Home > Authors Index > George Manville Fenn > Dead Man's Land: Being the Voyage to Zimbambangwe of certain and uncertain > This page
Dead Man's Land: Being the Voyage to Zimbambangwe of certain and uncertain, a novel by George Manville Fenn |
||
Chapter 42. A Vain Appeal |
||
| < Previous |
Table of content |
Next > |
|
________________________________________________
_ CHAPTER FORTY TWO. A VAIN APPEAL It was one morning when Mark lay fairly collected and able to talk, and the first objects his eyes lit upon were the two blacks seated together busy crushing up some succulent leaves, which they worked between a couple of stones till they had formed them into a thick green paste. This done, the little fellow brought other leaves, covered one with the green paste, and then as Mark watched him he placed this woodland-plaster on the fleshy part of his companion's leg and secured it in its place with some long, grassy, fibrous growth which Mak had chewed and twisted into a kind of string. This done, the black lay upon one side with his teeth at work preparing some more rough bandage, while the pigmy formed another plaster, which was in turn secured to the black's left arm. As Mark lay there feeling too helpless and weary to move, he watched in turn the surgical applications of the pigmy, as he attended to bad cuts that had been suffered by Buck Denham and Dan. Mark did not know it then, during those next few days, but he realised afterwards that it was due to sheer weakness that with the knowledge of the terrible defeat, and that his father and friends were either killed or taken prisoners, he could lie there so calmly watching what was going on. There was much to see in the coming and going of the two blacks, who brought the food and the water they drank, while Buck Denham and Dan, badly as they were hurt, never wearied in their attentions. His cousin too was constantly at his side, ready to attend to every wish. At other times he sat gazing at him with an imploring expression of countenance as if begging not to be reproached for a catastrophe that he laid upon his own shoulders. "Who'd have thought it, Buck?" said Mark, one day, as he lay helpless, listening to the trickling water of the spring in the thick patch of forest that had been made their camp. "Thought what, sir?" said the big driver, as he emptied the last scraps of tobacco from his pouch into his homemade corn-straw pipe. "That that little black would be so grateful for what the doctor did." "Oh, yes, sir; he's a reg'lar little trump--the Jack, me and Dan call him, and old Black Mak the King. Those two chaps arn't as fond of you as Christians would be, but they think a deal more of you than dogs would, and it seems to me they are a kind of people as never forgets, especially the little 'un. Anybody that has ill-used them they'd wait if it was for years till they got their chance to let them have it again, and as Dan says, they never seem as if they could do enough for one who has done them a good turn. Why, old Dan and me got so chopped about that night that we could only just crawl about after we had cooled down. Luckily in the 'citement we didn't feel so bad, but after a day or two we could hardly move, and as to doing a bit of hunting or shooting, we were good for nothing. Why, we might have got thinking that we should starve out here in the woods, but here have we been living like fighting cocks." "Oh, don't talk about eating!" said Mark peevishly. "I don't see why not, Mr Mark, sir. Dan says a bit of eating helps to put life into you." "Ah!" said Mark, with a low deep sigh. He made an effort to turn round on the bed of leaves, that the blacks had made for him, but it was beyond his strength, and Dean, giving him a wistful look, tenderly placed him in the position he wished, Mark grasping his hand the while, and strengthening his grasp as Dean tried to draw his own hand away. The next minute to his surprise Dean found that his cousin had sunk into a deep sleep, and many hours passed before the boy awoke, still holding his cousin's hand. That next morning was the turning point, for Mark answered a wistful look from his cousin with the words, "I couldn't help it, Dean--no, no, no, Dean! Dean! Dean!