20 
LAiNU & WATER 
August 31, 1916 
snow inade the streets deserted, and we turned into the 
long lane wiiich led to Katchik ferry and found it perfectly 
quiet. I do not think we met a soul till we got to Kuprasso's 
shop. 
V\c walked straight through the cafe, which was empty, 
.ind down the dark passage, till we were stopped by the 
garden door. I knocked and it swung open. There was the 
bleak yard, now puddled with snow, and a blaze of light from 
the pavilion at the other end. There was a scraping of fiddles, 
trx), and the sound of human talk. V\e paid the negro at the 
door, and passed from the bitter afternoon into a garish saloon. 
There were forty or fifty people there, drinking coffee and 
sirops and filling the air with the fumes of latakia. Most of 
them were Turks in European clothes and the fez, but there 
were some German officers and what looked like civilians — 
.Army Service Corps clerks, probably, and mechanics from 
the Arsenal. A woman in cheap finery was tinkling at the 
l)iano. and there were sevcml shrill fennles with the officers. 
Peter and I sat down modestly in the nearest comer, where old 
Kuprasso saw us and sent us C(jlfee. A girl who looketl like 
a Jewess came o\cr to us and talked I'Vench, but I shook my 
head and she went off again. 
Presently a girl came on the stage and danced, a siUy affair, 
all a clashing of tambourines and wriggling. I have seen 
native wrmen do the same thing l>etter in a Mozambique 
kraal. .Another sang a German song, a simple, sentimental 
thing about golden hair and rainbows, and the Germans 
present apjilauded. The place was so tinselly and common 
that, coming to it from weeks of rough travelling, it made 
me impatient. I forgot that, while for the others it might be 
a vulgar little dancing-hall, for us it was as perilous as a 
brigand's den. 
Peter did not share my mood. He was quite interested in 
it — as he was interested in everything new. He had a geniu ■ 
for living in the moment. 
I remember there was a drop scene, on which was daubed a 
blue lake with very green hills in the distance. As the tobicco 
smoke grew thicker and the fiddles went on squeaking, this 
tawdry picture began to mesmerise mo. I seemsd to be 
looking out of a window at a lovely summer landscape, where 
there were n) wars or dangers. I seem?d to feel the warm sun 
and to smell the fragrance of blossom from the islands. And 
then I becim^ aware that a queer scent had stolen into the 
heavy atmosphere. 
There were braziers burning at both ends to warm the room, 
and the thin sm )ke from these snislt hkc incense. Sorhebody 
had been putting a powder in the flames, for suddenly the 
place became very quiet. The fiddles still sounded, but far 
away hke an echo. The lights went down, all but a circle 
on the stage, and irito that circle stepped my enemy of the skin 
cap. 
He had three others with him. I heard a whisper behind 
me and the words were those which Kuprasso had used the 
day before. These bedlamites were called the Companions of 
the Rosy Hours, and Kuprasso had promised great dancing. 
I hoped to goodness they would not see us, for they had 
fairly giver* me the horrors. Peter felt the same, and we 
both made ourselves very small in that dark corner. But 
the newcomers had no eyes for us. 
In a twinkling the pavilion changed from a comm >n saloon. 
which might have been in Chicago or Paris, to a place of 
mystery — yes, and of beauty. It became the Garden-house 
of Sulimjfn the Red, whoever that sportsman might have 
been. Sandy had said that the ends of the earth converged 
there, and he had been right. I lost all consciousness of my 
neig-hbours — stout German, frock-coated Turk, frowsy 
Jewess, and saw only strange figures leaping in a circle of light, 
figures that came out of the deepest darkness to make big 
magic. 
The leader flung some stuff into the brazier, and a great 
fan of blue light Hared up. He was weaving circles and he 
was singing something shrill and high whilst his companions 
made a chorus with their deep monotone. I can't tell you 
what the dance was. I had seen the Russian ballet just 
before the war and one of the men in it reminded me of this 
man. But the dancing was the least part of it. It was neither 
sound nor movement nor scent that wrought the spell, but 
something far more potent. In an instant I found myself 
reft awav from the present with its dull dangers, and looking 
at a world all young and fresh and beautiful. The .gaudy 
drop-scene had vanished. It was a window I was looking 
from, and I was gazing at the finest landscape on earth, lit 
by the pure clear light of morning. 
It seemed to be part of the veld, but like no veld I had ever 
seen. It was wider and wilder, ani more gracious. Indeed, 
I was looking at my first youth. 1 was feeling the kind of 
unspeakable light-heartedness which only a boy knows in 
the dawning of his days. I had no longer any fear of these 
magic-makers. They were kindly wizards who had brought 
me into Fair>'land. 
