, seeking and running from
one shadowed corner to another, looking behind the pillars, upsetting
the braziers, savagely mutilating with his axe the granite idols that
he found in his way. His lust for murder became a paroxysm! He growled
without ceasing; and before his haggard eyes the light of the brazier
fires seemed to grow larger and to mix one with the other. The hall of
the temple looked red to him ... red ... for he was now nothing but a
brute beast in delirium.... He ran straight ahead, turning neither to
the right nor to the left; and suddenly he found himself opposite the
three silver veils facing the statue of the God. He flung himself madly
upon them. The curtains, torn apart, fell upon him. He fought with
them, rending them to shreds and stamping on them. Then he attacked
the image of the God. The arms, the face, and the metal body of the
Divinity splintered by his club were defaced, broken and wrecked. It
rocked on its base; a final blow flung it crashing to the ground.
Hanging over it he tore from the image the barbaric collar that it
wore about its neck, then he set himself again to pounding it into
fragments....
Through the silence the sound of his blows rang and rang until the
idol was nothing but a broken heap of formless wreckage. Leaving it
then, he resumed his furious course and burst howling into a corridor.
He crossed other halls and other passages, swinging his club about
him at random. From his open wounds the blood trickled and ran in
streams spattering the tiles and the walls. Fragments of stone and the
splinters from the flint of his club had struck him in the face; the
cuts they had made had bloodied his forehead and his cheeks. He was red
from his hair to his heels. Everything that was human in him was in
abeyance. He was now only a male animal, a brute, mad with the frenzy
of battle and disappointed desire.
He continued his aimless rush through the temple, crossing room after
room; but now on his way phantoms slid from his path and hid themselves
behind pillars, reappearing behind him, following his course and
accompanying him, invisible, but every moment more numerous. At last
he arrived in a narrow room without any other exit than a lofty door,
above which, on a cornice formed by a heavy marble slab the granite
image of a giant dragon stood on guard. He ran straight for the door
but just as he was crossing the threshold with a sudden crash the
dragon fell, pinning him to the ground....
He fell without a cry.
And while the priestesses swarmed out from all the dark corners and ran
towards him, two sorceresses, crouched on the edge of the cornice from
which they had pushed the fallen dragon, leant over and watched the
trickles of blood which began to flow and spread from under the massive
stone monster....
CHAPTER XXV
ESCAPE
The elephant, with a heavy swinging gait, made its way through the
green shade of the forest. Hanging from its side Lursac, with wide open
eyes, shivered all over. Around him floated the stagnant, decaying
smell of the undergrowth, like the sickening and enervating atmosphere
of a hot greenhouse. The vegetation became thicker. A dull greenish
half-light, like an illumination at the bottom of the sea, seemed to
suck the color from the bushes and spread over the massed verdure a
uniform light as of the interior of a tomb.
Hours passed thus, and finally the light grew dimmer. An acrid mist
rising from the soil spread itself in long streamers and floated upward
like a pallid veil. Under the frondage the dusk became more sombre and
violent in tint; a shaft of reddish light struck through the branches,
lingered for a moment; then suddenly darkness spread over the mountain
and invaded the depths of the forest. The mahout continued to urge on
his beast. The voices of the night arose, and unknown cries came out of
the darkness. But now Pierre was delirious. Great phantoms, grotesque
and nameless, danced and fled before his eyes. Imaginary scenes rose up
before him, and with all his strength he tried to pursue them. He could
not sleep; he hung there motionless watching the peopled night before
him with fixed eyes....
In his waxen and rigid face only his eyes seemed to be still alive.
They stared straight in front with a burning gaze focussed in the far
distance. Now and again the strange shapes which inhabited the darkness
caused him to break into a terrified laugh. The suspension of his
reasoning powers had left him just a wounded animal clinging to life in
spite of everything, with nothing but a persistent instinct to guide
him.
Suddenly Father Ravennes, his head hanging loose and jerking with
the steps of the elephant, began to groan. His moans broke the heavy
silence of the night steadily, persistently, with a sound that was
gently monotonous. And this was the last noise which Pierre remembered
before falling into the depths of an unconsciousness as deep as death.
