CHAPTER V
INEZ
We had sighted the house from far away shortly after sunrise and bymidday we were there. As we approached I saw that it stood almostimmediately beneath two great baobab trees, babyan trees we call them inSouth Africa, perhaps because monkeys eat their fruit. It was a thatchedhouse with whitewashed walls and a stoep or veranda round it, apparentlyof the ordinary Dutch type. Moreover, beyond it, at a little distancewere other houses or rather shanties with waggon sheds, etc., andbeyond and mixed up with these a number of native huts. Further on wereconsiderable fields green with springing corn; also we saw herds ofcattle grazing on the slopes. Evidently our white man was rich.
Umslopogaas surveyed the place with a soldier's eye and said to me,
"This must be a peaceful country, Macumazahn, where no attack is feared,since of defences I see none."
"Yes," I answered, "why not, with a wilderness behind it and bush-veldand a great river in front?"
"Men can cross rivers and travel through bush-veld," he answered, andwas silent.
Up to this time we had seen no one, although it might have been presumedthat a waggon trekking towards the house was a sufficiently unusualsight to have attracted attention.
"Where can they be?" I asked.
"Asleep, Baas, I think," said Hans, and as a matter of fact he wasright. The whole population of the place was indulging in a noondaysiesta.
At last we came so near to the house that I halted the waggon anddescended from the driving-box in order to investigate. At this momentsomeone did appear, the sight of whom astonished me not a little,namely, a very striking-looking young woman. She was tall, handsome,with large dark eyes, good features, a rather pale complexion, and Ithink the saddest face that I ever saw. Evidently she had heard thenoise of the waggon and had come out to see what caused it, for shehad nothing on her head, which was covered with thick hair of a ravenblackness. Catching sight of the great Umslopogaas with his gleaming axeand of his savage-looking bodyguard, she uttered an exclamation and notunnaturally turned to fly.
"It's all right," I sang out, emerging from behind the oxen, and inEnglish, though before the words had left my lips I reflected that therewas not the slightest reason to suppose that she would understand them.Probably she was Dutch, or Portuguese, although by some instinct I hadaddressed her in English.
To my surprise she answered me in the same tongue, spoken, it is true,with a peculiar accent which I could not place, as it was neither Scotchnor Irish.
"Thank you," she said. "I, sir, was frightened. Your friends look----"Here she stumbled for a word, then added, "terrocious."
I laughed at this composite adjective and answered,
"Well, so they are in a way, though they will not harm you or me. But,young lady, tell me, can we outspan here? Perhaps your husband----"
"I have no husband, I have only a father, sir," and she sighed.
"Well, then, could I speak to your father? My name is Allan Quatermainand I am making a journey of exploration, to find out about the countrybeyond, you know."
"Yes, I will go to wake him. He is asleep. Everyone sleeps here atmidday--except me," she said with another sigh.
"Why do you not follow their example?" I asked jocosely, for this youngwoman puzzled me and I wanted to find out about her.
"Because I sleep little, sir, who think too much. There will be plentyof time to sleep soon for all of us, will there not?"
I stared at her and inquired her name, because I did not know what elseto say.
"My name is Inez Robertson," she answered. "I will go to wake my father.Meanwhile please unyoke your oxen. They can feed with the others; theylook as though they wanted rest, poor things." Then she turned and wentinto the house.
"Inez Robertson," I said to myself, "that's a queer combination. Englishfather and Portuguese mother, I suppose. But what can an Englishman bedoing in a place like this? If it had been a trek-Boer I should not havebeen surprised." Then I began to give directions about out-spanning.
We had just got the oxen out of the yokes, when a big, raw-boned,red-bearded, blue-eyed, roughly-clad man of about fifty years of ageappeared from the house, yawning. I threw my eye over him as he advancedwith a peculiar rolling gait, and formed certain conclusions. A drunkardwho has once been a gentleman, I reflected to myself, for there wassomething peculiarly dissolute in his appearance, also one who has hadto do with the sea, a diagnosis which proved very accurate.
"How do you do, Mr. Allan Quatermain, which I think my daughter said isyour name, unless I dreamed it, for it is one that I seem to have heardbefore," he exclaimed with a broad Scotch accent which I do not attemptto reproduce. "What in the name of blazes brings you here where no realwhite man has been for years? Well, I am glad enough to see you any way,for I am sick of half-breed Portuguese and niggers, and snuff-and-buttergirls, and gin and bad whisky. Leave your people to attend to those oxenand come in and have a drink."
