“THE SHIP OF FOOLS”

Meryl had not been long with the Grenvilles before Ailsa’s sympathetic nature divined that some shadow seemed to be brooding upon the girl’s spirit. She was so pensive and silent, with sad eyes turned often to some far horizon full of wistful thought. And then perhaps suddenly she would make an effort and be unusually gay, but the gaiety was not spontaneous nor the laughter frank.

In truth, it had been a weary two days and nights for Meryl, since the early morning when her father and Diana, with the engineer and Stanley, rode away, after escorting her to the Mission Station and leaving her there to await their return. It was as though the very abruptness of Carew’s departure had crystallised all her wavering, uncertain thoughts, and told her bluntly what he was to her. Before she had been half dreaming; now she knew.

And it seemed to her that she knew also, beyond any questioning, that he had no feeling whatever for her beyond the merest friendliness; and since they would probably never meet again, she must, if possible, conquer her own foolish heart, and resolutely withdraw the love she had given unasked. It seemed to her, at any rate, the strongest thing to do, and while she made the effort she would turn a smiling face to the world and let no one suspect. If she failed well, that would still be her own affair and no one need know. So she rallied herself often and talked gaily, encouraging an interest in all Mr. Grenville’s plans and hopes that she did not always feel. What she liked best was to sit silently before the large sitting-room hut, with her hands on her knees, gazing at the wonderful prospect, while Ailsa sewed beside her and talked quietly. Ailsa who knew him so well, and loved him so well, and appeared to be the only woman friend he possessed. Ailsa also who loved this far country so well, the country he had adopted for his own land, and seemed quite content, as he, to give the best years of her life, in her small measure, to its welfare.

Meryl thought much of the lives of these three quiet workers in the wilderness, and mused a little sadly upon what seemed but gilded pleasure-seeking emptiness to which she would presently go back.

It was in one of these thoughtful moods she asked Ailsa with plain directness how she thought a millionaire might best benefit Rhodesia, supposing he were willing to make an effort in that direction. Having asked, she added with a light touch, “I imagine you are hardly ready yet for libraries and public parks and orphanages?”

“No,” Ailsa answered; “but we want settlers badly. Think what it would mean to the country if just one rich man or company, instead of acquiring large tracts of land and holding it until the price mounts to a high figure, were to make a genuine effort to get a white population upon it as quickly as possible, even though it meant small or no profits. It is too much to expect from any company naturally, but there are individuals holding up their land, and therefore holding back the country, who might show a more generous spirit. I could name a well-known man who owns immense tracts, one of them two hundred thousand acres not far from a town, and there it lies in idleness, awaiting a land boom. Not long ago it was given out through the newspapers that he had a great scheme in hand for getting settlers, but nothing has come of it yet, and no one has much hope that it ever will.”

“I wonder if my father owns land here? Do you happen to know?”

“I think he does.”

“And it is lying idle?” divining that her companion knew more than she implied.

“As far as any outsider knows, it is.”

“I see.” Meryl got up and moved down the rustic verandah, standing a moment at the far end and looking across the country with grave eyes. Then she came back. “Has anyone ever thought of a Rhodes Scholarship, that might take the form of grants of land and be won by competition, I wonder? Would a scheme like that work, do you think?”

“I have often thought that it would. Besides bringing the settler, it would more or less ensure a desirable one, if he had to prove himself a useful, hard-working youth of good sound education. But, of course, it would mean a big outlay. A man might inaugurate such a scheme to be carried out by his will, but he would hardly be likely to do it in his lifetime.”

“Still, I suppose something of the kind might prove workable if the owner of the land were content to forego a large profit, and let settlers have farms or plots on exceptional terms, if they could prove themselves capable, useful men?”

“Yes, that is very much what we want. The owner of the land a patriot, keeping an eye on the scheme himself, and helping it forward for love of the country, not holding it back and keeping it idle for the sake of his own already well-filled pocket.”

“I will sound my father about his possessions,” the girl said simply, looking to the far blue hills.

Ailsa watched her a moment covertly, and then asked with a little wonder in her voice, “The country seems to have taken hold of you very quickly. You speak as one who already loves it.”

“I love all South Africa. I have always been happier out here than in England. In some way it seems more thoroughly my own land.”

“Why is that, do you think?”

“I hardly know, unless it is the remembrance that all we have we owe to Africa. I believe my father was penniless when he came out here.”

