The Ivory Queen: a story of strange adventure

Chapter I. The Compact

LONDON was bright with sunlight. Its drizzle, fog, and clinging mud had for once disappeared The clock tower and the dome of St. Paul's were tipped with radiance. The greatest city in the world simmered with heat. The hon. member, lying half asleep, in bed, at noon, after a late sitting at the House — or the club — felt stifled. The fashionable beauty, after her bath and perfumed toilet, could scarcely keep cool, though clad lightly in gown of the daintiest. The stock-broker, in tightly fitting frock coat and irksome silk hat, panted on 'Change, and almost gasped his quotations for*home rails and B foreign bonds. In workshop and warehouse men and women were really earning bread by the sweat of the brow. The Strand crowd was as great as ever. The coiner, the thief, rubbed shoulders with the sister of mercy, the philanthropist, and the bishop.

The beggar and millionaire— for an instant — walked abreast. The merchant, and the detective who was probably destined to arrest him as a defaulter, touched elbows in the busy street. Rich and poor, healthy and weak, kept moving onward ; but the heat was so intense that they moved languidly, except when thirst caused gaps in the throng, and parched men — and women — made eager plunges into the cafes and bars for drink. But there was one atom in the seething, palpitating world of London who was neither thirsty nor languid. The most ornate drinking saloon had no attraction for him, though he unconsciously aroused the admiration of the gorgeously dressed door openers who stood sentinel on the threshold. To the philosophers in uniform he was a curiosity. They were so accustomed to the jaded life of the thoroughfare, to forms that had lost their robustness, to faces that were pale with want, lined with care, haggard with dissipation, or stamped with the insatiable greed of gold, that they were surprised as they caught a glimpse of Douglas Markham's face and figure.

The figure was scarcely above the middle height, but well built, and went by with a firm swinging stride, getting the feet well off the pavement, and making easy but rapid progress. There was buoyancy in the step, and a light merry heart throbbed against the broad chest. His face would not have pleased a fastidious sculptor. It was a powerful face, but it had one defect. The nose, with a suspicion to the Roman, was finely cut, with delicately shaped nostrils ; but it was a shade too long. The mouth, about which there was not the faintest sign of moustache or beard, was a pretty mouth. It might have been a girl's. It was firmly set, and yet the full ruby lips were so flexible, so swiftly responsive to his pleasant thoughts, that they frequently parted with smiles ; and the eyes, beautiful long-lashed eyes, that gleamed now dark brown, and then black in the sunshine, were expressive, kindly, loving B eyes that not only lit up the dark handsome face, but flashed out gladly on the great city.

There was such a glow of health on his cheeks that the town-folk stared almost rudely at him as he went by. Or perhaps the wild flowers in his belted shooting-coat reminded them of other days, of the happy time — their youth — when life had few responsibilities and no regrets ; of the pleasant long ago when they had sapped neither strength nor conscience in the acquisition of wealth or the vain effort to grasp it. On he strode through Temple Bar to Fleet Street, the home of journalism. It is a remarkable street, this street of newspaper offices, though it is narrow and dingy. In the daytime it is the favourite lounge of the shadows of great men, of men of genius who intended to do mighty things, but have washed away their ambition. At night the street is in a dazzle of light, is instinct with intellectual and physical activity.

It is in electric touch with every quarter of the globe, and the click click in the telegraph instrument rooms, on every floor, in every building, all down the way, transmit the news of the world. Into one of these newspaper offices — the inquiry department — Douglas Markham made his way. He did not give the human encyclopedia on the other side of the counter much trouble. He only wanted the address of a contributor. A touch of the telephone button, the whirr of a bell, a shout into space ; and then themuman directory turned his head, and, with the type-writer at his elbow, clattered down the information needed. Douglas Markham was pleased to find that the person he sought lived near. He crossed Fleet Street with eager step, hesitated opposite the " Mitre," consulted a policeman, and was directed through an old archway into a quiet secluded court with worn pavement and high brick buildings mildewed with years.

