II
M‘Crae came to the point quickly, too quickly, indeed, for James, whom the sight of this passionate meeting had bewildered.
“We have no time to lose,” he said. “My rifle is in the banda. I suppose Mr. Warburton has a rifle of some sort?” Of course James hadn’t.
“And food. . . . It may take us nearly a week. Three of us. But we mustn’t be overburdened.”
James waved his arms. One can imagine the gesture of this lanky figure in the long black coat with his head in a bandage.
“I don’t understand you, Mr. M‘Crae. . . . I hope I have the name right. . . . I don’t understand the meaning of this. Will you be good enough to explain?”
“There’s no time for explanation,” said M‘Crae. “I’m saying that we have to leave here, all three of us, as quickly as we can. It’ll be a hard journey in front of us, but I’m thinking it’s better to be driven than to be dead. That’s what it comes to. . . . There’s no time for talking.”
He told them swiftly and dryly what had happened to him after his arrest. How the askaris had dragged him to the House of the Moon and left him, with hands and feet bound, in a shanty at the back of the long white building; how the old woman whose tongue had been cut out had brought him porridge of mealie meal in a bowl, and how he had been forced to lap it like a dog. Once Godovius had been to see him, bringing the pleasant announcement that he was soon to be shot: soon, but not yet; that England was already paying for her infamy in the sack of London and the destruction of her fleet. “In a year’s time,” he had said, “no swine of an Englishman will be able to show his face in Africa. The black men will laugh at you. You have already lost South Africa. The German flag is flying in Pretoria and Capetown. It is probable that you will live to hear worse things than this, even though you do not see the end.”
M‘Crae did not tell them what Godovius had said of Eva, nor of the anger which had nearly driven him mad in his bonds.
“And then,” he said, “he came again to-night. I never saw a man so changed. He was pretty near the colour of his uniform. ‘If I cut the ropes,’ he said, ‘will you promise that you will not attack me?’ A ludicrous question to a one-armed man, cramped with captivity and weaponless!”
M‘Crae had given his word, and Godovius had released him. “Now listen,” he said. “You are an Englishman and I am a German. That is one thing. For others we have good cause to hate each other. War is war, and it is our duty to hate. But besides this we are both white men. At Luguru there is a white woman. I will be frank with you. For the moment our hatred must go, for we are all in the same danger. Where the danger has come from I cannot tell you. Probably it is part of your damned English scheming. The English have always paid other races to fight their battles. You know that this colony is now one armed camp. In every tribe we have raised levies and armed them. My black swine, the Waluguru, are getting out of hand. To-day I have shot seven of them; but things are still dangerous. It may spread. All the armed natives of Africa may rise against us, German and English alike. They hate us . . . we know that . . . and in an isolated place like this we shall stand no chance. To-night, on my way home, I have been fired at by my own people. They may try to burn the house over me. That will not be so easy, for I have a machine gun. But the mission they will strip and burn without trouble. You can think of the fate of your two English. And I cannot save them; perhaps I cannot save myself. Somehow they must get to M’papwa, where there are plenty of white men to protect them. I am a German soldier. My post is here; and in any case I must stay and teach these black devils what the German rule means in their own blood. You are an enemy and a prisoner. See, I give you your liberty, and in exchange you give me your word that you will return here when you have saved them. I am taking the risk of letting you go. If we meet again I shall know that you too are a soldier and worthy of my nobility. Miss Eva is in your hands. You had better go quickly.”
He had asked for arms, and Godovius, after a moment of hesitation and distrust, had given him a Mauser pistol. “You will put it in your belt,” he said. “I shall watch you go. You will hold your hand above your head. Remember, I have a rifle, and you will be covered until you are out of range.”
M‘Crae had laughed. “I hate all you damned Englanders,” said Godovius. “You have no sense of seriousness. I do not do this of my own will. But I love that woman. I would rather she were killed by my hand than given to the Waluguru. And I wish her to live. You understand?”
M‘Crae understood. His journey to the mission had not been easy: for his body was still cramped by his long confinement and the woods were full of watching Waluguru whom it had been difficult to evade. “At the present moment,” he said, “they are all about the bush round the house. As I said, there’ll be no time. Miss Eva will put together some food, and I will slip out again to see where the way is open.”
In Eva’s mind there was no questioning. In whatever other way she may have regarded M‘Crae, she trusted him without reservation. She had reason to trust him. As soon as he gave the word she was ready to obey. She remembered the parcel of food which she had made ready for M‘Crae on the evening of her hopeless expedition, and turned to go. The voice of James recalled her.
“Eva . . . where are you going? You had better stay here for a moment.”
“There is no time for waiting,” said M‘Crae. “I’ve told you . . .”
James waved his arms. “That is for me to decide,” he said. “The matter must be considered. It is possible, sir, that your story is true . . .”
“James!” she cried.
“Eva, I must ask you to hear me. . . . I say that this man’s story may be true. But how can we know? We have no particular reason to believe him. Think a moment. How do we know that this is not some new deviltry of that dreadful man? After all, it is not unreasonable to suspect a messenger who comes from that house. We know nothing of him . . . nothing at all.”
“Oh, but we do . . .” she said.
“Nothing. This isn’t a matter in which a woman is competent to judge. It’s a matter for a man. I’m your brother. There’s no one else to stand between you and the world. You know nothing of the world’s wickedness. No doubt, in your inexperience, you would trust the first man you met with your honour. Thank God I am here, and ready to do my duty.”
