Such was the meeting of Victor Durnovo and Jack1 Meredith. Two men with absolutely nothing in common—no taste, no past, no kinship—nothing but the future. Such men as Fate loves to bring together for her own strange purposes. What these purposes are none of us can tell. Some hold that Fate is wise. She is not so yet, but she cannot fail to acquire wisdom some day, because she experiments so industriously2. She is ever bringing about new combinations, and one can only trust that she, the experimenter, is as keenly disappointed in the result as are we, the experimented.
To Jack Meredith Victor Durnovo conveyed the impression of little surprise and a slight local interest. He was a man who was not quite a gentleman; but for himself Jack did not give great heed3 to this. He had associated with many such; for, as has been previously4 intimated, he had moved in London society, where there are many men who are not quite gentlemen. The difference of a good coat and that veiled insolence5 which passes in some circles for the ease of good breeding had no weight with the keen son of Sir John Meredith, and Victor Durnovo fared no worse in his companion's estimation because he wore a rough coat and gave small attention to his manners. He attracted and held Jack's attention by a certain open-air manliness6 which was in keeping with the situation and with his life. Sportsmen, explorers and wanderers were not new to Jack; for nowadays one may never know what manner of man is inside a faultless dress-suit. It is an age of disappearing, via Charing7 Cross station in a first-class carriage, to a life of backwooding, living from hand to mouth, starving in desert, prairie, pampas or Arctic wild, with, all the while, a big balance at Cox's. And most of us come back again and put on the dress-suit and the white tie with a certain sense of restfulness and comfort.
Jack Meredith had known many such. He had, in a small way, done the same himself. But he had never met one of the men who do not go home—who possess no dress-coat and no use for it—whose business it is to go about with a rifle in one hand and their life in the other—who risk their lives because it is their trade and not their pleasure.
Durnovo could not understand the new-comer at all. He saw at once that this was one of those British aristocrats8 who do strange things in a very strange way. In a degree Meredith reminded him of Maurice Gordon, the man whose letter of introduction was at that moment serving to light the camp fire. But it was Maurice Gordon without that semi-sensual weakness of purpose which made him the boon9 companion of Tom, Dick, or Harry10, provided that one of those was only with him long enough. There was a vast depth of reserve—of indefinable possibilities, which puzzled Durnovo, and in some subtle way inspired fear.
In that part of Africa which lies within touch of the Equator, life is essentially11 a struggle. There is hunger about, and where hunger is the emotions will be found also. Now Jack Meredith was a past-master in the concealment12 of these, and, as such, came to Victor Durnovo in the guise13 of a new creation. He had lived the latter and the larger part of his life among men who said, in action if not in words, I am hungry, or I am thirsty; I want this, or I want that; and if you are not strong enough to keep it, I will take it from you.
This man was different; and Victor Durnovo did not know—could not find out—WHAT he wanted.
He had at first been inclined to laugh at him. What struck him most forcibly was Joseph, the servant. The idea of a man swaggering up an African river with a European man-servant was so preposterous14 that it could only be met with ridicule15; but the thing seemed so natural to Jack Meredith, he accepted the servitude of Joseph so much as a matter of course, that after a time Durnovo accepted him also as part and parcel of Meredith.
Moreover, he immediately began to realise the benefit of being waited upon by an intelligent European, for Joseph took off his coat, turned up his sleeves, and proceeded to cook such a dinner as Durnovo had not tasted for many months. There was wine also, and afterwards a cigar of such quality as appealed strongly to Durnovo's West Indian palate.
The night settled down over the land while they sat there, and before them the great yellow equatorial moon rose slowly over the trees. With the darkness came a greater silence, for the myriad16 insect life was still. This great silence of Central Africa is wonderfully characteristic. The country is made for silence, the natives are created to steal, spirit-ridden, devil-haunted, through vast tracks of lifeless forest, where nature is oppressive in her grandeur17. Here man is put into his right place—a puny18, insignificant19, helpless being in a world that is too large for him.
“So,” said Durnovo, returning to the subject which had never really left his thoughts, “you have come out here for pleasure?”
“Not exactly. I came chiefly to make money, partly to dispel20 some of the illusions of my youth, and I am getting on very well. Picture-book illusions they were. The man who drew the pictures had never seen Africa.”
“This is no country for illusions. Things go naked here—damned naked.”
Durnovo laughed. He had to be alert to keep up with Jack Meredith—to understand his speech; and he rather liked the necessity, which was a change after the tropic indolence in which he had moved.
“Swearing, you mean,” he replied. “Hope you don't mind it?”
“Not a bit. Do it myself.”
At this moment Joseph, the servant, brought coffee served up in tin cups.
“First-class dinner,” said Durnovo. “The best dinner I have had for years. Clever chap, your man!”
The last remark was made as much for the servant's edification as for the master's, and it was accompanied by an inviting22 smile directed towards Joseph. Of this the man took no notice whatever. He came from a world where masters and masters' guests know their place and keep it, even after a good dinner.