"Thank you, Mr. Robertson----"
"Captain Robertson," he interrupted. "Man, don't look astonished. Youmightn't guess it, but I commanded a mail-steamer once and should liketo hear myself called rightly again before I die."
"I beg your pardon--Captain Robertson, but myself, I don't drinkanything before sundown. However, if you have something to eat----?"
"Oh yes, Inez--she's my daughter--will find you a bite. Those men ofyours," and he also looked doubtfully at Umslopogaas and his savagecompany, "will want food as well. I'll have a beast killed for them;they look as if they could eat it, horns and all. Where are my people?All asleep, I suppose, the lazy lubbers. Wait a bit, I'll wake them up."
Going to the house he snatched a great sjambok cut from hippopotamushide, from where it hung on a nail in the wall, and ran towards thegroup of huts which I have mentioned, roaring out the name Thomaso, alsoa string of oaths such as seamen use, mixed with others of a Portuguesevariety. What happened there I could not see because boughs were inthe way, but presently I heard blows and screams, and caught sight ofpeople, all dark-skinned, flying from the huts.
A little later a fat, half-breed man--I should say from his curling hairthat his mother was a negress and his father a Portuguese--appearedwith some other nondescript fellows and began to give directions in acompetent fashion about our oxen, also as to the killing of a calf. Hespoke in bastard Portuguese, which I could understand, and I heard himtalk of Umslopogaas to whom he pointed, as "that nigger," after thefashion of such cross-bred people who choose to consider themselveswhite men. Also he made uncomplimentary remarks about Hans, who ofcourse understood every word he said. Evidently Thomaso's temper hadbeen ruffled by this sudden and violent disturbance of his nap.
Just then our host appeared puffing with his exertions and declaringthat he had stirred up the swine with a vengeance, in proof of which hepointed to the sjambok that was reddened with blood.
"Captain Robertson," I said, "I wish to give you a hint to be passed onto Mr. Thomaso, if that is he. He spoke of the Zulu soldier there as anigger, etc. Well, he is a chief of a high rank and rather a terriblefellow if roused. Therefore I recommend Mr. Thomaso not to let himunderstand that he is insulting him."
"Oh! that's the way of these 'snuff-and-butters' one of whosegrandmothers once met a white man," replied the Captain, laughing, "butI'll tell him," and he did in Portuguese.
His retainer listened in silence, looking at Umslopogaas rather sulkily.Then we walked into the house. As we went the Captain said,
"Senor Thomaso--he calls himself Senor--is my manager here and a cleverman, honest too in his way and attached to me, perhaps because Isaved his life once. But he has a nasty temper, as have all thesecross-breeds, so I hope he won't get wrong with that native who carriesa big axe."
"I hope so too, for his own sake," I replied emphatically.
The Captain led the way into the sitting-room; there was but one in thehouse. It proved a queer kind of place with rude furniture seated withstrips of hide after the Boer fashion, and yet bearing a cer
tain air ofrefinement which was doubtless due to Inez, who, with the assistanceof a stout native girl, was already engaged in setting the table.Thus there was a shelf with books, Shakespeare was one of these, Inoticed--over which hung an ivory crucifix, which suggested that Inezwas a Catholic. On the walls, too, were some good portraits, and on thewindow-ledge a jar full of flowers. Also the forks and spoons were ofsilver, as were the mugs, and engraved with a tremendous coat-of-armsand a Portuguese motto.
Presently the food appeared, which was excellent and plentiful, and theCaptain, his daughter and I sat down and ate. I noted that he drank ginand water, an innocent-looking beverage but strong as he took it. It wasoffered to me, but like Miss Inez, I preferred coffee.
During the meal and afterwards while we smoked upon the veranda, Itold them as much as I thought desirable of my plans. I said that I wasengaged upon a journey of exploration of the country beyond the Zambesi,and that having heard of this settlement, which, by the way, was calledStrathmuir, as I gathered after a place in far away Scotland wherethe Captain had been born and passed his childhood, I had come here toinquire as to how to cross the great river, and about other things.
The Captain was interested, especially when I informed him that I wasthat same "Hunter Quatermain" of whom he had heard in past years, but hetold me that it would be impossible to take the waggon down into the lowbush-veld which we could see beneath us, as there all the oxen would dieof the bite of the tsetse fly. I answered that I was aware of this andproposed to try to make an arrangement to leave it in his charge till Ireturned.
