It must not be supposed that these expeditions of Mr. Darby’s—the new Mr. Darby’s—from Bedford Square into the Metropolis were important only in manner and appearance. He was really very busy. When he returned to Bedford Square he almost always brought with him a parcel containing one or more books, and in his pocket the booklet of some steamship company. His desk and the large table in the smoking-room were soon littered with these and with maps of every scale and colour. Mr. Darby was making a thorough investigation not only of ways and means of getting to Australia, but also of the tropical lands and islands contiguous with the various itineraries. It was while studying the course sailed by the Scarlet Funnel Line that he made the acquaintance of the Mandratic Peninsula. It is common knowledge that the Scarlet Funnel Line, for reasons of its own, takes a very peculiar course to Australia. On leaving Singapore it steers north-north-east up the China Sea, turns east between Formosa and the Philippine Islands, follows the southern coast line of the great island of Eutyca for fifteen hundred miles and then swinging south descends upon Australia through the Bismarck Archipelago. The very name of the Mandratic Peninsula fascinated Mr. Darby at once, and all, or almost all, that he subsequently discovered from the few books that dealt with the place only increased the fascination. The Mandratic Peninsula, in fact, seemed to be the very counterpart of Mr. Darby’s lifelong and persistent dreams. This is not the place in which to describe the exact geographical position of that country. The curious may be referred to the school-room atlas. A part of the island of Eutyca, it has roughly the shape of a gum-boot or galosh and it is divided into two almost equal halves. Mandras, the ankle and foot, from which the peninsula takes its name, is the country of the Mandrats, a bronze-coloured tribe of singularly fine physique: in Tongal, the calf, live the Tongali, a people blacker in colour and of thicker and shorter build. A belt of arid red sand, five miles wide, as though a red ribbon had been tied round the boot above the ankle, forms a natural division between the two countries. On clear days—and the days are generally clear—the seas on either side of the peninsula can be easily seen from Umfo (a name said to be derived from the Mandratic word umfod meaning ankle-bone), a mountain of seven thousand feet and the highest point in the peninsula.
So Mr. Darby learned from J. N. Mackintosh’s well-known work Through Mandratia on a Bicycle. That intrepid explorer, it will be remembered, was the first white man to enter the peninsula. His mode of travel, the old-fashioned high bicycle, though otherwise a great hindrance to him (for the bicycle is ill-adapted to the jungle), was the instrument of saving his life, for the natives who in those days (1886–7) practised cannibalism, took him to be Oushtoub, the Mandratic Wheel-god, and treated him with great discretion. He finally reached the extreme point of the peninsula with nothing left of his mount but the handle-bars and was picked up by a trading vessel to which he had waved a red pocket-handkerchief.
The reference to cannibalism in Mackintosh’s book was the first check to Mr. Darby’s enthusiasm. But in a later publication, Obermann’s great work Eutyca, its Inhabitants, Flora and Fauna he read with relief, in the pages devoted to Mandratia, that ‘cannibalism, once rampant in the peninsula, has in recent times fallen into almost complete desuetude.’ Another passage was equally reassuring: ‘For a tropical country it is singularly free from the more formidable kinds of fauna. The lion, the tiger, the elephant are alike unknown. A species of black panther peculiar to the country is the only animal dangerous to man. The snakes, except for the immense and lethal Ompà which is found only in the sandy desert that divides Mandras from Tongal, are one and all innocuous. The giant Iggarù, so unpleasant to the touch and sight, is quite harmless; while mosquitoes, the troublesome pium fly and the fire-ant are the only insect pests.’
Mr. Darby marked all the most important and instructive passages in these two works so as to return to them and ponder them at greater leisure. On a re-reading of Ober-mann’s reference to cannibalism, the word almost—‘almost complete desuetude’—struck him unpleasantly. The other sinister aspects of the country—the black panthers, the ompàs, the Iggarùs, the mosquitoes, pium flies and fire-ants were no more than a seasoning of adventure; but the incomplete desuetude of cannibalism was, Mr. Darby felt, a grave blot on a beautiful and romantic country. This would require consideration. Bravery was one thing, rashness another. It would be mere unpardonable rashness, after being warned by Mackintosh and Obermann, to rush into the jaws, so to speak, of a savage tribe.
But all this could be thought out at leisure, for Mr. Darby’s plans had now matured into this, that he would collect all possible information about the peninsula and how to get there, but would come to no final decision before he reached Australia; for he was determined to settle his affairs in Australia first and to look in on the Jungle on the way back. Ships of the Scarlet Funnel Line actually passed within sight of the Mandratic Peninsula. No doubt it would be possible with the help of a telescope to get a glimpse of it on the way out, and then, when the business in Australia was settled, to get together his equipment, enrol a few assistants, and set off for Mandratia. The difficulty would be to get there, for he had learned, after exhaustive enquiry, that except for a trading vessel from Australia that called once a year at the extreme southerly point of the peninsula to barter the products of civilization for the rubies and opals mined by the natives, no ship ever touched there. Mr. Darby might have to charter a vessel of his own and sail from Australia, or perhaps use British New Guinea or Formosa as his point of departure. All that could be investigated and settled in Australia.
