Part 18 (1/2)
”Because you see the dry Holy Flower far away in England, and you say, 'I must be Holy Father to that Flower.' Then you pay down shekels (here her Bible reading came in) for the cost of journey and hire brave hunter to kill devil-G.o.d and bring my old white-head parent with you. Oh yes, you are saviour,” and she nodded her head at him very prettily.
”Of course,” replied Stephen with enthusiasm; ”that is, not exactly, but it is all the same thing, as I will explain later. But, Miss Hope, meanwhile could you show us the Flower?”
”Oh! Holy Mother must do that. If you look thereon without her, you die.”
”Really!” said Stephen, without alluding to his little feat of wall climbing.
Well, the end of it was that after a good deal of hesitation, the Holy Mother obliged, saying that as the G.o.d was dead she supposed nothing else mattered. First, however, she went to the back of the house and clapped her hands, whereon an old woman, a mute and a very perfect specimen of an albino native, appeared and stared at us wonderingly. To her Mrs. Eversley talked upon her fingers, so rapidly that I could scarcely follow her movements. The woman bowed till her forehead nearly touched the ground, then rose and ran towards the water.
”I have sent her to fetch the paddles from the canoe,” said Mrs. Eversley, ”and to put my mark upon it. Now none will dare to use it to cross the lake.”
”That is very wise,” I replied, ”as we don't want news of our whereabouts to get to the Motombo.”
Next we went to the enclosure, where Mrs. Eversley with a native knife cut a string of palm fibres that was sealed with clay on to the door and one of its uprights in such a fas.h.i.+on that none could enter without breaking the string. The impression was made with a rude seal that she wore round her neck as a badge of office. It was a very curious object fas.h.i.+oned of gold and having deeply cut upon its face a rough image of an ape holding a flower in its right paw. As it was also ancient, this seemed to show that the monkey G.o.d and the orchid had been from the beginning jointly wors.h.i.+pped by the Pongo.
When she had opened the door, there appeared, growing in the centre of the enclosure, the most lovely plant, I should imagine, that man ever saw. It measured some eight feet across, and the leaves were dark green, long and narrow. From its various crowns rose the scapes of bloom. And oh! those blooms, of which there were about twelve, expanded now in the flowering season. The measurements made from the dried specimen I have given already, so I need not repeat them. I may say here, however, that the Pongo augured the fertility or otherwise of each succeeding year from the number of the blooms on the Holy Flower. If these were many the season would prove very fruitful; if few, less so; while if, as sometimes happened, the plant failed to flower, draught and famine were always said to follow. Truly those were glorious blossoms, standing as high as a man, with their back sheaths of vivid white barred with black, their great pouches of burnished gold and their wide wings also of gold. Then in the centre of each pouch appeared the ink-mark that did indeed exactly resemble the head of a monkey. But if this orchid astonished me, its effect upon Stephen, with whom this cla.s.s of flower was a mania, may be imagined. Really he went almost mad. For a long while he glared at the plant, and finally flung himself upon his knees, causing Miss Hope to exclaim: ”What, O Stephen Somers! do you also make sacrifice to the Holy Flower?”
”Rather,” he answered; ”I'd-I'd-die for it!”
”You are likely to before all is done,” I remarked with energy, for I hate to see a grown man make a fool of himself. There's only one thing in the world which justifies that, and it isn't a flower.
Mavovo and Hans had followed us into the enclosure, and I overheard a conversation between them which amused me. The gist of it was that Hans explained to Mavovo that the white people admired this weed-he called it a weed-because it was like gold, which was the G.o.d they really wors.h.i.+pped, although that G.o.d was known among them by many names. Mavovo, who was not at all interested in the affair, replied with a shrug that it might be so, though for his part he believed the true reason to be that the plant produced some medicine which gave courage or strength. Zulus, I may say, do not care for flowers unless they bear a fruit that is good to eat.
When I had satisfied myself with the splendour of these magnificent blooms, I asked Mrs. Eversley what certain little mounds might be that were dotted about the enclosure, beyond the circle of cultivated peaty soil which surrounded the orchid's roots.
”They are the graves of the Mothers of the Holy Flower,” she answered. ”There are twelve of them, and here is the spot chosen for the thirteenth, which was to have been mine.”
To change the subject I asked another question, namely: If there were more such orchids growing in the country?
”No,” she replied, ”or at least I never heard of any. Indeed, I have always been told that this one was brought from far away generations ago. Also, under an ancient law, it is never allowed to increase. Any shoots it sends up beyond this ring must be cut off by me and destroyed with certain ceremonies. You see that seed-pod which has been left to grow on the stalk of one of last year's blooms. It is now ripe, and on the night of the next new moon, when the Kalubi comes to visit me, I must with much ritual burn it in his presence, unless it has burst before he arrives, in which case I must burn any seedlings that may spring up with almost the same ritual.”
”I don't think the Kalubi will come any more; at least, not while you are here. Indeed, I am sure of it,” I said.
As we were leaving the place, acting on my general principle of making sure of anything of value when I get the chance, I broke off that ripe seed-pod, which was of the size of an orange. No one was looking at the time, and as it went straight into my pocket, no one missed it.
Then, leaving Stephen and the young lady to admire this Cypripedium-or each other-in the enclosure, we three elders returned to the house to discuss matters.
”John and Mrs. Eversley,” I said, ”by Heaven's mercy you are reunited after a terrible separation of over twenty years. But what is to be done now? The G.o.d, it is true, is dead, and therefore the pa.s.sage of the forest will be easy. But beyond it is the water which we have no means of crossing and beyond the water that old wizard, the Motombo, sits in the mouth of his cave watching like a spider in its web. And beyond the Motombo and his cave are Komba, the new Kalubi and his tribe of cannibals--”
”Cannibals!” interrupted Mrs. Eversley, ”I never knew that they were cannibals. Indeed, I know little about the Pongo, whom I scarcely ever see.”