“It’s your duty that I am showing to you,” said M‘Crae. “Evidently you haven’t taken in what I’ve been telling you. Godovius’s natives have got out of hand. They’re armed. If you stay here we shall all be butchered, all three of us. Of course I should stay with you. And I should rather kill your sister with my own hands than let her be taken by the Waluguru. We have to try and get away in five minutes at the most, and make for the Central Railway, where we shall be taken prisoners by the Germans. Perhaps we will not get there. That is in God’s hands. But we must have a try. ‘God helps them that help themselves’ may not be Scripture, but it’s common-sense. You’ll admit that I’m reasonable.”
“You may be reasonable, sir,” said James, “but I’m not going to be ordered about in my own house.”
“The alternative is being killed in it. For God’s sake, man, don’t trifle.”
James passed his hand over his forehead.
“Perhaps I am wrong . . . I don’t know. My head’s in a muddle after the other night. I can’t think.”
“Miss Eva,” said M‘Crae, “get everything ready quickly. Five minutes . . .”
M‘Crae turned to James. “Man,” he said, “do you realise the awful responsibility that you’re taking upon yourself in the sin of your pride? Would you see what you saw the other night, and your sister in it?”
For the moment he was very Scotch, and the actual intensity of his words made them impressive. . . . Some peculiar quality in this appeal made James crumple up.
“God forgive me,” he sobbed. “God forgive me. . . . You had better take her. If it is to be, the sooner the better . . .”
“Very well then,” said M‘Crae. “Hurry up and get some clothes on. You can’t set out in pyjama legs and a black coat. Let me help you if you are weak.”
By this time the pitiful figure had got over his sobs. Once more he was formal and precise. He spoke very much as if he were conducting a Pleasant Sunday Afternoon at home.
“You have mistaken me, Mr. M‘Crae,” he said. “I have given you my authority to take my sister. You realise, no doubt, the trust which that implies, and that we are quite in your hands. But my own position is quite different. Perhaps you do not know what religion means to a man, or how a man in my position regards his mission. I was sent to Africa to devote myself to these unfortunate people. I have a responsibility. If the devil has entered into their hearts this is the occasion in which they need me most. You spoke just now a little contemptuously of Scripture . . . I am a minister, and perhaps it means more to me. At any rate these words, if you’ll have the patience to hear me, mean a great deal: ‘He that is an hireling, and not the shepherd, whose own the sheep are not, seeth the wolf coming and leaveth the sheep and fleeth.’ You know who spoke those words. Mine must be the part of the good shepherd. If I behaved as a hireling I could not bear to live.”
“There is such a thing as reason,” said M‘Crae; “I beseech you to listen to it. A dead shepherd is of very little use to his flock.”
James glowed. It was extraordinary to see the pale creature expand.
“Ah,” he cried, “Mr. M‘Crae, that is where you make the greatest of mistakes. It was a dead Shepherd who redeemed the world. If you are a Christian you cannot suggest that that sacrifice was of no use.”
“It is not a matter for argument,” said M‘Crae. “I recognise your point of view. Against my will I respect it. I think you are an honest man and that’s the best title I can give you.” They shook hands. It is an amazing commentary on the naturalness of theatrical conventions that common men, in moments of the greatest stress, tend to the most obvious gestures. M‘Crae, gripping the hand of James, noticed that it was as cold as if the man were already dead.
They spoke no more, for Eva entered the room, carrying the linen satchel full of food and a couple of water-bottles. She saw the two men standing in silence. “You are ready?” she said. “You’ve settled everything?”
“Yes, we’ve settled it,” said M‘Crae. “But your brother will not come. He says that his duty lies here.”
“Oh, James, but you can’t!” she cried. “You poor dear, of course you can’t!”
James shook his head. “We can’t argue,” he said. “Mr. M‘Crae says there’s no time.”
“Then we will all stay together,” she said.
She laid her hands on James’ shoulders and looked up at him. He smiled.
“No, Eva. . . . It is as much your duty to go as mine to stay. You . . . you must fall in with my wishes . . . you must be reasonable . . . you must be a good girl . . .” He stroked her cheek, and the unfamiliar tenderness of the action made her burst into tears. She sobbed quietly on the breast of his black coat. Quite gently he disengaged her hands.
“Now you must go, dear. I am trusting you to Mr. M‘Crae. God keep you.”
They kissed. They had never kissed each other since they were children.
“Oh, James . . .” she said.
“I am very happy . . . I am perfectly happy . . .”
“Come along,” said M‘Crae in a peculiarly harsh voice which he did not know himself.
She slipped the band of the Mannlicher over his shoulder and they left the house. Left alone, James sighed and straightened his hair. He went on to the stoep and looked out over the silent lands. The growing moon now sailed so splendidly up the sky that he became conscious of the earth’s impetuous spin; he saw the outstretched continent as part of its vast convexity and himself, in this moment of extreme exaltation, an infinitesimal speck in the midst of it. Even in the face of this appalling lesson in proportion his soul was confident and deliciously thrilled with expectation of some imminent miracle. His lips moved:
“And fear not them which kill the body, but are not able to kill the soul; but rather fear him which is able to destroy both soul and body in hell. Are not five sparrows . . .” He moistened his lips “. . . five sparrows sold for a farthing? and not one of them is forgotten before God.”