Bones of the River (25 page)

It had many other qualities, curious and awe-inspiring. Thus, all other spears leapt toward the king spear, and could not be drawn away except by great force.

Even the elder wife of M’suru could not screw her courage into waking her lord. It was not until the chief of Kolobafa came out blinking into the daylight and bellowed for his wife, that the loss was discovered. For lost indeed was the magic spear!

Mr Commissioner Sanders was holding a palaver by the Crocodile’s Pool over a matter of belated taxation, and M’suru, in full panoply, attended to lay before him his great complaint.

“Lord,” he said, “a terrible misfortune has come upon me and my people. My wife had a lover, whose name is Mabidini, a man of the Ochori tribe and well known to you because he swore falsely against me. Because this woman loved him, she went to him when I slept, taking the Spear of the Ghost, which, as your lordship knows, is the most holy spear in the world, and there is none other like it. Therefore I come to you for leave to carry my spears into the Ochori country.”

“O ko,” said Sanders sardonically, “what manner of man are you that you set yourself up to punish? For it seems that I am nothing in this land, and M’suru, a little chief of the Akasava, can take my place. As for your spear, it is made of a certain iron which I know well.”

He called for his orderly, gave an order in Arabic, and Abiboo went away, to return with a small steel magnet.

“Look well at this, M’suru; for if your spear is magic, so then is this little thing that is shaped like the bend of the lost river that runs to Bura-Ladi.”

Sanders took the spear from the chief’s hand and put the magnet against it.

“Now pull your spear,” he said, and it required a jerk to break the weapon from the magnet’s influence.

“There shall be no killing and no carrying of spears, M’suru,” he said. “It seems to me that already you know the Ochori country so well that your young warriors can find their paths in the dark! When I go back to my fine house by the sea I will have another spear made for you, and it will be called the Spear of Sanders, and you shall hold it for me and my king. As to the woman, if she has a lover, you may put her away according to the law. I shall return when the moon is new, and you shall bring the matter before me. The palaver is finished.”

M’suru, in no way satisfied, went back to his village and called together the elder men and such friends as he had – which were few, for he was a notoriously severe man and in no sense popular.

“In two days from now Sandi will go back to his fine house by the river, and his spies will go with him; for it is well known that in the days which follow the palavers the spies do not watch, for all people fear Sandi. Therefore, send your young spearmen to me in the first hour of the night, and I will lead you to the hut of Mabidini, and we will take the spear which belongs to me, and such goats and women as we may find.”

The way to the hut was a long one, for the Ochori territory throws into the Akasava a deep, knife-shaped peninsula, and a true peninsula in the sense that it is bordered by a river which has no appearance except in the wet season. And this has to be avoided. There is water enough at all times, but the rank grass grows quickly, and here all manner of strange, aqueous beasts have their dwellings. This river, F’giri, runs to that deep, still lake which is called Kafa-guri – literally, “the hole in the world.”

On the fourth day M’suru fetched up at the deserted hut of his enemy, and learnt by inquiry from a wandering bushman that Mabidini had gone eastward to the silent lake.

“This man is not afraid, because he has my spear, which is very powerful against ghosts,” said M’suru when he heard the news and followed, for the secret river was in flood. But his warriors did not know his objective.

*  *  *

“I don’t like the look of Bones,” said Hamilton, glowering under the rim of his topee at the figure which was approaching the residency with long strides.

Sanders knocked the ash from his cheroot and smiled.

“The impression I have is that you never have been enamoured of Bones’ personal appearance,” he said.

“I’m not referring to his general homeliness,” said Hamilton. “My concentrated antipathy is directed to the particular Bones who is at present visible to the naked eye. I dislike Bones when he struts,” he growled, “because when he struts he is pleased with himself, and when Bones is pleased with himself it is time for all modest men to take cover. Good morning, Bones. Why the smirk?”

Bones saluted jerkily. He had a habit of bringing up his hand and allowing it to quiver – no other word describes the motion – within half an inch of the helmet.

“I wish to heaven you’d learn to salute properly,” snapped Hamilton. “I’d give you two hours’ saluting drill for two pins!”

