Adventure Magazine Cover, August 18, 1921 — page 152: what you’re looking at

Machine-transcribed from the original scan — historical spelling and the odd misread are preserved.

146 “Mind clean gone,”’ he said sorrowfully. “Don’t think he'll ever be right again. But first we'll feed him, then I'll give him something to put him to sleep again. I'll stay a couple of davs. Fix up some blan- kets in a hut for me.” “Strange,” the doctor continued medi- tatively; ‘‘the moment a man feels sure he is lost and feels his mind going he always tears off his clothes. After that, except by acci- dent or strategy, he is never caught. Always fears his fellow men.” “Do you think he will always be danger- ous, Inkoos?”’ Babiaan asked. “Oh, dear, no,” the doctor explained with certainty. “After a day or so he'll be re- signed enough. But you'll have to break him in just like an animal. Break him in by patience and kindness. Keep him here until he becomes quiet. Then perhaps I can do something for him.” As if caring for a little god the Kafirs watched over the demented white man. His slightest wish, crazy though it might be, was instantly attended to. To them, in their superstitious way, a madman was something almost superhuman—almost holy. And a crazy white man was quite beyond anything in their experience. But every wish was simply a motion of the hand, a look. His brain had seemed to have finished acting of itself altogether. And whenever food or anything was brought him his eyes looked to make hopeless in- quiries of himself—to be searching inside him. It may have been the brown girl with the long hair who waited on him, per- haps some crackled memory. Within a week all effort or intention to escape had entirely disappeared and Charlie was allowed to lie perfectly free. The food the natives provided for him on the doctor’s orders—their much prized chickens and eggs and milk—had strengthened his worn- out body, and strengthening his body had pacified his mind. And then one morning Babiaan, coming to the hut to see if his charge was awake, found him standing just inside the en- trance looking longingly out into the dis- tance. Whereupon trousers made of brayed goat-skins and a shirt of trade limbo, made by Babiaan’s instructions while he lay helpless, were produced for him and he was carefully dressed and allowed out-of-doors. But it was quickly apparent that everything he did, dressing and all, was done monkey- <s Adventure fashion by imitation and not with human thought. For weeks he wandered aimlessly about doing little jobs and attempting little kindnesses, but always in a crude, dazed, puzzled way. Time and again he at- tempted to be of assistance, even executed little childish courtesies for the brown. woman who had waited on him, but plainly with evident wonder as to why he should do them or what they meant. And Babiaan, watching him sadly one day, shook his grizzled head and muttered to himself. For his aged wisdom knew that, but for a miracle, the white man was gone for ever. “WILL the M’Lungu shoot?” the old chief asked one morning as he "4 held out an old Martini rifle. With a queer look as if fighting to get back a memory as to what was all wrong about it the white man reached for the rifle. A Kafir had no right to own firearms, but his errant brain quite failed to fix the thought. Smilingly he took the rifle and examined it, his eyes cleared and gleamed, then instantly they filled with hopeless tears. The chief produced a packet of cartridges and handed them over. “Go shoot, M’Lungu. The police will not touch a white man no matter how much he kills.” And at midday that day the demented Charlie came in and beckoned to several young fellows to bring their knives and follow him to help bring in his kill. And that day and every day and many days after the kraal feasted on fresh meat as it had never done before. The girl with the long hair looked smil- ingly up into the face of the old chief. “T think PI go for a ride for a while, my fathef.”’ With genuine affection the eld man smiled down at her. “Will my daughter take the little gun?” “No,” she said. ‘I found a patch of wild fig-trees in the hills many moons ago. The figs should be ripe by now and I’m going togetsome. That is if the baboons haven’t taken them all,” she added. “Very well, my child,” the old man agreed, confident in the thought that the girl could always take care of herself. “But you will not be long. And you will be careful.”” For a moment he hesitated and E® book CO