* * * * *
It was still this moaning that he heard when he came out of his
insensibility and had begun reaching towards life again. He opened his
eyes. It was day. Above his head he saw the leafy summit of a tree--the
only thing within his circle of vision--with branches of a green that
was almost black and leaves of a more vivid hue. He tried to move, to
sit up, but an intense weakness held him full length on the earth, his
backbone pressed to the cold damp soil and his face staring at the sky
and watching through the leaves the trailing streaks of gray cloud.
He did not understand it yet. What was he doing there? Why were these
trees all round him?
The groaning continued. Now and then it stopped, but went on again more
heavily. He turned his head in the direction of the sound and he found,
a few paces away from him, the missionary, his back supported against
the trunk of a tamarind, his eyes closed, his face livid, and his
half-open mouth emitting this endless moaning.
Suddenly his brain was flooded by a wave of remembrance which swept
away his passive acceptance of things as they were. He struggled to his
knees and cried out:
"Wanda!... Wanda!..."
Clutching the tree under which he had been lying, he managed to stand
up, but he had to cling to the trunk to prevent himself falling.
Leaning against it he cast a hesitating glance about him. He was on
the outside of the forest, opposite a narrow clearing which ended in
a definite opening, looking out upon a valley of which he was able to
see the further end stretching southward to the horizon. Close by him,
at his very feet, a ray of light struck down between two branches and
broke in fragments of gold on the patches of moss. The dense shadows of
the trees fell on the ground in parallel bars of black shade. A lizard,
pressed into the warm hollows of the rock, shrilled its short musical
cry. Dazed, and with flickering eyes, Lursac remained motionless.
The sun flamed overhead, flooding the scene beyond the forest with
merciless light. The radiant air seemed to vibrate.
The young man drew in one deep breath after another; the blood came
back to his face and he cried again:
"Wanda!... Wanda!..."
At the sound of his voice the priest opened his eyes and his groaning
became louder and more heart-rending. Pierre shook his head, trying
with every ounce of strength that was in him to conquer his weakness.
He managed to walk heavily and slowly in the direction of the
missionary. When he got close up to him he felt like fainting at the
terrible sight which he saw.
The whole side of the priest's tunic was stiff with coagulated blood.
In the middle of this, through the rents made by the Moï sword, two
ghastly wounds could be seen covered with ants,--the terrible red ants
of the Lao-ese forest--which swarmed to the attack in a column along
the leg of the helpless man.
Before the horror of the martyrdom which the missionary was undergoing
and must have suffered for hours, Lursac shuddered and had to clench
his teeth to prevent himself from crying out. He ran at the insects
and dispersed them with stamps and blows, sweeping them away with his
hands and tramping them into the ground. Then he pushed the priest
a little further off to protect him from their attacks and laid him
gently down. Tenderly raising the edges of the tears in the clothes
he exposed the two wounds: a great deep slash in the side through
which at every respiration the blood pumped afresh, and down the leg a
long jagged tear. With a strip from the lining of his military tunic,
Pierre cleaned the wounds, sweeping out the voracious insects which
still clung there, and did his pitiful best to make the dying man
comfortable. It was when he saw his own hands bathed in the blood of
his friend like those of a butcher that once again a mortal sickness
came over him and he was on the point of fainting.
The priest closed his eyes; he was no longer groaning. He murmured:
"Thank you.... I am not in pain now...."
Trying to raise his hand, he whispered:
"My cross."
Pierre, taking off the rosary of black wood which hung from the
missionary's neck, put it between his fingers. The pale hand fumbled
with the beads until it reached the silver cross, which it gripped
caressingly. His features suddenly relaxed and took on an appearance of
peaceful sweetness.
"And you ... you? ..." he muttered.
Pierre understood his thought; tears rose to his eyes.
He shrugged his shoulders wearily.
"Don't worry about me," he said, "I will take you home....
Afterwards ... afterwards ... I do not know...."
