Erewhon Revisited | Page 5

he had himself been
in it many hours he gathered what the fate of these poor fellows doubtless was.
Another reason that made it more easy for Erewhon to remain unknown, was the fact that
the more mountainous districts, though repeatedly prospected for gold, had been
pronounced non-auriferous, and as there was no sheep or cattle country, save a few
river-bed flats above the upper gorges of any of the rivers, and no game to tempt the
sportsman, there was nothing to induce people to penetrate into the fastnesses of the great
snowy range. No more, therefore, being heard of Erewhon, my father's book came to be
regarded as a mere work of fiction, and I have heard quite recently of its having been
seen on a second-hand bookstall, marked "6d. very readable."
Though there was no truth in the stories about my father's being subject to attacks of
alcoholic poisoning, yet, during the first few years after his return to England, his
occasional fits of ungovernable excitement gave some colour to the opinion that much of
what he said he had seen and done might be only subjectively true. I refer more
particularly to his interview with Chowbok in the wool-shed, and his highly coloured
description of the statues on the top of the pass leading into Erewhon. These were soon
set down as forgeries of delirium, and it was maliciously urged, that though in his book
he had only admitted having taken "two or three bottles of brandy" with him, he had
probably taken at least a dozen; and that if on the night before he reached the statues he
had "only four ounces of brandy" left, he must have been drinking heavily for the
preceding fortnight or three weeks. Those who read the following pages will, I think,
reject all idea that my father was in a state of delirium, not without surprise that any one
should have ever entertained it.
It was Chowbok who, if he did not originate these calumnies, did much to disseminate
and gain credence for them. He remained in England for some years, and never tired of
doing what he could to disparage my father. The cunning creature had ingratiated himself
with our leading religious societies, especially with the more evangelical among them.
Whatever doubt there might be about his sincerity, there was none about his colour, and a
coloured convert in those days was more than Exeter Hall could resist. Chowbok saw that
there was no room for him and for my father, and declared my poor father's story to be

almost wholly false. It was true, he said, that he and my father had explored the
head-waters of the river described in his book, but he denied that my father had gone on
without him, and he named the river as one distant by many thousands of miles from the
one it really was. He said that after about a fortnight he had returned in company with my
father, who by that time had become incapacitated for further travel. At this point he
would shrug his shoulders, look mysterious, and thus say "alcoholic poisoning" even
more effectively than if he had uttered the words themselves. For a man's tongue lies
often in his shoulders.
Readers of my father's book will remember that Chowbok had given a very different
version when he had returned to his employer's station; but Time and Distance afford
cover under which falsehood can often do truth to death securely.
I never understood why my father did not bring my mother forward to confirm his story.
He may have done so while I was too young to know anything about it. But when people
have made up their minds, they are impatient of further evidence; my mother, moreover,
was of a very retiring disposition. The Italians say:-
"Chi lontano va ammogliare Sara ingannato, o vorra ingannare."
"If a man goes far afield for a wife, he will be deceived--or means deceiving." The
proverb is as true for women as for men, and my mother was never quite happy in her
new surroundings. Wilfully deceived she assuredly was not, but she could not accustom
herself to English modes of thought; indeed she never even nearly mastered our language;
my father always talked with her in Erewhonian, and so did I, for as a child she had
taught me to do so, and I was as fluent with her language as with my father's. In this
respect she often told me I could pass myself off anywhere in Erewhon as a native; I
shared also her personal appearance, for though not wholly unlike my father, I had taken
more closely after my mother. In mind, if I may venture to say so, I believe I was more
like my father.