Jules Verne (45 page)

After twenty little circuits, the insect arrived at the top of the
nose. Then there was a moment's hesitation that made all Cousin
Benedict's blood rush to his heart. Would the hexapode ascend again
beyond the line of the eyes, or would it descend below?

It descended. Cousin Benedict felt its caterpillar feet coming toward
the base of his nose. The insect turned neither to the right nor to
the left. It rested between its two buzzing wings, on the slightly
hooked edge of that learned nose, so well formed to carry spectacles.
It cleared the little furrow produced by the incessant use of that
optical instrument, so much missed by the poor cousin, and it stopped
just at the extremity of his nasal appendage.

It was the best place this haxapode could choose. At that distance,
Cousin Benedict's two eyes, by making their visual rays converge,
could, like two lens, dart their double look on the insect.

"Almighty God!" exclaimed Cousin Benedict, who could not repress a
cry, "the tuberculous
manticore
."

Now, he must not cry it out, he must only think it. But was it not too
much to ask from the most enthusiastic of entomologists?

To have on the end of his nose a tuberculous
manticore
, with large
elytrums—an insect of the cicendeletes tribe—a very rare specimen
in collections—one that seems peculiar to those southern parts of
Africa, and yet not utter a cry of admiration; that is beyond human
strength.

Unfortunately the
manticore
heard this cry, which was almost
immediately followed by a sneeze, that shook the appendage on which it
rested. Cousin Benedict wished to take possession of it, extended his
hand, shut it violently, and only succeeded in seizing the end of his
own nose.

"Malediction!" exclaimed he. But then he showed a remarkable coolness.

He knew that the tuberculous
manticore
only flutters about, so to
say, that it walks rather than flies. He then knelt, and succeeded in
perceiving, at less than ten inches from his eyes, the black point
that was gliding rapidly in a ray of light.

Evidently it was better to study it in this independent attitude. Only
he must not lose sight of it.

"To seize the
manticore
would be to risk crushing it," Cousin
Benedict said to himself. "No; I shall follow it! I shall admire it! I
have time enough to take it!"

Was Cousin Benedict wrong? However that may be, see him now on all
fours, his nose to the ground like a dog that smells a scent, and
following seven or eight inches behind the superb hexapode. One moment
after he was outside his hut, under the midday sun, and a few minutes
later at the foot of the palisade that shut in Alvez's establishment.

At this place was the
manticore
going to clear the enclosure with a
bound, and put a wall between its adorer and itself? No, that was not
in its nature, and Cousin Benedict knew it well. So he was always
there, crawling like a snake, too far off to recognize the insect
entomologically—besides, that was done—but near enough to perceive
that large, moving point traveling over the ground.

The
manticore
, arrived near the palisade, had met the large entrance
of a mole-hill that opened at the foot of the enclosure. There,
without hesitating, it entered this subterranean gallery, for it is in
the habit of seeking those obscure passages. Cousin Benedict believed
that he was going to lose sight of it. But, to his great surprise, the
passage was at least two feet high, and the mole-hill formed a gallery
where his long, thin body could enter. Besides, he put the ardor of a
ferret into his pursuit, and did not even perceive that in "earthing"
himself thus, he was passing outside the palisade.

In fact, the mole-hill established a natural communication between the
inside and the outside. In half a minute Cousin Benedict was outside
of the factory. That did not trouble him. He was absorbed in
admiration of the elegant insect that was leading him on. But the
latter, doubtless, had enough of this long walk. Its elytrums turned
aside, its wings spread out. Cousin Benedict felt the danger, and,
with his curved hand, he was going to make a provisional prison for
the
manticore
, when—f-r-r-r-r!—it flew away!

What despair! But the
manticore
could not go far. Cousin Benedict
rose; he looked, he darted forward, his two hands stretched out and
open. The insect flew above his head, and he only perceived a large
black point, without appreciable form to him.