The priest moved his head; his voice became stronger, almost clear:
"No.... I am done for.... I am dying ... here in the heart of this
country which I have loved so much and where I have suffered so
much...."
His gray beard suddenly seemed to become darker against the livid
pallor of his face.
"And then, I have seen," he said, "that wonderful thing, the Red Gods:
a prehistoric tribe such as used to be thirty thousand years ago...."
A scarcely visible smile fluttered on his colorless lips.
"My God," he whispered, "pardon me!... This is my last attack of
pride...."
He gave a groan; the movement having sent a spasm of torture through
his side, he shut his eyes. His wax-like lids became gradually mauve,
then white with a whiteness that seemed unreal and almost transparent.
Pierre bent over him, heard him murmuring softly, peacefully:
"Since it is here that you have willed that I should die.... Thy holy
will be done, O God!..."
Then in a voice now vague and indistinct he said once more:
"Sweet Jesus, give me rest!..."
His words became still more indistinct and confused, and he repeated
several times:
"Rest ... rest...."
And then he was silent. The pale and shrunken hand which pressed the
crucifix against his lips stiffened, slipped, and fell back on his
breast.
* * * * *
For a long time Pierre remained on his knees in contemplation
before this ascetic, sad, waxen face now smiling with a curious
smile--peaceful, tender and serene--a last gleam from this great sweet
and kindly soul....
Then in a sort of unconscious torpor, against which vague images
floated, flickered and vanished, he thought of the conventional rites;
but the earth in which he would have dug a bed for this poor martyred
body was cold and hard, full of tangled roots and crossed by veins of
rock, and he had to content himself with drawing the corpse to the
foot of a tree and covering it with a thick mass of leaves, branches
and moss. From the branch of the tree above he hung the rosary of the
priest, and over the rough and ready tomb the silver crucifix swung
softly in the breeze.
When Pierre had finished this last office for his dead friend, he sat
down and wiped the sweat from his face. He stayed motionless, delving
among the remembrances of his childhood for the words of a prayer, but
nothing came--only a single phrase kept recurring to his mind, and he
repeated it mechanically over and over again:
"Our Father which art in Heaven.... Our Father which art in Heaven...."
The rest of the invocation had lost itself in the troubled night of
forgetfulness, in a mingling and changing wave of images, thoughts and
feelings which rushed into his mind, passed through it and fled....
Wanda.... The Post.... Redeski.... The temple.... The ravine of
Gondwana.... The aurochs.... The mammoths.... Jieng.... The battle in
the sanctuary.... The caverns.... And then Wanda again.... Wanda....
Wanda.... Wanda...!
He stood up: an immense despair fell upon him. He looked again at the
simple tomb in which the missionary was sleeping; then he went. His
legs bent under him with weakness, his brain reeled, as he walked
towards the edge of the clearing. At the same moment a bell in the
distance began to sound slowly. Stupefaction struck Pierre motionless,
then a shock drove him forwards. A bell: houses, ... white men, ...
help, ... life.... He ran forward stumbling, and, suddenly opening his
arms wide, he fell on his knees.
At the bottom of the green, level valley, which he saw before him and
recognized immediately, there was no longer any Post 32.... Its wrecked
palisades showed great breaches. Against the background of the canal,
which flowed peaceably on its way as usual, the burned piling showed
its blackened stumps: of the huts which had sheltered Wanda and himself
so recently, of the sheds which served as lodgings for the riflemen, of
the stables and the guardhouse, nothing was left but five gray patches
out of which stuck blackened beams.
But on the horizon, in the midst of its green peaceful oasis the bell
of the Mission still sounded, and across the military post, which the
people of the forest had just destroyed for the third time, its frail
metallic voice was wafted on the wind, ringing the evening Angelus.
CHAPTER XXVI
A MESSAGE FROM JIENG
Buttoning up his waistcoat, Pierre went to the window and pushed open
the blinds. A wave of sunlight flooded his little room, lighting up
the whitewashed walls and making the copper-mounted bed sparkle. Under
its influence, the odor of drugs which had filled the room seemed to
evaporate from the two arm-chairs and the bamboo table loaded with
pots and bottles. Outside, the clock that ornamented the façade of the
hospital struck the hour, five clear leisurely strokes, which fell
slowly, one by one, in the vast sluggishness of the afternoon. Other
blinds were thrown back noisily, and little by little life pursued its
daily resurrection after the torrid hours of the siesta.