The evening had turned out so very differently from what he had expected that Durnovo was a little off his balance. Things were so sociable23 and pleasant in comparison with the habitual24 loneliness of his life. The fire crackled so cheerily, the moon shone down on the river so grandly, the subdued25 chatter26 of the boatmen imparted such a feeling of safety and comfort to the scene, that he gave way to that impulse of expansiveness which ever lurks27 in West Indian blood.
“I say,” he said, “when you told me that you wanted to make money, were you in earnest?”
“In the deadliest earnest,” replied Jack Meredith, in the half-mocking tone which he never wholly learnt to lay aside.
“Then I think I can put you in the way of it. Oh, I know it seems a bit premature—not known you long enough, and all that. But in this country we don't hold much by the formalities. I like you. I liked the look of you when you got out of that boat—so damned cool and self-possessed. You're the right sort, Mr. Meredith.”
“Possibly—for some things. For sitting about and smoking first-class cigars and thinking second-class thoughts I am exactly the right sort. But for making money, for hard work and steady work, I am afraid, Mr. Durnovo, that I am distinctly the wrong sort.”
“Mostly; it lubricates things, doesn't it?”
There was a little pause. Durnovo looked round as if to make sure that Joseph and the boatmen were out of earshot.
“Can you keep a secret?” he asked suddenly.
Jack Meredith turned and looked at the questioner with a smile. His hat had slipped to the back of his head, the light of the great yellow moon fell full upon his clean-cut, sphinx-like face. The eyes alone seemed living.
“Yes! I can do that.”
He was only amused, and the words were spoken half-mockingly; but his face said more than his lips. It said that even in chaff this was no vain boast that he was uttering. Even before he had set foot on African soil he had been asked to keep so many secrets of a commercial nature. So many had begun by imparting half a secret, to pass on in due course to the statement that only money was required, say, a thousand pounds. And, in the meantime, twenty-five would be very useful, and, if not that, well, ten shillings. Jack Meredith had met all that before.
But there was something different about Durnovo. He was not suitably got up. Your bar-room prospective30 millionaire is usually a jolly fellow, quite prepared to quench31 any man's thirst for liquor or information so long as credit and credulity will last. There was nothing jolly or sanguine32 about Durnovo. Beneath his broad-brimmed hat his dark eyes flashed in a fierce excitement. His hand was unsteady. He had allowed the excellent cigar to go out. The man was full of quinine and fever, in deadly earnest.
“I can see you're a gentleman,” he said; “I'll trust you. I want a man to join me in making a fortune. I have got my hand on it at last. But I'm afraid of this country. I'm getting shaky; look at that hand. I've been looking for it too long. I take you into my confidence, the first comer, you'll think. But there are not many men like you in this country, and I'm beastly afraid of dying. I'm in a damned funk. I want to get out of this for a bit, but I dare not leave until I set things going.”
“Take your time,” said Meredith, quietly and soothingly33; “light that cigar again and lie down. There is no hurry.”
“Tell me,” he said, “have you ever heard of Simiacine?”
“It is a drug, the most expensive drug in the market. And they must have it, they cannot do without it, and they cannot find a substitute. It is the leaf of a shrub36, and your hatful is worth a thousand pounds.”
“Where is it to be found?” asked Jack Meredith. “I should like some—in a sack.”
“Ah, you may laugh now, but you won't when you hear all about it. The scientific chaps called it Simiacine, because of an old African legend which, like all those things, has a grain of truth in it. The legend is, that the monkeys first found out the properties of the leaf, and it is because they live on it that they are so strong. Do you know that a gorilla's arm is not half so thick as yours, and yet he would take you and snap your backbone37 across his knee; he would bend a gun-barrel as you would bend a cane38, merely by the turn of his wrist. That is Simiacine. He can hang on to a tree with one leg and tackle a leopard39 with his bare hands—that's Simiacine. At home, in England and in Germany, they are only just beginning to find out its properties; it seems that it can bring a man back to life when he is more than half dead. There is no knowing what children that are brought up on it may turn out to be; it may double the power of the human brain—some think it will.”
Jack Meredith was leaning forward, watching with a certain sense of fascination40 the wild, disease-stricken face, listening to the man's breathless periods. It seemed that the fear of death, which had gotten hold of him, gave Victor Durnovo no time to pause for breath.
“Yes,” said the Englishman, “yes, go on.”
“There is practically no limit to the demand that there is for it. At present the only way of obtaining it is through the natives, and you know their manner of trading. They send a little packet down from the interior, and it very often takes two months and more to reach the buyer's hands. The money is sent back the same way, and each man who fingers it keeps a little. The natives find the leaf in the forests by the aid of trained monkeys, and only in very small quantities. Do you follow me?”
“Yes, I follow you.”
Victor Durnovo leant forward until his face was within three inches of Meredith, and the dark wild eyes flashed and glared into the Englishman's steady glance.
“What,” he hissed41, “what if I know where Simiacine grows like a weed? What if I could supply the world with Simiacine at my own price? Eh—h—h! What of that, Mr. Meredith?”