“But, dear old officer, this is the very latest,” said Bones calmly, and repeated the action. “I saw a stunning old sergeant of the Guards do it. What is good enough for the jolly old Grenadiers is good enough for poor old Bones. I think you said ‘smirk’?”

He put his hand up to his ear as though he was anxious not to lose a word.

“Stand to attention, you insubordinate hound,” said Hamilton. “And if you’re deaf you’d better report and see a – a–”

“Oculist is the word you want, dear old Ham – oculist, from the word ‘hark,’ sometimes pronounced ‘harkulist.’”

“You seem pleased with yourself, Bones,” interposed Sanders hastily.

“Not so much pleased, dear old excellency,” said Bones, “as what you might describe as grateified.”

“You mean gratified,” said Hamilton.

“Great, grateful, grateified,” retorted Bones reproachfully. “Dear old thing, you’re all wrong this morning. What’s the matter with you? Jolly old liver out of condition?”

He pulled up a chair, sat down, and, resting his chin on his palms, glared across to him.

“Have you ever thought, dear old officer,” he asked in the hollow voice he invariably assumed when he became profound, “that here we are, living in this strange and almost wild country! We know this place, we know the river – it is water; we know the land – it is land; we know the dinky old flora and the jolly old fauna, and yet we are perhaps ignorant of the very longitude and latitude of, so to speak, our jolly old native home!”

He stopped, inserted his monocle, and glared triumphantly at the dazed Hamilton.

“What the devil are you talking about?”

“Has it occurred to you, dear old thing, that we should not be here if it were not for the brave and intrepid souls who, so to speak, have blazed a path through the jolly old wilderness?”

Hamilton looked at Sanders in alarm. “Have you any quinine, sir?” he asked.

“No, no, dear old medical one, I am not suffering from fever; I am, in fact,
non compos mentis
, to employ a Latin phrase.”

“That is what I’m suggesting,” said Hamilton.

“Has it ever occurred to you – ?” Bones went on, but Hamilton stopped him.

“The thing that is occurring to me at the moment is that you’ve been drinking, Bones.”

“Me, sir?” said the indignant Bones. “That’s an actionable statement, dear old officer. As a scientist, I–”

“Oh, you’re a scientist, are you? Knew there was something queer about you. What branch of science is suffering from your malignant association?”

Bones smiled tolerantly. “I was merely pointing out, dear old member of the jolly old public, that if it hadn’t been for our explorers – Livingstone, Stanley – in fact, dear old thing, I’ve been elected a Member of the Royal Geographical Society.”

He drew back in his chair to watch the effect.

“That is fine, Bones,” said Sanders. “I congratulate you. How did you become a member?”

“By paying a guinea or two,” said the scornful Hamilton. “Anybody can become a member if he pays his subscription.”

“You’re wrong, my boy,” said Bones. “I wrote a dinky little article on the etymological peculiarities of native tribes; in other words, the difference between one set of native johnnies and another set of native johnnies.”

“Good Lord!” gasped Hamilton. “Did you call it ‘etymological’?”

“Naturally,” said Bones calmly. “There is no other word.”

Captain Hamilton’s face was a study. “Etymology,” he said gently, “is that branch of grammar which deals with the derivation of words, you poor fish! The word you were labouring after was ‘ethnology.’ Did you call it etymology?”

“I did,” said Bones calmly, “and the dear old johnnies quite understood what I meant. After all, you don’t have to spell to discover the source of the Nile, dear old thing. You haven’t to be a jolly old whale on grammar to trace the source of the Congo. Many of us explorers–”

“Shut up about ‘us’,” said Hamilton. “And, talking of exploring, I shall want you to explore–”

“Don’t tell me that that pay sheet is wrong again, dear old officer,” said Bones sternly. “If it is, it is your doing.” He pointed an accusing finger at his superior. “I’ve been through it six times, and I made the same result every time. If it is wrong, there is foul play somewhere – jolly foul!”

That the conversation should not drift to the horrid subject of work, he produced a letter he had received that morning. It was from a Fellow of the Society, and a very learned fellow indeed.

“Dear Mr Tibbetts,”
the letter ran,
“I was very interested in your interesting paper on the ethnological peculiarities of the Bantu tribes, which I had the pleasure of revising for publication –”

“I knew somebody corrected the spelling,” murmured Hamilton.