Leaning on his elbows at his window, Pierre let his glance wander over
the familiar scene. Beyond the great veranda which ran the whole length
of the building, and upon which the rooms of the patients opened,
he could see the hospital park spreading out with its green turf
and leafy trees, and between them the sanded walks, stretching like
yellow ribbons striped alternately with shadow and sunlight. Far off,
half seen through the gaps in the foliage, shone the whiteness of the
hospital wall which kept at a distance the noise and the traffic of
Saigon.
Pierre stretched himself and tried his muscles. He felt himself
very weak, his nerves flabby and his body heavy; the slowness and
uncertainty of each of his movements showing him how complete had been
his physical breakdown, how deep and lasting the disarrangement of his
vital mechanism to which five months of hospital treatment had only
succeeded in bringing back a weak illusion of energy, a pretense of
strength.... He smiled bitterly. Nothing would ever bring back to him
the vigor of his body, the richness and the freshness of his blood--in
a word, his youth!... And his mind itself, disrupted by suffering,
suddenly appeared to him old, worn out and pitiful.
The noise of the door opening behind him interrupted his gloomy
thoughts.
He turned about, raising his sallow face to the Sister of Charity who
had just entered. She smiled softly, with that self-effacing smile
which was habitual with her:
"Well, my child, I hope you are pleased. Today for the first time you
are to be allowed to go out into the park."
He made no answer, keeping his expression of indifference and
depression.
She shook her head, making the white wings of her head-dress flap to
and fro:
"How do you feel?"
She looked into his eyes.
"Come," said she, "that's enough of those black thoughts. Come for a
walk outside--the sun will do you good."
He bowed his head and remained motionless and lifeless.
"Listen, Sister Thérèse," he said, "I want...."
He hesitated, his eyes sought the eyes of the sister:
"What?" she asked, "still full of questions, eh? How did you get here?
This is the twentieth time you have asked me that, but I know nothing
about it, my child. If I knew, I would tell you, you know that! Why
should I want to hide it from you? But no, I promise you.... They
brought you here one evening; I was on duty, and I took you in and
looked after you. You were delirious, and I thought,--I can tell you
this now that you are practically cured--that you were going to slip
away from me. And then you had an attack of gastritis complicated with
brain-fever and you talked ... you talked...."
Pierre raised his head quickly.
"What did I say?"
"How do I know? If you think I take notice of all the nonsense my
patients talk! I have lots of other things to think about. First of all
I had to prevent you getting out of bed, and your one idea was to dress
yourself and start off."
She spoke lightly, accompanying her phrases with gestures. Underneath
her words could be felt the joy which she experienced in seeing this
patient of hers, for whose life she had fought hour by hour, up and
about again. She took his arm and shook it affectionately.
"Now, go, you stupid!" she said. "Underneath the wall over there you
will find your friends. Talk with them: it will ease your mind. They
will tell you the latest scandal of Saigon. You will see, they have
lots of jokes--at least I suppose so from hearing their shouts of
laughter--for they take very good care never to tell them to me, the
scamps!"
And she pushed him out of the door and shut it behind his back with a
little laugh.
* * * * *
Pierre found himself under the veranda. The sweetish smell of the
bougainvilleas in flower, the stems of which crept in masses over the
wooden balustrade, floated heavily in the air and mingled with the
stale odor of drugs, whiffs of which escaped from the open door. Rolled
up in rugs, their skeleton-like bodies loose in the hospital pyjamas
of gray wool, the convalescents lay, trying to accustom their eyes to
the blazing light which fell from a cloudless sky the color of deep
turquoise. A gentle breeze drifted among the deck-chairs, enveloping
the patients with its kindly warmth.
Pierre went down a staircase and came out into an avenue. He walked
slowly with short steps as groping and uncertain as his thoughts.