Then, slowlv from the silence, there distilled drops of music. 
They came li'iie water falling a long way into a cup, each the 
e.ssential quality of pure sound. We with our elaborate 
harmonies have forgotten the charm of single notes. The 
Afric.in natives know it. and 1 remember a learned man once 
telling me that tiie Greeks had the same art. These silver 
bells broke out of infinite space, so exciuisite and faint and 
perfect that no mortal words could have been fitted to them. 
That was the music, I e.vpect, that the morning stars made 
when they sang together. 
Slowly, very slowly it changed. The glow passed trom 
blue to purple, and then to an angry red. Bit by bit, the 
notes spun together till they mide a harmony, a fierce, restless 
harmony. .And I was conscious again of the skin-clad dancers 
beckoning out of their circle. 
There was no mistake about tlie meaning now. .All the 
daintiness and youth had fled, and passion was beating in the 
air, terrible savage passion whicii belonged neither to day 
nor night, life nor death, but to the half-world between them. 
I suddenly felt the dancers as monstrous, inhuman, devilisii. 
The thick scents that floated from the brazier seemed to have 
a tang of new-slied blood. Cries broke from the hearers, 
cries of anger and lust and terror. I heard a woman sob, and 
Peter, who is as tough as any mortal, took tight hold of my 
arm. 
I now realised that these Companions of the Rosy Hours. 
were the only thing in the world to fear. Rasta and Stumm 
seemed feeble simpletons by contrast. The window I had 
been looking out of was changed to a prison wall — I could see 
the mortar between the massive blocks. In a second these 
devils would be smelling out their enemies like some foul witch- 
doctors. I felt the burning eyes of their leader looking for me 
in the gloom. Peter was praying a\idibly beside me, and I 
could have choked him. His infernal chatter would reveal us. 
for it seemed to me that there was no one in the place beside 
us and the magic-workers. 
Then suddenly the spell was broken. The door was flung 
open and a great gust of icy wind swirled through the hall 
driving clouds of ashes from the braziers. I heard loud 
voices without and a hubbub began inside. For a moment 
it was quite dark, and then someone lit one of the flare lamps 
by the stage. It revealed nothing but the common squalor of 
a low saloon — white faces, sleepy eyes and frowsy heads. 
The drop-scene was there in all its tawdriness. , 
The Companions of the Rosy Hours had gone. But at 
the door stood men in uniform. I heard a German a long 
way off murmur " Enver's bodyguards." and I heard him 
distinctly, for though I could not see clearly, my hearing was 
desperately acute. That is often the way when you suddenly 
come out of a swoon. 
The place emptied like tnagic. Turk and Germ in tumbled 
over each other, while Kuprasso cringed and wept. No one 
seemed to stop them, and then I saw the reason. Those 
Guards had come for us. This must be Stumm at last. The 
authorities had tracked us down, and it was all up with 
Peter and me. 
A sudden revulsion leaves a man with low vitality. 1 
didn't seem to care greatly. We were done and there was an 
end of it. It was Kismet, the act of God, and there was 
nothing for it but to submit. I hadn't a flicker of a thought 
of escape or resistance. The game was utterly and absolutely 
over. 
A man who seemed to be a sergeant pointed to us and said 
something to Kuprasso, who nodded. We got heavily to our 
feet and stumbled towards them. With one on each side of 
us we crossed the yard, walked through the dark passage 
and the empty shop and out into the snowy street. There 
was a closed cab waiting which they motioned us to get into. 
It looked exactly like the Black Maria. 
Both of us sat still like truant schoolboys with our hands 
on our knees. I didn't know where 1 was going and I didn't 
care. We seemed to be rumbling up the hill and then I 
caught the glare of lighted streets. 
" This is the end of it, Peter," I said. 
" Ja, Cornelis," he replied, and that was all our talk. 
By and by — hours later it seemed — we stopped. Some- 
one opened the door, and we got out, to find ourselves in a 
courtyard with a huge dark building around. The Prison, 
1 guessed, and I wondered if they would give us blankets, for 
it was perisiiing cold. 
We entered a door, and found ourselves in a big stone hall. 
It was quite warm, which made me more hopefid about our 
cells. A man in some kind of uniform pointed to the staircase, 
up which we plodded wearily. My mind was too blank to 
take impressions, or in any way to forecast the future. .An- 
other warder met us and took us down a passage till we 
halted at a door. He stood aside and motioned us to enter. 
I guessed that was the Governor's room, and that we should be 
be put through our first examination. My head was too stupid 
{Continued on pai;e 11) 