“It has been the same with many, but they do not remember. It is more usual to come here for gain, and go away to spend it in more luxurious countries.”

“Perhaps, but it has never seemed to me to be fair. My father is not like that. He loves Africa as I do, but he is a very hard-working man, and perhaps some things do not occur to him. I think he is up here now to see the country, as well as acquire fresh mining properties, and all the time he seems so busy and preoccupied, he is probably thinking out development schemes of general benefit.”

“I hope so,” and Ailsa spoke very earnestly. “Your father is a fine man; one has only to talk to him to perceive that quickly, and it would be a good day for Rhodesia if he began to take a genuinely practical interest in her welfare. I know he has talked much of it to Major Carew, and no one could tell him more of our hopes and needs.”

They were silent a few moments, and then Ailsa added with a touch of emotion, “You know, when one thinks of the service some men give so quietly and unquestioningly to the far-off lands, it seems, after all, but a small thing for rich men who have benefited by them to give of their riches. Yet how few ever do! There are more men ready to risk their lives than to put their hands in their pockets. But then that is just perhaps because they are fools, and fools never make any money to give; have nothing, in fact, except their lives to offer.”

She smiled with a little twist to her lips, playing fitfully with a thread in her fingers. Evidently it was a subject that moved her deeply. “Of course, you know the verse from ‘The Ship of Fools’:

’We are those fools who could not rest
In the dull earth we left behind,
And burned with passion for the West,
And drank strange frenzy from its wind.

The world where wise men live at ease
Fades from our unregretful eyes,
And blind, across uncharted seas,
We stagger on our enterprise.’

“Those are the men who appeal to me; the men to whom gain is the secondary consideration; who come blindly out just as much to give as to take. My husband is one, Major Carew is another, Stanley under Carew’s influence will become a third. Think of them all, all over the world; guarding the frontiers, making the paths, exploring the danger-zones!

“Think of the little band now gone into the sleeping-sickness belt to investigate the disease, and try to learn how best to cope with it! How little reward will they get! how little acclaim! But that is just a side issue. They did not go for reward. Disaster shook a threatening hand at a splendid young country, and instantly some from The Ship of Fools were ready to risk their lives in going to the rescue. God bless them for it, and bring them safely back! But in any case one knows they will be content, if but the work is carried forward and the new pathways rendered safe.

“Those types of men are the heroes of to-day, because the spread of the Empire, and the welfare and progress of the colonies, grows every year a more important factor to England; yet many a good football player, and many a popular actor, will win an honoured name, while the man who died at the outposts in some dangerous investigation work will pass away unknown and unheard of. But they do not mind, that is the splendid thing. They are just fools, fools, fools

’Who burned with passion for the West,
And drank strange frenzy from its wind.

And blind, across uncharted seas,
They stagger to their enterprise.’

“How many threw up everything at home and came out in the time of the Boer War! Think of the men who carried the railways across Canada and America, fighting for the pathway, step by step! Think of them in the awful climate of West Africa, laughing and playing and singing one evening and dead the next! Think of them struggling up here in the early days, and undaunted by the horrors of the Matabele rebellions, going steadily on with their railways, making their homes! Think of them in India! Ah! what The Ship of Fools has achieved in India is beyond telling. Only one doesn’t feel it in the same way at home. One has to come out oneself, and see the path-finders at their work, to realise all it means. It does one good just to hear them grumble. How shall I explain? It makes you understand that they are the sort of heroes who hate to be thought heroic; so they grouse and swear and grumble; and talk about a God-forsaken country and a God-forsaken existence, and wonder what in the name of all that is wonderful they are here for. And perhaps they go off home vowing never to return; until the ‘strange frenzy’ catches them again, and back comes the dear Ship of Fools, with every berth taken and the stoutest grumblers hurrying to be the first ashore. Fools or heroes, it is much the same. I think I have read somewhere that a man couldn’t be a hero unless he were also a fool.”

Meryl got up, and moved behind her companion’s chair that she might not see the glisten in her eyes, for the longing for that one Fool-Hero who had brought such sudden desolation in her heart. Placing her hands on the back of it, she leaned over her affectionately and said, “It doesn’t carry men only, that ship of yours: some of the fools are women. O, I know, I know; you are one of the chief among them and I envy you.” In a whisper, “God knows, I envy you.”