In the middle of a circle of turf a watering-pipe sent up a mist of
spray which the setting sun edged with a miniature rainbow. A vast
peace lay over the whole park,--a satisfying and contemplative silence
broken only here and there by the sudden whistlings of birds. Pierre,
following his course, came into an avenue of flame-trees: on the bare
earth large purple blossoms fallen from the branches made spots of
vivid red across the patches of shade which were riddled with little
circles of sunlight ceaselessly trembling and dancing among them.
At the end of the avenue a chorus of cries greeted him:
"Aha, Lursac! Out for the first time?"
"This is better than the native huts!"
Pierre acknowledged the greetings with a weary movement of his hand.
There were four of them--four young men escaped like himself from the
privations of the forest and re-united here by the chances of sickness.
One down from Cambodia, two from the Chinese frontier and the fourth
just brought in from Cochin-China.
This last said to him:
"Yes ... it is a good deal better. As for me, when they let me out
after three months in bed...."
And he went off into a long account of his own convalescence.
Pierre lay back in an arm-chair by the table on which playing-cards
were lying about in disorder by open newspapers.
The man who had spoken first--a big fellow with laughing eyes and
sarcastic mouth--took one of the papers, unfolded it, looking for
something.
"Here you are, old chap. There's something about you in this ... half a
column at least. 'The famous Post 32 again!' Good heading, eh? As for
the article, it is a regular wonder, nothing better was ever invented
in any editorial office!"
Pierre stretched out his hand for it.
"No, listen.... I'll read it to you out loud. It is worth the
trouble!..."
And in his mocking voice he declaimed:
"'THE FAMOUS POST 32 AGAIN
"'Without doubt our readers will remember the tragedy which took
place here some five months ago at the foot of the Pou-Kas, the
scene of which was Post 32, long celebrated in the annals of our
Indo-Chinese history. For those of our readers who have forgotten
this sad affair we will give a brief resumé of it. M. de Lursac,
a young administrator with splendid prospects ... (I salute you,
my boy; the Press admires you! It is the only original passage in
the article. I continue:) ... a young administrator with splendid
prospects was despatched at his own request to Post 32, the
responsibility for which he was to share with Lieutenant Redeski.
Administrator Lursac had been ordered to proceed, on taking up his
duties, with a police operation against the independent Moï tribes
of the district. Everybody still remembers the result of this
expedition. Starting out in company with the Rev. Father Ravennes,
of the Apostolic Mission to the Banhars, M. de Lursac was found a
month later wandering in the forest in a condition of collapse and
sickness which left the possibility of his recovery doubtful for
a long time. His escort of native riflemen scattered in continual
attacks, his elephants killed by poisoned arrows, his reverend
companion dead by the way of a wound received in an ambush, he
was alone in the midst of the vast Lao-ese forest. M. de Lursac
was attempting to find his way back to the Post when he fell,
conquered by weakness and exhaustion; but he had succeeded, thanks
to an extraordinary will power ... (I greet you once more!) ...
in reaching the outskirts of it, and it was at a distance of only
a few miles from the station which had been destroyed during his
absence that the converts of Father Ravennes discovered the young
administrator, dying, and in a state of destitution impossible
to describe. We understand that a successor to him has just been
appointed. Would it not be better before uselessly sacrificing
the lives and energies of our young men ... (All salute him,
gentlemen!) ... to first of all set to work seriously to clean out
the district and to put down with an iron hand this rebellious
horde that makes our rule over this part of the hinterland simply
illusory? It appears to us indeed, impossible that the authorities
who pretend to be so anxious about it, etc., etc.'
"Then follows a whole list of suggestions--all illusory, as the editor
of this estimable journal would say--in which the Colonial Government
gets a few of these truths which it is customary to hand it on
occasion.... What have you got to say about it, young administrator of
most splendid prospects?"
He stopped speaking. All eyes turned to Lursac. He considered. What
could he tell them? The truth!... Ah! the truth!... He shrugged his
shoulders, deciding to leave uncontradicted the fantastic version given
by the Saigon papers.