“I wonder if you will ever have an opportunity of giving us more information on the subject of the lakes in your country, some of which, I believe, have never been explored. Particularly am I anxious to know more on the subject of one lake, Bura-Ladi, about which many stories are in existence.”

Sanders looked up quickly. There were in his territory many unexplored patches, and Bura-Ladi was one of these. This small, still lake lay in a depression that was popularly supposed to be bottomless. No fish were found therein. Fishermen avoided it; even the beasts in the forest never came down to drink at its margin, and the earth around it was bare for a quarter of a mile.

Sanders had seen the place twice: a lonely, sinister spot.

“There will be a chance for you, Bones, and in the very near future,” said Sanders. “You have never seen the lake?”

“I haven’t, for the matter of that,” said Hamilton, and Bones uttered an impatient tut-tut.

“Dear old Ham,” he said gently, “the jolly old Commissioner is discussing this matter with
me
, dear old thing. Don’t be peeved; I can quite understand it, old Ham, but this is a matter of science.”

“So was your last essay,” said Hamilton significantly, and Bones coughed.

“That, old sir, was pure fantasy, old officer. A little
jeu d’esprit
in the style of the late Lewis Carrots – Alice’s Wonderful Land. Perhaps you haven’t read the book, dear old soldier. If you haven’t you ought to get it straight away; it is horribly amusing.”

“I think you told the misguided and gullible editor of the
Guildford Times
that you had discovered a new kind of okapi with two tails,” said Hamilton remorselessly. “And – correct me if I’m wrong – you said that in the Forest of Dreams you had come upon a new monkey family that wore clothes. As the nearest Italian organ-grinder is some three thousand miles away, I take leave to describe you as an ingenious prevaricator. Now, the point is, Bones, what novelty are you going to find in Bura-Ladi?”

“It is queer,” Sanders broke in thoughtfully. “Do you know the temperature of the lake is about twelve degrees higher than the temperature of the river? In the rainy season, when one can get a cold spell, I’ve seen the lake steaming. No native will live within twenty miles of the place. They say there is neither fish nor crocodile in its waters. I’ve been making up my mind for eight years to make a very thorough exploration. And now, Bones,” he said with a smile, “you’ve taken the job out of my hands.”

Hamilton sniffed. “And he’ll find more in ten minutes than Darwin would have discovered in twenty years. After all, a little imagination is a great help.”

Bones reached out and gripped the unwilling hand of his senior.

“Thank you, dear old Ham,” he said gratefully. “That’s just what I’ve got. You’ve been a jolly long time finding out my good points, but better late than never, dear old sir and officer, better late than never!”

A month later, when Sanders went up river on his taxation palaver, he dropped Lieutenant Tibbetts at the point where the river comes nearest to the lake.

“And, Bones!”

Hamilton leant over the side of the
Zaire
as the canoe was pulling away.

“No funny stories, Bones! No discovery of prehistoric animals frisking in the depths of the lake. Science, Bones – pure science!”

Bones smiled pityingly. He found it easier to smile pityingly than to think of an appropriate retort.

The day he reached the edge of the lake there came a man and woman overland.

“Here we will stay, Kimi, until M’suru returns, for he will not follow us here owing to ghosts.”

Bones knew nothing of this.

*  *  *

There came a letter to headquarters by messenger.

“Dear sir dear sir and Exerlency” (wrote Bones) “I have the hounour to report that I reached I reached Lake Boorar-Ladi at eleven at eleven oclock this morning morning. I have made a Camp on the North side. Dear sir the most extreordinry thing has happened the most extery extro extronary thing has happend. There has been a vulcanic eruption! At nine oclock tonight there was a tarrific noise in the lake the lake! It came from the derection of the lake the lake. On preceding to the spot I found the waters in a state of great upheval upheeval and by the light of the moon I saw that an ireland had appeared in the middle of the lake. The ireland was smoking steamishly. It was nearly a hundread yards in lenth length. Owing to absence of nessessary transport (canoe raft etc.) I was unable to make close investeragation. This morning another tarrific explosion occured and the ireland disappeared.”