Lord
John Roxton and I turned down
Vigo Street together and through
the dingy portals of the famous
aristocratic rookery. At the
end of a long drab passage my
new acquaintance pushed open
a door and turned on an electric
switch. A number of lamps shining
through tinted shades bathed
the whole great room before us
in a ruddy radiance. Standing
in the doorway and glancing round
me, I had a general impression
of extraordinary comfort and
elegance combined with an atmosphere
of masculine virility. Everywhere
there were mingled the luxury
of the wealthy man of taste and
the careless untidiness of the
bachelor. Rich furs and strange
iridescent mats from some Oriental
bazaar were scattered upon the
floor. Pictures and prints which
even my unpractised eyes could
recognize as being of great price
and rarity hung thick upon the
walls. Sketches of boxers, of
ballet-girls, and of racehorses
alternated with a sensuous Fragonard,
a martial Girardet, and a dreamy
Turner. But amid these varied
ornaments there were scattered
the trophies which brought back
strongly to my recollection the
fact that Lord John Roxton was
one of the great all-round sportsmen
and athletes of his day. A dark-blue
oar crossed with a cherry-pink
one above his mantel-piece spoke
of the old Oxonian and Leander
man, while the foils and boxing-gloves
above and below them were the
tools of a man who had won supremacy
with each. Like a dado round
the room was the jutting line
of splendid heavy game-heads,
the best of their sort from every
quarter of the world, with the
rare white rhinoceros of the
Lado Enclave drooping its supercilious
lip above them all.
In the center of the rich red
carpet was a black and gold Louis
Quinze table, a lovely antique,
now sacrilegiously desecrated
with marks of glasses and the
scars of cigar-stumps. On it
stood a silver tray of smokables
and a burnished spirit-stand,
from which and an adjacent siphon
my silent host proceeded to charge
two high glasses. Having indicated
an arm-chair to me and placed
my refreshment near it, he handed
me a long, smooth Havana. Then,
seating himself opposite to me,
he looked at me long and fixedly
with his strange, twinkling,
reckless eyes--eyes of a cold
light blue, the color of a glacier
lake.
Through the thin haze of my
cigar-smoke I noted the details
of a face which was already familiar
to me from many photographs--the
strongly-curved nose, the hollow,
worn cheeks, the dark, ruddy
hair, thin at the top, the crisp,
virile moustaches, the small,
aggressive tuft upon his projecting
chin. Something there was of
Napoleon III., something of Don
Quixote, and yet again something
which was the essence of the
English country gentleman, the
keen, alert, open-air lover of
dogs and of horses. His skin
was of a rich flower-pot red
from sun and wind. His eyebrows
were tufted and overhanging,
which gave those naturally cold
eyes an almost ferocious aspect,
an impression which was increased
by his strong and furrowed brow.
In figure he was spare, but very
strongly built--indeed, he had
often proved that there were
few men in England capable of
such sustained exertions. His
height was a little over six
feet, but he seemed shorter on
account of a peculiar rounding
of the shoulders. Such was the
famous Lord John Roxton as he
sat opposite to me, biting hard
upon his cigar and watching me
steadily in a long and embarrassing
silence.
"Well," said he, at last, "we've
gone and done it, young fellah
my lad." (This curious phrase
he pronounced as if it were all
one word--"young-fellah-me-lad.") "Yes,
we've taken a jump, you an' me.
I suppose, now, when you went
into that room there was no such
notion in your head--what?"
"No
thought of
it."
"The
same here.
No thought
of it. And
here we are,
up to
our necks in the tureen. Why,
I've only been back three weeks
from Uganda, and taken a place
in Scotland, and signed the lease
and all. Pretty goin's on--what?
How does it hit you?"
"Well,
it is all in
the main line
of my business.
I am a journalist
on the Gazette."
"Of
course--you
said so when
you took it on. By the way, I've
got a small job for you, if you'll
help me."
"With
pleasure."
"Don't
mind takin'
a risk, do
you?"
"What
is the risk?"
"Well,
it's Ballinger--he's
the risk. You've heard of him?"
"No."
"Why,
young fellah,
where HAVE
you lived?