"That might be managed, Mr. Quatermain," he answered. "But, man, willyou ever return? They say there are queer folk living on the other sideof the Zambesi, savage men who are cannibals, Amahagger I think theycall them. It was they who in past years cleaned out all this country,except a few river tribes who live in floating huts or on islands amongthe reeds, and that's why it is so empty. But this happened long ago,much before my time, and I don't suppose they will ever cross the riveragain."
"If I might ask, what brought you here, Captain?" I said, for the pointwas one on which I felt curious.
"That which brings most men to wild places, Mr. Quatermain--trouble. Ifyou want to know, I had a misfortune and piled up my ship. There weresome lives lost and, rightly or wrongly, I got the sack. Then I startedas a trader in a God-forsaken hole named Chinde, one of the Zambesimouths, you know, and did very well, as we Scotchmen have a way ofdoing.
"There I married a Portuguese lady, a real lady of high blood, one ofthe old sort. When my girl, Inez, was about twelve years old I got intomore trouble, for my wife died and it pleased a certain relative of hersto say that it was because I had neglected her. This ended in a row andthe truth is that I killed him--in fair fight, mind you. Still, kill himI did though I scarcely knew that I had done it at the time, after whichthe place grew too hot to hold me. So I sold up and swore that I wouldhave no more to do with what they are pleased to call civilisation onthe East Coast.
"During my trading I had heard that there was fine country up this way,and here I came and settled years ago, bringing my girl and Thomaso, whowas one of my managers, also a few other people with me. And here I havebeen ever since, doing very well as before, for I trade a lot of ivoryand other things and grow stuff and cattle, which I sell to the Rivernatives. Yes, I am a rich man now and could go to live on my means inScotland, or anywhere."
"Why don't you?" I asked.
"Oh! for many reasons. I have lost touch with all that and become halfwild and I like this life and the sunshine and being my own master.Also, if I did, things might be raked up against me, about that man'sdeath. Also, though I daresay it will make you think badly of me for it,Mr. Quatermain, I have ties down there," and he waved is hand towardsthe village, if so it could be called, "which it wouldn't be easy forme to break. A man may be fond of his children, Mr. Quatermain, evenif their skins ain't so white as they ought to be. Lastly I havehabits--you see, I am speaking out to you as man to man--which might getme into trouble again if I went back to the world," and he nodded hisfine, capable-looking head in the direction of the bottle on the table.
"I see," I said hastily, for this kind of confession bursting out ofthe man's lonely heart when what he had drunk took a hold of him, waspainful to hear. "But how about your daughter, Miss Inez?"
"Ah!" he said, with a quiver in his voice, "there you touch it. Sheought to go away. There is no one for her to marry here, where wehaven't seen a white man for years, and she's a lady right enough, likeher mother. But who is she to go to, being a Roman Catholic whom my owndour Presbyterian folk in Scotland, if any of them are left, would turntheir backs on? Moreover, she loves me in her own fashion, as I loveher, and she wouldn't leave me because she thinks it her duty tostay and knows that if she did, I should go to the devil altogether.Still--perhaps you might help me about her, Mr. Quatermain, that is ifyou live to come back from your journey," he added doubtfully.
I felt inclined to ask how I could possibly help in such a matter, butthought it wisest to say nothing. This, however, he did not notice, forhe went on,
"Now I think I will have a nap, as I do my work in the early morning,and sometimes late at night when my brain seems to clear up again, foryou see I was a sailor for many years and accustomed to keeping watches.You'll look after yourself, won't you, and treat the place as your own?"Then he vanished into the house to lie down.
When I had finished my pipe I went for a walk. First I visited thewaggon where I found Umslopogaas and his company engaged in cookingthe beast that had been given them, Zulu fashion; Hans with his usualcunning had already secured a meal, probably from the servants, or fromInez herself; at least he left them and followed me. First we went downto the huts, where we saw a number of good-looking young women of mixedblood, all decently dressed and engaged about their household duties.Also we saw four or five boys and girls, to say nothing of a babyin arms, fine young people, one or two of whom were more white thancoloured.
"Those children are very like the Baas with the red beard," remarkedHans reflectively.