Would the
manticore
come to the ground again to rest, after having
traced a few capricious circles around Cousin Benedict's bald head?
All the probabilities were in favor of its doing so.

Unfortunately for the unhappy savant, this part of Alvez's
establishment, which was situated at the northern extremity of the
town, bordered on a vast forest, which covered the territory of
Kazounde for a space of several square miles. If the
manticore
gained the cover of the trees, and if there, it should flutter from
branch to branch, he must renounce all hope of making it figure in
that famous tin box, in which it would be the most precious jewel.

Alas! that was what happened. The
manticore
had rested again on
the ground. Cousin Benedict, having the unexpected hope of seeing it
again, threw himself on the ground at once. But the
manticore
no
longer walked: it proceeded by little jumps.

Cousin Benedict, exhausted, his knees and hands bleeding, jumped also.
His two arms, his hands open, were extended to the right, to the left,
according as the black point bounded here or there. It might be said
that he was drawing his body over that burning soil, as a swimmer does
on the surface of the water.

Useless trouble! His two hands always closed on nothing. The insect
escaped him while playing with him, and soon, arrived under the fresh
branches, it arose, after throwing into Cousin Benedict's ear, which
it touched lightly, the most intense but also the most ironical
buzzing of its coleopter wings.

"Malediction!" exclaimed Cousin Benedict, a second time. "It escapes
me. Ungrateful hexapode! Thou to whom I reserved a place of honor in
my collection! Well, no, I shall not give thee up! I shall follow thee
till I reach thee!"

He forgot, this discomfited cousin, that his nearsighted eyes would
not enable him to perceive the
manticore
among the foliage. But he
was no longer master of himself. Vexation, anger, made him a fool. It
was himself, and only himself, that he must blame for his loss. If he
had taken possession of the insect at first, instead of following it
"in its independent ways," nothing of all that would have happened,
and he would possess that admirable specimen of African
manticores
,
the name of which is that of a fabulous animal, having a man's head
and a lion's body.

Cousin Benedict had lost his head. He little thought that the most
unforeseen of circumstances had just restored him to liberty. He did
not dream that the ant-hill, into which he had just entered, had opened
to him an escape, and that he had just left Alvez's establishment.
The forest was there, and under the trees was his
manticore
, flying
away! At any price, he wanted to see it again.

See him, then, running across the thick forest, no longer conscious
even of what he was doing, always imagining he saw the precious
insect, beating the air with his long arms like a gigantic
field-spider. Where he was going, how he would return, and if he
should return, he did not even ask himself, and for a good mile
he made his way thus, at the risk of being met by some native, or
attacked by some beast.

Suddenly, as he passed near a thicket, a gigantic being sprang out and
threw himself on him. Then, as Cousin Benedict would have done with
the
manticore
, that being seized him with one hand by the nape of
the neck, with the other by the lower part of the back, and before he
had time to know what was happening, he was carried across the forest.

Truly, Cousin Benedict had that day lost a fine occasion of being able
to proclaim himself the happiest entomologist of the five parts of the
world.

When Mrs. Weldon, on the 17th of the month, did not see Cousin
Benedict reappear at the accustomed hour, she was seized with the
greatest uneasiness. She could not imagine what had become of her
big baby. That he had succeeded in escaping from the factory, the
enclosure of which was absolutely impassable, was not admissible.
Besides, Mrs. Weldon knew her cousin. Had one proposed to this
original to flee, abandoning his tin box and his collection of African
insects, he would have refused without the shadow of hesitation. Now,
the box was there in the hut, intact, containing all that the savant
had been able to collect since his arrival on the continent. To
suppose that he was voluntarily separated from his entomological
treasures, was inadmissible.

Nevertheless, Cousin Benedict was no longer in Jose-Antonio Alvez's
establishment.

During all that day Mrs. Weldon looked for him persistently. Little
Jack and the slave Halima joined her. It was useless.

