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Allan Quatermain
By
H. Rider Haggard
Contents
CHAPTER
III - THE MISSION STATION
CHAPTER
IV - ALPHONSE AND HIS ANNETTE
CHAPTER
V - UMSLOPOGAAS MAKES A PROMISE
CHAPTER
VI - THE NIGHT WEARS ON
CHAPTER
VII - A SLAUGHTER GRIM AND GREAT.
CHAPTER
VIII - ALPHONSE EXPLAINS
CHAPTER
XI - THE FROWNING CITY
CHAPTER
XII - THE SISTER QUEENS
CHAPTER
XIII - ABOUT THE ZU-VENDI PEOPLE.
CHAPTER
XIV - THE FLOWER TEMPLE
CHAPTER
XVI - BEFORE THE STATUE
CHAPTER
XVII - THE STORM BREAKS
CHAPTER
XIX - A STRANGE WEDDING
CHAPTER
XX - THE BATTLE OF THE PASS
CHAPTER
XXII - HOW UMSLOPOGAAS HELD THE STAIR.
CHAPTER
XXIV - BY ANOTHER HAND
December 23
'I have just buried my boy, my poor handsome b= oy of whom I was so proud, and my heart is broken. It is very hard having only one son to lose him thus, but God's will= be done. Who am I that I should complain? The great wheel of Fate = rolls on like a Juggernaut, and crushes us all in turn, some soon, some late -- it does not matter when, in the end, it crushes us all. We do not prostrate ourselves before it= like the poor Indians; we fly hither and thither -- we cry for mercy; but it is = of no use, the black Fate thunders on and in its season reduces us to powder.<= o:p>
'Poor Harry to go so soon! just when his life =
was
opening to him. He was doing so we=
ll at
the hospital, he had passed his last examination with honours, and I was pr=
oud
of them, much prouder than he was, I think.
And then he must needs go to that smallpox hospital. He wrote to me that he was not afraid o=
f smallpox
and wanted to gain the experience; and now the disease has killed him, and =
I,
old and grey and withered, am left to mourn over him, without a chick or ch=
ild
to comfort me. I might have saved =
him,
too -- I have money enough for both of us, and much more than enough -- King
Solomon's Mines provided me with that; but I said, "No, let the boy ea=
rn
his living, let him labour that he may enjoy rest." But the rest has come to him before the
labour. Oh, my boy, my boy!
'I am like the man in the Bible who laid up mu=
ch
goods and builded barns -- goods for my boy and barns for him to store them=
in;
and now his soul has been required of him, and I am left desolate. I would =
that
it had been my soul and not my boy's!
'We buried him this afternoon under the shadow=
of
the grey and ancient tower of the church of this village where my house is.=
It
was a dreary December afternoon, and the sky was heavy with snow, but not m=
uch
was falling. The coffin was put do=
wn by
the grave, and a few big flakes lit upon it.
They looked very white upon the black cloth! There was a little hitch about getting =
the
coffin down into the grave -- the necessary ropes had been forgotten: so we
drew back from it, and waited in silence watching the big flakes fall gently
one by one like heavenly benedictions, and melt in tears on Harry's pall. But that was not all. A robin redbreast came as bold as could=
be
and lit upon the coffin and began to sing.
And then I am afraid that I broke down, and so did Sir Henry Curtis,
strong man though he is; and as for Captain Good, I saw him turn away too; =
even
in my own distress I could not help noticing it.'
The a=
bove,
signed 'Allan Quatermain', is an extract from my diary written two years and
more ago. I copy it down here beca=
use it
seems to me that it is the fittest beginning to the history that I am about=
to
write, if it please God to spare me to finish it. If not, well it does not matter. That extract was penned seven thousand =
miles
or so from the spot where I now lie painfully and slowly writing this, with=
a
pretty girl standing by my side fanning the flies from my august
countenance. Harry is there and I =
am
here, and yet somehow I cannot help feeling that I am not far off Harry.
When I was in England I used to live in a very
fine house -- at least I call it a fine house, speaking comparatively, and =
judging
from the standard of the houses I have been accustomed to all my life in Af=
rica
-- not five hundred yards from the old church where Harry is asleep, and
thither I went after the funeral and ate some food; for it is no good starv=
ing
even if one has just buried all one's earthly hopes. But I could not eat much, and soon I to=
ok to
walking, or rather limping -- being permanently lame from the bite of a lio=
n --
up and down, up and down the oak-panelled vestibule; for there is a vestibu=
le
in my house in England. On all the=
four
walls of this vestibule were placed pairs of horns -- about a hundred pairs
altogether, all of which I had shot myself.
They are beautiful specimens, as I never keep any horns which are no=
t in
every way perfect, unless it may be now and again on account of the
associations connected with them. =
In the
centre of the room, however, over the wide fireplace, there was a clear spa=
ce
left on which I had fixed up all my rifles.
Some of them I have had for forty years, old muzzle-loaders that nob=
ody
would look at nowadays. One was an=
elephant
gun with strips of rimpi, or green hide, lashed round the stock and locks, =
such
as used to be owned by the Dutchmen -- a 'roer' they call it. That gun, the Boer I bought it from many
years ago told me, had been used by his father at the battle of the Blood
River, just after Dingaan swept into Natal and slaughtered six hundred men,
women, and children, so that the Boers named the place where they died
'Weenen', or the 'Place of Weeping'; and so it is called to this day, and
always will be called. And many an elephant have I shot with that old gun.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> She always took a handful of black powd=
er and
a three-ounce ball, and kicked like the very deuce.
Well, up and down I walked, staring at the guns
and the horns which the guns had brought low; and as I did so there rose up=
in
me a great craving: -- I would go =
away
from this place where I lived idly and at ease, back again to the wild land
where I had spent my life, where I met my dear wife and poor Harry was born,
and so many things, good, bad, and indifferent, had happened to me. The thirst for the wilderness was on me=
; I
could tolerate this place no more; I would go and die as I had lived, among=
the
wild game and the savages. Yes, as=
I
walked, I began to long to see the moonlight gleaming silvery white over the
wide veldt and mysterious sea of bush, and watch the lines of game travelli=
ng
down the ridges to the water. The =
ruling
passion is strong in death, they say, and my heart was dead that night. But,
independently of my trouble, no man who has for forty years lived the life I
have, can with impunity go coop himself in this prim English country, with =
its
trim hedgerows and cultivated fields, its stiff formal manners, and its
well-dressed crowds. He begins to long -- ah, how he longs! -- for the keen
breath of the desert air; he dreams of the sight of Zulu impis breaking on
their foes like surf upon the rocks, and his heart rises up in rebellion
against the strict limits of the civilized life.
Ah! this civilization, what does it all come
to? For forty years and more I liv=
ed
among savages, and studied them and their ways; and now for several years I
have lived here in England, and have in my own stupid manner done my best to
learn the ways of the children of light; and what have I found? A great gulf fixed? No, only a very lit=
tle
one, that a plain man's thought may spring across. I say that as the savage is, so is the =
white
man, only the latter is more inventive, and possesses the faculty of
combination; save and except also that the savage, as I have known him, is =
to a
large extent free from the greed of money, which eats like a cancer into the
heart of the white man. It is a
depressing conclusion, but in all essentials the savage and the child of ci=
vilization
are identical. I dare say that the
highly civilized lady reading this will smile at an old fool of a hunter's
simplicity when she thinks of her black bead-bedecked sister; and so will t=
he
superfine cultured idler scientifically eating a dinner at his club, the co=
st
of which would keep a starving family for a week. And yet, my dear young lady, what are t=
hose
pretty things round your own neck? -- they have a strong family resemblance=
, especially
when you wear that very low dress, to the savage woman's beads. Your habit of turning round and round t=
o the
sound of horns and tom-toms, your fondness for pigments and powders, the wa=
y in
which you love to subjugate yourself to the rich warrior who has captured y=
ou
in marriage, and the quickness with which your taste in feathered head-dres=
ses
varies -- all these things suggest touches of kinship; and you remember tha=
t in
the fundamental principles of your nature you are quite identical. As for you, sir, who also laugh, let so=
me man
come and strike you in the face whilst you are enjoying that marvellous-loo=
king
dish, and we shall soon see how much of the savage there is in you.
There, I might go on for ever, but what is the
good? Civilization is only savagery
silver-gilt. A vainglory is it, an=
d like
a northern light, comes but to fade and leave the sky more dark. Out of the
soil of barbarism it has grown like a tree, and, as I believe, into the soil
like a tree it will once more, sooner or later, fall again, as the Egyptian
civilization fell, as the Hellenic civilization fell, and as the Roman
civilization and many others of which the world has now lost count, fell al=
so. Do
not let me, however, be understood as decrying our modern institutions,
representing as they do the gathered experience of humanity applied for the
good of all. Of course they have g=
reat
advantages -- hospitals for instance; but then, remember, we breed the sick=
ly
people who fill them. In a savage =
land
they do not exist. Besides, the qu=
estion
will arise: How many of these blessings are due to Christianity as distinct
from civilization? And so the balance sways and the story runs -- here a ga=
in, there
a loss, and Nature's great average struck across the two, whereof the sum t=
otal
forms one of the factors in that mighty equation in which the result will e=
qual
the unknown quantity of her purpose.
I make no apology for this digression, especia=
lly
as this is an introduction which all young people and those who never like =
to
think (and it is a bad habit) will naturally skip. It seems to me very desirable that we s=
hould
sometimes try to understand the limitations of our nature, so that we may n=
ot
be carried away by the pride of knowledge.
Man's cleverness is almost indefinite, and stretches like an elastic
band, but human nature is like an iron ring.
You can go round and round it, you can polish it highly, you can even
flatten it a little on one side, whereby you will make it bulge out the oth=
er,
but you will never, while the world endures and man is man, increase its to=
tal
circumference. It is the one fixed unchangeable thing -- fixed as the stars=
, more
enduring than the mountains, as unalterable as the way of the Eternal. Human nature is God's kaleidoscope, and=
the
little bits of coloured glass which represent our passions, hopes, fears, j=
oys,
aspirations towards good and evil and what not, are turned in His mighty ha=
nd
as surely and as certainly as it turns the stars, and continually fall into=
new
patterns and combinations. But the composing elements remain the same, nor =
will
there be one more bit of coloured glass nor one less for ever and ever.
This being so, supposing for the sake of argum=
ent
we divide ourselves into twenty parts, nineteen savage and one civilized, we
must look to the nineteen savage portions of our nature, if we would really
understand ourselves, and not to the twentieth, which, though so insignific=
ant
in reality, is spread all over the other nineteen, making them appear quite
different from what they really are, as the blacking does a boot, or the ve=
neer
a table. It is on the nineteen rou=
gh
serviceable savage portions that we fall back on emergencies, not on the
polished but unsubstantial twentieth.
Civilization should wipe away our tears, and yet we weep and cannot =
be
comforted. Warfare is abhorrent to=
her, and
yet we strike out for hearth and home, for honour and fair fame, and can gl=
ory
in the blow. And so on, through
everything.
So, when the heart is stricken, and the head is
humbled in the dust, civilization fails us utterly. Back, back, we creep, and lay us like l=
ittle
children on the great breast of Nature, she that perchance may soothe us and
make us forget, or at least rid remembrance of its sting. Who has not in his great grief felt a l=
onging
to look upon the outward features of the universal Mother; to lie on the
mountains and watch the clouds drive across the sky and hear the rollers br=
eak
in thunder on the shore, to let his poor struggling life mingle for a while=
in
her life; to feel the slow beat of her eternal heart, and to forget his woe=
s,
and let his identity be swallowed in the vast imperceptibly moving energy of
her of whom we are, from whom we came, and with whom we shall again be ming=
led,
who gave us birth, and will in a day to come give us our burial also.
And so in my trouble, as I walked up and down =
the
oak-panelled vestibule of my house there in Yorkshire, I longed once more to
throw myself into the arms of Nature.
Not the Nature which you know, the Nature that waves in well-kept wo=
ods
and smiles out in corn-fields, but Nature as she was in the age when creati=
on was
complete, undefiled as yet by any human sinks of sweltering humanity. I would go again where the wild game wa=
s,
back to the land whereof none know the history, back to the savages, whom I=
love,
although some of them are almost as merciless as Political Economy. There, perhaps, I should be able to lea=
rn to
think of poor Harry lying in the churchyard, without feeling as though my h=
eart
would break in two.
And now there is an end of this egotistical ta=
lk,
and there shall be no more of it. =
But if
you whose eyes may perchance one day fall upon my written thoughts have got=
so
far as this, I ask you to persevere, since what I have to tell you is not
without its interest, and it has never been told before, nor will again.
CHAPTER I - THE CONSUL'S YARN
A wee=
k had
passed since the funeral of my poor boy Harry, and one evening I was in my =
room
walking up and down and thinking, when there was a ring at the outer door.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> Going down the steps I opened it myself=
, and
in came my old friends Sir Henry Curtis and Captain John Good, RN. They entered the vestibule and sat them=
selves
down before the wide hearth, where, I remember, a particularly good fire of
logs was burning.
'It is very kind of you to come round,' I said=
by
way of making a remark; 'it must have been heavy walking in the snow.'
They said nothing, but Sir Henry slowly filled=
his
pipe and lit it with a burning ember. As
he leant forward to do so the fire got hold of a gassy bit of pine and flar=
ed
up brightly, throwing the whole scene into strong relief, and I thought, Wh=
at a
splendid-looking man he is! Calm,
powerful face, clear-cut features, large grey eyes, yellow beard and hair --
altogether a magnificent specimen of the higher type of humanity. Nor did his form belie his face. I have=
never
seen wider shoulders or a deeper chest.
Indeed, Sir Henry's girth is so great that, though he is six feet tw=
o high,
he does not strike one as a tall man. As
I looked at him I could not help thinking what a curious contrast my little
dried-up self presented to his grand face and form. Imagine to yourself a small, withered,
yellow-faced man of sixty-three, with thin hands, large brown eyes, a head =
of
grizzled hair cut short and standing up like a half-worn scrubbing-brush --
total weight in my clothes, nine stone six -- and you will get a very fair =
idea
of Allan Quatermain, commonly called Hunter Quatermain, or by the natives
'Macumazahn' -- Anglic/CHAR: e grave/, he who keeps a bright look-out at ni=
ght,
or, in vulgar English, a sharp fellow who is not to be taken in.
Then there was Good, who is not like either of=
us,
being short, dark, stout -- very stout -- with twinkling black eyes, in one=
of
which an eyeglass is everlastingly fixed.
I say stout, but it is a mild term; I regret to state that of late y=
ears
Good has been running to fat in a most disgraceful way. Sir Henry tells him that it comes from
idleness and over-feeding, and Good does not like it at all, though he cann=
ot
deny it.
We sat for a while, and then I got a match and=
lit
the lamp that stood ready on the table, for the half-light began to grow
dreary, as it is apt to do when one has a short week ago buried the hope of
one's life. Next, I opened a cupbo=
ard in
the wainscoting and got a bottle of whisky and some tumblers and water. I always like to do these things for my=
self:
it is irritating to me to have somebody continually at my elbow, as though I
were an eighteen-month-old baby. A=
ll
this while Curtis and Good had been silent, feeling, I suppose, that they h=
ad
nothing to say that could do me any good, and content to give me the comfor=
t of
their presence and unspoken sympathy; for it was only their second visit si=
nce
the funeral. And it is, by the way=
, from
the presence of others that we really derive support in our dark hours of
grief, and not from their talk, which often only serves to irritate us. Before a bad storm the game always herd
together, but they cease their calling.
They sat and smoked and drank whisky and water,
and I stood by the fire also smoking and looking at them.
At last I spoke.
'Old friends,' I said, 'how long is it since we got back from
Kukuanaland?'
'Three years,' said Good. 'Why do you ask?'
'I ask because I think that I have had a long
enough spell of civilization. I am=
going
back to the veldt.'
Sir Henry laid his head back in his arm-chair =
and
laughed one of his deep laughs. 'H=
ow
very odd,' he said, 'eh, Good?'
Good beamed at me mysteriously through his
eyeglass and murmured, 'Yes, odd -- very odd.'
'I don't quite understand,' said I, looking fr=
om
one to the other, for I dislike mysteries.
'Don't you, old fellow?' said Sir Henry; 'then=
I
will explain. As Good and I were walking up here we had a talk.'
'If Good was there you probably did,' I put in=
sarcastically,
for Good is a great hand at talking.
'And what may it have been about?'
'What do you think?' asked Sir Henry.
I shook my head.
It was not likely that I should know what Good might be talking
about. He talks about so many thin=
gs.
'Well, it was about a little plan that I have
formed -- namely, that if you were willing we should pack up our traps and =
go
off to Africa on another expedition.'
I fairly jumped at his words. 'You don't say so!' I said.
'Yes I do, though, and so does Good; don't you,
Good?'
'Rather,' said that gentleman.
'Listen, old fellow,' went on Sir Henry, with
considerable animation of manner. =
'I'm
tired of it too, dead-tired of doing nothing more except play the squire in=
a
country that is sick of squires. For a year or more I have been getting as
restless as an old elephant who scents danger.
I am always dreaming of Kukuanaland and Gagool and King Solomon's
Mines. I can assure you I have bec=
ome
the victim of an almost unaccountable craving.
I am sick of shooting pheasants and partridges, and want to have a g=
o at
some large game again. There, you =
know
the feeling -- when one has once tasted brandy and water, milk becomes insi=
pid
to the palate. That year we spent
together up in Kukuanaland seems to me worth all the other years of my life=
put
together. I dare say that I am a f=
ool
for my pains, but I can't help it; I long to go, and, what is more, I mean =
to
go.' He paused, and then went on
again. 'And, after all, why should=
I not
go? I have no wife or parent, no c=
hick
or child to keep me. If anything h=
appens
to me the baronetcy will go to my brother George and his boy, as it would
ultimately do in any case. I am of=
no
importance to any one.'
'Ah!' I said, 'I thought you would come to that
sooner or later. And now, Good, what is your reason for wanting to trek; ha=
ve you
got one?'
'I have,' said Good, solemnly. 'I never do anything without a reason; =
and it
isn't a lady -- at least, if it is, it's several.'
I looked at him again. Good is so overpoweringly frivolous. 'W=
hat is
it?' I said.
'Well, if you really want to know, though I'd
rather not speak of a delicate and strictly personal matter, I'll tell you:=
I'm
getting too fat.'
'Shut up, Good!' said Sir Henry. 'And now, Quatermain, tell us, where do=
you
propose going to?'
I lit my pipe, which had gone out, before
answering.
'Have you people ever heard of Mt Kenia?' I as=
ked.
'Don't know the place,' said Good.
'Did you ever hear of the Island of Lamu?' I a=
sked
again.
'No. =
Stop,
though -- isn't it a place about 300 miles north of Zanzibar?'
'Yes. Now
listen. What I have to propose is
this. That we go to Lamu and thenc=
e make
our way about 250 miles inland to Mt Kenia; from Mt Kenia on inland to Mt
Lekakisera, another 200 miles, or thereabouts, beyond which no white man ha=
s to
the best of my belief ever been; and then, if we get so far, right on into =
the
unknown interior. What do you say =
to
that, my hearties?'
'It's a big order,' said Sir Henry, reflective=
ly.
'You are right,' I answered, 'it is; but I tak=
e it
that we are all three of us in search of a big order. We want a change of scene, and we are l=
ikely
to get one -- a thorough change. A=
ll my
life I have longed to visit those parts, and I mean to do it before I die.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> My poor boy's death has broken the last=
link between
me and civilization, and I'm off to my native wilds. And now I'll tell you
another thing, and that is, that for years and years I have heard rumours o=
f a
great white race which is supposed to have its home somewhere up in this
direction, and I have a mind to see if there is any truth in them. If you fellows like to come, well and g=
ood;
if not, I'll go alone.'
'I'm your man, though I don't believe in your
white race,' said Sir Henry Curtis, rising and placing his arm upon my
shoulder.
'Ditto,' remarked Good. 'I'll go into training at once. By all means let's go to Mt Kenia and t=
he
other place with an unpronounceable name, and look for a white race that do=
es
not exist. It's all one to me.'
'When do you propose to start?' asked Sir Henr=
y.
'This day month,' I answered, 'by the British
India steamboat; and don't you be so certain that things have no existence
because you do not happen to have heard of them. Remember King Solomon's mines!'
Some
fourteen weeks or so had passed since the date of this conversation, and th=
is
history goes on its way in very different surroundings.
After much deliberation and inquiry we came to=
the
conclusion that our best starting-point for Mt Kenia would be from the
neighbourhood of the mouth of the Tana River, and not from Mombassa, a plac=
e over
100 miles nearer Zanzibar. This
conclusion we arrived at from information given to us by a German trader wh=
om
we met upon the steamer at Aden. I=
think
that he was the dirtiest German I ever knew; but he was a good fellow, and =
gave
us a great deal of valuable information.
'Lamu,' said he, 'you goes to Lamu -- oh ze beautiful place!' and he
turned up his fat face and beamed with mild rapture. 'One year and a half I live there and n=
ever
change my shirt -- never at all.'
And so it came to pass that on arriving at the
island we disembarked with all our goods and chattels, and, not knowing whe=
re
to go, marched boldly up to the house of Her Majesty's Consul, where we were
most hospitably received.
Lamu is a very curious place, but the things w=
hich
stand out most clearly in my memory in connection with it are its exceeding=
dirtiness
and its smells. These last are sim=
ply
awful. Just below the Consulate is=
the
beach, or rather a mud bank that is called a beach. It is left quite bare at low tide, and =
serves
as a repository for all the filth, offal, and refuse of the town. Here it i=
s,
too, that the women come to bury coconuts in the mud, leaving them there ti=
ll
the outer husk is quite rotten, when they dig them up again and use the fib=
res
to make mats with, and for various other purposes. As this process has been going on for
generations, the condition of the shore can be better imagined than
described. I have smelt many evil =
odours
in the course of my life, but the concentrated essence of stench which arose
from that beach at Lamu as we sat in the moonlit night -- not under, but on=
our
friend the Consul's hospitable roof -- and sniffed it, makes the remembranc=
e of
them very poor and faint. No wonder
people get fever at Lamu. And yet =
the
place was not without a certain quaintness and charm of its own, though pos=
sibly
-- indeed probably -- it was one which would quickly pall.
'Well, where are you gentlemen steering for?'
asked our friend the hospitable Consul, as we smoked our pipes after dinner=
.
'We propose to go to Mt Kenia and then on to Mt
Lekakisera,' answered Sir Henry.
'Quatermain has got hold of some yarn about there being a white race=
up
in the unknown territories beyond.'
The Consul looked interested, and answered tha=
t he
had heard something of that, too.
'What have you heard?' I asked.
'Oh, not much.
All I know about it is that a year or so ago I got a letter from
Mackenzie, the Scotch missionary, whose station, "The Highlands",=
is
placed at the highest navigable point of the Tana River, in which he said
something about it.'
'Have you the letter?' I asked.
'No, I destroyed it; but I remember that he sa=
id
that a man had arrived at his station who declared that two months' journey=
beyond
Mt Lekakisera, which no white man has yet visited -- at least, so far as I =
know
-- he found a lake called Laga, and that then he went off to the north-east=
, a
month's journey, over desert and thorn veldt and great mountains, till he c=
ame
to a country where the people are white and live in stone houses. Here he was hospitably entertained for a
while, till at last the priests of the country set it about that he was a
devil, and the people drove him away, and he journeyed for eight months and
reached Mackenzie's place, as I heard, dying.
That's all I know; and if you ask me, I believe that it is a lie; bu=
t if
you want to find out more about it, you had better go up the Tana to
Mackenzie's place and ask him for information.'
Sir Henry and I looked at each other. Here was something tangible.
'I think that we will go to Mr Mackenzie's,' I
said.
'Well,' answered the Consul, 'that is your best way, but I warn you that you are likely to have a rough journey, for I hear that the Masai are about, and, as you know, they are not pleasant customers= . Your best plan will be to choose a few = picked men for personal servants and hunters, and to hire bearers from village to village. It will give you an infin= ity of trouble, but perhaps on the whole it will prove a cheaper and more advantag= eous course than engaging a caravan, and you will be less liable to desertion.'<= o:p>
Fortunately there were at Lamu at this time a
party of Wakwafi Askari (soldiers). The
Wakwafi, who are a cross between the Masai and the Wataveta, are a fine man=
ly
race, possessing many of the good qualities of the Zulu, and a great capaci=
ty
for civilization. They are also great hunters.
As it happened, these particular men had recently been on a long trip
with an Englishman named Jutson, who had started from Mombasa, a port about=
150
miles below Lamu, and journeyed right round Kilimanjaro, one of the highest
known mountains in Africa. Poor fe=
llow,
he had died of fever when on his return journey, and within a day's march of
Mombasa. It does seem hard that he
should have gone off thus when within a few hours of safety, and after havi=
ng
survived so many perils, but so it was.
His hunters buried him, and then came on to Lamu in a dhow. Our friend the Consul suggested to us t=
hat we
had better try and hire these men, and accordingly on the following morning=
we
started to interview the party, accompanied by an interpreter.
In due course we found them in a mud hut on the
outskirts of the town. Three of th=
e men
were sitting outside the hut, and fine frank-looking fellows they were, hav=
ing
a more or less civilized appearance. To
them we cautiously opened the object of our visit, at first with very scant
success. They declared that they c=
ould not
entertain any such idea, that they were worn and weary with long travelling,
and that their hearts were sore at the loss of their master. They meant to go back to their homes an=
d rest
awhile. This did not sound very
promising, so by way of effecting a diversion I asked where the remainder of
them were. I was told there were s=
ix,
and I saw but three. One of the me=
n said
they slept in the hut, and were yet resting after their labours -- 'sleep
weighed down their eyelids, and sorrow made their hearts as lead: it was be=
st
to sleep, for with sleep came forgetfulness. But the men should be awakened=
.'
Presently they came out of the hut, yawning --=
the
first two men being evidently of the same race and style as those already b=
efore
us; but the appearance of the third and last nearly made me jump out of my
skin. He was a very tall, broad ma=
n,
quite six foot three, I should say, but gaunt, with lean, wiry-looking limb=
s. My first glance at him told me that he =
was no
Wakwafi: he was a pure bred Zulu. =
He
came out with his thin aristocratic-looking hand placed before his face to =
hide
a yawn, so I could only see that he was a 'Keshla' or ringed man {Endnote 1=
},
and that he had a great three-cornered hole in his forehead. In another second he removed his hand,
revealing a powerful-looking Zulu face, with a humorous mouth, a short wool=
ly
beard, tinged with grey, and a pair of brown eyes keen as a hawk's. I knew my man at once, although I had n=
ot
seen him for twelve years. 'How do=
you
do, Umslopogaas?' I said quietly in Zulu.
The tall man (who among his own people was
commonly known as the 'Woodpecker', and also as the 'Slaughterer') started,=
and
almost let the long-handled battleaxe he held in his hand fall in his
astonishment. Next second he had
recognized me, and was saluting me in an outburst of sonorous language which
made his companions the Wakwafi stare.
'Koos' (chief), he began, 'Koos-y-Pagete! Koos-y-umcool! (Chief from of old -- mighty chief) Koos!
Baba! (father) Macumazahn, old hunter, slayer of eleph=
ants,
eater up of lions, clever one! watchful one! brave one! quick one! whose sh=
ot
never misses, who strikes straight home, who grasps a hand and holds it to =
the
death (i.e. is a true friend) Koos!
Baba! Wise is the voice of =
our
people that says, "Mountain never meets with mountain, but at daybreak=
or
at even man shall meet again with man."
Behold! a messenger came up from Natal, "Macumazahn is dead!&qu=
ot;
cried he. "The land knows Macumazahn no more." That is years ago. And now, behold, now in this strange pl=
ace of
stinks I find Macumazahn, my friend.
There is no room for doubt. The
brush of the old jackal has gone a little grey; but is not his eye as keen,=
and
are not his teeth as sharp? Ha! ha!
Macumazahn, mindest thou how thou didst plant the ball in the eye of the
charging buffalo -- mindest thou --'
I had let him run on thus because I saw that h=
is
enthusiasm was producing a marked effect upon the minds of the five Wakwafi=
, who
appeared to understand something of his talk; but now I thought it time to =
put
a stop to it, for there is nothing that I hate so much as this Zulu system =
of
extravagant praising -- 'bongering' as they call it. 'Silence!' I said. 'Has all thy noisy talk been stopped up=
since
last I saw thee that it breaks out thus, and sweeps us away? What doest thou here with these men -- =
thou whom
I left a chief in Zululand? How is=
it
that thou art far from thine own place, and gathered together with stranger=
s?'
Umslopogaas leant himself upon the head of his
long battleaxe (which was nothing else but a pole-axe, with a beautiful han=
dle of
rhinoceros horn), and his grim face grew sad.
'My Father,' he answered, 'I have a word to te=
ll
thee, but I cannot speak it before these low people (umfagozana),' and he g=
lanced
at the Wakwafi Askari; 'it is for thine own ear. My Father, this will I say,' and here h=
is
face grew stern again, 'a woman betrayed me to the death, and covered my na=
me
with shame -- ay, my own wife, a round-faced girl, betrayed me; but I escap=
ed from
death; ay, I broke from the very hands of those who came to slay me. I struck but three blows with this mine=
axe
Inkosikaas -- surely my Father will remember it -- one to the right, one to=
the
left, and one in front, and yet I left three men dead. And then I fled, and=
, as
my Father knows, even now that I am old my feet are as the feet of the Sass=
aby
{Endnote 2}, and there breathes not the man who, by running, can touch me a=
gain
when once I have bounded from his side.
On I sped, and after me came the messengers of death, and their voice
was as the voice of dogs that hunt. From
my own kraal I flew, and, as I passed, she who had betrayed me was drawing
water from the spring. I fleeted b=
y her
like the shadow of Death, and as I went I smote with mine axe, and lo! her =
head
fell: it fell into the water pan. =
Then I
fled north. Day after day I journe=
yed
on; for three moons I journeyed, resting not, stopping not, but running on =
towards
forgetfulness, till I met the party of the white hunter who is now dead, an=
d am
come hither with his servants. And
nought have I brought with me. I w=
ho was
high-born, ay, of the blood of Chaka, the great king -- a chief, and a capt=
ain
of the regiment of the Nkomabakosi -- am a wanderer in strange places, a ma=
n without
a kraal. Nought have I brought sav=
e this
mine axe; of all my belongings this remains alone. They have divided my cattle; they have =
taken
my wives; and my children know my face no more. Yet with this axe' -- and he
swung the formidable weapon round his head, making the air hiss as he clove=
it
-- 'will I cut another path to fortune.
I have spoken.'
I shook my head at him. 'Umslopogaas,' I said, 'I know thee fro=
m of
old. Ever ambitious, ever plotting=
to be
great, I fear me that thou hast overreached thyself at last. Years ago, when thou wouldst have plott=
ed
against Cetywayo, son of Panda, I warned thee, and thou didst listen. But now, when I was not by thee to stay=
thy
hand, thou hast dug a pit for thine own feet to fall in. Is it not so?
But what is done is done. W=
ho can
make the dead tree green, or gaze again upon last year's light? Who can recall the spoken word, or brin=
g back
the spirit of the fallen? That which Time swallows comes not up again. Let it be forgotten!
'And now, behold, Umslopogaas, I know thee for=
a
great warrior and a brave man, faithful to the death. Even in Zululand, where all the men are
brave, they called thee the "Slaughterer", and at night told stor=
ies
round the fire of thy strength and deeds. Hear me now. Thou seest this great man, my friend' -=
- and
I pointed to Sir Henry; 'he also is a warrior as great as thou, and, strong=
as
thou art, he could throw thee over his shoulder. Incubu is his name. And thou seest this one also; him with =
the
round stomach, the shining eye, and the pleasant face. Bougwan (glass eye) is his name, and a =
good
man is he and a true, being of a curious tribe who pass their life upon the
water, and live in floating kraals.
'Now, we three whom thou seest would travel
inland, past Dongo Egere, the great white mountain (Mt Kenia), and far into=
the
unknown beyond. We know not what we
shall find there; we go to hunt and seek adventures, and new places, being
tired of sitting still, with the same old things around us. Wilt thou come with us? To thee shall be given command of all o=
ur
servants; but what shall befall thee, that I know not. Once before we three journeyed thus, in=
search
of adventure, and we took with us a man such as thou -- one Umbopa; and,
behold, we left him the king of a great country, with twenty Impis (regimen=
ts),
each of 3,000 plumed warriors, waiting on his word. How it shall go with thee, I know not; =
mayhap
death awaits thee and us. Wilt thou throw thyself to Fortune and come, or
fearest thou, Umslopogaas?'
The great man smiled. 'Thou art not altogether right, Macumaz=
ahn,' he
said; 'I have plotted in my time, but it was not ambition that led me to my
fall; but, shame on me that I should have to say it, a fair woman's face. Let it pass.
So we are going to see something like the old times again, Macumazah=
n,
when we fought and hunted in Zululand?
Ay, I will come. Come life,=
come
death, what care I, so that the blows fall fast and the blood runs red? I g=
row
old, I grow old, and I have not fought enough!
And yet am I a warrior among warriors; see my scars' -- and he point=
ed to
countless cicatrices, stabs and cuts, that marked the skin of his chest and
legs and arms. 'See the hole in my=
head;
the brains gushed out therefrom, yet did I slay him who smote, and live.
'Be silent,' I said, for I saw that he was get=
ting
the blood-fever on him; 'be silent; well art thou called the
"Slaughterer". We would not hear of thy deeds of blood. Remember, if thou comest with us, we fi=
ght
not save in self-defence. Listen, =
we
need servants. These men,' and I p=
ointed
to the Wakwafi, who had retired a little way during our 'indaba' (talk), 's=
ay
they will not come.'
'Will not come!' shouted Umslopogaas; 'where is
the dog who says he will not come when my Father orders? Here, thou' -- and with a single bound =
he
sprang upon the Wakwafi with whom I had first spoken, and, seizing him by t=
he
arm, dragged him towards us. 'Thou dog!' he said, giving the terrified man a
shake, 'didst thou say that thou wouldst not go with my Father? Say it once more and I will choke thee'=
--
and his long fingers closed round his throat as he said it -- 'thee, and th=
ose
with thee. Hast thou forgotten how=
I
served thy brother?'
'Nay, we will come with the white man,' gasped=
the
man.
'White man!' went on Umslopogaas, in simulated
fury, which a very little provocation would have made real enough; 'of whom=
speakest
thou, insolent dog?'
'Nay, we will go with the great chief.'
'So!' said Umslopogaas, in a quiet voice, as he
suddenly released his hold, so that the man fell backward. 'I thought you would.'
'That man Umslopogaas seems to have a curious
moral ascendency over his companions,' Good afterwards remarked thoughtfull=
y.
In due course we left Lamu, and ten days
afterwards we found ourselves at a spot called Charra, on the Tana River,
having gone through many adventures which need not be recorded here. Amongst
other things we visited a ruined city, of which there are many on this coas=
t,
and which must once, to judge from their extent and the numerous remains of
mosques and stone houses, have been very populous places. These ruined cities are immeasurably an=
cient,
having, I believe, been places of wealth and importance as far back as the =
Old
Testament times, when they were centres of trade with India and elsewhere.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> But their glory has departed now -- the=
slave
trade has finished them -- and where wealthy merchants from all parts of the
then civilized world stood and bargained in the crowded market-places, the =
lion
holds his court at night, and instead of the chattering of slaves and the e=
ager
voices of the bidders, his awful note goes echoing down the ruined corridor=
s. At this particular place we discovered =
on a
mound, covered up with rank growth and rubbish, two of the most beautiful s=
tone
doorways that it is possible to conceive.
The carving on them was simply exquisite, and I only regret that we =
had
no means of getting them away. No =
doubt
they had once been the entrances to a palace, of which, however, no traces =
were
now to be seen, though probably its ruins lay under the rising mound.
Gone! quite gone! the way that everything must
go. Like the nobles and the ladies=
who
lived within their gates, these cities have had their day, and now they are=
as
Babylon and Nineveh, and as London and Paris will one day be. Nothing may endure. That is the inexora=
ble
law. Men and women, empires and ci=
ties, thrones,
principalities, and powers, mountains, rivers, and unfathomed seas, worlds,
spaces, and universes, all have their day, and all must go. In this ruined and forgotten place the
moralist may behold a symbol of the universal destiny. For this system of ours allows no room =
for
standing still -- nothing can loiter on the road and check the progress of
things upwards towards Life, or the rush of things downwards towards
Death. The stern policeman Fate mo=
ves us
and them on, on, uphill and downhill and across the level; there is no
resting-place for the weary feet, till at last the abyss swallows us, and f=
rom
the shores of the Transitory we are hurled into the sea of the Eternal.
At Charra we had a violent quarrel with the
headman of the bearers we had hired to go as far as this, and who now wishe=
d to
extort large extra payment from us. In
the result he threatened to set the Masai -- about whom more anon -- on to
us. That night he, with all our hi=
red
bearers, ran away, stealing most of the goods which had been entrusted to t=
hem
to carry. Luckily, however, they h=
ad not
happened to steal our rifles, ammunition, and personal effects; not because=
of
any delicacy of feeling on their part, but owing to the fact that they chan=
ced
to be in the charge of the five Wakwafis.
After that, it was clear to us that we had had enough of caravans an=
d of
bearers. Indeed, we had not much l=
eft
for a caravan to carry. And yet, h=
ow
were we to get on?
It was Good who solved the question. 'Here is water,' he said, pointing to t=
he
Tana River; 'and yesterday I saw a party of natives hunting hippopotami in
canoes. I understand that Mr Macke=
nzie's
mission station is on the Tana River.
Why not get into canoes and paddle up to it?'
This brilliant suggestion was, needless to say,
received with acclamation; and I instantly set to work to buy suitable cano=
es from
the surrounding natives. I succeed=
ed
after a delay of three days in obtaining two large ones, each hollowed out =
of a
single log of some light wood, and capable of holding six people and baggag=
e. For these two canoes we had to pay near=
ly all
our remaining cloth, and also many other articles.
On the day following our purchase of the two
canoes we effected a start. In the=
first
canoe were Good, Sir Henry, and three of our Wakwafi followers; in the seco=
nd
myself, Umslopogaas, and the other two Wakwafis. As our course lay upstream, we had to k=
eep
four paddles at work in each canoe, which meant that the whole lot of us,
except Good, had to row away like galley-slaves; and very exhausting work it
was. I say, except Good, for, of c=
ourse,
the moment that Good got into a boat his foot was on his native heath, and =
he
took command of the party. And cer=
tainly
he worked us. On shore Good is a g=
entle,
mild-mannered man, and given to jocosity; but, as we found to our cost, Goo=
d in
a boat was a perfect demon. To beg=
in
with, he knew all about it, and we didn't.
On all nautical subjects, from the torpedo fittings of a man-of-war =
down
to the best way of handling the paddle of an African canoe, he was a perfect
mine of information, which, to say the least of it, we were not. Also his ideas of discipline were of the
sternest, and, in short, he came the royal naval officer over us pretty
considerably, and paid us out amply for all the chaff we were wont to treat=
him
to on land; but, on the other hand, I am bound to say that he managed the b=
oats
admirably.
After the first day Good succeeded, with the h=
elp
of some cloth and a couple of poles, in rigging up a sail in each canoe, wh=
ich lightened
our labours not a little. But the
current ran very strong against us, and at the best we were not able to make
more than twenty miles a day. Our =
plan
was to start at dawn, and paddle along till about half-past ten, by which t=
ime
the sun got too hot to allow of further exertion. Then we moored our canoes to the bank, =
and
ate our frugal meal; after which we ate or otherwise amused ourselves till =
about
three o'clock, when we again started, and rowed till within an hour of sund=
own,
when we called a halt for the night. On
landing in the evening, Good would at once set to work, with the help of the
Askari, to build a little 'scherm', or small enclosure, fenced with thorn
bushes, and to light a fire. I, wi=
th Sir
Henry and Umslopogaas, would go out to shoot something for the pot. Generally this was an easy task, for all
sorts of game abounded on the banks of the Tana. One night Sir Henry shot a young cow-gi=
raffe,
of which the marrow-bones were excellent; on another I got a couple of wate=
rbuck
right and left; and once, to his own intense satisfaction, Umslopogaas (who,
like most Zulus, was a vile shot with a rifle) managed to kill a fine fat e=
land
with a Martini I had lent him. Sometimes we varied our food by shooting some
guinea-fowl, or bush-bustard (paau) -- both of which were numerous -- with =
a shot-gun,
or by catching a supply of beautiful yellow fish, with which the waters of =
the
Tana swarmed, and which form, I believe, one of the chief food-supplies of =
the
crocodiles.
Three days after our start an ominous incident
occurred. We were just drawing in =
to the
bank to make our camp as usual for the night, when we caught sight of a fig=
ure
standing on a little knoll not forty yards away, and intensely watching our
approach. One glance was sufficient -- although I was personally unacquaint=
ed with
the tribe -- to tell me that he was a Masai Elmoran, or young warrior. Indeed, had I had any doubts, they woul=
d have
quickly been dispelled by the terrified ejaculation of 'Masai!' that burst
simultaneously from the lips of our Wakwafi followers, who are, as I think I
have said, themselves bastard Masai.
And what a figure he presented as he stood the=
re
in his savage war-gear! Accustomed=
as I
have been to savages all my life, I do not think that I have ever before se=
en
anything quite so ferocious or awe-inspiring.
To begin with, the man was enormously tall, quite as tall as
Umslopogaas, I should say, and beautifully, though somewhat slightly, shape=
d;
but with the face of a devil. In his right hand he held a spear about five =
and
a half feet long, the blade being two and a half feet in length, by nearly =
three
inches in width, and having an iron spike at the end of the handle that
measured more than a foot. On his =
left
arm was a large and well-made elliptical shield of buffalo hide, on which w=
ere
painted strange heraldic-looking devices.
On his shoulders was a huge cape of hawk's feathers, and round his n=
eck
was a 'naibere', or strip of cotton, about seventeen feet long, by one and a
half broad, with a stripe of colour running down the middle of it. The tanned goatskin robe, which formed =
his
ordinary attire in times of peace, was tied lightly round his waist, so as =
to
serve the purposes of a belt, and through it were stuck, on the right and l=
eft
sides respectively, his short pear-shaped sime, or sword, which is made of a
single piece of steel, and carried in a wooden sheath, and an enormous
knobkerrie. But perhaps the most
remarkable feature of his attire consisted of a headdress of ostrich-feathe=
rs,
which was fixed on the chin, and passed in front of the ears to the forehea=
d,
and, being shaped like an ellipse, completely framed the face, so that the
diabolical countenance appeared to project from a sort of feather fire-scre=
en. Round
the ankles he wore black fringes of hair, and, projecting from the upper
portion of the calves, to which they were attached, were long spurs like
spikes, from which flowed down tufts of the beautiful black and waving hair=
of
the Colobus monkey. Such was the
elaborate array of the Masai Elmoran who stood watching the approach of our=
two
canoes, but it is one which, to be appreciated, must be seen; only those who
see it do not often live to describe it.
Of course I could not make out all these details of his full dress on
the occasion of this my first introduction, being, indeed, amply taken up w=
ith
the consideration of the general effect, but I had plenty of subsequent
opportunities of becoming acquainted with the items that went to make it up=
.
Whilst we were hesitating what to do, the Masai
warrior drew himself up in a dignified fashion, shook his huge spear at us,=
and,
turning, vanished on the further side of the slope.
'Hulloa!' holloaed Sir Henry from the other bo=
at;
'our friend the caravan leader has been as good as his word, and set the Ma=
sai
after us. Do you think it will be =
safe
to go ashore?'
I did not think it would be at all safe; but, =
on
the other hand, we had no means of cooking in the canoes, and nothing that =
we could
eat raw, so it was difficult to know what to do. At last Umslopogaas simplified matters =
by
volunteering to go and reconnoitre, which he did, creeping off into the bush
like a snake, while we hung off in the stream waiting for him. In half an hour he returned, and told u=
s that
there was not a Masai to be seen anywhere about, but that he had discovered=
a
spot where they had recently been encamped, and that from various indicatio=
ns
he judged that they must have moved on an hour or so before; the man we saw=
having,
no doubt, been left to report upon our movements.
Thereupon we landed; and, having posted a sent=
ry,
proceeded to cook and eat our evening meal.
This done, we took the situation into our serious consideration. Of course, it was possible that the
apparition of the Masai warrior had nothing to do with us, that he was mere=
ly
one of a band bent upon some marauding and murdering expedition against ano=
ther
tribe. But when we recalled the th=
reat
of the caravan leader, and reflected on the ominous way in which the warrior
had shaken his spear at us, this did not appear very probable. On the contrary, what did seem probable=
was
that the party was after us and awaiting a favourable opportunity to attack
us. This being so, there were two =
things
that we could do -- one of which was to go on, and the other to go back.
Here the mosquitoes nearly ate us up alive, and
this, combined with anxiety as to our position, effectually prevented me fr=
om sleeping
as the others were doing, notwithstanding the attacks of the aforesaid Tana
mosquitoes. And so I lay awake, sm=
oking and
reflecting on many things, but, being of a practical turn of mind, chiefly =
on
how we were to give those Masai villains the slip. It was a beautiful moonlight night, and,
notwithstanding the mosquitoes, and the great risk we were running from fev=
er from
sleeping in such a spot, and forgetting that I had the cramp very badly in =
my
right leg from squatting in a constrained position in the canoe, and that t=
he
Wakwafi who was sleeping beside me smelt horribly, I really began to enjoy
myself. The moonbeams played upon =
the
surface of the running water that speeded unceasingly past us towards the s=
ea,
like men's lives towards the grave, till it glittered like a wide sheet of
silver, that is in the open where the trees threw no shadows. Near the banks, however, it was very da=
rk,
and the night wind sighed sadly in the reeds. To our left, on the further s=
ide
of the river, was a little sandy bay which was clear of trees, and here I c=
ould
make out the forms of numerous antelopes advancing to the water, till sudde=
nly
there came an ominous roar, whereupon they all made off hurriedly. Then after a pause I caught sight of the
massive form of His Majesty the Lion, coming down to drink his fill after m=
eat. Presently he moved on, then came a cras=
hing
of the reeds about fifty yards above us, and a few minutes later a huge bla=
ck mass
rose out of the water, about twenty yards from me, and snorted. It was the =
head
of a hippopotamus. Down it went wi=
thout
a sound, only to rise again within five yards of where I sat. This was decidedly too near to be
comfortable, more especially as the hippopotamus was evidently animated by
intense curiosity to know what on earth our canoes were. He opened his great mouth, to yawn, I
suppose, and gave me an excellent view of his ivories; and I could not help
reflecting how easily he could crunch up our frail canoe with a single
bite. Indeed, I had half a mind to=
give
him a ball from my eight-bore, but on reflection determined to let him alone
unless he actually charged the boat.
Presently he sank again as noiselessly as before, and I saw no more =
of him. Just then, on looking towards the bank =
on our
right, I fancied that I caught sight of a dark figure flitting between the =
tree
trunks. I have very keen sight, an=
d I
was almost sure that I saw something, but whether it was bird, beast, or ma=
n I
could not say. At the moment, howe=
ver, a
dark cloud passed over the moon, and I saw no more of it. Just then, too, although all the other =
sounds
of the forest had ceased, a species of horned owl with which I was well
acquainted began to hoot with great persistency. After that, save for the rustling of tr=
ees
and reeds when the wind caught them, there was complete silence.
But somehow, in the most unaccountable way, I =
had
suddenly become nervous. There was=
no
particular reason why I should be, beyond the ordinary reasons which surrou=
nd
the Central African traveller, and yet I undoubtedly was. If there is one thing more than another=
of
which I have the most complete and entire scorn and disbelief, it is of
presentiments, and yet here I was all of a sudden filled with and possessed=
by
a most undoubted presentiment of approaching evil. I would not give way to it, however, al=
though
I felt the cold perspiration stand out upon my forehead. I would not arouse the others. Worse and worse I grew, my pulse flutte=
red
like a dying man's, my nerves thrilled with the horrible sense of impotent =
terror
which anybody who is subject to nightmare will be familiar with, but still =
my
will triumphed over my fears, and I lay quiet (for I was half sitting, half
lying, in the bow of the canoe), only turning my face so as to command a vi=
ew
of Umslopogaas and the two Wakwafi who were sleeping alongside of and beyond
me.
In the distance I heard a hippopotamus splash
faintly, then the owl hooted again in a kind of unnatural screaming note
{Endnote 4}, and the wind began to moan plaintively through the trees, maki=
ng a
heart-chilling music. Above was the
black bosom of the cloud, and beneath me swept the black flood of the water=
, and
I felt as though I and Death were utterly alone between them. It was very
desolate.
Suddenly my blood seemed to freeze in my veins=
, and
my heart to stand still. Was it fa=
ncy,
or were we moving? I turned my eye=
s to
look for the other canoe which should be alongside of us. I could not see it, but instead I saw a=
lean
and clutching black hand lifting itself above the gunwale of the little boa=
t. Surely
it was a nightmare! At the same in=
stant
a dim but devilish-looking face appeared to rise out of the water, and then
came a lurch of the canoe, the quick flash of a knife, and an awful yell fr=
om
the Wakwafi who was sleeping by my side (the same poor fellow whose odour h=
ad
been annoying me), and something warm spurted into my face. In an instant the spell was broken; I k=
new
that it was no nightmare, but that we were attacked by swimming Masai. Snatching at the first weapon that came=
to
hand, which happened to be Umslopogaas' battleaxe, I struck with all my for=
ce
in the direction in which I had seen the flash of the knife. The blow fell upon a man's arm, and, ca=
tching
it against the thick wooden gunwale of the canoe, completely severed it from
the body just above the wrist. As =
for
its owner, he uttered no sound or cry.
Like a ghost he came, and like a ghost he went, leaving behind him a
bloody hand still gripping a great knife, or rather a short sword, that was
buried in the heart of our poor servant.
Instantly there arose a hubbub and confusion, =
and
I fancied, rightly or wrongly, that I made out several dark heads gliding a=
way
towards the right-hand bank, whither we were rapidly drifting, for the rope=
by
which we were moored had been severed with a knife. As soon as I had realized this fact, I =
also
realized that the scheme had been to cut the boat loose so that it should d=
rift
on to the right bank (as it would have done with the natural swing of the
current), where no doubt a party of Masai were waiting to dig their
shovel-headed spears into us. Seiz=
ing
one paddle myself, I told Umslopogaas to take another (for the remaining As=
kari
was too frightened and bewildered to be of any use), and together we rowed
vigorously out towards the middle of the stream; and not an instant too soo=
n,
for in another minute we should have been aground, and then there would have
been an end of us.
As soon as we were well out, we set to work to
paddle the canoe upstream again to where the other was moored; and very hard
and dangerous work it was in the dark, and with nothing but the notes of Go=
od's
stentorian shouts, which he kept firing off at intervals like a fog-horn, to
guide us. But at last we fetched u=
p, and
were thankful to find that they had not been molested at all. No doubt the
owner of the same hand that severed our rope should have severed theirs als=
o,
but was led away from his purpose by an irresistible inclination to murder =
when
he got the chance, which, while it cost us a man and him his hand, undoubte=
dly
saved all the rest of us from massacre.
Had it not been for that ghastly apparition over the side of the boa=
t --
an apparition that I shall never forget till my dying hour -- the canoe wou=
ld
undoubtedly have drifted ashore before I realized what had happened, and th=
is
history would never have been written by me.
CHAPTER III - THE MISSION STATION
We made the remains of our rope fast to the ot=
her
canoe, and sat waiting for the dawn and congratulating ourselves upon our m=
erciful
escape, which really seemed to result more from the special favour of
Providence than from our own care or prowess. At last it came, and I have n=
ot
often been more grateful to see the light, though so far as my canoe was
concerned it revealed a ghastly sight.
There in the bottom of the little boat lay the unfortunate Askari, t=
he
sime, or sword, in his bosom, and the severed hand gripping the handle. I could not bear the sight, so hauling =
up the
stone which had served as an anchor to the other canoe, we made it fast to =
the murdered
man and dropped him overboard, and down he went to the bottom, leaving noth=
ing but
a train of bubbles behind him. Ala=
s!
when our time comes, most of us like him leave nothing but bubbles behind, =
to
show that we have been, and the bubbles soon burst. The hand of his murderer we threw into =
the
stream, where it slowly sank. The =
sword,
of which the handle was ivory, inlaid with gold (evidently Arab work), I ke=
pt
and used as a hunting-knife, and very useful it proved.
Then, a man having been transferred to my cano=
e,
we once more started on in very low spirits and not feeling at all comforta=
ble as
to the future, but fondly hoping to arrive at the 'Highlands' station by
night. To make matters worse, with=
in an
hour of sunrise it came on to rain in torrents, wetting us to the skin, and
even necessitating the occasional baling of the canoes, and as the rain beat
down the wind we could not use the sails, and had to get along as best as we
could with our paddles.
At eleven o'clock we halted on an open piece of
ground on the left bank of the river, and, the rain abating a little, manag=
ed to
make a fire and catch and broil some fish.
We did not dare to wander about to search for game. At two o'clock we got off again, taking=
a
supply of broiled fish with us, and shortly afterwards the rain came on har=
der
than ever. Also the river began to=
get exceedingly
difficult to navigate on account of the numerous rocks, reaches of shallow
water, and the increased force of the current; so that it soon became clear=
to
us that we should not reach the Rev. Mackenzie's hospitable roof that night=
--
a prospect that did not tend to enliven us.
Toil as we would, we could not make more than an average of a mile an
hour, and at five o'clock in the afternoon (by which time we were all utter=
ly
worn out) we reckoned that we were still quite ten miles below the station.=
This being so, we set to work to make t=
he
best arrangements we could for the night.
After our recent experience, we simply did not dare to land, more
especially as the banks of the Tana were clothed with dense bush that would
have given cover to five thousand Masai, and at first I thought that we were
going to have another night of it in the canoes. Fortunately, however, we espied a little
rocky islet, not more than fifteen miles or so square, situated nearly in t=
he
middle of the river. For this we
paddled, and, making fast the canoes, landed and made ourselves as comforta=
ble
as circumstances would permit, which was very uncomfortable indeed. As for the weather, it continued to be =
simply
vile, the rain coming down in sheets till we were chilled to the marrow, and
utterly preventing us from lighting a fire. There was, however, one consoli=
ng
circumstance about this rain; our Askari declared that nothing would induce=
the
Masai to make an attack in it, as they intensely disliked moving about in t=
he wet,
perhaps, as Good suggested, because they hate the idea of washing. We ate some insipid and sodden cold fis=
h --
that is, with the exception of Umslopogaas, who, like most Zulus, cannot be=
ar
fish -- and took a pull of brandy, of which we fortunately had a few bottles
left, and then began what, with one exception -- when we same three white m=
en
nearly perished of cold on the snow of Sheba's Breast in the course of our
journey to Kukuanaland -- was, I think, the most trying night I ever
experienced. It seemed absolutely
endless, and once or twice I feared that two of the Askari would have died =
of
the wet, cold, and exposure. Indeed, had it not been for timely doses of br=
andy
I am sure that they would have died, for no African people can stand much e=
xposure,
which first paralyses and then kills them.
I could see that even that iron old warrior Umslopogaas felt it keen=
ly; though,
in strange contrast to the Wakwafis, who groaned and bemoaned their fate
unceasingly, he never uttered a single complaint. To make matters worse, ab=
out
one in the morning we again heard the owl's ominous hooting, and had at onc=
e to
prepare ourselves for another attack; though, if it had been attempted, I do
not think that we could have offered a very effective resistance. But either
the owl was a real one this time, or else the Masai were themselves too
miserable to think of offensive operations, which, indeed, they rarely, if
ever, undertake in bush veldt. At any rate, we saw nothing of them.
At last the dawn came gliding across the water,
wrapped in wreaths of ghostly mist, and, with the daylight, the rain ceased;
and then, out came the glorious sun, sucking up the mists and warming the c=
hill
air. Benumbed, and utterly exhaust=
ed, we
dragged ourselves to our feet, and went and stood in the bright rays, and w=
ere thankful
for them. I can quite understand h=
ow it
is that primitive people become sun worshippers, especially if their condit=
ions
of life render them liable to exposure.
In half an hour more we were once again making
fair progress with the help of a good wind.
Our spirits had returned with the sunshine, and we were ready to lau=
gh
at difficulties and dangers that had been almost crushing on the previous d=
ay.
And so we went on cheerily till about eleven
o'clock. Just as we were thinking =
of
halting as usual, to rest and try to shoot something to eat, a sudden bend =
in
the river brought us in sight of a substantial-looking European house with a
veranda round it, splendidly situated upon a hill, and surrounded by a high=
stone
wall with a ditch on the outer side.
Right against and overshadowing the house was an enormous pine, the =
tope
of which we had seen through a glass for the last two days, but of course w=
ithout
knowing that it marked the site of the mission station. I was the first to =
see
the house, and could not restrain myself from giving a hearty cheer, in whi=
ch
the others, including the natives, joined lustily. There was no thought of halting now. On=
we
laboured, for, unfortunately, though the house seemed quite near, it was st=
ill
a long way off by river, until at last, by one o'clock, we found ourselves =
at
the bottom of the slope on which the building stood. Running the canoes to the bank, we
disembarked, and were just hauling them up on to the shore, when we perceiv=
ed
three figures, dressed in ordinary English-looking clothes, hurrying down
through a grove of trees to meet us.
'A gentleman, a lady, and a little girl,'
ejaculated Good, after surveying the trio through his eyeglass, 'walking in=
a
civilized fashion, through a civilized garden, to meet us in this place. Ha=
ng
me, if this isn't the most curious thing we have seen yet!'
Good was right: it certainly did seem odd and =
out
of place -- more like a scene out of a dream or an Italian opera than a rea=
l tangible
fact; and the sense of unreality was not lessened when we heard ourselves
addressed in good broad Scotch, which, however, I cannot reproduce.
'How do you do, sirs,' said Mr Mackenzie, a
grey-haired, angular man, with a kindly face and red cheeks; 'I hope I see =
you
very well. My natives told me an h=
our
ago they spied two canoes with white men in them coming up the river; so we
have just come down to meet you.'
'And it is very glad that we are to see a white
face again, let me tell you,' put in the lady -- a charming and refined-loo=
king
person.
We took off our hats in acknowledgment, and
proceeded to introduce ourselves.
'And now,' said Mr Mackenzie, 'you must all be
hungry and weary; so come on, gentlemen, come on, and right glad we are to =
see you. The last white who visited us was Alpho=
nse --
you will see Alphonse presently -- and that was a year ago.'
Meanwhile we had been walking up the slope of =
the
hill, the lower portion of which was fenced off, sometimes with quince fenc=
es and
sometimes with rough stone walls, into Kaffir gardens, just now full of cro=
ps
of mealies, pumpkins, potatoes, etc. In
the corners of these gardens were groups of neat mushroom-shaped huts, occu=
pied
by Mr Mackenzie's mission natives, whose women and children came pouring ou=
t to
meet us as we walked. Through the =
centre
of the gardens ran the roadway up which we were walking. It was bordered on
each side by a line of orange trees, which, although they had only been pla=
nted
ten years, had in the lovely climate of the uplands below Mt Kenia, the bas=
e of
which is about 5,000 feet above the coastline level, already grown to impos=
ing proportions,
and were positively laden with golden fruit.
After a stiffish climb of a quarter of a mile or so -- for the hills=
ide was
steep -- we came to a splendid quince fence, also covered with fruit, which
enclosed, Mr Mackenzie told us, a space of about four acres of ground that
contained his private garden, house, church, and outbuildings, and, indeed,=
the
whole hilltop. And what a garden it was!
I have always loved a good garden, and I could have thrown up my han=
ds
for joy when I saw Mr Mackenzie's. First there were rows upon rows of stand=
ard
European fruit-trees, all grafted; for on top of this hill the climate was =
so
temperate that nearly all the English vegetables, trees, and flowers flouri=
shed
luxuriantly, even including several varieties of the apple, which, generall=
y,
runs to wood in a warm climate and obstinately refuses to fruit. Then there were strawberries and tomato=
es
(such tomatoes!), and melons and cucumbers, and, indeed, every sort of
vegetable and fruit.
'Well, you have something like a garden!' I sa=
id,
overpowered with admiration not untouched by envy.
'Yes,' answered the missionary, 'it is a very =
good
garden, and has well repaid my labour; but it is the climate that I have to
thank. If you stick a peach-stone =
into
the ground it will bear fruit the fourth year, and a rose-cutting will bloo=
m in
a year. It is a lovely clime.'
Just then we came to a ditch about ten feet wi=
de,
and full of water, on the other side of which was a loopholed stone wall ei=
ght
feet high, and with sharp flints plentifully set in mortar on the coping.
'There,' said Mr Mackenzie, pointing to the di=
tch
and wall, 'this is my magnum opus; at least, this and the church, which is =
the other
side of the house. It took me and =
twenty
natives two years to dig the ditch and build the wall, but I never felt safe
till it was done; and now I can defy all the savages in Africa, for the spr=
ing
that fills the ditch is inside the wall, and bubbles out at the top of the =
hill
winter and summer alike, and I always keep a store of four months' provisio=
n in
the house.'