Sir John Ballinger
is the best gentleman jock in
the north country. I could hold
him on the flat at my best, but
over jumps he's my master. Well,
it's an open secret that when
he's out of trainin' he drinks
hard--strikin' an average, he
calls it. He got delirium on
Toosday, and has been ragin'
like a devil ever since. His
room is above this. The doctors
say that it is all up with the
old dear unless some food is
got into him, but as he lies
in bed with a revolver on his
coverlet, and swears he will
put six of the best through anyone
that comes near him, there's
been a bit of a strike among
the serving-men. He's a hard
nail, is Jack, and a dead shot,
too, but you can't leave a Grand
National winner to die like that--what?"
"What do you mean to do, then?" I
asked.
"Well,
my idea was
that you and
I could rush
him. He may
be dozin', and at the worst he
can only wing one of us, and
the other should have him. If
we can get his bolster-cover
round his arms and then 'phone
up a stomach-pump, we'll give
the old dear the supper of his
life."
It was a rather desperate business
to come suddenly into one's day's
work. I don't think that I am
a particularly brave man. I have
an Irish imagination which makes
the unknown and the untried more
terrible than they are. On the
other hand, I was brought up
with a horror of cowardice and
with a terror of such a stigma.
I dare say that I could throw
myself over a precipice, like
the Hun in the history books,
if my courage to do it were questioned,
and yet it would surely be pride
and fear, rather than courage,
which would be my inspiration.
Therefore, although every nerve
in my body shrank from the whisky-maddened
figure which I pictured in the
room above, I still answered,
in as careless a voice as I could
command, that I was ready to
go. Some further remark of Lord
Roxton's about the danger only
made me irritable.
"Talking won't make it any
better," said I. "Come on."
I rose from my chair and he
from his. Then with a little
confidential chuckle of laughter,
he patted me two or three times
on the chest, finally pushing
me back into my chair.
"All right, sonny my lad--you'll
do," said he. I looked up in
surprise.
"I
saw after Jack
Ballinger myself
this mornin'.
He blew
a hole in the skirt of my kimono,
bless his shaky old hand, but
we got a jacket on him, and he's
to be all right in a week. I
say, young fellah, I hope you
don't mind--what? You see, between
you an' me close-tiled, I look
on this South American business
as a mighty serious thing, and
if I have a pal with me I want
a man I can bank on. So I sized
you down, and I'm bound to say
that you came well out of it.
You see, it's all up to you and
me, for this old Summerlee man
will want dry-nursin' from the
first. By the way, are you by
any chance the Malone who is
expected to get his Rugby cap
for Ireland?"
"A
reserve, perhaps."
"I
thought I remembered
your face.
Why, I was
there when
you
got that try against Richmond--as
fine a swervin' run as I saw
the whole season. I never miss
a Rugby match if I can help it,
for it is the manliest game we
have left. Well, I didn't ask
you in here just to talk sport.
We've got to fix our business.
Here are the sailin's, on the
first page of the Times. There's
a Booth boat for Para next Wednesday
week, and if the Professor and
you can work it, I think we should
take it--what? Very good, I'll
fix it with him. What about your
outfit?"
"My
paper will
see to that."
"Can
you shoot?"
"About
average Territorial
standard."
"Good
Lord! as bad
as that? It's
the last thing
you young
fellahs think of learnin'. You're
all bees without stings, so far
as lookin' after the hive goes.
You'll look silly, some o' these
days, when someone comes along
an' sneaks the honey. But you'll
need to hold your gun straight
in South America, for, unless
our friend the Professor is a
madman or a liar, we may see
some queer things before we get
back. What gun have you?"
He crossed to an oaken cupboard,
and as he threw it open I caught
a glimpse of glistening rows
of parallel barrels, like the
pipes of an organ.
"I'll see what I can spare
you out of my own battery," said
he.
One by one he took out a succession
of beautiful rifles, opening
and shutting them with a snap
and a clang, and then patting
them as he put them back into
the rack as tenderly as a mother
would fondle her children.
"This is a Bland's .577 axite
express," said he. "I got that
big fellow with it." He glanced
up at the white rhinoceros. "Ten
more yards, and he'd would have
added me to HIS collection.
`On that conical bullet his
one chance hangs, 'Tis the weak
one's advantage fair.'