Ailsa reached a hand back and laid it over the girl’s. “It is very sweet of you to say so, but I mayn’t accept it. Seeing I have a husband like Billy, I should be a very real fool in the most literal sense if I stayed away. No, the women-heroes in this land are those who face it with a careless, selfish husband, or perhaps in a home having no love, and who win through their little day and make no plaint. God help them!”

“And you mustn’t envy me,” she added after a moment, “for presently, you will be doing far more than I can ever hope to do. Because it is in your heart it will find a way, and then your money will give you a great power and influence. Be hopeful, you sweet child,” with a little playful pat. “Your eyes are over-sad for twenty-four, and sometimes when you smile it goes no further than your lips.”

Meryl brushed her hand quickly across her eyes, and tried to laugh with an attempt at lightness.

“O yes, I will. When I get back home I’ll sign cheques, and more cheques, it is so easy for me. And I’ll persuade father to plan out a scheme to bring settlers on the land; land scholarships for public-school boys, or something of that sort; and I’ll try and comfort myself with the thought that in this way he is giving back for what he has received. I think I’ll take a stroll now it is cooler. The others will no doubt come back to-morrow, and this may be my last evening in this part of the world. I know you want to worry your cook-boy and your head about the dinner, so I’ll just go a little way alone.”

“Very well,” Ailsa answered cheerily, guessing that she wished to take the stroll in solitude; but as she moved away towards her kitchen she said to herself, “Poor little girl! you will comfort yourself you are helping your father to fulfil his trusts, and at the back of it all quietly, silently, you will be breaking your heart for a man of iron who unbends to none.”

And along the rocky pathway, that was a short cut to Edwardstown and led along a low ledge of kopjes commanding a lovely view of the valley which lay between the Mission Station and Zimbabwe’s lofty northern mountain, Meryl walked slowly, with a sense of desolation she could neither gauge nor dispel; and over and over through her mind as she looked to the far kopjes passed the lines of England’s strong woman-poet, Emily Bronte:

“What have those lonely mountains worth revealing?
More glory and more grief than I can tell:
The earth that wakes one human heart to feeling
Can centre both the worlds of Heaven and Hell.”

What have those lonely mountains worth revealing? was the dumb, inarticulate cry in her heart. Ah! what?... what?... And it seemed as if all the loneliness in the world were brooding over the blue kopje and over the spot where the ancient ruins lay, and creeping into her heart and her life for ever.

Would he ever come again, that grim soldier-policeman, who just once or twice had shown her a glimpse of the strong man’s heart behind the barrier, and the strong man’s everlasting charm?... Or was it indeed all finished for ever? Just an episode that came and went and had no sequel, except in that brooding sense of a great loneliness upon the distant hills and upon the path of her life. She told herself again that it must be so; that evidently the momentary softness had been only passing moods; that she counted for nothing at all to him, not even a friend it was worth while saying “good-bye” to.

With the deep sadness still in her face she turned, because a step was approaching round a tall boulder beside her. And a moment later she was looking full and deep into Peter Carew’s eyes.

“You?...” she said. “You? ...” as if she could not believe her own eyes.

He said nothing. Suddenly speech seemed to have gone from him, but an expression in his face that was new to her quickened her pulses with a strange glad quickening.

After a moment he spoke, and it was as though his whole expression and figure stiffened.

“I did not expect to find you here,” he said. “I was told you had gone with your father.”

“Not I; Diana only.” And her eyes fell, and a faint colour dyed her cheeks.

There was a moment’s awkward pause: she remembering his unceremonious departure, wondering at his unceremonious return; he nonplussed at the trick Fate had played him, bringing him again, in spite of his decision, into the sphere of her beauty and her quiet charm.

“I was going to the Grenvilles’,” he told her at last.

And suddenly a tiny smile played about the corners of Meryl’s mouth. “I thought you could not possibly return from Segundi for a week?”

She looked away as she said it, so she could not see the swift contraction of his face and the swift gleam in his eyes. For one moment, of all things in heaven and earth, he felt suddenly that he wanted to take her in his arms and kiss her roughly perhaps; yes, roughly and masterfully, for daring to aim her little shaft at him. Instead he replied gravely, “I had to come, because Mr. Jardine wanted Grenville’s opinion on a particular native question, and it was a difficult matter to explain in a letter.”

“Then I mustn’t hinder you.” And she stood aside. “Of course you are thinking of starting back to-night and are in a great hurry?”

And then for once the man’s armour failed him. “No, I am not going back to-night, and I am not in any special hurry. If you were going on to the top of the kopje, may I come with you?”