Crossing over a plank and through a very narrow
opening in the wall, we entered into what Mrs Mackenzie called her domain -=
- namely,
the flower garden, the beauty of which is really beyond my power to
describe. I do not think I ever sa=
w such
roses, gardenias, or camellias (all reared from seeds or cuttings sent from
England); and there was also a patch given up to a collection of bulbous ro=
ots
mostly collected by Miss Flossie, Mr Mackenzie's little daughter, from the
surrounding country, some of which were surpassingly beautiful. In the middle of this garden, and exact=
ly
opposite the veranda, a beautiful fountain of clear water bubbled up from t=
he
ground, and fell into a stone-work basin which had been carefully built to
receive it, whence the overflow found its way by means of a drain to the mo=
at
round the outer wall, this moat in its turn serving as a reservoir, whence =
an unfailing
supply of water was available to irrigate all the gardens below. The house itself, a massively built
single-storied building, was roofed with slabs of stone, and had a handsome
veranda in front. It was built on =
three
sides of a square, the fourth side being taken up by the kitchens, which st=
ood
separate from the house -- a very good plan in a hot country. In the centre of this square thus forme=
d was,
perhaps, the most remarkable object that we had yet seen in this charming
place, and that was a single tree of the conifer tribe, varieties of which =
grow
freely on the highlands of this part of Africa.
This splendid tree, which Mr Mackenzie informed us was a landmark for
fifty miles round, and which we had ourselves seen for the last forty miles=
of
our journey, must have been nearly three hundred feet in height, the trunk
measuring about sixteen feet in diameter at a yard from the ground. For some seventy feet it rose a beautif=
ul
tapering brown pillar without a single branch, but at that height splendid =
dark
green boughs, which, looked at from below, had the appearance of gigantic
fern-leaves, sprang out horizontally from the trunk, projecting right over =
the
house and flower-garden, to both of which they furnished a grateful proport=
ion
of shade, without -- being so high up -- offering any impediment to the pas=
sage
of light and air.
'What a beautiful tree!' exclaimed Sir Henry.<= o:p>
'Yes, you are right; it is a beautiful tree. There is not another like it in all the
country round, that I know of,' answered Mr Mackenzie. 'I call it my watch tower. As you see, I have a rope ladder fixed =
to the
lowest bough; and if I want to see anything that is going on within fifteen
miles or so, all I have to do is to run up it with a spyglass. But you must be hungry, and I am sure t=
he
dinner is cooked. Come in, my frie=
nds;
it is but a rough place, but well enough for these savage parts; and I can =
tell
you what, we have got -- a French cook.'
And he led the way on to the veranda.
As I was following him, and wondering what on
earth he could mean by this, there suddenly appeared, through the door that=
opened
on to the veranda from the house, a dapper little man, dressed in a neat bl=
ue
cotton suit, with shoes made of tanned hide, and remarkable for a bustling =
air
and most enormous black mustachios, shaped into an upward curve, and coming=
to
a point for all the world like a pair of buffalo-horns.
'Madame bids me for to say that dinnar is sarv=
ed. Messieurs, my compliments;' then sudden=
ly
perceiving Umslopogaas, who was loitering along after us and playing with h=
is
battleaxe, he threw up his hands in astonishment. 'Ah, mais quel homme!' he ejaculated in
French, 'quel sauvage affreux! Tak=
e but
note of his huge choppare and the great pit in his head.'
'Ay,' said Mr Mackenzie; 'what are you talking
about, Alphonse?'
'Talking about!' replied the little Frenchman,=
his
eyes still fixed upon Umslopogaas, whose general appearance seemed to fasci=
nate
him; 'why I talk of him' -- and he rudely pointed -- 'of ce monsieur noir.'=
At this everybody began to laugh, and Umslopog=
aas,
perceiving that he was the object of remark, frowned ferociously, for he ha=
d a
most lordly dislike of anything like a personal liberty.
'Parbleu!' said Alphonse, 'he is angered -- he
makes the grimace. I like not his air. =
span>I
vanish.' And he did with considera=
ble
rapidity.
Mr Mackenzie joined heartily in the shout of
laughter which we indulged in. 'He=
is a
queer character -- Alphonse,' he said. 'By and by I will tell you his histo=
ry;
in the meanwhile let us try his cooking.'
'Might I ask,' said Sir Henry, after we had ea=
ten
a most excellent dinner, 'how you came to have a French cook in these wilds=
?'
'Oh,' answered Mrs Mackenzie, 'he arrived here=
of
his own accord about a year ago, and asked to be taken into our service. He=
had
got into some trouble in France, and fled to Zanzibar, where he found an
application had been made by the French Government for his extradition. Whereupon he rushed off up-country, and=
fell
in, when nearly starved, with our caravan of men, who were bringing us our
annual supply of goods, and was brought on here. You should get him to tell=
you
the story.'
When dinner was over we lit our pipes, and Sir=
Henry
proceeded to give our host a description of our journey up here, over which=
he
looked very grave.
'It is evident to me,' he said, 'that those
rascally Masai are following you, and I am very thankful that you have reac=
hed
this house in safety. I do not thi=
nk
that they will dare to attack you here.
It is unfortunate, though, that nearly all my men have gone down to =
the
coast with ivory and goods. There =
are two
hundred of them in the caravan, and the consequence is that I have not more
than twenty men available for defensive purposes in case they should attack
us. But, still, I will just give a=
few
orders;' and, calling a black man who was loitering about outside in the
garden, he went to the window, and addressed him in a Swahili dialect. The man listened, and then saluted and =
departed.
'I am sure I devoutly hope that we shall bring=
no
such calamity upon you,' said I, anxiously, when he had taken his seat agai=
n. 'Rather
than bring those bloodthirsty villains about your ears, we will move on and=
take
our chance.'
'You will do nothing of the sort. If the Masai come, they come, and there=
is an
end on it; and I think we can give them a pretty warm greeting. I would not show any man the door for a=
ll the
Masai in the world.'
'That reminds me,' I said, 'the Consul at Lamu
told me that he had had a letter from you, in which you said that a man had
arrived here who reported that he had come across a white people in the int=
erior. Do you think that there was any truth i=
n his
story? I ask, because I have once or twice in my life heard rumours from
natives who have come down from the far north of the existence of such a ra=
ce.'
Mr Mackenzie, by way of answer, went out of the
room and returned, bringing with him a most curious sword. It was long, and all the blade, which w=
as
very thick and heavy, was to within a quarter of an inch of the cutting edge
worked into an ornamental pattern exactly as we work soft wood with a fret-=
saw,
the steel, however, being invariably pierced in such a way as not to interf=
ere
with the strength of the sword. Th=
is in
itself was sufficiently curious, but what was still more so was that all the
edges of the hollow spaces cut through the substance of the blade were most
beautifully inlaid with gold, which was in some way that I cannot understan=
d welded
on to the steel {Endnote 5}.
'There,' said Mr Mackenzie, 'did you ever see a
sword like that?'
We all examined it and shook our heads.
'Well, I have got it to show you, because this=
is
what the man who said he had seen the white people brought with him, and
because it does more or less give an air of truth to what I should otherwis=
e have
set down as a lie. Look here; I wi=
ll
tell you all that I know about the matter, which is not much. One afternoon, just before sunset, I was
sitting on the veranda, when a poor, miserable, starved-looking man came
limping up and squatted down before me.
I asked him where he came from and what he wanted, and thereon he
plunged into a long rambling narrative about how he belonged to a tribe far=
in
the north, and how his tribe was destroyed by another tribe, and he with a =
few
other survivors driven still further north past a lake named Laga. Thence, it appears, he made his way to
another lake that lay up in the mountains, "a lake without a bottom&qu=
ot;
he called it, and here his wife and brother died of an infectious sickness =
--
probably smallpox -- whereon the people drove him out of their villages into
the wilderness, where he wandered miserably over mountains for ten days, af=
ter which
he got into dense thorn forest, and was one day found there by some white m=
en
who were hunting, and who took him to a place where all the people were whi=
te
and lived in stone houses. Here he
remained a week shut up in a house, till one night a man with a white beard,
whom he understood to be a "medicine-man", came and inspected him,
after which he was led off and taken through the thorn forest to the confin=
es
of the wilderness, and given food and this sword (at least so he said), and
turned loose.'
'Well,' said Sir Henry, who had been listening
with breathless interest, 'and what did he do then?'
'Oh! he seems, according to his account, to ha=
ve
gone through sufferings and hardships innumerable, and to have lived for we=
eks on
roots and berries, and such things as he could catch and kill. But somehow =
he
did live, and at last by slow degrees made his way south and reached this
place. What the details of his jou=
rney were
I never learnt, for I told him to return on the morrow, bidding one of my
headmen look after him for the night.
The headman took him away, but the poor man had the itch so badly th=
at
the headman's wife would not have him in the hut for fear of catching it, s=
o he
was given a blanket and told to sleep outside. As it happened, we had a lion
hanging about here just then, and most unhappily he winded this unfortunate
wanderer, and, springing on him, bit his head almost off without the people=
in
the hut knowing anything about it, and there was an end of him and his story
about the white people; and whether or no there is any truth in it is more =
than
I can tell you. What do you think,=
Mr
Quatermain?'
I shook my head, and answered, 'I don't know.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> There are so many queer things hidden a=
way in
the heart of this great continent that I should be sorry to assert that the=
re
was no truth in it. Anyhow, we mean to try and find out. We intend to journey to Lekakisera, and
thence, if we live to get so far, to this Lake Laga; and, if there are any
white people beyond, we will do our best to find them.'
'You are very venturesome people,' said Mr
Mackenzie, with a smile, and the subject dropped.
CHAPTER IV - ALPHONSE AND HIS ANNETTE
After dinner we thoroughly inspected all the
outbuildings and grounds of the station, which I consider the most successf=
ul as
well as the most beautiful place of the sort that I have seen in Africa.
I took up the axe and closely examined this
formidable weapon. It was, as I have said, of the nature of a pole-axe. The haft, made out of an enormous rhino=
ceros
horn, was three feet three inches long, about an inch and a quarter thick, =
and
with a knob at the end as large as a Maltese orange, left there to prevent =
the
hand from slipping. This horn haft,
though so massive, was as flexible as cane, and practically unbreakable; bu=
t,
to make assurance doubly sure, it was whipped round at intervals of a few
inches with copper wire -- all the parts where the hands grip being thus
treated. Just above where the haft
entered the head were scored a number of little nicks, each nick representi=
ng a
man killed in battle with the weapon.
The axe itself was made of the most beautiful steel, and apparently =
of
European manufacture, though Umslopogaas did not know where it came from,
having taken it from the hand of a chief he had killed in battle many years=
before. It was not very heavy, the head weighin=
g two
and a half pounds, as nearly as I could judge.
The cutting part was slightly concave in shape -- not convex, as it
generally the case with savage battleaxes -- and sharp as a razor, measuring
five and three-quarter inches across the widest part. From the back of the axe sprang a stout=
spike
four inches long, for the last two of which it was hollow, and shaped like a
leather punch, with an opening for anything forced into the hollow at the p=
unch
end to be pushed out above -- in fact, in this respect it exactly resembled=
a
butcher's pole-axe. It was with th=
is
punch end, as we afterwards discovered, that Umslopogaas usually struck when
fighting, driving a neat round hole in his adversary's skull, and only using
the broad cutting edge for a circular sweep, or sometimes in a melee. I think he considered the punch a neate=
r and
more sportsmanlike tool, and it was from his habit of pecking at his enemy =
with
it that he got his name of 'Woodpecker'.
Certainly in his hands it was a terribly efficient one.
Such was Umslopogaas' axe, Inkosi-kaas, the mo=
st
remarkable and fatal hand-to-hand weapon that I ever saw, and one which he
cherished as much as his own life. It
scarcely ever left his hand except when he was eating, and then he always s=
at
with it under his leg.
Just as I returned his axe to Umslopogaas, Miss
Flossie came up and took me off to see her collection of flowers, African l=
iliums,
and blooming shrubs, some of which are very beautiful, many of the varieties
being quite unknown to me and also, I believe, to botanical science. I asked her if she had ever seen or hea=
rd of
the 'Goya' lily, which Central African explorers have told me they have
occasionally met with and whose wonderful loveliness has filled them with
astonishment. This lily, which the
natives say blooms only once in ten years, flourishes in the most arid soil=
. Compared to the size of the bloom, the =
bulb
is small, generally weighing about four pounds.
As for the flower itself (which I afterwards saw under circumstances
likely to impress its appearance fixedly in my mind), I know not how to
describe its beauty and splendour, or the indescribable sweetness of its pe=
rfume. The flower -- for it has only one bloom=
--
rises from the crown of the bulb on a thick fleshy and flat-sided stem, the
specimen that I saw measured fourteen inches in diameter, and is somewhat
trumpet-shaped like the bloom of an ordinary 'longiflorum' set vertically.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> First there is the green sheath, which =
in its
early stage is not unlike that of a water-lily, but which as the bloom open=
s splits
into four portions and curls back gracefully towards the stem. Then comes the bloom itself, a single
dazzling arch of white enclosing another cup of richest velvety crimson, fr=
om
the heart of which rises a golden-coloured pistil. I have never seen anything to equal this
bloom in beauty or fragrance, and as I believe it is but little known, I ta=
ke the
liberty to describe it at length.
Looking at it for the first time I well remember that I realized how
even in a flower there dwells something of the majesty of its Maker. To my great delight Miss Flossie told m=
e that
she knew the flower well and had tried to grow it in her garden, but without
success, adding, however, that as it should be in bloom at this time of the
year she thought that she could procure me a specimen.
After that I fell to asking her if she was not
lonely up here among all these savage people and without any companions of =
her own
age.
'Lonely?' she said. 'Oh, indeed no! I am as happy as the day is long, and b=
esides
I have my own companions. Why, I s=
hould hate
to be buried in a crowd of white girls all just like myself so that nobody
could tell the difference! Here,' =
she
said, giving her head a little toss, 'I am I; and every native for miles ar=
ound
knows the "Water-lily", -- for that is what they call me -- and is
ready to do what I want, but in the books that I have read about little gir=
ls
in England it is not like that.
Everybody thinks them a trouble, and they have to do what their
schoolmistress likes. Oh! it would=
break
my heart to be put in a cage like that and not to be free -- free as the ai=
r.'
'Would you not like to learn?' I asked.
'So I do learn.
Father teaches me Latin and French and arithmetic.'
'And are you never afraid among all these wild
men?'
'Afraid? Oh
no! they never interfere with me. I
think they believe that I am "Ngai" (of the Divinity) because I a=
m so
white and have fair hair. And look
here,' and diving her little hand into the bodice of her dress she produced=
a
double-barrelled nickel-plated Derringer, 'I always carry that loaded, and =
if anybody
tried to touch me I should shoot him.
Once I shot a leopard that jumped upon my donkey as I was riding
along. It frightened me very much,=
but I
shot it in the ear and it fell dead, and I have its skin upon my bed. Look there!' she went on in an altered =
voice,
touching me on the arm and pointing to some far-away object, 'I said just n=
ow
that I had companions; there is one of them.'
I looked, and for the first time there burst u=
pon
my sight the glory of Mount Kenia.
Hitherto the mountain had always been hidden in mist, but now its
radiant beauty was unveiled for many thousand feet, although the base was s=
till
wrapped in vapour so that the lofty peak or pillar, towering nearly twenty
thousand feet into the sky, appeared to be a fairy vision, hanging between =
earth
and heaven, and based upon the clouds.
The solemn majesty and beauty of this white peak are together beyond=
the
power of my poor pen to describe. =
There
it rose straight and sheer -- a glittering white glory, its crest piercing =
the
very blue of heaven. As I gazed at=
it
with that little girl I felt my whole heart lifted up with an indescribable
emotion, and for a moment great and wonderful thoughts seemed to break upon=
my
mind, even as the arrows of the setting sun were breaking upon Kenia's snow=
s. Mr
Mackenzie's natives call the mountain the 'Finger of God', and to me it did
seem eloquent of immortal peace and of the pure high calm that surely lies
above this fevered world. Somewher=
e I
had heard a line of poetry,
A thi=
ng of
beauty is a joy for ever,
and n=
ow it
came into my mind, and for the first time I thoroughly understood what it
meant. Base, indeed, would be the =
man
who could look upon that mighty snow-wreathed pile -- that white old tombst=
one
of the years -- and not feel his own utter insignificance, and, by whatever
name he calls Him, worship God in his heart. Such sights are like visions of
the spirit; they throw wide the windows of the chamber of our small selfish=
ness
and let in a breath of that air that rushes round the rolling spheres, and =
for
a while illumine our darkness with a far-off gleam of the white light which
beats upon the Throne.
Yes, such things of beauty are indeed a joy for
ever, and I can well understand what little Flossie meant when she talked o=
f Kenia
as her companion. As Umslopogaas, =
savage
old Zulu that he was, said when I pointed out to him the peak hanging in th=
e glittering
air: 'A man might look thereon for a thousand years and yet be hungry to
see.' But he gave rather another c=
olour to
his poetical idea when he added in a sort of chant, and with a touch of that
weird imagination for which the man was remarkable, that when he was dead he
should like his spirit to sit upon that snow-clad peak for ever, and to rush
down the steep white sides in the breath of the whirlwind, or on the flash =
of
the lightning, and 'slay, and slay, and slay'.
'Slay what, you old bloodhound?' I asked.
This rather puzzled him, but at length he answ=
ered
--
'The other shadows.'
'So thou wouldst continue thy murdering even a=
fter
death?' I said.
'I murder not,' he answered hotly; 'I kill in =
fair
fight. Man is born to kill. He who kills not when his blood is hot =
is a woman,
and no man. The people who kill no=
t are
slaves. I say I kill in fair fight=
; and
when I am "in the shadow", as you white men say, I hope to go on
killing in fair fight. May my shad=
ow be
accursed and chilled to the bone for ever if it should fall to murdering li=
ke a
bushman with his poisoned arrows!' And
he stalked away with much dignity, and left me laughing.
Just then the spies whom our host had sent out=
in
the morning to find out if there were any traces of our Masai friends about=
, returned,
and reported that the country had been scoured for fifteen miles round with=
out
a single Elmoran being seen, and that they believed that those gentry had g=
iven
up the pursuit and returned whence they came.
Mr Mackenzie gave a sigh of relief when he heard this, and so indeed=
did
we, for we had had quite enough of the Masai to last us for some time. Indeed, the general opinion was that, f=
inding
we had reached the mission station in safety, they had, knowing its strengt=
h,
given up the pursuit of us as a bad job.
How ill-judged that view was the sequel will show.
After the spies had gone, and Mrs Mackenzie and
Flossie had retired for the night, Alphonse, the little Frenchman, came out,
and Sir Henry, who is a very good French scholar, got him to tell us how he
came to visit Central Africa, which he did in a most extraordinary lingo, t=
hat
for the most part I shall not attempt to reproduce.
'My grandfather,' he began, 'was a soldier of =
the
Guard, and served under Napoleon. =
He was
in the retreat from Moscow, and lived for ten days on his own leggings and a
pair he stole from a comrade. He u=
sed to
get drunk -- he died drunk, and I remember playing at drums on his coffin.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> My father --'
Here we suggested that he might skip his ances=
try
and come to the point.
'Bien, messieurs!' replied this comical little
man, with a polite bow. 'I did onl=
y wish
to demonstrate that the military principle is not hereditary. My grandfather was a splendid man, six =
feet two
high, broad in proportion, a swallower of fire and gaiters. Also he was
remarkable for his moustache. To me
there remains the moustache and -- nothing more.
'I am, messieurs, a cook, and I was born at
Marseilles. In that dear town I sp=
ent my
happy youth. For years and years I
washed the dishes at the Hotel Continental.
Ah, those were golden days!' and he sighed. 'I am a Frenchman. Need I say, messieurs, that I admire
beauty? Nay, I adore the fair. Messieurs, we admire all the roses in a
garden, but we pluck one. I plucke=
d one,
and alas, messieurs, it pricked my finger.
She was a chambermaid, her name Annette, her figure ravishing, her f=
ace
an angel's, her heart -- alas, messieurs, that I should have to own it! -- =
black
and slippery as a patent leather boot. =
span>I
loved to desperation, I adored her to despair.
She transported me -- in every sense; she inspired me. Never have I cooked as I cooked (for I =
had been
promoted at the hotel) when Annette, my adored Annette, smiled on me. Never' -- and here his manly voice brok=
e into
a sob -- 'never shall I cook so well again.'
Here he melted into tears.
'Come, cheer up!' said Sir Henry in French,
smacking him smartly on the back.
'There's no knowing what may happen, you know. To judge from your di=
nner
today, I should say you were in a fair way to recovery.'
Alphonse stopped weeping, and began to rub his back. 'Monsieur,' he said, 'doubtl= ess means to console, but his hand is heavy. To continue: we loved, and were ha= ppy in each other's love. The birds in their little nest could not be happier t= han Alphonse and his Annette. Then cam= e the blow -- sapristi! -- when I think of it. Messieurs will forgive me if I wipe away a tear. Mine was an evil number; I was drawn for the conscription. Fortune would be avenged on me for having won the heart of Annette.<= o:p>
'The evil moment came; I had to go. I tried to run away, but I was caught by
brutal soldiers, and they banged me with the butt-end of muskets till my
mustachios curled with pain. I had=
a
cousin a linen-draper, well-to-do, but very ugly. He had drawn a good number, and sympath=
ized
when they thumped me. "To the=
e, my
cousin," I said, "to thee, in whose veins flows the blue blood of=
our
heroic grandparent, to thee I consign Annette.
Watch over her whilst I hunt for glory in the bloody field."
'"Make your mind easy," said he; &qu=
ot;I
will." As the sequel shows, h=
e did!
'I went. I
lived in barracks on black soup. I=
am a
refined man and a poet by nature, and I suffered tortures from the coarse h=
orror
of my surroundings. There was a dr=
ill
sergeant, and he had a cane. Ah, t=
hat
cane, how it curled! Alas, never c=
an I forget
it!
'One morning came the news; my battalion was
ordered to Tonquin. The drill sergeant and the other coarse monsters rejoic=
ed. I
-- I made enquiries about Tonquin. They
were not satisfactory. In Tonquin are savage Chinese who rip you open. My artistic tastes -- for I am also an =
artist
-- recoiled from the idea of being ripped open.
The great man makes up his mind quickly. I made up my mind. I determined not to be ripped open. I deserted.
'I reached Marseilles disguised as an old
man. I went to the house of my cou=
sin --
he in whom runs my grandfather's heroic blood -- and there sat Annette. It was the season of cherries. They too=
k a
double stalk. At each end was a
cherry. My cousin put one into his
mouth, Annette put the other in hers.
Then they drew the stalks in till their eyes met -- and alas, alas t=
hat
I should have to say it! -- they kissed.
The game was a pretty one, but it filled me with fury. The heroic blood of my grandfather boil=
ed up
in me. I rushed into the kitchen. I
struck my cousin with the old man's crutch.
He fell -- I had slain him. Alas,
I believe that I did slay him. Ann=
ette
screamed. The gendarmes came. I
fled. I reached the harbour. I hid aboard a vessel. The vessel put to sea. The captain found me and beat me. He took an opportunity. He posted a letter from a foreign port =
to the
police. He did not put me ashore b=
ecause
I cooked so well. I cooked for him=
all
the way to Zanzibar. When I asked for payment he kicked me. The blood of my heroic grandfather boil=
ed
within me, and I shook my fist in his face and vowed to have my revenge.
He paused, and we nearly choked with laughter,
having to turn our faces away.
'Ah! you weep, messieurs,' he said. 'No wonder -- it is a sad story.'
'Perhaps,' said Sir Henry, 'the heroic blood of
your grandparent will triumph after all; perhaps you will still be great. At any rate we shall see. And now I vote we go to bed. I am dead =
tired,
and we had not much sleep on that confounded rock last night.'
And so we did, and very strange the tidy rooms=
and
clean white sheets seemed to us after our recent experiences.
CHAPTER V - UMSLOPOGAAS MAKES A PROMISE
Next morning at breakfast I missed Flossie and
asked where she was.
'Well,' said her mother, 'when I got up this
morning I found a note put outside my door in which -- But here it is, you can read it for
yourself,' and she gave me the slip of paper on which the following was
written: --
'Dear=
est
M--, -- It is just dawn, and I am off to the hills to get Mr Q-- a bloom of=
the
lily he wants, so don't expect me till you see me. I have taken the white donkey; and nurs=
e and
a couple of boys are coming with me -- also something to eat, as I may be a=
way
all day, for I am determined to get the lily if I have to go twenty miles f=
or
it. -- Flossie.'
'I ho=
pe she
will be all right,' I said, a little anxiously; 'I never meant her to troub=
le
after the flower.'
'Ah, Flossie can look after herself,' said her
mother; 'she often goes off in this way like a true child of the
wilderness.' But Mr Mackenzie, who=
came
in just then and saw the note for the first time, looked rather grave, thou=
gh
he said nothing.
After breakfast was over I took him aside and
asked him whether it would not be possible to send after the girl and get h=
er
back, having in view the possibility of there still being some Masai hanging
about, at whose hands she might come to harm.
'I fear it would be of no use,' he answered. 'She may be fifteen miles off by now, a=
nd it
is impossible to say what path she has taken.
There are the hills;' and he pointed to a long range of rising ground
stretching almost parallel with the course followed by the river Tana, but
gradually sloping down to a dense bush-clad plain about five miles short of=
the
house.
Here I suggested that we might get up the great
tree over the house and search the country round with a spyglass; and this,=
after
Mr Mackenzie had given some orders to his people to try and follow Flossie's
spoor, we did.
The ascent of the mighty tree was rather an
alarming performance, even with a sound rope-ladder fixed at both ends to c=
limb
up, at least to a landsman; but Good came up like a lamplighter.
On reaching the height at which the first
fern-shaped boughs sprang from the bole, we stepped without any difficulty =
upon
a platform made of boards, nailed from one bough to another, and large enou=
gh
to accommodate a dozen people. As =
for
the view, it was simply glorious. =
In
every direction the bush rolled away in great billows for miles and miles, =
as
far as the glass would show, only here and there broken by the brighter gre=
en
of patches of cultivation, or by the glittering surface of lakes. To the northwest, Kenia reared his migh=
ty
head, and we could trace the Tana river curling like a silver snake almost =
from
his feet, and far away beyond us towards the ocean. It is a glorious country, and only want=
s the
hand of civilized man to make it a most productive one.
But look as we would, we could see no signs of
Flossie and her donkey, so at last we had to come down disappointed. On reaching the veranda I found Umslopo=
gaas
sitting there, slowly and lightly sharpening his axe with a small whetstone=
he
always carried with him.
'What doest thou, Umslopogaas?' I asked.
'I smell blood,' was the answer; and I could g=
et
no more out of him.
After dinner we again went up the tree and
searched the surrounding country with a spyglass, but without result. When we came down Umslopogaas was still
sharpening Inkosi-kaas, although she already had an edge like a razor. Standing in front of him, and regarding=
him
with a mixture of fear and fascination, was Alphonse. And certainly he did seem an alarming o=
bject
-- sitting there, Zulu fashion, on his haunches, a wild look upon his inten=
sely
savage and yet intellectual face, sharpening, sharpening, sharpening at the
murderous-looking axe.
'Oh, the monster, the horrible man!' said the
little French cook, lifting his hands in amazement. 'See but the hole in his head; the skin=
beats
on it up and down like a baby's! W=
ho
would nurse such a baby?' and he burst out laughing at the idea.
For a moment Umslopogaas looked up from his
sharpening, and a sort of evil light played in his dark eyes.
'What does the little "buffalo-heifer&quo=
t;
[so named by Umslopogaas, on account of his mustachios and feminine
characteristics] say? Let him be careful, or I will cut his horns. Beware, little man monkey, beware!'
Unfortunately Alphonse, who was getting over h=
is
fear of him, went on laughing at 'ce drole d'un monsieur noir'. I was about to warn him to desist, when
suddenly the huge Zulu bounded off the veranda on to the open space where
Alphonse was standing, his features alive with a sort of malicious enthusia=
sm,
and began swinging the axe round and round over the Frenchman's head.
'Stand still,' I shouted; 'do not move as you
value your life -- he will not hurt you;' but I doubt if Alphonse heard me,
being, fortunately for himself, almost petrified with horror.
Then followed the most extraordinary display of
sword, or rather of axemanship, that I ever saw. First of all the axe went flying round =
and
round over the top of Alphonse's head, with an angry whirl and such
extraordinary swiftness that it looked like a continuous band of steel, ever
getting nearer and yet nearer to that unhappy individual's skull, till at l=
ast
it grazed it as it flew. Then sudd=
enly
the motion was changed, and it seemed to literally flow up and down his bod=
y and
limbs, never more than an eighth of an inch from them, and yet never striki=
ng
them. It was a wonderful sight to see the little man fixed there, having
apparently realized that to move would be to run the risk of sudden death,
while his black tormentor towered over him, and wrapped him round with the
quick flashes of the axe. For a mi=
nute
or more this went on, till suddenly I saw the moving brightness travel down=
the
side of Alphonse's face, and then outwards and stop. As it did so a tuft of something black =
fell to
the ground; it was the tip of one of the little Frenchman's curling mustach=
ios.
Umslopogaas leant upon the handle of Inkosi-ka=
as,
and broke into a long, low laugh; and Alphonse, overcome with fear, sank in=
to a
sitting posture on the ground, while we stood astonished at this exhibition=
of
almost superhuman skill and mastery of a weapon. 'Inkosi-kaas is sharp enou=
gh,'
he shouted; 'the blow that clipped the "buffalo-heifer's" horn wo=
uld
have split a man from the crown to the chin.
Few could have struck it but I; none could have struck it and not ta=
ken
off the shoulder too. Look, thou l=
ittle heifer! Am I a good man to laugh at, thinkest
thou? For a space hast thou stood =
within
a hair's-breadth of death. Laugh n=
ot again,
lest the hair's-breadth be wanting. I
have spoken.'
'What meanest thou by such mad tricks?' I aske=
d of
Umslopogaas, indignantly. 'Surely =
thou
art mad. Twenty times didst thou g=
o near
to slaying the man.'
'And yet, Macumazahn, I slew not. Thrice as Inkosi-kaas flew the spirit e=
ntered
into me to end him, and send her crashing through his skull; but I did
not. Nay, it was but a jest; but t=
ell
the "heifer" that it is not well to mock at such as I. Now I go to
make a shield, for I smell blood, Macumazahn -- of a truth I smell blood. Before the battle hast thou not seen the
vulture grow of a sudden in the sky?
They smell the blood, Macumazahn, and my scent is more keen than
theirs. There is a dry ox-hide down
yonder; I go to make a shield.'
'That is an uncomfortable retainer of yours,' =
said
Mr Mackenzie, who had witnessed this extraordinary scene. 'He has frightened Alphonse out of his =
wits;
look!' and he pointed to the Frenchman, who, with a scared white face and
trembling limbs, was making his way into the house. 'I don't think that he will ever laugh =
at
"le monsieur noir" again.'
'Yes,' answered I, 'it is ill jesting with suc=
h as
he. When he is roused he is like a
fiend, and yet he has a kind heart in his own fierce way. I remember years ago seeing him nurse a=
sick
child for a week. He is a strange
character, but true as steel, and a strong stick to rest on in danger.'
'He says he smells blood,' said Mr Mackenzie.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> 'I only trust he is not right. I am getting very fearful about my litt=
le
girl. She must have gone far, or she would be home by now. It is half-past three o'clock.'
I pointed out that she had taken food with her,
and very likely would not in the ordinary course of events return till
nightfall; but I myself felt very anxious, and fear that my anxiety betraye=
d itself.
Shortly after this, the people whom Mr Mackenz=
ie
had sent out to search for Flossie returned, stating that they had followed=
the
spoor of the donkey for a couple of miles and had then lost it on some stony
ground, nor could they discover it again.
They had, however, scoured the country far and wide, but without
success.
After this the afternoon wore drearily on, and
towards evening, there still being no signs of Flossie, our anxiety grew ve=
ry keen. As for the poor mother, she was quite p=
rostrated
by her fears, and no wonder, but the father kept his head wonderfully well.=
Everything that could be done was done:
people were sent out in all directions, shots were fired, and a continuous
outlook kept from the great tree, but without avail.
And then it grew dark, and still no sign of
fair-haired little Flossie.
At eight o'clock we had supper. It was but a sorrowful meal, and Mrs
Mackenzie did not appear at it. We=
three
also were very silent, for in addition to our natural anxiety as to the fat=
e of
the child, we were weighed down by the sense that we had brought this troub=
le
on the head of our kind host. When
supper was nearly at an end I made an excuse to leave the table. I wanted to get outside and think the
situation over. I went on to the v=
eranda
and, having lit my pipe, sat down on a seat about a dozen feet from the
right-hand end of the structure, which was, as the reader may remember, exa=
ctly
opposite one of the narrow doors of the protecting wall that enclosed the h=
ouse
and flower garden. I had been sitt=
ing
there perhaps six or seven minutes when I thought I heard the door move.
Another minute passed, when suddenly something
round fell with a soft but heavy thud upon the stone flooring of the verand=
a, and
came bounding and rolling along past me.
For a moment I did not rise, but sat wondering what it could be. Finally, I concluded it must have been =
an
animal. Just then, however, anothe=
r idea
struck me, and I got up quick enough.
The thing lay quite still a few feet beyond me. I put down my hand towards it and it di=
d not
move: clearly it was not an animal. My
hand touched it. It was soft and w=
arm
and heavy. Hurriedly I lifted it a=
nd held
it up against the faint starlight.
It was a newly severed human head!
I am an old hand and not easily upset, but I o=
wn
that that ghastly sight made me feel sick.
How had the thing come there?
Whose was it? I put it down=
and
ran to the little doorway. I could=
see
nothing, hear nobody. I was about =
to go
out into the darkness beyond, but remembering that to do so was to expose
myself to the risk of being stabbed, I drew back, shut the door, and bolted=
it.
Then I returned to the veranda, and in as careless a voice as I could comma=
nd
called Curtis. I fear, however, th=
at my
tones must have betrayed me, for not only Sir Henry but also Good and Macke=
nzie
rose from the table and came hurrying out.
'What is it?' said the clergyman, anxiously.
Then I had to tell them.
Mr Mackenzie turned pale as death under his red
skin. We were standing opposite th=
e hall
door, and there was a light in it so that I could see. He snatched the head up by the hair and=
held
it against the light.
'It is the head of one of the men who accompan=
ied
Flossie,' he said with a gasp. 'Th=
ank
God it is not hers!'
We all stood and stared at each other aghast.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> What was to be done?
Just then there was a knocking at the door tha=
t I
had bolted, and a voice cried, 'Open, my father, open!'
The door was unlocked, and in sped a terrified
man. He was one of the spies who h=
ad
been sent out.
'My father,' he cried, 'the Masai are on us! A great body of them have passed round =
the
hill and are moving towards the old stone kraal down by the little stream.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> My father, make strong thy heart! In the midst of them I saw the white as=
s, and
on it sat the Water-lily [Flossie]. An
Elmoran [young warrior] led the ass, and by its side walked the nurse
weeping. The men who went with her=
in
the morning I saw not.'
'Was the child alive?' asked Mr Mackenzie,
hoarsely.
'She was white as the snow, but well, my
father. They passed quite close to=
me,
and looking up from where I lay hid I saw her face against the sky.'
'God help her and us!' groaned the clergyman.<= o:p>
'How many are there of them?' I asked.
'More than two hundred -- two hundred and half=
a
hundred.'
Once more we looked one on the other. What was to be done? Just then there ro=
se a
loud insistent cry outside the wall.
'Open the door, white man; open the door! A herald -- a herald to speak with
thee.' Thus cried the voice.
Umslopogaas ran to the wall, and, reaching with
his long arms to the coping, lifted his head above it and gazed over.
'I see but one man,' he said. 'He is armed, and carries a basket in h=
is
hand.'
'Open the door,' I said. 'Umslopogaas, take thine axe and stand =
thereby. Let one man pass. If another follows, slay.'
The door was unbarred. In the shadow of the wall stood Umslopo=
gaas, his
axe raised above his head to strike.
Just then the moon came out.
There was a moment's pause, and then in stalked a Masai Elmoran, cla=
d in
the full war panoply that I have already described, but bearing a large bas=
ket
in his hand. The moonlight shone b=
right
upon his great spear as he walked. He
was physically a splendid man, apparently about thirty-five years of age. Indeed, none of the Masai that I saw we=
re
under six feet high, though mostly quite young.
When he got opposite to us he halted, put down the basket, and stuck=
the
spike of his spear into the ground, so that it stood upright.
'Let us talk,' he said. 'The first messenger we sent to you cou=
ld not
talk;' and he pointed to the head which lay upon the paving of the stoep --=
a
ghastly sight in the moonlight; 'but I have words to speak if ye have ears =
to
hear. Also I bring presents;' and =
he
pointed to the basket and laughed with an air of swaggering insolence that =
is
perfectly indescribable, and yet which one could not but admire, seeing tha=
t he
was surrounded by enemies.
'Say on,' said Mr Mackenzie.
'I am the "Lygonani" [war captain] o=
f a
party of the Masai of the Guasa Amboni.
I and my men followed these three white men,' and he pointed to Sir
Henry, Good, and myself, 'but they were too clever for us, and escaped
hither. We have a quarrel with the=
m, and
are going to kill them.'
'Are you, my friend?' said I to myself.
'In following these men we this morning caught=
two
black men, one black woman, a white donkey, and a white girl. One of the black men we killed -- there=
is
his head upon the pavement; the other ran away.
The black woman, the little white girl, and the white ass we took and
brought with us. In proof thereof =
have I
brought this basket that she carried. Is
it not thy daughter's basket?'
Mr Mackenzie nodded, and the warrior went on.<= o:p>
'Good! With
thee and thy daughter we have no quarrel, nor do we wish to harm thee, save=
as
to thy cattle, which we have already gathered, two hundred and forty head -=
- a
beast for every man's father.' {Endnote 6}
Here Mr Mackenzie gave a groan, as he greatly
valued this herd of cattle, which he bred with much care and trouble.
'So, save for the cattle, thou mayst go free; =
more
especially,' he added frankly, glancing at the wall, 'as this place would b=
e a
difficult one to take. But as to t=
hese
men it is otherwise; we have followed them for nights and days, and must ki=
ll
them. Were we to return to our kraal without having done so, all the girls
would make a mock of us. So, howev=
er
troublesome it may be, they must die.
'Now I have a proposition for thee. We would not harm the little girl; she =
is too
fair to harm, and has besides a brave spirit. Give us one of these three me=
n --
a life for a life -- and we will let her go, and throw in the black woman w=
ith
her also. This is a fair offer, white man.
We ask but for one, not for the three; we must take another opportun=
ity
to kill the other two. I do not ev=
en
pick my man, though I should prefer the big one,' pointing to Sir Henry; 'he
looks strong, and would die more slowly.'
'And if I say I will not yield the man?' said =
Mr
Mackenzie.
'Nay, say not so, white man,' answered the Mas=
ai,
'for then thy daughter dies at dawn, and the woman with her says thou hast =
no
other child. Were she older I woul=
d take
her for a servant; but as she is so young I will slay her with my own hand =
--
ay, with this very spear. Thou can=
st
come and see, an' thou wilt. I give thee a safe conduct;' and the fiend lau=
ghed
aloud as his brutal jest.
Meanwhile I had been thinking rapidly, as one =
does
in emergencies, and had come to the conclusion that I would exchange myself
against Flossie. I scarcely like to
mention the matter for fear it should be misunderstood. Pray do not let any one be misled into
thinking that there was anything heroic about this, or any such nonsense. It
was merely a matter of common sense and common justice. My life was an old =
and
worthless one, hers was young and valuable. Her death would pretty well kil=
l her
father and mother also, whilst nobody would be much the worse for mine; ind=
eed,
several charitable institutions would have cause to rejoice thereat. It was
indirectly through me that the dear little girl was in her present
position. Lastly, a man was better
fitted to meet death in such a peculiarly awful form than a sweet young gir=
l. Not,
however, that I meant to let these gentry torture me to death -- I am far t=
oo
much of a coward to allow that, being naturally a timid man; my plan was to=
see
the girl safely exchanged and then to shoot myself, trusting that the Almig=
hty
would take the peculiar circumstances of the case into consideration and pa=
rdon
the act. All this and more went th=
rough
my mind in very few seconds.
'All right, Mackenzie,' I said, 'you can tell =
the
man that I will exchange myself against Flossie, only I stipulate that she =
shall
be safely in this house before they kill me.'
'Eh?' said Sir Henry and Good simultaneously.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> 'That you don't.'
'No, no,' said Mr Mackenzie. 'I will have no man's blood upon my
hands. If it please God that my da=
ughter
should die this awful death, His will be done.
You are a brave man (which I am not by any means) and a noble man,
Quatermain, but you shall not go.'
'If nothing else turns up I shall go,' I said
decidedly.
'This is an important matter,' said Mackenzie,
addressing the Lygonani, 'and we must think it over. You shall have our answer at dawn.'
'Very well, white man,' answered the savage
indifferently; 'only remember if thy answer is late thy little white bud wi=
ll
never grow into a flower, that is all, for I shall cut it with this,' and he
touched the spear. 'I should have
thought that thou wouldst play a trick and attack us at night, but I know f=
rom
the woman with the girl that your men are down at the coast, and that thou =
hast
but twenty men here. It is not wis=
e,
white man,' he added with a laugh, 'to keep so small a garrison for your
"boma" [kraal]. Well, good night, and good night to you also, oth=
er
white men, whose eyelids I shall soon close once and for all. At dawn thou wilt bring me word. If not, remember it shall be as I have =
said.'
Then turning to Umslopogaas, who had all the while been standing behind him=
and
shepherding him as it were, 'Open the door for me, fellow, quick now.'
This was too much for the old chief's
patience. For the last ten minutes=
his
lips had been, figuratively speaking, positively watering over the Masai
Lygonani, and this he could not stand. Placing his long hand on the Elmoran=
's
shoulder he gripped it and gave him such a twist as brought him face to face
with himself. Then, thrusting his fierce countenance to within a few inches=
of
the Masai's evil feather-framed features, he said in a low growling voice: =
--
'Seest thou me?'
'Ay, fellow, I see thee.'
'And seest thou this?' and he held Inkosi-kaas
before his eyes.
'Ay, fellow, I see the toy; what of it?'
'Thou Masai dog, thou boasting windbag, thou
capturer of little girls, with this "toy" will I hew thee limb fr=
om
limb. Well for thee that thou art a
herald, or even now would I strew thy members about the grass.'
The Masai shook his great spear and laughed lo=
ud
and long as he answered, 'I would that thou stoodst against me man to man, =
and
we would see,' and again he turned to go still laughing.
'Thou shalt stand against me man to man, be not
afraid,' replied Umslopogaas, still in the same ominous voice. 'Thou shalt stand face to face with
Umslopogaas, of the blood of Chaka, of the people of the Amazulu, a captain=
in
the regiment of the Nkomabakosi, as many have done before, and bow thyself =
to
Inkosi-kaas, as many have done before.
Ay, laugh on, laugh on! tomorrow night shall the jackals laugh as th=
ey
crunch thy ribs.'
When the Lygonani had gone, one of us thought =
of
opening the basket he had brought as a proof that Flossie was really their =
prisoner. On lifting the lid it was found to cont=
ain a
most lovely specimen of both bulb and flower of the Goya lily, which I have
already described, in full bloom and quite uninjured, and what was more a n=
ote
in Flossie's childish hand written in pencil upon a greasy piece of paper t=
hat
had been used to wrap up some food in: --
'Dear=
est
Father and Mother,' ran the note, 'The Masai caught us when we were coming =
home
with the lily. I tried to escape b=
ut
could not. They killed Tom: the ot=
her
man ran away. They have not hurt n=
urse
and me, but say that they mean to exchange us against one of Mr Quatermain's
party. I will have nothing of the
sort. Do not let anybody give his =
life
for me. Try and attack them at nig=
ht; they
are going to feast on three bullocks they have stolen and killed. I have my pistol, and if no help comes =
by
dawn I will shoot myself. They sha=
ll not
kill me. If so, remember me always, dearest father and mother. I am very frightened, but I trust in Go=
d. I dare not write any more as they are
beginning to notice. Goodbye. -- Flossie.'
Scraw=
led
across the outside of this was 'Love to Mr Quatermain. They are going to ta=
ke
the basket, so he will get the lily.'
When I read those words, written by that brave
little girl in an hour of danger sufficiently near and horrible to have tur=
ned the
brain of a strong man, I own I wept, and once more in my heart I vowed that=
she
should not die while my life could be given to save her.
Then eagerly, quickly, almost fiercely, we fel=
l to
discussing the situation. Again I =
said
that I would go, and again Mackenzie negatived it, and Curtis and Good, like
the true men that they are, vowed that, if I did, they would go with me, and
die back to back with me.
'It is,' I said at last, 'absolutely necessary
that an effort of some sort should be made before the morning.'
'Then let us attack them with what force we can
muster, and take our chance,' said Sir Henry.
'Ay, ay,' growled Umslopogaas, in Zulu; 'spoken
like a man, Incubu. What is there to be afraid of? Two hundred and fifty Masai, forsooth!<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> How many are we? The chief there [Mr Mackenzie] has twen=
ty
men, and thou, Macumazahn, hast five men, and there are also five white men=
--
that is, thirty men in all -- enough, enough.
Listen now, Macumazahn, thou who art very clever and old in war. What says the maid? These men eat and make merry; let it be=
their
funeral feast. What said the dog w=
hom I
hope to hew down at daybreak? That=
he
feared no attack because we were so few.
Knowest thou the old kraal where the men have camped? I saw it this
morning; it is thus:' and he drew an oval on the floor; 'here is the big
entrance, filled up with thorn bushes, and opening on to a steep rise. Why, Incubu, thou and I with axes will =
hold
it against an hundred men striving to break out! Look, now; thus shall the
battle go. Just as the light begin=
s to
glint upon the oxen's horns -- not before, or it will be too dark, and not
later, or they will be awakening and perceive us -- let Bougwan creep round
with ten men to the top end of the kraal, where the narrow entrance is. Let them silently slay the sentry there=
so
that he makes no sound, and stand ready. Then, Incubu, let thee and me and =
one
of the Askari -- the one with the broad chest -- he is a brave man -- creep=
to
the wide entrance that is filled with thorn bushes, and there also slay the
sentry, and armed with battleaxes take our stand also one on each side of t=
he
pathway, and one a few paces beyond to deal with such as pass the twain at =
the
gate. It is there that the rush wi=
ll
come. That will leave sixteen men.=
Let these men be divided into two parti=
es,
with one of which shalt thou go, Macumazahn, and with one the "praying
man" [Mr Mackenzie], and, all armed with rifles, let them make their w=
ay
one to the right side of the kraal and one to the left; and when thou,
Macumazahn, lowest like an ox, all shall open fire with the guns upon the s=
leeping
men, being very careful not to hit the little maid. Then shall Bougwan at t=
he
far end and his ten men raise the war-cry, and, springing over the wall, put
the Masai there to the sword. And =
it
shall happen that, being yet heavy with food and sleep, and bewildered by t=
he
firing of the guns, the falling of men, and the spears of Bougwan, the sold=
iers
shall rise and rush like wild game towards the thorn-stopped entrance, and
there the bullets from either side shall plough through them, and there sha=
ll
Incubu and the Askari and I wait for those who break across. Such is my pla=
n,
Macumazahn; if thou hast a better, name it.'
When he had done, I explained to the others su=
ch
portions of his scheme as they had failed to understand, and they all joine=
d with
me in expressing the greatest admiration of the acute and skilful programme
devised by the old Zulu, who was indeed, in his own savage fashion, the fin=
est
general I ever knew. After some
discussion we determined to accept the scheme, as it stood, it being the on=
ly
one possible under the circumstances, and giving the best chance of success
that such a forlorn hope would admit of -- which, however, considering the
enormous odds and the character of our foe, was not very great.
'Ah, old lion!' I said to Umslopogaas, 'thou
knowest how to lie in wait as well as how to bite, where to seize as well as
where to hang on.'
'Ay, ay, Macumazahn,' he answered. 'For thirty years have I been a warrior=
, and
have seen many things. It will be =
a good
fight. I smell blood -- I tell thee, I smell blood.'
CHAPTER VI - THE NIGHT WEARS ON
As may be imagined, at the very first sign of a
Masai the entire population of the Mission Station had sought refuge inside=
the
stout stone wall, and were now to be seen -- men, women, and countless chil=
dren
-- huddled up together in little groups, and all talking at once in awed to=
nes
of the awfulness of Masai manners and customs, and of the fate that they ha=
d to
expect if those bloodthirsty savages succeeded in getting over the stone wa=
ll.
Immediately after we had settled upon the outl=
ine
of our plan of action as suggested by Umslopogaas, Mr Mackenzie sent for fo=
ur
sharp boys of from twelve to fifteen years of age, and despatched them to
various points where they could keep an outlook upon the Masai camp, with
others to report from time to time what was going on. Other lads and even women were statione=
d at
intervals along the wall in order to guard against the possibility of surpr=
ise.
After this the twenty men who formed his whole
available fighting force were summoned by our host into the square formed by
the house, and there, standing by the bole of the great conifer, he earnest=
ly
addressed them and our four Askari.
Indeed, it formed a very impressive scene -- one not likely to be
forgotten by anybody who witnessed it.
Immediately by the tree stood the angular form of Mr Mackenzie, one =
arm
outstretched as he talked, and the other resting against the giant bole, his
hat off, and his plain but kindly face clearly betraying the anguish of his=
mind. Next to him was his poor wife, who, sea=
ted on
a chair, had her face hidden in her hand.
On the other side of her was Alphonse, looking exceedingly
uncomfortable, and behind him stood the three of us, with Umslopogaas' grim=
and
towering form in the background, resting, as usual, on his axe. In front stood and squatted the group o=
f armed
men -- some with rifles in their hands, and others with spears and shields =
--
following with eager attention every word that fell from the speaker's
lips. The white light of the moon
peering in beneath the lofty boughs threw a strange wild glamour over the
scene, whilst the melancholy soughing of the night wind passing through the
millions of pine needles overhead added a sadness of its own to what was
already a sufficiently tragic occasion.
'Men,' said Mr Mackenzie, after he had put all=
the
circumstances of the case fully and clearly before them, and explained to t=
hem the
proposed plan of our forlorn hope -- 'men, for years I have been a good fri=
end
to you, protecting you, teaching you, guarding you and yours from harm, and=
ye
have prospered with me. Ye have se=
en my
child -- the Water-lily, as ye call her -- grow year by year, from tenderest
infancy to tender childhood, and from childhood on towards maidenhood. She has been your children's playmate, =
she
has helped to tend you when sick, and ye have loved her.'
'We have,' said a deep voice, 'and we will die=
to
save her.'
'I thank you from my heart -- I thank you. Sure am I that now, in this hour of dar=
kest
trouble; now that her young life is like to be cut off by cruel and savage =
men
-- who of a truth "know not what they do" -- ye will strive your =
best
to save her, and to save me and her mother from broken hearts. Think, too, of your own wives and
children. If she dies, her death w=
ill be
followed by an attack upon us here, and at the best, even if we hold our ow=
n,
your houses and gardens will be destroyed, and your goods and cattle swept
away. I am, as ye well know, a man=
of
peace. Never in all these years ha=
ve I
lifted my hand to shed man's blood; but now I say strike, strike, in the na=
me
of God, Who bade us protect our lives and homes. Swear to me,' he went on with added fer=
vour
-- 'swear to me that whilst a man of you remains alive ye will strive your
uttermost with me and with these brave white men to save the child from a
bloody and cruel death.'
'Say no more, my father,' said the same deep
voice, that belonged to a stalwart elder of the Mission; 'we swear it. May we and ours die the death of dogs, =
and
our bones be thrown to the jackals and the kites, if we break the oath! It is a fearful thing to do, my father,=
so
few to strike at so many, yet will we do it or die in the doing. We swear!'
'Ay, thus say we all,' chimed in the others.
'Thus say we all,' said I.
'It is well,' went on Mr Mackenzie. 'Ye are true men and not broken reeds t=
o lean
on. And now, friends -- white and =
black together
-- let us kneel and offer up our humble supplication to the Throne of Power,
praying that He in the hollow of Whose hand lie all our lives, Who giveth l=
ife
and giveth death, may be pleased to make strong our arms that we may prevai=
l in
what awaits us at the morning's light.'
And he knelt down, an example that we all foll=
owed
except Umslopogaas, who still stood in the background, grimly leaning on
Inkosi-kaas. The fierce old Zulu had no gods and worshipped nought, unless =
it
were his battleaxe.
'Oh God of gods!' began the clergyman, his deep
voice, tremulous with emotion, echoing up in the silence even to the leafy
roof; 'Protector of the oppressed, Refuge of those in danger, Guardian of t=
he
helpless, hear Thou our prayer! Al=
mighty
Father, to Thee we come in supplication.
Hear Thou our prayer! Behol=
d, one
child hast Thou given us -- an innocent child, nurtured in Thy knowledge --=
and
now she lies beneath the shadow of the sword, in danger of a fearful death =
at
the hands of savage men. Be with h=
er
now, oh God, and comfort her! Save=
her,
oh Heavenly Father! Oh God of batt=
le,
Who teacheth our hands to war and our fingers to fight, in Whose strength a=
re
hid the destinies of men, be Thou with us in the hour of strife. When we go forth into the shadow of dea=
th,
make Thou us strong to conquer. Br=
eathe Thou
upon our foes and scatter them; turn Thou their strength to water, and bring
their high-blown pride to nought; compass us about with Thy protection; thr=
ow
over us the shield of Thy power; forget us not now in the hour of our sore
distress; help us now that the cruel man would dash our little ones against=
the
stones! Hear Thou our prayer! And for those of us who, kneeling now on
earth in health before Thee, shall at the sunrise adore Thy Presence on the
Throne, hear our prayer! Make them=
clean,
oh God; wash away their offences in the blood of the Lamb; and when their
spirits pass, oh receive Thou them into the haven of the just. Go forth, oh Father, go forth with us i=
nto
the battle, as with the Israelites of old.
Oh God of battle, hear Thou our prayer!'
He ceased, and after a moment's silence we all
rose, and then began our preparations in good earnest. As Umslopogaas said, it was time to stop
'talking' and get to business. The=
men
who were to form each little party were carefully selected, and still more
carefully and minutely instructed as to what was to be done. After much
consideration it was agreed that the ten men led by Good, whose duty it was=
to
stampede the camp, were not to carry firearms; that is, with the exception =
of
Good himself, who had a revolver as well as a short sword -- the Masai 'sim=
e' which
I had taken from the body of our poor servant who was murdered in the
canoe. We feared that if they had
firearms the result of three cross-fires carried on at once would be that s=
ome
of our own people would be shot; besides, it appeared to all of us that the
work they had to do would best be carried out with cold steel -- especially=
to
Umslopogaas, who was, indeed, a great advocate of cold steel. We had with us four Winchester repeatin=
g rifles,
besides half a dozen Martinis. I a=
rmed
myself with one of the repeaters -- my own; an excellent weapon for this ki=
nd of
work, where great rapidity of fire is desirable, and fitted with ordinary
flap-sights instead of the cumbersome sliding mechanism which they generally
have. Mr Mackenzie took another, a=
nd the
two remaining ones were given to two of his men who understood the use of t=
hem
and were noted shots. The Martinis=
and
some rifles of Mr Mackenzie's were served out, together with a plentiful su=
pply
of ammunition, to the other natives who were to form the two parties whose =
duty
it was to be to open fire from separate sides of the kraal on the sleeping
Masai, and who were fortunately all more or less accustomed to the use of a
gun.
As for Umslopogaas, we know how he was armed --
with an axe. It may be remembered that he, Sir Henry, and the strongest of =
the
Askari were to hold the thorn-stopped entrance to the kraal against the
anticipated rush of men striving to escape.
Of course, for such a purpose as this guns were useless. Therefore Sir Henry and the Askari proc=
eeded
to arm themselves in like fashion. It so happened that Mr Mackenzie had in =
his little
store a selection of the very best and English-made hammer-backed
axe-heads. Sir Henry selected one =
of
these weighing about two and a half pounds and very broad in the blade, and=
the
Askari took another a size smaller.
After Umslopogaas had put an extra edge on these two axe-heads, we f=
ixed
them to three feet six helves, of which Mr Mackenzie fortunately had some in
stock, made of a light but exceedingly tough native wood, something like
English ash, only more springy. Wh=
en two
suitable helves had been selected with great care and the ends of the hafts
notched to prevent the hand from slipping, the axe-heads were fixed on them=
as
firmly as possible, and the weapons immersed in a bucket of water for half =
an
hour. The result of this was to sw=
ell
the wood in the socket in such a fashion that nothing short of burning would
get it out again. When this import=
ant
matter had been attended to by Umslopogaas, I went into my room and proceed=
ed
to open a little tin-lined deal case, which contained -- what do you think?=
-- nothing
more or less than four mail shirts.
It had happened to us three on a previous jour=
ney
that we had made in another part of Africa to owe our lives to iron shirts =
of
native make, and remembering this, I had suggested before we started on our
present hazardous expedition that we should have some made to fit us. There was a little difficulty about thi=
s, as
armour-making is pretty well an extinct art, but they can do most things in=
the
way of steel work in Birmingham if they are put to it and you will pay the
price, and the end of it was that they turned us out the loveliest steel sh=
irts
it is possible to see. The workman=
ship
was exceedingly fine, the web being composed of thousands upon thousands of
stout but tiny rings of the best steel made.
These shirts, or rather steel-sleeved and high-necked jerseys, were
lined with ventilated wash leather, were not bright, but browned like the
barrel of a gun; and mine weighed exactly seven pounds and fitted me so well
that I found I could wear it for days next to my skin without being chafed.=
Sir
Henry had two, one of the ordinary make, viz. a jersey with little dependent
flaps meant to afford some protection to the upper part of the thighs, and
another of his own design fashioned on the pattern of the garments advertis=
ed
as 'combinations' and weighing twelve pounds.
This combination shirt, of which the seat was made of wash-leather,
protected the whole body down to the knees, but was rather more cumbersome,
inasmuch as it had to be laced up at the back and, of course, involved some=
extra
weight. With these shirts were what
looked like four brown cloth travelling caps with ear pieces. Each of these caps was, however, quilte=
d with
steel links so as to afford a most valuable protection for the head.
It seems almost laughable to talk of steel shi=
rts
in these days of bullets, against which they are of course quite useless; b=
ut where
one has to do with savages, armed with cutting weapons such as assegais or
battleaxes, they afford the most valuable protection, being, if well made,
quite invulnerable to them. I have often thought that if only the English
Government had in our savage wars, and more especially in the Zulu war, tho=
ught
fit to serve out light steel shirts, there would be many a man alive today =
who,
as it is, is dead and forgotten.
To return: on the present occasion we blessed =
our
foresight in bringing these shirts, and also our good luck, in that they ha=
d not
been stolen by our rascally bearers when they ran away with our goods. As Curtis had two, and after considerab=
le
deliberation, had made up his mind to wear his combination one himself -- t=
he extra
three or four pounds' weight being a matter of no account to so strong a ma=
n,
and the protection afforded to the thighs being a very important matter to a
fighting man not armed with a shield of any kind -- I suggested that he sho=
uld
lend the other to Umslopogaas, who was to share the danger and the glory of=
his
post. He readily consented, and ca=
lled
the Zulu, who came bearing Sir Henry's axe, which he had now fixed up to his
satisfaction, with him. When we sh=
owed
him the steel shirt, and explained to him that we wanted him to wear it, he=
at
first declined, saying that he had fought in his own skin for thirty years,=
and
that he was not going to begin now to fight in an iron one. Thereupon I took a heavy spear, and,
spreading the shirt upon the floor, drove the spear down upon it with all my
strength, the weapon rebounding without leaving a mark upon the tempered
steel. This exhibition half conver=
ted
him; and when I pointed out to him how necessary it was that he should not =
let
any old-fashioned prejudices he might possess stand in the way of a precaut=
ion which
might preserve a valuable life at a time when men were scarce, and also tha=
t if
he wore this shirt he might dispense with a shield, and so have both hands
free, he yielded at once, and proceeded to invest his frame with the 'iron
skin'. And indeed, although made f=
or Sir
Henry, it fitted the great Zulu like a skin.
The two men were almost of a height; and, though Curtis looked the
bigger man, I am inclined to think that the difference was more imaginary t=
han
real, the fact being that, although he was plumper and rounder, he was not
really bigger, except in the arm.
Umslopogaas had, comparatively speaking, thin arms, but they were as
strong as wire ropes. At any rate,=
when
they both stood, axe in hand, invested in the brown mail, which clung to th=
eir
mighty forms like a web garment, showing the swell of every muscle and the
curve of every line, they formed a pair that any ten men might shrink from
meeting.
It was now nearly one o'clock in the morning, =
and
the spies reported that, after having drunk the blood of the oxen and eaten
enormous quantities of meat, the Masai were going to sleep round their watc=
hfires;
but that sentries had been posted at each opening of the kraal. Flossie, they added, was sitting not fa=
r from
the wall in the centre of the western side of the kraal, and by her were the
nurse and the white donkey, which was tethered to a peg. Her feet were bound with a rope, and wa=
rriors
were lying about all round her.