”Then, madam, you must take my word for it that they are; also, as I believe, that they have every expectation of eating us. Now, as I presume that you do not wish to spend the rest of your lives, which would probably be short, upon this island, I want to ask how you propose to escape safely out of the Pongo country?”
They shook their heads, which were evidently empty of ideas. Only John stroked his white beard, and inquired mildly: ”What have you arranged, Allan? My dear wife and I are quite willing to leave the matter to you, who are so resourceful.”
”Arranged!” I stuttered. ”Really, John, under any other circ.u.mstances--” Then after a moment's reflection I called to Hans and Mavovo, who came and squatted down upon the verandah.
”Now,” I said, after I had put the case to them, ”what have you arranged?” Being devoid of any feasible suggestions, I wished to pa.s.s on that intolerable responsibility.
”My father makes a mock of us,” said Mavovo solemnly. ”Can a rat in a pit arrange how it is to get out with the dog that is waiting at the top? So far we have come in safety, as the rat does into the pit. Now I see nothing but death.”
”That's cheerful,” I said. ”Your turn, Hans.”
”Oh! Baas,” replied the Hottentot, ”for a while I grew clever again when I thought of putting the gun Intombi into the bamboo. But now my head is like a rotten egg, and when I try to shake wisdom out of it my brain melts and washes from side to side like the stuff in the rotten egg. Yet, yet, I have a thought-let us ask the Missie. Her brain is young and not tired, it may hit on something: to ask the Baas Stephen is no good, for already he is lost in other things,” and Hans grinned feebly.
More to give myself time than for any other reason I called to Miss Hope, who had just emerged from the sacred enclosure with Stephen, and put the riddle to her, speaking very slowly and clearly, so that she might understand me. To my surprise she answered at once.
”What is a G.o.d, O Mr. Allen? Is it not more than man? Can a G.o.d be bound in a pit for a thousand years, like Satan in Bible? If a G.o.d want to move, see new country and so on, who can say no?”
”I don't quite understand,” I said, to draw her out further, although, in fact, I had more than a glimmering of what she meant.
”O Allan, Holy Flower there a G.o.d, and my mother priestess. If Holy Flower tired of this land, and want to grow somewhere else, why priestess not carry it and go too?”
”Capital idea,” I said, ”but you see, Miss Hope, there are, or were, two G.o.ds, one of which cannot travel.”
”Oh! that very easy, too. Put skin of G.o.d of the woods on to this man,” and she pointed to Hans, ”and who know difference? They like as two brothers already, only he smaller.”
”She's got it! By Jingo, she's got it!” exclaimed Stephen in admiration.
”What Missie say?” asked Hans, suspiciously.
I told him.
”Oh! Baas,” exclaimed Hans, ”think of the smell inside of that G.o.d's skin when the sun s.h.i.+nes on it. Also the G.o.d was a very big G.o.d, and I am small.”
Then he turned and made a proposal to Mavovo, explaining that his stature was much better suited to the job.
”First will I die,” answered the great Zulu. ”Am I, who have high blood in my veins and who am a warrior, to defile myself by wrapping the skin of a dead brute about me and appear as an ape before men? Propose it to me again, Spotted Snake, and we shall quarrel.”
”See here, Hans,” I said. ”Mavovo is right. He is a soldier and very strong in battle. You also are very strong in your wits, and by doing this you will make fools of all the Pongo. Also, Hans, it is better that you should wear the skin of a gorilla for a few hours than that I, your master, and all these should be killed.”
”Yes, Baas, it is true, Baas; though for myself I almost think that, like Mavovo, I would rather die. Yet it would be sweet to deceive those Pongo once again, and, Baas, I won't see you killed just to save myself another bad smell or two. So, if you wish it, I will become a G.o.d.”
Thus through the self-sacrifice of that good fellow, Hans, who is the real hero of this history, that matter was settled, if anything could be looked on as settled in our circ.u.mstances. Then we arranged that we would start upon our desperate adventure at dawn on the following morning.
Meanwhile, much remained to be done. First, Mrs. Eversley summoned her attendants, who, to the number of twelve, soon appeared in front of the verandah. It was very sad to see these poor women, all of whom were albinos and unpleasant to look on, while quite half appeared to be deaf and dumb. To these, speaking as a priestess, she explained that the G.o.d who dwelt in the woods was dead, and that therefore she must take the Holy Flower, which was called ”Wife of the G.o.d” and make report to the Motombo of this dreadful catastrophe. Meanwhile, they must remain on the island and continue to cultivate the fields.
This order threw the poor creatures, who were evidently much attached to their mistress and her daughter, into a great state of consternation. The eldest of them all, a tall, thin old lady with white wool and pink eyes who looked, as Stephen said, like an Angora rabbit, prostrated herself and kissing the Mother's foot, asked when she would return, since she and the ”Daughter of the Flower” were all they had to love, and without them they would die of grief.
Suppressing her evident emotion as best she could, the Mother replied that she did not know; it depended on the will of Heaven and the Motombo. Then to prevent further argument she bade them bring their picks with which they worked the land; also poles, mats, and palmstring, and help to dig up the Holy Flower. This was done under the superintendence of Stephen, who here was thoroughly in his element, although the job proved far from easy. Also it was sad, for all these women wept as they worked, while some of them who were not dumb, wailed aloud.
Even Miss Hope cried, and I could see that her mother was affected with a kind of awe. For twenty years she had been guardian of this plant, which I think she had at last not unnaturally come to look upon with some of the same veneration that was felt for it by the whole Pongo people.
”I fear,” she said, ”lest this sacrilege should bring misfortune upon us.”