But the other obstinately asked a definite question:
"How much truth is there in all this nonsense?"
Pierre felt that it was necessary to give some answer.
"Sentences here and there!" he said, evasively. "It was very simple....
The _linhs_ deserted almost at once; the mahouts in their turn got away
with their animals and all the provisions, so that I found myself one
fine day alone with Father Ravennes, who had been wounded the night
before during an attack on a village. We wandered through the forest
aimlessly, straying here and there and going in a circle and then ...
and then...."
He shut his eyes. An unconquerable lassitude fell upon him, he lay back
heavily in his chair.
"And then," continued the voice of one of the young men, "you woke up
in hospital. Here or elsewhere it is always the same story. Some leave
their skins behind and others bring them out with them. That's life,
that is!... They give us an order, we carry it out. As for the rest, it
all depends on the will of Buddha. As my girl says to me, 'We are in
the hands of the Perfect One!'"
He crumpled up the paper, rolled it into a ball and flung it over the
wall.
There was a long silence. In the street which ran just the other side
of the wall, the rhythmic trot of a rickshaw coolie came up, passed by,
and died into the distance, and then a song rose; it was the song of a
beggar imploring charity in a tremulous tearful voice. The sun, slowly
descending, shot slanting rays of light across the avenues of the park.
The sky, changing slowly through gold and purple, became mauve: the
piping birds sounded more softly and less often: an invisible bell
behind the wall of trees and buildings sounded out in short repeated
strokes.
The young men got up.
"Are you coming, Lursac?"
Pierre was recalling the past. Once more he saw Ravennes and the humble
tomb of greenery above it; and in the depths of the vast Lao-ese forest
the rosary that would swing its crucifix of tarnished silver whenever
the wind blew from the north down the slope of the Pou-Kas. He thought
of Wanda. Where was she, and what had become of her? Was she still a
prisoner of the tribe? Prisoner?...
He saw again the wild rush of the men of Gondwana. He thought of the
love of their chief for Wanda. Prisoner? Ah!... Ah!...
A hand shook him:
"Lursac! Here, Lursac! When are you going to finish dreaming with your
eyes open? The first dinner bell has just rung. Are you coming?"
Suddenly the song of the beggar on the other side of the wall died away.
Pierre shook his head.
"I have plenty of time," he said, "it is still quarter of an hour to
the second bell."
The young men, careless, left him. One of them began telling a
scandalous story which was going the round in Saigon. Gradually his
voice and the laughter of his fellows became indistinct as they moved
away.
Once more fallen into a revery, Pierre felt a bitter pleasure in again
going over his sufferings in detail. Suddenly his former despair fell
upon him. Again he was tortured,--perhaps more terribly than he had
ever been. His grief which had remained in abeyance during his illness
came alive again. His heart contracted; he called out, hoarsely:
"Wanda!... Wanda!..."
Behind the tall white wall the dragging footstep of the beggar and her
song came again--then something pale, flung from the street, fell on
an arm-chair, rebounded and rolled on the ground. Pierre, surprised,
remained motionless for a second. The song had again ceased and hurried
steps could be heard making away. Bending down he picked up the object
and examined it. It was a packet, carefully done up in a dirty rag.
Opening it with an instinctive fear he looked at the contents and
seized with a convulsive fit of trembling remained nailed to his seat,
incapable of moving.... Then, he rushed to the entrance gate. The
rifleman on guard, scared at his violence, watched him go out without
making any effort to stop him. There was not a soul in the street.
Pierre made the complete circuit of the hospital, running as hard as
he could, coming back to the entrance gate. Then dashing into the next
street he followed it exhausted, his heart beating so as to suffocate
him, until he could run no longer. His clenched hand clung to the
packet.
About him people hurried to and fro, elbowing him and pushing him aside
without his noticing it. At the corner of the boulevard he was almost
run over. The coachman, flinging himself back on his seat with the
reins pulled up tight, dragged his ponies to one side and missed him
by an inch, cursing him volubly. He heard him not and noticed nothing.
His eyes looking straight before him saw a phantom which fled him
ceaselessly and which he as ceaselessly pursued.