Stray tufts of grass struggled for life in the niches of the stone flags. The court looked as if it had outlived its purpose and its friends. Except for the echoing tread of a stout barrister, with disordered respiration, who was trying to hurry to the Law Courts, it would have been altogether deserted and silent. Douglas instinctively got on the right track. The staircase he ascended was more worn than the court pavement, and it creaked as he climbed. He knocked at door after door. The gloomy barrack resounded with the noise of his hammering ; but no latch lifted, no handle turned. Becoming impatient, he shouted. Then he heard a voice growling, — " What yer harfter ? What yer 'owlin' hat ? " Peering upward, he saw a woman's form. There was nothing lithe and graceful about it The form was substantial, massive; awkward in movement, and irascible.

Douglas made a polite inquiry. The wheezy being, with a look of scorn on her broad, carmine face, replied, "'Is rooms his hon the next landin' ; but if yer believes me 'e won't see yer. 'E's been bothered wi' no end o' gents. There's been one as 'as walked on ice to t' North Pole, and harfter th' row 'e made on t' stair I 'ope 'e's goin' back to fetch it. There's been gents as 'as 'unted hoppossums, and geraff-eys, and other wild beasts ; skowlin' gents, wi' horful long beards, and hup to no good, I says." The hereditary caretaker of the chambers had evidently a mean opinion of adventurers, and, angrily clutching her broom, shuffled down stairs. Douglas, undisturbed by the woman's indignation, continued his quest, with success. Scarcely had the sound of his knock on the dinted door died away when a bolt was drawn.

" Come forward — what is it ? " shouted a pleasant voice. Beyond the ante-room was a door ajar. Douglas walked through the outer chamber, hat in hand, rapped at the half-opened door, and entered the inner den. The room, or rather the contents of it, filled him with amazement. It was scantily furnished ; but all around were evidences of travel and exploit. On the walls were portraits of Livingstone, Baker, Grant, Speke, Cameron, Serpa Pinto, and Stanley. The hearthrug was a lion's skin ; slung over the fireplace was a rifle ; in the recess near the window that looked out on the courtyard were clustered many curious weapons, among them an African warrior's spear and shield. In another was a canvas boat, the gunwale of which was grasped by a young gorilla, just as if this strange semblance of man, though dead and stuffed, was springing into it.

At the square table in the centre of the room — a table littered with books, manuscripts and letters — sat a wiry, athletic figure, writing. When Douglas had crossed the threshold, the man, conscious of a visitor's presence, lifted his head, and revealed a finely formed, deeply-lined face, firm and self-reliant. " Have I the pleasure of speaking to Major Bayard ? " asked Douglas politely, and waited just within the room, somewhat flustered, not withstanding his temerity. " Yes," replied Bayard, with a quick scrutinizing glance; "what can I do for you ? " " I have brought you this letter, sir, and await your reply," remarked Douglas, flushing slightly as he took an envelope from his breast pocket. " Pray be seated," Bayard said, breaking the seal, opening the letter, and reading it slowly. The note was full of fate to Douglas Markham.

It bore a crest, three tigers' heads, and the motto, " Courage is better than Craft," and it read : — " Beech Manor, "July 1 2th. MY DEAR BAYARD,— I hear you are talking of another adventure in the Forest Land. If you want a lad of spirit, take the bearer, Douglas Markham. I know his people. He will not fail you. I wish he had been with us in our fight on the Ikuti. That infernal arrow wound troubles me yet ; so I must be content to go after the grouse. I wish you every success in your search of the white tribe. " Your old comrade, " St. Dare." " Where is your home ? " abruptly asked Bayard, not lifting his eyes from the letter, but toying, as if in doubt, with his moustache, one end of which he coiled incessantly round his right forefinger. " It is in Wharfdale — in Yorkshire, sir," replied Douglas eagerly.