--I say, I couldn't help it after what had happened. There, that's all dead and buried." Dean hesitated, but he saw his cousin's eyes flash, and he held out his hands and drew him into a sitting position. "Here, Dan!" cried Mark; and the little sailor sprang to him from where he was busy cooking. "Hullo, Mr Mark, sir!" he cried. "You are a-getting on!" Those words, uttered loudly, brought up Buck Denham from where he had been bathing one of the cuts he had received. "Oh, I say, Mr Mark," he said, "you mustn't do that! You arn't strong enough." "I want to get up and walk; help me," was the reply, or rather command; and the big fellow obeyed at once, taking one side, Dean the other, and between them the poor lad took a few steps; and then his head sank sideways while he submitted to being laid back on his leafy couch, breathing hard and closing his eyes. The next day he was as insistent as before. "I want to walk. I must grow strong," he said, sternly now. "Help me." Another day passed, and Dean, who had left his cousin asleep while he went out to help the men to fetch water, returned to camp to look about with startled eyes, for Mark's couch was vacant, and Dean's first thought was that, fancying he had gained enough strength, he had started off alone. Reproaching himself with what he looked upon as neglect of his cousin, he hurried off amongst the trees, searching in the direction that he thought it probable Mark would have taken. "I'm sure he can't have gone far," he said to himself; and so it proved, for before long he caught sight of him. Mark, who did not hear him come up, was kneeling by a great trunk, his clasped hands resting upon the buttress, his brow bent, and his lips moving rapidly. Dean, with the nerves of his face twitching, crept silently up to where he could touch his cousin, and then resting his own hands upon those of Mark, he too bent down, and the next minute his lips were also moving. At last Mark spoke. "Oh, Dean," he said, "a few minutes ago I thought that all was over. But oh, what a coward I have been, when perhaps all the time the poor dad, a prisoner, is comforting himself with the hope that we shall go and rescue him!" "Don't--don't, old chap!" cried Dean. "Call _me_ a coward, if you like; I won't mind. But it's like sticking one of the Illaka's spears into me when you, you brave old chap, keep on reproaching yourself; and every word you say is nothing but a lie." "Brave old chap!" cried Mark mockingly, and he burst into a strange laugh which made his cousin shiver. "Don't!" cried Dean passionately. "What does a fellow want? To be brave? Doesn't he want to be well and strong?" "Oh, I suppose so." "And there have you been fainting dead away over and over again. Who could be brave when he is like that?" "There, don't talk. We are wasting time." "What are you going to do?" "You ask me that, with your uncle waiting to be saved! Come on." "Come on where?" "I must--I must get back to the ruins." The boy took hold tightly of the sharp-edged buttress-like root upon which his hands had rested, and exerting the little strength that he had gained, he drew himself up erect, and then with everything swimming round, he reeled away from his support and would have fallen heavily but for the way in which Dean snatched at him, and yet, in spite of a quick effort on the boy's part, the pair fell heavily down amongst the bushes. "It's of no use, Mark; you are too weak and helpless. We must go on camping here for the present." "You are quite right," said Mark sadly, "I am as weak as a child; but we have to go." "But you can't," cried Dean angrily. "I must, and I will," cried Mark, with fierce determination. "And promise me this--" "Promise you what?" said Dean, for his cousin ceased speaking. "This," he cried again, with passionate energy. "The others will talk about giving up now and saving ourselves, but whatever I say you must support me. Promise me you will." "That I will." "Oh, here you are then, gentlemen," cried Dan forcing his way in to where the two lads were standing. "Ahoy! Buck! Heave ahead! Here they are! Why, we have been hunting for you everywhere, gents. You must be better, Mr Mark." "Ay, that's so," cried Buck, coming up; "but I don't believe we should have found you if it hadn't been for these 'ere two. I believe little Pig here sniffed you out all the way. Aren't you tired?" Mark shook his head, and Buck gave him a look as much as to say "I don't believe you." "Well, we are a good way from camp, my lad. If you will take my advice, Mr Mark, you will lie down and have a snooze while we light a fire and get ready something to eat." "No, don't do that," said Mark angrily. "We must go on." "Go on, sir? Where?" "Where? Back to the ruins." "You can't do it, sir. It's just about madness. You are talking wild. What do you say, Dan? Don't leave it all to me." "Same as you do, messmate." "There, Mr Mark; and I put it to you, Mr Dean; isn't it about playing the lunatic for him to think of going to the help of Sir James, and the captain, with him like this?" "Don't ask me, Buck," cried Dean excitedly. "My cousin is determined to go, and I have promised to help him." "Of course you would, sir. But Mr Mark, sir, just think!" "I have thought, Buck. It is my duty, and