As there was absolutely nothing further that c=
ould
be done then we all took some supper, and went to lie down for a couple of =
hours. I could not help admiring the way in wh=
ich
old Umslopogaas flung himself upon the floor, and, unmindful of what was
hanging over him, instantly sank into a deep sleep. I do not know how it was with the other=
s, but
I could not do as much. Indeed, as=
is
usual with me on these occasions, I am sorry to say that I felt rather
frightened; and, now that some of the enthusiasm had gone out of me, and I
began to calmly contemplate what we had undertaken to do, truth compels me =
to
add that I did not like it. We wer=
e but
thirty men all told, a good many of whom were no doubt quite unused to
fighting, and we were going to engage two hundred and fifty of the fiercest,
bravest, and most formidable savages in Africa, who, to make matters worse,
were protected by a stone wall. It=
was,
indeed, a mad undertaking, and what made it even madder was the exceeding
improbability of our being able to take up our positions without attracting=
the
notice of the sentries. Of course =
if we
once did that -- and any slight accident, such as the chance discharge of a
gun, might do it -- we were done for, for the whole camp would be up in a
second, and our only hope lay in surprise.
The bed whereon I lay indulging in these
uncomfortable reflections was near an open window that looked on to the
veranda, through which came an extraordinary sound of groaning and
weeping. For a time I could not ma=
ke out
what it was, but at last I got up and, putting my head out of the window,
stared about. Presently I saw a dim
figure kneeling on the end of the veranda and beating his breast -- in whic=
h I
recognized Alphonse. Not being abl=
e to
understand his French talk or what on earth he was at, I called to him and
asked him what he was doing.
'Ah, monsieur,' he sighed, 'I do make prayer f=
or
the souls of those whom I shall slay tonight.'
'Indeed,' I said, 'then I wish that you would =
do
it a little more quietly.'
Alphonse retreated, and I heard no more of his
groans. And so the time passed, ti=
ll at
length Mr Mackenzie called me in a whisper through the window, for of course
everything had now to be done in the most absolute silence. 'Three o'clock,' he said: 'we must begi=
n to
move at half-past.'
I told him to come in, and presently he entere=
d,
and I am bound to say that if it had not been that just then I had not got =
a laugh
anywhere about me, I should have exploded at the sight he presented armed f=
or
battle. To begin with, he had on a
clergyman's black swallow-tail and a kind of broad-rimmed black felt hat, b=
oth
of which he had donned on account, he said, of their dark colour. In his hand was the Winchester repeating
rifle we had lent him; and stuck in an elastic cricketing belt, like those =
worn
by English boys, were, first, a huge buckhorn-handled carving knife with a
guard to it, and next a long-barrelled Colt's revolver.
'Ah, my friend,' he said, seeing me staring at=
his
belt, 'you are looking at my "carver". I thought it might come in handy if we =
came
to close quarters; it is excellent steel, and many is the pig I have killed
with it.'
By this time everybody was up and dressing.
Meanwhile Umslopogaas was mustering the men in= the square under the big tree and going the rounds to see that each was properl= y armed, etc. At the last moment we made one change. Finding that two of the me= n who were to have gone with the firing parties knew little or nothing of guns, b= ut were good spearsmen, we took away their rifles, supplied them with shields = and long spears of the Masai pattern, and took them off to join Curtis, Umslopogaas, and the Askari in holding the wide opening; it having become c= lear to us that three men, however brave and strong, were too few for the work.<= o:p>
CHAPTER VII - A SLAUGHTER GRIM AND GREAT<=
span
class=3DHeading1Char>
Then there was a pause, and we stood there in =
the
chilly silent darkness waiting till the moment came to start. It was, perhaps, the most trying time o=
f all
-- that slow, slow quarter of an hour.
The minutes seemed to drag along with leaden feet, and the quiet, the
solemn hush, that brooded over all -- big, as it were, with a coming fate, =
was
most oppressive to the spirits. I once remember having to get up before daw=
n to
see a man hanged, and I then went through a very similar set of sensations,=
only
in the present instance my feelings were animated by that more vivid and
personal element which naturally appertains rather to the person to be oper=
ated
on than to the most sympathetic spectator.
The solemn faces of the men, well aware that the short passage of an
hour would mean for some, and perhaps all of them, the last great passage to
the unknown or oblivion; the bated whispers in which they spoke; even Sir
Henry's continuous and thoughtful examination of his woodcutter's axe and t=
he
fidgety way in which Good kept polishing his eyeglass, all told the same ta=
le
of nerves stretched pretty nigh to breaking-point. Only Umslopogaas, leaning as usual upon
Inkosi-kaas and taking an occasional pinch of snuff, was to all appearance
perfectly and completely unmoved.
Nothing could touch his iron nerves.
The moon went down. For a long while she had been getting n=
earer and
nearer to the horizon. Now she fin=
ally
sank and left the world in darkness save for a faint grey tinge in the east=
ern sky
that palely heralded the dawn.
Mr Mackenzie stood, watch in hand, his wife
clinging to his arm and striving to stifle her sobs.
'Twenty minutes to four,' he said, 'it ought t=
o be
light enough to attack at twenty minutes past four. Captain Good had better be moving, he w=
ill
want three or four minutes' start.'
Good gave one final polish to his eyeglass, no=
dded
to us in a jocular sort of way -- which I could not help feeling it must ha=
ve
cost him something to muster up -- and, ever polite, took off his steel-lin=
ed
cap to Mrs Mackenzie and started for his position at the head of the kraal,=
to
reach which he had to make a detour by some paths known to the natives.
Just then one of the boys came in and reported
that everybody in the Masai camp, with the exception of the two sentries wh=
o were
walking up and down in front of the respective entrances, appeared to be fa=
st
asleep. Then the rest of us took t=
he
road. First came the guide, then Sir Henry, Umslopogaas, the Wakwafi Askari,
and Mr Mackenzie's two mission natives armed with long spears and shields.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> I followed immediately after with Alpho=
nse and
five natives all armed with guns, and Mr Mackenzie brought up the rear with=
the
six remaining natives.
The cattle kraal where the Masai were camped l=
ay
at the foot of the hill on which the house stood, or, roughly speaking, abo=
ut eight
hundred yards from the Mission buildings.
The first five hundred yards of this distance we traversed quietly
indeed, but at a good pace; after that we crept forward as silently as a le=
opard
on his prey, gliding like ghosts from bush to bush and stone to stone. When I had gone a little way I chanced =
to
look behind me, and saw the redoubtable Alphonse staggering along with white
face and trembling knees, and his rifle, which was at full cock, pointed
directly at the small of my back. =
Having
halted and carefully put the rifle at 'safety', we started again, and all w=
ent
well till we were within one hundred yards or so of the kraal, when his tee=
th
began to chatter in the most aggressive way.
'If you don't stop that I will kill you,' I
whispered savagely; for the idea of having all our lives sacrificed to a
tooth-chattering cook was too much for me.
I began to fear that he would betray us, and heartily wished we had =
left
him behind.
'But, monsieur, I cannot help it,' he answered,
'it is the cold.'
Here was a dilemma, but fortunately I devised a
plan. In the pocket of the coat I =
had on
was a small piece of dirty rag that I had used some time before to clean a =
gun
with. 'Put this in your mouth,' I =
whispered
again, giving him the rag; 'and if I hear another sound you are a dead
man.' I knew that that would stifl=
e the
clatter of his teeth. I must have =
looked
as if I meant what I said, for he instantly obeyed me, and continued his
journey in silence.
Then we crept on again.
At last we were within fifty yards of the
kraal. Between us and it was an op=
en
space of sloping grass with only one mimosa bush and a couple of tussocks o=
f a
sort of thistle for cover. We were still hidden in fairly thick bush. It was beginning to grow light. The stars had paled and a sickly gleam =
played
about the east and was reflected on the earth.
We could see the outline of the kraal clearly enough, and could also
make out the faint glimmer of the dying embers of the Masai camp-fires. We
halted and watched, for the sentry we knew was posted at the opening. Presently he appeared, a fine tall fell=
ow,
walking idly up and down within five paces of the thorn-stopped entrance. We
had hoped to catch him napping, but it was not to be. He seemed particularly wide awake. If we could not kill that man, and kill=
him
silently, we were lost. There we
crouched and watched him. Presently
Umslopogaas, who was a few paces ahead of me, turned and made a sign, and n=
ext
second I saw him go down on his stomach like a snake, and, taking an
opportunity when the sentry's head was turned, begin to work his way through
the grass without a sound.
The unconscious sentry commenced to hum a litt=
le
tune, and Umslopogaas crept on. He
reached the shelter of the mimosa bush unperceived and there waited. Still the sentry walked up and down.
At last the ordeal came to an end. The sentry glanced at the east, and app=
eared
to note with satisfaction that his period of duty was coming to an end -- as
indeed it was, once and for all -- for he rubbed his hands and began to walk
again briskly to warm himself.
The moment his back was turned the long black
snake glided on again, and reached the other thistle tuft, which was within=
a couple
of paces of his return beat.
Back came the sentry and strolled right past t=
he
tuft, utterly unconscious of the presence that was crouching behind it. Had he looked down he could scarcely ha=
ve
failed to see, but he did not do so.
He passed, and then his hidden enemy erected
himself, and with outstretched hand followed in his tracks.
A moment more, and, just as the Elmoran was ab=
out
to turn, the great Zulu made a spring, and in the growing light we could se=
e his
long lean hands close round the Masai's throat.
Then followed a convulsive twining of the two dark bodies, and in
another second I saw the Masai's head bent back, and heard a sharp crack,
something like that of a dry twig snapping, and he fell down upon the groun=
d, his
limbs moving spasmodically.
Umslopogaas had put out all his iron strength =
and broken
the warrior's neck.
For a moment he knelt upon his victim, still
gripping his throat till he was sure that there was nothing more to fear fr=
om
him, and then he rose and beckoned to us to advance, which we did on all fo=
urs,
like a colony of huge apes. On rea=
ching
the kraal we saw that the Masai had still further choked this entrance, whi=
ch
was about ten feet wide -- no doubt in order to guard against attack -- by
dragging four or five tops of mimosa trees up to it. So much the better for us, I reflected;=
the
more obstruction there was the slower would they be able to come through. Here we separated; Mackenzie and his pa=
rty
creeping up under the shadow of the wall to the left, while Sir Henry and
Umslopogaas took their stations one on each side of the thorn fence, the two
spearmen and the Askari lying down in front of it. I and my men crept on up the right side=
of
the kraal, which was about fifty paces long.
When I was two-thirds up I halted, and placed =
my
men at distances of four paces from one another, keeping Alphonse close to =
me, however. Then I peeped for the first time over t=
he
wall. It was getting fairly light =
now,
and the first thing I saw was the white donkey, exactly opposite to me, and
close by it I could make out the pale face of little Flossie, who was sitti=
ng
as the lad had described, some ten paces from the wall. Round her lay many warriors, sleeping.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> At distances all over the surface of the
kraal were the remains of fires, round each of which slept some five-and-tw=
enty
Masai, for the most part gorged with food. Now and then a man would raise
himself, yawn, and look at the east, which was turning primrose; but none g=
ot
up. I determined to wait another f=
ive
minutes, both to allow the light to increase, so that we could make better =
shooting,
and to give Good and his party -- of whom we could see or hear nothing -- e=
very
opportunity to make ready.
The quiet dawn began to throw her ever-widening
mantle over plain and forest and river -- mighty Kenia, wrapped in the sile=
nce of
eternal snows, looked out across the earth -- till presently a beam from the
unrisen sun lit upon his heaven-kissing crest and purpled it with blood; the
sky above grew blue, and tender as a mother's smile; a bird began to pipe h=
is
morning song, and a little breeze passing through the bush shook down the
dewdrops in millions to refresh the waking world. Everywhere was peace and the happiness =
of
arising strength, everywhere save in the heart of cruel man!
Suddenly, just as I was nerving myself for the
signal, having already selected my man on whom I meant to open fire -- a gr=
eat fellow
sprawling on the ground within three feet of little Flossie -- Alphonse's t=
eeth
began to chatter again like the hoofs of a galloping giraffe, making a great
noise in the silence. The rag had
dropped out in the agitation of his mind.
Instantly a Masai within three paces of us woke, and, sitting up, ga=
zed about
him, looking for the cause of the sound.
Moved beyond myself, I brought the butt-end of my rifle down on to t=
he
pit of the Frenchman's stomach. Th=
is
stopped his chattering; but, as he doubled up, he managed to let off his gu=
n in
such a manner that the bullet passed within an inch of my head.
There was no need for a signal now. From both sides of the kraal broke out a
waving line of fire, in which I myself joined, managing with a snap shot to
knock over my Masai by Flossie, just as he was jumping up. Then from the top end of the kraal ther=
e rang
an awful yell, in which I rejoiced to recognize Good's piercing notes rising
clear and shrill above the din, and in another second followed such a scene=
as
I have never seen before nor shall again. With an universal howl of terror =
and
fury the brawny crowd of savages within the kraal sprang to their feet, man=
y of
them to fall again beneath our well-directed hail of lead before they had m=
oved
a yard. For a moment they stood
undecided, and then hearing the cries and curses that rose unceasingly from=
the
top end of the kraal, and bewildered by the storm of bullets, they as by one
impulse rushed down towards the thorn-stopped entrance. As they went we kept
pouring our fire with terrible effect into the thickening mob as fast as we
could load. I had emptied my repea=
ter of
the ten shots it contained and was just beginning to slip in some more when=
I
bethought me of little Flossie. Looking up, I saw that the white donkey was
lying kicking, having been knocked over either by one of our bullets or a M=
asai
spear-thrust. There were no living Masai near, but the black nurse was on h=
er
feet and with a spear cutting the rope that bound Flossie's feet. Next second she ran to the wall of the =
kraal
and began to climb over it, an example which the little girl followed. But
Flossie was evidently very stiff and cramped, and could only go slowly, and=
as
she went two Masai flying down the kraal caught sight of her and rushed tow=
ards
her to kill her. The first fellow =
came
up just as the poor little girl, after a desperate effort to climb the wall,
fell back into the kraal. Up flash=
ed the
great spear, and as it did so a bullet from my rifle found its home in the
holder's ribs, and over he went like a shot rabbit. But behind him was the
other man, and, alas, I had only that one cartridge in the magazine! Flossie had scrambled to her feet and w=
as
facing the second man, who was advancing with raised spear. I turned my head aside and felt sick as
death. I could not bear to see him=
stab
her. Glancing up again, to my surp=
rise I
saw the Masai's spear lying on the ground, while the man himself was stagge=
ring
about with both hands to his head.
Suddenly I saw a puff of smoke proceeding apparently from Flossie, a=
nd
the man fell down headlong. Then I
remembered the Derringer pistol she carried, and saw that she had fired both
barrels of it at him, thereby saving her life.
In another instant she had made an effort, and assisted by the nurse,
who was lying on the top, had scrambled over the wall, and I knew that she =
was,
comparatively speaking, safe.
All this takes time to tell, but I do not supp=
ose
that it took more than fifteen seconds to enact. I soon got the magazine of the repeater
filled again with cartridges, and once more opened fire, not on the seething
black mass which was gathering at the end of the kraal, but on fugitives who
bethought them to climb the wall. I
picked off several of these men, moving down towards the end of the kraal a=
s I
did so, and arriving at the corner, or rather the bend of the oval, in time=
to
see, and by means of my rifle to assist in, the mighty struggle that took p=
lace
there.
By this time some two hundred Masai -- allowing
that we had up to the present accounted for fifty -- had gathered together =
in front
of the thorn-stopped entrance, driven thither by the spears of Good's men, =
whom
they doubtless supposed were a large force instead of being but ten
strong. For some reason it never
occurred to them to try and rush the wall, which they could have scrambled =
over
with comparative ease; they all made for the fence, which was really a stro=
ngly
interwoven fortification. With a b=
ound the
first warrior went at it, and even before he touched the ground on the other
side I saw Sir Henry's great axe swing up and fall with awful force upon his
feather head-piece, and he sank into the middle of the thorns. Then with a yell and a crash they began=
to
break through as they might, and ever as they came the great axe swung and
Inkosi-kaas flashed and they fell dead one by one, each man thus helping to
build up a barrier against his fellows.
Those who escaped the axes of the pair fell at the hands of the Aska=
ri
and the two Mission Kaffirs, and those who passed scatheless from them were
brought low by my own and Mackenzie's fire.
Faster and more furious grew the fighting. Single Masai would spring upon the dead
bodies of their comrades, and engage one or other of the axemen with their =
long
spears; but, thanks chiefly to the mail shirts, the result was always the
same. Presently there was a great =
swing
of the axe, a crashing sound, and another dead Masai. That is, if the man was engaged with Si=
r Henry.
If it was Umslopogaas that he fought with the result indeed would be the sa=
me,
but it would be differently attained. It
was but rarely that the Zulu used the crashing double-handed stroke; on the
contrary, he did little more than tap continually at his adversary's head,
pecking at it with the pole-axe end of the axe as a woodpecker {Endnote 7}
pecks at rotten wood. Presently a peck would go home, and his enemy would d=
rop
down with a neat little circular hole in his forehead or skull, exactly sim=
ilar
to that which a cheese-scoop makes in a cheese.
He never used the broad blade of the axe except when hard pressed, o=
r when
striking at a shield. He told me
afterwards that he did not consider it sportsmanlike.
Good and his men were quite close by now, and =
our
people had to cease firing into the mass for fear of killing some of them (=
as
it was, one of them was slain in this way).
Mad and desperate with fear, the Masai by a frantic effort burst thr=
ough
the thorn fence and piled-up dead, and, sweeping Curtis, Umslopogaas, and t=
he
other three before them, into the open.
And now it was that we began to lose men fast. Down went our poor Askari who was armed=
with
the axe, a great spear standing out a foot behind his back; and before long=
the
two spearsmen who had stood with him went down too, dying fighting like tig=
ers;
and others of our party shared their fate.
For a moment I feared the fight was lost -- certainly it trembled in=
the
balance. I shouted to my men to ca=
st
down their rifles, and to take spears and throw themselves into the melee.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> They obeyed, their blood being now thor=
oughly
up, and Mr Mackenzie's people followed their example.
This move had a momentary good result, but sti=
ll
the fight hung in the balance.
Our people fought magnificently, hurling
themselves upon the dark mass of Elmoran, hewing, thrusting, slaying, and b=
eing
slain. And ever above the din rose Good's awful yell of encouragement as he
plunged to wherever the fight was thickest; and ever, with an almost
machine-like regularity, the two axes rose and fell, carrying death and
disablement at every stroke. But I=
could
see that the strain was beginning to tell upon Sir Henry, who was bleeding =
from
several flesh wounds: his breath was coming in gasps, and the veins stood o=
ut
on his forehead like blue and knotted cords.
Even Umslopogaas, man of iron that he was, was hard pressed. I noticed that he had given up 'woodpec=
king',
and was now using the broad blade of Inkosi-kaas, 'browning' his enemy wher=
ever
he could hit him, instead of drilling scientific holes in his head. I myself did not go into the melee, but
hovered outside like the swift 'back' in a football scrimmage, putting a bu=
llet
through a Masai whenever I got a chance.
I was more use so. I fired
forty-nine cartridges that morning, and I did not miss many shots.
Presently, do as we would, the beam of the bal=
ance
began to rise against us. We had n=
ot
more than fifteen or sixteen effectives left now, and the Masai had at least
fifty. Of course if they had kept =
their
heads, and shaken themselves together, they could soon have made an end of =
the
matter; but that is just what they did not do, not having yet recovered from
their start, and some of them having actually fled from their sleeping-plac=
es
without their weapons. Still by no=
w many
individuals were fighting with their normal courage and discretion, and this
alone was sufficient to defeat us. To
make matters worse just then, when Mackenzie's rifle was empty, a brawny sa=
vage
armed with a 'sime', or sword, made a rush for him. The clergyman flung down his gun, and dr=
awing his
huge carver from his elastic belt (his revolver had dropped out in the figh=
t),
they closed in desperate struggle.
Presently, locked in a close embrace, missionary and Masai rolled on=
the
ground behind the wall, and for some time I, being amply occupied with my o=
wn
affairs, and in keeping my skin from being pricked, remained in ignorance of
his fate or how the duel had ended.
To and fro surged the fight, slowly turning ro=
und
like the vortex of a human whirlpool, and the matter began to look very bad=
for
us. Just then, however, a fortunate
thing happened. Umslopogaas, eithe=
r by
accident or design, broke out of the ring and engaged a warrior at some few
paces from it. As he did so, anoth=
er man
ran up and struck him with all his force between his shoulders with his gre=
at
spear, which, falling on the tough steel shirt, failed to pierce it and
rebounded. For a moment the man st=
ared aghast
-- protective armour being unknown among these tribes -- and then he yelled=
out
at the top of his voice --
'They are devils -- bewitched, bewitched!' And seized by a sudden panic, he threw =
down
his spear, and began to fly. I cut=
short
his career with a bullet, and Umslopogaas brained his man, and then the pan=
ic
spread to the others.
'Bewitched, bewitched!' they cried, and tried =
to
escape in every direction, utterly demoralized and broken-spirited, for the
most part even throwing down their shields and spears.
On the last scene of that dreadful fight I need
not dwell. It was a slaughter grea=
t and
grim, in which no quarter was asked or given.
One incident, however, is worth detailing. Just as I was hoping that it was all do=
ne
with, suddenly from under a heap of slain where he had been hiding, an
unwounded warrior sprang up, and, clearing the piles of dying dead like an
antelope, sped like the wind up the kraal towards the spot where I was stan=
ding
at the moment. But he was not alon=
e, for
Umslopogaas came gliding on his tracks with the peculiar swallow-like motio=
n for
which he was noted, and as they neared me I recognized in the Masai the her=
ald
of the previous night. Finding tha=
t, run
as he would, his pursuer was gaining on him, the man halted and turned roun=
d to
give battle. Umslopogaas also pull=
ed up.
'Ah, ah,' he cried, in mockery, to the Elmoran,
'it is thou whom I talked with last night -- the Lygonani! the Herald! the
capturer of little girls -- he who would kill a little girl! And thou didst hope to stand man to man=
and
face to face with Umslopogaas, an Induna of the tribe of the Maquilisini, of
the people of the Amazulu? Behold,=
thy
prayer is granted! And I didst swe=
ar to hew
thee limb from limb, thou insolent dog.
Behold, I will do it even now!'
The Masai ground his teeth with fury, and char=
ged
at the Zulu with his spear. As he =
came,
Umslopogaas deftly stepped aside, and swinging Inkosi-kaas high above his h=
ead
with both hands, brought the broad blade down with such fearful force from
behind upon the Masai's shoulder just where the neck is set into the frame,
that its razor edge shore right through bone and flesh and muscle, almost
severing the head and one arm from the body.
'Ou!' ejaculated Umslopogaas, contemplating the
corpse of his foe; 'I have kept my word.
It was a good stroke.'
CHAPTER VIII - ALPHONSE EXPLAINS
And s=
o the
fight was ended. On returning from=
the
shocking scene it suddenly struck me that I had seen nothing of Alphonse si=
nce the
moment, some twenty minutes before -- for though this fight has taken a long
while to describe, it did not take long in reality -- when I had been force=
d to
hit him in the wind with the result of nearly getting myself shot. Fearing that the poor little man had pe=
rished
in the battle, I began to hunt among the dead for his body, but, not being =
able
either to see or hear anything of it, I concluded that he must have survive=
d,
and walked down the side of the kraal where we had first taken our stand,
calling him by name. Now some fift=
een
paces back from the kraal wall stood a very ancient tree of the banyan spec=
ies. So ancient was it that all the inside h=
ad in
the course of ages decayed away, leaving nothing but a shell of bark.
'Alphonse,' I called, as I walked down the
wall. 'Alphonse!'
'Oui, monsieur,' answered a voice. 'Here am I.'
I looked round but could see nobody. 'Where?' I cried.
'Here am I, monsieur, in the tree.'
I looked, and there, peering out of a hole in =
the
trunk of the banyan about five feet from the ground, I saw a pale face and a
pair of large mustachios, one clipped short and the other as lamentably out=
of
curl as the tail of a newly whipped pug.
Then, for the first time, I realized what I had suspected before -- =
namely,
that Alphonse was an arrant coward. I
walked up to him. 'Come out of that hole,' I said.
'Is it finished, monsieur?' he asked anxiously;
'quite finished? Ah, the horrors I have undergone, and the prayers I have
uttered!'
'Come out, you little wretch,' I said, for I d=
id
not feel amiable; 'it is all over.'
'So, monsieur, then my prayers have prevailed? I emerge,' and he did.<= o:p>
As we were walking down together to join the
others, who were gathered in a group by the wide entrance to the kraal, whi=
ch now
resembled a veritable charnel-house, a Masai, who had escaped so far and be=
en
hiding under a bush, suddenly sprang up and charged furiously at us. Off went Alphonse with a howl of terror=
, and after
him flew the Masai, bent upon doing some execution before he died. He soon overtook the poor little French=
man,
and would have finished him then and there had I not, just as Alphonse made=
a
last agonized double in the vain hope of avoiding the yard of steel that was
flashing in his immediate rear, managed to plant a bullet between the Elmor=
an's
broad shoulders, which brought matters to a satisfactory conclusion so far =
as
the Frenchman was concerned. But j=
ust
then he tripped and fell flat, and the body of the Masai fell right on the =
top
of him, moving convulsively in the death struggle. Thereupon there arose such a series of =
piercing
howls that I concluded that before he died the savage must have managed to =
stab
poor Alphonse. I ran up in a hurry=
and
pulled the Masai off, and there beneath him lay Alphonse covered with blood=
and
jerking himself about like a galvanized frog.
Poor fellow! thought I, he is done for, and kneeling down by him I b=
egan
to search for his wound as well as his struggles would allow.
'Oh, the hole in my back!' he yelled. 'I am murdered. I am dead.
Oh, Annette!'
I searched again, but could see no wound. Then the truth dawned on me -- the man =
was
frightened, not hurt.
'Get up!' I shouted, 'Get up. Aren't you ashamed of yourself? You are=
not
touched.'
Thereupon he rose, not a penny the worse. 'But, monsieur, I thought I was,' he sa=
id
apologetically; 'I did not know that I had conquered.' Then, giving the body of the Masai a ki=
ck, he
ejaculated triumphantly, 'Ah, dog of a black savage, thou art dead; what
victory!'
Thoroughly disgusted, I left Alphonse to look
after himself, which he did by following me like a shadow, and proceeded to=
join
the others by the large entrance. =
The
first thing that I saw was Mackenzie, seated on a stone with a handkerchief
twisted round his thigh, from which he was bleeding freely, having, indeed,=
received
a spear-thrust that passed right through it, and still holding in his hand =
his
favourite carving knife now bent nearly double, from which I gathered that =
he
had been successful in his rough and tumble with the Elmoran.
'Ah, Quatermain!' he sang out in a trembling,
excited voice, 'so we have conquered; but it is a sorry sight, a sorry sigh=
t;' and
then breaking into broad Scotch and glancing at the bent knife in his hand,=
'It
fashes me sair to have bent my best carver on the breastbone of a savage,' =
and
he laughed hysterically. Poor fellow, what between his wound and the killing
excitement he had undergone his nerves were much shaken, and no wonder! It =
is
hard upon a man of peace and kindly heart to be called upon to join in such=
a
gruesome business. But there, fate=
puts us
sometimes into very comical positions!
At the kraal entrance the scene was a strange
one. The slaughter was over by now=
, and
the wounded men had been put out of their pain, for no quarter had been
given. The bush-closed entrance was
trampled flat, and in place of bushes it was filled with the bodies of dead
men. Dead men, everywhere dead men=
--
they lay about in knots, they were flung by ones and twos in every position
upon the open spaces, for all the world like the people on the grass in one=
of
the London parks on a particularly hot Sunday in August. In front of this entrance, on a space w=
hich had
been cleared of dead and of the shields and spears which were scattered in =
all
directions as they had fallen or been thrown from the hands of their owners,
stood and lay the survivors of the awful struggle, and at their feet were f=
our
wounded men. We had gone into the fight thirty strong, and of the thirty but
fifteen remained alive, and five of them (including Mr Mackenzie) were woun=
ded,
two mortally. Of those who held the
entrance, Curtis and the Zulu alone remained.
Good had lost five men killed, I had lost two killed, and Mackenzie =
no
less than five out of the six with him.
As for the survivors they were, with the exception of myself who had
never come to close quarters, red from head to foot -- Sir Henry's armour m=
ight
have been painted that colour -- and utterly exhausted, except Umslopogaas,
who, as he grimly stood on a little mound above a heap of dead, leaning as
usual upon his axe, did not seem particularly distressed, although the skin
over the hole in his head palpitated violently.
'Ah, Macumazahn!' he said to me as I limped up, feeling very sick, 'I told thee that it would be a good fight, and it has. = Never have I seen a better, or one more bravely fought. As for this iron shirt, surely it is "tagati" [bewitched]; nothing could pierce it. Had it not been for the garment I shoul= d have been there,' and he nodded towards the great pile of dead men beneath him.<= o:p>
'I give it thee; thou art a brave man,' said S=
ir
Henry, briefly.
'Koos!' answered the Zulu, deeply pleased both=
at
the gift and the compliment. 'Thou=
, too,
Incubu, didst bear thyself as a man, but I must give thee some lessons with=
the
axe; thou dost waste thy strength.'
Just then Mackenzie asked about Flossie, and we
were all greatly relieved when one of the men said he had seen her flying
towards the house with the nurse. =
Then
bearing such of the wounded as could be moved at the moment with us, we slo=
wly
made our way towards the Mission-house, spent with toil and bloodshed, but =
with
the glorious sense of victory against overwhelming odds glowing in our
hearts. We had saved the life of t=
he
little maid, and taught the Masai of those parts a lesson that they will no=
t forget
for ten years -- but at what a cost!
Painfully we made our way up the hill which, j=
ust
a little more than an hour before, we had descended under such different
circumstances. At the gate of the wall stood Mrs Mackenzie waiting for us. =
When
her eyes fell upon us, however, she shrieked out, and covered her face with=
her
hands, crying, 'Horrible, horrible!' Nor
were her fears allayed when she discovered her worthy husband being borne u=
pon
an improvized stretcher; but her doubts as to the nature of his injury were
soon set at rest. Then when in a f=
ew brief
words I had told her the upshot of the struggle (of which Flossie, who had
arrived in safety, had been able to explain something) she came up to me and
solemnly kissed me on the forehead.
'God bless you all, Mr Quatermain; you have sa=
ved
my child's life,' she said simply.
Then we went in and got our clothes off and
doctored our wounds; I am glad to say I had none, and Sir Henry's and Good's
were, thanks to those invaluable chain shirts, of a comparatively harmless =
nature,
and to be dealt with by means of a few stitches and sticking- plaster.
Mackenzie's, however, were serious, though fortunately the spear had not
severed any large artery. After th=
at we
had a bath, and what a luxury it was!
And having clad ourselves in ordinary clothes, proceeded to the
dining-room, where breakfast was set as usual.
It was curious sitting down there, drinking tea and eating toast in =
an
ordinary nineteenth-century sort of way just as though we had not employed =
the
early hours in a regular primitive hand-to-hand Middle-Ages kind of struggl=
e. As Good said, the whole thing seemed mo=
re as
though one had had a bad nightmare just before being called, than as a deed
done. When we were finishing our
breakfast the door opened, and in came little Flossie, very pale and totter=
y,
but quite unhurt. She kissed us al=
l and
thanked us. I congratulated her on=
the
presence of mind she had shown in shooting the Masai with her Derringer pis=
tol,
and thereby saving her own life.
'Oh, don't talk of it!' she said, beginning to=
cry
hysterically; 'I shall never forget his face as he went turning round and
round, never -- I can see it now.'
I advised her to go to bed and get some sleep,
which she did, and awoke in the evening quite recovered, so far as her stre=
ngth
was concerned. It struck me as an =
odd
thing that a girl who could find the nerve to shoot a huge black ruffian
rushing to kill her with a spear should have been so affected at the though=
t of
it afterwards; but it is, after all, characteristic of the sex. Poor Flossie!
I fear that her nerves will not get over that night in the Masai camp
for many a long year. She told me
afterwards that it was the suspense that was so awful, having to sit there =
hour
after hour through the livelong night utterly ignorant as to whether or not=
any
attempt was to be made to rescue her.
She said that on the whole she did not expect it, knowing how few of=
us,
and how many of the Masai -- who, by the way, came continually to stare at =
her,
most of them never having seen a white person before, and handled her arms =
and
hair with their filthy paws. She s=
aid
also that she had made up her mind that if she saw no signs of succour by t=
he
time the first rays of the rising sun reached the kraal she would kill hers=
elf
with the pistol, for the nurse had heard the Lygonani say that they were to=
be
tortured to death as soon as the sun was up if one of the white men did not
come in their place. It was an awf=
ul resolution
to have to take, but she meant to act on it, and I have little doubt but wh=
at
she would have done so. Although s=
he was
at an age when in England girls are in the schoolroom and come down to dess=
ert,
this 'child of the wilderness' had more courage, discretion, and power of m=
ind
than many a woman of mature age nurtured in idleness and luxury, with minds
carefully drilled and educated out of any originality or self-resource that
nature may have endowed them with.
When breakfast was over we all turned in and h=
ad a
good sleep, only getting up in time for dinner; after which meal we once mo=
re
adjourned, together with all the available population -- men, women, youths,
and girls -- to the scene of the morning's slaughter, our object being to b=
ury
our own dead and get rid of the Masai by flinging them into the Tana River,
which ran within fifty yards of the kraal.
On reaching the spot we disturbed thousands upon thousands of vultur=
es
and a sort of brown bush eagle, which had been flocking to the feast from m=
iles
and miles away. Often have I watch=
ed
these great and repulsive birds, and marvelled at the extraordinary speed w=
ith
which they arrive on a scene of slaughter.
A buck falls to your rifle, and within a minute high in the blue eth=
er
appears a speck that gradually grows into a vulture, then another, and
another. I have heard many theories
advanced to account for the wonderful power of perception nature has given
these birds. My own, founded on a =
good
deal of observation, is that the vultures, gifted as they are with powers of
sight greater than those given by the most powerful glass, quarter out the
heavens among themselves, and hanging in mid-air at a vast height -- probab=
ly
from two to three miles above the earth -- keep watch, each of them, over an
enormous stretch of country. Prese=
ntly
one of them spies food, and instantly begins to sink towards it. Thereon his next neighbour in the airy
heights sailing leisurely through the blue gulf, at a distance perhaps of s=
ome
miles, follows his example, knowing that food has been sighted. Down he goes, and all the vultures with=
in sight
of him follow after, and so do all those in sight of them. In this way the
vultures for twenty miles round can be summoned to the feast in a few minut=
es.
We buried our dead in solemn silence, Good bei=
ng
selected to read the Burial Service over them (in the absence of Mr Mackenz=
ie, confined
to bed), as he was generally allowed to possess the best voice and most
impressive manner. It was melancho=
ly in the
extreme, but, as Good said, it might have been worse, for we might have had=
'to
bury ourselves'. I pointed out tha=
t this
would have been a difficult feat, but I knew what he meant.
Next we set to work to load an ox-wagon which =
had
been brought round from the Mission with the dead bodies of the Masai, havi=
ng first
collected the spears, shields, and other arms.
We loaded the wagon five times, about fifty bodies to the load, and
emptied it into the Tana. From thi=
s it
was evident that very few of the Masai could have escaped. The crocodiles must have been well fed =
that
night. One of the last bodies we p=
icked
up was that of the sentry at the upper end.
I asked Good how he managed to kill him, and he told me that he had
crept up much as Umslopogaas had done, and stabbed him with his sword. He groaned a good deal, but fortunately
nobody heard him. As Good said, it=
was a
horrible thing to have to do, and most unpleasantly like cold-blooded murde=
r.
And so with the last body that floated away do=
wn
the current of the Tana ended the incident of our attack on the Masai camp.=
The
spears and shields and other arms we took up to the Mission, where they fil=
led
an outhouse. One incident, however=
, I
must not forget to mention. As we =
were
returning from performing the obsequies of our Masai friends we passed the
hollow tree where Alphonse had secreted himself in the morning. It so happened that the little man hims=
elf
was with us assisting in our unpleasant task with a far better will than he=
had
shown where live Masai were concerned.
Indeed, for each body that he handled he found an appropriate
sarcasm. Alphonse throwing Masai i=
nto
the Tana was a very different creature from Alphonse flying for dear life f=
rom
the spear of a live Masai. He was =
quite
merry and gay, he clapped his hands and warbled snatches of French songs as=
the
grim dead warriors went 'splash' into the running waters to carry a message=
of
death and defiance to their kindred a hundred miles below. In short, thinking that he wanted takin=
g down
a peg, I suggested holding a court-martial on him for his conduct in the
morning.
Accordingly we brought him to the tree where he
had hidden, and proceeded to sit in judgment on him, Sir Henry explaining t=
o him
in the very best French the unheard-of cowardice and enormity of his conduc=
t,
more especially in letting the oiled rag out of his mouth, whereby he nearly
aroused the Masai camp with teeth-chattering and brought about the failure =
of
our plans: ending up with a request for an explanation.
But if we expected to find Alphonse at a loss =
and
put him to open shame we were destined to be disappointed. He bowed and scraped and smiled, and
acknowledged that his conduct might at first blush appear strange, but real=
ly
it was not, inasmuch as his teeth were not chattering from fear -- oh, dear=
no!
oh, certainly not! he marvelled how the 'messieurs' could think of such a t=
hing
-- but from the chill air of the morning.
As for the rag, if monsieur could have but tasted its evil flavour,
being compounded indeed of a mixture of stale paraffin oil, grease, and
gunpowder, monsieur himself would have spat it out. But he did nothing of the sort; he dete=
rmined
to keep it there till, alas! his stomach 'revolted', and the rag was ejecte=
d in
an access of involuntary sickness.
'And what have you to say about getting into t=
he
hollow tree?' asked Sir Henry, keeping his countenance with difficulty.
'But, monsieur, the explanation is easy; oh, m=
ost
easy! it was thus: I stood there by the kraal wall, and the little grey
monsieur hit me in the stomach so that my rifle exploded, and the battle be=
gan. I watched whilst recovering myself from
monsieur's cruel blow; then, messieurs, I felt the heroic blood of my
grandfather boil up in my veins. T=
he
sight made me mad. I ground my tee=
th! Fire
flashed from my eyes! I shouted &q=
uot;En
avant!" and longed to slay. B=
efore
my eyes there rose a vision of my heroic grandfather! In short, I was mad!<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> I was a warrior indeed! But then in my heart I heard a small vo=
ice:
"Alphonse," said the voice, "restrain thyself, Alphonse! Give not way to this evil passion! These men, though black, are brothers!<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> And thou wouldst slay them? Cruel
Alphonse!" The voice was
right. I knew it; I was about to
perpetrate the most horrible cruelties: to wound! to massacre! to tear limb
from limb! And how restrain myself=
? I looked round; I saw the tree, I perce=
ived
the hole. "Entomb thyself,&qu=
ot;
said the voice, "and hold on tight!
Thou wilt thus overcome temptation by main force!" It was bitter, just when the blood of my
heroic grandfather boiled most fiercely; but I obeyed! I dragged my unwilling feet along; I en=
tombed
myself! Through the hole I watched=
the
battle! I shouted curses and defia=
nce on
the foe! I noted them fall with satisfaction!
Why not? I had not robbed t=
hem of
their lives. Their gore was not up=
on my
head. The blood of my heroic --'
'Oh, get along with you, you little cur!' broke
out Sir Henry, with a shout of laughter, and giving Alphonse a good kick wh=
ich sent
him flying off with a rueful face.
In the evening I had an interview with Mr
Mackenzie, who was suffering a good deal from his wounds, which Good, who w=
as a
skilful though unqualified doctor, was treating him for. He told me that this occurrence had tau=
ght
him a lesson, and that, if he recovered safely, he meant to hand over the
Mission to a younger man, who was already on his road to join him in his wo=
rk,
and return to England.
'You see, Quatermain,' he said, 'I made up my =
mind
to it, this very morning, when we were creeping down those benighted savage=
s. "If
we live through this and rescue Flossie alive," I said to myself, &quo=
t;I
will go home to England; I have had enough of savages." Well, I did not
think that we should live through it at the time; but thanks be to God and =
you
four, we have lived through it, and I mean to stick to my resolution, lest a
worse thing befall us. Another suc=
h time
would kill my poor wife. And besid=
es, Quatermain,
between you and me, I am well off; it is thirty thousand pounds I am worth
today, and every farthing of it made by honest trade and savings in the ban=
k at
Zanzibar, for living here costs me next to nothing. So though it will be hard to leave this=
place,
which I have made to blossom like a rose in the wilderness, and harder stil=
l to
leave the people I have taught, I shall go.'
'I congratulate you on your decision,' answere=
d I,
'for two reasons. The first is, that you owe a duty to your wife and daught=
er, and
more especially to the latter, who should receive some education and mix wi=
th
girls of her own race, otherwise she will grow up wild, shunning her kind.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> The other is, that as sure as I am stan=
ding
here, sooner or later the Masai will try to avenge the slaughter inflicted =
on
them today. Two or three men are s=
ure to
have escaped the confusion who will carry the story back to their people, a=
nd
the result will be that a great expedition will one day be sent against
you. It might be delayed for a yea=
r, but
sooner or later it will come. Ther=
efore,
if only for that reason, I should go.
When once they have learnt that you are no longer here they may perh=
aps
leave the place alone.' {Endnote 8}
'You are quite right,' answered the
clergyman. 'I will turn my back up=
on
this place in a month. But it will=
be a
wrench, it will be a wrench.'
CHAPTER IX - INTO THE UNKNOWN
A week had passed, and we all sat at supper one
night in the Mission dining-room, feeling very much depressed in spirits, f=
or
the reason that we were going to say goodbye to our kind friends, the
Mackenzies, and depart upon our way at dawn on the morrow. Nothing more had been seen or heard of =
the
Masai, and save for a spear or two which had been overlooked and was rustin=
g in
the grass, and a few empty cartridges where we had stood outside the wall, =
it
would have been difficult to tell that the old cattle kraal at the foot of =
the
slope had been the scene of so desperate a struggle. Mackenzie was, thanks chiefly to his be=
ing so
temperate a man, rapidly recovering from his wound, and could get about on a
pair of crutches; and as for the other wounded men, one had died of gangren=
e,
and the rest were in a fair way to recovery. Mr Mackenzie's caravan of men =
had
also returned from the coast, so that the station was now amply garrisoned.=
Under these circumstances we concluded, warm a=
nd
pressing as were the invitations for us to stay, that it was time to move o=
n,
first to Mount Kenia, and thence into the unknown in search of the mysterio=
us
white race which we had set our hearts on discovering. This time we were go=
ing
to progress by means of the humble but useful donkey, of which we had colle=
cted
no less than a dozen, to carry our goods and chattels, and, if necessary,
ourselves. We had now but two Wakwafis left for servants, and found it quite
impossible to get other natives to venture with us into the unknown parts we
proposed to explore -- and small blame to them.
After all, as Mr Mackenzie said, it was odd that three men, each of =
whom
possessed many of those things that are supposed to make life worth living =
--
health, sufficient means, and position, etc. -- should from their own pleas=
ure
start out upon a wild-goose chase, from which the chances were they never w=
ould
return. But then that is what Englishmen are, adventurers to the backbone; =
and
all our magnificent muster-roll of colonies, each of which will in time bec=
ome
a great nation, testify to the extraordinary value of the spirit of adventu=
re
which at first sight looks like a mild form of lunacy. 'Adventurer' -- he that goes out to mee=
t whatever
may come. Well, that is what we al=
l do
in the world one way or another, and, speaking for myself, I am proud of th=
e title,
because it implies a brave heart and a trust in Providence. Besides, when m=
any
and many a noted Croesus, at whose feet the people worship, and many and ma=
ny a
time-serving and word-coining politician are forgotten, the names of those
grand-hearted old adventurers who have made England what she is, will be
remembered and taught with love and pride to little children whose unshaped=
spirits
yet slumber in the womb of centuries to be.
Not that we three can expect to be numbered with such as these, yet =
have
we done something -- enough, perhaps, to throw a garment over the nakedness=
of
our folly.
That evening, whilst we were sitting on the
veranda, smoking a pipe before turning in, who should come up to us but
Alphonse, and, with a magnificent bow, announce his wish for an interview. =
Being
requested to 'fire away', he explained at some length that he was anxious to
attach himself to our party -- a statement that astonished me not a little,
knowing what a coward the little man was.
The reason, however, soon appeared.
Mr Mackenzie was going down to the coast, and thence on to England.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> Now, if he went down country, Alphonse =
was
persuaded that he would be seized, extradited, sent to France, and to penal
servitude. This was the idea that
haunted him, as King Charles's head haunted Mr Dick, and he brooded over it
till his imagination exaggerated the danger ten times. As a matter of fact, the probability is=
that
his offence against the laws of his country had long ago been forgotten, and
that he would have been allowed to pass unmolested anywhere except in Franc=
e;
but he could not be got to see this. Constitutional coward as the little man
was, he infinitely preferred to face the certain hardships and great risks =
and
dangers of such an expedition as ours, than to expose himself, notwithstand=
ing his
intense longing for his native land, to the possible scrutiny of a police
officer -- which is after all only another exemplification of the truth tha=
t,
to the majority of men, a far-off foreseen danger, however shadowy, is much
more terrible than the most serious present emergency. After listening to what he had to say, =
we
consulted among ourselves, and finally agreed, with Mr Mackenzie's knowledge
and consent, to accept his offer. =
To
begin with, we were very short-handed, and Alphonse was a quick, active fel=
low,
who could turn his hand to anything, and cook -- ah, he could cook! I believe that he would have made a pal=
atable
dish of those gaiters of his heroic grandfather which he was so fond of tal=
king
about. Then he was a good-tempered
little man, and merry as a monkey, whilst his pompous, vainglorious talk wa=
s a
source of infinite amusement to us; and what is more, he never bore
malice. Of course, his being so
pronounced a coward was a great drawback to him, but now that we knew his
weakness we could more or less guard against it. So, after warning him of the undoubted =
risks
he was exposing himself to, we told him that we would accept his offer on
condition that he would promise implicit obedience to our orders. We also promised to give him wages at t=
he
rate of ten pounds a month should he ever return to a civilized country to
receive them. To all of this he ag=
reed with
alacrity, and retired to write a letter to his Annette, which Mr Mackenzie
promised to post when he got down country. He read it to us afterwards, Sir
Henry translating, and a wonderful composition it was. I am sure the depth of his devotion and=
the
narration of his sufferings in a barbarous country, 'far, far from thee,
Annette, for whose adored sake I endure such sorrow,' ought to have touched=
the
feelings of the stoniest-hearted chambermaid.
Well, the morrow came, and by seven o'clock the
donkeys were all loaded, and the time of parting was at hand. It was a melancholy business, especially
saying goodbye to dear little Flossie. She and I were great friends, and of=
ten
used to have talks together -- but her nerves had never got over the shock =
of
that awful night when she lay in the power of those bloodthirsty Masai. 'Oh=
, Mr
Quatermain,' she cried, throwing her arms round my neck and bursting into
tears, 'I can't bear to say goodbye to you. I wonder when we shall meet aga=
in?'
'I don't know, my dear little girl,' I said, '=
I am
at one end of life and you are at the other.
I have but a short time before me at best, and most things lie in the
past, but I hope that for you there are many long and happy years, and
everything lies in the future. By-=
and-by
you will grow into a beautiful woman, Flossie, and all this wild life will =
be
like a far-off dream to you; but I hope, even if we never do meet again, th=
at
you will think of your old friend and remember what I say to you now. Always try to be good, my dear, and to =
do
what is right, rather than what happens to be pleasant, for in the end,
whatever sneering people may say, what is good and what is happy are the sa=
me. Be unselfish, and whenever you can, giv=
e a
helping hand to others -- for the world is full of suffering, my dear, and =
to
alleviate it is the noblest end that we can set before us. If you do that y=
ou
will become a sweet and God-fearing woman, and make many people's lives a l=
ittle
brighter, and then you will not have lived, as so many of your sex do, in
vain. And now I have given you a l=
ot of
old-fashioned advice, and so I am going to give you something to sweeten it
with. You see this little piece of
paper. It is what is called a
cheque. When we are gone give it t=
o your
father with this note -- not before, mind.
You will marry one day, my dear little Flossie, and it is to buy you=
a
wedding present which you are to wear, and your daughter after you, if you =
have
one, in remembrance of Hunter Quatermain.'
Poor little Flossie cried very much, and gave =
me a
lock of her bright hair in return, which I still have. The cheque I gave her was for a thousand
pounds (which being now well off, and having no calls upon me except those =
of
charity, I could well afford), and in the note I directed her father to inv=
est
it for her in Government security, and when she married or came of age to b=
uy
her the best diamond necklace he could get for the money and accumulated
interest. I chose diamonds because=
I
think that now that King Solomon's Mines are lost to the world, their price=
will
never be much lower than it is at present, so that if in after-life she sho=
uld
ever be in pecuniary difficulties, she will be able to turn them into money=
.
Well, at last we got off, after much hand-shak=
ing,
hat-waving, and also farewell saluting from the natives, Alphonse weeping c=
opiously
(for he has a warm heart) at parting with his master and mistress; and I was
not sorry for it at all, for I hate those goodbyes. Perhaps the most affecting thing of all=
was
to witness Umslopogaas' distress at parting with Flossie, for whom the grim=
old
warrior had conceived a strong affection.
He used to say that she was as sweet to see as the only star on a da=
rk
night, and was never tired of loudly congratulating himself on having killed
the Lygonani who had threatened to murder her.
And that was the last we saw of the pleasant Mission-house -- a true
oasis in the desert -- and of European civilization. But I often think of the Mackenzies, and
wonder how they got down country, and if they are now safe and well in Engl=
and,
and will ever see these words. Dear
little Flossie! I wonder how she f=
ares
there where there are no black folk to do her imperious bidding, and no
sky-piercing snow-clad Kenia for her to look at when she gets up in the
morning. And so goodbye to Flossie.
After leaving the Mission-house we made our wa=
y,
comparatively unmolested, past the base of Mount Kenia, which the Masai cal=
l 'Donyo
Egere', or the 'speckled mountain', on account of the black patches of rock
that appear upon its mighty spire, where the sides are too precipitous to a=
llow
of the snow lying on them; then on past the lonely lake Baringo, where one =
of
our two remaining Askari, having unfortunately trodden on a puff-adder, die=
d of
snake-bite, in spite of all our efforts to save him. Thence we proceeded a distance of about=
a
hundred and fifty miles to another magnificent snow-clad mountain called
Lekakisera, which has never, to the best of my belief, been visited before =
by a
European, but which I cannot now stop to describe. There we rested a fortnight, and then s=
tarted
out into the trackless and uninhabited forest of a vast district called
Elgumi. In this forest alone there=
are
more elephants than I ever met with or heard of before. The mighty mammals literally swarm ther=
e entirely
unmolested by man, and only kept down by the natural law that prevents any
animals increasing beyond the capacity of the country they inhabit to suppo=
rt
them. Needless to say, however, we=
did
not shoot many of them, first because we could not afford to waste ammuniti=
on,
of which our stock was getting perilously low, a donkey loaded with it havi=
ng
been swept away in fording a flooded river; and secondly, because we could =
not carry
away the ivory, and did not wish to kill for the mere sake of slaughter.
All this time we were continually ascending at=
the
rate of about one hundred feet every ten miles.
Indeed the country was on a slope which appeared to terminate at a m=
ass
of snow-tipped mountains, for which we were steering, and where we learnt t=
he second
lake of which the wanderer had spoken as the lake without a bottom was
situated. At length we arrived the=
re,
and, having ascertained that there was a large lake on top of the mountains=
, ascended
three thousand feet more till we came to a precipitous cliff or edge, to fi=
nd a
great sheet of water some twenty miles square lying fifteen hundred feet be=
low
us, and evidently occupying an extinct volcanic crater or craters of vast
extent. Perceiving villages on the
border of this lake, we descended with great difficulty through forests of =
pine
trees, which now clothed the precipitous sides of the crater, and were well
received by the people, a simple, unwarlike folk, who had never seen or eve=
n heard
of a white man before, and treated us with great reverence and kindness,
supplying us with as much food and milk as we could eat and drink. This wonderful and beautiful lake lay,
according to our aneroid, at a height of no less than 11,450 feet above sea=
-level,
and its climate was quite cold, and not at all unlike that of England. Indeed, for the first three days of our=
stay there
we saw little or nothing of the scenery on account of an
unmistakable Scotch mist which prevailed. It was this rain that set the tsetse po=
ison
working in our remaining donkeys, so that they all died.
This disaster left us in a very awkward positi=
on,
as we had now no means of transport whatever, though on the other hand we h=
ad not
much to carry. Ammunition, too, wa=
s very
short, amounting to but one hundred and fifty rounds of rifle cartridges and
some fifty shot-gun cartridges. Ho=
w to
get on we did not know; indeed it seemed to us that we had about reached the
end of our tether. Even if we had been inclined to abandon the object of our
search, which, shadow as it was, was by no means the case, it was ridiculou=
s to
think of forcing our way back some seven hundred miles to the coast in our
present plight; so we came to the conclusion that the only thing to be done=
was
to stop where we were -- the natives being so well disposed and food plenti=
ful
-- for the present, and abide events, and try to collect information as to =
the
countries beyond.
Accordingly, having purchased a capital log ca=
noe,
large enough to hold us all and our baggage, from the headman of the villag=
e we
were staying in, presenting him with three empty cold-drawn brass cartridge=
s by
way of payment, with which he was perfectly delighted, we set out to make a
tour of the lake in order to find the most favourable place to make a
camp. As we did not know if we sho=
uld
return to this village, we put all our gear into the canoe, and also a quar=
ter
of cooked water-buck, which when young is delicious eating, and off we set,
natives having already gone before us in light canoes to warn the inhabitan=
ts of
the other villages of our approach.
As we were puddling leisurely along Good remar=
ked
upon the extraordinary deep blue colour of the water, and said that he
understood from the natives, who were great fishermen -- fish, indeed, bein=
g their
principal food -- that the lake was supposed to be wonderfully deep, and to
have a hole at the bottom through which the water escaped and put out some
great fire that was raging below.
I pointed out to him that what he had heard was
probably a legend arising from a tradition among the people which dated bac=
k to
the time when one of the extinct parasitic volcanic cones was in activity. =
We saw several round the borders of the =
lake
which had no doubt been working at a period long subsequent to the volcanic
death of the central crater which now formed the bed of the lake itself.
The farther shore of the lake we found, on app=
roaching
it, to consist of a vast perpendicular wall of rock, which held the water
without any intermediate sloping bank, as elsewhere. Accordingly we paddled parallel with th=
is
precipice, at a distance of about a hundred paces from it, shaping our cour=
se
for the end of the lake, where we knew that there was a large village.
As we went we began to pass a considerable
accumulation of floating rushes, weed, boughs of trees, and other rubbish,
brought, Good supposed, to this spot by some current, which he was much puz=
zled
to account for. Whilst we were
speculating about this, Sir Henry pointed out a flock of large white swans,
which were feeding on the drift some little way ahead of us. Now I had already noticed swans flying =
about
this lake, and, having never come across them before in Africa, was exceedi=
ngly
anxious to obtain a specimen. I had
questioned the natives about them, and learnt that they came from over the
mountain, always arriving at certain periods of the year in the early morni=
ng,
when it was very easy to catch them, on account of their exhausted
condition. I also asked them what
country they came from, when they shrugged their shoulders, and said that on
the top of the great black precipice was stony inhospitable land, and beyond
that were mountains with snow, and full of wild beasts, where no people liv=
ed,
and beyond the mountains were hundreds of miles of dense thorn forest, so t=
hick
that even the elephants could not get through it, much less men. Next I asked them if they had ever hear=
d of
white people like ourselves living on the farther side of the mountains and=
the
thorn forest, whereat they laughed. But
afterwards a very old woman came and told me that when she was a little gir=
l her
grandfather had told her that in his youth his grandfather had crossed the
desert and the mountains, and pierced the thorn forest, and seen a white pe=
ople
who lived in stone kraals beyond. Of course, as this took the tale back some
two hundred and fifty years, the information was very indefinite; but still
there it was again, and on thinking it over I grew firmly convinced that th=
ere
was some truth in all these rumours, and equally firmly determined to solve=
the
mystery. Little did I guess in wha=
t an
almost miraculous way my desire was to be gratified.
Well, we set to work to stalk the swans, which
kept drawing, as they fed, nearer and nearer to the precipice, and at last =
we
pushed the canoe under shelter of a patch of drift within forty yards of
them. Sir Henry had the shot-gun, =
loaded
with No. 1, and, waiting for a chance, got two in a line, and, firing at th=
eir
necks, killed them both. Up rose t=
he
rest, thirty or more of them, with a mighty splashing; and, as they did so,=
he gave
them the other barrel. Down came o=
ne
fellow with a broken wing, and I saw the leg of another drop and a few feat=
hers
start out of his back; but he went on quite strong. Up went the swans, circling ever higher=
till
at last they were mere specks level with the top of the frowning precipice,
when I saw them form into a triangle and head off for the unknown
north-east. Meanwhile we had picke=
d up
our two dead ones, and beautiful birds they were, weighing not less than ab=
out
thirty pounds each, and were chasing the winged one, which had scrambled ov=
er a
mass of driftweed into a pool of clear water beyond. Finding a difficulty in forcing the can=
oe
through the rubbish, I told our only remaining Wakwafi servant, whom I knew=
to
be an excellent swimmer, to jump over, dive under the drift, and catch him,
knowing that as there were no crocodiles in this lake he could come to no
harm. Entering into the fun of the
thing, the man obeyed, and soon was dodging about after the winged swan in =
fine
style, getting gradually nearer to the rock wall, against which the water
washed as he did so.
Presently he gave up swimming after the swan, =
and
began to cry out that he was being carried away; and, indeed, we saw that, =
though
he was swimming with all his strength towards us, he was being drawn slowly=
to
the precipice. With a few desperate
strokes of our paddles we pushed the canoe through the crust of drift and r=
owed
towards the man as hard as we could, but, fast as we went, he was drawn fas=
ter
to the rock. Suddenly I saw that b=
efore us,
just rising eighteen inches or so above the surface of the lake, was what
looked like the top of the arch of a submerged cave or railway tunnel. Evidently, from the watermark on the ro=
ck
several feet above it, it was generally entirely submerged; but there had b=
een
a dry season, and the cold had prevented the snow from melting as freely as
usual; so the lake was low and the arch showed.
Towards this arch our poor servant was being sucked with frightful
rapidity. He was not more than ten
fathoms from it, and we were about twenty when I saw it, and with little he=
lp
from us the canoe flew along after him.
He struggled bravely, and I thought that we should have saved him, w=
hen
suddenly I perceived an expression of despair come upon his face, and there=
before
our eyes he was sucked down into the cruel swirling blue depths, and
vanished. At the same moment I fel=
t our
canoe seized as with a mighty hand, and propelled with resistless force tow=
ards
the rock.
We realized our danger now and rowed, or rather
paddled, furiously in our attempt to get out of the vortex. In vain; in another second we were flyi=
ng
straight for the arch like an arrow, and I thought that we were lost. Luckily I retained sufficient presence =
of
mind to shout out, instantly setting the example by throwing myself into the
bottom of the canoe, 'Down on your faces -- down!' and the others had the s=
ense
to take the hint. In another insta=
nt there
was a grinding noise, and the boat was pushed down till the water began to
trickle over the sides, and I thought that we were gone. But no, suddenly the grinding ceased, a=
nd we
could again feel the canoe flying along.
I turned my head a little -- I dared not lift it -- and looked up. By the feeble light that yet reached the
canoe, I could make out that a dense arch of rock hung just over our heads,=
and
that was all. In another minute I =
could
not even see as much as that, for the faint light had merged into shadow, a=
nd
the shadows had been swallowed up in darkness, utter and complete.
For an hour or so we lay there, not daring to =
lift
our heads for fear lest the brains should be dashed out of them, and scarce=
ly able
to speak even, on account of the noise of the rushing water which drowned o=
ur
voices. Not, indeed, that we had m=
uch
inclination to speak, seeing that we were overwhelmed by the awfulness of o=
ur
position and the imminent fear of instant death, either by being dashed aga=
inst
the sides of the cavern, or on a rock, or being sucked down in the raging
waters, or perhaps asphyxiated by want of air.
All of these and many other modes of death presented themselves to my
imagination as I lay at the bottom of the canoe, listening to the swirl of =
the
hurrying waters which ran whither we knew not.
One only other sound could I hear, and that was Alphonse's intermitt=
ent
howl of terror coming from the centre of the canoe, and even that seemed fa=
int
and unnatural. Indeed, the whole t=
hing
overpowered my brain, and I began to believe that I was the victim of some
ghastly spirit-shaking nightmare.
On we flew, drawn by the mighty current, till =
at last
I noticed that the sound of the water was not half so deafening as it had b=
een,
and concluded that this must be because there was more room for the echoes =
to
disperse in. I could now hear Alph=
onse's
howls much more distinctly; they were made up of the oddest mixture of
invocations to the Supreme Power and the name of his beloved Annette that i=
t is
possible to conceive; and, in short, though their evident earnestness saved
them from profanity, were, to say the least, very remarkable. Taking up a paddle I managed to drive i=
t into
his ribs, whereon he, thinking that the end had come, howled louder than
ever. Then I slowly and cautiously=
raised
myself on my knees and stretched my hand upwards, but could touch no roof.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> Next I took the paddle and lifted it ab=
ove my
head as high as I could, but with the same result. I also thrust it out laterally to the r=
ight
and left, but could touch nothing except water.