" Is the country picturesque ? " " Very, sir.' " Then," said Bayard deliberately, almost icily, "don't you think it would be wise to catch the next train back ? " " No, no," retorted Douglas, rising impetu ously. " Do permit me to go with you, sir. I will be brave and loyal." " The mysterious power that marks out the track of civilization has no mercy," added Bayard gravely. " I am willing to take the risk, sir." " Are you a fair shot ? " " I can hit a skimming swallow," replied Douglas modestly. " Are you a good pedestrian — tireless ? " " I don't think I should hamper you. I have been accustomed to tramp Rumbald's Moor since boyhood, and have struggled through the snow-drifts, without landmark, for hours." " Are you prepared to take the oath ? " inquired Bayard, gazing at the youth with intensity.

" Yes, sir," replied Douglas frankly, without the least hesitation. A cabinet stood by the dead wall of the chamber. It was black as ebony, and rudely carved with idols, whose battered faces had apparently received many " apostolic blows and knocks." Out of this curious piece of furniture Bayard lifted a short, two-edged sword, jagged and stained with fray. " Douglas," he said, uttering the lad's name for the first time, and speaking, as it seemed, with emotion, " touch it with your lips." Grasping the blade, the youth placed it to his lips, and kissed it with more courage than the fastidious witness displays towards the dingy Testament when he takes the oath in the Assize Court. " Say after me," went on Bayard seriously. " Yes, sir," said Douglas, without change of tone, though his heart beat a little quicker.

He felt that he was perhaps wrenching himself for ever from his simple rural life, from the cosy farm-house home that stood in the shelter of the firs on the rugged slope near Barden Tower. But he did not falter. In a clear, firm voice, uttering every word distinctly and with sincerity, he said, — "I promise willing obedience. Neither hunger, nor thirst, nor treachery, nor peril shall make me faithless." "Take a cigar, mon ami" said Bayard lightly, with a smile that lit up his grim face like sunshine, as he replaced the sword in the cabinet, and pushed a box of Cubans towards Douglas. " When can you be ready ? " he asked, offering Markham a wax light. " I am ready now, sir," he replied " Oh, I shall not be on the track for several months," retorted Bayard, laughing. " We don't start till the new year.

I will let you know when to meet our fellows at Dover. And now," he added, with a mischievous but kindly look, "you can go and bid a long farewell to the Yorkshire Moors."

Chapter II

A STARTLING PROPHECY. " YOU are pining for the crags and streams. This slave haunt and port of mud will never equal Yorkshire for beauty," said a voice gravely. Douglas Markham turned quickly with a look of comical dissent, and a merry laugh, cannoning in his eagerness against a black giant, who was staggering across the deck with a heavy bale, and a heavier cargo of curses that he tried to throw off his conscience in a foreign tongue. Bayard had just stepped on board the steamer at Zanzibar, after a prowl about the curious streets of the Slave City. With one eye on the quaint capital, with its crooked, narrow thoroughfares and flat-roofed, white-washed houses, and strange-looking, brightly clad, turbaned people ; and with the other eye on his sanguine, light-hearted volunteer, for whom he had developed a singular interest, he designedly adopted this tone of badinage, though tempted to give the youth a heartier greeting.

Events had crowded fast upon each other since the two men had met in Bayard's rooms in town. The explorer had been the guest of the evening at the banquet given by the learned society that was ever ready to encourage pioneer work in a strange land. He had chosen his officers and men, and completed his equip ment. He had reached the portal that led to his new exploit. As he leaned, musing, against the vessel's side, he could almost feel the hand-clasps of the friends he had left at Charing Cross. In fancy he heard London's rumble and roar of traffic. But all around him (except on his own vessel and the harbour fringe) was sensuous repose. In the Shangani, the trade quarter of the city, the merchants were listless. In the eastern quarter the fishermen and the slaves were inert with much sunshine.

The dusky-skinned negroes simmered at the door ways of their hovels, and the sleek Banyans moved lazily with slippered feet. An invigorating breeze wafted in from the sea ; but from the city itself, which has been styled "a cess pool of wickedness, Oriental in its appearance, Mohammedan in its religion, and Arabian in its morals," came another perfume, an odour indicating that some of the citizens spent too much time in repose and too little in the bath. On board the boat there was activity enough. The porters moved about with bare, noiseless feet ; but they made clang and thud as they deposited their loads, as they stowed away the food, medicine, goods and ammunition that were to be taken miles into the interior ofthe continent that yet holds in its mighty grasp many undiscovered tracts. The quay was crowded with things animate and inanimate.