I appeal to you and Dan to come with me. Those faithful blacks will help, if they see you are with us, and go I must." "Nay, sir. That's very well for you to talk, and I suppose folks would say it is very grand to go and throw away your life trying to save your father. If they gets to know of it at home they will say you are a hero, and write about you being a fine example. All very fine for you, because you are a gentleman; but I'm only an or'nary sort of fellow, and I don't want people to write about me." "That will do," cried Mark angrily. "Go with them, Dean, old fellow." Dean shook his head. "I don't want to be a hero," continued Mark. "I want to save my father, and if I can't save him I'm going to die too. There, good-bye. I have talked about people being cowards, but it is only because I am half wild with misery. You have all done your best, and I know what I want you all to do is impossible. Shake hands and say good-bye." Mark shook hands with the men in turn. "Now you," he said, and he held out his hand to the blacks, who advanced smiling as if they did not understand, but took it that it was something all right, and then shrank back. Mark hesitated for a moment, and there was something piteous in his look as he turned to the big driver again. "I don't like to go like this," he said, "but go I will. I have always looked on you as a brave man, Denham, so I will make this last appeal to you. Will you come with me and help me to save my father and the doctor?" "No, sir, I won't," said the man gruffly. "Nor your own friends and companions?" "No, sir." Mark sighed. "Then I appeal to you, Dan. You will not let us two go alone?" "Can't be done, sir," said the little sailor, shaking his head. "Do you mean this, Dan?" "Yes, sir," replied Dan, after glancing at his big companion. "Very well," said Mark quietly. "I have no right to ask it. Come along, Dean; we will go alone." Making an effort over his weakness, he strode off as nearly as he could guess in the direction of the ruins, walking fairly steadily now, neither of the pair attempting to look back, and the forest was so silent that the soft rustling of the two lads amongst the leaves sounded loud and strange. They were walking in Indian file, for Mark had told his cousin to take the lead, and immersed in their own thoughts upon the desperate nature of the attempt they were about to make, they went on and on, in and out amongst the trees that grew more open as they progressed for quite an hour, when coming upon a patch of mossy stones Mark uttered the word, "Rest," and setting the example he sank down upon one of the stones, to lean his head upon his hand. "Do you feel weak?" asked Dean. Mark shook his head. "No," he said; "I am getting stronger. We will go on again in a few minutes, and who knows what may happen? I feel that we shall save them yet. Ah!" he cried. For all at once the little figure of the pigmy stood before them, holding his spear across his breast as if to bar their way. "Look at that, Dean," cried Mark. "Faithful and true to us as ever, even when those three men have forsaken us." "They have not," said Dean. "Look." Startled by his cousin's tones, Mark turned from the little black, to realise the fact that the three men whom they had left must have taken a circuitous course under the pigmy's guidance, cut them off by the scattered stones where they were resting, and were now coming straight towards them. "Then you have repented, Buck?" cried Mark eagerly. "No, sir." "Then why are you here?" said the boy, starting to his feet, and catching at his cousin's arm, for his weakness seemed to be returning. "Because we think, Dan and I, that we have let you go on in your own way long enough. It won't do, Mr Mark, and you must come back with us; eh, Dan?" "That's right, Mr Mark, sir. I never started mutiny before, but I am in for it now. We have ris' against our officers, and you are both prisoners." "Prisoners!" cried Mark wildly. "You will not dare--" "Yes, my lad." "Here, Mak!" cried Mark fiercely. "And you too," he continued, turning upon the pigmy; "you will stand by us, after all?" "There, sir," said Buck; "even they won't do what you ask. Can't you see now, my lad, how mad it is?" And the man pointed to where the two blacks had darted away amongst the trees. "There, there must be no nonsense now. We have got to save your lives. You are our prisoners, so give up like men.--Ah, I never thought of that!" For at that moment there was a repetition of the fierce yelling made familiar to them by the night attack, and they were surrounded by some fifty of the Illakas, who came rushing through the trees, flourishing their spears and looking formidable enough to make the bravest heart beat faster. _ |
||