Hope you know
your Gordon, for he's the poet
of the horse
and the gun and the man that
handles both. Now, here's a useful
tool--.470, telescopic sight,
double ejector, point-blank up
to three-fifty. That's the rifle
I used against the Peruvian slave-drivers
three years ago. I was the flail
of the Lord up in those parts,
I may tell you, though you won't
find it in any Blue-book. There
are times, young fellah, when
every one of us must make a stand
for human right and justice,
or you never feel clean again.
That's why I made a little war
on my own. Declared it myself,
waged it myself, ended it myself.
Each of those nicks is for a
slave murderer--a good row of
them--what? That big one is for
Pedro Lopez, the king of them
all, that I killed in a backwater
of the Putomayo River. Now, here's
something that would do for you." He
took out a beautiful brown-and-silver
rifle. "Well rubbered at the
stock, sharply sighted, five
cartridges to the clip. You can
trust your life to that." He
handed it to me and closed the
door of his oak cabinet.
"By the way," he continued,
coming back to his chair, "what
do you know of this Professor
Challenger?"
"I never saw
him till to-day."
"Well, neither
did I. It's funny we should
both sail under
sealed orders from a man we don't
know. He seemed an uppish old
bird. His brothers of science
don't seem too fond of him, either.
How came you to take an interest
in the affair?"
I told him shortly my experiences
of the morning, and he listened
intently. Then he drew out a
map of South America and laid
it on the table.
"I believe every single word
he said to you was the truth," said
he, earnestly, "and, mind you,
I have something to go on when
I speak like that. South America
is a place I love, and I think,
if you take it right through
from Darien to Fuego, it's the
grandest, richest, most wonderful
bit of earth upon this planet.
People don't know it yet, and
don't realize what it may become.
I've been up an' down it from
end to end, and had two dry seasons
in those very parts, as I told
you when I spoke of the war I
made on the slave-dealers. Well,
when I was up there I heard some
yarns of the same kind--traditions
of Indians and the like, but
with somethin' behind them, no
doubt. The more you knew of that
country, young fellah, the more
you would understand that anythin'
was possible--ANYTHIN'1. There
are just some narrow water-lanes
along which folk travel, and
outside that it is all darkness.
Now, down here in the Matto Grande"--he
swept his cigar over a part of
the map--"or up in this corner
where three countries meet, nothin'
would surprise me. As that chap
said to-night, there are fifty-thousand
miles of water-way runnin' through
a forest that is very near the
size of Europe. You and I could
be as far away from each other
as Scotland is from Constantinople,
and yet each of us be in the
same great Brazilian forest.
Man has just made a track here
and a scrape there in the maze.
Why, the river rises and falls
the best part of forty feet,
and half the country is a morass
that you can't pass over. Why
shouldn't somethin' new and wonderful
lie in such a country? And why
shouldn't we be the men to find
it out? Besides," he added, his
queer, gaunt face shining with
delight, "there's a sportin'
risk in every mile of it. I'm
like an old golf-ball-- I've
had all the white paint knocked
off me long ago. Life can whack
me about now, and it can't leave
a mark. But a sportin' risk,
young fellah, that's the salt
of existence. Then it's worth
livin' again. We're all gettin'
a deal too soft and dull and
comfy. Give me the great waste
lands and the wide spaces, with
a gun in my fist and somethin'
to look for that's worth findin'.
I've tried war and steeplechasin'
and aeroplanes, but this huntin'
of beasts that look like a lobster-supper
dream is a brand-new sensation." He
chuckled with glee at the prospect.
Perhaps I have dwelt too long
upon this new acquaintance, but
he is to be my comrade for many
a day, and so I have tried to
set him down as I first saw him,
with his quaint personality and
his queer little tricks of speech
and of thought. It was only the
need of getting in the account
of my meeting which drew me at
last from his company. I left
him seated amid his pink radiance,
oiling the lock of his favorite
rifle, while he still chuckled
to himself at the thought of
the adventures which awaited
us. It was very clear to me that
if dangers lay before us I could
not in all England have found
a cooler head or a braver spirit
with which to share them.