There were boxes, and bales of merchandise, for barter or gift, and stacks of rifles, and bill-hooks and hatchets in heaps. There were men of all nationalities who had lounged down to see the expedition depart — the Balooch adventurer, the fierce-eyed Arab, the half breed from the Persian Gulf, the gorgeously attired officer of the Sultan, the sallow-faced, ragged Spaniard, the loafing Englishman, down at heel, shabby in apparel and unshaved. Bayard looked with contempt on the whim sical, idle throng. Douglas, who had read something of Zanzibar and its people, was not much sur prised at the motley crew. He turned half in jest to his leader, and suggested that the crowd had been attracted to the place by the magnetic influence of alcohol. It was the only city in the world " in which the drunkard outlived the water-drinker."

A snatch of English song rose from the hatch way. Then the word of command rang out sharp and clear. There was the tramp of feet, the rattle of arms, and the Zanzibari warriors marched down to the ship. Now all the men had trooped on board. The great cargo of weapons, implements, and stores had been put carefully away for safe transit. There was still on deck a chaos of personal luggage, the tossing and retossing of ropes, the bundling to and fro of boxes and bags, the shout and clatter that seems inseparable from the condition of a vessel outward bound. All were busy except Douglas. He had, at present, no clearly defined duty. He had proffered to become Bayard's secretary ; but the explorer had pointed out, with dry humour, that in the territory they were about to traverse with their lives in their hands, there were neither pillar boxes nor general post offices.

Douglas was not sorry that he was left to do as he listed. He had made himself useful during the work of embarkation ; taking cheer fully even to the meanest and heaviest tasks, and by pleasant words (some rendered ludicrous by the interpreter's free translation) had become a favourite with the men Bayard had pressed into his service. Vivian Wild had confided to him the hiding place of the precious instrument with which he meant to civilize Central Africa — a new banjo. Wild was one ofthe most striking men in the expedition. In figure he was nearly head and shoulders taller than those about him. In face he was gaunt and rugged, with high cheek bones and a square, aggressive chin. A heavy black moustache half hid the firm lines of his mouth. Beneath the determined brows his eyes C flashed with wondrous expression.

They could blaze with fierce light or soften with emotion. When the man smiled he fascinated you. The stern, melancholy look fled from his face ; and merriment danced in his bright eyes, and lit up his gleaming teeth. He had come on with part of the expeditionary force from Cairo, his only luggage consisting of the banjo, a copy of " Artemus Ward : His Book," and a fowling piece. When he climbed on board there was a little sly fun at his curious luggage ; but Bayard, notwithstanding the man's crumpled, travel stained attire, greeted him warmly. Nor had Vivian passed two nights on the boat before those who had sneered at his peculiar outfit frankly confessed that h : had been more thoughtful than the rest ofthe staff; for when ever the mixed legion that Bayard had gathered about him were inclined to mope, Wild cheered them with his voice and his banjo, though many of the men could not comprehend a word he uttered.

In the dreary time, weeks later, when thc band struggled on through forest depth and trackless waste, footsore, weary, heartsick, despairing — treading as it were on the brink of death in a land where the vegetation as well as the people had become crooked, gnarled and savage, as if forgotten of God, he lightened the burdens of the carriers, and gave encouragement and hope to the limping, straggling, hungry crew with his bright tuneful music and sweet song. At last the welcome shout " all aboard " had rung out. The ropes had been flung off, and the vessel, with its deck crowded with the explorer's band, had merged from the quayside, and started on its voyage to the Congo. The passage was full of interest to Douglas Markham. It seemed appropriate, to him, that they should circumnavigate the great continent from Zanzibar to the Cape, and from the Cape to the Congo before plunging into the ivory land.