Then I bethought me that there was in the boat, amongst our other
remaining possessions, a bull's-eye lantern and a tin of oil. I groped about and found it, and having=
a
match on me carefully lit it, and as soon as the flame had got a hold of the
wick I turned it on down the boat. As it
happened, the first thing the light lit on was the white and scared face of
Alphonse, who, thinking that it was all over at last, and that he was
witnessing a preliminary celestial phenomenon, gave a terrific yell and was
with difficulty reassured with the paddle. As for the other three, Good was
lying on the flat of his back, his eyeglass still fixed in his eye, and gaz=
ing
blankly into the upper darkness. S=
ir
Henry had his head resting on the thwarts of the canoe, and with his hand w=
as
trying to test the speed of the water.
But when the beam of light fell upon old Umslopogaas I could really =
have
laughed. I think I have said that =
we had
put a roast quarter of water-buck into the canoe. Well, it so happened that when we all
prostrated ourselves to avoid being swept out of the boat and into the wate=
r by
the rock roof, Umslopogaas's head had come down uncommonly near this roast
buck, and so soon as he had recovered a little from the first shock of our
position it occurred to him that he was hungry.
Thereupon he coolly cut off a chop with Inkosi-kaas, and was now
employed in eating it with every appearance of satisfaction. As he afterwards explained, he thought =
that
he was going 'on a long journey', and preferred to start on a full
stomach. It reminded me of the peo=
ple
who are going to be hanged, and who are generally reported in the English d=
aily
papers to have made 'an excellent breakfast'.
As soon as the others saw that I had managed to
light the lamp, we bundled Alphonse into the farther end of the canoe with =
a threat
which calmed him down wonderfully, that if he would insist upon making the
darkness hideous with his cries we would put him out of suspense by sending=
him
to join the Wakwafi and wait for Annette in another sphere, and began to
discuss the situation as well as we could.
First, however, at Good's suggestion, we bound two paddles mast-fash=
ion
in the bows so that they might give us warning against any sudden lowering =
of
the roof of the cave or waterway. =
It was
clear to us that we were in an underground river or, as Alphonse defined it,
'main drain', which carried off the superfluous waters of the lake. Such rivers are well known to exist in =
many
parts of the world, but it has not often been the evil fortune of explorers=
to
travel by them. That the river was=
wide
we could clearly see, for the light from the bull's-eye lantern failed to r=
each
from shore to shore, although occasionally, when the current swept us eithe=
r to
one side or the other, we could distinguish the rock wall of the tunnel, wh=
ich,
as far as we could make out, appeared to arch about twenty-five feet above =
our
heads. As for the current itself, =
it
ran, Good estimated, at least eight knots, and, fortunately for us, was, as=
is
usual, fiercest in the middle of the stream.
Still, our first act was to arrange that one of us, with the lantern=
and
a pole there was in the canoe, should always be in the bows ready, if possi=
ble,
to prevent us from being stove in against the side of the cave or any
projecting rock. Umslopogaas, havi=
ng
already dined, took the first turn. This
was absolutely, with one exception, all that we could do towards preserving=
our
safety. The exception was that ano=
ther
of us took up a position in the stern with a paddle by means of which it was
possible to steer the canoe more or less and to keep her from the sides of =
the
cave. These matters attended to, w=
e made
a somewhat sparing meal off the cold buck's meat (for we did not know how l=
ong
it might have to last us), and then feeling in rather better spirits I gave=
my
opinion that, serious as it undoubtedly was, I did not consider our positio=
n altogether
without hope, unless, indeed, the natives were right, and the river plunged
straight down into the bowels of the earth. If not, it was clear that it mu=
st
emerge somewhere, probably on the other side of the mountains, and in that =
case
all we had to think of was to keep ourselves alive till we got there, where=
ver 'there'
might be. But, of course, as Good
lugubriously pointed out, on the other hand we might fall victims to a hund=
red
unsuspected horrors -- or the river might go on winding away inside the ear=
th till
it dried up, in which case our fate would indeed be an awful one.
'Well, let us hope for the best and prepare
ourselves for the worst,' said Sir Henry, who is always cheerful and even
spirited -- a very tower of strength in the time of trouble. 'We have come out of so many queer scra=
pes
together, that somehow I almost fancy we shall come out of this,' he added.=
This was excellent advice, and we proceeded to
take it each in our separate way -- that is, except Alphonse, who had by no=
w sunk
into a sort of terrified stupor. G=
ood
was at the helm and Umslopogaas in the bows, so there was nothing left for =
Sir
Henry and myself to do except to lie down in the canoe and think. It certai=
nly
was a curious, and indeed almost a weird, position to be placed in -- rushi=
ng
along, as we were, through the bowels of the earth, borne on the bosom of a
Stygian river, something after the fashion of souls being ferried by Charon=
, as
Curtis said. And how dark it was!<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> The feeble ray from our little lamp did=
but
serve to show the darkness. There =
in the
bows sat old Umslopogaas, like Pleasure in the poem, {Endnote 9} watchful a=
nd
untiring, the pole ready to his hand, and behind in the shadow I could just
make out the form of Good peering forward at the ray of light in order to m=
ake
out how to steer with the paddle that he held and now and again dipped into=
the
water.
'Well, well,' thought I, 'you have come in sea= rch of adventures, Allan my boy, and you have certainly got them. At your time of life, too! You ought to be ashamed of yourself; but somehow you are not, and, awful as it all is, perhaps you will pull through= after all; and if you don't, why, you cannot help it, you see! And when all's said and done an underground river will make a very appropriate burying-place.'<= o:p>
At first, however, I am bound to say that the
strain upon the nerves was very great.
It is trying to the coolest and most experienced person not to know =
from
one hour to another if he has five minutes more to live, but there is nothi=
ng
in this world that one cannot get accustomed to, and in time we began to ge=
t accustomed
even to that. And, after all, our
anxiety, though no doubt natural, was, strictly speaking, illogical, seeing
that we never know what is going to happen to us the next minute, even when=
we
sit in a well-drained house with two policemen patrolling under the window =
--
nor how long we have to live. It i=
s all
arranged for us, my sons, so what is the use of bothering?
It was nearly midday when we made our dive int=
o darkness,
and we had set our watch (Good and Umslopogaas) at two, having agreed that =
it
should be of a duration of five hours.
At seven o'clock, accordingly, Sir Henry and I went on, Sir Henry at=
the
bow and I at the stern, and the other two lay down and went to sleep. For t=
hree
hours all went well, Sir Henry only finding it necessary once to push us off
from the side; and I that but little steering was required to keep us strai=
ght,
as the violent current did all that was needed, though occasionally the can=
oe
showed a tendency which had to be guarded against to veer and travel broads=
ide on. What struck me as the most curious thing
about this wonderful river was: how did the air keep fresh? It was muggy and thick, no doubt, but s=
till
not sufficiently so to render it bad or even remarkably unpleasant. The only explanation that I can suggest=
is
that the water of the lake had sufficient air in it to keep the atmosphere =
of
the tunnel from absolute stagnation, this air being given out as it proceed=
ed
on its headlong way. Of course I o=
nly
give the solution of the mystery for what it is worth, which perhaps is not
much.
When I had been for three hours or so at the h=
elm,
I began to notice a decided change in the temperature, which was getting wa=
rmer. At first I took no notice of it, but wh=
en, at
the expiration of another half-hour, I found that it was getting hotter and=
hotter,
I called to Sir Henry and asked him if he noticed it, or if it was only my
imagination. 'Noticed it!' he answ=
ered; 'I
should think so. I am in a sort of
Turkish bath.' Just about then the
others woke up gasping, and were obliged to begin to discard their
clothes. Here Umslopogaas had the
advantage, for he did not wear any to speak of, except a moocha.
Hotter it grew, and hotter yet, till at last we
could scarcely breathe, and the perspiration poured out of us. Half an hour more, and though we were a=
ll now
stark naked, we could hardly bear it.
The place was like an antechamber of the infernal regions proper.
This had been going on for some time, when
suddenly the river turned a little, and I heard Sir Henry call out from the
bows in a hoarse, startled voice, and, looking up, saw a most wonderful and
awful thing. About half a mile ahe=
ad of
us, and a little to the left of the centre of the stream -- which we could =
now see
was about ninety feet broad -- a huge pillar-like jet of almost white flame
rose from the surface of the water and sprang fifty feet into the air, when=
it
struck the roof and spread out some forty feet in diameter, falling back in
curved sheets of fire shaped like the petals of a full-blown rose. Indeed this awful gas jet resembled not=
hing
so much as a great flaming flower rising out of the black water. Below was the straight stalk, a foot or=
more
thick, and above the dreadful bloom. And
as for the fearfulness of it and its fierce and awesome beauty, who can
describe it? Certainly I cannot. Although we were now some five hundred =
yards
away, it, notwithstanding the steam, lit up the whole cavern as clear as da=
y,
and we could see that the roof was here about forty feet above us, and wash=
ed
perfectly smooth with water. The r=
ock
was black, and here and there I could make out long shining lines of ore
running through it like great veins, but of what metal they were I know not=
.
On we rushed towards this pillar of fire, which
gleamed fiercer than any furnace ever lit by man.
'Keep the boat to the right, Quatermain -- to =
the
right,' shouted Sir Henry, and a minute afterwards I saw him fall forward
senseless. Alphonse had already gone.
Good was the next to go. Th=
ere they
lay as though dead; only Umslopogaas and I kept our senses. We were within
fifty yards of it now, and I saw the Zulu's head fall forward on his
hands. He had gone too, and I was =
alone.
I could not breathe; the fierce heat dried me up. For yards and yards round the great ros=
e of
fire the rock-roof was red-hot. The wood of the boat was almost burning.
My eyes seemed to be bursting from my head, and
through my closed lids I could see the fierce light. We were nearly opposite now; it roared =
like
all the fires of hell, and the water boiled furiously around it. Five seconds more. We were past; I heard the roar behind m=
e.
Then I too fell senseless. The next thing that I recollect is feel=
ing a
breath of air upon my face. My eyes
opened with great difficulty. I lo=
oked
up. Far, far above me there was li=
ght, though
around me was great gloom. Then I
remembered and looked. The canoe still floated down the river, and in the
bottom of it lay the naked forms of my companions. 'Were they dead?' I wondered. 'Was I left alone in this awful place?'=
I knew not. Next I became conscious of a
burning thirst. I put my hand over=
the
edge of the boat into the water and drew it up again with a cry. No wonder: nearly all the skin was burn=
t off
the back of it. The water, however=
, was
cold, or nearly so, and I drank pints and splashed myself all over. My body seemed to suck up the fluid as =
one
may see a brick wall suck up rain after a drought; but where I was burnt the
touch of it caused intense pain. T=
hen I
bethought myself of the others, and, dragging myself towards them with
difficulty, I sprinkled them with water, and to my joy they began to recove=
r --
Umslopogaas first, then the others. Next
they drank, absorbing water like so many sponges. Then, feeling chilly -- a
queer contrast to our recent sensations -- we began as best we could to get
into our clothes. As we did so Good
pointed to the port side of the canoe: it was all blistered with heat, and =
in
places actually charred. Had it be=
en
built like our civilized boats, Good said that the planks would certainly h=
ave
warped and let in enough water to sink us; but fortunately it was dug out of
the soft, willowy wood of a single great tree, and had sides nearly three
inches and a bottom four inches thick.
What that awful flame was we never discovered, but I suppose that th=
ere
was at this spot a crack or hole in the bed of the river through which a va=
st
volume of gas forced its way from its volcanic home in the bowels of the ea=
rth
towards the upper air. How it first
became ignited is, of course, impossible to say -- probably, I should think,
from some spontaneous explosion of mephitic gases.
As soon as we had got some things together and
shaken ourselves together a little, we set to work to make out where we were
now. I have said that there was light above, and on examination we found th=
at
it came from the sky. Our river th=
at
was, Sir Henry said, a literal realization of the wild vision of the poet {=
Endnote
10}, was no longer underground, but was running on its darksome way, not now
through 'caverns measureless to man', but between two frightful cliffs which
cannot have been less than two thousand feet high. So high were they, indeed, that though =
the
sky was above us, where we were was dense gloom -- not darkness indeed, but=
the
gloom of a room closely shuttered in the daytime. Up on either side rose the
great straight cliffs, grim and forbidding, till the eye grew dizzy with tr=
ying
to measure their sheer height. The little space of sky that marked where th=
ey
ended lay like a thread of blue upon their soaring blackness, which was
unrelieved by any tree or creeper. Here
and there, however, grew ghostly patches of a long grey lichen, hanging
motionless to the rock as the white beard to the chin of a dead man. It seemed as though only the dregs or h=
eavier
part of the light had sunk to the bottom of this awful place. No bright-winged sunbeam could fall so =
low: they
died far, far above our heads.
By the river's edge was a little shore formed =
of
round fragments of rock washed into this shape by the constant action of wa=
ter,
and giving the place the appearance of being strewn with thousands of fossil
cannon balls. Evidently when the w=
ater
of the underground river is high there is no beach at all, or very little,
between the border of the stream and the precipitous cliffs; but now there =
was
a space of seven or eight yards. A=
nd
here, on this beach, we determined to land, in order to rest ourselves a li=
ttle
after all that we had gone through and to stretch our limbs. It was a dread=
ful
place, but it would give an hour's respite from the terrors of the river, a=
nd
also allow of our repacking and arranging the canoe. Accordingly we selected what looked lik=
e a
favourable spot, and with some little difficulty managed to beach the canoe=
and
scramble out on to the round, inhospitable pebbles.
'My word,' called out Good, who was on shore t=
he
first, 'what an awful place! It's =
enough
to give one a fit.' And he laughed=
.
Instantly a thundering voice took up his words,
magnifying them a hundred times. '=
Give
one a fit -- Ho! ho! ho!' -- 'A fit, Ho! ho! ho!' answered another voice in
wild accents from far up the cliff -- a fit! a fit! a fit! chimed in voice
after voice -- each flinging the words to and fro with shouts of awful laug=
hter
to the invisible lips of the other till the whole place echoed with the wor=
ds
and with shrieks of fiendish merriment, which at last ceased as suddenly as
they had begun.
'Oh, mon Dieu!' yelled Alphonse, startled quite
out of such self-command as he possessed.
'Mon Dieu!
Mon Dieu! Mon Dieu!' the Ti=
tanic
echoes thundered, shrieked, and wailed in every conceivable tone.
'Ah,' said Umslopogaas calmly, 'I clearly perc=
eive
that devils live here. Well, the p=
lace
looks like it.'
I tried to explain to him that the cause of all
the hubbub was a very remarkable and interesting echo, but he would not bel=
ieve
it.
'Ah,' he said, 'I know an echo when I hear
one. There was one lived opposite =
my
kraal in Zululand, and the Intombis [maidens] used to talk with it. But if what we hear is a full-grown ech=
o,
mine at home can only have been a baby.
No, no -- they are devils up there.
But I don't think much of them, though,' he added, taking a pinch of
snuff. 'They can copy what one say=
s, but
they don't seem to be able to talk on their own account, and they dare not =
show
their faces,' and he relapsed into silence, and apparently paid no further
attention to such contemptible fiends.
After this we found it necessary to keep our
conversation down to a whisper -- for it was really unbearable to have every
word one uttered tossed to and fro like a tennis-ball, as precipice called =
to
precipice.
But even our whispers ran up the rocks in
mysterious murmurs till at last they died away in long-drawn sighs of
sound. Echoes are delightful and
romantic things, but we had more than enough of them in that dreadful gulf.=
As soon as we had settled ourselves a little on
the round stones, we went on to wash and dress our burns as well as we coul=
d. As
we had but a little oil for the lantern, we could not spare any for this
purpose, so we skinned one of the swans, and used the fat off its breast, w=
hich
proved an excellent substitute. Then we repacked the canoe, and finally beg=
an
to take some food, of which I need scarcely say we were in need, for our
insensibility had endured for many hours, and it was, as our watches showed=
, midday. Accordingly we seated ourselves in a ci=
rcle,
and were soon engaged in discussing our cold meat with such appetite as we
could muster, which, in my case at any rate, was not much, as I felt sick a=
nd
faint after my sufferings of the previous night, and had besides a racking
headache. It was a curious meal. The gloom was so intense that we could
scarcely see the way to cut our food and convey it to our mouths. Still we got on pretty well, till I hap=
pened
to look behind me -- my attention being attracted by a noise of something
crawling over the stones, and perceived sitting upon a rock in my immediate
rear a huge species of black freshwater crab, only it was five times the si=
ze
of any crab I ever saw. This hideo=
us and
loathsome-looking animal had projecting eyes that seemed to glare at one, v=
ery long
and flexible antennae or feelers, and gigantic claws. Nor was I especially
favoured with its company. From ev=
ery
quarter dozens of these horrid brutes were creeping up, drawn, I suppose, by
the smell of the food, from between the round stones and out of holes in the
precipice. Some were already quite=
close
to us. I stared quite fascinated b=
y the
unusual sight, and as I did so I saw one of the beasts stretch out its huge
claw and give the unsuspecting Good such a nip behind that he jumped up wit=
h a howl,
and set the 'wild echoes flying' in sober earnest. Just then, too, another,=
a
very large one, got hold of Alphonse's leg, and declined to part with it, a=
nd,
as may be imagined, a considerable scene ensued. Umslopogaas took his axe and cracked th=
e shell
of one with the flat of it, whereon it set up a horrid screaming which the
echoes multiplied a thousandfold, and began to foam at the mouth, a proceed=
ing
that drew hundreds more of its friends out of unsuspected holes and
corners. Those on the spot perceiv=
ing
that the animal was hurt fell upon it like creditors on a bankrupt, and
literally rent it limb from limb with their huge pincers and devoured it, u=
sing
their claws to convey the fragments to their mouths. Seizing whatever weapons were handy, su=
ch as
stones or paddles, we commenced a war upon the monsters -- whose numbers we=
re
increasing by leaps and bounds, and whose stench was overpowering. So fast as we cracked their armour othe=
rs
seized the injured ones and devoured them, foaming at the mouth, and scream=
ing
as they did so. Nor did the brutes=
stop
at that. When they could they nipp=
ed
hold of us -- and awful nips they were -- or tried to steal the meat. One enormous fellow got hold of the swa=
n we
had skinned and began to drag it off.
Instantly a score of others flung themselves upon the prey, and then
began a ghastly and disgusting scene.
How the monsters foamed and screamed, and rent the flesh, and each
other! It was a sickening and unnatural sight, and one that will haunt all =
who
saw it till their dying day -- enacted as it was in the deep, oppressive gl=
oom,
and set to the unceasing music of the many-toned nerve-shaking echoes. Strange as it may seem to say so, there=
was
something so shockingly human about these fiendish creatures -- it was as
though all the most evil passions and desires of man had got into the shell=
of
a magnified crab and gone mad. The=
y were
so dreadfully courageous and intelligent, and they looked as if they
understood. The whole scene might =
have
furnished material for another canto of Dante's 'Inferno', as Curtis said.<=
o:p>
'I sa=
y, you
fellows, let's get out of this or we shall all go off our heads,' sung out
Good; and we were not slow to take the hint.
Pushing the canoe, around which the animals were now crawling by hun=
dreds
and making vain attempts to climb, off the rocks, we bundled into it and got
out into mid-stream, leaving behind us the fragments of our meal and the
screaming, foaming, stinking mass of monsters in full possession of the gro=
und.
'Those are the devils of the place,' said
Umslopogaas with the air of one who has solved a problem, and upon my word I
felt almost inclined to agree with him.
Umslopogaas' remarks were like his axe -- very
much to the point.
'What's to be done next?' said Sir Henry blank=
ly.
'Drift, I suppose,' I answered, and we drifted
accordingly. All the afternoon and well into the evening we floated on in t=
he
gloom beneath the far-off line of blue sky, scarcely knowing when day ended=
and
night began, for down in that vast gulf the difference was not marked, till=
at
length Good pointed out a star hanging right above us, which, having nothing
better to do, we observed with great interest.
Suddenly it vanished, the darkness became intense, and a familiar
murmuring sound filled the air. 'U=
nderground
again,' I said with a groan, holding up the lamp. Yes, there was no doubt about it. I could just make out the roof. The chasm had come to an end and the tu=
nnel
had recommenced. And then there be=
gan
another long, long night of danger and horror.
To describe all its incidents would be too wearisome, so I will simp=
ly
say that about midnight we struck on a flat projecting rock in mid-stream a=
nd
were as nearly as possible overturned and drowned. However, at last we got off, and went u=
pon
the uneven tenor of our way. And s=
o the
hours passed till it was nearly three o'clock.
Sir Henry, Good, and Alphonse were asleep, utterly worn out; Umslopo=
gaas
was at the bow with the pole, and I was steering, when I perceived that the
rate at which we were travelling had perceptibly increased. Then, suddenly,=
I
heard Umslopogaas make an exclamation, and next second came a sound as of
parting branches, and I became aware that the canoe was being forced through
hanging bushes or creepers. Another
minute, and the breath of sweet open air fanned my face, and I felt that we=
had
emerged from the tunnel and were floating upon clear water. I say felt, for I could see nothing, the
darkness being absolutely pitchy, as it often is just before the dawn. But even this could scarcely damp my jo=
y. We were out of that dreadful river, and
wherever we might have got to this at least was something to be thankful fo=
r. And
so I sat down and inhaled the sweet night air and waited for the dawn with =
such
patience as I could command.
CHAPTER XI - THE FROWNING CITY
For an hour or more I sat waiting (Umslopogaas
having meanwhile gone to sleep also) till at length the east turned grey, a=
nd huge
misty shapes moved over the surface of the water like ghosts of long-forgot=
ten
dawns. They were the vapours risin=
g from
their watery bed to greet the sun. Then
the grey turned to primrose, and the primrose grew to red. Next, glorious bars of light sprang up =
across
the eastern sky, and through them the radiant messengers of the dawn came s=
peeding
upon their arrowy way, scattering the ghostly vapours and awaking the mount=
ains
with a kiss, as they flew from range to range and longitude to longitude. Another moment, and the golden gates we=
re
open and the sun himself came forth as a bridegroom from his chamber, with =
pomp
and glory and a flashing as of ten million spears, and embraced the night a=
nd covered
her with brightness, and it was day.
But as yet I could see nothing save the beauti=
ful
blue sky above, for over the water was a thick layer of mist exactly as tho=
ugh the
whole surface had been covered with billows of cotton wool. By degrees,
however, the sun sucked up the mists, and then I saw that we were afloat up=
on a
glorious sheet of blue water of which I could not make out the shore. Some eight or ten miles behind us, howe=
ver,
there stretched as far as the eye could reach a range of precipitous hills =
that
formed a retaining wall of the lake, and I have no doubt but that it was
through some entrance in these hills that the subterranean river found its =
way
into the open water. Indeed, I
afterwards ascertained this to be the fact, and it will be some indication =
of
the extraordinary strength and directness of the current of the mysterious
river that the canoe, even at this distance, was still answering to it. Presently, too, I, or rather Umslopogaa=
s, who
woke up just then, discovered another indication, and a very unpleasant one=
it
was. Perceiving some whitish objec=
t upon
the water, Umslopogaas called my attention to it, and with a few strokes of=
the
paddle brought the canoe to the spot, whereupon we discovered that the obje=
ct
was the body of a man floating face downwards.
This was bad enough, but imagine my horror when Umslopogaas having
turned him on to his back with the paddle, we recognized in the sunken feat=
ures
the lineaments of -- whom do you suppose?
None other than our poor servant who had been sucked down two days
before in the waters of the subterranean river.
It quite frightened me. I t=
hought
that we had left him behind for ever, and behold! borne by the current, he =
had
made the awful journey with us, and with us had reached the end. His appearance also was dreadful, for h=
e bore
traces of having touched the pillar of fire -- one arm being completely
shrivelled up and all his hair being burnt off.
The features were, as I have said, sunken, and yet they preserved up=
on
them that awful look of despair that I had seen upon his living face as the
poor fellow was sucked down. Reall=
y the
sight unnerved me, weary and shaken as I felt with all that we had gone
through, and I was heartily glad when suddenly and without any warning the =
body
began to sink just as though it had had a mission, which having been
accomplished, it retired; the real reason no doubt being that turning it on=
its
back allowed a free passage to the gas.
Down it went to the transparent depths -- fathom after fathom we cou=
ld
trace its course till at last a long line of bright air-bubbles, swiftly
chasing each other to the surface, alone remained where it had passed. At length these, too, were gone, and th=
at was
an end of our poor servant. Umslopogaas thoughtfully watched the body vanis=
h.
'What did he follow us for?' he asked. ''Tis an ill omen for thee and me,
Macumazahn.' And he laughed.
I turned on him angrily, for I dislike these
unpleasant suggestions. If people have such ideas, they ought in common dec=
ency
to keep them to themselves. I dete=
st
individuals who make on the subject of their disagreeable presentiments, or
who, when they dream that they saw one hanged as a common felon, or some su=
ch
horror, will insist upon telling one all about it at breakfast, even if they
have to get up early to do it.
Just then, however, the others woke up and beg=
an
to rejoice exceedingly at finding that we were out of that dreadful river a=
nd
once more beneath the blue sky. Th=
en
followed a babel of talk and suggestions as to what we were to do next, the
upshot of all of which was that, as we were excessively hungry, and had not=
hing
whatsoever left to eat except a few scraps of biltong (dried game-flesh), h=
aving
abandoned all that remained of our provisions to those horrible freshwater
crabs, we determined to make for the shore. But a new difficulty arose. We did not know where the shore was, an=
d,
with the exception of the cliffs through which the subterranean river made =
its
entry, could see nothing but a wide expanse of sparkling blue water. Observing, however, that the long fligh=
ts of
aquatic birds kept flying from our left, we concluded that they were advanc=
ing
from their feeding-grounds on shore to pass the day in the lake, and
accordingly headed the boat towards the quarter whence they came, and began=
to
paddle. Before long, however, a st=
iffish
breeze sprang up, blowing directly in the direction we wanted, so we improv=
ized
a sail with a blanket and the pole, which took us along merrily. This done, we devoured the remnants of =
our
biltong, washed down with the sweet lake water, and then lit our pipes and
awaited whatever might turn up.
When we had been sailing for an hour, Good, who
was searching the horizon with the spy-glass, suddenly announced joyfully t=
hat he
saw land, and pointed out that, from the change in the colour of the water,=
he
thought we must be approaching the mouth of a river. In another minute we perceived a great =
golden
dome, not unlike that of St Paul's, piercing the morning mists, and while we
were wondering what in the world it could be, Good reported another and sti=
ll
more important discovery, namely, that a small sailing-boat was advancing
towards us. This bit of news, whic=
h we
were very shortly able to verify with our own eyes, threw us into a
considerable flutter. That the nat=
ives
of this unknown lake should understand the art of sailing seemed to suggest
that they possessed some degree of civilization. In a few more minutes it became evident =
that
the occupant or occupants of the advancing boat had made us out. For a moment or two she hung in the win=
d as
though in doubt, and then came tacking towards us with great swiftness. In ten more minutes she was within a hu=
ndred
yards, and we saw that she was a neat little boat -- not a canoe 'dug out',=
but
built more or less in the European fashion with planks, and carrying a
singularly large sail for her size. But
our attention was soon diverted from the boat to her crew, which consisted =
of a
man and a woman, nearly as white as ourselves.
We stared at each other in amazement, thinking
that we must be mistaken; but no, there was no doubt about it. They were not fair, but the two people =
in the
boat were decidedly of a white as distinguished from a black race, as white,
for instance, as Spaniards or Italians.
It was a patent fact. So it=
was
true, after all; and, mysteriously led by a Power beyond our own, we had
discovered this wonderful people. I
could have shouted for joy when I thought of the glory and the wonder of the
thing; and as it was, we all shook hands and congratulated each other on the
unexpected success of our wild search.
All my life had I heard rumours of a white race that existed in the
highlands of this vast continent, and longed to put them to the proof, and =
now
here I saw it with my own eyes, and was dumbfounded. Truly, as Sir Henry sa=
id,
the old Roman was right when he wrote 'Ex Africa semper aliquid novi', whic=
h he
tells me means that out of Africa there always comes some new thing.
The man in the boat was of a good but not
particularly fine physique, and possessed straight black hair, regular aqui=
line
features, and an intelligent face. He
was dressed in a brown cloth garment, something like a flannel shirt without
the sleeves, and in an unmistakable kilt of the same material. The legs and feet were bare. Round the right arm and left leg he wore
thick rings of yellow metal that I judged to be gold. The woman had a sweet face, wild and sh=
y,
with large eyes and curling brown hair. Her dress was made of the same mate=
rial
as the man's, and consisted, as we afterwards discovered, first of a linen
under-garment that hung down to her knee, and then of a single long strip of
cloth, about four feet wide by fifteen long, which was wound round the body=
in
graceful folds and finally flung over the left shoulder so that the end, wh=
ich
was dyed blue or purple or some other colour, according to the social stand=
ing
of the wearer, hung down in front, the right arm and breast being, however,
left quite bare. A more becoming d=
ress,
especially when, as in the present case, the wearer was young and pretty, i=
t is
quite impossible to conceive. Good=
(who
has an eye for such things) was greatly struck with it, and so indeed was
I. It was so simple and yet so
effective.
Meanwhile, if we had been astonished at the
appearance of the man and woman, it was clear that they were far more
astonished at us. As for the man, =
he
appeared to be overcome with fear and wonder, and for a while hovered round=
our
canoe, but would not approach. At =
last,
however, he came within hailing distance, and called to us in a language th=
at
sounded soft and pleasing enough, but of which we could not understand one
word. So we hailed back in English,
French, Latin, Greek, German, Zulu, Dutch, Sisutu, Kukuana, and a few other
native dialects that I am acquainted with, but our visitor did not understa=
nd
any of these tongues; indeed, they appeared to bewilder him. As for the lady, she was busily employe=
d in
taking stock of us, and Good was returning the compliment by staring at her
hard through his eyeglass, a proceeding that she seemed rather to enjoy than
otherwise. At length, the man, being unable to make anything of us, suddenl=
y turned
his boat round and began to head off for the shore, his little boat skimming
away before the wind like a swallow. As she passed across our bows the man
turned to attend to the large sail, and Good promptly took the opportunity =
to
kiss his hand to the young lady. I=
was
horrified at this proceeding, both on general grounds and because I feared =
that
she might take offence, but to my delight she did not, for, first glancing
round and seeing that her husband, or brother, or whoever he was, was engag=
ed, she
promptly kissed hers back.
'Ah!' said I.
'It seems that we have at last found a language that the people of t=
his
country understand.'
'In which case,' said Sir Henry, 'Good will pr=
ove
an invaluable interpreter.'
I frowned, for I do not approve of Good's friv=
olities,
and he knows it, and I turned the conversation to more serious subjects. 'I=
t is
very clear to me,' I said, 'that the man will be back before long with a ho=
st
of his fellows, so we had best make up our minds as to how we are going to
receive them.'
'The question is how will they receive us?' sa=
id
Sir Henry.
As for Good he made no remark, but began to
extract a small square tin case that had accompanied us in all our wanderin=
gs
from under a pile of baggage. Now =
we had
often remonstrated with Good about this tin case, inasmuch as it had been an
awkward thing to carry, and he had never given any very explicit account as=
to
its contents; but he had insisted on keeping it, saying mysteriously that i=
t might
come in very useful one day.
'What on earth are you going to do, Good?' ask=
ed
Sir Henry.
'Do -- why dress, of course! You don't expect me to appear in a new
country in these things, do you?' and he pointed to his soiled and worn
garments, which were however, like all Good's things, very tidy, and with e=
very
tear neatly mended.
We said no more, but watched his proceedings w=
ith
breathless interest. His first ste=
p was
to get Alphonse, who was thoroughly competent in such matters, to trim his =
hair
and beard in the most approved fashion.
I think that if he had had some hot water and a cake of soap at hand=
he
would have shaved off the latter; but he had not. This done, he suggested that we should =
lower the
sail of the canoe and all take a bath, which we did, greatly to the horror =
and
astonishment of Alphonse, who lifted his hands and ejaculated that these
English were indeed a wonderful people. Umslopogaas, who, though he was, li=
ke
most high-bred Zulus, scrupulously cleanly in his person, did not see the f=
un
of swimming about in a lake, also regarded the proceeding with mild amuseme=
nt. We
got back into the canoe much refreshed by the cold water, and sat to dry in=
the
sun, whilst Good undid his tin box, and produced first a beautiful clean wh=
ite
shirt, just as it had left a London steam laundry, and then some garments
wrapped first in brown, then in white, and finally in silver paper. We watched this undoing with the tender=
est
interest and much speculation. One by one Good removed the dull husks that =
hid
their splendours, carefully folding and replacing each piece of paper as he=
did
so; and there at last lay, in all the majesty of its golden epaulettes, lac=
e,
and buttons, a Commander of the Royal Navy's full-dress uniform -- dress sw=
ord,
cocked hat, shiny patent leather boots and all.
We literally gasped.
'What!' we said, 'what! Are you going to put those things on?'<= o:p>
'Certainly,' he answered composedly; 'you see =
so
much depends upon a first impression, especially,' he added, 'as I observe =
that
there are ladies about. One at lea=
st of
us ought to be decently dressed.'
We said no more; we were simply dumbfounded,
especially when we considered the artful way in which Good had concealed th=
e contents
of that box for all these months. =
Only
one suggestion did we make -- namely, that he should wear his mail shirt ne=
xt his
skin. He replied that he feared it=
would
spoil the set of his coat, now carefully spread in the sun to take the crea=
ses out,
but finally consented to this precautionary measure. The most amusing part of the affair, ho=
wever,
was to see old Umslopogaas's astonishment and Alphonse's delight at Good's
transformation. When at last he stood up in all his glory, even down to the=
medals
on his breast, and contemplated himself in the still waters of the lake, af=
ter
the fashion of the young gentleman in ancient history, whose name I cannot
remember, but who fell in love with his own shadow, the old Zulu could no
longer restrain his feelings.
'Oh, Bougwan!' he said. 'Oh, Bougwan!
I always thought thee an ugly little man, and fat -- fat as the cows=
at
calving time; and now thou art like a blue jay when he spreads his tail out=
. Surely,
Bougwan, it hurts my eyes to look at thee.'
Good did not much like this allusion to his fa=
t,
which, to tell the truth, was not very well deserved, for hard exercise had=
brought
him down three inches; but on the whole he was pleased at Umslopogaas's
admiration. As for Alphonse, he was
quite delighted.
'Ah! but Monsieur has the beautiful air -- the=
air
of the warrior. It is the ladies who will say so when we come to get ashore=
. Monsieur
is complete; he puts me in mind of my heroic grand --'
Here we stopped Alphonse.
As we gazed upon the beauties thus revealed by
Good, a spirit of emulation filled our breasts, and we set to work to get
ourselves up as well as we could. =
The
most, however, that we were able to do was to array ourselves in our spare
suits of shooting clothes, of which we each had several, all the fine cloth=
es
in the world could never make it otherwise than scrubby and insignificant; =
but
Sir Henry looked what he is, a magnificent man in his nearly new tweed suit,
gaiters, and boots. Alphonse also =
got
himself up to kill, giving an extra turn to his enormous moustaches. Even o=
ld
Umslopogaas, who was not in a general way given to the vain adorning of his
body, took some oil out of the lantern and a bit of tow, and polished up his
head-ring with it till it shone like Good's patent leather boots. Then he put on the mail shirt Sir Henry=
had
given him and his 'moocha', and, having cleaned up Inkosi-kaas a little, st=
ood
forth complete.
All this while, having hoisted the sail again =
as
soon as we had finished bathing, we had been progressing steadily for the l=
and,
or, rather, for the mouth of a great river.
Presently -- in all about an hour and a half after the little boat h=
ad
left us -- we saw emerging from the river or harbour a large number of boat=
s,
ranging up to ten or twelve tons burden.
One of these was propelled by twenty-four oars, and most of the rest
sailed. Looking through the glass we soon made out that the row-boat was an
official vessel, her crew being all dressed in a sort of uniform, whilst on=
the
half-deck forward stood an old man of venerable appearance, and with a flow=
ing
white beard, and a sword strapped to his side, who was evidently the comman=
der of
the craft. The other boats were
apparently occupied by people brought out by curiosity, and were rowing or
sailing towards us as quickly as they could.
'Now for it,' said I. 'What is the betting? Are they going to be friendly or to put=
an
end to us?'
Nobody could answer this question, and, not li=
king
the warlike appearance of the old gentleman and his sword, we felt a little
anxious.
Just then Good spied a school of hippopotami on
the water about two hundred yards off us, and suggested that it would not b=
e a
bad plan to impress the natives with a sense of our power by shooting some =
of
them if possible. This, unluckily
enough, struck us as a good idea, and accordingly we at once got out our
eight-bore rifles, for which we still had a few cartridges left, and prepar=
ed for
action. There were four of the ani=
mals,
a big bull, a cow, and two young ones, one three parts grown. We got up to them without difficulty, t=
he
great animals contenting themselves with sinking down into the water and ri=
sing
again a few yards farther on; indeed, their excessive tameness struck me as
being peculiar. When the advancing boats were about five hundred yards away=
, Sir
Henry opened the ball by firing at the three parts grown young one. The heavy bullet struck it fair between=
the
eyes, and, crashing through the skull, killed it, and it sank, leaving a lo=
ng
train of blood behind it. At the s=
ame
moment I fired at the cow, and Good at the old bull. My shot took effect, but not fatally, a=
nd
down went the hippopotamus with a prodigious splashing, only to rise again
presently blowing and grunting furiously, dyeing all the water round her
crimson, when I killed her with the left barrel. Good, who is an execrable shot, missed =
the
head of the bull altogether, the bullet merely cutting the side of his face=
as
it passed. On glancing up, after I=
had
fired my second shot, I perceived that the people we had fallen among were
evidently ignorant of the nature of firearms, for the consternation caused =
by
our shots and their effect upon the animals was prodigious. Some of the par=
ties
in the boats began to cry out in fear; others turned and made off as hard as
they could; and even the old gentleman with the sword looked greatly puzzled
and alarmed, and halted his big row-boat.
We had, however, but little time for observation, for just then the =
old
bull, rendered furious by the wound he had received, rose fair within forty
yards of us, glaring savagely. We all fired, and hit him in various places,=
and
down he went, badly wounded. Curio=
sity
now began to overcome the fear of the onlookers, and some of them sailed on=
up
close to us, amongst these being the man and woman whom we had first seen a
couple of hours or so before, who drew up almost alongside. Just then the great brute rose again wi=
thin
ten yards of their base, and instantly with a roar of fury made at it
open-mouthed. The woman shrieked, =
and
the man tried to give the boat way, but without success. In another second I saw the huge red ja=
ws and
gleaming ivories close with a crunch on the frail craft, taking an enormous=
mouthful
out of its side and capsizing it. =
Down
went the boat, leaving its occupants struggling in the water. Next moment, before we could do anything
towards saving them, the huge and furious creature was up again and making
open-mouthed at the poor girl, who was struggling in the water. Lifting my rifle just as the grinding j=
aws
were about to close on her, I fired over her head right down the hippopotam=
us's
throat. Over he went, and commenced
turning round and round, snorting, and blowing red streams of blood through=
his
nostrils. Before he could recover =
himself,
however, I let him have the other barrel in the side of the throat, and that
finished him. He never moved or
struggled again, but instantly sank. Our
next effort was directed towards saving the girl, the man having swum off
towards another boat; and in this we were fortunately successful, pulling h=
er
into the canoe (amidst the shouts of the spectators) considerably exhausted=
and
frightened, but otherwise unhurt.
Meanwhile the boats had gathered together at a
distance, and we could see that the occupants, who were evidently much
frightened, were consulting what to do.
Without giving them time for further consideration, which we thought
might result unfavourably to ourselves, we instantly took our paddles and
advanced towards them, Good standing in the bow and taking off his cocked h=
at politely
in every direction, his amiable features suffused by a bland but intelligent
smile. Most of the craft retreated=
as we
advanced, but a few held their ground, while the big row-boat came on to me=
et
us. Presently we were alongside, a=
nd I
could see that our appearance -- and especially Good's and Umslopogaas's --
filled the venerable-looking commander with astonishment, not unmixed with
awe. He was dressed after the same
fashion as the man we first met, except that his shirt was not made of brown
cloth, but of pure white linen hemmed with purple. The kilt, however, was identical, and s=
o were
the thick rings of gold around the arm and beneath the left knee. The rowers wore only a kilt, their bodi=
es
being naked to the waist. Good too=
k off
his hat to the old gentleman with an extra flourish, and inquired after his
health in the purest English, to which he replied by laying the first two
fingers of his right hand horizontally across his lips and holding them the=
re
for a moment, which we took as his method of salutation. Then he also addressed some remarks to =
us in
the same soft accents that had distinguished our first interviewer, which we
were forced to indicate we did not understand by shaking our heads and
shrugging our shoulders. This last Alphonse, being to the manner born, did =
to
perfection, and in so polite a way that nobody could take any offence. Then we came a standstill, till I, being
exceedingly hungry, thought I might as well call attention to the fact, and=
did
so first by opening my mouth and pointing down it, and then rubbing my stom=
ach. These signals the old gentleman clearly
understood, for he nodded his head vigorously, and pointed towards the harb=
our;
and at the same time one of the men on his boat threw us a line and motione=
d to
us to make it fast, which we did. =
The
row-boat then took us in tow, and went with great rapidity towards the mout=
h of
the river, accompanied by all the other boats.
In about twenty minutes more we reached the entrance to the harbour,
which was crowded with boats full of people who had come out to see us. We observed that all the occupants were=
more
or less of the same type, though some were fairer than others. Indeed, we noticed certain ladies whose=
skin
was of a most dazzling whiteness; and the darkest shade of colour which we =
saw
was about that of a rather swarthy Spaniard.
Presently the wide river gave a sweep, and when it did so an exclama=
tion
of astonishment and delight burst from our lips as we caught our first view=
of
the place that we afterwards knew as Milosis, or the Frowning City (from mi,
which means city, and losis, a frown).
At a distance of some five hundred yards from =
the
river's bank rose a sheer precipice of granite, two hundred feet or so in h=
eight,
which had no doubt once formed the bank itself -- the intermediate space of
land now utilized as docks and roadways having been gained by draining, and
deepening and embanking the stream.
On the brow of this precipice stood a great
building of the same granite that formed the cliff, built on three sides of=
a
square, the fourth side being open, save for a kind of battlement pierced at
its base by a little door. This im=
posing
place we afterwards discovered was the palace of the queen, or rather of the
queens. At the back of the palace the town sloped gently upwards to a flash=
ing
building of white marble, crowned by the golden dome which we had already
observed. The city was, with the
exception of this one building, entirely built of red granite, and laid out=
in
regular blocks with splendid roadways between.
So far as we could see also the houses were all one-storied and
detached, with gardens round them, which gave some relief to the eye wearie=
d with
the vista of red granite. At the b=
ack of
the palace a road of extraordinary width stretched away up the hill for a
distance of a mile and a half or so, and appeared to terminate at an open s=
pace
surrounding the gleaming building that crowned the hill. But right in front=
of
us was the wonder and glory of Milosis -- the great staircase of the palace,
the magnificence of which took our breath away.
Let the reader imagine, if he can, a splendid stairway, sixty-five f=
eet
from balustrade to balustrade, consisting of two vast flights, each of one
hundred and twenty-five steps of eight inches in height by three feet broad,
connected by a flat resting-place sixty feet in length, and running from th=
e palace
wall on the edge of the precipice down to meet a waterway or canal cut to i=
ts
foot from the river. This marvello=
us
staircase was supported upon a single enormous granite arch, of which the r=
esting-place
between the two flights formed the crown; that is, the connecting open space
lay upon it. From this archway spr=
ang a
subsidiary flying arch, or rather something that resembled a flying arch in
shape, such as none of us had seen in any other country, and of which the
beauty and wonder surpassed all that we had ever imagined. Three hundred feet from point to point,=
and
no less than five hundred and fifty round the curve, that half-arc soared
touching the bridge it supported for a space of fifty feet only, one end
resting on and built into the parent archway, and the other embedded in the
solid granite of the side of the precipice.
This staircase with its supports was, indeed, a
work of which any living man might have been proud, both on account of its =
magnitude
and its surpassing beauty. Four ti=
mes,
as we afterwards learnt, did the work, which was commenced in remote antiqu=
ity,
fail, and was then abandoned for three centuries when half-finished, till at
last there rose a youthful engineer named Rademas, who said that he would
complete it successfully, and staked his life upon it. If he failed he was to be hurled from t=
he
precipice he had undertaken to scale; if he succeeded, he was to be rewarde=
d by
the hand of the king's daughter. F=
ive
years was given to him to complete the work, and an unlimited supply of lab=
our
and material. Three times did his =
arch
fall, till at last, seeing failure to be inevitable, he determined to commit
suicide on the morrow of the third collapse.
That night, however, a beautiful woman came to him in a dream and
touched his forehead, and of a sudden he saw a vision of the completed work,
and saw too through the masonry and how the difficulties connected with the
flying arch that had hitherto baffled his genius were to be overcome. Then =
he
awoke and once more commenced the work, but on a different plan, and behold=
! he
achieved it, and on the last day of the five years he led the princess his
bride up the stair and into the palace.
And in due course he became king by right of his wife, and founded t=
he
present Zu-Vendi dynasty, which is to this day called the 'House of the
Stairway', thus proving once more how energy and talent are the natural
stepping-stones to grandeur. And to commemorate his triumph he fashioned a
statue of himself dreaming, and of the fair woman who touched him on the
forehead, and placed it in the great hall of the palace, and there it stand=
s to
this day.
Such was the great stair of Milosis, and such =
the
city beyond. No wonder they named it the 'Frowning City', for certainly tho=
se mighty
works in solid granite did seem to frown down upon our littleness in their
sombre splendour. This was so even=
in
the sunshine, but when the storm-clouds gathered on her imperial brow Milos=
is
looked more like a supernatural dwelling-place, or some imagining of a poet=
's
brain, than what she is -- a mortal city, carven by the patient genius of
generations out of the red silence of the mountain side.
CHAPTER XII - THE SISTER QUEENS
The big rowing-boat glided on up the cutting t=
hat
ran almost to the foot of the vast stairway, and then halted at a flight of=
steps
leading to the landing-place. Here=
the
old gentleman disembarked, and invited us to do so likewise, which, having =
no
alternative, and being nearly starved, we did without hesitation -- taking =
our
rifles with us, however. As each o=
f us
landed, our guide again laid his fingers on his lips and bowed deeply, at t=
he
same time ordering back the crowds which had assembled to gaze on us. The last to leave the canoe was the gir=
l we
had picked out of the water, for whom her companion was waiting. Before she=
went
away she kissed my hand, I suppose as a token of gratitude for having saved=
her
from the fury of the hippopotamus; and it seemed to me that she had by this
time quite got over any fear she might have had of us, and was by no means
anxious to return in such a hurry to her lawful owners. At any rate, she was going to kiss Good=
's
hand as well as mine, when the young man interfered and led her off. As soon as we were on shore, a number o=
f the
men who had rowed the big boat took possession of our few goods and chattel=
s,
and started with them up the splendid staircase, our guide indicating to us=
by
means of motions that the things were perfectly safe. This done, he turned to the right and l=
ed the
way to a small house, which was, as I afterwards discovered, an inn. Entering into a good-sized room, we saw=
that
a wooden table was already furnished with food, presumably in preparation f=
or
us. Here our guide motioned us to =
be
seated on a bench that ran the length of the table. We did not require a second invitation,=
but
at once fell to ravenously on the viands before us, which were served on wo=
oden
platters, and consisted of cold goat's-flesh, wrapped up in some kind of le=
af
that gave it a delicious flavour, green vegetables resembling lettuces, bro=
wn
bread, and red wine poured from a skin into horn mugs. This wine was peculi=
arly
soft and good, having something of the flavour of Burgundy. Twenty minutes after we sat down at that
hospitable board we rose from it, feeling like new men. After all that we h=
ad
gone through we needed two things, food and rest, and the food of itself wa=
s a
great blessing to us. Two girls of the same charming cast of face as the fi=
rst
whom we had seen waited on us while we ate, and very nicely they did it.
So soon as we had finished our meal our venera=
ble
conductor, who had been standing all the while, regarding us with inquiring=
eyes,
and our guns with something as like fear as his pride would allow him to sh=
ow,
bowed towards Good, whom he evidently took for the leader of the party on
account of the splendour of his apparel, and once more led the way through =
the
door and to the foot of the great staircase.
Here we paused for a moment to admire two colossal lions, each hewn =
from
a single block of pure black marble, and standing rampant on the terminatio=
ns
of the wide balustrades of the staircase. These lions are magnificently executed, =
and it
is said were sculptured by Rademas, the great prince who designed the
staircase, and who was without doubt, to judge from the many beautiful exam=
ples
of his art that we saw afterwards, one of the finest sculptors who ever liv=
ed,
either in this or any other country.
Then we climbed almost with a feeling of awe up that splendid stair,=
a
work executed for all time and that will, I do not doubt, be admired thousa=
nds
of years hence by generations unborn unless an earthquake should throw it
down. Even Umslopogaas, who as a g=
eneral
rule made it a point of honour not to show astonishment, which he considered
undignified, was fairly startled out of himself, and asked if the 'bridge h=
ad
been built by men or devils', which was his vague way of alluding to any
supernatural power. But Alphonse d=
id not
care about it. Its solid grandeur =
jarred
upon the frivolous little Frenchman, who said that it was all 'tres magnifi=
que,
mais triste -- ah, triste!' and went on to suggest that it would be improve=
d if
the balustrades were gilt.
On we went up the first flight of one hundred =
and
twenty steps, across the broad platform joining it to the second flight, wh=
ere we
paused to admire the glorious view of one of the most beautiful stretches of
country that the world can show, edged by the blue waters of the lake. Then we passed on up the stair till at =
last we
reached the top, where we found a large standing space to which there were
three entrances, all of small size. Two
of these opened on to rather narrow galleries or roadways cut in the face of
the precipice that ran round the palace walls and led to the principal
thoroughfares of the city, and were used by the inhabitants passing up and =
down
from the docks. These were defende=
d by
gates of bronze, and also, as we afterwards learnt, it was possible to let =
down
a portion of the roadways themselves by withdrawing certain bolts, and thus
render it quite impracticable for an enemy to pass. The third entrance consisted of a fligh=
t of
ten curved black marble steps leading to a doorway cut in the palace wall.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> This wall was in itself a work of art, =
being
built of huge blocks of granite to the height of forty feet, and so fashion=
ed
that its face was concave, whereby it was rendered practically impossible f=
or
it to be scaled. To this doorway o=
ur
guide led us. The door, which was
massive, and made of wood protected by an outer gate of bronze, was closed;=
but
on our approach it was thrown wide, and we were met by the challenge of a
sentry, who was armed with a heavy triangular-bladed spear, not unlike a
bayonet in shape, and a cutting sword, and protected by breast and back pla=
tes
of skilfully prepared hippopotamus hide, and a small round shield fashioned=
of
the same tough material. The sword instantly attracted our attention; it was
practically identical with the one in the possession of Mr Mackenzie which =
he
had obtained from the ill-starred wanderer.
There was no mistaking the gold-lined fretwork cut in the thickness =
of
the blade. So the man had told the=
truth
after all. Our guide instantly gav=
e a
password, which the soldier acknowledged by letting the iron shaft of his s=
pear
fall with a ringing sound upon the pavement, and we passed on through the
massive wall into the courtyard of the palace.
This was about forty yards square, and laid out in flower-beds full =
of
lovely shrubs and plants, many of which were quite new to me. Through the centre of this garden ran a=
broad
walk formed of powdered shells brought from the lake in the place of gravel=
. Following this we came to another doorw=
ay with
a round heavy arch, which is hung with thick curtains, for there are no doo=
rs
in the palace itself. Then came an=
other
short passage, and we were in the great hall of the palace, and once more s=
tood
astonished at the simple and yet overpowering grandeur of the place.
The hall is, as we afterwards learnt, one hund=
red
and fifty feet long by eighty wide, and has a magnificent arched roof of ca=
rved
wood. Down the entire length of the
building there are on either side, and at a distance of twenty feet from the
wall, slender shafts of black marble springing sheer to the roof, beautiful=
ly fluted,
and with carved capitals. At one e=
nd of
this great place which these pillars support is the group of which I have
already spoken as executed by the King Rademas to commemorate his building =
of
the staircase; and really, when we had time to admire it, its loveliness al=
most
struck us dumb. The group, of whic=
h the figures
are in white, and the rest is black marble, is about half as large again as
life, and represents a young man of noble countenance and form sleeping hea=
vily
upon a couch. One arm is carelessly
thrown over the side of this couch, and his head reposes upon the other, its
curling locks partially hiding it. Bending over him, her hand resting on his
forehead, is a draped female form of such white loveliness as to make the
beholder's breath stand still. And=
as
for the calm glory that shines upon her perfect face -- well, I can never h=
ope
to describe it. But there it rests=
like
the shadow of an angel's smile; and power, love, and divinity all have their
part in it. Her eyes are fixed upo=
n the
sleeping youth, and perhaps the most extraordinary thing about this beautif=
ul
work is the success with which the artist has succeeded in depicting on the
sleeper's worn and weary face the sudden rising of a new and spiritual thou=
ght
as the spell begins to work within his mind.
You can see that an inspiration is breaking in upon the darkness of =
the
man's soul as the dawn breaks in upon the darkness of night. It is a glorious piece of statuary, and=
none
but a genius could have conceived it. Between each of the black marble colu=
mns
is some such group of figures, some allegorical, and some representing the
persons and wives of deceased monarchs or great men; but none of them, in o=
ur
opinion, comes up the one I have described, although several are from the h=
and
of the sculptor and engineer, King Rademas.
In the exact centre of the hall was a solid ma=
ss
of black marble about the size of a baby's arm-chair, which it rather resem=
bled
in appearance. This, as we afterwa=
rds
learnt, was the sacred stone of this remarkable people, and on it their
monarchs laid their hand after the ceremony of coronation, and swore by the=
sun
to safeguard the interests of the empire, and to maintain its customs,
traditions, and laws. This stone w=
as
evidently exceedingly ancient (as indeed all stones are), and was scored do=
wn
its sides with long marks or lines, which Sir Henry said proved it to have =
been
a fragment that at some remote period in its history had been ground in the
iron jaws of glaciers. There was a curious prophecy about this block of mar=
ble,
which was reported among the people to have fallen from the sun, to the eff=
ect
that when it was shattered into fragments a king of alien race should rule =
over
the land. As the stone, however, l=
ooked
remarkably solid, the native princes seemed to have a fair chance of keeping
their own for many a long year.
At the end of the hall is a dais spread with r=
ich
carpets, on which two thrones are set side by side. These thrones are shaped like great cha=
irs,
and made of solid gold. The seats =
are
richly cushioned, but the backs are left bare, and on each is carved the em=
blem
of the sun, shooting out his fiery rays in all directions. The footstools a=
re
golden lions couchant, with yellow topazes set in them for eyes. There are no other gems about them.
The place is lighted by numerous but narrow
windows, placed high up, cut on the principle of the loopholes to be seen in
ancient castles, but innocent of glass, which was evidently unknown here.
Such is a brief description of this splendid h=
all
in which we now found ourselves, compiled of course from our subsequent
knowledge of it. On this occasion =
we had
but little time for observation, for when we entered we perceived that a la=
rge
number of men were gathered together in front of the two thrones, which were
unoccupied. The principal among them were seated on carved wooden chairs ra=
nged
to the right and the left of the thrones, but not in front of them, and were
dressed in white tunics, with various embroideries and different coloured
edgings, and armed with the usual pierced and gold-inlaid swords. To judge from the dignity of their
appearance, they seemed one and all to be individuals of very great importa=
nce.
Behind each of these great men stood a small knot of followers and attendan=
ts.
Seated by themselves, in a little group to the
left of the throne, were six men of a different stamp. Instead of wearing the ordinary kilt, t=
hey
were clothed in long robes of pure white linen, with the same symbol of the=
sun
that is to be seen on the back of the chairs, emblazoned in gold thread upon
the breast. This garment was girt =
up at
the waist with a simple golden curb-like chain, from which hung long ellipt=
ic
plates of the same metal, fashioned in shiny scales like those of a fish, t=
hat,
as their wearers moved, jingled and reflected the light. They were all men of mature age and of a
severe and impressive cast of features, which was rendered still more impos=
ing
by the long beards they wore.
The personality of one individual among them,
however, impressed us at once. He =
seemed
to stand out among his fellows and refuse to be overlooked. He was very old -- eighty at least -- a=
nd extremely
tall, with a long snow-white beard that hung nearly to his waist. His features were aquiline and deeply c=
ut,
and his eyes were grey and cold-looking.
The heads of the others were bare, but this man wore a round cap
entirely covered with gold embroidery, from which we judged that he was a
person of great importance; and indeed we afterwards discovered that he was
Agon, the High Priest of the country. As
we approached, all these men, including the priests, rose and bowed to us w=
ith the
greatest courtesy, at the same time placing the two fingers across the lips=
in
salutation. Then soft-footed atten=
dants
advanced from between the pillars, bearing seats, which were placed in a li=
ne
in front of the thrones. We three =
sat
down, Alphonse and Umslopogaas standing behind us. Scarcely had we done so when there came=
a
blare of trumpets from some passage to the right, and a similar blare from =
the
left. Next a man with a long white=
wand
of ivory appeared just in front of the right-hand throne, and cried out
something in a loud voice, ending with the word Nyleptha, repeated three ti=
mes;
and another man, similarly attired, called out a similar sentence before the
other throne, but ending with the word Sorais, also repeated thrice. Then came the tramp of armed men from e=
ach
side entrance, and in filed about a score of picked and magnificently accou=
tred
guards, who formed up on each side of the thrones, and let their heavy
iron-handled spears fall simultaneously with a clash upon the black marble =
flooring. Another double blare of trumpets, and i=
n from
either side, each attended by six maidens, swept the two Queens of Zu-Vendi=
s, everybody
in the hall rising to greet them as they came.
I have seen beautiful women in my day, and am =
no
longer thrown into transports at the sight of a pretty face; but language f=
ails
me when I try to give some idea of the blaze of loveliness that then broke =
upon
us in the persons of these sister Queens.
Both were young -- perhaps five-and-twenty years of age -- both were=
tall
and exquisitely formed; but there the likeness stopped. One, Nyleptha, was a
woman of dazzling fairness; her right arm and breast bare, after the custom=
of
her people, showed like snow even against her white and gold-embroidered 'k=
af',
or toga. And as for her sweet face, all I can say is, that it was one that =
few
men could look on and forget. Her =
hair,
a veritable crown of gold, clustered in short ringlets over her shapely hea=
d, half
hiding the ivory brow, beneath which eyes of deep and glorious grey flashed=
out
in tender majesty. I cannot attemp=
t to
describe her other features, only the mouth was most sweet, and curved like
Cupid's bow, and over the whole countenance there shone an indescribable lo=
ok
of loving-kindness, lit up by a shadow of delicate humour that lay upon her
face like a touch of silver on a rosy cloud.
She wore no jewels, but on her neck, arm, and =
knee
were the usual torques of gold, in this instance fashioned like a snake; an=
d her
dress was of pure white linen of excessive fineness, plentifully embroidered
with gold and with the familiar symbols of the sun.
Her twin sister, Sorais, was of a different and
darker type of beauty. Her hair wa=
s wavy
like Nyleptha's but coal-black, and fell in masses on her shoulders; her
complexion was olive, her eyes large, dark, and lustrous; the lips were ful=
l,
and I thought rather cruel. Someho=
w her
face, quiet and even cold as it is, gave an idea of passion in repose, and
caused one to wonder involuntarily what its aspect would be if anything occ=
urred
to break the calm. It reminded me of the deep sea, that even on the bluest =
days
never loses its visible stamp of power, and in its murmuring sleep is yet
instinct with the spirit of the storm.
Her figure, like her sister's, was almost perfect in its curves and
outlines, but a trifle more rounded, and her dress was absolutely the same.=
As this lovely pair swept onwards to their
respective thrones, amid the deep attentive silence of the Court, I was bou=
nd
to confess to myself that they did indeed fulfil my idea of royalty. Royal =
they
were in every way -- in form, in grace, and queenly dignity, and in the
barbaric splendour of their attendant pomp. But methought that they needed =
no
guards or gold to proclaim their power and bind the loyalty of wayward men.=
A glance from those bright eyes or a sm=
ile
from those sweet lips, and while the red blood runs in the veins of youth w=
omen
such as these will never lack subjects ready to do their biddings to the de=
ath.
But after all they were women first and queens=
afterwards,
and therefore not devoid of curiosity.
As they passed to their seats I saw both of them glance swiftly in o=
ur
direction. I saw, too, that their =
eyes
passed by me, seeing nothing to charm them in the person of an insignificant
and grizzled old man. Then they lo=
oked
with evident astonishment on the grim form of old Umslopogaas, who raised h=
is
axe in salutation. Attracted next =
by the
splendour of Good's apparel, for a second their glance rested on him like a
humming moth upon a flower, then off it darted to where Sir Henry Curtis st=
ood,
the sunlight from a window playing upon his yellow hair and peaked beard, a=
nd
marking the outlines of his massive frame against the twilight of the somew=
hat
gloomy hall. He raised his eyes, and they met the fair Nyleptha's full, and=
thus
for the first time the goodliest man and woman that it has ever been my lot=
to
see looked one upon another. And w=
hy it was
I know not, but I saw the swift blood run up Nyleptha's skin as the pink li=
ghts
run up the morning sky. Red grew h=
er
fair bosom and shapely arm, red the swanlike neck; the rounded cheeks blush=
ed
red as the petals of a rose, and then the crimson flood sank back to whence=
it
came and left her pale and trembling.
I glanced at Sir Henry. He, too, had coloured up to the eyes.