That night, wearied as I was
after the wonderful happenings
of the day, I sat late with McArdle,
the news editor, explaining to
him the whole situation, which
he thought important enough to
bring next morning before the
notice of Sir George Beaumont,
the chief. It was agreed that
I should write home full accounts
of my adventures in the shape
of successive letters to McArdle,
and that these should either
be edited for the Gazette as
they arrived, or held back to
be published later, according
to the wishes of Professor Challenger,
since we could not yet know what
conditions he might attach to
those directions which should
guide us to the unknown land.
In response to a telephone inquiry,
we received nothing more definite
than a fulmination against the
Press, ending up with the remark
that if we would notify our boat
he would hand us any directions
which he might think it proper
to give us at the moment of starting.
A second question from us failed
to elicit any answer at all,
save a plaintive bleat from his
wife to the effect that her husband
was in a very violent temper
already, and that she hoped we
would do nothing to make it worse.
A third attempt, later in the
day, provoked a terrific crash,
and a subsequent message from
the Central Exchange that Professor
Challenger's receiver had been
shattered. After that we abandoned
all attempt at communication.
And now my patient readers,
I can address you directly no
longer. From now onwards (if,
indeed, any continuation of this
narrative should ever reach you)
it can only be through the paper
which I represent. In the hands
of the editor I leave this account
of the events which have led
up to one of the most remarkable
expeditions of all time, so that
if I never return to England
there shall be some record as
to how the affair came about.
I am writing these last lines
in the saloon of the Booth liner
Francisca, and they will go back
by the pilot to the keeping of
Mr. McArdle. Let me draw one
last picture before I close the
notebook--a picture which is
the last memory of the old country
which I bear away with me. It
is a wet, foggy morning in the
late spring; a thin, cold rain
is falling. Three shining mackintoshed
figures are walking down the
quay, making for the gang-plank
of the great liner from which
the blue-peter is flying. In
front of them a porter pushes
a trolley piled high with trunks,
wraps, and gun-cases. Professor
Summerlee, a long, melancholy
figure, walks with dragging steps
and drooping head, as one who
is already profoundly sorry for
himself. Lord John Roxton steps
briskly, and his thin, eager
face beams forth between his
hunting-cap and his muffler.
As for myself, I am glad to have
got the bustling days of preparation
and the pangs of leave-taking
behind me, and I have no doubt
that I show it in my bearing.
Suddenly, just as we reach the
vessel, there is a shout behind
us. It is Professor Challenger,
who had promised to see us off.
He runs after us, a puffing,
red-faced, irascible figure.
"No thank you," says he; "I
should much prefer not to go
aboard. I have only a few words
to say to you, and they can very
well be said where we are. I
beg you not to imagine that I
am in any way indebted to you
for making this journey. I would
have you to understand that it
is a matter of perfect indifference
to me, and I refuse to entertain
the most remote sense of personal
obligation. Truth is truth, and
nothing which you can report
can affect it in any way, though
it may excite the emotions and
allay the curiosity of a number
of very ineffectual people. My
directions for your instruction
and guidance are in this sealed
envelope. You will open it when
you reach a town upon the Amazon
which is called Manaos, but not
until the date and hour which
is marked upon the outside. Have
I made myself clear? I leave
the strict observance of my conditions
entirely to your honor. No, Mr.
Malone, I will place no restriction
upon your correspondence, since
the ventilation of the facts
is the object of your journey;
but I demand that you shall give
no particulars as to your exact
destination, and that nothing
be actually published until your
return. Good-bye, sir. You have
done something to mitigate my
feelings for the loathsome profession
to which you unhappily belong.
Good-bye, Lord John. Science
is, as I understand, a sealed
book to you; but you may congratulate
yourself upon the hunting-field
which awaits you. You will, no
doubt, have the opportunity of
describing in the Field how you
brought down the rocketing dimorphodon.
And good-bye to you also, Professor
Summerlee. If you are still capable
of self-improvement, of which
I am frankly unconvinced, you
will surely return to London
a wiser man."
So he turned
upon his heel, and a minute
later from the deck
I could see his short, squat
figure bobbing about in the distance
as he made his way back to his
train. Well, we are well down
Channel now. There's the last
bell for letters, and it's good-bye
to the pilot. We'll be "down,
hull-down, on the old trail" from
now on. God bless all we leave
behind us, and send us safely
back.
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