To Bayard the time was an anxious one. Day by day, in vigoroua walks on deck, and night by night, lying waneiul in his berth, he thought and planned for his men, tracing the track on the picture-plane of his brain, and endeavouring to anticipate and safeguard against every peril. Physical activity is the C grandest cure for mental strain, and the explorer was secretly glad, though outwardly calm and dignified, when they had made safe way over the seas into the great river, and were about to pass their first night in camp, on the high bank ofthe Aruwimi. The voyage was over. The men had toiled all day entrenching and palisading against possible foe. Bayard walked, pipe in mouth, at the edge of the forest, thinking over his plans. Just above the camp the first rapids thundered. Beyond, for hundreds of miles, the tributary river twined into an unknown land.

The shadows of night fell swiftly. The dense, dank mists rose from the heaving breast of the water way, and crept in filmy clouds over reed, tropical leaf and tangled foliage. The hippopotamus swayed on the mud ledge. The baboon swung from tree to tree. The cry of the hyena startled the sentinel at his post. Vivian Wild, like most men who have passed their youth in the country, was rather super stitious. At home he had believed that the creep of the white cricket across the hearth was the herald of death. Here he must have thought that he was in the haunt of Nicor, the water-sprite, and that the forest was bewitched. Anyhow, he suddenly tumbled, with blanched face, over the entrenchment, swearing that he had been confronted in the darkening wood by a strange woman, black as Erebus, majestic in form, diabolical in ugliness, but with a voice dulcet as his own.

On seeing him she had stooped in the forest path, picked up a handful of sand, let it trickle slowly through her fingers to the ground, and said, " So shall your lives be spilt. It is the king's decree ! " That night the banjo was untouched. Wild was not a coward ; but he was restless. His comrades strove to pacify him. They were confident that some gruesome forest shadow or bird call had deceived him ; but he would not be comforted. Bayard, acquainted with the incident, on his return to camp, laughed the story to scorn. He had no fear of witch, fairy or spectre, or of any native Amazon, though she might be the ambassadress of savage king. He was accustomed to the strange sights and sounds of the African forest — to the gathering gloom, the whisper of the foliage, the weird noise of crack ing timber, the snake's hiss, the lion's roar, and the statuesque form of sable hunter or warrior, standing silent as death, behind tree for shield, with spear poised for prey or foe.

Douglas, however, did not treat Vivian Wild's adventure lightly. He was troubled by it long after the camp was at rest. In his fitful slumber he saw the woman's vengeful face, repellent as Caliban's, and the graceful inclination of her supple, powerful arm, as she dribbled the sand to her feet, and uttered the startling prophecy. But fortunately the night and day life of the mind differ. When morning dawned in Bayard's camp there was no time to ponder on weird fancies. Whites and blacks were astir early. The native carriers, after the custom of their tribe, had beaten their drums, and sung their mystic songs, and were now loading the caravan. The pioneers had already[gone north eastward with their axes and rifles. In and around the camp there was toil and bustle — the lifting ofa thousand things into the bullockdrawn waggons, and the kick of the donkey train under its burden.

Bayard had donned his explorer's apparel — his tough, serviceable raiment, buff tropical boots, and white helmet. At his belt he carried a revolver loaded in every chamber, and grasped in his right hand the barrel ofhis rifle, the butt end resting on the ground amid the tall grass, as he issued instructions to his band. Douglas Markham and Vivian Wild, who had elected to go with the advance-guard, were amazed at Bayard's forethought. Not even the most trivial thing escaped him. He saw that every article likely to be required on the expedition was in its place. Observant, but patient and considerate, he displayed the two great qualities necessary to command — he was a good organizer and he never lost his temper. It was no holiday task he had set himself, to guide and control this adventurous band through a pestilential and hostile country to a new colony.

The perils they would probably encounter were so deadly — the perils of fever, venom, barbaric war and famine — that if he had listened to the voice of pity he would instantly have abandoned his quest. But he had the grit of the true explorer. When all was ready for the start of the caravan, he gave the word " Forward " with a thrill of exultation, and led the way into the forest. He felt that the glory of life was to achieve.