'Oh, my word!' thought I to myself, 'the ladies
have come on the stage, and now we may look to the plot to develop itself.'=
And
I sighed and shook my head, knowing that the beauty of a woman is like the
beauty of the lightning -- a destructive thing and a cause of desolation. By the time that I had finished my refl=
ections
both the Queens were on the thrones, for all this had happened in about six
seconds. Once more the unseen trum=
pets blared
out, and then the Court seated itself, and Queen Sorais motioned to us to do
likewise.
Next from among the crowd whither he had withd=
rawn
stepped forward our guide, the old gentleman who had towed us ashore, holdi=
ng by
the hand the girl whom we had seen first and afterwards rescued from the
hippopotamus. Having made obeisanc=
e he
proceeded to address the Queens, evidently describing to them the way and p=
lace
where we had been found. It was mo=
st
amusing to watch the astonishment, not unmixed with fear, reflected upon th=
eir faces
as they listened to his tale. Clea=
rly
they could not understand how we had reached the lake and been found floati=
ng
on it, and were inclined to attribute our presence to supernatural causes. =
Then
the narrative proceeded, as I judged from the frequent appeals that our gui=
de
made to the girl, to the point where we had shot the hippopotami, and we at
once perceived that there was something very wrong about those hippopotami,=
for
the history was frequently interrupted by indignant exclamations from the l=
ittle
group of white-robed priests and even from the courtiers, while the two Que=
ens
listened with an amazed expression, especially when our guide pointed to the
rifles in our hands as being the means of destruction. And here, to make matters clear, I may =
as
well explain at once that the inhabitants of Zu-Vendis are sun-worshippers,=
and
that for some reason or another the hippopotamus is sacred among them. Not that they do not kill it, because a=
t a
certain season of the year they slaughter thousands -- which are specially
preserved in large lakes up the country -- and use their hides for armour f=
or
soldiers; but this does not prevent them from considering these animals as
sacred to the sun. {Endnote 11} Now, as ill luck would have it, the particu=
lar
hippopotami we had shot were a family of tame animals that were kept in the=
mouth
of the port and daily fed by priests whose special duty it was to attend to
them. When we shot them I thought =
that
the brutes were suspiciously tame, and this was, as we afterwards ascertain=
ed,
the cause of it. Thus it came abou=
t that
in attempting to show off we had committed sacrilege of a most aggravated
nature.
When our guide had finished his tale, the old =
man
with the long beard and round cap, whose appearance I have already describe=
d, and
who was, as I have said, the High Priest of the country, and known by the n=
ame
of Agon, rose and commenced an impassioned harangue. I did not like the look of his cold gre=
y eye
as he fixed it on us. I should have
liked it still less had I known that in the name of the outraged majesty of=
his
god he was demanding that the whole lot of us should be offered up as a
sacrifice by means of being burnt alive.
After he had finished speaking the Queen Sorais
addressed him in a soft and musical voice, and appeared, to judge from his =
gestures
of dissent, to be putting the other side of the question before him. Then Nyleptha spoke in liquid accents.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> Little did we know that she was pleadin=
g for
our lives. Finally, she turned and
addressed a tall, soldierlike man of middle age with a black beard and a lo=
ng
plain sword, whose name, as we afterwards learnt, was Nasta, and who was the
greatest lord in the country; apparently appealing to him for support. Now when Sir Henry had caught her eye a=
nd she
had blushed so rosy red, I had seen that the incident had not escaped this
man's notice, and, what is more, that it was eminently disagreeable to him,=
for
he bit his lip and his hand tightened on his sword-hilt. Afterwards we learnt that he was an asp=
irant
for the hand of this Queen in marriage, which accounted for it. This being so, Nyleptha could not have =
appealed
to a worse person, for, speaking in slow, heavy tones, he appeared to confi=
rm
all that the High Priest Agon had said. As he spoke, Sorais put her elbow on
her knee, and, resting her chin on her hand, looked at him with a suppressed
smile upon her lips, as though she saw through the man, and was determined =
to
be his match; but Nyleptha grew very angry, her cheek flushed, her eyes
flashed, and she did indeed look lovely.
Finally she turned to Agon and seemed to give some sort of qualified
assent, for he bowed at her words; and as she spoke she moved her hands as
though to emphasize what she said; while all the time Sorais kept her chin =
on
her hand and smiled. Then suddenly
Nyleptha made a sign, the trumpets blew again, and everybody rose to leave =
the
hall save ourselves and the guards, whom she motioned to stay.
When they were all gone she bent forward and,
smiling sweetly, partially by signs and partially by exclamations made it c=
lear
to us that she was very anxious to know where we came from. The difficulty =
was
how to explain, but at last an idea struck me.
I had my large pocket-book in my pocket and a pencil. Taking it out, I made a little sketch o=
f a
lake, and then as best I could I drew the underground river and the lake at=
the
other end. When I had done this I
advanced to the steps of the throne and gave it to her. She understood it at once and clapped h=
er hands
with delight, and then descending from the throne took it to her sister Sor=
ais,
who also evidently understood. Nex=
t she
took the pencil from me, and after examining it with curiosity proceeded to
make a series of delightful little sketches, the first representing herself
holding out both hands in welcome, and a man uncommonly like Sir Henry taki=
ng
them. Next she drew a lovely little
picture of a hippopotamus rolling about dying in the water, and of an
individual, in whom we had no difficulty in recognizing Agon the High Pries=
t,
holding up his hands in horror on the bank.
Then followed a most alarming picture of a dreadful fiery furnace an=
d of
the same figure, Agon, poking us into it with a forked stick. This picture perfectly horrified me, bu=
t I
was a little reassured when she nodded sweetly and proceeded to make a four=
th
drawing -- a man again uncommonly like Sir Henry, and of two women, in whom=
I
recognized Sorais and herself, each with one arm around him, and holding a
sword in protection over him. To a=
ll of
these Sorais, who I saw was employed in carefully taking us all in --
especially Curtis -- signified her approval by nodding.
At last Nyleptha drew a final sketch of a risi=
ng
sun, indicating that she must go, and that we should meet on the following
morning; whereat Sir Henry looked so disappointed that she saw it, and, I
suppose by way of consolation, extended her hand to him to kiss, which he d=
id
with pious fervour. At the same ti=
me
Sorais, off whom Good had never taken his eyeglass during the whole indaba =
[interview],
rewarded him by giving him her hand to kiss, though, while she did so, her =
eyes
were fixed upon Sir Henry. I am gl=
ad to
say that I was not implicated in these proceedings; neither of them gave me=
her
hand to kiss.
Then Nyleptha turned and addressed the man who
appeared to be in command of the bodyguard, apparently from her manner and =
his frequent
obeisances, giving him very stringent and careful orders; after which, with=
a
somewhat coquettish nod and smile, she left the hall, followed by Sorais and
most of the guards.
When the Queens had gone, the officer whom
Nyleptha had addressed came forward and with many tokens of deep respect le=
d us
from the hall through various passages to a sumptuous set of apartments ope=
ning
out of a large central room lighted with brazen swinging lamps (for it was =
now
dusk) and richly carpeted and strewn with couches. On a table in the centre of the room wa=
s set
a profusion of food and fruit, and, what is more, flowers. There was a delicious wine also in
ancient-looking sealed earthenware flagons, and beautifully chased golden a=
nd
ivory cups to drink it from. Serva=
nts, male
and female, also were there to minister to us, and whilst we ate, from some
recess outside the apartment
'The silver lute did speak between
and a=
ltogether
we found ourselves in a sort of earthly paradise which was only disturbed by
the vision of that disgusting High Priest who intended to commit us to the
flames. But so very weary were we =
with
our labours that we could scarcely keep ourselves awake through the sumptuo=
us
meal, and as soon as it was over we indicated that we desired to sleep. As a further precaution against surpris=
e we
left Umslopogaas with his axe to sleep in the main chamber near the curtain=
ed
doorways leading to the apartments which we occupied respectively, Good and=
I
in the one, and Sir Henry and Alphonse in the other. Then throwing off our clothes, with the
exception of the mail shirts, which we considered it safer to keep on, we f=
lung
ourselves down upon the low and luxurious couches, and drew the
silk-embroidered coverlids over us.
In two minutes I was just dropping off when I =
was
aroused by Good's voice.
'I say, Quatermain,' he said, 'did you ever see
such eyes?'
'Eyes!' I said, crossly; 'what eyes?'
'Why, the Queen's, of course! Sorais, I mean -- at least I think that=
is
her name.'
'Oh, I don't know,' I yawned; 'I didn't notice
them much: I suppose they are good eyes,' and again I dropped off.
Five minutes or so elapsed, and I was once more
awakened.
'I say, Quatermain,' said the voice.
'Well,' I answered testily, 'what is it now?'<= o:p>
'Did you notice her ankle? The shape --'
This was more than I could stand. By my bed stood the veldtschoons I had =
been
wearing. Moved quite beyond myself=
, I
took them up and threw them straight at Good's head -- and hit it.
Afterwards I slept the sleep of the just, and a
very heavy sleep it must be. As for
Good, I don't know if he went to sleep or if he continued to pass Sorais'
beauties in mental review, and, what is more, I don't care.
CHAPTER XIII - ABOUT THE ZU-VENDI PEOPLE<=
span
class=3DHeading1Char>
And now the curtain is down for a few hours, a=
nd
the actors in this novel drama are plunged in dewy sleep. Perhaps we should except Nyleptha, whom=
the
reader may, if poetically inclined, imagine lying in her bed of state
encompassed by her maidens, tiring women, guards, and all the other people =
and
appurtenances that surround a throne, and yet not able to slumber for think=
ing of
the strangers who had visited a country where no such strangers had ever co=
me
before, and wondering, as she lay awake, who they were and what their past =
has
been, and if she was ugly compared to the women of their native place. I, however, not being poetically inclin=
ed,
will take advantage of the lull to give some account of the people among wh=
om
we found ourselves, compiled, needless to state, from information which we
subsequently collected.
The name of this country, to begin at the
beginning, is Zu-Vendis, from Zu, 'yellow', and Vendis, 'place or
country'. Why it is called the Yel=
low Country
I have never been able to ascertain accurately, nor do the inhabitants
themselves know. Three reasons are,
however, given, each of which would suffice to account for it. The first is that the name owes its ori=
gin to
the great quantity of gold that is found in the land. Indeed, in this respect Zu-Vendis is a
veritable Eldorado, the precious metal being extraordinarily plentiful. At present it is collected from purely
alluvial diggings, which we subsequently inspected, and which are situated
within a day's journey from Milosis, being mostly found in pockets and in
nuggets weighing from an ounce up to six or seven pounds in weight. But other diggings of a similar nature =
are
known to exist, and I have besides seen great veins of gold-bearing quartz.=
In Zu-Vendis gold is a much commoner me=
tal
than silver, and thus it has curiously enough come to pass that silver is t=
he
legal tender of the country.
The second reason given is, that at certain ti=
mes
of the year the native grasses of the country, which are very sweet and goo=
d, turn
as yellow as ripe corn; and the third arises from a tradition that the peop=
le
were originally yellow skinned, but grew white after living for many
generations upon these high lands.
Zu-Vendis is a country about the size of France, is, roughly speakin=
g, oval
in shape; and on every side cut off from the surrounding territory by
illimitable forests of impenetrable thorn, beyond which are said to be hund=
reds
of miles of morasses, deserts, and great mountains. It is, in short, a huge, high tableland=
rising
up in the centre of the dark continent, much as in southern Africa flat-top=
ped
mountains rise from the level of the surrounding veldt. Milosis itself lies, according to my an=
eroid,
at a level of about nine thousand feet above the sea, but most of the land =
is
even higher, the greatest elevation of the open country being, I believe, a=
bout
eleven thousand feet. As a consequ=
ence
the climate is, comparatively speaking, a cold one, being very similar to t=
hat
of southern England, only brighter and not so rainy. The land is, however,
exceedingly fertile, and grows all cereals and temperate fruits and timber =
to
perfection; and in the lower-lying parts even produces a hardy variety of
sugar-cane. Coal is found in great
abundance, and in many places crops out from the surface; and so is pure
marble, both black and white. The =
same
may be said of almost every metal except silver, which is scarce, and only =
to
be obtained from a range of mountains in the north.
Zu-Vendis comprises in her boundaries a great
variety of scenery, including two ranges of snow-clad mountains, one on the
western boundary beyond the impenetrable belt of thorn forest, and the other
piercing the country from north to south, and passing at a distance of about
eighty miles from Milosis, from which town its higher peaks are distinctly
visible. This range forms the chief
watershed of the land. There are a=
lso
three large lakes -- the biggest, namely that whereon we emerged, and which=
is named
Milosis after the city, covering some two hundred square miles of country --
and numerous small ones, some of them salt.
The population of this favoured land is,
comparatively speaking, dense, numbering at a rough estimate from ten to tw=
elve
millions. It is almost purely agricultural in its habits, and divided into
great classes as in civilized countries.
There is a territorial nobility, a considerable middle class, formed
principally of merchants, officers of the army, etc.; but the great bulk of=
the
people are well-to-do peasants who live upon the lands of the lords, from w=
hom
they hold under a species of feudal tenure. The best bred people in the cou=
ntry
are, as I think I have said, pure whites with a somewhat southern cast of
countenance; but the common herd are much darker, though they do not show a=
ny negro
or other African characteristics. =
As to
their descent I can give no certain information. Their written records, which extend bac=
k for
about a thousand years, give no hint of it. One very ancient chronicler does
indeed, in alluding to some old tradition that existed in his day, talk of =
it
as having probably originally 'come down with the people from the coast', b=
ut
that may mean little or nothing. In
short, the origin of the Zu-Vendi is lost in the mists of time. Whence they came or of what race they a=
re no
man knows. Their architecture and =
some
of their sculptures suggest an Egyptian or possibly an Assyrian origin; but=
it
is well known that their present remarkable style of building has only spru=
ng
up within the last eight hundred years, and they certainly retain no traces=
of
Egyptian theology or customs. Again, their appearance and some of their hab=
its
are rather Jewish; but here again it seems hardly conceivable that they sho=
uld
have utterly lost all traces of the Jewish religion. Still, for aught I know, they may be on=
e of
the lost ten tribes whom people are so fond of discovering all over the wor=
ld,
or they may not. I do not know, and so can only describe them as I find the=
m, and
leave wiser heads than mine to make what they can out of it, if indeed this
account should ever be read at all, which is exceedingly doubtful.
And now after I have said all this, I am, after
all, going to hazard a theory of my own, though it is only a very little on=
e, as
the young lady said in mitigation of her baby.
This theory is founded on a legend which I have heard among the Arab=
s on
the east coast, which is to the effect that 'more than two thousand years a=
go'
there were troubles in the country which was known as Babylonia, and that
thereon a vast horde of Persians came down to Bushire, where they took ship=
and
were driven by the north-east monsoon to the east coast of Africa, where,
according to the legend, 'the sun and fire worshippers' fell into conflict =
with
the belt of Arab settlers who even then were settled on the east coast, and
finally broke their way through them, and, vanishing into the interior, wer=
e no
more seen. Now, I ask, is it not at
least possible that the Zu-Vendi people are the descendants of these 'sun a=
nd
fire worshippers' who broke through the Arabs and vanished? As a matter of fact, there is a good de=
al in
their characters and customs that tallies with the somewhat vague ideas tha=
t I
have of Persians. Of course we hav=
e no
books of reference here, but Sir Henry says that if his memory does not fail
him, there was a tremendous revolt in Babylon about 500 BC, whereon a vast
multitude were expelled from the city. Anyhow, it is a well-established fact
that there have been many separate emigrations of Persians from the Persian
Gulf to the east coast of Africa up to as lately as seven hundred years ago=
. There
are Persian tombs at Kilwa, on the east coast, still in good repair, which =
bear
dates showing them to be just seven hundred years old. {Endnote 12}
In addition to being an agricultural people, t=
he
Zu-Vendi are, oddly enough, excessively warlike, and as they cannot from th=
e exigencies
of their position make war upon other nations, they fight among each other =
like
the famed Kilkenny cats, with the happy result that the population never
outgrows the power of the country to support it. This habit of theirs is largely fostere=
d by
the political condition of the country.
The monarchy is nominally an absolute one, save in so far as it is
tempered by the power of the priests and the informal council of the great
lords; but, as in many other institutions, the king's writ does not run
unquestioned throughout the length and breadth of the land. In short, the whole system is a purely =
feudal
one (though absolute serfdom or slavery is unknown), all the great lords
holding nominally from the throne, but a number of them being practically
independent, having the power of life and death, waging war against and mak=
ing peace
with their neighbours as the whim or their interests lead them, and even on
occasion rising in open rebellion against their royal master or mistress, a=
nd,
safely shut up in their castles and fenced cities, as far from the seat of
government, successfully defying them for years.
Zu-Vendis has had its king-makers as well as
England, a fact that will be well appreciated when I state that eight diffe=
rent
dynasties have sat upon the throne in the last one thousand years, every on=
e of
which took its rise from some noble family that succeeded in grasping the
purple after a sanguinary struggle. At the date of our arrival in the count=
ry
things were a little better than they had been for some centuries, the last
king, the father of Nyleptha and Sorais, having been an exceptionally able =
and
vigorous ruler, and, as a consequence, he kept down the power of the priests
and nobles. On his death, two year=
s before
we reached Zu-Vendis, the twin sisters, his children, were, following an
ancient precedent, called to the throne, since an attempt to exclude either
would instantly have provoked a sanguinary civil war; but it was generally =
felt
in the country that this measure was a most unsatisfactory one, and could
hardly be expected to be permanent.
Indeed, as it was, the various intrigues that were set on foot by
ambitious nobles to obtain the hand of one or other of the queens in marria=
ge
had disquieted the country, and the general opinion was that there would be=
bloodshed
before long.
I will now pass on to the question of the Zu-V=
endi
religion, which is nothing more or less than sun-worship of a pronounced and
highly developed character. Around=
this
sun-worship is grouped the entire social system of the Zu-Vendi. It sends its roots through every instit=
ution
and custom of the land. From the c=
radle to
the grave the Zu-Vendi follows the sun in every sense of the saying. As an infant he is solemnly held up in =
its
light and dedicated to 'the symbol of good, the expression of power, and the
hope of Eternity', the ceremony answering to our baptism. Whilst still a ti=
ny
child, his parents point out the glorious orb as the presence of a visible =
and
beneficent god, and he worships it at its up-rising and down-setting. Then when still quite small, he goes, h=
olding
fast to the pendent end of his mother's 'kaf' (toga), up to the temple of t=
he
Sun of the nearest city, and there, when at midday the bright beams strike =
down
upon the golden central altar and beat back the fire that burns thereon, he
hears the white-robed priests raise their solemn chant of praise and sees t=
he
people fall down to adore, and then, amidst the blowing of the golden trump=
ets,
watches the sacrifice thrown into the fiery furnace beneath the altar. Here he comes again to be declared 'a m=
an' by
the priests, and consecrated to war and to good works; here before the sole=
mn
altar he leads his bride; and here too, if differences shall unhappily aris=
e,
he divorces her.
And so on, down life's long pathway till the l=
ast
mile is travelled, and he comes again armed indeed, and with dignity, but no
longer a man. Here they bear him d=
ead
and lay his bier upon the falling brazen doors before the eastern altar, and
when the last ray from the setting sun falls upon his white face the bolts =
are drawn
and he vanishes into the raging furnace beneath and is ended.
The priests of the Sun do not marry, but are
recruited as young men specially devoted to the work by their parents and
supported by the State. The nomina=
tion
to the higher offices of the priesthood lies with the Crown, but once appoi=
nted
the nominees cannot be dispossessed, and it is scarcely too much to say that
they really rule the land. To begin
with, they are a united body sworn to obedience and secrecy, so that an ord=
er
issued by the High Priest at Milosis will be instantly and unhesitatingly a=
cted
upon by the resident priest of a little country town three or four hundred =
miles
off. They are the judges of the la=
nd,
criminal and civil, an appeal lying only to the lord paramount of the distr=
ict,
and from him to the king; and they have, of course, practically unlimited j=
urisdiction
over religious and moral offences, together with a right of excommunication,
which, as in the faiths of more highly civilized lands, is a very effective
weapon. Indeed, their rights and p=
owers
are almost unlimited, but I may as well state here that the priests of the =
Sun
are wise in their generation, and do not push things too far. It is but very seldom that they go to
extremes against anybody, being more inclined to exercise the prerogative of
mercy than run the risk of exasperating the powerful and vigorous-minded pe=
ople
on whose neck they have set their yoke, lest it should rise and break it off
altogether.
Another source of the power of the priests is
their practical monopoly of learning, and their very considerable astronomi=
cal knowledge,
which enables them to keep a hold on the popular mind by predicting eclipses
and even comets. In Zu-Vendis only=
a few
of the upper classes can read and write, but nearly all the priests have th=
is
knowledge, and are therefore looked upon as learned men.
The law of the country is, on the whole, mild =
and
just, but differs in several respects from our civilized law. For instance, the law of England is muc=
h more
severe upon offences against property than against the person, as becomes a
people whose ruling passion is money. A
man may half kick his wife to death or inflict horrible sufferings upon his
children at a much cheaper rate of punishment than he can compound for the
theft of a pair of old boots. In Zu-Vendis this is not so, for there they
rightly or wrongly look upon the person as of more consequence than goods a=
nd
chattels, and not, as in England, as a sort of necessary appendage to the l=
atter. For murder the punishment is death, for
treason death, for defrauding the orphan and the widow, for sacrilege, and =
for attempting
to quit the country (which is looked on as a sacrilege) death. In each case the method of execution is=
the
same, and a rather awful one. The
culprit is thrown alive into the fiery furnace beneath one of the altars to=
the
Sun. For all other offences, inclu=
ding
the offence of idleness, the punishment is forced labour upon the vast nati=
onal
buildings which are always going on in some part of the country, with or
without periodical floggings, according to the crime.
The social system of the Zu-Vendi allows
considerable liberty to the individual, provided he does not offend against=
the
laws and customs of the country. T=
hey
are polygamous in theory, though most of them have only one wife on account=
of
the expense. By law a man is bound=
to
provide a separate establishment for each wife.
The first wife also is the legal wife, and her children are said to =
be
'of the house of the Father'. The
children of the other wives are of the houses of their respective mothers. =
This
does not, however, imply any slur upon either mother or children. Again, a first wife can, on entering in=
to the
married state, make a bargain that her husband shall marry no other wife. T=
his,
however, is very rarely done, as the women are the great upholders of polyg=
amy,
which not only provides for their surplus numbers but gives greater importa=
nce
to the first wife, who is thus practically the head of several households.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> Marriage is looked upon as primarily a =
civil
contract, and, subject to certain conditions and to a proper provision for
children, is dissoluble at the will of both contracting parties, the divorc=
e,
or 'unloosing', being formally and ceremoniously accomplished by going thro=
ugh certain
portions of the marriage ceremony backwards.
The Zu-Vendi are on the whole a very kindly,
pleasant, and light-hearted people. They
are not great traders and care little about money, only working to earn eno=
ugh
to support themselves in that class of life in which they were born. They are exceedingly conservative, and =
look
with disfavour upon changes. Their=
legal
tender is silver, cut into little squares of different weights; gold is the
baser coin, and is about of the same value as our silver. It is, however, m=
uch
prized for its beauty, and largely used for ornaments and decorative purpos=
es. Most of the trade, however, is carried =
on by
means of sale and barter, payment being made in kind. Agriculture is the great business of the
country, and is really well understood and carried out, most of the availab=
le acreage
being under cultivation. Great att=
ention
is also given to the breeding of cattle and horses, the latter being
unsurpassed by any I have ever seen either in Europe or Africa.
The land belongs theoretically to the Crown, a=
nd
under the Crown to the great lords, who again divide it among smaller lords=
, and
so on down to the little peasant farmer who works his forty 'reestu' (acres=
) on
a system of half-profits with his immediate lord. In fact the whole system is, as I have =
said,
distinctly feudal, and it interested us much to meet with such an old frien=
d far
in the unknown heart of Africa.
The taxes are very heavy. The State takes a third of a man's total
earnings, and the priesthood about five per cent on the remainder. But on the other hand, if a man through=
any
cause falls into bona fide misfortune the State supports him in the positio=
n of
life to which he belongs. If he is=
idle,
however, he is sent to work on the Government undertakings, and the State l=
ooks
after his wives and children. The =
State
also makes all the roads and builds all town houses, about which great care=
is
shown, letting them out to families at a small rent. It also keeps up a standing army of abo=
ut
twenty thousand men, and provides watchmen, etc. In return for their five per cent the p=
riests
attend to the service of the temples, carry out all religious ceremonies, a=
nd
keep schools, where they teach whatever they think desirable, which is not =
very
much. Some of the temples also pos=
sess
private property, but priests as individuals cannot hold property.
And now comes a question which I find some
difficulty in answering. Are the Zu-Vendi a civilized or barbarous people?<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> Sometimes I think the one, sometimes the
other. In some branches of art the=
y have
attained the very highest proficiency.
Take for instance their buildings and their statuary. I do not think that the latter can be
equalled either in beauty or imaginative power anywhere in the world, and as
for the former it may have been rivalled in ancient Egypt, but I am sure th=
at
it has never been since. But, on t=
he
other hand, they are totally ignorant of many other arts. Till Sir Henry, who happened to know
something about it, showed them how to do it by mixing silica and lime, they
could not make a piece of glass, and their crockery is rather primitive.
As regards their religion, it is a natural one=
for
imaginative people who know no better, and might therefore be expected to t=
urn
to the sun and worship him as the all-Father, but it cannot justly be called
elevating or spiritual. It is true=
that
they do sometimes speak of the sun as the 'garment of the Spirit', but it i=
s a
vague term, and what they really adore is the fiery orb himself. They also call him the 'hope of eternit=
y',
but here again the meaning is vague, and I doubt if the phrase conveys any =
very
clear impression to their minds. S=
ome of
them do indeed believe in a future life for the good -- I know Nyleptha doe=
s firmly
-- but it is a private faith arising from the promptings of the spirit, not=
an
essential of their creed. So on the
whole I cannot say that I consider this sun-worship as a religion indicativ=
e of
a civilized people, however magnificent and imposing its ritual, or however
moral and high-sounding the maxims of its priests, many of whom, I am sure,
have their own opinions on the whole subject; though of course they have
nothing but praise for a system which provides them with so many of the good
things of this world.
There are now only two more matters to which I
need allude -- namely, the language and the system of calligraphy. As for the former, it is soft-sounding,=
and
very rich and flexible. Sir Henry says that it sounds something like modern
Greek, but of course it has no connection with it. It is easy to acquire, being simple in =
its
construction, and a peculiar quality about it is its euphony, and the way in
which the sound of the words adapts itself to the meaning to be expressed.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> Long before we mastered the language, we
could frequently make out what was meant by the ring of the sentence. It is on this account that the language=
lends
itself so well to poetical declamation, of which these remarkable people are
very fond. The Zu-Vendi alphabet s=
eems,
Sir henry says, to be derived, like every other known system of letters, fr=
om a
Phoenician source, and therefore more remotely still from the ancient Egypt=
ian
hieratic writing. Whether this is a fact I cannot say, not being learned in
such matters. All I know about it =
is
that their alphabet consists of twenty-two characters, of which a few, nota=
bly
B, E, and O, are not very unlike our own.
The whole affair is, however, clumsy and puzzling. {Endnote 13} But as the people of Zu-Vendi are not g=
iven
to the writing of novels, or of anything except business documents and reco=
rds
of the briefest character, it answers their purpose well enough.
CHAPTER XIV - THE FLOWER TEMPLE
It was half-past eight by my watch when I woke=
on
the morning following our arrival at Milosis, having slept almost exactly t=
welve
hours, and I must say that I did indeed feel better. Ah, what a blessed thi=
ng
is sleep! and what a difference twelve hours of it or so makes to us after =
days
and nights of toil and danger. It =
is
like going to bed one man and getting up another.
I sat up upon my silken couch -- never had I s=
lept
upon such a bed before -- and the first thing that I saw was Good's eyeglas=
s fixed
on me from the recesses of his silken couch.
There was nothing else of him to be seen except his eyeglass, but I =
knew
from the look of it that he was awake, and waiting till I woke up to begin.=
'I say, Quatermain,' he commenced sure enough,
'did you observe her skin? It is as
smooth as the back of an ivory hairbrush.'
'Now look here, Good,' I remonstrated, when th=
ere
came a sound at the curtain, which, on being drawn, admitted a functionary,=
who
signified by signs that he was there to lead us to the bath. We gladly
consented, and were conducted to a delightful marble chamber, with a pool of
running crystal water in the centre of it, into which we gaily plunged. When we had bathed, we returned to our
apartment and dressed, and then went into the central room where we had sup=
ped
on the previous evening, to find a morning meal already prepared for us, an=
d a
capital meal it was, though I should be puzzled to describe the dishes. After breakfast we lounged round and ad=
mired
the tapestries and carpets and some pieces of statuary that were placed abo=
ut,
wondering the while what was going to happen next. Indeed, by this time our minds were in =
such a
state of complete bewilderment that we were, as a matter of fact, ready for
anything that might arrive. As for=
our
sense of astonishment, it was pretty well obliterated. Whilst we were still thus engaged, our =
friend
the captain of the guard presented himself, and with many obeisances signif=
ied
that we were to follow him, which we did, not without doubts and
heart-searchings -- for we guessed that the time had come when we should ha=
ve to
settle the bill for those confounded hippopotami with our cold-eyed friend
Agon, the High Priest. However, th=
ere
was no help for it, and personally I took great comfort in the promise of t=
he
protection of the sister Queens, knowing that if ladies have a will they ca=
n generally
find a way; so off we started as though we liked it. A minute's walk through a passage and an
outer court brought us to the great double gates of the palace that open on=
to
the wide highway which runs uphill through the heart of Milosis to the Temp=
le
of the Sun a mile away, and thence down the slope on the farther side of the
temple to the outer wall of the city.
These gates are very large and massive, and an
extraordinarily beautiful work in metal.
Between them -- for one set is placed at the entrance to an interior,
and one at that of the exterior wall -- is a fosse, forty-five feet in
width. This fosse is filled with w=
ater
and spanned by a drawbridge, which when lifted makes the palace nearly
impregnable to anything except siege guns.
As we came, one half of the wide gates were flung open, and we passed
over the drawbridge and presently stood gazing up one of the most imposing,=
if
not the most imposing, roadways in the world.
It is a hundred feet from curb to curb, and on either side, not cram=
ped
and crowded together, as is our European fashion, but each standing in its =
own
grounds, and built equidistant from and in similar style to the rest, are a
series of splendid, single-storied mansions, all of red granite. These are the town houses of the nobles=
of
the Court, and stretch away in unbroken lines for a mile or more till the e=
ye
is arrested by the glorious vision of the Temple of the Sun that crowns the
hill and heads the roadway.
As we stood gazing at this splendid sight, of
which more anon, there suddenly dashed up to the gateway four chariots, each
drawn by two white horses. These
chariots are two-wheeled, and made of wood.
They are fitted with a stout pole, the weight of which is supported =
by
leathern girths that form a portion of the harness. The wheels are made with
four spokes only, are tired with iron, and quite innocent of springs. In the front of the chariot, and immedi=
ately
over the pole, is a small seat for the driver, railed round to prevent him =
from
being jolted off. Inside the machi=
ne
itself are three low seats, one at each side, and one with the back to the
horses, opposite to which is the door. The whole vehicle is lightly and yet
strongly made, and, owing to the grace of the curves, though primitive, not
half so ugly as might be expected.
But if the chariots left something to be desir=
ed,
the horses did not. They were simp=
ly
splendid, not very large but strongly built, and well ribbed up, with small
heads, remarkably large and round hoofs, and a great look of speed and bloo=
d. I have often wondered whence this breed,
which presents many distinct characteristics, came, but like that of its
owners, it history is obscure. Lik=
e the
people the horses have always been there.
The first and last of these chariots were occupied by guards, but the
centre two were empty, except for the driver, and to these we were
conducted. Alphonse and I got into=
the first,
and Sir Henry, Good, and Umslopogaas into the one behind, and then suddenly=
off
we went. And we did go! Among the Zu-Vendi it is not usual to t=
rot
horses either riding or driving, especially when the journey to be made is a
short one -- they go at full gallop. As
soon as we were seated the driver called out, the horses sprang forward, an=
d we
were whirled away at a speed sufficient to take one's breath, and which, ti=
ll I
got accustomed to it, kept me in momentary fear of an upset. As for the wretched Alphonse, he clung =
with a
despairing face to the side of what he called this 'devil of a fiacre',
thinking that every moment was his last.
Presently it occurred to him to ask where we were going, and I told =
him
that, as far as I could ascertain, we were going to be sacrificed by
burning. You should have seen his =
face
as he grasped the side of the vehicle and cried out in his terror.
But the wild-looking charioteer only leant for=
ward
over his flying steeds and shouted; and the air, as it went singing past, b=
ore away
the sound of Alphonse's lamentations.
And now before us, in all its marvellous splen=
dour
and dazzling loveliness, shone out the Temple of the Sun -- the peculiar pr=
ide of
the Zu-Vendi, to whom it was what Solomon's, or rather Herod's, Temple was =
to
the Jews. The wealth, and skill, a=
nd
labour of generations had been given to the building of this wonderful plac=
e,
which had been only finally completed within the last fifty years. Nothing was spared that the country cou=
ld
produce, and the result was indeed worthy of the effort, not so much on acc=
ount
of its size -- for there are larger fanes in the world -- as because of its
perfect proportions, the richness and beauty of its materials, and the
wonderful workmanship. The buildin=
g (that
stands by itself on a space of some eight acres of garden ground on the
hilltop, around which are the dwelling-places of the priests) is built in t=
he
shape of a sunflower, with a dome-covered central hall, from which radiate
twelve petal-shaped courts, each dedicated to one of the twelve months, and
serving as the repositories of statues reared in memory of the illustrious
dead. The width of the circle beneath the dome is three hundred feet, the
height of the dome is four hundred feet, and the length of the rays is one
hundred and fifty feet, and the height of their roofs three hundred feet, so
that they run into the central dome exactly as the petals of the sunflower =
run
into the great raised heart. Thus =
the
exact measurement from the centre of the central altar to the extreme point=
of
any one of the rounded rays would be three hundred feet (the width of the
circle itself), or a total of six hundred feet from the rounded extremity of
one ray or petal to the extremity of the opposite one. {Endnote 14}
The building itself is of pure and polished wh=
ite
marble, which shows out in marvellous contrast to the red granite of the
frowning city, on whose brow it glistens indeed like an imperial diadem upon
the forehead of a dusky queen. The=
outer
surface of the dome and of the twelve petal courts is covered entirely with=
thin
sheets of beaten gold; and from the extreme point of the roof of each of th=
ese
petals a glorious golden form with a trumpet in its hand and widespread win=
gs
is figured in the very act of soaring into space. I really must leave whoever reads this =
to imagine
the surpassing beauty of these golden roofs flashing when the sun strikes --
flashing like a thousand fires aflame on a mountain of polished marble -- so
fiercely that the reflection can be clearly seen from the great peaks of the
range a hundred miles away.
It is a marvellous sight -- this golden flower
upborne upon the cool white marble walls, and I doubt if the world can show
such another. What makes the whole
effect even more gorgeous is that a belt of a hundred and fifty feet around=
the
marble wall of the temple is planted with an indigenous species of sunflowe=
r, which
were at the time when we first saw them a sheet of golden bloom.
The main entrance to this wonderful place is
between the two northernmost of the rays or petal courts, and is protected
first by the usual bronze gates, and then by doors made of solid marble, be=
autifully
carved with allegorical subjects and overlaid with gold. When these are passed there is only the
thickness of the wall, which is, however, twenty-five feet (for the Zu-Vendi
build for all time), and another slight wall also of white marble, introduc=
ed
in order to avoid causing a visible gap in the inner skin of the wall, and =
you
stand in the circular hall under the great dome. Advancing to the central altar you look=
upon
as beautiful a sight as the imagination of man can conceive. You are in the middle of the holy place=
, and
above you the great white marble dome (for the inner skin, like the outer, =
is
of polished marble throughout) arches away in graceful curves something like
that of St Paul's in London, only at a slighter angle, and from the funnel-=
like
opening at the exact apex a bright beam of light pours down upon the golden
altar. At the east and the west are
other altars, and other beams of light stab the sacred twilight to the
heart. In every direction, 'white,
mystic, wonderful', open out the ray-like courts, each pierced through by a
single arrow of light that serves to illumine its lofty silence and dimly to
reveal the monuments of the dead. {Endnote 15}
Overcome at so awe-inspiring a sight, the vast
loveliness of which thrills the nerves like a glance from beauty's eyes, yo=
u turn
to the central golden altar, in the midst of which, though you cannot see it
now, there burns a pale but steady flame crowned with curls of faint blue
smoke. It is of marble overlaid wi=
th pure
gold, in shape round like the sun, four feet in height, and thirty-six in
circumference. Here also, hinged t=
o the
foundations of the altar, are twelve petals of beaten gold. All night and, except at one hour, all =
day
also, these petals are closed over the altar itself exactly as the petals o=
f a
water-lily close over the yellow crown in stormy weather; but when the sun =
at midday
pierces through the funnel in the dome and lights upon the golden flower, t=
he
petals open and reveal the hidden mystery, only to close again when the ray=
has
passed.
Nor is this all.
Standing in semicircles at equal distances from each other on the no=
rth
and south of the sacred place are ten golden angels, or female winged forms,
exquisitely shaped and draped. The=
se
figures, which are slightly larger than life-size, stand with bent heads in=
an
attitude of adoration, their faces shadowed by their wings, and are most
imposing and of exceeding beauty.
There is but one thing further which calls for
description in this altar, which is, that to the east the flooring in front=
of
it is not of pure white marble, as elsewhere throughout the building, but of
solid brass, and this is also the case in front of the other two altars.
The eastern and western altars, which are
semicircular in shape, and placed against the wall of the building, are much
less imposing, and are not enfolded in golden petals. They are, however, also of gold, the sa=
cred
fire burns on each, and a golden-winged figure stands on either side of
them. Two great golden rays run up=
the
wall behind them, but where the third or middle one should be is an opening=
in
the wall, wide on the outside, but narrow within, like a loophole turned
inwards. Through the eastern looph=
ole
stream the first beams of the rising sun, and strike right across the circl=
e,
touching the folded petals of the great gold flower as they pass till they
impinge upon the western altar. In the same way at night the last rays of t=
he
sinking sun rest for a while on the eastern altar before they die away into
darkness. It is the promise of the dawn to the evening and the evening to t=
he
dawn.
With the exception of those three altars and t=
he
winged figures about them, the whole space beneath the vast white dome is
utterly empty and devoid of ornamentation -- a circumstance that to my fancy
adds greatly to its splendour.
Such is a brief description of this wonderful =
and
lovely building, to the glories of which, to my mind so much enhanced by th=
eir complete
simplicity, I only wish I had the power to do justice. But I cannot, so it =
is
useless talking more about it. But=
when I
compare this great work of genius to some of the tawdry buildings and tinsel
ornamentation produced in these latter days by European ecclesiastical
architects, I feel that even highly civilized art might learn something from
the Zu-Vendi masterpieces. I can o=
nly
say that the exclamation which sprang to my lips as soon as my eyes first
became accustomed to the dim light of that glorious building, and its white=
and
curving beauties, perfect and thrilling as those of a naked goddess, grew u=
pon
me one by one, was, 'Well! a dog would feel religious here.' It is vulgarly put, but perhaps it conv=
eys my
meaning more clearly than any polished utterance.
At the temple gates our party was received by a
guard of soldiers, who appeared to be under the orders of a priest; and by =
them
we were conducted into one of the ray or 'petal' courts, as the priests call
them, and there left for at least half-an-hour. Here we conferred together,=
and
realizing that we stood in great danger of our lives, determined, if any
attempt should be made upon us, to sell them as dearly as we could --
Umslopogaas announcing his fixed intention of committing sacrilege on the
person of Agon, the High Priest, by splitting his head with Inkosi-kaas. Fr=
om
where we stood we could perceive that an immense multitude were pouring into
the temple, evidently in expectation of some unusual event, and I could not
help fearing that we had to do with it.
And here I may explain that every day, when the sunlight falls upon =
the
central altar, and the trumpets sound, a burnt sacrifice is offered to the =
Sun,
consisting generally of the carcase of a sheep or ox, or sometimes of fruit=
or
corn. This event comes off about m=
idday;
of course, not always exactly at that hour, but as Zu-Vendis is situated not
far from the Line, although -- being so high above the sea it is very tempe=
rate
-- midday and the falling of the sunlight on the altar were generally simul=
taneous. Today the sacrifice was to take place at
about eight minutes past twelve.
Just at twelve o'clock a priest appeared, and =
made
a sign, and the officer of the guard signified to us that we were expected =
to
advance, which we did with the best grace that we could muster, all except
Alphonse, whose irrepressible teeth instantly began to chatter. In a few seconds we were out of the cou=
rt and
looking at a vast sea of human faces stretching away to the farthest limits=
of
the great circle, all straining to catch a glimpse of the mysterious strang=
ers
who had committed sacrilege; the first strangers, mind you, who, to the
knowledge of the multitude, had ever set foot in Zu-Vendis since such time =
that
the memory of man runneth not to the contrary.
As we appeared there was a murmur through the =
vast
crowd that went echoing away up the great dome, and we saw a visible blush =
of
excitement grow on the thousands of faces, like a pink light on a stretch of
pale cloud, and a very curious effect it was. On we passed down a lane cut
through the heart of the human mass, till presently we stood upon the brazen
patch of flooring to the east of the central altar, and immediately facing =
it. For
some thirty feet around the golden-winged figures the space was roped off, =
and
the multitudes stood outside the ropes.
Within were a circle of white-robed gold-cinctured priests holding l=
ong golden
trumpets in their hands, and immediately in front of us was our friend Agon,
the High Priest, with his curious cap upon his head. His was the only covered head in that v=
ast
assemblage. We took our stand upon the brazen space, little knowing what was
prepared for us beneath, but I noticed a curious hissing sound proceeding
apparently from the floor for which I could not account. Then came a pause, and I looked around =
to see
if there was any sign of the two Queens, Nyleptha and Sorais, but they were=
not
there. To the right of us, however=
, was
a bare space that I guessed was reserved for them.
We waited, and presently a far-off trumpet ble=
w,
apparently high up in the dome. Th=
en
came another murmur from the multitude, and up a long lane, leading to the =
open
space to our right, we saw the two Queens walking side by side. Behind them were some nobles of the Cou=
rt,
among whom I recognized the great lord Nasta, and behind them again a body =
of
about fifty guards. These last I w=
as
very glad to see. Presently they h=
ad all
arrived and taken their stand, the two Queens in the front, the nobles to t=
he
right and left, and the guards in a double semicircle behind them.
Then came another silence, and Nyleptha looked=
up
and caught my eye; it seemed to me that there was meaning in her glance, an=
d I
watched it narrowly. From my eye it
travelled down to the brazen flooring, on the outer edge of which we
stood. Then followed a slight and =
almost
imperceptible sidelong movement of the head.
I did not understand it, and it was repeated. Then I guessed that she
meant us to move back off the brazen floor.
One more glance and I was sure of it -- there was danger in standing=
on
the floor. Sir Henry was placed on=
one
side of me, Umslopogaas on the other.
Keeping my eyes fixed straight before me, I whispered to them, first=
in
Zulu and then in English, to draw slowly back inch by inch till half their =
feet
were resting on the marble flooring where the brass ceased. Sir Henry whispered on to Good and Alph=
onse,
and slowly, very very slowly, we shifted backwards; so slowly that nobody,
except Nyleptha and Sorais, who saw everything seemed to notice the
movement. Then I glanced again at
Nyleptha, and saw that, by an almost imperceptible nod, she indicated
approval. All the while Agon's eye=
s were
fixed upon the altar before him apparently in an ecstasy of contemplation, =
and
mine were fixed upon the small of his back in another sort of ecstasy. Suddenly he flung up his long arm, and =
in a
solemn and resounding voice commenced a chant, of which for convenience' sa=
ke I
append a rough, a very rough, translation here, though, of course, I did not
then comprehend its meaning. It wa=
s an
invocation to the Sun, and ran somewhat as follows: --
There is silence upon the face of the E=
arth
and the waters thereof! Yea, the
silence doth brood on the waters like a nesting bird; The silence sleepeth also upon the boso=
m of
the profound darkness, Only high =
up in
the great spaces star doth speak unto star, The Earth is faint with longing and wet=
with
the tears of her desire; The
star-girdled night doth embrace her, but she is not comforted. She lies enshrouded in mists like a cor=
pse in
the grave-clothes, And stretches =
her
pale hands to the East.
Lo! =
away
in the farthest East there is the shadow of a light; The Earth seeth and lifts herself. She looks out from beneath the hollow of her hand. Then thy great angels fly forth from th=
e Holy
Place, oh Sun, They shoot their f=
iery
swords into the darkness and shrivel it up. They climb the heavens and cast down th=
e pale
stars from their thrones; Yea, th=
ey
hurl the changeful stars back into the womb of the night; They cause the moon to become wan as th=
e face
of a dying man, And behold! Thy glory comes, oh Sun!
Oh, =
Thou
beautiful one, Thou drapest thyself in fire. The wide heavens are thy pathway: thou
rollest o'er them as a chariot. T=
he
Earth is thy bride. Thou dost embr=
ace
her and she brings forth children=
; Yea, Thou favourest her, and she yields=
her
increase. Thou art the All Father=
and
the giver of life, oh Sun. The yo=
ung
children stretch out their hands and grow in thy brightness; The old men creep forth and seeing reme=
mber
their strength. Only the dead for=
get
Thee, oh Sun!
When=
Thou
art wroth then Thou dost hide Thy face; Thou drawest around Thee a thick curtai=
n of
shadows. Then the Earth grows col=
d and
the Heavens are dismayed; They tr=
emble,
and the sound thereof is the sound of thunder: They weep, and their tears are outpoure=
d in
the rain; They sigh, and the wild=
winds
are the voice of their sighing. T=
he
flowers die, the fruitful fields languish and turn pale; The old men and the little children go =
unto
their appointed place When Thou
withdrawest thy light, oh Sun!
Say,=
what
art Thou, oh Thou matchless Splendour -- Who set Thee on high, oh Thou flaming T=
error?
When didst Thou begin, and when i=
s the
day of Thy ending? Thou art the r=
aiment
of the living Spirit. {Endnote 16} None
did place Thee on high, for Thou was the Beginning. Thou shalt not be ended when thy childr=
en are
forgotten; Nay, Thou shalt never =
end,
for thy hours are eternal. Thou s=
ittest
on high within thy golden house and measurest out the centuries. Oh Father of Life! oh dark-dispelling S=
un!
He ce=
ased
this solemn chant, which, though it seems a poor enough thing after going
through my mill, is really beautiful and impressive in the original; and th=
en,
after a moment's pause, he glanced up towards the funnel-sloped opening in =
the
dome and added --
Oh Su=
n,
descend upon thine Altar!
As he=
spoke
a wonderful and a beautiful thing happened.
Down from on high flashed a splendid living ray of light, cleaving t=
he
twilight like a sword of fire. Ful=
l upon
the closed petals it fell and ran shimmering down their golden sides, and t=
hen the
glorious flower opened as though beneath the bright influence. Slowly it
opened, and as the great petals fell wide and revealed the golden altar on
which the fire ever burns, the priests blew a blast upon the trumpets, and =
from
all the people there rose a shout of praise that beat against the domed roof
and came echoing down the marble walls.
And now the flower altar was open, and the sunlight fell full upon t=
he
tongue of sacred flame and beat it down, so that it wavered, sank, and vani=
shed
into the hollow recesses whence it rose.
As it vanished, the mellow notes of the trumpets rolled out once
more. Again the old priest flung u=
p his
hands and called aloud --
We sa=
crifice
to thee, oh Sun!
Once =
more I
caught Nyleptha's eye; it was fixed upon the brazen flooring.
'Look out,' I said, aloud; and as I said it, I=
saw
Agon bend forward and touch something on the altar. As he did so, the great white sea of fa=
ces
around us turned red and then white again, and a deep breath went up like a
universal sigh. Nyleptha leant forward, and with an involuntary movement
covered her eyes with her hand. So=
rais
turned and whispered to the officer of the royal bodyguard, and then with a=
rending
sound the whole of the brazen flooring slid from before our feet, and there=
in its
place was suddenly revealed a smooth marble shaft terminating in a most awf=
ul
raging furnace beneath the altar, big enough and hot enough to heat the iron
stern-post of a man-of-war.
With a cry of terror we sprang backwards, all
except the wretched Alphonse, who was paralysed with fear, and would have
fallen into the fiery furnace which had been prepared for us, had not Sir H=
enry
caught him in his strong hand as he was vanishing and dragged him back.
Instantly there arose the most fearful hubbub,=
and
we four got back to back, Alphonse dodging frantically round our little cir=
cle in
his attempts to take shelter under our legs.
We all had our revolvers on -- for though we had been politely disar=
med
of our guns on leaving the palace, of course these people did not know what=
a
revolver was. Umslopogaas, too, ha=
d his
axe, of which no effort had been made to deprive him, and now he whirled it=
round
his head and sent his piercing Zulu war-shout echoing up the marble walls in
fine defiant fashion. Next second,=
the
priests, baffled of their prey, had drawn swords from beneath their white r=
obes
and were leaping on us like hounds upon a stag at bay. I saw that, dangerou=
s as
action might be, we must act or be lost, so as the first man came bounding
along -- and a great tall fellow he was -- I sent a heavy revolver ball thr=
ough
him, and down he fell at the mouth of the shaft, and slid, shrieking franti=
cally,
into the fiery gulf that had been prepared for us.
Whether it was his cries, or the, to them, awf=
ul
sound and effect of the pistol shot, or what, I know not, but the other pri=
ests
halted, paralysed and dismayed, and before they could come on again Sorais =
had
called out something, and we, together with the two Queens and most of the
courtiers, were being surrounded with a wall of armed men. In a moment it was done, and still the
priests hesitated, and the people hung in the balance like a herd of startl=
ed
buck as it were, making no sign one way or the other.
The last yell of the burning priest had died a=
way,
the fire had finished him, and a great silence fell upon the place.
Then the High Priest Agon turned, and his face=
was
as the face of a devil. 'Let the
sacrifice be sacrificed,' he cried to the Queens. 'Has not sacrilege enough been done by =
these
strangers, and would ye, as Queens, throw the cloak of your majesty over ev=
ildoers? Are not the creatures sacred to the Sun
dead? And is not a priest of the S=
un
also dead, but now slain by the magic of these strangers, who come as the w=
inds
out of heaven, whence we know not, and who are what we know not? Beware, oh Queens, how ye tamper with t=
he
great majesty of the God, even before His high altar! There is a Power that is more than your
power; there is a Justice that is higher than your justice. Beware how ye lift an impious hand agai=
nst
it! Let the sacrifice be sacrifice=
d, oh
Queens.'
Then Sorais made answer in her deep quiet tone=
s,
that always seemed to me to have a suspicion of mockery about them, however=
serious
the theme: 'Oh, Agon, thou hast spoken according to thy desire, and thou ha=
st
spoken truth. But it is thou who w=
ouldst
lift an impious hand against the justice of thy God. Bethink thee the midday sacrifice is ac=
complished;
the Sun hath claimed his priest as a sacrifice.'
This was a novel idea, and the people applauded
it.
'Bethink thee what are these men? They are strangers found floating on the
bosom of a lake. Who brought them
here? How came they here? How know you that they also are not ser=
vants
of the Sun? Is this the hospitality that ye would have our nation show to t=
hose
whom chance brings to them, to throw them to the flames? Shame on you! Shame on you!
What is hospitality? To rec=
eive the
stranger and show him favour. To b=
ind up
his wounds, and find a pillow for his head, and food for him to eat. But thy pillow is the fiery furnace, an=
d thy
food the hot savour of the flame. =
Shame
on thee, I say!'
She paused a little to watch the effect of her=
speech
upon the multitude, and seeing that it was favourable, changed her tone from
one of remonstrance to one of command.
'Ho! place there,' she cried; 'place, I say; m=
ake
way for the Queens, and those whom the Queens cover with their "kaf&qu=
ot;
(mantle).'
'And if I refuse, oh Queen?' said Agon between=
his
teeth.
'Then will I cut a path with my guards,' was t=
he
proud answer; 'ay, even in the presence of thy sanctuary, and through the
bodies of thy priests.'
Agon turned livid with baffled fury. He glanced at the people as though medi=
tating
an appeal to them, but saw clearly that their sympathies were all the other
way. The Zu-Vendi are a very curio=
us and
sociable people, and great as was their sense of the enormity that we had
committed in shooting the sacred hippopotami, they did not like the idea of=
the
only real live strangers they had seen or heard of being consigned to a fie=
ry furnace,
thereby putting an end for ever to their chance of extracting knowledge and
information from, and gossiping about us.
Agon saw this and hesitated, and then for the first time Nyleptha sp=
oke
in her soft sweet voice.
'Bethink thee, Agon,' she said, 'as my sister
Queen has said, these men may also be servants of the Sun. For themselves they cannot speak, for t=
heir
tongues are tied. Let the matter b=
e adjourned
till such time as they have learnt our language. Who can be condemned without a hearing?=
When these men can plead for themselves=
, then
it will be time to put them to the proof.'
Here was a clever loophole of escape, and the
vindictive old priest took it, little as he liked it.
'So be it, oh Queens,' he said. 'Let the men go in peace, and when they=
have
learnt our tongue then let them speak.
And I, even I, will make humble supplication at the altar lest
pestilence fall on the land by cause of the sacrilege.'
These words were received with a murmur of
applause, and in another minute we were marching out of the temple surround=
ed
by the royal guards.
But it was not till long afterwards that we le=
arnt
the exact substance of what had passed, and how hardly our lives had been w=
rung
out of the cruel grip of the Zu-Vendi priesthood, in the face of which even=
the
Queens were practically powerless. Had it
not been for their strenuous efforts to protect us we should have been slain
even before we set foot in the Temple of the Sun. The attempt to drop us bodily into the =
fiery
pit as an offering was a last artifice to attain this end when several othe=
rs
quite unsuspected by us had already failed.
After our escape from Agon and his pious crew =
we
returned to our quarters in the palace and had a very good time. The two Queens, the nobles and the peop=
le
vied with each other in doing us honour and showering gifts upon us. As for that painful little incident of =
the
hippopotami it sank into oblivion, where we were quite content to leave
it. Every day deputations and
individuals waited on us to examine our guns and clothing, our chain shirts=
, and
our instruments, especially our watches, with which they were much
delighted. In short, we became qui=
te the
rage, so much so that some of the fashionable young swells among the Zu-Ven=
di began
to copy the cut of some of our clothes, notably Sir Henry's shooting
jacket. One day, indeed, a deputat=
ion
waited on us and, as usual, Good donned his full-dress uniform for the
occasion. This deputation seemed somehow to be a different class to those w=
ho
generally came to visit us. They w=
ere
little insignificant men of an excessively polite, not to say servile,
demeanour; and their attention appeared to be chiefly taken up with observi=
ng the
details of Good's full-dress uniform, of which they took copious notes and
measurements. Good was much flatte=
red at
the time, not suspecting that he had to deal with the six leading tailors of
Milosis. A fortnight afterwards,
however, when on attending court as usual he had the pleasure of seeing some
seven or eight Zu-Vendi 'mashers' arrayed in all the glory of a very fair
imitation of his full-dress uniform, he changed his mind. I shall never for=
get
his face of astonishment and disgust. It was after this, chiefly to avoid
remark, and also because our clothes were wearing out and had to be saved u=
p,
that we resolved to adopt the native dress; and a very comfortable one we f=
ound
it, though I am bound to say that I looked sufficiently ridiculous in it, a=
nd
as for Alphonse! Only Umslopogaas =
would have
none of these things; when his moocha was worn out the fierce old Zulu made=
him
a new one, and went about unconcerned, as grim and naked as his own battlea=
xe.
Meanwhile we pursued our study of the language
steadily and made very good progress. On
the morning following our adventure in the temple, three grave and reverend
signiors presented themselves armed with manuscript books, ink-horns and
feather pens, and indicated that they had been sent to teach us. So, with the exception of Umslopogaas, =
we all
buckled to with a will, doing four hours a day.
As for Umslopogaas, he would have none of that either. He did not wish to learn that 'woman's =
talk',
not he; and when one of the teachers advanced on him with a book and an
ink-horn and waved them before him in a mild persuasive way, much as a
churchwarden invitingly shakes the offertory bag under the nose of a rich b=
ut
niggardly parishioner, he sprang up with a fierce oath and flashed Inkosi-k=
aas
before the eyes of our learned friend, and there was an end of the attempt =
to teach
him Zu-Vendi.
Thus we spent our mornings in useful occupation
which grew more and more interesting as we proceeded, and the afternoons we=
re given
up to recreation. Sometimes we made
trips, notably one to the gold mines and another to the marble quarries bot=
h of
which I wish I had space and time to describe; and sometimes we went out
hunting buck with dogs trained for that purpose, and a very exciting sport =
it
is, as the country is full of agricultural enclosures and our horses were
magnificent. This is not to be won=
dered
at, seeing that the royal stables were at our command, in addition to which=
we
had four splendid saddle horses given to us by Nyleptha.
Sometimes, again, we went hawking, a pastime t=
hat
is in great favour among the Zu-Vendi, who generally fly their birds at a s=
pecies
of partridge which is remarkable for the swiftness and strength of its
flight. When attacked by the hawk =
this
bird appears to lose its head, and, instead of seeking cover, flies high in=
to
the sky, thus offering wonderful sport.
I have seen one of these partridges soar up almost out of sight when
followed by the hawk. Still better=
sport
is offered by a variety of solitary snipe as big as a small woodcock, which=
is
plentiful in this country, and which is flown at with a very small, agile, =
and highly-trained
hawk with an almost red tail. The
zigzagging of the great snipe and the lightning rapidity of the flight and =
movements
of the red-tailed hawk make the pastime a delightful one. Another variety of the same amusement i=
s the
hunting of a very small species of antelope with trained eagles; and it cer=
tainly
is a marvellous sight to see the great bird soar and soar till he is nothing
but a black speck in the sunlight, and then suddenly come dashing down like=
a
cannon-ball upon some cowering buck that is hidden in a patch of grass from
everything but that piercing eye. =
Still
finer is the spectacle when the eagle takes the buck running.
On other days we would pay visits to the count=
ry
seats at some of the great lords' beautiful fortified places, and the villa=
ges clustering
beneath their walls. Here we saw
vineyards and corn-fields and well-kept park-like grounds, with such timber=
in
them as filled me with delight, for I do love a good tree. There it stands so strong and sturdy, a=
nd yet
so beautiful, a very type of the best sort of man. How proudly it lifts its bare head to t=
he
winter storms, and with what a full heart it rejoices when the spring has c=
ome
again! How grand its voice is, too=
, when
it talks with the wind: a thousand aeolian harps cannot equal the beauty of=
the
sighing of a great tree in leaf. A=
ll day
it points to the sunshine and all night to the stars, and thus passionless,=
and
yet full of life, it endures through the centuries, come storm, come shine,
drawing its sustenance from the cool bosom of its mother earth, and as the =
slow
years roll by, learning the great mysteries of growth and of decay. And so on and on through generations,
outliving individuals, customs, dynasties -- all save the landscape it ador=
ns
and human nature -- till the appointed day when the wind wins the long batt=
le and
rejoices over a reclaimed space, or decay puts the last stroke to his
fungus-fingered work.
Ah, one should always think twice before one c=
uts
down a tree!
In the evenings it was customary for Sir Henry,
Good, and myself to dine, or rather sup, with their Majesties -- not every
night, indeed, but about three or four times a week, whenever they had not =
much
company, or the affairs of state would allow of it. And I am bound to say t=
hat
those little suppers were quite the most charming things of their sort that=
I
ever had to do with. How true is the saying that the very highest in rank a=
re
always the most simple and kindly. It is
from your half-and-half sort of people that you get pomposity and vulgarity,
the difference between the two being very much what one sees every day in E=
ngland
between the old, out-at-elbows, broken-down county family, and the overbear=
ing,
purse-proud people who come and 'take the place'. I really think that Nyleptha's greatest=
charm
is her sweet simplicity, and her kindly genuine interest even in little thi=
ngs. She is the simplest woman I ever knew, =
and
where her passions are not involved, one of the sweetest; but she can look =
queenly
enough when she likes, and be as fierce as any savage too.
For instance, never shall I forget that scene =
when
I for the first time was sure that she was really in love with Curtis. It c=
ame
about in this way -- all through Good's weakness for ladies' society. When we had been employed for some three
months in learning Zu-Vendi, it struck Master Good that he was getting rath=
er
tired of the old gentlemen who did us the honour to lead us in the way that=
we
should go, so he proceeded, without saying a word to anybody else, to inform
them that it was a peculiar fact, but that we could not make any real progr=
ess
in the deeper intricacies of a foreign language unless we were taught by la=
dies
-- young ladies, he was careful to explain.
In his own country, he pointed out, it was habitual to choose the ve=
ry
best-looking and most charming girls who could be found to instruct any
strangers who happened to come that way, etc.
All of this the old gentlemen swallowed
open-mouthed. There was, they admi=
tted,
reason in what he said, since the contemplation of the beautiful, as their
philosophy taught, induced a certain porosity of mind similar to that produ=
ced
upon the physical body by the healthful influences of sun and air. Consequently it was probable that we mi=
ght
absorb the Zu-Vendi tongue a little faster if suitable teachers could be
found. Another thing was that, as =
the
female sex was naturally loquacious, good practice would be gained in the v=
iva
voce department of our studies.
