Allan and the Holy Flower | Page 4

was
strapped, and in his bony, nervous hand he clasped a long staff made of
the black and white wood the natives call /unzimbiti/, on the top of
which was fixed a butterfly net. Behind him were some Kaffirs who
carried cases on their heads.
I knew him at once, since we had met before, especially on a certain
occasion in Zululand, when he calmly appeared out of the ranks of a
hostile native /impi/. He was one of the strangest characters in all South
Africa. Evidently a gentleman in the true sense of the word, none knew
his history (although I know it now, and a strange story it is), except
that he was an American by birth, for in this matter at times his speech
betrayed him. Also he was a doctor by profession, and to judge from
his extraordinary skill, one who must have seen much practice both in
medicine and in surgery. For the rest he had means, though where they
came from was a mystery, and for many years past had wandered about
South and Eastern Africa, collecting butterflies and flowers.
By the natives, and I might add by white people also, he was
universally supposed to be mad. This reputation, coupled with his
medical skill, enabled him to travel wherever he would without the
slightest fear of molestation, since the Kaffirs look upon the mad as
inspired by God. Their name for him was "Dogeetah," a ludicrous
corruption of the English word "doctor," whereas white folk called him
indifferently "Brother John," "Uncle Jonathan," or "Saint John." The
second appellation he got from his extraordinary likeness (when
cleaned up and nicely dressed) to the figure by which the great
American nation is typified in comic papers, as England is typified by
John Bull. The first and third arose in the well-known goodness of his
character and a taste he was supposed to possess for living on locusts
and wild honey, or their local equivalents. Personally, however, he
preferred to be addressed as "Brother John."
Oh! who can tell the relief with which I saw him; an angel from heaven

could scarcely have been more welcome. As he came I poured out a
second jorum of coffee, and remembering that he liked it sweet, put in
plenty of sugar.
"How do you do, Brother John?" I said, proffering him the coffee.
"Greeting, Brother Allan," he answered--in those days he affected a
kind of old Roman way of speaking, as I imagine it. Then he took the
coffee, put his long finger into it to test the temperature and stir up the
sugar, drank it off as though it were a dose of medicine, and handed
back the tin to be refilled.
"Bug-hunting?" I queried.
He nodded. "That and flowers and observing human nature and the
wonderful works of God. Wandering around generally."
"Where from last?" I asked.
"Those hills nearly twenty miles away. Left them at eight in the
evening; walked all night."
"Why?" I said, looking at him.
"Because it seemed as though someone were calling me. To be plain,
you, Allan."
"Oh! you heard about my being here and the trouble?"
"No, heard nothing. Meant to strike out for the coast this morning. Just
as I was turning in, at 8.5 exactly, got your message and started. That's
all."
"My message----" I began, then stopped, and asking to see his watch,
compared it with mine. Oddly enough, they showed the same time to
within two minutes.
"It is a strange thing," I said slowly, "but at 8.5 last night I did try to
send a message for some help because I thought my mate was dying,"

and I jerked my thumb towards the tent. "Only it wasn't to you or any
other man, Brother John. Understand?"
"Quite. Message was expressed on, that's all. Expressed and I guess
registered as well."
I looked at Brother John and Brother John looked at me, but at the time
we made no further remark. The thing was too curious, that is, unless
he lied. But nobody had ever known him to lie. He was a truthful
person, painfully truthful at times. And yet there are people who do not
believe in prayer.
"What is it?" he asked.
"Mauled by leopard. Wounds won't heal, and fever. I don't think he can
last long."
"What do you know about it? Let me see him."
Well, he saw him and did wonderful things. That tin box of his was full
of medicines and surgical instruments, which latter he boiled before he
used them. Also he washed his hands till I thought the skin would come
off them, using up more soap than I could spare. First he gave poor
Charlie a dose of something that seemed to kill him; he said he had