Chapter III. The Dwarf Spy's Fate

Vivian Wild was somewhat of a romancer. In London he had done good work as a journalist, adroitly blending fact with fiction, so that whatever he wrote was always readable. Nothing had daunted him in the way of news paper enterprise ; but there was one drawback to his varied life. He gave the reins to fancy. He fell into the pernicious habit of exaggera tion, weaving round the most trivial occurrence the most astounding imagery. One or two of the volunteers who had listened to his remarkable stories on the voyage out, smiled mean ingly and said nothing when he related by the camp fire his abrupt interview with the woman with the repellent face. Yet, for once the romancer had spoken the truth. It was no filmy figure that he had seen standing in the forest. It was a woman — real flesh and blood — Zenobia the outcast, who had bent forward menacingly in the gloom.

She had not been idle since she startled Vivian Wild. AU through the tropical darkness she had tramped unerringly by towering rock, jungle tangle and land seared by drought, towards the nearest village of her race. She had felt her way through the giant mass of the drooping banyan -tree, by mighty palm and fragrant mimosa, and intunda timber that spread a delicious perfume through the misty atmosphere of the African night. Quite as fearlessly as her warrior guard she made her way between the seemingly impassable creepers, and flung aside the heavy boughs and clinging foliage with the dexterity that came from long experience of the forest depths. Now and then the woman halted and muttered something in her own tongue. In response the guard imitated the cyn-hyena's cry, and swiftly back came the echo of it.

The cry rose from dell and vibrated on hill-top. It trembled in the sultry air, and died away reluctantly. It arrested the uplifted hand of the native hunter ; it brought many an anxious face to hut door ; it terrified the young mother, who, in obedience to the rigorous and cruel law of her tribe, was lying in the wild glen near, with the newly-born babe at her breast, and no one by to protect her except the girl friend of her youth. The cry meant to African ears an Arab slave raid, or even worse peril. It served in this mysterious land the same purpose as the beacon fires on the bluff peaks of England when the Spanish Armada swept so vainly towards our coast three centuries ago. At dawn there was not a spear-bearing chief in Yankonde who was not aware of the coming of the white traveller.

And there was fear in the hearts of the people. For years they had heard rumours of the daring exploits of the strangely-apparelled adventurers who came from over the sea — of their resistless progress through another part of the land, and pictured them as merciless. Civilization to them was only the synonym for bloodshed, rgrief and despair. The magician — that whimsical product of savage life — was unable to give them any real solace. At one hamlet from which the cyn hyena's cry had been given back, the super stitious chief rudely hurried the man of magic out of his conical thatched hut, and commanded him to do what he could to deliver the tribe from the impending evil and to drive the stranger away by his art. The dusky quack did his best. Into the open space in front of the chiefs hut he sprang, attired in more fantastic garb than ever the Queen's jester wore.

In one hand he twisted a wand, and in the other he flourished a zebra's tail. He walked gravely in the circle the crowding natives made. He gradually in creased his step from a walk to a run, stopped suddenly, threw himself violently on the ground, rolled hither and thither, shrieking and moaning. Then, springing to his feet, he darted through the thicket, racing back again, lacerated and bleeding, and making grimaces repulsive enough to frighten any enemy. But his abasement and self-torture were in vain. Runner after runner brought tidings that the white traveller was on his way. The magician of Africa did not differ from the magician of any other land. He was a sham. Zenobia strode into the village as the chief was girding himself with his war belt. The woman looked almost majestic as she advanced towards him with dignity.

Bending forward till her finger-tips touched her toes, and quickly drawing herself to her full height, she kissed her spear in token of friendship. Her face was ugly ; but she had such a charm of manner that her lack of personal beauty was almost for gotten. The chief, who had never seen her except as the herald of disaster, noticed that she was not dismayed at the advance of the invader. Contempt, rather than fear, marked her words. " Who is this white traveller ? " asked the chief, having clapped his hands in greeting. " I know not," replied Zenobia. " He cometh over broad waters, with music and weapons of fire." " Is he mightier than the men of Uganda, or the hosts of the king ? " " No," she answered emphatically, with scorn. " They are numberless. They can sweep him away as the storm sweeps the leaf from the forest."