The question now was when to start. ‘At once!’ shouted the new Darby. ‘The sooner the better! ‘But there were two things to be done before he could start. He must get a manservant, a man as like Princep as possible, to accompany him. He could not dispense with a manservant nowadays. And he must go north for a week and say goodbye. As regards the manservant he would consult Princep. Princep, so helpful in everything, would probably help him in this too. He spoke to Princep during lunch.
‘Princep,’ he said as he helped himself to the potatoes which Princep was handing to him, ‘I am tired of London.’
‘Indeed, sir?’
‘Yes, thoroughly. One finds no … ah … scope in London, nor in England for that matter.’ Mr. Darby shook his head sadly at his plate. ‘I am going to cut loose, Princep,’ he went on. ‘I am going to Australia, and after that I shall do some exploring in the Tropics.’
‘The Tropics, sir?’
‘Yes,’ said Mr. Darby with ruthless determination, ‘the Tropics, Princep. The Jungle, you know! And what I want to ask you is, if you can tell me of a man, a butler, a valet, who would go with me. A man accustomed to travel—a man, in other respects, as like yourself as possible.’
‘Thank you, sir, for the kind tribute. Well, sir! ‘Princep reflected for a moment. ‘I can’t say as I know for certain of a likely man free at the moment; but I could write to one or two acquaintances, sir, and see how they’re situated at present.’
‘Do, Princep.’
‘I know a man of the name of Childers, sir, a very good man, though I don’t know that he’s travelled. And there’s one of the name of Punnett. Now he would be the very one to suit you, sir. He’s been in all sorts of queer places. Speaks one or two unusual languages, I believe, sir. I’ll write to them both, and see if they’re at liberty.’
‘Thank you, Princep. I shall be most grateful.’
• • • • • • • •
Mr. Darby decided not to go north till he had fixed on a good man, but he wrote to Sarah to tell her of his impending visit. Of course he said nothing of the tragedy—yes, tragedy is the word for it—that was driving him to the other end of the world, for Sarah would certainly not take it seriously. She had laughed at his enthusiasm for pictures; and as for his feelings about the Nation, well, she simply wouldn’t understand them. She had not the vision or the breadth of mind ever to feel herself personally involved with the Nation. He had told her simply that he was going to Australia on business, as the solicitors had originally advised.
Mr. Darby had not been wrong when he trusted to Princep’s assistance. The very day after he had applied to Princep, Princep had important news for him. It was about eleven o’clock in the morning and Mr. Darby, a glass of port and a biscuit, as yet untouched, at his elbow (for when a man is working hard he must do what he can to keep up his strength), was poring over a map of Eutyca, when Princep entered and approached the desk.
‘Excuse me, sir: but about the manservant. I have just been rung up by Punnett, one of the men I mentioned, the one who had done a lot of travelling. As it happens, he’s at liberty at present. He could call here to be interviewed any time you like, sir. If you’ll tell me what time to say, I’ll ring him up.’
‘My dear Princep,’ said Mr. Darby in great excitement, ‘I felt sure you would be able to help me. But tell him to come at once. Tell him to take a taxi. How long will he take?’
‘A matter of three-quarters of an hour, sir, I should say. I’ll ring him up now.’
Princep went out and Mr. Darby returned to the rivers and mountain-ranges of Eutyca, and so completely did he lose himself in that fascinating continent that it seemed that no more than a brief five minutes had passed when Princep returned thirty-five minutes later to announce Albert Punnett.
Albert Punnett was a tall, thin, pale, clean-shaven, sad-faced man, with an expression of slightly humorous apology. Mr. Darby greeted him and invited him with condescension to sit down.
‘You can give me references, of course? ‘he asked, looking gravely at Punnett over his spectacles.
‘Yes, sir. I have brought some with me.’
Mr. Darby made a sign that he would look at them later. ‘May I ask,’ he said, ‘why you left your last place?’
‘My master died, sir. I had been in his service for fifteen years.’
‘Indeed? Princep tells me you are accustomed to travelling. Was that with your late master?’
‘It was, sir.’
‘Well,’ said Mr. Darby, ‘it is to … ah … accompany me on certain travels that I require a personal servant. I am starting almost at once for Australia. There would of course be no particular difficulties about that,—from your point of view, I mean.’
Punnett smiled sadly. ‘None at all, sir.’
‘Just so: none at all! It is after I have settled my business in Australia that I … ah … contemplate travels of what I may call a less usual … ah … nature. I propose, in fact, by hook or by crook——’ Mr. Darby spoke in measured tones and fixed upon Punnett a gaze of extreme seriousness—‘it may involve the … ah … chartering of a special vessel—to explore a region known as the … ah … Mandratic Peninsula.’
On pronouncing those last two words Mr. Darby threw back his head and covered Punnett with a challenging regard.
But Punnett, to Mr. Darby’s disappointment, did not blench. ‘Yes, sir, he said with an apologetic, sadly humorous smile, ‘I know it well, sir.’
‘Know it well? Know what well?’ Mr. Darby snapped.