"Yes," I said, and shivered, for now I understood the awfulness of thispoor man's case. He was the father of a number of half-breeds who tiedhim to this spot as anchors tie a ship. I went on rather hastily pastsome sheds to a long, low building which proved to be a store. Herethe quarter-blood called Thomaso, and some assistants were engaged intrading with natives from the Zambesi swamps, men of a kind that I hadnever seen, but in a way more civilised than many further south. Whatthey were selling or buying, I did not stop to see, but I noticed thatthe store was full of goods of one sort or another, including a greatdeal of ivory, which, as I supposed, had come down the river frominland.
Then we walked on to the cultivated fields where we saw corn growingvery well, also tobacco and other crops. Beyond this were cattle kraalsand in the distance we perceived a great number of cattle and goatsfeeding on the slopes.
"This red-bearded Baas must be very rich in all things," remarked theobservant Hans when we had completed our investigations.
"Yes," I answered, "rich and yet poor."
"How can a man be both rich and yet poor, Baas?" asked Hans.
Just at that moment some of the half-breed children whom I havementioned, ran past us more naked than dressed and whooping like littlesavages. Hans contemplated them gravely, then said,
"I think I understand now, Baas. A man may be rich in things he lovesand yet does not want, which makes him poor in other ways."
"Yes," I answered, "as you _are_, Hans, when you take too much todrink."
Just then we met the stately Miss Inez returning from the store,carrying some articles in a basket, soap, I think, and tea in a packet,amongst them. I told Hans to take the basket and bear it to thehouse for her. He went off with it and, walking slowly, we fell intoconversation.
"Your father must do very well here," I said, nodding at the store withthe crowd of natives round it.
"Yes," she answered, "he ma
kes much money which he puts in a bank at thecoast, for living costs us nothing and there is great profit in what hebuys and sells, also in the crops he grows and in the cattle. But," sheadded pathetically, "what is the use of money in a place like this?"
"You can get things with it," I answered vaguely.
"That is what my father says, but what does he get? Strong stuff todrink; dresses for those women down there, and sometimes pearls, jewelsand other things for me which I do not want. I have a box full of themset in ugly gold, or loose which I cannot use, and if I put them on, whois there to see them? That clever half-breed, Thomaso--for he is cleverin his way, faithful too--or the women down there--no one else."
"You do not seem to be happy, Miss Inez."
"No. I cannot tell how unhappy others are, who have met none, butsometimes I think that I must be the most miserable woman in the world."
"Oh! no," I replied cheerfully, "plenty are worse off."
"Then, Mr. Quatermain, it must be because they cannot feel. Did you everhave a father whom you loved?"
"Yes, Miss Inez. He is dead, but he was a very good man, a kind ofsaint. Ask my servant, the little Hottentot Hans; he will tell you abouthim."
"Ah! a very good man. Well, as you may have guessed, mine is not, thoughthere is much good in him, for he has a kind heart, and a big brain. Butthe drink and those women down there, they ruin him," and she wrung herhands.
"Why don't you go away?" I blurted out.
"Because it is my duty to stop. That is what my religion teaches me,although of it I know little except through books, who have seen nopriest for years except one who was a missionary, a Baptist, I think,who told me that my faith was false and would lead me to hell. Yes, notunderstanding how I lived, he said that, who did not know that hell ishere. No, I cannot go, who hopes always that still God and the Saintswill show me how to save my father, even though it be with my blood. Andnow I have said too much to you who are quite a stranger. Yet, I do notknow why, I feel that you will not betray me, and what is more, thatyou will help me if you can, since you are not one of those who drink,or----" and she waved her hand towards the huts.
"I have my faults, Miss Inez," I answered.
"Yes, no doubt, else you would be a saint, not a man, and even thesaints had their faults, or so I seem to remember, and became saints byrepentance and conquering them. Still, I am sure that you will help meif you can."
Then with a sudden flash of her dark eyes that said more than all herwords, she turned and left me.
Here's a pretty kettle of fish, thought I to myself as I strolled backto the waggon to see how things were going on there, and how to get thelive fish out of the kettle before they boil or spoil is more than Iknow. I wonder why fate is always finding me such jobs to do.
Even as I thought thus a voice in my heart seemed to echo that poorgirl's words--because it is your duty--and to add others to them--woebetide him who neglects his duty. I was appointed to try to hook a fewfish out of the vast kettle of human woe, and therefore I must go onhooking. Meanwhile this particular problem seemed beyond me. PerhapsFate would help, I reflected. As a matter of fact, in the end Fate did,if Fate is the right word to use in this connection.