At last, opposite a shop window he pulled up. The glass of the
window reflected his own image and he looked at it for a moment with
stupefaction. Was that he?... This fleshless skeleton of a body ...
with gestures feverish, ugly and grotesque? Was that the body of him,
Pierre de Lursac?... That livid face, all flat hollows and projecting
bones; this withered flesh; these wrinkles; these eyes shining with
fever and yet dull; these loose burned up lips--all these things ...
were they his eyes, his face, his mouth?... He gave a terrible grin and
clenched his fists; the packet which he was still carrying crackled....
And once more he resumed his aimless way.
* * * * *
Under the arched trees along the avenues the shade was deeper.
Rickshaws and carriages went about hurriedly to unknown destinations.
The usual life cast up its flood of passers-by, its under-current of
natives, its noises, its smells;--and he, among it all, was like a
scrap of flotsam drifting at random.... Then night fell, and lights
shone through the dark. They became fewer and disappeared altogether
for a while, for he was following a road which led out of the city and
ran across the open country.
He still kept going.... He came to a canal and followed it. The voices
of sampan men came to him and the smell of Annamese cooking. At long
distances between, a victoria, a malabar and a few rickshaws passed him
or met him. The light of their lanterns striking out in the darkness
threw a brief illumination upon him and shed a narrow, yellow light
on the opposite side of the road which quickly fled away from him and
disappeared....
Then, again, he found himself in the neighborhood of a crowd of human
beings, the lights and the human scurryings of a native village. And
suddenly he came to himself. With a flash the cloud of hallucination
which had encompassed him fell away and vanished. He looked about him
with haggard eyes. He was on the outskirts of Cho-lon. On his left he
could see the dark furrow of the canal crowded with a mass of junks and
sampans and spotted with enormous native lamps; on his right the houses
of the Chinese town rose with their colored lanterns and flamboyant
signs and gildings and their stalls.
He hesitated. Casting a heavy glance over the canal with its black and
oily water, stagnant between its muddy banks, he then turned towards
the town and saw in front of him a shop above which a panel of black
lacquer bore in gold letters the name of the proprietor. He read
mechanically between two columns of Chinese characters:
TSEN-TAC
CHINESE CURIOS AND SILKS
CANTON. SAIGON. SHANGHAI.
He said to himself:
"Tsen-Tac?... Tsen-Tac?..."
This name brought to life in some obscure corner of his mind a sleeping
memory. Suddenly he remembered: at the bottom of the passageway in the
inner shop: Opium,--the drug that gives forgetfulness and peace.
Making up his mind he walked to the door and pushed it open violently.
The pot-bellied owner, with his little narrow eyes lost among the
billowings of his vast face, greeted him with an obsequious smile. He
was already framing a phrase of welcome when Pierre cut him short with
a rough shrug of the shoulders.
"Shandoo," he said heavily.
And he rattled several piastres in the bottom of his pocket.
The "compere"[20] made his smile still broader. His fat face took on an
air of secrecy. He flung a cautious look around the empty shop and then
with his hand, sparkling with rings of pink and green jade, he pointed
to a hanging in the furthest corner.
[Footnote 20: Name given to the Chinese.]
Pierre, raising it, slid into the passage. In front of him at the
further end stood a door, lighted by a dim lantern of figured silk. He
stopped for a second, pushing his hands into his pockets. With a hoarse
sigh, he felt the packet which had come to him in such a strange manner
a few hours earlier and he began to withdraw his hand slowly, bringing
out with it towards the light the.... A shudder shook him from head to
foot. He could not complete the movement; more haggard than before, if
possible, he bent his head....
"I cannot ... not yet.... Later ... presently.... When I have smoked
ten pipes ... twelve pipes.... When the opium has.... Then, yes....
I will see if it is really her ... her hand ... with the ring ... my
signet ring...."
An uncontrollable sob shook him.
Once more he repeated:
"Her hand ... her hand...."
And he pushed open the door and entered the opium den.
* * * * *
[Transcriber's Note: Inconsistent hyphenation left as printed.]
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