‘The peninsula you mentioned, sir.’
‘You know the M … m … the Man …?’ Mr. Darby bounced from his chair with excitement.
‘Yes, sir, the Mandratic Peninsula, sir. Almost too well, I may say, sir. I spent five years there from nineteen eight to nineteen thirteen.’
With unobtrusive politeness Punnett had risen to his feet also. For a moment it looked as if they were starting for the Peninsula at once.
‘B … b … but,’ Mr. Darby babbled, ‘b … but, my … my dear … P … p … p …!’
‘I was with Professor Harrington at the time, sir, my late master, the well-known anthropologist,’ Punnett sadly explained.
Mr. Darby dropped into his chair again, breathless. ‘But this is absolutely … ah … providentious,’ he said when he had to some extent recovered. He sat up. ‘But you say that you know the peninsula too well. You didn’t like it, Punnett?’
Punnett smiled sadly. ‘Well, it’s rough, sir. Not what you might call really comfortable.’
‘Not comfortable? You found the natives troublesome perhaps?’
‘Oh, the natives! Yes, they were troublesome at first, sir. You never quite knew what they were up to. But the natives weren’t so bad, not later when we had managed to pick up some of their language.’
‘Then you speak the language, Punnett?’
‘I get along, sir,’ said Punnett, smiling modestly.
‘But what a godsend!’ murmured Mr. Darby to himself. ‘What a godsend! But why did you stay so long, Punnett? Five years, I think you said.’
‘Professor Harrington was studying their customs, sir. Very peculiar customs they have. We took a camera. I did the photographing for Professor Harrington. It was the camera at first that kept them in order, sir. They were frightened of it. In fact, if it hadn’t been for the camera, sir …!’
‘What, Punnett? If it hadn’t been for the camera, what?’
‘I hardly know what, sir. But it certainly made them keep their distance, sir.’
‘It might be as well for us to take a camera, Punnett.’
‘It certainly would, sir.’
‘And as to … ah … cannibalism, Punnett, do they still … ah … indulge?’
‘Now and then, sir. On special occasions.’
Mr. Darby shuddered. ‘I must confess,’ he said, ‘that I don’t like that.’
Punnett smiled sadly. ‘It isn’t pleasant, sir.’
‘But the … ah … fauna, Punnett,—the creatures are, I understand, not very formidable.’
‘The insects are a great trouble, sir, but the other creatures are mostly harmless. Not that I could ever get used to the Iggarùs, personally.’
‘Ah! The serpents. They’re … objectionable?’
‘They’re very large, sir, and they have a cold rough skin. I don’t know if you’ve ever felt a cow’s tongue, sir? Well, it’s like that, only rougher. And they have a way I didn’t like of getting into bed with you. I don’t mind saying, sir, the Iggarùs fairly gave me the horrors.’
‘But the country is beautiful, I hear,’ said Mr. Darby, leaving the Iggarù on one side for the moment.
‘Oh, very beautiful, sir, for those that like scenery. The vegetation and flowers are something wonderful, sir. I’ve seen nothing to touch them outside Kew. And the birds and butterflies,—a regular sight, sir.’
As for ways and means, Punnett could not offer much help. He and Professor Harrington had entered Mandratia from the interior and left it by the same route, a four months’ journey either way. This was all very well for a scientist who was doing it in the ordinary course of his profession, but it would be unnecessary and, indeed, somewhat excessive, Mr. Darby felt, for an explorer who was exploring for the mere pleasure of it. His object was to get there as quickly and as easily as possible; that is, if he finally decided on the trip.
Princep interrupted their conversation, saying that luncheon was ready unless Mr. Darby wished it postponed.
‘Lunch? Why, bless my soul, how time flies,’ said Mr. Darby, springing to his feet. ‘I had no idea …! See that Punnett has lunch, won’t you Princep.’
• • • • • • • •
Of course Mr. Darby engaged Punnett at once. With his miraculous qualifications such things as references became insignificant. The one cause of delay was now obviated. Mr. Darby spent a busy afternoon. He went at once to the house-agents and arranged about giving up the house in Bedford Square; thence to Hampton’s to settle about the careful storing of the Darby Collection; thence to the offices of the Scarlet Funnel Steamship Company where he booked passages to Sydney for himself and Punnett on the sixteen-thousand ton mail steamer Utopia (a name, he realized at once, of the luckiest omen) which sailed from Tilbury ten days later. Leaving the Shipping Office he proceeded to Messrs. Negretti and Zambra’s, the famous opticians, and asked to be shown some telescopes. A telescope, he had realized, would be of material assistance in making a passing survey of the Mandratic Peninsula on the voyage out. His object now was to select the very largest telescope that he could hold without the help of a tripod. To set up a tripod on deck would, he felt, draw too much attention to his investigations. A formidable instrument took his fancy, but his attempt to handle it at full extension was only prevented from being a disaster by the agility of the salesman. He ordered the next size smaller to be sent to Bedford Square, and drove to the nearest post office. There he wired to Sarah. ‘Arriving to-morrow evening six fifty-three for a week.’