To all of this Good gravely assented, and the
learned gentlemen departed, assuring him that their orders were to fall in =
with
our wishes in every way, and that, if possible, our views should be met.
Imagine, therefore the surprise and disgust of
myself, and I trust and believe Sir Henry, when, on entering the room where=
we
were accustomed to carry on our studies the following morning, we found,
instead of our usual venerable tutors, three of the best-looking young women
whom Milosis could produce -- and that is saying a good deal -- who blushed=
and
smiled and curtseyed, and gave us to understand that they were there to car=
ry
on our instruction. Then Good, as =
we
gazed at one another in bewilderment, thought fit to explain, saying that it
had slipped his memory before -- but the old gentlemen had told him, on the
previous evening, that it was absolutely necessary that our further educati=
on should
be carried on by the other sex. I =
was
overwhelmed, and appealed to Sir Henry for advice in such a crisis.
'Well,' he said, 'you see the ladies are here,
ain't they? If we sent them away, =
don't
you think it might hurt their feelings, eh?
One doesn't like to be rough, you see; and they look regular blues,
don't they, eh?'
By this time Good had already begun his lessons
with the handsomest of the three, and so with a sigh I yielded. That day everything went very well: the=
young
ladies were certainly very clever, and they only smiled when we blundered.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> I never saw Good so attentive to his bo=
oks
before, and even Sir Henry appeared to tackle Zu-Vendi with a renewed
zest. 'Ah,' thought I, 'will it al=
ways
be thus?'
Next day we were much more lively, our work was
pleasingly interspersed with questions about our native country, what the
ladies were like there, etc., all of which we answered as best as we could =
in
Zu-Vendi, and I heard Good assuring his teacher that her loveliness was to =
the
beauties of Europe as the sun to the moon, to which she replied with a litt=
le
toss of the head, that she was a plain teaching woman and nothing else, and
that it was not kind 'to deceive a poor girl so'. Then we had a little singing that was r=
eally
charming, so natural and unaffected. The
Zu-Vendi love-songs are most touching.
On the third day we were all quite intimate. Good narrated some of h=
is
previous love affairs to his fair teacher, and so moved was she that her si=
ghs
mingled with his own. I discoursed=
with
mine, a merry blue-eyed girl, upon Zu-Vendian art, and never saw that she w=
as
waiting for an opportunity to drop a specimen of the cockroach tribe down my
back, whilst in the corner Sir Henry and his governess appeared, so far as =
I could
judge, to be going through a lesson framed on the great educational princip=
les
laid down by Wackford Squeers Esq., though in a very modified or rather
spiritualized form. The lady softl=
y repeated
the Zu-Vendi word for 'hand', and he took hers; 'eyes', and he gazed deep i=
nto
her brown orbs; 'lips', and -- but just at that moment my young lady dropped
the cockroach down my back and ran away laughing. Now if there is one thing I loathe more=
than
another it is cockroaches, and moved quite beyond myself, and yet laughing =
at
her impudence, I took up the cushion she had been sitting on and threw it a=
fter
her. Imagine then my shame -- my h=
orror,
and my distress -- when the door opened, and, attended by two guards only, =
in
walked Nyleptha. The cushion could=
not
be recalled (it missed the girl and hit one of the guards on the head), but=
I
instantly and ineffectually tried to look as though I had not thrown it.
And Nyleptha! she drew herself up till her fra=
me
seemed to tower even above that of the tall guards, and her face went first
red, and then pale as death.
'Guards,' she said in a quiet choked voice, and
pointing at the fair but unconscious disciple of Wackford Squeers, 'slay me
that woman.'
The men hesitated, as well they might.
'Will ye do my bidding,' she said again in the
same voice, 'or will ye not?'
Then they advanced upon the girl with uplifted
spears. By this time Sir Henry had recovered himself, and saw that the come=
dy
was likely to turn into a tragedy.
'Stand back,' he said in a voice of thunder, at
the same time getting in front of the terrified girl. 'Shame on thee, Nyleptha -- shame! Thou shalt not kill her.'
'Doubtless thou hast good reason to try to pro=
tect
her. Thou couldst hardly do less in honour,' answered the infuriated Queen;
'but she shall die -- she shall die,' and she stamped her little foot.
'It is well,' he answered; 'then will I die wi=
th
her. I am thy servant, oh Queen; d=
o with
me even as thou wilt.' And he bowe=
d towards
her, and fixed his clear eyes contemptuously on her face.
'I could wish to slay thee too,' she answered;
'for thou dost make a mock of me;' and then feeling that she was mastered, =
and I
suppose not knowing what else to do, she burst into such a storm of tears a=
nd
looked so royally lovely in her passionate distress, that, old as I am, I m=
ust
say I envied Curtis his task of supporting her.
It was rather odd to see him holding her in his arms considering what
had just passed -- a thought that seemed to occur to herself, for presently=
she
wrenched herself free and went, leaving us all much disturbed.
Presently, however, one of the guards returned
with a message to the girls that they were, on pain of death, to leave the =
city
and return to their homes in the country, and that no further harm would co=
me
to them; and accordingly they went, one of them remarking philosophically t=
hat
it could not be helped, and that it was a satisfaction to know that they had
taught us a little serviceable Zu-Vendi.
Mine was an exceedingly nice girl, and, overlooking the cockroach, I
made her a present of my favourite lucky sixpence with a hole in it when she
went away. After that our former m=
asters
resumed their course of instruction, needless to say to my great relief.
That night, when in fear and trembling we atte=
nded
the royal supper table, we found that Nyleptha was laid up with a bad heada=
che.
That headache lasted for three whole days; but on the fourth she was presen=
t at
supper as usual, and with the most gracious and sweet smile gave Sir Henry =
her
hand to lead her to the table. No allusion was made to the little affair
described above beyond her saying, with a charming air of innocence, that w=
hen
she came to see us at our studies the other day she had been seized with a
giddiness from which she had only now recovered. She supposed, she added with a touch of=
the
humour that was common to her, that it was the sight of people working so h=
ard
which had affected her.
In reply Sir Henry said, dryly, that he had
thought she did not look quite herself on that day, whereat she flashed one=
of
those quick glances of hers at him, which if he had the feelings of a man m=
ust
have gone through him like a knife, and the subject dropped entirely. Indeed, after supper was over Nyleptha
condescended to put us through an examination to see what we had learnt, an=
d to
express herself well satisfied with the results. Indeed, she proceeded to give us, espec=
ially
Sir Henry, a lesson on her own account, and very interesting we found it.
And all the while that we talked, or rather tr=
ied
to talk, and laughed, Sorais would sit there in her carven ivory chair, and=
look
at us and read us all like a book, only from time to time saying a few word=
s,
and smiling that quick ominous smile of hers which was more like a flash of
summer lightning on a dark cloud than anything else. And as near to her as he dared would si=
t Good,
worshipping through his eyeglass, for he really was getting seriously devot=
ed
to this sombre beauty, of whom, speaking personally, I felt terribly
afraid. I watched her keenly, and =
soon I
found out that for all her apparent impassibility she was at heart bitterly
jealous of Nyleptha. Another thing=
I
found out, and the discovery filled me with dismay, and that was, that she =
also
was growing devoted to Sir Henry Curtis.
Of course I could not be sure; it is not easy to read so cold and
haughty a woman; but I noticed one or two little things, and, as elephant
hunters know, dried grass shows which way the wind has set.
And so another three months passed over us, by
which time we had all attained to a very considerable mastery of the Zu-Ven=
di language,
which is an easy one to learn. And=
as
the time went on we became great favourites with the people, and even with =
the
courtiers, gaining an enormous reputation for cleverness, because, as I thi=
nk I
have said, Sir Henry was able to show them how to make glass, which was a
national want, and also, by the help of a twenty-year almanac that we had w=
ith
us, to predict various heavenly combinations which were quite unsuspected b=
y the
native astronomers. We even succee=
ded in
demonstrating the principle of the steam-engine to a gathering of the learn=
ed
men, who were filled with amazement; and several other things of the same s=
ort
we did. And so it came about that =
the
people made up their minds that we must on no account be allowed to go out =
of
the country (which indeed was an apparent impossibility even if we had wish=
ed
it), and we were advanced to great honour and made officers to the bodyguar=
ds
of the sister Queens while permanent quarters were assigned to us in the
palace, and our opinion was asked upon questions of national policy.
But blue as the sky seemed, there was a cloud,=
and
a big one, on the horizon. We had =
indeed
heard no more of those confounded hippopotami, but it is not on that accoun=
t to
be supposed that our sacrilege was forgotten, or the enmity of the great and
powerful priesthood headed by Agon appeased.
On the contrary, it was burning the more fiercely because it was
necessarily suppressed, and what had perhaps begun in bigotry was ending in
downright direct hatred born of jealousy.
Hitherto, the priests had been the wise men of the land, and were on
this account, as well as from superstitious causes, looked on with peculiar
veneration. But our arrival, with our outlandish wisdom and our strange inv=
entions
and hints of unimagined things, dealt a serious blow to this state of affai=
rs,
and, among the educated Zu-Vendi, went far towards destroying the priestly
prestige. A still worse affront to=
them,
however, was the favour with which we were regarded, and the trust that was
reposed in us. All these things te=
nded to
make us excessively obnoxious to the great sacerdotal clan, the most powerf=
ul
because the most united faction in the kingdom.
Another source of imminent danger to us was the
rising envy of some of the great lords headed by Nasta, whose antagonism to=
us
had at best been but thinly veiled, and which now threatened to break out i=
nto
open flame. Nasta had for some yea=
rs
been a candidate for Nyleptha's hand in marriage, and when we appeared on t=
he
scene I fancy, from all I could gather, that though there were still many
obstacles in his path, success was by no means out of his reach. But now all this had changed; the coy
Nyleptha smiled no more in his direction, and he was not slow to guess the
cause. Infuriated and alarmed, he =
turned
his attention to Sorais, only to find that he might as well try to woo a
mountain side. With a bitter jest =
or two
about his fickleness, that door was closed on him for ever. So Nasta bethought himself of the thirty
thousand wild swordsmen who would pour down at his bidding through the nort=
hern
mountain passes, and no doubt vowed to adorn the gates of Milosis with our
heads.
But first he determined, as I learned, to make=
one
more attempt and to demand the hand of Nyleptha in the open Court after the=
formal
annual ceremony of the signing of the laws that had been proclaimed by the
Queens during the year.
Of this astounding fact Nyleptha heard with
simulated nonchalance, and with a little trembling of the voice herself
informed us of it as we sat at supper on the night preceding the great cere=
mony
of the law-giving.
Sir Henry bit his lip, and do what he could to
prevent it plainly showed his agitation.
'And what answer will the Queen be pleased to =
give
to the great Lord?' asked I, in a jesting manner.
'Answer, Macumazahn' (for we had elected to pa=
ss
by our Zulu names in Zu-Vendis), she said, with a pretty shrug of her ivory=
shoulder. 'Nay, I know not; what is a poor woman =
to do,
when the wooer has thirty thousand swords wherewith to urge his love?' And =
from
under her long lashes she glanced at Curtis.
Just then we rose from the table to adjourn in=
to
another room. 'Quatermain, a word, quick,' said Sir Henry to me. 'Listen. I have never spoken about it, =
but
surely you have guessed: I love Nyleptha.
What am I to do?'
Fortunately, I had more or less already taken =
the
question into consideration, and was therefore able to give such answer as =
seemed
the wisest to me.
'You must speak to Nyleptha tonight,' I said.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> 'Now is your time, now or never. Listen.
In the sitting-chamber get near to her, and whisper to her to meet y=
ou
at midnight by the Rademas statue at the end of the great hall. I will keep watch for you there. Now or
never, Curtis.'
We passed on into the other room. Nyleptha was sitting, her hands before =
her,
and a sad anxious look upon her lovely face. A little way off was Sorais
talking to Good in her slow measured tones.
The time went on; in another quarter of an hou=
r I
knew that, according to their habit, the Queens would retire. As yet, Sir Henry had had no chance of =
saying
a word in private: indeed, though we saw much of the royal sisters, it was =
by
no means easy to see them alone. I
racked my brains, and at last an idea came to me.
'Will the Queen be pleased,' I said, bowing low
before Sorais, 'to sing to her servants?
Our hearts are heavy this night; sing to us, oh Lady of the Night'
(Sorais' favourite name among the people).
'My songs, Macumazahn, are not such as to ligh=
ten
the heavy heart, yet will I sing if it pleases thee,' she answered; and she
rose and went a few paces to a table whereon lay an instrument not unlike a
zither, and struck a few wandering chords.
Then suddenly, like the notes of some
deep-throated bird, her rounded voice rang out in song so wildly sweet, and=
yet
with so eerie and sad a refrain, that it made the very blood stand still. Up, up soared the golden notes, that se=
emed
to melt far away, and then to grow again and travel on, laden with all the =
sorrow
of the world and all the despair of the lost.
It was a marvellous song, but I had not time to listen to it properl=
y. However,
I got the words of it afterwards, and here is a translation of its burden, =
so
far as it admits of being translated at all.
SORAIS' SONG
As a
desolate bird that through darkness its lost way is winging, As a hand that is helplessly raised when
Death's sickle is swinging, So is=
life!
ay, the life that lends passion and breath to my singing.
As t=
he
nightingale's song that is full of a sweetness unspoken, As a spirit unbarring the gates of the =
skies
for a token, So is love! ay, the =
love
that shall fall when his pinion is broken.
As t=
he
tramp of the legions when trumpets their challenge are sending, As the shout of the Storm-god when ligh=
tnings
the black sky are rending, So is =
power!
ay, the power that shall lie in the dust at its ending.
So s=
hort
is our life; yet with space for all things to forsake us, A bitter delusion, a dream from which n=
ought
can awake us, Till Death's dogging
footsteps at morn or at eve shall o'ertake us.
Refra=
in
Oh, the world is fair at the dawning -- dawnin=
g --
dawning, But the red sun sinks in blood -- the red sun sinks in blood.
I onl=
y wish
that I could write down the music too.
'Now, Curtis, now,' I whispered, when she began
the second verse, and turned my back.
'Nyleptha,' he said -- for my nerves were so m=
uch
on the stretch that I could hear every word, low as it was spoken, even thr=
ough
Sorais' divine notes -- 'Nyleptha, I must speak with thee this night, upon =
my
life I must. Say me not nay; oh, s=
ay me
not nay!'
'How can I speak with thee?' she answered, loo=
king
fixedly before her; 'Queens are not like other people. I am surrounded and watched.'
'Listen, Nyleptha, thus. I will be before the statue of Rademas =
in the
great hall at midnight. I have the
countersign and can pass in. Macum=
azahn
will be there to keep guard, and with him the Zulu. Oh come, my Queen, deny me not.'
'It is not seemly,' she murmured, 'and tomorrow
--'
Just then the music began to die in the last w=
ail
of the refrain, and Sorais slowly turned her round.
'I will be there,' said Nyleptha, hurriedly; '=
on
thy life see that thou fail me not.'
CHAPTER XVI - BEFORE THE STATUE
It was night -- dead night -- and the silence =
lay
on the Frowning City like a cloud.
Secretly, as evildoers, Sir Henry Curtis,
Umslopogaas, and myself threaded our way through the passages towards a
by-entrance to the great Throne Chamber.
Once we were met by the fierce rattling challenge of the sentry. I gave the countersign, and the man gro=
unded
his spear and let us pass. Also we=
were
officers of the Queens' bodyguard, and in that capacity had a right to come=
and
go unquestioned.
We gained the hall in safety. So empty and so still was it, that even=
when
we had passed the sound of our footsteps yet echoed up the lofty walls,
vibrating faintly and still more faintly against the carven roof, like ghos=
ts
of the footsteps of dead men haunting the place that once they trod.
It was an eerie spot, and it oppressed me. The moon was full, and threw great penc=
ils
and patches of light through the high windowless openings in the walls, that
lay pure and beautiful upon the blackness of the marble floor, like white
flowers on a coffin. One of these =
silver
arrows fell upon the statue of the sleeping Rademas, and of the angel form =
bent
over him, illumining it, and a small circle round it, with a soft clear lig=
ht,
reminding me of that with which Catholics illumine the altars of their cath=
edrals.
Here by the statue we took our stand, and
waited. Sir Henry and I close toge=
ther,
Umslopogaas some paces off in the darkness, so that I could only just make =
out
his towering outline leaning on the outline of an axe.
So long did we wait that I almost fell asleep
resting against the cold marble, but was suddenly aroused by hearing Curtis
give a quick catching breath. Then=
from
far away there came a little sound as though the statues that lined the wal=
ls
were whispering to each other some message of the ages.
It was the faint sweep of a lady's dress. Nearer it grew, and nearer yet. We could see a figure steal from patch =
to
patch of moonlight, and even hear the soft fall of sandalled feet. Another
second and I saw the black silhouette of the old Zulu raise its arm in mute
salute, and Nyleptha was before us.
Oh, how beautiful she looked as she paused a
moment just within the circle of the moonlight!
Her hand was pressed upon her heart, and her white bosom heaved bene=
ath
it. Round her head a broidered sca=
rf was
loosely thrown, partially shadowing the perfect face, and thus rendering it
even more lovely; for beauty, dependent as it is to a certain extent upon t=
he
imagination, is never so beautiful as when it is half hid. There she stood radiant but half doubti=
ng,
stately and yet so sweet. It was b=
ut a
moment, but I then and there fell in love with her myself, and have remaine=
d so
to this hour; for, indeed, she looked more like an angel out of heaven than=
a
loving, passionate, mortal woman. =
Low we
bowed before her, and then she spoke.
'I have come,' she whispered, 'but it was at g=
reat
risk. Ye know not how I am watched=
. The priests watch me. Sorais watches me with those great eyes=
of
hers. My very guards are spies upo=
n me. Nasta watches me too. Oh, let him be careful!' and she stampe=
d her
foot. 'Let him be careful; I am a =
woman,
and therefore hard to drive. Ay, a=
nd I
am a Queen, too, and can still avenge. Let him be careful, I say, lest in p=
lace
of giving him my hand I take his head,' and she ended the outburst with a
little sob, and then smiled up at us bewitchingly and laughed.
'Thou didst bid me come hither, my Lord Incubu'
(Curtis had taught her to call him so).
'Doubtless it is about business of the State, for I know that thou a=
rt
ever full of great ideas and plans for my welfare and my people's. So even as a Queen should I have come, =
though
I greatly fear the dark alone,' and again she laughed and gave him a glance
from her grey eyes.
At this point I thought it wise to move a litt=
le,
since secrets 'of the State' should not be made public property; but she wo=
uld not
let me go far, peremptorily stopping me within five yards or so, saying that
she feared surprise. So it came to=
pass
that, however unwillingly, I heard all that passed.
'Thou knowest, Nyleptha,' said Sir Henry, 'tha=
t it
was for none of these things that I asked thee to meet me at this lonely pl=
ace.
Nyleptha, waste not the time in pleasantry, but listen to me, for -- I love
thee.'
As he said the words I saw her face break up, =
as
it were, and change. The coquetry =
went
out of it, and in its place there shone a great light of love which seemed =
to
glorify it, and make it like that of the marble angel overhead. I could not help thinking that it must =
have
been a touch of prophetic instinct which made the long dead Rademas limn, in
the features of the angel of his inspiring vision, so strange a likeness of=
his
own descendant. Sir Henry, also, m=
ust
have observed and been struck by the likeness, for, catching the look upon
Nyleptha's face, he glanced quickly from it to the moonlit statue, and then
back again at his beloved.
'Thou sayest thou dost love me,' she said in a=
low
voice, 'and thy voice rings true, but how am I to know that thou dost speak=
the
truth?'
'Though,' she went on with proud humility, and=
in
the stately third person which is so largely used by the Zu-Vendi, 'I be as
nothing in the eyes of my lord,' and she curtseyed towards him, 'who comes =
from
among a wonderful people, to whom my people are but children, yet here am I=
a
queen and a leader of men, and if I would go to battle a hundred thousand
spears shall sparkle in my train like stars glimmering down the path of the
bent moon. And although my beauty be a little thing in the eyes of my lord,=
' and
she lifted her broidered skirt and curtseyed again, 'yet here among my own
people am I held right fair, and ever since I was a woman the great lords o=
f my
kingdom have made quarrel concerning me, as though forsooth,' she added wit=
h a
flash of passion, 'I were a deer to be pulled down by the hungriest wolf, o=
r a
horse to be sold to the highest bidder.
Let my lord pardon me if I weary my lord, but it hath pleased my lor=
d to
say that he loves me, Nyleptha, a Queen of the Zu-Vendi, and therefore woul=
d I
say that though my love and my hand be not much to my lord, yet to me are t=
hey
all.'
'Oh!' she cried, with a sudden and thrilling
change of voice, and modifying her dignified mode of address. 'Oh, how can I know that thou lovest but
me? How can I know that thou wilt =
not
weary of me and seek thine own place again, leaving me desolate? Who is the=
re
to tell me but that thou lovest some other woman, some fair woman unknown to
me, but who yet draws breath beneath this same moon that shines on me
tonight? Tell me how am I to know?=
' And she clasped her hands and stretched=
them
out towards him and looked appealingly into his face.
'Nyleptha,' answered Sir Henry, adopting the
Zu-Vendi way of speech; 'I have told thee that I love thee; how am I to tel=
l thee
how much I love thee? Is there the=
n a
measure for love? Yet will I try. =
I say
not that I have never looked upon another woman with favour, but this I say
that I love thee with all my life and with all my strength; that I love thee
now and shall love thee till I grow cold in death, ay, and as I believe bey=
ond my
death, and on and on for ever: I say that thy voice is music to my ear, and=
thy
touch as water to a thirsty land, that when thou art there the world is
beautiful, and when I see thee not it is as though the light was dead. Oh, Nyleptha, I will never leave thee; =
here
and now for thy dear sake I will forget my people and my father's house, ye=
a, I
renounce them all. By thy side wil=
l I
live, Nyleptha, and at thy side will I die.'
He paused and gazed at her earnestly, but she =
hung
her head like a lily, and said never a word.
'Look!' he went on, pointing to the statue on
which the moonlight played so brightly.
'Thou seest that angel woman who rests her hand upon the forehead of=
the
sleeping man, and thou seest how at her touch his soul flames up and shines=
out
through his flesh, even as a lamp at the touch of the fire, so is it with me
and thee, Nyleptha. Thou hast awak=
ened
my soul and called it forth, and now, Nyleptha, it is not mine, not mine, b=
ut
thine and thine only. There is no =
more
for me to say; in thy hands is my life.' And he leaned back against the
pedestal of the statue, looking very pale, and his eyes shining, but proud =
and
handsome as a god.
Slowly, slowly she raised her head, and fixed =
her
wonderful eyes, all alight with the greatness of her passion, full upon his
face, as though to read his very soul.
Then at last she spoke, low indeed, but clearly as a silver bell.
'Of a truth, weak woman that I am, I do believe
thee. Ill will be the day for thee=
and
for me also if it be my fate to learn that I have believed a lie. And now hearken to me, oh man, who hath
wandered here from far to steal my heart and make me all thine own. I put my hand upon thy hand thus, and t=
hus I,
whose lips have never kissed before, do kiss thee on the brow; and now by my
hand and by that first and holy kiss, ay, by my people's weal and by my thr=
one
that like enough I shall lose for thee -- by the name of my high House, by =
the
sacred Stone and by the eternal majesty of the Sun, I swear that for thee w=
ill
I live and die. And I swear that I=
will
love thee and thee only till death, ay, and beyond, if as thou sayest there=
be
a beyond, and that thy will shall be my will, and thy ways my ways.
'Oh see, see, my lord! thou knowest not how hu=
mble
is she who loves; I, who am a Queen, I kneel before thee, even at thy feet =
I do
my homage;' and the lovely impassioned creature flung herself down on her k=
nees
on the cold marble before him. And=
after
that I really do not know, for I could stand it no longer, and cleared off =
to
refresh myself with a little of old Umslopogaas' society, leaving them to
settle it their own way, and a very long time they were about it.
I found the old warrior leaning on Inkosi-kaas=
as
usual, and surveying the scene in the patch of moonlight with a grim smile =
of
amusement.
'Ah, Macumazahn,' he said, 'I suppose it is
because I am getting old, but I don't think that I shall ever learn to
understand the ways of you white people.
Look there now, I pray thee, they are a pretty pair of doves, but wh=
at
is all the fuss about, Macumazahn? He wants a wife, and she wants a husband,
then why does he not pay his cows down {Endnote 17} like a man and have done
with it? It would save a deal of
trouble, and we should have had our night's sleep. But there they go, talk, talk, talk, an=
d kiss,
kiss, kiss, like mad things. Eugh!=
'
Some three-quarters of an hour afterwards the
'pair of doves' came strolling towards us, Curtis looking slightly silly, a=
nd Nyleptha
remarking calmly that the moonlight made very pretty effects on the
marble. Then, for she was in a most
gracious mood, she took my hand and said that I was 'her Lord's' dear frien=
d,
and therefore most dear to her -- not a word for my own sake, you see. Next she lifted Umslopogaas' axe, and
examined it curiously, saying significantly as she did so that he might soon
have cause to use it in defence of her.
After that she nodded prettily to us all, and
casting a tender glance at her lover, glided off into the darkness like a
beautiful vision.
When we got back to our quarters, which we did
without accident, Curtis asked me jocularly what I was thinking about.
'I am wondering,' I answered, 'on what princip=
le
it is arranged that some people should find beautiful queens to fall in lov=
e with
them, while others find nobody at all, or worse than nobody; and I am also
wondering how many brave men's lives this night's work will cost.' It was rather nasty of me, perhaps, but
somehow all the feelings do not evaporate with age, and I could not help be=
ing
a little jealous of my old friend's luck.
Vanity, my sons; vanity of vanities!
On the following morning, Good was informed of=
the
happy occurrence, and positively rippled with smiles that, originating
somewhere about the mouth, slowly travelled up his face like the rings in a
duckpond, till they flowed over the brim of his eyeglass and went where swe=
et
smiles go. The fact of the matter,=
however,
was that not only was Good rejoiced about the thing on its own merits but a=
lso
for personal reasons. He adored So=
rais
quite as earnestly as Sir Henry adored Nyleptha, and his adoration had not
altogether prospered. Indeed, it h=
ad
seemed to him and to me also that the dark Cleopatra-like queen favoured Cu=
rtis
in her own curious inscrutable way much more than Good. Therefore it was a relief to him to lea=
rn
that his unconscious rival was permanently and satisfactorily attached in
another direction. His face fell a little, however, when he was told that t=
he
whole thing was to be kept as secret as the dead, above all from Sorais for=
the
present, inasmuch as the political convulsion which would follow such an
announcement at the moment would be altogether too great to face and would =
very
possibly, if prematurely made, shake Nyleptha from her throne.
That morning we again attended in the Throne H=
all,
and I could not help smiling to myself when I compared the visit to our las=
t, and
reflecting that, if walls could speak, they would have strange tales to tel=
l.
What actresses women are! There, high upon her golden throne, dra=
ped in
her blazoned 'kaf' or robe of state, sat the fair Nyleptha, and when Sir He=
nry
came in a little late, dressed in the full uniform of an officer of her gua=
rd
and humbly bent himself before her, she merely acknowledged his salute with=
a
careless nod and turned her head coldly aside.
It was a very large Court, for not only did the signing of the laws
attract many outside of those whose duty it was to attend, but also the rum=
our
that Nasta was going to publicly ask the hand of Nyleptha in marriage had g=
one
abroad, with the result that the great hall was crowded to its utmost
capacity. There were our friends t=
he
priests in force, headed by Agon, who regarded us with a vindictive eye; an=
d a
most imposing band they were, with their long white embroidered robes girt =
with
a golden chain from which hung the fish-like scales. There, too, were a number of the lords,=
each
with a band of brilliantly attired attendants, and prominent among them was
Nasta, stroking his black beard meditatively and looking unusually
pleasant. It was a splendid and
impressive sight, especially when the officer after having read out each law
handed them to the Queens to sign, whereon the trumpets blared out and the
Queens' guard grounded their spears with a crash in salute. This reading and
signing of the laws took a long time, but at length it came to an end, the =
last
one reciting that 'whereas distinguished strangers, etc.', and proceeding to
confer on the three of us the rank of 'lords', together with certain milita=
ry commands
and large estates bestowed by the Queen.
When it was read the trumpets blared and the spears clashed down as
usual, but I saw some of the lords turn and whisper to each other, while Na=
sta
ground his teeth. They did not lik=
e the
favour that was shown to us, which under all the circumstances was not perh=
aps unnatural.
Then there came a pause, and Nasta stepped for=
ward
and bowing humbly, though with no humility in his eye, craved a boon at the
hands of the Queen Nyleptha.
Nyleptha turned a little pale, but bowed
graciously, and prayed the 'well-beloved lord' to speak on, whereon in a fe=
w straightforward
soldier-like words he asked her hand in marriage.
Then, before she could find words to answer, t=
he
High Priest Agon took up the tale, and in a speech of real eloquence and po=
wer
pointed out the many advantages of the proposed alliance; how it would
consolidate the kingdom, for Nasta's dominions, of which he was virtually k=
ing,
were to Zu-Vendis much what Scotland used to be to England; how it would
gratify the wild mountaineers and be popular among the soldiery, for Nasta =
was
a famous general; how it would set her dynasty firmly on the throne, and wo=
uld gain
the blessing and approval of the 'Sun', i.e. of the office of the High Prie=
st,
and so on. Many of his arguments w=
ere
undoubtedly valid, and there was, looking at it from a political point of v=
iew,
everything to be said for the marriage.
But unfortunately it is difficult to play the game of politics with =
the
persons of young and lovely queens as though they were ivory effigies of
themselves on a chessboard. Nylept=
ha's
face, while Agon spouted away, was a perfect study; she smiled indeed, but
beneath the smile it set like a stone, and her eyes began to flash ominousl=
y.
At last he stopped, and she prepared herself to
answer. Before she did so, however,
Sorais leant towards her and said in a voice sufficiently loud for me to ca=
tch
what she said, 'Bethink thee well, my sister, ere thou dost speak, for meth=
inks
that our thrones may hang upon thy words.'
Nyleptha made no answer, and with a shrug and a
smile Sorais leant back again and listened.
'Of a truth a great honour has been done to me=
,' she
said, 'that my poor hand should not only have been asked in marriage, but t=
hat
Agon here should be so swift to pronounce the blessing of the Sun upon my
union. Methinks that in another mi=
nute
he would have wed us fast ere the bride had said her say. Nasta, I thank thee, and I will bethink=
me of
thy words, but now as yet I have no mind for marriage, that is a cup of whi=
ch
none know the taste until they begin to drink it. Again I thank thee, Nasta,' and she mad=
e as
though she would rise.
The great lord's face turned almost as black as
his beard with fury, for he knew that the words amounted to a final refusal=
of
his suit.
'Thanks be to the Queen for her gracious words=
,'
he said, restraining himself with difficulty and looking anything but grate=
ful,
'my heart shall surely treasure them.
And now I crave another boon, namely, the royal leave to withdraw my=
self
to my own poor cities in the north till such time as the Queen shall say my
suit nay or yea. Mayhap,' he added=
, with
a sneer, 'the Queen will be pleased to visit me there, and to bring with her
these stranger lords,' and he scowled darkly towards us. 'It is but a poor country and a rough, =
but we
are a hardy race of mountaineers, and there shall be gathered thirty thousa=
nd
swordsmen to shout a welcome to her.'
This speech, which was almost a declaration of
rebellion, was received in complete silence, but Nyleptha flushed up and
answered it with spirit.
'Oh, surely, Nasta, I will come, and the stran=
ge
lords in my train, and for every man of thy mountaineers who calls thee Pri=
nce,
will I bring two from the lowlands who call me Queen, and we will see which=
is
the staunchest breed. Till then
farewell.'
The trumpets blared out, the Queens rose, and =
the
great assembly broke up in murmuring confusion, and for myself I went home =
with
a heavy heart foreseeing civil war.
After this there was quiet for a few weeks.
CHAPTER XVII - THE STORM BREAKS
And now it was that the trouble which at first=
had
been but a cloud as large as a man's hand began to loom very black and big =
upon
our horizon, namely, Sorais' preference for Sir Henry. I saw the storm draw=
ing
nearer and nearer; and so, poor fellow, did he.
The affection of so lovely and highly-placed a woman was not a thing
that could in a general way be considered a calamity by any man, but, situa=
ted
as Curtis was, it was a grievous burden to bear.
To begin with, Nyleptha, though altogether
charming, was, it must be admitted, of a rather jealous disposition, and was
sometimes apt to visit on her lover's head her indignation at the marks of =
what
Alphonse would have called the 'distinguished consideration' with which her
royal sister favoured him. Then the
enforced secrecy of his relation to Nyleptha prevented Curtis from taking s=
ome
opportunity of putting a stop, or trying to put a stop, to this false condi=
tion
of affairs, by telling Sorais, in a casual but confidential way, that he was
going to marry her sister. A third sting in Sir Henry's honey was that he k=
new
that Good was honestly and sincerely attached to the ominous-looking but mo=
st
attractive Lady of the Night. Inde=
ed,
poor Bougwan was wasting himself to a shadow of his fat and jolly self about
her, his face getting so thin that his eyeglass would scarcely stick in it;
while she, with a sort of careless coquetry, just gave him encouragement en=
ough
to keep him going, thinking, no doubt, that he might be useful as a
stalking-horse. I tried to give hi=
m a
hint, in as delicate a way as I could, but he flew into a huff and would not
listen to me, so I was determined to let ill along, for fear of making it
worse. Poor Good, he really was ve=
ry
ludicrous in his distress, and went in for all sorts of absurdities, under =
the
belief that he was advancing his suit. One of them was the writing -- with =
the
assistance of one of the grave and revered signiors who instructed us, and =
who,
whatever may have been the measure of his erudition, did not understand how=
to
scan a line -- of a most interminable Zu-Vendi love-song, of which the
continually recurring refrain was something about 'I will kiss thee; oh yes=
, I
will kiss thee!' Now among the Zu-=
Vendi
it is a common and most harmless thing for young men to serenade ladies at
night, as I believe they do in the southern countries of Europe, and sing a=
ll
sorts of nonsensical songs to them. The
young men may or may not be serious; but no offence is meant and none is ta=
ken,
even by ladies of the highest rank, who accept the whole thing as an English
girl would a gracefully-turned compliment.
Availing himself of this custom, Good bethought
him that would serenade Sorais, whose private apartments, together with tho=
se of
her maidens, were exactly opposite our own, on the further side of a narrow
courtyard which divided one section of the great palace from another. Accordingly, having armed himself with a
native zither, on which, being an adept with the light guitar, he had easily
learned to strum, he proceeded at midnight -- the fashionable hour for this
sort of caterwauling -- to make night hideous with his amorous yells. I was fast asleep when they began, but =
they
soon woke me up -- for Good possesses a tremendous voice and has no notion =
of
time -- and I ran to my window-place to see what was the matter. And there, standing in the full moonlig=
ht in
the courtyard, I perceived Good, adorned with an enormous ostrich feather
head-dress and a flowing silken cloak, which it is the right thing to wear =
upon
these occasions, and shouting out the abominable song which he and the old
gentleman had evolved, to a jerky, jingling accompaniment. From the direction of the quarters of t=
he
maids of honour came a succession of faint sniggerings; but the apartments =
of
Sorais herself -- whom I devoutly pitied if she happened to be there -- were
silent as the grave. There was absolutely no end to that awful song, with i=
ts
eternal 'I will kiss thee!' and at last neither I nor Sir Henry, whom I had
summoned to enjoy the sight, could stand it any longer; so, remembering the
dear old story, I put my head to the window opening, and shouted, 'For Heav=
en's
sake, Good, don't go on talking about it, but kiss her and let's all go to
sleep!' That choked him off, and w=
e had
no more serenading.
The whole thing formed a laughable incident in=
a
tragic business. How deeply thankful we ought to be that even the most seri=
ous matters
have generally a silver lining about them in the shape of a joke, if only
people could see it. The sense of =
humour
is a very valuable possession in life, and ought to be cultivated in the Bo=
ard
schools -- especially in Scotland.
Well, the more Sir Henry held off the more Sor=
ais
came on, as is not uncommon in such cases, till at last things got very que=
er indeed. Evidently she was, by some strange perv=
ersity
of mind, quite blinded to the true state of the case; and I, for one, great=
ly
dreaded the moment of her awakening.
Sorais was a dangerous woman to be mixed up with, either with or wit=
hout
one's consent. At last the evil moment came, as I saw it must come. One fine day, Good having gone out hawk=
ing,
Sir Henry and I were sitting quietly talking over the situation, especially
with reference to Sorais, when a Court messenger arrived with a written not=
e, which
we with some difficulty deciphered, and which was to the effect that 'the Q=
ueen
Sorais commanded the attendance of the Lord Incubu in her private apartment=
s,
whither he would be conducted by the bearer'.
'Oh my word!' groaned Sir Henry. 'Can't you go instead, old fellow?'
'Not if I know it,' I said with vigour. 'I had rather face a wounded elephant wi=
th a
shot-gun. Take care of your own
business, my boy. If you will be so
fascinating you must take the consequences. I would not be in your place fo=
r an
empire.'
'You remind me of when I was going to be flogg=
ed at
school and the other boys came to console me,' he said gloomily. 'What right has this Queen to command my
attendance, I should like to know? I
won't go.'
'But you must; you are one of her officers and
bound to obey her, and she knows it. And
after all it will soon be over.'
'That's just what they used to say,' he said
again. 'I only hope she won't put a
knife into me. I believe that she =
is
quite capable of it.' And off he s=
tarted
very faintheartedly, and no wonder.
I sat and waited, and at the end of about
forty-five minutes he returned, looking a good deal worse than when he went=
.
'Give me something to drink,' he said hoarsely=
.
I got him a cup of wine, and asked what was the
matter.
'What is the matter? Why if ever there was trouble there's t=
rouble
now. You know when I left you? Well, I was shown straight into Sorais'
private chamber, and a wonderful place it is; and there she sat, quite alon=
e,
upon a silken couch at the end of the room, playing gently upon that zither=
of
hers. I stood before her, and for a
while she took no notice of me, but kept on playing and singing a little, a=
nd
very sweet music it was. At last s=
he looked
up and smiled.
'"So thou art come," she said. "I thought perchance thou hadst go=
ne
about the Queen Nyleptha's business.
Thou art ever on her business, and I doubt not a good servant and a
true."
'To this I merely bowed, and said I was there =
to
receive the Queen's word.
'"Ah yes, I would talk with thee, but be =
thou
seated. It wearies me to look so
high," and she made room for me beside her on the couch, placing herse=
lf
with her back against the end, so as to have a view of my face.
'"It is not meet," I said, "tha=
t I
should make myself equal with the Queen."
'"I said be seated," was her answer,=
so
I sat down, and she began to look at me with those dark eyes of hers. There she sat like an incarnate spirit =
of
beauty, hardly talking at all, and when she did, very low, but all the while
looking at me. There was a white f=
lower
in her black hair, and I tried to keep my eyes on it and count the petals, =
but
it was of no use. At last, whether=
it
was her gaze, or the perfume in her hair, or what I do not know, but I almo=
st
felt as though I was being mesmerized.
At last she roused herself.
'"Incubu," she said, "lovest th=
ou
power?"
'I replied that I supposed all men loved power=
of
one sort or another.
'"Thou shalt have it," she said. "Lovest thou wealth?"
'I said I liked wealth for what it brought.
'"Thou shalt have it," she said. "And lovest thou beauty?"
'To this I replied that I was very fond of
statuary and architecture, or something silly of that sort, at which she
frowned, and there was a pause. By=
this
time my nerves were on such a stretch that I was shaking like a leaf. I knew that something awful was going to
happen, but she held me under a kind of spell, and I could not help myself.=
'"Incubu," she said at length,
"wouldst thou be a king? List=
en, wouldst
thou be a king? Behold, stranger, =
I am
minded to make thee king of all Zu-Vendis, ay and husband of Sorais of the
Night. Nay, peace and hear me. To =
no man
among my people had I thus opened out my secret heart, but thou art an
outlander and therefore I speak without shame, knowing all I have to offer =
and
how hard it had been thee to ask. =
See, a
crown lies at thy feet, my lord Incubu, and with that fortune a woman whom =
some
have wished to woo. Now mayst thou
answer, oh my chosen, and soft shall thy words fall upon mine ears."
'"Oh Sorais," I said, "I pray t=
hee
speak not thus" -- you see I had not time to pick and choose my words =
--
"for this thing cannot be. I =
am
betrothed to thy sister Nyleptha, oh Sorais, and I love her and her
alone."
'Next moment it struck me that I had said an a=
wful
thing, and I looked up to see the results.
When I spoke, Sorais' face was hidden in her hands, and as my words
reached her she slowly raised it, and I shrank back dismayed. It was ashy white, and her eyes were
flaming. She rose to her feet and =
seemed
to be choking, but the awful thing was that she was so quiet about it all. =
Once
she looked at a side table, on which lay a dagger, and from it to me, as th=
ough
she thought of killing me; but she did not take it up. At last she spoke one word, and one onl=
y --
'"Go!"
'And I went, and glad enough I was to get out =
of
it, and here I am. Give me another=
cup
of wine, there's a good fellow, and tell me, what is to be done?'
I shook my head, for the affair was indeed
serious. As one of the poets says,=
'Hell=
hath
no fury like a woman scorned',
more
especially if the woman is a queen and a Sorais, and indeed I feared the ve=
ry
worst, including imminent danger to ourselves.
'Nyleptha had better be told of this at once,'=
I
said, 'and perhaps I had better tell her; she might receive your account wi=
th
suspicion.'
'Who is captain of her guard tonight?' I went =
on.
'Good.'
'Very well then, there will be no chance of her
being got at. Don't look surprised. I
don't think that her sister would stick at that. I suppose one must tell Good of what has
happened.'
'Oh, I don't know,' said Sir Henry. 'It would hurt his feelings, poor
fellow! You see, he takes a lively
personal interest in Sorais.'
'That's true; and after all, perhaps there is =
no
need to tell him. He will find out the truth soon enough. Now, you mark my words, Sorais will thr=
ow in
her lot with Nasta, who is sulking up in the North there, and there will be
such a war as has not been known in Zu-Vendis for centuries. Look there!' and I pointed to two Court
messengers, who were speeding away from the door of Sorais' private
apartments. 'Now follow me,' and I=
ran
up a stairway into an outlook tower that rose from the roof of our quarters,
taking the spyglass with me, and looked out over the palace wall. The first thing we saw was one of the
messengers speeding towards the Temple, bearing, without any doubt, the Que=
en's
word to the High Priest Agon, but for the other I searched in vain. Presently, however, I spied a horseman =
riding
furiously through the northern gate of the city, and in him I recognized the
other messenger.
'Ah!' I said, 'Sorais is a woman of spirit.
I gained audience of the Queen without
trouble. She was expecting Curtis,=
and
was not best pleased to see my mahogany-coloured face instead.
'Is there aught wrong with my Lord, Macumazahn,
that he waits not upon me? Say, is=
he
sick?'
I said that he was well enough, and then, with=
out
further ado, I plunged into my story and told it from beginning to end. Oh, what a rage she flew into! It was a sight to see her, she looked so
lovely.
'How darest thou come to me with such a tale?'=
she
cried. 'It is a lie to say that my=
Lord
was making love to Sorais, my sister.'
'Pardon me, oh Queen,' I answered, 'I said that
Sorais was making love to thy lord.'
'Spin me no spiders' webs of words. Is not the thing the same thing? The one giveth, the other taketh; but t=
he
gift passes, and what matters it which is the most guilty? Sorais! oh, I hate her -- Sorais is a q=
ueen
and my sister. She had not stooped=
so
low had he not shown the way. Oh, =
truly
hath the poet said that man is like a snake, whom to touch is poison, and w=
hom
none can hold.'
'The remark, oh Queen, is excellent, but methi=
nks
thou hast misread the poet. Nylept=
ha,' I
went on, 'thou knowest well that thy words are empty foolishness, and that =
this
is no time for folly.'
'How darest thou?' she broke in, stamping her
foot. 'Hast my false lord sent the=
e to
me to insult me also? Who art thou=
, stranger,
that thou shouldst speak to me, the Queen, after this sort? How darest thou?'
'Yea, I dare.
Listen. The moments which t=
hou
dost waste in idle anger may well cost thee thy crown and all of us our liv=
es. Already
Sorais' horsemen go forth and call to arms.
In three days' time Nasta will rouse himself in his fastnesses like =
a lion
in the evening, and his growling will be heard throughout the North. The "Lady of the Night" (Sora=
is)
hath a sweet voice, and she will not sing in vain. Her banner will be borne from range to =
range
and valley to valley, and warriors will spring up in its track like dust
beneath a whirlwind; half the army will echo her war-cry; and in every town=
and
hamlet of this wide land the priests will call out against the foreigner and
will preach her cause as holy. I h=
ave
spoken, oh Queen!'
Nyleptha was quite calm now; her jealous anger=
had
passed; and putting off the character of a lovely headstrong lady, with a r=
apidity
and completeness that distinguished her, she put on that of a queen and a w=
oman
of business. The transformation was
sudden but entire.
'Thy words are very wise, Macumazahn. Forgive me my folly. Ah, what a Queen I
should be if only I had no heart! =
To be
heartless -- that is to conquer all.
Passion is like the lightning, it is beautiful, and it links the ear=
th
to heaven, but alas it blinds!
'And thou thinkest that my sister Sorais would
levy war upon me. So be it. She shall not prevail against me. I, too, have my friends and my
retainers. There are many, I say, =
who
will shout "Nyleptha!" when my pennon runs up on peak and pinnacl=
e, and
the light of my beacon fires leaps tonight from crag to crag, bearing the
message of my war. I will break her
strength and scatter her armies. E=
ternal
night shall be the portion of Sorais of the Night. Give me that parchment and the ink. So. Now summon the officer in the
ante-room. He is a trusty man.'
I did as I was bid! and the man, a veteran and
quiet-looking gentleman of the guard, named Kara, entered, bowing low.
'Take this parchment,' said Nyleptha; 'it is t=
hy
warrant; and guard every place of in and outgoing in the apartments of my s=
ister
Sorais, the "Lady of the Night", and a Queen of the Zu-Vendi. Let
none come in and none go out, or thy life shall pay the cost.'
The man looked startled, but he merely said, '=
The
Queen's word be done,' and departed.
Then Nyleptha sent a messenger to Sir Henry, and presently he arrived
looking uncommonly uncomfortable. I thought that another outburst was about=
to
follow, but wonderful are the ways of woman; she said not a word about Sora=
is
and his supposed inconstancy, greeting him with a friendly nod, and stating=
simply
that she required his advice upon high matters.
All the same there was a look in her eye, and a sort of suppressed
energy in her manner towards him, that makes me think that she had not forg=
otten
the affair, but was keeping it for a private occasion.
Just after Curtis arrived the officer returned,
and reported that Sorais was gone. The
bird had flown to the Temple, stating that she was going, as was sometimes =
the
custom among Zu-Vendi ladies of rank, to spend the night in meditation befo=
re
the altar. We looked at each other significantly. The blow had fallen very soon.
Then we set to work.
Generals who could be trusted were summoned fr=
om
their quarters, and as much of the State affairs as was thought desirable w=
as told
to each, strict injunctions being given to them to get all their available
force together. The same was done =
with
such of the more powerful lords as Nyleptha knew she could rely on, several=
of
whom left that very day for distant parts of the country to gather up their
tribesmen and retainers. Sealed or=
ders
were dispatched to the rulers of far-off cities, and some twenty messengers=
were
sent off before nightfall with instructions to ride early and late till they
reached the distant chiefs to whom their letters were addressed: also many
spies were set to work. All the
afternoon and evening we laboured, assisted by some confidential scribes, N=
yleptha
showing an energy and resource of mind that astonished me, and it was eight
o'clock before we got back to our quarters. Here we heard from Alphonse, who
was deeply aggrieved because our non-return had spoilt his dinner (for he h=
ad
turned cook again now), that Good had come back from his hawking and gone on
duty. As instructions had already =
been
given to the officer of the outer guard to double the sentries at the gate,=
and
as we had no reason to fear any immediate danger, we did not think it worth
while to hunt him up and tell him anything of what had passed, which at best
was, under the peculiar circumstances of the case, one of those tasks that =
one
prefers to postpone, so after swallowing our food we turned in to get some
much-needed rest. Before we did so,
however, it occurred to Curtis to tell old Umslopogaas to keep a look-out in
the neighbourhood of Nyleptha's private apartments. Umslopogaas was now well known about th=
e place,
and by the Queen's order allowed to pass whither he would by the guards, a
permission of which he often availed himself by roaming about the palace du=
ring
the still hours in a nocturnal fashion that he favoured, and which is by no
means uncommon amongst black men generally.
His presence in the corridors would not, therefore, be likely to exc=
ite
remark. Without any comment the Zu=
lu
took up his axe and departed, and we also departed to bed.
I seemed to have been asleep but a few minutes
when I was awakened by a peculiar sensation of uneasiness. I felt that somebody was in the room and
looking at me, and instantly sat up, to see to my surprise that it was alre=
ady
dawn, and that there, standing at the foot of my couch and looking peculiar=
ly
grim and gaunt in the grey light, was Umslopogaas himself.
'How long hast thou been there?' I asked testi=
ly,
for it is not pleasant to be aroused in such a fashion.
'Mayhap the half of an hour, Macumazahn. I have a word for thee.'
'Speak on,' I said, now wide enough awake.
'As I was bid I went last night to the place of
the White Queen and hid myself behind a pillar in the second anteroom, beyo=
nd which
is the sleeping-place of the Queen.
Bougwan (Good) was in the first anteroom alone, and outside the curt=
ain
of that room was a sentry, but I had a mind to see if I could pass in unsee=
n,
and I did, gliding behind them both.
There I waited for many hours, when suddenly I perceived a dark figu=
re
coming secretly towards me. It was=
the
figure of a woman, and in her hand she held a dagger. Behind that figure crept another unseen=
by
the woman. It was Bougwan followin=
g in
her tracks. His shoes were off, an=
d for
so fat a man he followed very well. The
woman passed me, and the starlight shone upon her face.' 'Who was it?' I asked impatiently. 'The face was the face of the "Lady of the
Night", and of a truth she is well named. 'I waited, and Bougwan passed me also. Then I followed. So we went slowly and
without a sound up the long chamber. First the woman, then Bougwan, and the=
n I;
and the woman saw not Bougwan, and Bougwan saw not me. At last the "Lady of the Night&quo=
t;
came to the curtains that shut off the sleeping place of the White Queen, a=
nd
put out her left hand to part them. She passed through, and so did Bougwan,=
and
so did I. At the far end of the ro=
om is
the bed of the Queen, and on it she lay very fast asleep. I could hear her breathe, and see one w=
hite arm
lying on the coverlid like a streak of snow on the dry grass. The "Lad=
y of
the Night" doubled herself thus, and with the long knife lifted crept
towards the bed. So straight did s=
he
gaze thereat that she never thought to look behind her. When she was quite close Bougwan touche=
d her
on the arm, and she caught her breath and turned, and I saw the knife flash,
and heard it strike. Well was it f=
or
Bougwan that he had the skin of iron on him, or he had been pierced. Then for the first time he saw who the =
woman
was, and without a word he fell back astonished, and unable to speak. She, too, was astonished, and spoke not=
, but
suddenly she laid her finger on her lip, thus, and walked towards and throu=
gh
the curtain, and with her went Bougwan. So close did she pass to me that her
dress touched me, and I was nigh to slaying her as she went. In the first outer room she spoke to Bo=
ugwan
in a whisper and, clasping her hands thus, she pleaded with him, but what s=
he
said I know not. And so they passe=
d on
to the second outer room, she pleading and he shaking his head, and saying,
"Nay, nay, nay". And it =
seemed
to me that he was about to call the guard, when she stopped talking and loo=
ked
at him with great eyes, and I saw that he was bewitched by her beauty. Then she stretched out her hand and he =
kissed
it, whereon I gathered myself together to advance and take her, seeing that=
now
had Bougwan become a woman, and no longer knew the good from the evil, when
behold! she was gone.' 'Gone!' I ejaculated. 'Ay, gone, and there stood Bougwan staring at =
the
wall like one asleep, and presently he went too, and I waited a while and c=
ame away
also.' 'Art thou sure, Umslopogaas,' said I, 'that th=
ou
hast not been a dreamer this night?' In reply he opened his left hand, and produced
about three inches of a blade of a dagger of the finest steel. 'If I be, Macumazahn, behold what the d=
ream
left with me. The knife broke upon
Bougwan's bosom and as I passed I picked this up in the sleeping-place of t=
he
White Queen.' CHAPTER XVIII - WAR! RED =
WAR! Telling Umslopogaas to wait, I tumbled into my
clothes and went off with him to Sir Henry's room, where the Zulu repeated =
his story
word for word. It was a sight to w=
atch
Curtis' face as he heard it. 'Great Heavens!' he said: 'here have I been
sleeping away while Nyleptha was nearly murdered -- and all through me,
too. What a fiend that Sorais must
be! It would have served her well =
if Umslopogaas
had cut her down in the act.' 'Ay,' said the Zulu. 'Fear not; I should have slain her ere =
she
struck. I was but waiting the mome=
nt.' I said nothing, but I could not help thinking =
that
many a thousand doomed lives would have been saved if he had meted out to
Sorais the fate she meant for her sister.
And, as the issue proved, I was right. After he had told his tale Umslopogaas went off
unconcernedly to get his morning meal, and Sir Henry and I fell to talking.=
At first he was very bitter against Good, who,=
he
said, was no longer to be trusted, having designedly allowed Sorais to esca=
pe by
some secret stair when it was his duty to have handed her over to justice.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> Indeed, he spoke in the most unmeasured=
terms
on the matter. I let him run on aw=
hile,
reflecting to myself how easy we find it to be hard on the weaknesses of
others, and how tender we are to our own.
'Really, my dear fellow,' I said at length, 'o=
ne
would never think, to hear you talk, that you were the man who had an inter=
view
with this same lady yesterday, and found it rather difficult to resist her
fascinations, notwithstanding your ties to one of the loveliest and most lo=
ving
women in the world. Now suppose it=
was Nyleptha
who had tried to murder Sorais, and you had caught her, and she had pleaded
with you, would you have been so very eager to hand her over to an open sha=
me,
and to death by fire? Just look at=
the
matter through Good's eyeglass for a minute before you denounce an old frie=
nd
as a scoundrel.'
He listened to this jobation submissively, and
then frankly acknowledged that he had spoken hardly. It is one of the best points in Sir Hen=
ry's
character that he is always ready to admit it when he is in the wrong.
But, though I spoke up thus for Good, I was not
blind to the fact that, however natural his behaviour might be, it was obvi=
ous that
he was being involved in a very awkward and disgraceful complication. A foul and wicked murder had been attem=
pted,
and he had let the murderess escape, and thereby, among other things, allow=
ed
her to gain a complete ascendency over himself.
In fact, he was in a fair way to become her tool -- and no more drea=
dful
fate can befall a man than to become the tool of an unscrupulous woman, or
indeed of any woman. There is but =
one
end to it: when he is broken, or has served her purpose, he is thrown away =
-- turned
out on the world to hunt for his lost self-respect. Whilst I was pondering thus, and wonder=
ing
what was to be done -- for the whole subject was a thorny one -- I suddenly
heard a great clamour in the courtyard outside, and distinguished the voice=
of
Umslopogaas and Alphonse, the former cursing furiously, and the latter yell=
ing
in terror.
Hurrying out to see what was the matter, I was=
met
by a ludicrous sight. The little
Frenchman was running up the courtyard at an extraordinary speed, and after=
him
sped Umslopogaas like a great greyhound.
Just as I came out he caught him, and, lifting him right off his leg=
s,
carried him some paces to a beautiful but very dense flowering shrub which =
bore
a flower not unlike the gardenia, but was covered with short thorns. Next, despite his howls and struggles, =
he
with one mighty thrust plunged poor Alphonse head first into the bush, so t=
hat
nothing but the calves of his legs and heels remained in evidence. Then, satisfied with what he had done, =
the
Zulu folded his arms and stood grimly contemplating the Frenchman's kicks, =
and
listening to his yells, which were awful.
'What art thou doing?' I said, running up. 'Wouldst thou kill the man? Pull him out of the bush!'
With a savage grunt he obeyed, seizing the
wretched Alphonse by the ankle, and with a jerk that must have nearly
dislocated it, tearing him out of the heart of the shrub. Never did I see such a sight as he prese=
nted,
his clothes half torn off his back, and bleeding as he was in every directi=
on
from the sharp thorns. There he lay and yelled and rolled, and there was no
getting anything out of him.
At last, however, he got up and, ensconcing
himself behind me, cursed old Umslopogaas by every saint in the calendar,
vowing by the blood of his heroic grandfather that he would poison him, and
'have his revenge'.
At last I got to the truth of the matter. It appeared that Alphonse habitually co=
oked
Umslopogaas's porridge, which the latter ate for breakfast in the corner of=
the
courtyard, just as he would have done at home in Zululand, from a gourd, and
with a wooden spoon. Now Umslopoga=
as
had, like many Zulus, a great horror of fish, which he considered a species=
of
water-snake; so Alphonse, who was as fond of playing tricks as a monkey, and
who was also a consummate cook, determined to make him eat some. Accordingly he grated up a quantity of =
white
fish very finely, and mixed it with the Zulu's porridge, who swallowed it
nearly all down in ignorance of what he was eating. But, unfortunately for Alphonse, he cou=
ld not
restrain his joy at this sight, and came capering and peering round, till at
last Umslopogaas, who was very clever in his way, suspected something, and,
after a careful examination of the remains of his porridge, discovered 'the
buffalo heifer's trick', and, in revenge, served him as I have said. Indeed, the little man was fortunate no=
t to
get a broken neck for his pains; for, as one would have thought, he might h=
ave
learnt from the episode of his display of axemanship that 'le Monsieur noir=
' was
an ill person to play practical jokes upon.
This incident was unimportant enough in itself,
but I narrate it because it led to serious consequences. As soon as he had stanched the bleeding=
from
his scratches and washed himself, Alphonse went off still cursing, to recov=
er
his temper, a process which I knew from experience would take a very long
time. When he had gone I gave
Umslopogaas a jobation and told him that I was ashamed of his behaviour.
'Ah, well, Macumazahn,' he said, 'you must be
gentle with me, for here is not my place.
I am weary of it, weary to death of eating and drinking, of sleeping=
and
giving in marriage. I love not thi=
s soft
life in stone houses that takes the heart out of a man, and turns his stren=
gth
to water and his flesh to fat. I love not the white robes and the delicate
women, the blowing of trumpets and the flying of hawks. When we fought the Masai at the kraal y=
onder,
ah, then life was worth the living, but here is never a blow struck in ange=
r,
and I begin to think I shall go the way of my fathers and lift Inkosi-kaas =
no
more,' and he held up the axe and gazed at it in sorrow.
'Ah,' I said, 'that is thy complaint, is it? Thou hast the blood-sickness, hast thou=
? And the Woodpecker wants a tree. And at=
thy
age, too. Shame on thee! Umslopoga=
as.'
'Ay, Macumazahn, mine is a red trade, yet is it
better and more honest than some. =
Better
is it to slay a man in fair fight than to suck out his heart's blood in buy=
ing
and selling and usury after your white fashion.
Many a man have I slain, yet is there never a one that I should fear=
to
look in the face again, ay, many are there who once were friends, and whom I
should be right glad to snuff with. But
there! there! thou hast thy ways, and I mine: each to his own people and his
own place. The high-veldt ox will =
die in
the fat bush country, and so is it with me, Macumazahn. I am rough, I know =
it,
and when my blood is warm I know not what to do, but yet wilt thou be sorry
when the night swallows me and I am utterly lost in blackness, for in thy h=
eart
thou lovest me, my father, Macumazahn the fox, though I be nought but a
broken-down Zulu war-dog -- a chief for whom there is no room in his own kr=
aal,
an outcast and a wanderer in strange places: ay, I love thee, Macumazahn, f=
or
we have grown grey together, and there is that between us that cannot be se=
en,
and yet is too strong for breaking;' and he took his snuff-box, which was m=
ade
of an old brass cartridge, from the slit in his ear where he always carried=
it,
and handed it to me for me to help myself.
I took the pinch of snuff with some emotion. It was quite true, I was much attached =
to the
bloodthirsty old ruffian. I do not=
know
what was the charm of his character, but it had a charm; perhaps it was its
fierce honesty and directness; perhaps one admired his almost superhuman sk=
ill
and strength, or it may have been simply that he was so absolutely unique.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> Frankly, with all my experience of sava=
ges, I
never knew a man quite like him, he was so wise and yet such a child with it
all; and though it seems laughable to say so, like the hero of the Yankee
parody, he 'had a tender heart'. A=
nyway,
I was very fond of him, though I should never have thought of telling him s=
o.
'Ay, old wolf,' I said, 'thine is a strange
love. Thou wouldst split me to the=
chin
if I stood in thy path tomorrow.'
'Thou speakest truth, Macumazahn, that would I=
if
it came in the way of duty, but I should love thee all the same when the bl=
ow
had gone fairly home. Is there any
chance of some fighting here, Macumazahn?' he went on in an insinuating
voice. 'Methought that what I saw =
last
night did show that the two great Queens were vexed one with another. Else had the "Lady of the Night&qu=
ot; not
brought that dagger with her.'