Mrs. Weldon was then forced to adopt this sad hypothesis: the prisoner
had been carried away by the trader's orders, for motives that she
could not fathom. But then, what had Alvez done with him? Had he
incarcerated him in one of the barracks of the large square? Why this
carrying away, coming after the agreement made between Mrs. Weldon and
Negoro, an agreement which included Cousin Benedict in the number
of the prisoners whom the trader would conduct to Mossamedes, to be
placed in James W. Weldon's hands for a ransom?

If Mrs. Weldon had been a witness of Alvez's anger, when the latter
learned of the prisoner's disappearance, she would have understood
that this disappearance was indeed made against his will. But then, if
Cousin Benedict had escaped voluntarily, why had he not let her into
the secret of his escape?

However, the search of Alvez and his servants, which was made with the
greatest care, led to the discovery of that mole-hill, which put the
factory in direct communication with the neighboring forest. The
trader no longer doubted that the "fly-hunter" had fled by that narrow
opening. One may then judge of his fury, when he said to himself that
this flight would doubtless be put to account, and would diminish the
prize that the affair would bring him.

"That imbecile is not worth much," thought he, "nevertheless, I shall
be compelled to pay dear for him. Ah! if I take him again!"

But notwithstanding the searchings that were made inside, and though
the woods were beaten over a large radius, it was impossible to find
any trace of the fugitive.

Mrs. Weldon must resign herself to the loss of her cousin, and Alvez
mourn over his prisoner. As it could not be admitted that the latter
had established communications with the outside, it appeared evident
that chance alone had made him discover the existence of the
mole-hill, and that he had taken flight without thinking any more of
those he left behind than if they had never existed.

Mrs. Weldon was forced to allow that it must be so, but she did
not dream of blaming the poor man, so perfectly unconscious of his
actions.

"The unfortunate! what will become of him?" she asked herself.

It is needless to say that the mole-hill had been closed up the same
day, and with the greatest care, and that the watch was doubled inside
as well as outside the factory.

The monotonous life of the prisoners then continued for Mrs. Weldon
and her child.

Meanwhile, a climatic fact, very rare at that period of the year, was
produced in the province. Persistent rains began about the 19th of
June, though the
masika
period, that finishes in April, was passed.
In fact, the sky was covered, and continual showers inundated the
territory of Kazounde.

What was only a vexation for Mrs. Weldon, because she must renounce
her walks inside the factory, became a public misfortune for the
natives. The low lands, covered with harvests already ripe, were
entirely submerged. The inhabitants of the province, to whom the crop
suddenly failed, soon found themselves in distress. All the labors
of the season were compromised, and Queen Moini, any more than her
ministers, did not know how to face the catastrophe.

They then had recourse to the magicians, but not to those whose
profession is to heal the sick by their incantations and sorceries, or
who predict success to the natives. There was a public misfortune on
hand, and the best "mganngas," who have the privilege of provoking or
stopping the rains, were prayed to, to conjure away the peril.

Their labor was in vain. It was in vain that they intoned their
monotonous chant, rang their little bells and hand-bells, employed
their most precious amulets, and more particularly, a horn full of mud
and bark, the point of which was terminated by three little horns.
The spirits were exorcised by throwing little balls of dung, or in
spitting in the faces of the most august personages of the court; but
they did not succeed in chasing away the bad spirits that presided
over the formation of the clouds.

Now, things were going from bad to worse, when Queen Moini thought of
inviting a celebrated magician, then in the north of Angola. He was
a magician of the first order, whose power was the more marvelous
because they had never tested it in this country where he had never
come. But there was no question of its success among the Masikas.

It was on the 25th of June, in the morning, that the new magician
suddenly announced his arrival at Kazounde with great ringing of
bells.

This sorcerer came straight to the "tchitoka," and immediately the
crowd of natives rushed toward him. The sky was a little less rainy,
the wind indicated a tendency to change, and those signs of calm,
coinciding with the arrival of the magician, predisposed the minds of
the natives in his favor.