He threw himself suddenly back and wiped his dripping face. There was a silence, the great African silence that drives educated men mad, and fills the imagination of the poor heathen with wild tales of devils and spirits.
“I'm your man,” he said, “with a few more details.”
Victor Durnovo was lying back at full length on the hard dry mud, his arms beneath his head. Without altering his position he gave the details, speaking slowly and much more quietly. It seemed as if he spoke the result of long pent-up thought.
“We shall want,” he said, “two thousand pounds to start it. For we must have an armed force of our own. We have to penetrate42 through a cannibal country, of the fiercest devils in Africa. It is a plateau, a little plateau of two square miles, and the niggers think that it is haunted by an evil spirit. When we get there we shall have to hold it by force of arms, and when we send the stuff down to the coast we must have an escort of picked men. The bushes grow up there as thick as gooseberry bushes in a garden at home. With a little cultivation43 they will yield twice as much as they do now. We shall want another partner. I know a man, a soldierly fellow full of fight, who knows the natives and the country. I will undertake to lead you there, but you will have to take great care of me. You will have to have me carried most of the way. I am weak, devilish weak, and I am afraid of dying; but I know the way there, and no other man can say as much! It is in my head here; it is not written down. It is only in my head, and no one can get it out of there.”
“No,” said Meredith, in his quiet, refined voice, “no, no one can get it out. Come, let us turn in. To-morrow I will go down the river with you. I will turn back, and we can talk it over as we go downstream.”
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1
jack
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| n.插座，千斤顶，男人；v.抬起，提醒，扛举；n.（Jake）杰克 | |
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2
industriously
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3
heed
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| v.注意，留意；n.注意，留心 | |
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4
previously
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| adv.以前，先前（地） | |
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insolence
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| n.傲慢；无礼；厚颜；傲慢的态度 | |
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6
manliness
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| 刚毅 | |
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7
charing
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| n.炭化v.把…烧成炭，把…烧焦( char的现在分词 )；烧成炭，烧焦；做杂役女佣 | |
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8
aristocrats
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| n.贵族( aristocrat的名词复数 ) | |
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9
boon
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| n.恩赐，恩物，恩惠 | |
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10
harry
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| vt.掠夺，蹂躏，使苦恼 | |
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11
essentially
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| adv.本质上，实质上，基本上 | |
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12
concealment
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| n.隐藏, 掩盖，隐瞒 | |
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13
guise
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| n.外表，伪装的姿态 | |
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14
preposterous
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| adj.荒谬的，可笑的 | |
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15
ridicule
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| v.讥讽，挖苦；n.嘲弄 | |
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16
myriad
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| adj.无数的；n.无数，极大数量 | |
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17
grandeur
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| n.伟大，崇高，宏伟，庄严，豪华 | |
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18
puny
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| adj.微不足道的，弱小的 | |
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19
insignificant
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| adj.无关紧要的，可忽略的，无意义的 | |
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20
dispel
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| vt.驱走，驱散，消除 | |
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21
adorned
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| [计]被修饰的 | |
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inviting
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| adj.诱人的，引人注目的 | |
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23
sociable
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| adj.好交际的，友好的，合群的 | |
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24
habitual
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| adj.习惯性的；通常的，惯常的 | |
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25
subdued
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| adj. 屈服的，柔和的，减弱的 动词subdue的过去式和过去分词 | |
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26
chatter
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| vi.／n.喋喋不休；短促尖叫；(牙齿)打战 | |
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27
lurks
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| n.潜在，潜伏；（lurk的复数形式）vi.潜伏，埋伏（lurk的第三人称单数形式） | |
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28
chaff
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| v.取笑，嘲笑；n.谷壳 | |
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29
spoke
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| n.（车轮的）辐条；轮辐；破坏某人的计划；阻挠某人的行动 v.讲，谈（speak的过去式）；说；演说；从某种观点来说 | |
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30
prospective
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| adj.预期的，未来的，前瞻性的 | |
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31
quench
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| vt.熄灭，扑灭；压制 | |
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32
sanguine
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| adj.充满希望的，乐观的，血红色的 | |
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33
soothingly
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| adv.抚慰地，安慰地；镇痛地 | |
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meekly
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| adv.温顺地，逆来顺受地 | |
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35
spasms
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| n.痉挛( spasm的名词复数 )；抽搐；（能量、行为等的）突发；发作 | |
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36
shrub
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| n.灌木，灌木丛 | |
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backbone
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| n.脊骨，脊柱，骨干；刚毅，骨气 | |
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38
cane
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| n.手杖，细长的茎，藤条；v.以杖击，以藤编制的 | |
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39
leopard
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| n.豹 | |
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40
fascination
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| n.令人着迷的事物，魅力，迷恋 | |
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41
hissed
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| 发嘶嘶声( hiss的过去式和过去分词 )； 发嘘声表示反对 | |
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42
penetrate
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| v.透(渗)入；刺入，刺穿；洞察，了解 | |
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43
cultivation
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| n.耕作，培养，栽培（法），养成 | |
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