I agreed with him that it showed that more or =
less
pique and irritation existed between the ladies, and told him how things st=
ood,
and that they were quarrelling over Incubu.
'Ah, is it so?' he exclaimed, springing up in
delight; 'then will there be war as surely as the rivers rise in the rains =
-- war
to the end. Women love the last bl=
ow as
well as the last word, and when they fight for love they are pitiless as a =
wounded
buffalo. See thou, Macumazahn, a w=
oman
will swim through blood to her desire, and think nought of it. With these eyes have I seen it once, and
twice also. Ah, Macumazahn, we sha=
ll see
this fine place of houses burning yet, and hear the battle cries come ringi=
ng
up the street. After all, I have n=
ot
wandered for nothing. Can this folk
fight, think ye?'
Just then Sir Henry joined us, and Good arrive=
d,
too, from another direction, looking very pale and hollow-eyed. The moment Umslopogaas saw the latter he
stopped his bloodthirsty talk and greeted him.
'Ah, Bougwan,' he cried, 'greeting to thee,
Inkoos! Thou art surely weary. Didst thou hunt too much yesterday?'
'Listen, Bougwan, and I will tell thee a story=
; it
is about a woman, therefore wilt thou hear it, is it not so?
'There was a man and he had a brother, and the=
re
was a woman who loved the man's brother and was beloved of the man. But the man's brother had a favourite w=
ife
and loved not the woman, and he made a mock of her. Then the woman, being very cunning and
fierce-hearted for revenge, took counsel with herself and said to the man,
"I love thee, and if thou wilt make war upon thy brother I will marry
thee." And he knew it was a l=
ie, yet
because of his great love of the woman, who was very fair, did he listen to=
her
words and made war. And when many =
people
had been killed his brother sent to him, saying, "Why slayest thou me?=
What hurt have I done unto thee? From my youth up have I not loved thee?=
When thou wast little did I not nurture=
thee,
and have we not gone down to war together and divided the cattle, girl by g=
irl,
ox by ox, and cow by cow? Why slay=
est
thou me, my brother, son of my own mother?"
'Then the man's heart was heavy, and he knew t=
hat
his path was evil, and he put aside the tempting of the woman and ceased to=
make
war on his brother, and lived at peace in the same kraal with him. And after a time the woman came to him =
and
said, "I have lost the past, I will be thy wife." And in his heart he knew that it was a =
lie
and that she thought the evil thing, yet because of his love did he take he=
r to
wife.
'And the very night that they were wed, when t=
he
man was plunged into a deep sleep, did the woman arise and take his axe fro=
m his
hand and creep into the hut of his brother and slay him in his rest. Then did she slink back like a gorged l=
ioness
and place the thong of the red axe back upon his wrist and go her ways.
'And at the dawning the people came shouting,
"Lousta is slain in the night," and they came unto the hut of the
man, and there he lay asleep and by him was the red axe. Then did they remember the war and say,
"Lo! he hath of a surety slain his brother," and they would have
taken and killed him, but he rose and fled swiftly, and as he fleeted by he
slew the woman.
'But death could not wipe out the evil she had
done, and on him rested the weight of all her sin. Therefore is he an outcast and his name=
a
scorn among his own people; for on him, and him only, resteth the burden of=
her
who betrayed. And, therefore, does=
he
wander afar, without a kraal and without an ox or a wife, and therefore wil=
l he
die afar like a stricken buck and his name be accursed from generation to
generation, in that the people say that he slew his brother, Lousta, by
treachery in the night-time.'
The old Zulu paused, and I saw that he was dee=
ply
agitated by his own story. Present=
ly he
lifted his head, which he had bowed to his breast, and went on:
'I was the man, Bougwan. Ou! <=
/span>I
was that man, and now hark thou! E=
ven as
I am so wilt thou be -- a tool, a plaything, an ox of burden to carry the e=
vil
deeds of another. Listen! When thou didst creep after the "L=
ady of
the Night" I was hard upon thy track.
When she struck thee with the knife in the sleeping place of the Whi=
te
Queen I was there also; when thou didst let her slip away like a snake in t=
he
stones I saw thee, and I knew that she had bewitched thee and that a true m=
an
had abandoned the truth, and he who aforetime loved a straight path had tak=
en a
crooked way. Forgive me, my father=
, if
my words are sharp, but out of a full heart are they spoken. See her no more, so shalt thou go down =
with
honour to the grave. Else because =
of the
beauty of a woman that weareth as a garment of fur shalt thou be even as I =
am,
and perchance with more cause. I h=
ave said.'
Throughout this long and eloquent address Good=
had
been perfectly silent, but when the tale began to shape itself so aptly to =
his own
case, he coloured up, and when he learnt that what had passed between him a=
nd
Sorais had been overseen he was evidently much distressed. And now, when at last he spoke, it was =
in a
tone of humility quite foreign to him.
'I must say,' he said, with a bitter little la= ugh, 'that I scarcely thought that I should live to be taught my duty by a Zulu;= but it just shows what we can come to. I wonder if you fellows can understand how humiliated I feel, and the bittere= st part of it is that I deserve it all. Of course I should have handed Sorais over to the guard, but I could not, and = that is a fact. I let her go and I prom= ised to say nothing, more is the shame to me. She told me that if I would side w= ith her she would marry me and make me king of this country, but thank goodness= I did find the heart to say that even to marry her I could not desert my frie= nds. And now you can do what you like, I des= erve it all. All I have to say is that I hope that you may never love a woman wi= th all your heart and then be so sorely tempted of her,' and he turned to go.<= o:p>
'Look here, old fellow,' said Sir Henry, 'just
stop a minute. I have a little tale to tell you too.' And he went on to narrate what had taken
place on the previous day between Sorais and himself.
This was a finishing stroke to poor Good. It is not pleasant to any man to learn =
that
he has been made a tool of, but when the circumstances are as peculiarly
atrocious as in the present case, it is about as bitter a pill as anybody c=
an
be called on to swallow.
'Do you know,' he said, 'I think that between =
you,
you fellows have about worked a cure,' and he turned and walked away, and I=
for
one felt very sorry for him. Ah, i=
f the
moths would always carefully avoid the candle, how few burnt wings there wo=
uld
be!
That day was a Court day, when the Queens sat =
in
the great hall and received petitions, discussed laws, money grants, and so=
forth,
and thither we adjourned shortly afterwards.
On our way we were joined by Good, who was looking exceedingly
depressed.
When we got into the hall Nyleptha was already=
on
her throne and proceeding with business as usual, surrounded by councillors=
, courtiers,
lawyers, priests, and an unusually strong guard. It was, however, easy to s=
ee
from the air of excitement and expectation on the faces of everybody present
that nobody was paying much attention to ordinary affairs, the fact being t=
hat
the knowledge that civil war was imminent had now got abroad. We saluted Nyleptha and took our accust=
omed
places, and for a little while things went on as usual, when suddenly the
trumpets began to call outside the palace, and from the great crowd that was
gathered there in anticipation of some unusual event there rose a roar of '=
Sorais! Sorais!'
Then came the roll of many chariot wheels, and
presently the great curtains at the end of the hall were drawn wide and thr=
ough
them entered the 'Lady of the Night' herself.
Nor did she come alone. Pre=
ceding
her was Agon, the High Priest, arrayed in his most gorgeous vestments, and =
on
either side were other priests. The reason for their presence was obvious --
coming with them it would have been sacrilege to attempt to detain her. Behind her were a number of the great l=
ords,
and behind them a small body of picked guards.
A glance at Sorais herself was enough to show that her mission was o=
f no
peaceful kind, for in place of her gold embroidered 'kaf' she wore a shining
tunic formed of golden scales, and on her head a little golden helmet. In her hand, too, she bore a toy spear,
beautifully made and fashioned of solid silver.
Up the hall she came, looking like a lioness in her conscious pride =
and
beauty, and as she came the spectators fell back bowing and made a path for
her. By the sacred stone she halte=
d, and
laying her hand on it, she cried out with a loud voice to Nyleptha on the
throne, 'Hail, oh Queen!'
'All hail, my royal sister!' answered
Nyleptha. 'Draw thou near. Fear no=
t, I
give thee safe conduct.'
Sorais answered with a haughty look, and swept=
on
up the hall till she stood right before the thrones.
'A boon, oh Queen!' she cried again.
'Speak on, my sister; what is there that I can
give thee who hath half our kingdom?'
'Thou canst tell me a true word -- me and the
people of Zu-Vendis. Art thou, or art thou not, about to take this foreign
wolf,' and she pointed to Sir Henry with her toy spear, 'to be a husband to
thee, and share thy bed and throne?'
Curtis winced at this, and turning towards Sor=
ais,
said to her in a low voice, 'Methinks that yesterday thou hadst other names=
than
wolf to call me by, oh Queen!' and I saw her bite her lips as, like a danger
flag, the blood flamed red upon her face. As for Nyleptha, who is nothing if
not original, she, seeing that the thing was out, and that there was nothing
further to be gained by concealment, answered the question in a novel and e=
ffectual
manner, inspired thereto, as I firmly believe, by coquetry and a desire to
triumph over her rival.
Up she rose and, descending from the throne, s=
wept
in all the glory of her royal grace on to where her lover stood. There she stopped and untwined the gold=
en snake
that was wound around her arm. The=
n she
bade him kneel, and he dropped on one knee on the marble before her, and ne=
xt,
taking the golden snake with both her hands, she bent the pure soft metal r=
ound
his neck, and when it was fast, deliberately kissed him on the brow and cal=
led
him her 'dear lord'.
'Thou seest,' she said, when the excited murmu=
r of
the spectators had died away, addressing her sister as Sir Henry rose to hi=
s feet,
'I have put my collar round the "wolf's" neck, and behold! he sha=
ll
be my watchdog, and that is my answer to thee, Queen Sorais, my sister, and=
to
those with thee. Fear not,' she we=
nt on,
smiling sweetly on her lover, and pointing to the golden snake she had twin=
ed
round his massive throat, 'if my yoke be heavy, yet is it of pure gold, and=
it
shall not gall thee.'
Then, turning to the audience, she continued i=
n a
clear proud tone, 'Ay, Lady of the Night, Lords, Priests, and People here g=
athered
together, by this sign do I take the foreigner to husband, even here in the
face of you all. What, am I a Quee=
n, and
yet not free to choose the man whom I will love? Then should I be lower than the meanest=
girl
in all my provinces. Nay, he hath =
won my
heart, and with it goes my hand, and throne, and all I have -- ay, had he b=
een
a beggar instead of a great lord fairer and stronger than any here, and hav=
ing
more wisdom and knowledge of strange things, I had given him all, how much =
more
so being what he is!' And she took=
his
hand and gazed proudly on him, and holding it, stood there boldly facing the
people. And such was her sweetness=
and
the power and dignity of her person, and so beautiful she looked standing h=
and
in hand there at her lover's side, so sure of him and of herself, and so re=
ady
to risk all things and endure all things for him, that most of those who saw
the sight, which I am sure no one of them will ever forget, caught the fire
from her eyes and the happy colour from her blushing face, and cheered her =
like
wild things. It was a bold stroke =
for
her to make, and it appealed to the imagination; but human nature in Zu-Ven=
dis,
as elsewhere, loves that which is bold and not afraid to break a rule, and =
is
moreover peculiarly susceptible to appeals to its poetical side.
And so the people cheered till the roof rang; =
but
Sorais of the Night stood there with downcast eyes, for she could not bear =
to
see her sister's triumph, which robbed her of the man whom she had hoped to
win, and in the awfulness of her jealous anger she trembled and turned white
like an aspen in the wind. I think=
I
have said somewhere of her that she reminded me of the sea on a calm day,
having the same aspect of sleeping power about her. Well, it was all awake now, and like th=
e face
of the furious ocean it awed and yet fascinated me. A really handsome woman in a royal rage=
is
always a beautiful sight, but such beauty and such a rage I never saw combi=
ned
before, and I can only say that the effect produced was well worthy of the =
two.
She lifted her white face, the teeth set, and
there were purple rings beneath her glowing eyes. Thrice she tried to speak and thrice she
failed, but at last her voice came.
Raising her silver spear, she shook it, and the light gleamed from it
and from the golden scales of her cuirass.
'And thinkest thou, Nyleptha,' she said in not=
es
which pealed through the great hall like a clarion, 'thinkest thou that I, =
Sorais,
a Queen of the Zu-Vendi, will brook that this base outlander shall sit upon=
my
father's throne and rear up half-breeds to fill the place of the great Hous=
e of
the Stairway? Never! never! while =
there
is life in my bosom and a man to follow me and a spear to strike with. Who is on my side? Who?
'Now hand thou over this foreign wolf and those
who came hither to prey with him to the doom of fire, for have they not com=
mitted
the deadly sin against the sun? or, Nyleptha, I give thee War -- red War! Ay, I say to thee that the path of thy
passion shall be marked out by the blazing of thy towns and watered with th=
e blood
of those who cleave to thee. On th=
y head
rest the burden of the deed, and in thy ears ring the groans of the dying a=
nd the
cries of the widows and those who are left fatherless for ever and for ever=
.
'I tell thee I will tear thee, Nyleptha, the W=
hite
Queen, from thy throne, and that thou shalt be hurled -- ay, hurled even fr=
om
the topmost stair of the great way to the foot thereof, in that thou hast
covered the name of the House of him who built it with black shame. And I tell ye strangers -- all save Bou=
gwan, whom
because thou didst do me a service I will save alive if thou wilt leave the=
se
men and follow me' (here poor Good shook his head vigorously and ejaculated
'Can't be done' in English) -- 'that I will wrap you in sheets of gold and =
hang
you yet alive in chains from the four golden trumpets of the four angels th=
at fly
east and west and north and south from the giddiest pinnacles of the Temple=
, so
that ye may be a token and a warning to the land. And as for thee, Incubu, thou shalt die=
in
yet another fashion that I will not tell thee now.'
She ceased, panting for breath, for her passion
shook her like a storm, and a murmur, partly of horror and partly of
admiration, ran through the hall. =
Then
Nyleptha answered calmly and with dignity:
'Ill would it become my place and dignity, oh
sister, so to speak as thou hast spoken and so to threat as thou hast
threatened. Yet if thou wilt make war, then will I strive to bear up agains=
t thee,
for if my hand seem soft, yet shalt thou find it of iron when it grips thine
armies by the throat. Sorais, I fe=
ar
thee not. I weep for that which th=
ou
wilt bring upon our people and on thyself, but for myself I say -- I fear t=
hee
not. Yet thou, who but yesterday d=
idst
strive to win my lover and my lord from me, whom today thou dost call a
"foreign wolf", to be thy lover and thy lord' (here there was an
immense sensation in the hall), 'thou who but last night, as I have learnt =
but
since thou didst enter here, didst creep like a snake into my sleeping-plac=
e --
ay, even by a secret way, and wouldst have foully murdered me, thy sister, =
as I
lay asleep --'
'It is false, it is false!' rang out Agon's an=
d a
score of other voices.
'It is not false,' said I, producing the broken
point of the dagger and holding it up.
'Where is the haft from which this flew, oh Sorais?'
'It is not false,' cried Good, determined at l=
ast
to act like a loyal man. 'I took t=
he
Lady of the Night by the White Queen's bed, and on my breast the dagger bro=
ke.'
'Who is on my side?' cried Sorais, shaking her
silver spear, for she saw that public sympathy was turning against her. 'What, Bougwan, thou comest not?' she s=
aid,
addressing Good, who was standing close to her, in a low, concentrated
voice. 'Thou pale-souled fool, for=
a
reward thou shalt eat out thy heart with love of me and not be satisfied, a=
nd
thou mightest have been my husband and a king!
At least I hold thee in chains that cannot be broken.
'War!
War! War!' she cried. 'Here, with my hand upon the sacred sto=
ne
that shall endure, so runs the prophecy, till the Zu-Vendi set their necks
beneath an alien yoke, I declare war to the end. Who follows Sorais of the Night to vict=
ory
and honour?'
Instantly the whole concourse began to break u= p in indescribable confusion. Many pres= ent hastened to throw in their lot with the 'Lady of the Night', but some came = from her following to us. Amongst the f= ormer was an under officer of Nyleptha's own guard, who suddenly turned and made a run for the doorway through which Sorais' people were already passing. Umslopogaas, who was present and had ta= ken the whole scene in, seeing with admirable presence of mind that if this sol= dier got away others would follow his example, seized the man, who drew his sword and struck at him. Thereon the Zulu sprang back with a wild shout, and, avoiding the sword cuts, began to peck = at his foe with his terrible axe, till in a few seconds the man's fate overtook him and he fell with a clash heavily and quite dead upon the marble floor.<= o:p>
This was the first blood spilt in the war.
'Shut the gates,' I shouted, thinking that we
might perhaps catch Sorais so, and not being troubled with the idea of
committing sacrilege. But the orde=
r came
too late, her guards were already passing through them, and in another minu=
te
the streets echoed with the furious galloping of horses and the rolling of =
her
chariots.
So, drawing half the people after her, Sorais =
was
soon passing like a whirlwind through the Frowning City on her road to her =
headquarters
at M'Arstuna, a fortress situated a hundred and thirty miles to the north of
Milosis.
And after that the city was alive with the end=
less
tramp of regiments and preparations for the gathering war, and old Umslopog=
aas
once more began to sit in the sunshine and go through a show of sharpening =
Inkosi-kaas's
razor edge.
One person, however, did not succeed in getting
out in time before the gates were shut, and that was the High Priest Agon, =
who,
as we had every reason to believe, was Sorais' great ally, and the heart and
soul of her party. This cunning and
ferocious old man had not forgiven us for those hippopotami, or rather that=
was
what he said. What he meant was th=
at he
would never brook the introduction of our wider ways of thought and foreign=
learning
and influence while there was a possibility of stamping us out. Also he knew that we possessed a differ=
ent
system of religion, and no doubt was in daily terror of our attempting to
introduce it into Zu-Vendis. One d=
ay he
asked me if we had any religion in our country, and I told him that so far =
as I
could remember we had ninety-five different ones. You might have knocked him down with a
feather, and really it is difficult not to pity a high priest of a
well-established cult who is haunted by the possible approach of one or all=
of
ninety-five new religions.
When we knew that Agon was caught, Nyleptha, S=
ir
Henry, and I discussed what was to be done with him. I was for closely incarcerating him, but
Nyleptha shook her head, saying that it would produce a disastrous effect
throughout the country. 'Ah!' she =
added,
with a stamp of her foot, 'if I win and am once really Queen, I will break =
the
power of those priests, with their rites and revels and dark secret ways.'<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> I only wished that old Agon could have =
heard
her, it would have frightened him.
'Well,' said Sir Henry, 'if we are not to impr=
ison
him, I suppose that we may as well let him go.
He is of no use here.'
Nyleptha looked at him in a curious sort of wa=
y,
and said in a dry little voice, 'Thinkest thou so, my lord?'
'Eh?' said Curtis.
'No, I do not see what is the use of keeping him.'
She said nothing, but continued looking at him=
in
a way that was as shy as it was sweet.
Then at last he understood.
'Forgive me, Nyleptha,' he said, rather
tremulously. 'Dost thou mean that =
thou
wilt marry me, even now?'
'Nay, I know not; let my lord say,' was her ra=
pid
answer; 'but if my lord wills, the priest is there and the altar is there' =
--
pointing to the entrance to a private chapel -- 'and am I not ready to do t=
he
will of my lord? Listen, oh my
lord! In eight days or less thou m=
ust
leave me and go down to war, for thou shalt lead my armies, and in war -- m=
en
sometimes fall, and so I would for a little space have had thee all my own,=
if only
for memory's sake;' and the tears overflowed her lovely eyes and rolled down
her face like heavy drops of dew down the red heart of a rose.
'Mayhap, too,' she went on, 'I shall lose my
crown, and with my crown my life and thine also. Sorais is very strong and very bitter, =
and if
she prevails she will not spare. W=
ho can
read the future? Happiness is the
world's White Bird, that alights seldom, and flies fast and far till one da=
y he
is lost in the clouds. Therefore s=
hould
we hold him fast if by any chance he rests for a little space upon our
hand. It is not wise to neglect the
present for the future, for who knows what the future will be, Incubu? Let us pluck our flowers while the dew =
is on
them, for when the sun is up they wither and on the morrow will others bloom
that we shall never see.' And she =
lifted
her sweet face to him and smiled into his eyes, and once more I felt a curi=
ous pang
of jealousy and turned and went away.
They never took much notice of whether I was there or not, thinking,=
I
suppose, that I was an old fool, and that it did not matter one way or the =
other,
and really I believe that they were right.
So I went back to our quarters and ruminated o=
ver
things in general, and watched old Umslopogaas whetting his axe outside the
window as a vulture whets his beak beside a dying ox.
And in about an hour's time Sir Henry came tea=
ring
over, looking very radiant and wildly excited, and found Good and myself an=
d even
Umslopogaas, and asked us if we should like to assist at a real wedding.
He still refused to go through the ceremony, so
she clinched her argument thus --
'Well, I cannot execute a High Priest, because
there is an absurd prejudice against it, and I cannot imprison him because =
all
his subordinates would raise a crying that would bring the stars down on
Zu-Vendis and crush it; but I can leave him to contemplate the altar of the=
Sun
without anything to eat, because that is his natural vocation, and if thou =
wilt
not marry me, O Agon! thou shalt be placed before the altar yonder with nou=
ght
but a little water till such time as thou hast reconsidered the matter.'
Now, as it happened, Agon had been hurried away
that morning without his breakfast, and was already exceedingly hungry, so =
he
presently modified his views and consented to marry them, saying at the same
time that he washed his hands of all responsibility in the matter.
So it chanced that presently, attended only by=
two
of her favourite maidens, came the Queen Nyleptha, with happy blushing face=
and
downcast eyes, dressed in pure white, without embroidery of any sort, as se=
ems
to be the fashion on these occasions in most countries of the world. She did not wear a single ornament, eve=
n her
gold circlets were removed, and I thought that if possible she looked more
lovely than ever without them, as really superbly beautiful women do.
She came, curtseyed low to Sir Henry, and then
took his hand and led him up before the altar, and after a little pause, in=
a
slow, clear voice uttered the following words, which are customary in Zu-Ve=
ndis
if the bride desires and the man consents: --
'Thou dost swear by the Sun that thou wilt tak=
e no
other woman to wife unless I lay my hand upon her and bid her come?'
'I swear it,' answered Sir Henry; adding in
English, 'One is quite enough for me.'
Then Agon, who had been sulking in a corner ne=
ar
the altar, came forward and gabbled off something into his beard at such a =
rate
that I could not follow it, but it appeared to be an invocation to the Sun =
to
bless the union and make it fruitful. I
observed that Nyleptha listened very closely to every word, and afterwards =
discovered
that she was afraid lest Agon should play her a trick, and by going through=
the
invocations backwards divorce them instead of marry them. At the end of the invocations they were
asked, as in our service, if they took each other for husband and wife, and=
on
their assenting they kissed each other before the altar, and the service was
over, so far as their rites were concerned. But it seemed to me that there =
was
yet something wanting, and so I produced a Prayer-Book, which has, together
which the 'Ingoldsby Legends', that I often read when I lie awake at night,
accompanied me in all my later wanderings.
I gave it to my poor boy Harry years ago, and after his death I foun=
d it
among his things and took it back again.
'Curtis,' I said, 'I am not a clergyman, and I=
do
not know if what I am going to propose is allowable -- I know it is not leg=
al --
but if you and the Queen have no objection I should like to read the English
marriage service over you. It is a
solemn step which you are taking, and I think that you ought, so far as
circumstances will allow, to give it the sanction of your own religion.'
'I have thought of that,' he said, 'and I wish=
you
would. I do not feel half married yet.'
Nyleptha raised no objection, fully understand=
ing
that her husband wished to celebrate the marriage according to the rites
prevailing in his own country, and so I set to work and read the service, f=
rom
'Dearly beloved' to 'amazement', as well as I could; and when I came to 'I,
Henry, take thee, Nyleptha,' I translated, and also 'I, Nyleptha, take thee,
Henry,' which she repeated after me very well.
Then Sir Henry took a plain gold ring from his little finger and pla=
ced
it on hers, and so on to the end. The ring had been Curtis' mother's
wedding-ring, and I could not help thinking how astonished the dear old
Yorkshire lady would have been if she could have foreseen that her wedding-=
ring
was to serve a similar purpose for Nyleptha, a Queen of the Zu-Vendi.
As for Agon, he was with difficulty kept calm
while this second ceremony was going on, for he at once understood that it =
was religious
in its nature, and doubtless bethought him of the ninety-five new faiths wh=
ich
loomed so ominously in his eyes. I=
ndeed,
he at once set me down as a rival High Priest, and hated me accordingly. Ho=
wever,
in the end off he went, positively bristling with indignation, and I knew t=
hat
we might look out for danger from his direction.
And off went Good and I, and old Umslopogaas a=
lso,
leaving the happy pair to themselves, and very low we all felt. Marriages are supposed to be cheerful t=
hings,
but my experience is that they are very much the reverse to everybody, exce=
pt
perhaps the two people chiefly interested.
They mean the breaking-up of so many old ties as well as the underta=
king
of so many new ones, and there is always something sad about the passing aw=
ay
of the old order. Now to take this=
case
for instance: Sir Henry Curtis is the best and kindest fellow and friend in=
the
world, but he has never been quite the same since that little scene in the =
chapel. It is always Nyleptha this and Nyleptha=
that
-- Nyleptha, in short, from morning till night in one way or another, eithe=
r expressed
or understood. And as for the old
friends -- well, of course they have taken the place that old friends ought=
to take,
and which ladies are as a rule very careful to see they do take when a man
marries, and that is, the second place.
Yes, he would be angry if anybody said so, but it is a fact for all =
that. He is not quite the same, and Nyleptha =
is
very sweet and very charming, but I think that she likes him to understand =
that
she has married him, and not Quatermain, Good, and Co. But there! what is the use of grumbling=
? It is all very right and proper, as any
married lady would have no difficulty in explaining, and I am a selfish,
jealous old man, though I hope I never show it.
So Good and I went and ate in silence and then
indulged in an extra fine flagon of old Zu-Vendian to keep our spirits up, =
and presently
one of our attendants came and told a story that gave us something to think
about.
It may, perhaps, be remembered that, after his
quarrel with Umslopogaas, Alphonse had gone off in an exceedingly ill tempe=
r to
sulk over his scratches. Well, it
appears that he walked right past the Temple to the Sun, down the wide road=
on
the further side of the slope it crowns, and thence on into the beautiful p=
ark,
or pleasure gardens, which are laid out just beyond the outer wall. After wandering about there for a littl=
e he
started to return, but was met near the outer gate by Sorais' train of char=
iots,
which were galloping furiously along the great northern road. When she caught sight of Alphonse, Sora=
is
halted her train and called to him. On
approaching he was instantly seized and dragged into one of the chariots and
carried off, 'crying out loudly', as our informant said, and as from my gen=
eral
knowledge of him I can well believe.
At first I was much puzzled to know what object
Sorais could have had in carrying off the poor little Frenchman. She could hardly stoop so low as to try=
to
wreak her fury on one whom she knew was only a servant. At last, however, an idea occurred to
me. We three were, as I think I ha=
ve said,
much revered by the people of Zu-Vendis at large, both because we were the
first strangers they had ever seen, and because we were supposed to be the
possessors of almost supernatural wisdom.
Indeed, though Sorais' cry against the 'foreign wolves' -- or, to
translate it more accurately, 'foreign hyenas' -- was sure to go down very =
well
with the nobles and the priests, it was not as we learnt, likely to be
particularly effectual amongst the bulk of the population. The Zu-Vendi peo=
ple,
like the Athenians of old, are ever seeking for some new thing, and just
because we were so new our presence was on the whole acceptable to them.
This, no doubt, was the cause of her anxiety to
get a hold of Good, whom she would have used till he ceased to be of servic=
e and
then cast off. But Good having dra=
wn
back she grasped at the opportunity of securing Alphonse, who was not unlike
him in personal appearance though smaller, no doubt with the object of show=
ing
him off in the cities and country as the great Bougwan himself. I told Good that I thought that that wa=
s her
plan, and his face was a sight to see -- he was so horrified at the idea.
'What,' he said, 'dress up that little wretch =
to
represent me? Why, I shall have to get out of the country! My reputation will be ruined for ever.'=
I consoled him as well as I could, but it is n=
ot
pleasant to be personated all over a strange country by an arrant little co=
ward,
and I can quite sympathize with his vexation.
Well, that night Good and I messed as I have s=
aid
in solitary grandeur, feeling very much as though we had just returned from=
burying
a friend instead of marrying one, and next morning the work began in good
earnest. The messages and orders w=
hich
had been despatched by Nyleptha two days before now began to take effect, a=
nd
multitudes of armed men came pouring into the city. We saw, as may be imagi=
ned,
but very little of Nyleptha and not too much of Curtis during those next few
days, but Good and I sat daily with the council of generals and loyal lords,
drawing up plans of action, arranging commissariat matters, the distributio=
n of
commands, and a hundred and one other things.
Men came in freely, and all the day long the great roads leading to
Milosis were spotted with the banners of lords arriving from their distant =
places
to rally round Nyleptha.
After the first few days it became clear that =
we
should be able to take the field with about forty thousand infantry and twe=
nty thousand
cavalry, a very respectable force considering how short was the time we had=
to
collect it, and that about half the regular army had elected to follow Sora=
is.
But if our force was large, Sorais' was, accor=
ding
to the reports brought in day by day by our spies, much larger. She had taken up her headquarters at a =
very
strong town called M'Arstuna, situated, as I have said, to the north of
Milosis, and all the countryside was flocking to her standard. Nasta had poured down from his highland=
s and
was on his way to join her with no less than twenty-five thousand of his
mountaineers, the most terrible soldiers to face in all Zu-Vendis. Another mighty lord, named Belusha, who=
lived
in the great horse-breeding district, had come in with twelve thousand cava=
lry,
and so on. Indeed, what between one
thing and another, it seemed certain that she would gather a fully armed ho=
st
of nearly one hundred thousand men.
And then came news that Sorais was proposing to
break up her camp and march on the Frowning City itself, desolating the cou=
ntry
as she came. Thereon arose the que=
stion
whether it would be best to meet her at Milosis or to go out and give her
battle. When our opinion was asked upon the subject, Good and I unhesitatin=
gly gave
it in favour of an advance. If we =
were
to shut ourselves up in the city and wait to be attacked, it seemed to us t=
hat our
inaction would be set down to fear. It
is so important, especially on an occasion of this sort, when a very little
will suffice to turn men's opinions one way or the other, to be up and doing
something. Ardour for a cause will=
soon
evaporate if the cause does not move but sits down to conquer. Therefore we cast our vote for moving o=
ut and
giving battle in the open, instead of waiting till we were drawn from our w=
alls
like a badger from a hole.
Sir Henry's opinion coincided with ours, and s=
o,
needless to say, did that of Nyleptha, who, like a flint, was always ready =
to
flash out fire. A great map of the
country was brought and spread out before her.
About thirty miles this side of M'Arstuna, where Sorais lay, and nin=
ety
odd miles from Milosis, the road ran over a neck of land some two and a half
miles in width, and flanked on either side by forest-clad hills which, with=
out
being lofty, would, if the road were blocked, be quite impracticable for a
great baggage-laden army to cross. She
looked earnestly at the map, and then, with a quickness of perception that =
in some
women amounts almost to an instinct, she laid her finger upon this neck of
rising ground, and turning to her husband, said, with a proud air of confid=
ence
and a toss of the golden head --
'Here shalt thou meet Sorais' armies. I know the spot, here shalt thou meet t=
hem,
and drive them before thee like dust before the storm.'
But Curtis looked grave and said nothing.
CHAPTER XX - THE BATTLE OF THE PASS
It was on the third morning after this inciden=
t of
the map that Sir Henry and I started.
With the exception of a small guard, all the great host had moved on=
the
night before, leaving the Frowning City very silent and empty. Indeed, it was found impossible to leav=
e any
garrison with the exception of a personal guard for Nyleptha, and about a
thousand men who from sickness or one cause or another were unable to proce=
ed
with the army; but as Milosis was practically impregnable, and as our enemy=
was
in front of and not behind us, this did not so much matter.
Good and Umslopogaas had gone on with the army,
but Nyleptha accompanied Sir Henry and myself to the city gates, riding a m=
agnificent
white horse called Daylight, which was supposed to be the fleetest and most
enduring animal in Zu-Vendis. Her =
face bore
traces of recent weeping, but there were no tears in her eyes now, indeed s=
he
was bearing up bravely against what must have been a bitter trial to her. At the gate she reined in her horse and=
bade
us farewell. On the previous day s=
he had
reviewed and addressed the officers of the great army, speaking to them such
high, eloquent words, and expressing so complete a confidence in their valo=
ur
and in their ultimate victory, that she quite carried their hearts away, an=
d as
she rode from rank to rank they cheered her till the ground shook. And now today the same mood seemed to b=
e on
her.
'Fare thee well, Macumazahn!' she said. 'Remember, I trust to thy wits, which a=
re as
a needle to a spear-handle compared to those of my people, to save us from
Sorais. I know that thou wilt do t=
hy
duty.'
I bowed and explained to her my horror of
fighting, and my fear lest I should lose my head, at which she laughed gent=
ly
and turned to Curtis.
'Fare thee well, my lord!' she said. 'Come back with victory, and as a king,=
or on
thy soldiers' spears.' {Endnote 19}
Sir Henry said nothing, but turned his horse to
go; perhaps he had a bit of a lump in his throat. One gets over it afterwards, but these =
sort
of partings are trying when one has only been married a week.
'Here,' added Nyleptha, 'will I greet thee whe=
n ye
return in triumph. And now, my lor=
ds,
once more, farewell!'
Then we rode on, but when we had gone a hundred
and fifty yards or so, we turned and perceived her still sitting on her hor=
se at
the same spot, and looking out after us beneath her hand, and that was the =
last
we saw of her. About a mile farthe=
r on, however,
we heard galloping behind us, and looking round, saw a mounted soldier comi=
ng
towards us, leading Nyleptha's matchless steed -- Daylight.
'The Queen sends the white stallion as a farew=
ell
gift to her Lord Incubu, and bids me tell my lord that he is the fleetest a=
nd
most enduring horse in all the land,' said the soldier, bending to his
saddle-bow before us.
At first Sir Henry did not want to take the ho=
rse,
saying that he was too good for such rough work, but I persuaded him to do =
so,
thinking that Nyleptha would be hurt if he did not. Little did I guess at the time what ser=
vice
that noble horse would render in our sorest need. It is curious to look back and realize =
upon what
trivial and apparently coincidental circumstances great events frequently t=
urn
as easily and naturally as a door on its hinges.
Well, we took the horse, and a beauty he was, =
it
was a perfect pleasure to see him move, and Curtis having sent back his
greetings and thanks, we proceeded on our journey.
By midday we overtook the rear-guard of the gr=
eat
army of which Sir Henry then formally took over the command. It was a heavy responsibility, and it
oppressed him very much, but the Queen's injunctions on the point were such=
as
did not admit of being trifled with. He
was beginning to find out that greatness has its responsibilities as well as
its glories.
Then we marched on without meeting with any
opposition, almost indeed without seeing anybody, for the populations of the
towns and villages along our route had for the most part fled, fearing lest
they should be caught between the two rival armies and ground to powder like
grain between the upper and the nether stones.
On the evening of the fourth day, for the prog=
ress
of so great a multitude was necessarily slow, we camped two miles this side=
of
the neck or ridge I have spoken of, and our outposts brought us word that
Sorais with all her power was rolling down upon us, and had pitched her camp
that night ten miles the farther side of the neck.
Accordingly before dawn we sent forward fifteen
hundred cavalry to seize the position.
Scarcely had they occupied it, however, before they were attacked by
about as many of Sorais' horsemen, and a very smart little cavalry fight
ensued, with a loss to us of about thirty men killed. On the advance of our supports, however,
Sorais' force drew off, carrying their dead and wounded with them.
The main body of the army reached the neck abo=
ut
dinner-time, and I must say that Nyleptha's judgment had not failed her, it=
was
an admirable place to give battle in, especially to a superior force.
The road ran down a mile or more, through grou=
nd
too broken to admit of the handling of any considerable force, till it reac=
hed the
crest of a great green wave of land, that rolled down a gentle slope to the
banks of a little stream, and then rolled away again up a still gentler slo=
pe
to the plain beyond, the distance from the crest of the land-wave down to t=
he stream
being a little over half a mile, and from the stream up to the plain beyond=
a
trifle less. The length of this wa=
ve of
land at its highest point, which corresponded exactly with the width of the
neck of the land between the wooded hills, was about two miles and a quarte=
r,
and it was protected on either side by dense, rocky, bush-clad ground, that
afforded a most valuable cover to the flanks of the army and rendered it al=
most
impossible for them to be turned.
It was on the hither slope of this neck of land
that Curtis encamped his army in the same formation that he had, after
consultation with the various generals, Good, and myself, determined that t=
hey
should occupy in the great pitched battle which now appeared to be imminent=
.
Our force of sixty thousand men was, roughly
speaking, divided as follows. In t=
he
centre was a dense body of twenty thousand foot-soldiers, armed with spears,
swords, and hippopotamus-hide shields, breast and back plates. {Endnote
20} These formed the chest of the =
army,
and were supported by five thousand foot, and three thousand horse in
reserve. On either side of this ch=
est
were stationed seven thousand horse arranged in deep, majestic squadrons; a=
nd
beyond and on either side but slightly in front of them again were two bodi=
es,
each numbering about seven thousand five hundred spearmen, forming the right
and left wings of the army, and each supported by a contingent of some fift=
een
hundred cavalry. This makes in all=
sixty
thousand men.
Curtis commanded in chief, I was in command of=
the
seven thousand horse between the chest and right wing, which was commanded =
by Good,
and the other battalions and squadrons were entrusted to Zu-Vendis generals=
.
Scarcely had we taken up our positions before
Sorais' vast army began to swarm on the opposite slope about a mile in fron=
t of
us, till the whole place seemed alive with the multitude of her spearpoints,
and the ground shook with the tramp of her battalions. It was evident that =
the
spies had not exaggerated; we were outnumbered by at least a third. At first we expected that Sorais was go=
ing to
attack us at once, as the clouds of cavalry which hung upon her flanks exec=
uted
some threatening demonstrations, but she thought better of it, and there wa=
s no
fight that day. As for the formati=
on of
her great forces I cannot now describe it with accuracy, and it would only
serve to bewilder if I did, but I may say, generally, that in its leading
features it resembled our own, only her reserve was much greater.
Opposite our right wing, and forming Sorais' l=
eft
wing, was a great army of dark, wild-looking men, armed with sword and shie=
ld only,
which, I was informed, was composed of Nasta's twenty-five thousand savage
hillsmen.
'My word, Good,' said I, when I saw them, 'you
will catch it tomorrow when those gentlemen charge!' whereat Good not
unnaturally looked rather anxious.
All day we watched and waited, but nothing
happened, and at last night fell, and a thousand watch-fires twinkled brigh=
tly
on the slopes, to wane and die one by one like the stars they resembled. As=
the
hours wore on, the silence gradually gathered more deeply over the opposing
hosts.
It was a very wearying night, for in addition =
to
the endless things that had to be attended to, there was our gnawing suspen=
se to
reckon with. The fray which tomorr=
ow
would witness would be so vast, and the slaughter so awful, that stout inde=
ed
must the heart have been that was not overwhelmed at the prospect. And when=
I
thought of all that hung upon it, I own I felt ill, and it made me very sad=
to
reflect that these mighty forces were gathered for destruction, simply to
gratify the jealous anger of a woman.
This was the hidden power which was to send those dense masses of
cavalry, flashing like human thunderbolts across the plain, and to roll tog=
ether
the fierce battalions as clouds when hurricane meets hurricane. It was a dreadful thought, and set one
wondering about the responsibilities of the great ones of the earth. Deep into the night we sat, with pale f=
aces
and heavy hearts, and took counsel, whilst the sentries tramped up and down,
down and up, and the armed and plumed generals came and went, grim and
shadow-like.
And so the time wore away, till everything was
ready for the coming slaughter; and I lay down and thought, and tried to ge=
t a
little rest, but could not sleep for fear of the morrow -- for who could say
what the morrow would bring forth?
Misery and death, this was certain; beyond that we knew not, and I
confess I was very much afraid. Bu=
t as I
realized then, it is useless to question that eternal Sphinx, the future. From day to day she reads aloud the rid=
dles
of the yesterday, of which the puzzled wordlings of all ages have not answe=
red
one, nor ever will, guess they never so wildly or cry they never so loud.
And so at length I gave up wondering, being fo=
rced
humbly to leave the issue in the balancing hands of Providence and the morr=
ow.
And at last up came the red sun, and the huge
camps awoke with a clash, and a roar, and gathered themselves together for
battle. It was a beautiful and awe-inspiring scene, and old Umslopogaas, le=
aning
on his axe, contemplated it with grim delight.
'Never have I seen the like, Macumazahn, never=
,'
he said. 'The battles of my people=
are
as the play of children to what this will be.
Thinkest thou that they will fight it out?'
'Ay,' I answered sadly, 'to the death. Content thyself, "Woodpecker"=
, for
once shalt thou peck thy fill.'
Time went on, and still there was no sign of an
attack. A force of cavalry crossed=
the
brook, indeed, and rode slowly along our front, evidently taking stock of o=
ur
position and numbers. With this we=
did
not attempt to interfere, as our decision was to stand strictly on the
defensive, and not to waste a single man. The men breakfasted and stood to
their arms, and the hours wore on. About
midday, when the men were eating their dinner, for we thought they would fi=
ght
better on full stomachs, a shout of 'Sorais, Sorais' arose like thunder from
the enemy's extreme right, and taking the glass, I was able to clearly dist=
inguish
the 'Lady of the Night' herself, surrounded by a glittering staff, and ridi=
ng
slowly down the lines of her battalions.
And as she went, that mighty, thundering shout rolled along before h=
er
like the rolling of ten thousand chariots, or the roaring of the ocean when=
the
gale turns suddenly and carries the noise of it to the listener's ears, till
the earth shook, and the air was full of the majesty of sound.
Guessing that this was a prelude to the beginn=
ing
of the battle, we remained still and made ready.
We had not long to wait. Suddenly, like flame from a cannon's mo=
uth,
out shot two great tongue-like forces of cavalry, and came charging down the
slope towards the little stream, slowly at first, but gathering speed as th=
ey
came. Before they got to the strea=
m,
orders reached me from Sir Henry, who evidently feared that the shock of su=
ch a
charge, if allowed to fall unbroken upon our infantry, would be too much for
them, to send five thousand sabres to meet the force opposite to me, at the
moment when it began to mount the stiffest of the rise about four hundred y=
ards
from our lines. This I did, remain=
ing
behind myself with the rest of my men.
Off went the five thousand horsemen, drawn up =
in a
wedge-like form, and I must say that the general in command handled them ve=
ry
ably. Starting at a hand gallop, f=
or the
first three hundred yards he rode straight at the tip of the tongue-shaped =
mass
of cavalry which, numbering, so far as I could judge, about eight thousand
sabres, was advancing to charge us. Then
he suddenly swerved to the right and put on the pace, and I saw the great w=
edge
curl round, and before the foe could check himself and turn to meet it, str=
ike
him about halfway down his length, with a crashing rending sound, like that=
of
the breaking-up of vast sheets of ice.
In sank the great wedge, into his heart, and as it cut its way hundr=
eds
of horsemen were thrown up on either side of it, just as the earth is throw=
n up
by a ploughshare, or more like still, as the foaming water curls over benea=
th
the bows of a rushing ship. In, ye=
t in,
vainly does the tongue twist its ends round in agony, like an injured snake,
and strive to protect its centre; still farther in, by Heaven! right throug=
h, and
so, amid cheer after cheer from our watching thousands, back again upon the
severed ends, beating them down, driving them as a gale drives spray, till =
at
last, amidst the rushing of hundreds of riderless horses, the flashing of
swords, and the victorious clamour of their pursuers, the great force crump=
les
up like an empty glove, then turns and gallops pell-mell for safety back to=
its
own lines.
I do not think it reached them more than
two-thirds as strong as it went out ten minutes before. The lines which were now advancing to t=
he
attack, opened and swallowed them up, and my force returned, having only
suffered a loss of about five hundred men -- not much, I thought, consideri=
ng
the fierceness of the struggle. I =
could
also see that the opposing bodies of cavalry on our left wing were drawing
back, but how the fight went with them I do not quite know. It is as much as I can do to describe w=
hat
took place immediately around me.
By this time the dense masses of the enemy's l=
eft,
composed almost entirely of Nasta's swordsmen, were across the little strea=
m, and
with alternate yells of 'Nasta' and 'Sorais', with dancing banners and glea=
ming
swords, were swarming up towards us like ants.
Again I received orders to try and check this
movement, and also the main advance against the chest of our army, by means=
of
cavalry charges, and this I did to the best of my ability, by continually s=
ending
squadrons of about a thousand sabres out against them. These squadrons did =
the
enemy much damage, and it was a glorious sight to see them flash down the
hillside, and bury themselves like a living knife in the heart of the foe.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> But, also, we lost many men, for after =
the
experience of a couple of these charges, which had drawn a sort of bloody St
Andrew's cross of dead and dying through the centre of Nasta's host, our fo=
es
no longer attempted to offer an unyielding front to their irresistible weig=
ht,
but opened out to let the rush go through, throwing themselves on the ground
and hamstringing hundreds of horses as they passed.
And so, notwithstanding all that we could do, =
the
enemy drew nearer, till at last he hurled himself upon Good's force of seve=
n thousand
five hundred regulars, who were drawn up to receive them in three strong
squares. About the same time, too,=
an
awful and heartshaking roar told me that the main battle had closed in on t=
he
centre and extreme left. I raised =
myself
in my stirrups and looked down to my left; so far as the eye could see ther=
e was
a long dazzling shimmer of steel as the sun glanced upon falling sword and
thrusting spear.
To and fro swung the contending lines in that
dread struggle, now giving way, now gaining a little in the mad yet ordered
confusion of attack and defence. B=
ut it
was as much as I could do to keep count of what was happening to our own wi=
ng;
and, as for the moment the cavalry had fallen back under cover of Good's th=
ree squares,
I had a fair view of this.
Nasta's wild swordsmen were now breaking in red
waves against the sullen rock-like squares.
Time after time did they yell out their war-cries, and hurl themselv=
es
furiously against the long triple ridges of spear points, only to be rolled
back as billows are when they meet the cliff.
And so for four long hours the battle raged al=
most
without a pause, and at the end of that time, if we had gained nothing we h=
ad
lost nothing. Two attempts to turn=
our
left flank by forcing a way through the wood by which it was protected had =
been
defeated; and as yet Nasta's swordsmen had, notwithstanding their desperate
efforts, entirely failed to break Good's three squares, though they had thi=
nned
their numbers by quite a third.
As for the chest of the army where Sir Henry w=
as
with his staff and Umslopogaas, it had suffered dreadfully, but it had held=
its
own with honour, and the same may be said of our left battle.
At last the attacks slackened, and Sorais' army
drew back, having, I began to think, had enough of it. On this point, however, I was soon
undeceived, for splitting up her cavalry into comparatively small squadrons,
she charged us furiously with them, all along the line, and then once more
sullenly rolled her tens of thousands of sword and spearmen down upon our
weakened squares and squadrons; Sorais herself directing the movement, as
fearless as a lioness heading the main attack.
On they came like an avalanche -- I saw her golden helm gleaming in =
the
van -- our counter charges of cavalry entirely failing to check their forwa=
rd
sweep. Now they had struck us, and=
our
centre bent in like a bow beneath the weight of their rush -- it parted, and
had not the ten thousand men in reserve charged down to its support it must
have been utterly destroyed. As for
Good's three squares, they were swept backwards like boats upon an incoming
tide, and the foremost one was burst into and lost half its remaining men.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> But the effort was too fierce and terri=
ble to
last. Suddenly the battle came, as=
it were,
to a turning-point, and for a minute or two stood still.
Then it began to move towards Sorais' camp.
Presently, however, a cream-coloured horse wit=
h a
snow-white mane and tail burst from the ruins of the square and came rushin=
g past
me riderless and with wide streaming reins, and in it I recognized the char=
ger
that Good had been riding. Then I
hesitated no longer, but taking with me half my effective cavalry force, wh=
ich
now amounted to between four and five thousand men, I commended myself to G=
od,
and, without waiting for orders, I charged straight down upon Nasta's
swordsmen. Seeing me coming, and b=
eing
warned by the thunder of my horses' hoofs, the majority of them faced round,
and gave us a right warm welcome. =
Not an
inch would they yield; in vain did we hack and trample them down as we plou=
ghed
a broad red furrow through their thousands; they seemed to re-arise by
hundreds, driving their terrible sharp swords into our horses, or severing
their hamstrings, and then hacking the troopers who came to the ground with
them almost into pieces. My horse =
was speedily
killed under me, but luckily I had a fresh one, my own favourite, a coal-bl=
ack
mare Nyleptha had given me, being held in reserve behind, and on this I
afterwards mounted. Meanwhile I ha=
d to
get along as best I could, for I was pretty well lost sight of by my men in=
the
mad confusion of the moment. My vo=
ice, of
course, could not be heard in the midst of the clanging of steel and the sh=
rieks
of rage and agony. Presently I fou=
nd
myself mixed up with the remnants of the square, which had formed round its
leader Good, and was fighting desperately for existence. I stumbled against
somebody, and glancing down, caught sight of Good's eyeglass. He had been beaten to his knee. Over him was a great fellow swinging a =
heavy
sword. Somehow I managed to run th=
e man
through with the sime I had taken from the Masai whose hand I had cut off; =
but
as I did so, he dealt me a frightful blow on the left side and breast with =
the
sword, and though my chain shirt saved my life, I felt that I was badly
hurt. For a minute I fell on to my=
hands
and knees among the dead and dying, and turned sick and faint. When I came to again I saw that Nasta's=
spearmen,
or rather those of them who remained, were retreating back across the strea=
m,
and that Good was there by me smiling sweetly.
'Near go that,' he shouted; 'but all's well th=
at
ends well.'
I assented, but I could not help feeling that =
it
had not ended well for me. I was s=
orely
hurt.
Just then we saw the smaller bodies of cavalry
stationed on our extreme right and left, and which were now reinforced by t=
he three
thousand sabres which we had held in reserve, flash out like arrows from th=
eir
posts and fall upon the disordered flanks of Sorais' forces, and that charge
decided the issue of the battle. In another minute or two the enemy was in =
slow
and sullen retreat across the little stream, where they once more
re-formed. Then came another lull,
during which I managed to get a second horse, and received my orders to adv=
ance
from Sir Henry, and then with one fierce deep-throated roar, with a waving =
of
banners and a wide flashing of steel, the remains of our army took the
offensive and began to sweep down, slowly indeed, but irresistibly from the
positions they had so gallantly held all day.
At last it was our turn to attack.
On we moved, over the piled-up masses of dead =
and
dying, and were approaching the stream, when suddenly I perceived an
extraordinary sight. Galloping wil=
dly
towards us, his arms tightly clasped around his horse's neck, against which=
his
blanched cheek was tightly pressed, was a man arrayed in the full costume o=
f a
Zu-Vendi general, but in whom, as he came nearer, I recognized none other t=
han our
lost Alphonse. It was impossible e=
ven
then to mistake those curling mustachios.
In a minute he was tearing through our ranks and narrowly escaped be=
ing
cut down, till at last somebody caught his horse's bridle, and he was broug=
ht
to me just as a momentary halt occurred in our advance to allow what remain=
ed of
our shattered squares to form into line.
'Ah, monsieur,' he gasped out in a voice that =
was
nearly inarticulate with fright, 'grace to the sky, it is you! Ah, what I have endured! But you win, m=
onsieur,
you win; they fly, the laches. But
listen, monsieur -- I forget, it is no good; the Queen is to be murdered to=
morrow
at the first light in the palace of Milosis; her guards will leave their po=
sts,
and the priests are going to kill her. Ah yes! they little thought it, but I
was ensconced beneath a banner, and I heard it all.'
'What?' I said, horror-struck; 'what do you me=
an?'
'What I say, monsieur; that devil of a Nasta he
went last night to settle the affair with the Archbishop [Agon]. The guard will leave open the little ga=
te
leading from the great stair and go away, and Nasta and Agon's priests will
come in and kill her. Themselves they would not kill her.'
'Come with me,' I said, and, shouting to the
staff-officer next to me to take over the command, I snatched his bridle and
galloped as hard as I could for the spot, between a quarter and half a mile
off, where I saw the royal pennon flying, and where I knew that I should fi=
nd
Curtis if he were still alive. On =
we
tore, our horses clearing heaps of dead and dying men, and splashing through
pools of blood, on past the long broken lines of spearmen to where, mounted=
on
the white stallion Nyleptha had sent to him as a parting gift, I saw Sir
Henry's form towering above the generals who surrounded him.
Just as we reached him the advance began
again. A bloody cloth was bound ar=
ound
his head, but I saw that his eye was as bright and keen as ever. Beside him was old Umslopogaas, his axe=
red with
blood, but looking quite fresh and uninjured.
'What's wrong, Quatermain?' he shouted.
'Everything.
There is a plot to murder the Queen tomorrow at dawn. Alphonse here, who has just escaped from
Sorais, has overheard it all,' and I rapidly repeated to him what the Frenc=
hman
had told me.
Curtis' face turned deadly pale and his jaw
dropped.
'At dawn,' he gasped, 'and it is now sunset; it
dawns before four and we are nearly a hundred miles off -- nine hours at th=
e outside. What is to be done?'
An idea entered into my head. 'Is that horse of yours fresh?' I said.=
'Yes, I have only just got on to him -- when my
last was killed, and he has been fed.'
'So is mine.
Get off him, and let Umslopogaas mount; he can ride well. We will be at Milosis before dawn, or i=
f we
are not -- well, we cannot help it. No, no;
it is impossible for you to leave now.
You would be seen, and it would turn the fate of the battle. It is not half won yet. The soldiers would think you were makin=
g a
bolt of it. Quick now.'
In a moment he was down, and at my bidding
Umslopogaas sprang into the empty saddle.
'Now farewell,' I said. 'Send a thousand horsemen with remounts=
after
us in an hour if possible. Stay,
despatch a general to the left wing to take over the command and explain my
absence.'
'You will do your best to save her, Quatermain=
?'
he said in a broken voice.
'Ay, that I will.
Go on; you are being left behind.'
He cast one glance at us, and accompanied by h=
is
staff galloped off to join the advance, which by this time was fording the
little brook that now ran red with the blood of the fallen.
As for Umslopogaas and myself, we left that
dreadful field as arrows leave a bow, and in a few minutes had passed right=
out
of the sight of slaughter, the smell of blood, and the turmoil and shouting,
which only came to our ears as a faint, far-off roaring like the sound of
distant breakers.
At the top of the rise we halted for a second =
to
breathe our horses; and, turning, glanced at the battle beneath us, which, =
illumined
as it was by the fierce rays of the sinking sun staining the whole scene re=
d,
looked from where we were more like some wild titanic picture than an actual
hand-to-hand combat. The distingui=
shing
scenic effect from that distance was the countless distinct flashes of light
reflected from the swords and spears, otherwise the panorama was not so gra=
nd
as might have been expected. The great green lap of sward in which the stru=
ggle
was being fought out, the bold round outline of the hills behind, and the w=
ide
sweep of the plain beyond, seemed to dwarf it; and what was tremendous enou=
gh
when one was in it, grew insignificant when viewed from the distance. But is it not thus with all the affairs=
and
doings of our race about which we blow the loud trumpet and make such a fuss
and worry? How utterly antlike, and
morally and physically insignificant, must they seem to the calm eyes that
watch them from the arching depths above!
'We win the day, Macumazahn,' said old
Umslopogaas, taking in the whole situation with a glance of his practised e=
ye. 'Look, the Lady of the Night's forces g=
ive on
every side, there is no stiffness left in them, they bend like hot iron, th=
ey
are fighting with but half a heart. But
alas! the battle will in a manner be drawn, for the darkness gathers, and t=
he
regiments will not be able to follow and slay!' -- and he shook his head sa=
dly.
'But,' he added, 'I do not think that they will fight again. We have fed th=
em
with too strong a meat. Ah! it is =
well
to have lived! At last I have seen=
a
fight worth seeing.'
By this time we were on our way again, and as =
we
went side by side I told him what our mission was, and how that, if it fail=
ed, all
the lives that had been lost that day would have been lost in vain.
'Ah!' he said, 'nigh on a hundred miles and no
horses but these, and to be there before the dawn! Well -- away! away! man can but try,
Macumazahn; and mayhap we shall be there in time to split that old
"witch-finder's" [Agon's] skull for him. Once he wanted to burn us, the old
"rain-maker", did he? An=
d now he
would set a snare for my mother [Nyleptha], would he? Good! So sure as my name is the name of=
the
Woodpecker, so surely, be my mother alive or dead, will I split him to the
beard. Ay, by T'Chaka's head I swe=
ar
it!' and he shook Inkosi-kaas as he galloped.
By now the darkness was closing in, but fortunately there would be a
moon later, and the road was good.
On we sped through the twilight, the two splen=
did
horses we bestrode had got their wind by this, and were sweeping along with=
a
wide steady stride that neither failed nor varied for mile upon mile. Down =
the
side of slopes we galloped, across wide vales that stretched to the foot of
far-off hills. Nearer and nearer g=
rew the
blue hills; now we were travelling up their steeps, and now we were over and
passing towards others that sprang up like visions in the far, faint distan=
ce
beyond.
On, never pausing or drawing rein, through the
perfect quiet of the night, that was set like a song to the falling music o=
f our
horses' hoofs; on, past deserted villages, where only some forgotten starvi=
ng
dog howled a melancholy welcome; on, past lonely moated dwellings; on, thro=
ugh
the white patchy moonlight, that lay coldly upon the wide bosom of the eart=
h,
as though there was no warmth in it; on, knee to knee, for hour after hour!=
We spake not, but bent us forward on the necks=
of
those two glorious horses, and listened to their deep, long-drawn breaths as
they filled their great lungs, and to the regular unfaltering ring of their
round hoofs. Grim and black indeed=
did
old Umslopogaas look beside me, mounted upon the great white horse, like De=
ath in
the Revelation of St John, as now and again lifting his fierce set face he
gazed out along the road, and pointed with his axe towards some distant ris=
e or
house.
And so on, still on, without break or pause for
hour after hour.
At last I felt that even the splendid animal t=
hat
I rode was beginning to give out. I
looked at my watch; it was nearly midnight, and we were considerably more t=
han
half way. On the top of a rise was=
a little
spring, which I remembered because I had slept by it a few nights before, a=
nd
here I motioned to Umslopogaas to pull up, having determined to give the ho=
rses
and ourselves ten minutes to breathe in.
He did so, and we dismounted -- that is to say, Umslopogaas did, and
then helped me off, for what with fatigue, stiffness, and the pain of my wo=
und,
I could not do so for myself; and then the gallant horses stood panting the=
re, resting
first one leg and then another, while the sweat fell drip, drip, from them,=
and
the steam rose and hung in pale clouds in the still night air.
Leaving Umslopogaas to hold the horses, I hobb=
led
to the spring and drank deep of its sweet waters. I had had nothing but a single mouthful=
of
wine since midday, when the battle began, and I was parched up, though my
fatigue was too great to allow me to feel hungry. Then, having laved my fevered head and =
hands,
I returned, and the Zulu went and drank.
Next we allowed the horses to take a couple of mouthfuls each -- no
more; and oh, what a struggle we had to get the poor beasts away from the
water! There were yet two minutes, and I employed it in hobbling up and dow=
n to
try and relieve my stiffness, and in inspecting the condition of the
horses. My mare, gallant animal th=
ough
she was, was evidently much distressed; she hung her head, and her eye look=
ed
sick and dull; but Daylight, Nyleptha's glorious horse -- who, if he is ser=
ved
aright, should, like the steeds who saved great Rameses in his need, feed f=
or
the rest of his days out of a golden manger -- was still comparatively spea=
king
fresh, notwithstanding the fact that he had had by far the heavier weight to
carry. He was 'tucked up', indeed,=
and
his legs were weary, but his eye was bright and clear, and he held his shap=
ely
head up and gazed out into the darkness round him in a way that seemed to s=
ay
that whoever failed he was good for those five-and-forty miles that yet lay
between us and Milosis. Then Umslo=
pogaas
helped me into the saddle and -- vigorous old savage that he was! -- vaulte=
d into
his own without touching a stirrup, and we were off once more, slowly at fi=
rst,
till the horses got into their stride, and then more swiftly. So we passed over another ten miles, an=
d then
came a long, weary rise of some six or seven miles, and three times did my =
poor
black mare nearly come to the ground with me.
But on the top she seemed to gather herself together, and rattled do=
wn the
slope with long, convulsive strides, breathing in gasps. We did that three =
or
four miles more swiftly than any since we had started on our wild ride, but=
I
felt it to be a last effort, and I was right.
Suddenly my poor horse took the bit between her teeth and bolted
furiously along a stretch of level ground for some three or four hundred ya=
rds,
and then, with two or three jerky strides, pulled herself up and fell with a
crash right on to her head, I rolling myself free as she did so. As I struggled to my feet the brave bea=
st
raised her head and looked at me with piteous bloodshot eyes, and then her =
head
dropped with a groan and she was dead.
Her heart was broken.
Umslopogaas pulled up beside the carcase, and I
looked at him in dismay. There were
still more than twenty miles to do by dawn, and how were we to do it with o=
ne
horse? It seemed hopeless, but I h=
ad
forgotten the old Zulu's extraordinary running powers.
Without a single word he sprang from the saddle
and began to hoist me into it.
'What wilt thou do?' I asked.
'Run,' he answered, seizing my stirrup-leather=
.
Then off we went again, almost as fast as befo=
re;
and oh, the relief it was to me to get that change of horses! Anybody who has ever ridden against tim=
e will
know what it meant.
Daylight sped along at a long stretching
hand-gallop, giving the gaunt Zulu a lift at every stride. It was a wonderful thing to see old
Umslopogaas run mile after mile, his lips slightly parted and his nostrils
agape like the horse's. Every five=
miles
or so we stopped for a few minutes to let him get his breath, and then flew=
on
again.
'Canst thou go farther,' I said at the third of
these stoppages, 'or shall I leave thee to follow me?'
He pointed with his axe to a dim mass before
us. It was the Temple of the Sun, =
now
not more than five miles away.
'I reach it or I die,' he gasped.
Oh, that last five miles! The skin was rubbed from the inside of =
my
legs, and every movement of my horse gave me anguish. Nor was that all. I was exhausted with toil, want of food=
and sleep,
and also suffering very much from the blow I had received on my left side; =
it
seemed as though a piece of bone or something was slowly piercing into my
lung. Poor Daylight, too, was pret=
ty nearly
finished, and no wonder. But there=
was a
smell of dawn in the air, and we might not stay; better that all three of u=
s should
die upon the road than that we should linger while there was life in us.
And now before us are the huge brazen gates of=
the
outer wall of the Frowning City, and a new and horrible doubt strikes me: W=
hat
if they will not let us in?
'Open! open!' I shout imperiously, at the same
time giving the royal password. 'O=
pen!
open! a messenger, a messenger with tidings of the war!'
'What news?' cried the guard. 'And who art thou that ridest so madly,=
and
who is that whose tongue lolls out' -- and it actually did -- 'and who runs=
by
thee like a dog by a chariot?'
'It is the Lord Macumazahn, and with him is his
dog, his black dog. Open! open! I bring tidings.'
The great gates ran back on their rollers, and=
the
drawbridge fell with a rattling crash, and we dashed on through the one and
over the other.
'What news, my lord, what news?' cried the gua=
rd.
'Incubu rolls Sorais back, as the wind a cloud=
,' I
answered, and was gone.
One more effort, gallant horse, and yet more
gallant man!
So, fall not now, Daylight, and hold thy life =
in
thee for fifteen short minutes more, old Zulu war-dog, and ye shall both li=
ve for
ever in the annals of the land.
On, clattering through the sleeping streets. We are passing the Flower Temple now --=
one
mile more, only one little mile -- hold on, keep your life in thee, see the
houses run past of themselves. Up,=
good
horse, up, there -- but fifty yards now. Ah! you see your stables and stagg=
er
on gallantly.
'Thank God, the palace at last!' and see, the
first arrows of the dawn are striking on the Temple's golden dome. {Endnote=
21}
But shall I get in here, or is the deed done and the way barred?
Once more I give the password and shout 'Open!
open!'
No answer, and my heart grows very faint.
Again I call, and this time a single voice
replies, and to my joy I recognize it as belonging to Kara, a fellow-office=
r of
Nyleptha's guards, a man I know to be as honest as the light -- indeed, the
same whom Nyleptha had sent to arrest Sorais on the day she fled to the tem=
ple.
'Is it thou, Kara?' I cry; 'I am Macumazahn. Bid the guard let down the bridge and t=
hrow
wide the gate. Quick, quick!'
Then followed a space that seemed to me endles=
s,
but at length the bridge fell and one half of the gate opened and we got in=
to the
courtyard, where at last poor Daylight fell down beneath me, as I thought,
dead. Except Kara, there was nobod=
y to
be seen, and his look was wild, and his garments were all torn. He had open=
ed
the gate and let down the bridge alone, and was now getting them up and shut
again (as, owing to a very ingenious arrangement of cranks and levers, one =
man
could easily do, and indeed generally did do).
'Where are the guard?' I gasped, fearing his
answer as I never feared anything before.
'I know not,' he answered; 'two hours ago, as I
slept, was I seized and bound by the watch under me, and but now, this very=
moment,
have I freed myself with my teeth. I
fear, I greatly fear, that we are betrayed.'
His words gave me fresh energy. Catching him by the arm, I staggered, f=
ollowed
by Umslopogaas, who reeled after us like a drunken man, through the courtya=
rds,
up the great hall, which was silent as the grave, towards the Queen's
sleeping-place.
We reached the first ante-room -- no guards; t=
he
second, still no guards. Oh, surel=
y the
thing was done! we were too late after all, too late! The silence and solitude of those great
chambers was dreadful, and weighed me down like an evil dream. On, right into Nyleptha's chamber we ru=
shed
and staggered, sick at heart, fearing the very worst; we saw there was a li=
ght
in it, ay, and a figure bearing the light.
Oh, thank God, it is the White Queen herself, the Queen unharmed!
'Who is it?' she cries. 'What means this? Oh, Macumazahn, is it thou? Why lookest thou so wildly? Thou comest as one bearing evil tidings=
--
and my lord -- oh, tell me not my lord is dead -- not dead!' she wailed,
wringing her white hands.
'I left Incubu wounded, but leading the advance
against Sorais last night at sundown; therefore let thy heart have rest. So=
rais
is beaten back all along her lines, and thy arms prevail.'
'I knew it,' she cried in triumph. 'I knew that he would win; and they cal=
led
him Outlander, and shook their wise heads when I gave him the command! Last night at sundown, sayest thou, and=
it is
not yet dawn? Surely --'
'Throw a cloak around thee, Nyleptha,' I broke=
in,
'and give us wine to drink; ay, and call thy maidens quick if thou wouldst =
save
thyself alive. Nay, stay not.'
Thus adjured she ran and called through the
curtains towards some room beyond, and then hastily put on her sandals and a
thick cloak, by which time a dozen or so of half-dressed women were pouring
into the room.
'Follow us and be silent,' I said to them as t=
hey
gazed with wondering eyes, clinging one to another. So we went into the first ante-room.
'Now,' I said, 'give us wine to drink and food=
, if
ye have it, for we are near to death.'
The room was used as a mess-room for the offic=
ers
of the guards, and from a cupboard some flagons of wine and some cold flesh=
were
brought forth, and Umslopogaas and I drank, and felt life flow back into our
veins as the good red wine went down.
'Hark to me, Nyleptha,' I said, as I put down =
the
empty tankard. 'Hast thou here among these thy waiting-ladies any two of
discretion?'
'Ay,' she said, 'surely.'
'Then bid them go out by the side entrance to =
any
citizens whom thou canst bethink thee of as men loyal to thee, and pray the=
m come
armed, with all honest folk that they can gather, to rescue thee from
death. Nay, question not; do as I =
say,
and quickly. Kara here will let out the maids.'
She turned, and selecting two of the crowd of
damsels, repeated the words I had uttered, giving them besides a list of the
names of the men to whom each should run.
'Go swiftly and secretly; go for your very liv=
es,'
I added.
In another moment they had left with Kara, who=
m I
told to rejoin us at the door leading from the great courtyard on to the
stairway as soon as he had made fast behind the girls. Thither, too, Umslopogaas and I made ou=
r way,
followed by the Queen and her women. As
we went we tore off mouthfuls of food, and between them I told her what I k=
new
of the danger which encompassed her, and how we found Kara, and how all the
guards and men-servants were gone, and she was alone with her women in that
great place; and she told me, too, that a rumour had spread through the tow=
n that
our army had been utterly destroyed, and that Sorais was marching in triump=
h on
Milosis, and how in consequence thereof all men had fallen away from her.
Though all this takes some time to tell, we had
not been but six or seven minutes in the palace; and notwithstanding that t=
he
golden roof of the temple being very lofty was ablaze with the rays of the
rising sun, it was not yet dawn, nor would be for another ten minutes. We were in the courtyard now, and here =
my
wound pained me so that I had to take Nyleptha's arm, while Umslopogaas rol=
led
along after us, eating as he went.
Now we were across it, and had reached the nar=
row
doorway through the palace wall that opened on to the mighty stair.
I looked through and stood aghast, as well I
might. The door was gone, and so w=
ere
the outer gates of bronze -- entirely gone. They had been taken from their
hinges, and as we afterwards found, hurled from the stairway to the ground =
two
hundred feet beneath. There in fro=
nt of
us was the semicircular standing-space, about twice the size of a large oval
dining-table, and the ten curved black marble steps leading on to the main
stair -- and that was all.
CHAPTER XXII - HOW UMSLOPOGAAS HELD THE STAIR=
We looked at one another.
'Thou seest,' I said, 'they have taken away the
door. Is there aught with which we=
may
fill the place? Speak quickly for =
they will
be on us ere the daylight.' I spoke
thus, because I knew that we must hold this place or none, as there were no
inner doors in the palace, the rooms being separated one from another by
curtains. I also knew that if we c=
ould
by any means defend this doorway the murderers could get in nowhere else; f=
or
the palace is absolutely impregnable, that is, since the secret door by whi=
ch
Sorais had entered on that memorable night of attempted murder had, by
Nyleptha's order, been closed up with masonry.
'I have it,' said Nyleptha, who, as usual with
her, rose to the emergency in a wonderful way.
'On the farther side of the courtyard are blocks of cut marble -- the
workmen brought them there for the bed of the new statue of Incubu, my lord;
let us block the door with them.'
I jumped at the idea; and having despatched on=
e of
the remaining maidens down the great stair to see if she could obtain
assistance from the docks below, where her father, who was a great merchant=
employing
many men, had his dwelling-place, and set another to watch through the door=
way,
we made our way back across the courtyard to where the hewn marble lay; and
here we met Kara returning from despatching the first two messengers. There were the marble blocks, sure enou=
gh,
broad, massive lumps, some six inches thick, and weighing about eighty poun=
ds
each, and there, too, were a couple of implements like small stretchers, th=
at
the workmen used to carry them on.
Without delay we got some of the blocks on to the stretchers, and fo=
ur
of the girls carried them to the doorway.
'Listen, Macumazahn,' said Umslopogaas, 'if th=
ose
low fellows come, it is I who will hold the stair against them till the doo=
r is
built up. Nay, nay, it will be a m=
an's
death: gainsay me not, old friend. It
has been a good day, let it now be good night.
See, I throw myself down to rest on the marble there; when their
footsteps are nigh, wake thou me, not before, for I need my strength,' and
without a word he went outside and flung himself down on the marble, and was
instantly asleep.
At this time, I too was overcome, and was forc=
ed
to sit down by the doorway, and content myself with directing operations. T=
he
girls brought the block, while Kara and Nyleptha built them up across the
six-foot-wide doorway, a triple row of them, for less would be useless. But the marble had to be brought forty =
yards
and then there were forty yards to run back, and though the girls laboured
gloriously, even staggering along alone, each with a block in her arms, it =
was
slow work, dreadfully slow.
The light was growing now, and presently, in t=
he
silence, we heard a commotion at the far-bottom of the stair, and the faint=
clinking
of armed men. As yet the wall was =
only
two feet high, and we had been eight minutes at the building of it. So they had come. Alphonse had heard aright.
The clanking sound came nearer, and in the gho=
stly
grey of the dawning we could make out long files of men, some fifty or so in
all, slowly creeping up the stair. They
were now at the half-way standing place that rested on the great flying arc=
h;
and here, perceiving that something was going on above, they, to our great =
gain,
halted for three or four minutes and consulted, then slowly and cautiously
advanced again.
We had been nearly a quarter of an hour at the
work now, and it was almost three feet high.
Then I woke Umslopogaas. The great man rose, stretched himself, =
and
swung Inkosi-kaas round his head.
'It is well,' he said. 'I feel as a young man once more. My strength has come back to me, ay, ev=
en as
a lamp flares up before it dies. F=
ear
not, I shall fight a good fight; the wine and the sleep have put a new heart
into me.
'Macumazahn, I have dreamed a dream. I dreamed that thou and I stood togethe=
r on a
star, and looked down on the world, and thou wast as a spirit, Macumazahn, =
for
light flamed through thy flesh, but I could not see what was the fashion of
mine own face. The hour has come for us, old hunter. So be it: we have had our time, but I w=
ould
that in it I had seen some more such fights as yesterday's.
'Let them bury me after the fashion of my peop=
le,
Macumazahn, and set my eyes towards Zululand;' and he took my hand and shook
it, and then turned to face the advancing foe.
Just then, to my astonishment, the Zu-Vendi
officer Kara clambered over our improvised wall in his quiet, determined so=
rt
of way, and took his stand by the Zulu, unsheathing his sword as he did so.=
'What, comest thou too?' laughed out the old
warrior. 'Welcome -- a welcome to =
thee,
brave heart! Ow! for the man who c=
an die
like a man; ow! for the death grip and the ringing of steel. Ow! we are
ready. We wet our beaks like eagle=
s, our
spears flash in the sun; we shake our assegais, and are hungry to fight. Who
comes to give greeting to the Chieftainess [Inkosi-kaas]? Who would taste h=
er
kiss, whereof the fruit is death? =
I, the
Woodpecker, I, the Slaughterer, I the Swiftfooted! I, Umslopogaas, of the tribe of the
Maquilisini, of the people of Amazulu, a captain of the regiment of the
Nkomabakosi: I, Umslopogaas, the son of Indabazimbi, the son of Arpi the so=
n of
Mosilikaatze, I of the royal blood of T'Chaka, I of the King's House, I the=
Ringed
Man, I the Induna, I call to them as a buck calls, I challenge them, I await
them. Ow! it is thou, it is thou!'=
As he spake, or rather chanted, his wild war-s=
ong,
the armed men, among whom in the growing light I recognized both Nasta and
Agon, came streaming up the stair with a rush, and one big fellow, armed wi=
th a
heavy spear, dashed up the ten semicircular steps ahead of his comrades and
struck at the great Zulu with the spear.
Umslopogaas moved his body but not his legs, so that the blow missed
him, and next instant Inkosi-kaas crashed through headpiece, hair and skull,
and the man's corpse was rattling down the steps. As he dropped, his round hippopotamus-h=
ide
shield fell from his hand on to the marble, and the Zulu stooped down and
seized it, still chanting as he did so.
In another second the sturdy Kara had also sla=
in a
man, and then began a scene the like of which has not been known to me.
Up rushed the assailants, one, two, three at a
time, and as fast as they came, the axe crashed and the sword swung, and do=
wn
they rolled again, dead or dying. =
And
ever as the fight thickened, the old Zulu's eye seemed to get quicker and h=
is
arm stronger. He shouted out his war-cries and the names of chiefs whom he =
had
slain, and the blows of his awful axe rained straight and true, shearing
through everything they fell on. T=
here
was none of the scientific method he was so fond of about this last immorta=
l fight
of his; he had no time for it, but struck with his full strength, and at ev=
ery
stroke a man sank in his tracks, and went rattling down the marble steps.
They hacked and hewed at him with swords and
spears, wounding him in a dozen places till he streamed red with blood; but=
the
shield protected his head and the chain-shirt his vitals, and for minute af=
ter
minute, aided by the gallant Zu-Vendi, he still held the stair.
At last Kara's sword broke, and he grappled wi=
th a
foe, and they rolled down together, and he was cut to pieces, dying like th=
e brave
man that he was.
Umslopogaas was alone now, but he never blench=
ed
or turned. Shouting out some wild Zulu battle-cry, he beat down a foe, ay, =
and
another, and another, till at last they drew back from the slippery
blood-stained steps, and stared at him with amazement, thinking that he was=
no
mortal man.
The wall of marble block was four feet six high
now, and hope rose in my teeth as I leaned there against it a miserable
helpless log, and ground my teeth, and watched that glorious struggle. I co=
uld
do no more for I had lost my revolver in the battle.
And old Umslopogaas, he leaned too on his good
axe, and, faint as he was with wounds, he mocked them, he called them 'wome=
n' --
the grand old warrior, standing there one against so many! And for a breath=
ing
space none would come against him, notwithstanding Nasta's exhortations, ti=
ll
at last old Agon, who, to do him justice, was a brave man, mad with baffled
rage, and seeing that the wall would soon be built and his plans defeated,
shook the great spear he held, and rushed up the dripping steps.
'Ah, ah!' shouted the Zulu, as he recognized t=
he
priest's flowing white beard, 'it is thou, old "witch-finder"!
On he came, taking him at his word, and drave =
the
big spear with such force at Umslopogaas that it sunk right through the tou=
gh shield
and pierced him in the neck. The Z=
ulu
cast down the transfixed shield, and that moment was Agon's last, for befor=
e he
could free his spear and strike again, with a shout of 'There's for thee,
Rain-maker!' Umslopogaas gripped Inkosi-kaas with both hands and whirled on
high and drave her right on to his venerable head, so that Agon rolled down
dead among the corpses of his fellow-murderers, and there was an end to him=
and
his plots altogether. And even as he fell, a great cry rose from the foot of
the stair, and looking out through the portion of the doorway that was yet =
unclosed,
we saw armed men rushing up to the rescue, and called an answer to their
shouts. Then the would-be murderer=
s who
yet remained on the stairway, and amongst whom I saw several priests, turne=
d to
fly, but, having nowhere to go, were butchered as they fled. Only one man stayed, and he was the gre=
at
lord Nasta, Nyleptha's suitor, and the father of the plot. For a moment the black-bearded Nasta st=
ood
with bowed face leaning on his long sword as though in despair, and then, w=
ith
a dreadful shout, he too rushed up at the Zulu, and, swinging the glittering
sword around his head, dealt him such a mighty blow beneath his guard, that=
the
keen steel of the heavy blade bit right through the chain armour and deep i=
nto
Umslopogaas' side, for a moment paralysing him and causing him to drop his =
axe.
Raising the sword again, Nasta sprang forward =
to
make an end of him, but little he knew his foe.
With a shake and a yell of fury, the Zulu gathered himself together =
and
sprang straight at Nasta's throat, as I have sometimes seen a wounded lion
spring. He struck him full as his foot was on the topmost stair, and his lo=
ng
arms closing round him like iron bands, down they rolled together struggling
furiously. Nasta was a strong man =
and a desperate,
but he could not match the strongest man in Zululand, sore wounded though he
was, whose strength was as the strength of a bull. In a minute the end came. I saw old Umslopogaas stagger to his fe=
et --
ay, and saw him by a single gigantic effort swing up the struggling Nasta a=
nd
with a shout of triumph hurl him straight over the parapet of the bridge, t=
o be
crushed to powder on the rocks two hundred feet below.
The succour which had been summoned by the girl
who had passed down the stair before the assassins passed up was at hand, a=
nd the
loud shouts which reached us from the outer gates told us that the town was
also aroused, and the men awakened by the women were calling to be
admitted. Some of Nyleptha's brave
ladies, who in their night-shifts and with their long hair streaming down t=
heir
backs, just as they had been aroused from rest, went off to admit them at t=
he
side entrance, whilst others, assisted by the rescuing party outside, pushed
and pulled down the marble blocks they had placed there with so much labour=
.
Soon the wall was down again, and through the
doorway, followed by a crowd of rescuers, staggered old Umslopogaas, an awf=
ul
and, in a way, a glorious figure. =
The
man was a mass of wounds, and a glance at his wild eye told me that he was
dying. The 'keshla' gum-ring upon =
his
head was severed in two places by sword-cuts, one just over the curious hol=
e in
his skull, and the blood poured down his face from the gashes. Also on the right side of his neck was =
a stab
from a spear, inflicted by Agon; there was a deep cut on his left arm just
below where the mail shirt-sleeve stopped, and on the right side of his body
the armour was severed by a gash six inches long, where Nasta's mighty sword
had bitten through it and deep into its wearer's vitals.
On, axe in hand, he staggered, that
dreadful-looking, splendid savage, and the ladies forgot to turn faint at t=
he
scene of blood, and cheered him, as well they might, but he never stayed or
heeded. With outstretched arms and tottering gait he pursued his way, follo=
wed
by us all along the broad shell-strewn walk that ran through the courtyard,
past the spot where the blocks of marble lay, through the round arched door=
way
and the thick curtains that hung within it, down the short passage and into=
the
great hall, which was now filling with hastily-armed men, who poured through
the side entrance. Straight up the=
hall
he went, leaving behind him a track of blood on the marble pavement, till at
last he reached the sacred stone, which stood in the centre of it, and here=
his
strength seemed to fail him, for he stopped and leaned upon his axe. Then suddenly he lifted up his voice an=
d cried
aloud --
'I die, I die -- but it was a kingly fray. Where are they who came up the great
stair? I see them not. Art thou there, Macumazahn, or art thou=
gone
before to wait for me in the dark whither I go?
The blood blinds me -- the place turns round -- I hear the voice of
waters.'
Next, as though a new thought had struck him, =
he
lifted the red axe and kissed the blade.
'Farewell, Inkosi-kaas,' he cried. 'Nay, nay, we will go together; we cann=
ot
part, thou and I. We have lived to=
o long
one with another, thou and I.
'One more stroke, only one! A good stroke! a straight stroke! a str=
ong
stroke!' and, drawing himself to his full height, with a wild heart-shaking
shout, he with both hands began to whirl the axe round his head till it loo=
ked
like a circle of flaming steel. Then, suddenly, with awful force he brought=
it
down straight on to the crown of the mass of sacred stone. A shower of sparks flew up, and such wa=
s the
almost superhuman strength of the blow, that the massive marble split with a
rending sound into a score of pieces, whilst of Inkosi-kaas there remained =
but
some fragments of steel and a fibrous rope of shattered horn that had been =
the handle. Down with a crash on to the pavement fe=
ll the
fragments of the holy stone, and down with a crash on to them, still graspi=
ng the
knob of Inkosi-kaas, fell the brave old Zulu -- dead.
And thus the hero died.
A gasp of wonder and astonishment rose from all
those who witnessed the extraordinary sight, and then somebody cried, 'The
prophecy! the prophecy! He has sha=
ttered
the sacred stone!' and at once a murmuring arose.
'Ay,' said Nyleptha, with that quick wit which
distinguishes her. 'Ay, my people,=
he
has shattered the stone, and behold the prophecy is fulfilled, for a strang=
er
king rules in Zu-Vendis. Incubu, my lord, hath beat Sorais back, and I fear=
her
no more, and to him who hath saved the Crown it shall surely be. And this man,' she said, turning to me =
and
laying her hand upon my shoulder, 'wot ye that, though wounded in the fight=
of
yesterday, he rode with that old warrior who lies there, one hundred miles =
'twixt
sun set and rise to save me from the plots of cruel men. Ay, and he has sav=
ed
me, by a very little, and therefore because of the deeds that they have don=
e --
deeds of glory such as our history cannot show the like -- therefore I say =
that
the name of Macumazahn and the name of dead Umslopogaas, ay, and the name of
Kara, my servant, who aided him to hold the stair, shall be blazoned in let=
ters
of gold above my throne, and shall be glorious for ever while the land
endures. I, the Queen, have said i=
t.'
This spirited speech was met with loud cheerin=
g,
and I said that after all we had only done our duty, as it is the fashion o=
f both
Englishmen and Zulus to do, and there was nothing to make an outcry about; =
at
which they cheered still more, and then I was supported across the outer
courtyard to my old quarters, in order that I might be put to bed. As I went, my eyes lit upon the brave h=
orse
Daylight that lay there, his white head outstretched on the pavement, exact=
ly
as he had fallen on entering the yard; and I bade those who supported me ta=
ke
me near him, that I might look on the good beast once more before he was
dragged away. And as I looked, to =
my
astonishment he opened his eyes and, lifting his head a little, whinnied
faintly. I could have shouted for =
joy to
find that he was not dead, only unfortunately I had not a shout left in me;=
but
as it was, grooms were sent for and he was lifted up and wine poured down h=
is
throat, and in a fortnight he was as well and strong as ever, and is the pr=
ide
and joy of all the people of Milosis, who, whenever they see him, point him=
out
to the little children as the 'horse which saved the White Queen's life'.
Then I went on and got off to bed, and was was=
hed
and had my mail shirt removed. The=
y hurt
me a great deal in getting it off, and no wonder, for on my left breast and
side was a black bruise the size of a saucer.
The next thing that I remember was the tramp of
horsemen outside the palace wall, some ten hours later. I raised myself and asked what was the =
news,
and they told me that a large body of cavalry sent by Curtis to assist the
Queen had arrived from the scene of the battle, which they had left two hou=
rs
after sundown. When they left, the wreck of Sorais' army was in full retrea=
t upon
M'Arstuna, followed by all our effective cavalry. Sir Henry was encamping the remains of =
his
worn-out forces on the site (such is the fortune of war) that Sorais had
occupied the night before, and proposed marching to M'Arstuna on the
morrow. Having heard this, I felt =
that I
could die with a light heart, and then everything became a blank.
When =
next I
awoke the first thing I saw was the round disc of a sympathetic eyeglass,
behind which was Good.
'How are you getting on, old chap?' said a voi=
ce
from the neighbourhood of the eyeglass.
'What are you doing here?' I asked faintly.
'M'Arstuna,' he replied cheerfully. 'Ah, M'Arstuna fell last week -- you've=
been
unconscious for a fortnight, you see -- with all the honours of war, you kn=
ow
-- trumpets blowing, flags flying, just as though they had had the best of =
it;
but for all that, weren't they glad to go.
Israel made for his tents, I can tell you -- never saw such a sight =
in
my life.'
'And Sorais?' I asked.
'Sorais -- oh, Sorais is a prisoner; they gave=
her
up, the scoundrels,' he added, with a change of tone -- 'sacrificed the Que=
en
to save their skins, you see. She =
is
being brought up here, and I don't know what will happen to her, poor soul!'
and he sighed.
'Where is Curtis?' I asked.
'He is with Nyleptha. She rode out to meet us today, and ther=
e was
a grand to-do, I can tell you. He =
is
coming to see you tomorrow; the doctors (for there is a medical
"faculty" in Zu-Vendis as elsewhere) thought that he had better n=
ot
come today.'
I said nothing, but somehow I thought to myself
that notwithstanding the doctors he might have given me a look; but there, =
when
a man is newly married and has just gained a great victory, he is apt to li=
sten
to the advice of doctors, and quite right too.
Just then I heard a familiar voice informing me
that 'Monsieur must now couch himself,' and looking up perceived Alphonse's=
enormous
black mustachios curling away in the distance.
'So you are here?' I said.
'Mais oui, Monsieur; the war is now finished, =
my
military instincts are satisfied, and I return to nurse Monsieur.'
I laughed, or rather tried to; but whatever may
have been Alphonse's failings as a warrior (and I fear that he did not come=
up
to the level of his heroic grandfather in this particular, showing thereby =
how
true is the saying that it is a bad thing to be overshadowed by some great
ancestral name), a better or kinder nurse never lived. Poor Alphonse! I hope he will always think of me as ki=
ndly
as I think of him.
On the morrow I saw Curtis and Nyleptha with h=
im,
and he told me the whole history of what had happened since Umslopogaas and=
I
galloped wildly away from the battle to save the life of the Queen. It seemed to me that he had managed the=
thing
exceedingly well, and showed great ability as a general. Of course, however, our loss had been
dreadfully heavy -- indeed, I am afraid to say how many perished in the des=
perate
battle I have described, but I know that the slaughter has appreciably affe=
cted
the male population of the country. He
was very pleased to see me, dear fellow that he is, and thanked me with tea=
rs
in his eyes for the little that I had been able to do. I saw him, however, start violently when=
his
eyes fell upon my face.
As for Nyleptha, she was positively radiant now
that 'her dear lord' had come back with no other injury than an ugly scar o=
n his
forehead. I do not believe that she
allowed all the fearful slaughter that had taken place to weigh ever so lit=
tle
in the balance against this one fact, or even to greatly diminish her joy; =
and
I cannot blame her for it, seeing that it is the nature of loving woman to =
look
at all things through the spectacles of her love, and little does she reck =
of
the misery of the many if the happiness of the one be assured. That is human nature, which the Positiv=
ists
tell us is just perfection; so no doubt it is all right.
'And what art thou going to do with Sorais?' I=
asked
her.
Instantly her bright brow darkened to a frown.=
'Sorais,' she said, with a little stamp of the
foot; 'ah, but Sorais!'
Sir Henry hastened to turn the subject.
'You will soon be about and all right again no=
w,
old fellow,' he said.
I shook my head and laughed.
'Don't deceive yourselves,' I said. 'I may be about for a little, but I sha=
ll
never be all right again. I am a d=
ying
man, Curtis. I may die slow, but die I must.
Do you know I have been spitting blood all the morning? I tell you there is something working a=
way
into my lung; I can feel it. There,
don't look distressed; I have had my day, and am ready to go. Give me the mirror, will you? I want to=
look
at myself.'
He made some excuse, but I saw through it and
insisted, and at last he handed me one of the discs of polished silver set =
in a
wooden frame like a hand-screen, which serve as looking-glasses in
Zu-Vendis. I looked and put it dow=
n.
'Ah,' I said quietly, 'I thought so; and you t=
alk
of my getting all right!' I did no=
t like
to let them see how shocked I really was at my own appearance. My grizzled stubby hair was turned snow=
-white,
and my yellow face was shrunk like an aged woman's and had two deep purple
rings painted beneath the eyes.
Here Nyleptha began to cry, and Sir Henry again
turned the subject, telling me that the artists had taken a cast of the dead
body of old Umslopogaas, and that a great statue in black marble was to be
erected of him in the act of splitting the sacred stone, which was to be
matched by another statue in white marble of myself and the horse Daylight =
as
he appeared when, at the termination of that wild ride, he sank beneath me =
in
the courtyard of the palace. I have
since seen these statues, which at the time of writing this, six months aft=
er
the battle, are nearly finished; and very beautiful they are, especially th=
at
of Umslopogaas, which is exactly like him.
As for that of myself, it is good, but they have idealized my ugly f=
ace
a little, which is perhaps as well, seeing that thousands of people will
probably look at it in the centuries to come, and it is not pleasant to loo=
k at
ugly things.
Then they told me that Umslopogaas' last wish =
had
been carried out, and that, instead of being cremated, as I shall be, after=
the
usual custom here, he had been tied up, Zulu fashion, with his knees beneath
his chin, and, having been wrapped in a thin sheet of beaten gold, entombed=
in
a hole hollowed out of the masonry of the semicircular space at the top of =
the
stair he defended so splendidly, which faces, as far as we can judge, almost
exactly towards Zululand. There he=
sits,
and will sit for ever, for they embalmed him with spices, and put him in an=
air-tight
stone coffer, keeping his grim watch beneath the spot he held alone against=
a
multitude; and the people say that at night his ghost rises and stands shak=
ing
the phantom of Inkosi-kaas at phantom foes.
Certainly they fear during the dark hours to pass the place where the
hero is buried.
Oddly enough, too, a new legend or prophecy has
arisen in the land in that unaccountable way in which such things to arise =
among
barbarous and semi-civilized people, blowing, like the wind, no man knows
whence. According to this saying, =
so
long as the old Zulu sits there, looking down the stairway he defended when
alive, so long will the New House of the Stairway, springing from the union=
of
the Englishman and Nyleptha, endure and flourish; but when he is taken from
thence, or when, ages after, his bones at last crumble into dust, the House
will fall, and the Stairway shall fall, and the Nation of the Zu-Vendi shall
cease to be a Nation.
CHAPTER XXIII - I HAVE SPOKEN
It was a week after Nyleptha's visit, when I h=
ad
begun to get about a little in the middle of the day, that a message came t=
o me
from Sir Henry to say that Sorais would be brought before them in the Queen=
's
first antechamber at midday, and requesting my attendance if possible. Accordingly, greatly drawn by curiosity=
to
see this unhappy woman once more, I made shift, with the help of that kind
little fellow Alphonse, who is a perfect treasure to me, and that of another
waiting-man, to reach the antechamber. I got there, indeed, before anybody
else, except a few of the great Court officials who had been bidden to be
present, but I had scarcely seated myself before Sorais was brought in by a
party of guards, looking as beautiful and defiant as ever, but with a worn
expression on her proud face. She =
was,
as usual, dressed in her royal 'kaf', emblazoned with the emblem of the Sun,
and in her right hand she still held the toy spear of silver. A pang of
admiration and pity went through me as I looked at her, and struggling to my
feet I bowed deeply, at the same time expressing my sorrow that I was not a=
ble,
owing to my condition, to remain standing before her.
She coloured a little and then laughed
bitterly. 'Thou dost forget,
Macumazahn,' she said, 'I am no more a Queen, save in blood; I am an outcast
and a prisoner, one whom all men should scorn, and none show deference to.'=
'At least,' I replied, 'thou art still a lady,=
and
therefore one to whom deference is due.
Also, thou art in an evil case, and therefore it is doubly due.'
'Ah!' she answered, with a little laugh, 'thou
dost forget that I would have wrapped thee in a sheet of gold and hung thee=
to the
angel's trumpet at the topmost pinnacle of the Temple.'
'No,' I answered, 'I assure thee that I forgot=
it
not; indeed, I often thought of it when it seemed to me that the battle of =
the
Pass was turning against us; but the trumpet is there, and I am still here,=
though
perchance not for long, so why talk of it now?'
'Ah!' she went on, 'the battle! the battle!
'Ay, and that little coward beside thee,' she =
went
on, pointing at Alphonse with the silver spear, whereat he looked very unco=
mfortable;
'he escaped and betrayed my plans. I
tried to make a general of him, telling the soldiers it was Bougwan, and to
scourge valour into him' (here Alphonse shivered at some unhappy recollecti=
on),
'but it was of no avail. He hid be=
neath
a banner in my tent and thus overheard my plans. I would that I had slain h=
im,
but, alas! I held my hand.
'And thou, Macumazahn, I have heard of what th=
ou
didst; thou art brave, and hast a loyal heart.
And the black one too, ah, he was a man.
I would fain have seen him hurl Nasta from the stairway.'
'Thou art a strange woman, Sorais,' I said; 'I
pray thee now plead with the Queen Nyleptha, that perchance she may show me=
rcy unto
thee.'
She laughed out loud. 'I plead for mercy!' she said and at th=
at
moment the Queen entered, accompanied by Sir Henry and Good, and took her s=
eat
with an impassive face. As for poor
Good, he looked intensely ill at ease.
'Greeting, Sorais!' said Nyleptha, after a sho=
rt
pause. 'Thou hast rent the kingdom=
like
a rag, thou hast put thousands of my people to the sword, thou hast twice
basely plotted to destroy my life by murder, thou hast sworn to slay my lord
and his companions and to hurl me from the Stairway. What hast thou to say why thou shouldst=
not
die? Speak, O Sorais!'
'Methinks my sister the Queen hath forgotten t=
he
chief count of the indictment,' answered Sorais in her slow musical tones. =
'It
runs thus: "Thou didst strive to win the love of my lord Incubu."=
It is for this crime that my sister wil=
l slay
me, not because I levied war. It is
perchance happy for thee, Nyleptha, that I fixed my mind upon his love too
late.
'Listen,' she went on, raising her voice. 'I have nought to say save that I would=
I had
won instead of lost. Do thou with =
me
even as thou wilt, O Queen, and let my lord the King there' (pointing to Sir
Henry) -- 'for now will he be King -- carry out the sentence, as it is meet=
he
should, for as he is the beginning of the evil, let him also be the end.' And she drew herself up and shot one an=
gry
glance at him from her deep fringed eyes, and then began to toy with her sp=
ear.
Sir Henry bent towards Nyleptha and whispered
something that I could not catch, and then the Queen spoke.
'Sorais, ever have I been a good sister to the= e. When our father died, and there was muc= h talk in the land as to whether thou shouldst sit upon the throne with me, I being the elder, I gave my voice for thee and said, "Nay, let her sit. She is twin with me; we were born at a = birth; wherefore should the one be preferred before the other?" And so has it ever been 'twixt thee and= me, my sister. But now thou knowest in wh= at sort thou hast repaid me, but I have prevailed, and thy life is forfeit, Sorais. And yet art thou my sister= , born at a birth with me, and we played together when we were little and loved ea= ch other much, and at night we slept in the same cot with our arms each around= the other's neck, and therefore even now does my heart go out to thee, Sorais.<= o:p>
'But not for that would I spare thy life, for =
thy
offence has been too heavy; it doth drag down the wide wings of my mercy ev=
en
to the ground. Also, while thou do=
st
live the land will never be at peace.
'Yet shalt thou not die, Sorais, because my de=
ar
lord here hath begged thy life of me as a boon; therefore as a boon and as =
a marriage
gift give I it to him, to do with even as he wills, knowing that, though th=
ou
dost love him, he loves thee not, Sorais, for all thy beauty. Nay, though thou art lovely as the nigh=
t in
all her stars, O Lady of the Night, yet it is me his wife whom he loves, and
not thee, and therefore do I give thy life to him.'
Sorais flushed up to her eyes and said nothing,
and I do not think that I ever saw a man look more miserable than did Sir H=
enry
at that moment. Somehow, Nyleptha'=
s way
of putting the thing, though true and forcible enough, was not altogether
pleasant.
'I understand,' stammered Curtis, looking at G=
ood,
'I understood that he were attached -- eh -- attached to -- to the Queen
Sorais. I am -- eh -- not aware what the -- in short, the state of your fee=
lings
may be just now; but if they happened to be that way inclined, it has struc=
k me
that -- in short, it might put a satisfactory end to an unpleasant
business. The lady also has ample
private estates, where I am sure she would be at liberty to live unmolested=
as
far as we are concerned, eh, Nyleptha?
Of course, I only suggest.'
'So far as I am concerned,' said Good, colouri=
ng
up, 'I am quite willing to forget the past; and if the Lady of the Night th=
inks
me worth the taking I will marry her tomorrow, or when she likes, and try to
make her a good husband.'
All eyes were now turned to Sorais, who stood =
with
that same slow smile upon her beautiful face which I had noticed the first =
time
that I ever saw her. She paused a =
little
while, and cleared her throat, and then thrice she curtseyed low, once to
Nyleptha, once to Curtis, and once to Good, and began to speak in measured
tones.
'I thank thee, most gracious Queen and royal
sister, for the loving-kindness thou hast shown me from my youth up, and
especially in that thou hast been pleased to give my person and my fate as a
gift to the Lord Incubu -- the King that is to be. May prosperity, peace and plenty deck t=
he
life-path of one so merciful and so tender, even as flowers do. Long mayst thou reign, O great and glor=
ious
Queen, and hold thy husband's love in both thy hands, and many be the sons =
and
daughters of thy beauty. And I thank thee, my Lord Incubu -- the King that =
is
to be -- I thank thee a thousand times in that thou hast been pleased to ac=
cept
that gracious gift, and to pass it on to thy comrade in arms and in adventu=
re,
the Lord Bougwan. Surely the act i=
s worthy
of thy greatness, my Lord Incubu. =
And
now, lastly, I thank thee also, my Lord Bougwan, who in thy turn hast deign=
ed to
accept me and my poor beauty. I th=
ank
thee a thousand times, and I will add that thou art a good and honest man, =
and
I put my hand upon my heart and swear that I would that I could say thee
"yea". And now that I ha=
ve
rendered thanks to all in turn' -- and again she smiled -- 'I will add one
short word.
'Little can you understand of me, Queen Nylept=
ha
and my lords, if ye know not that for me there is no middle path; that I sc=
orn your
pity and hate you for it; that I cast off your forgiveness as though it wer=
e a
serpent's sting; and that standing here, betrayed, deserted, insulted, and
alone, I yet triumph over you, mock you, and defy you, one and all, and thu=
s I
answer you.' And then, of a sudden, before anybody guessed what she intende=
d to
do, she drove the little silver spear she carried in her hand into her side
with such a strong and steady aim that the keen point projected through her
back, and she fell prone upon the pavement.
Nyleptha shrieked, and poor Good almost fainte=
d at
the sight, while the rest of us rushed towards her. But Sorais of the Night lifted herself =
upon
her hand, and for a moment fixed her glorious eyes intently on Curtis' face=
, as
though there were some message in the glance, then dropped her head and sig=
hed,
and with a sob her dark but splendid spirit passed.
Well, they gave her a royal funeral, and there=
was
an end of her.
It wa=
s a
month after the last act of the Sorais tragedy that a great ceremony was he=
ld
in the Flower Temple, and Curtis was formally declared King-Consort of
Zu-Vendis. I was too ill to go mys=
elf;
and indeed, I hate all that sort of thing, with the crowds and the
trumpet-blowing and banner-waving; but Good, who was there (in his full-dre=
ss
uniform), came back much impressed, and told me that Nyleptha had looked
lovely, and Curtis had borne himself in a right royal fashion, and had been
received with acclamations that left no doubt as to his popularity. Also he told me that when the horse Day=
light
was led along in the procession, the populace had shouted 'Macumazahn,
Macumazahn!' till they were hoarse, and would only be appeased when he, Goo=
d,
rose in his chariot and told them that I was too ill to be present.
Afterwards, too, Sir Henry, or rather the King,
came to see me, looking very tired, and vowing that he had never been so bo=
red in
his life; but I dare say that that was a slight exaggeration. It is not in
human nature that a man should be altogether bored on such an extraordinary
occasion; and, indeed, as I pointed out to him, it was a marvellous thing t=
hat
a man, who but little more than one short year before had entered a great
country as an unknown wanderer, should today be married to its beautiful and
beloved Queen, and lifted, amidst public rejoicings, to its throne. I even went the length to exhort him in=
the
future not to be carried away by the pride and pomp of absolute power, but =
always
to strive to remember that he was first a Christian gentleman, and next a
public servant, called by Providence to a great and almost unprecedented
trust. These remarks, which he mig=
ht
fairly have resented, he was so good as to receive with patience, and even =
to
thank me for making them.
It was immediately after this ceremony that I
caused myself to be moved to the house where I am now writing. It is a very pleasant country seat, sit=
uated
about two miles from the Frowning City, on to which it looks. That was five months ago, during the wh=
ole of
which time I have, being confined to a kind of couch, employed my leisure in
compiling this history of our wanderings from my journal and from our joint
memories. It is probable that it w=
ill
never be read, but it does not much matter whether it is or not; at any rat=
e,
it has served to while away many hours of suffering, for I have suffered a =
deal
of pain lately. Thank God, however,
there will not be much more of it.
It is=
a
week since I wrote the above, and now I take up my pen for the last time, f=
or I
know that the end is at hand. My b=
rain is
still clear and I can manage to write, though with difficulty. The pain in =
my
lung, which has been very bad during the last week, has suddenly quite left=
me,
and been succeeded by a feeling of numbness of which I cannot mistake the
meaning. And just as the pain has =
gone,
so with it all fear of that end has departed, and I feel only as though I w=
ere
going to sink into the arms of an unutterable rest. Happily, contentedly, and with the same=
sense
of security with which an infant lays itself to sleep in its mother's arms,=
do
I lay myself down in the arms of the Angel Death. All the tremors, all the heart-shaking =
fears
which have haunted me through a life that seems long as I looked back upon =
it,
have left me now; the storms have passed, and the Star of our Eternal Hope
shines clear and steady on the horizon that seems so far from man, and yet =
is
so very near to me tonight.
And so this is the end of it -- a brief space =
of
troubling, a few restless, fevered, anguished years, and then the arms of t=
hat
great Angel Death. Many times have=
I
been near to them, and now it is my turn at last, and it is well. Twenty-four hours more and the world wi=
ll be
gone from me, and with it all its hopes and all its fears. The air will close in over the space th=
at my
form filled and my place know me no more; for the dull breath of the world's
forgetfulness will first dim the brightness of my memory, and then blot it =
out
for ever, and of a truth I shall be dead.
So is it with us all. How m=
any
millions have lain as I lie, and thought these thoughts and been forgotten!=
--
thousands upon thousands of years ago they thought them, those dying men of=
the
dim past; and thousands on thousands of years hence will their descendants
think them and be in their turn forgotten.
'As the breath of the oxen in winter, as the quick star that runs al=
ong
the sky, as a little shadow that loses itself at sunset,' as I once heard a
Zulu called Ignosi put it, such is the order of our life, the order that
passeth away.
Well, it is not a good world -- nobody can say
that it is, save those who wilfully blind themselves to facts. How can a world be good in which Money =
is the
moving power, and Self-interest the guiding star? The wonder is not that it is so bad, bu=
t that
there should be any good left in it.
Still, now that my life is over, I am glad to =
have
lived, glad to have known the dear breath of woman's love, and that true fr=
iendship
which can even surpass the love of woman, glad to have heard the laughter of
little children, to have seen the sun and the moon and the stars, to have f=
elt
the kiss of the salt sea on my face, and watched the wild game trek down to=
the
water in the moonlight. But I shou=
ld not
wish to live again!
Everything is changing to me. The darkness draws near, and the light
departs. And yet it seems to me th=
at
through that darkness I can already see the shining welcome of many a long-=
lost
face. Harry is there, and others; one above all, to my mind the sweetest and
most perfect woman that ever gladdened this grey earth. But of her I have
already written elsewhere, and at length, so why speak of her now? Why speak of her after this long silenc=
e, now
that she is again so near to me, now that I go where she has gone?
The sinking sun is turning the golden roof of =
the
great Temple to a fiery flame, and my fingers tire.
So to all who have known me, or known of me, to
all who can think one kindly thought of the old hunter, I stretch out my ha=
nd
from the far-off shore and bid a long farewell.
And now into the hands of Almighty God, who se=
nt
it, do I commit my spirit.
'I have spoken,' as the Zulus say.
CHAPTER XXIV - BY ANOTHER HAND
A year has elapsed since our most dear friend
Allan Quatermain wrote the words 'I have spoken' at the end of his record o=
f our
adventures. Nor should I have vent=
ured
to make any additions to the record had it not happened that by a most stra=
nge
accident a chance has arisen of its being conveyed to England. The chance is but a faint one, it is tr=
ue;
but, as it is not probable that another will arise in our lifetimes, Good a=
nd
myself think that we may as well avail ourselves of it, such as it is. During the last six months several Fron=
tier
Commissions have been at work on the various boundaries of Zu-Vendis, with a
view of discovering whether there exists any possible means of ingress or
egress from the country, with the result that a channel of communication wi=
th
the outer world hitherto overlooked has been discovered. This channel,
apparently the only one (for I have discovered that it was by it that the
native who ultimately reached Mr Mackenzie's mission station, and whose arr=
ival
in the country, together with the fact of his expulsion -- for he did arrive
about three years before ourselves -- was for reasons of their own kept a d=
ead
secret by the priests to whom he was brought), is about to be effectually
closed. But before this is done, a
messenger is to be despatched bearing with him this manuscript, and also on=
e or
two letters from Good to his friends, and from myself to my brother George,
whom it deeply grieves me to think I shall never see again, informing them,=
as
our next heirs, that they are welcome to our effects in England, if the Cou=
rt
of Probate will allow them to take them {Endnote 22}, inasmuchas we have ma=
de
up our minds never to return to Europe.
Indeed, it would be impossible for us to leave Zu-Vendis even if we
wished to do so.
The messenger who is to go -- and I wish him j=
oy
of his journey -- is Alphonse. For=
a
long while he has been wearied to death of Zu-Vendis and its inhabitants. 'Oh, oui, c'est beau,' he says, with an=
expressive
shrug; 'mais je m'ennuie; ce n'est pas chic.'
Again, he complains dreadfully of the absence of cafes and theatres,=
and
moans continually for his lost Annette, of whom he says he dreams three tim=
es a
week. But I fancy his secret cause=
of
disgust at the country, putting aside the homesickness to which every Frenc=
hman
is subject, is that the people here laugh at him so dreadfully about his
conduct on the occasion of the great battle of the Pass about eighteen mont=
hs
ago, when he hid beneath a banner in Sorais's tent in order to avoid being =
sent
forth to fight, which he says would have gone against his conscience. Even =
the
little boys call out at him in the streets, thereby offending his pride and
making his life unbearable. At any=
rate,
he has determined to brave the horrors of a journey of almost unprecedented
difficulty and danger, and also to run the risk of falling into the hands of
the French police to answer for a certain little indiscretion of his own so=
me
years old (though I do not consider that a very serious matter), rather than
remain in ce triste pays. Poor Alp=
honse!
we shall be very sorry to part with him; but I sincerely trust, for his own
sake and also for the sake of this history, which is, I think, worth giving=
to
the world, that he may arrive in safety.
If he does, and can carry the treasure we have provided him with in =
the
shape of bars of solid gold, he will be, comparatively speaking, a rich man=
for
life, and well able to marry his Annette, if she is still in the land of the
living and willing to marry her Alphonse.
Anyhow, on the chance, I may as well add a wor=
d or
two to dear old Quatermain's narrative.
He died at dawn on the day following that on w=
hich
he wrote the last words of the last chapter.
Nyleptha, Good and myself were present, and a most touching and yet =
in
its way beautiful scene it was. An=
hour
before the daybreak it became apparent to us that he was sinking, and our
distress was very keen. Indeed, Go=
od
melted into tears at the idea -- a fact that called forth a last gentle fli=
cker
of humour from our dying friend, for even at that hour he could be
humorous. Good's emotion had, by
loosening the muscles, naturally caused his eyeglass to fall from its
accustomed place, and Quatermain, who always observed everything, observed =
this
also.
'At last,' he gasped, with an attempt at a smi=
le,
'I have seen Good without his eyeglass.'
After that he said no more till the day broke,
when he asked to be lifted up to watch the rising of the sun for the last t=
ime.
'In a very few minutes,' he said, after gazing
earnestly at it, 'I shall have passed through those golden gates.'
Ten minutes afterwards he raised himself and
looked us fixedly in the face.
'I am going a stranger journey than any we have
ever taken together. Think of me sometimes,' he murmured. 'God bless you all. I shall wait for
you.' And with a sigh he fell back=
dead.
And so passed away a character that I consider
went as near perfection as any it has ever been my lot to encounter.
Tender, constant, humorous, and possessing of =
many
of the qualities that go to make a poet, he was yet almost unrivalled as a =
man of
action and a citizen of the world. I
never knew any one so competent to form an accurate judgment of men and the=
ir
motives. 'I have studied human nature all my life,' he would say, 'and I ou=
ght
to know something about it,' and he certainly did. He had but two faults --=
one
was his excessive modesty, and the other a slight tendency which he had to =
be
jealous of anybody on whom he concentrated his affections. As regards the first of these points, a=
nybody
who reads what he has written will be able to form his own opinion; but I w=
ill
add one last instance of it.
As the reader will doubtless remember, it is a
favourite trick of his to talk of himself as a timid man, whereas really,
though very cautious, he possessed a most intrepid spirit, and, what is mor=
e,
never lost his head. Well, in the =
great
battle of the Pass, where he got the wound that finally killed him, one wou=
ld imagine
from the account which he gives of the occurrence that it was a chance blow
that fell on him in the scrimmage. As a matter
of fact, however, he was wounded in a most gallant and successful attempt to
save Good's life, at the risk and, as it ultimately turned out, at the cost=
of
his own. Good was down on the grou=
nd,
and one of Nasta's highlanders was about to dispatch him, when Quatermain t=
hrew
himself on to his prostrate form and received the blow on his own body, and
then, rising, killed the soldier.
As regards his jealousy, a single instance whi=
ch I
give in justice to myself and Nyleptha will suffice. The reader will, perhaps, recollect tha=
t in
one or two places he speaks as though Nyleptha monopolized me, and he was l=
eft
by both of us rather out in the cold.
Now Nyleptha is not perfect, any more than any other woman is, and s=
he
may be a little exigeante at times, but as regards Quatermain the whole thi=
ng
is pure imagination. Thus when he =
complains
about my not coming to see him when he is ill, the fact was that, in spite =
of
my entreaties, the doctors positively forbade it. Those little remarks of his pained me v=
ery
much when I read them, for I loved Quatermain as dearly as though he were my
own father, and should never have dreamed of allowing my marriage to interf=
ere
with that affection. But let it pa=
ss; it
is, after all, but one little weakness, which makes no great show among so =
many
and such lovable virtues.
Well, he died, and Good read the Burial Service
over him in the presence of Nyleptha and myself; and then his remains were,=
in deference
to the popular clamour, accorded a great public funeral, or rather
cremation. I could not help thinki=
ng,
however, as I marched in that long and splendid procession up to the Temple=
, how
he would have hated the whole thing could he have been there to see it, for=
he
had a horror of ostentation.
And so, a few minutes before sunset, on the th=
ird
night after his death, they laid him on the brazen flooring before the alta=
r, and
waited for the last ray of the setting sun to fall upon his face. Presently it came, and struck him like a
golden arrow, crowning the pale brows with glory, and then the trumpets ble=
w, and
the flooring revolved, and all that remained of our beloved friend fell into
the furnace below.
We shall never see his like again if we live a
hundred years. He was the ablest man, the truest gentleman, the firmest fri=
end,
the finest sportsman, and, I believe, the best shot in all Africa.
And so ended the very remarkable and adventuro=
us
life of Hunter Quatermain.
Since=
then
things have gone very well with us. Good
has been, and still is, busily employed in the construction of a navy on La=
ke
Milosis and another of the large lakes, by means of which we hope to be abl=
e to
increase trade and commerce, and also to overcome some very troublesome and
warlike sections of the population who live upon their borders. Poor fellow! he is beginning to get ove=
r the
sad death of that misguided but most attractive woman, Sorais, but it is a =
sad
blow to him, for he was really deeply attached to her. I hope, however, that he will in time m=
ake a
suitable marriage and get that unhappy business out of his head. Nyleptha has one or two young ladies in=
view,
especially a daughter of Nasta's (who was a widower), a very fine
imperial-looking girl, but with too much of her father's intriguing, and yet
haughty, spirit to suit my taste.
As for myself, I should scarcely know where to
begin if I set to work to describe my doings, so I had best leave them
undescribed, and content myself with saying that, on the whole, I am gettin=
g on
very well in my curious position of King-Consort -- better, indeed, than I =
had
any right to expect. But, of cours=
e, it
is not all plain sailing, and I find the responsibilities very heavy. Still=
, I
hope to be able to do some good in my time, and I intend to devote myself to
two great ends -- namely, to the consolidation of the various clans which
together make up the Zu-Vendi people, under one strong central government, =
and
to the sapping of the power of the priesthood.
The first of these reforms will, if it can be carried out, put an en=
d to
the disastrous civil wars that have for centuries devastated this country; =
and
the second, besides removing a source of political danger, will pave the ro=
ad
for the introduction of true religion in the place of this senseless Sun
worship. I yet hope to see the sha=
dow of
the Cross of Christ lying on the golden dome of the Flower Temple; or, if I=
do
not, that my successors may.
There is one more thing that I intend to devote
myself to, and that is the total exclusion of all foreigners from Zu-Vendis=
. Not,
indeed, that any more are ever likely to get here, but if they do, I warn t=
hem
fairly that they will be shown the shortest way out of the country. I do not say this from any sense of inh=
ospitality,
but because I am convinced of the sacred duty that rests upon me of preserv=
ing
to this, on the whole, upright and generous-hearted people the blessings of
comparative barbarism. Where would all my brave army be if some enterprising
rascal were to attack us with field-guns and Martini-Henrys? I cannot see that gunpowder, telegraphs,
steam, daily newspapers, universal suffrage, etc., etc., have made mankind =
one
whit the happier than they used to be, and I am certain that they have brou=
ght many
evils in their train. I have no fa=
ncy
for handing over this beautiful country to be torn and fought for by
speculators, tourists, politicians and teachers, whose voice is as the voic=
e of
Babel, just as those horrible creatures in the valley of the underground ri=
ver
tore and fought for the body of the wild swan; nor will I endow it with the
greed, drunkenness, new diseases, gunpowder, and general demoralization whi=
ch
chiefly mark the progress of civilization amongst unsophisticated peoples.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> If in due course it pleases Providence =
to
throw Zu-Vendis open to the world, that is another matter; but of myself I =
will
not take the responsibility, and I may add that Good entirely approves of my
decision. Farewell.
Henry Curtis
Decem=
ber
15, 18--.
PS -- I quite forgot to say that about nine mo=
nths
ago Nyleptha (who is very well and, in my eyes at any rate, more beautiful =
than
ever) presented me with a son and heir.
He is a regular curly-haired, blue-eyed young Englishman in looks, a=
nd,
though he is destined, if he lives, to inherit the throne of Zu-Vendis, I h=
ope
I may be able to bring him up to become what an English gentleman should be,
and generally is -- which is to my mind even a prouder and a finer thing th=
an
being born heir apparent to the great House of the Stairway, and, indeed, t=
he
highest rank that a man can reach upon this earth.
H. C.
NOTE =
BY
GEORGE CURTIS, Esq.
The MS of this history, addressed to me in the
handwriting of my dear brother Henry Curtis, whom we had given up for dead,=
and
bearing the Aden postmark, reached me in safety on December 20, 18--, or a
little more than two years after it left his hands in the far centre of Afr=
ica,
and I hasten to give the astonishing story it contains to the world. Speaking for myself, I have read it wit=
h very
mixed feelings; for though it is a great relief to know that he and Good are
alive and strangely prosperous, I cannot but feel that for me and for all t=
heir
friends they might as well be dead, since we can never hope to see them mor=
e.
They have cut themselves off from old England =
and
from their homes and their relations for ever, and perhaps, under the circu=
mstances,
they were right and wise to do so.
How the MS came to be posted I have been quite
unable to discover; but I presume, from the fact of its being posted at all,
that the little Frenchman, Alphonse, accomplished his hazardous journey in
safety. I have, however, advertise=
d for
him and caused various inquiries to be made in Marseilles and elsewhere wit=
h a
view of discovering his whereabouts, but so far without the slightest succe=
ss. Possibly he is dead, and the packet was
posted by another hand; or possibly he is now happily wedded to his Annette,
but still fears the vengeance of the law, and prefers to remain incognito. I
cannot say, I have not yet abandoned my hopes of finding him, but I am boun=
d to
say that they grow fainter day by day, and one great obstacle to my search =
is
that nowhere in the whole history does Mr Quatermain mention his surname. He is always spoken of as 'Alphonse', a=
nd
there are so many Alphonses. The letters which my brother Henry says he is
sending with the packet of manuscript have never arrived, so I presume that
they are lost or destroyed.
George Curtis
AUTHO=
RITIES
A novelist is not usually asked, like a histor=
ian,
for his 'Quellen'. As I have, however, judging from certain experiences in =
the past,
some reason to anticipate such a demand, I wish to acknowledge my indebtedn=
ess
to Mr Thomson's admirable history of travel 'Through Masai Land' for much
information as to the habits and customs of the tribes inhabiting that port=
ion
of the East Coast, and the country where they live; also to my brother, Joh=
n G.
Haggard, RN, HBM's consul at Madagascar, and formerly consul at Lamu, for m=
any
details furnished by him of the mode of life and war of those engaging peop=
le
the Masai; also to my sister-in-law, Mrs John Haggard, who kindly put the l=
ines
of p. 183 into rhyme for me; also to an extract in a review from some book =
of
travel of which I cannot recollect the name, to which I owe the idea of the
great crabs in the valley of the subterranean river. {Endnote 23} But if I
remember right, the crabs in the book when irritated projected their eyes q=
uite
out of their heads. I regret that I was not able to 'plagiarize' this effec=
t, but
I felt that, although crabs may, and doubtless do, behave thus in real life=
, in
romance they 'will not do so.'
There is an underground river in 'Peter Wilkin=
s',
but at the time of writing the foregoing pages I had not read that quaint b=
ut
entertaining work.
It has been pointed out to me that there exist=
s a
similarity between the scene of Umslopogaas frightening Alphonse with his a=
xe
and a scene in Far from the Madding Crowd.
I regret this coincidence, and believe that the talented author of t=
hat
work will not be inclined to accuse me of literary immorality on its accoun=
t.
Finally, I may say that Mr Quatermain's little
Frenchman appears to belong to the same class of beings as those English la=
dies
whose long yellow teeth and feet of enormous size excite our hearty amuseme=
nt
in the pages of the illustrated Gallic press.
The Writer of 'Allan Quatermain'
Endno=
te 1
Among the Zulus a man assumes the ring, which =
is
made of a species of black gum twisted in with the hair, and polished a
brilliant black, when he has reached a certain dignity and age, or is the h=
usband
of a sufficient number of wives. T=
ill he
is in a position to wear a ring he is looked on as a boy, though he may be
thirty-five years of age, or even more.
-- A. Q.
Endno=
te 2
One of the fleetest of the African antelopes.<=
span
style=3D'mso-spacerun:yes'> -- A. Q.
Endno=
te 3
Alluding to the Zulu custom of opening the sto=
mach
of a dead foe. They have a superst=
ition
that, if this is not done, as the body of their enemy swells up so will the
bodies of those who killed him swell up.
-- A. Q.
Endno=
te 4
No doubt this owl was a wingless bird. I afterwards learnt that the hooting of=
an
owl is a favourite signal among the Masai tribes. -- A. Q.
Endno=
te 5
Since I saw the above I have examined hundreds=
of
these swords, but have never been able to discover how the gold plates were=
inlaid
in the fretwork. The armourers who=
make
them in Zu-vendis bind themselves by oath not to reveal the secret. -- A. Q.
Endno=
te 6
The Masai Elmoran or young warriors can own no
property, so all the booty they may win in battle belongs to their fathers =
alone. -- A. Q.
Endno=
te 7
As I think I have already said, one of
Umslopogaas's Zulu names was the 'Woodpecker'.
I could never make out why he was called so until I saw him in action
with Inkosi-kaas, when I at once recognized the resemblance. -- A. Q.
Endno=
te 8
By a sad coincidence, since the above was writ=
ten
by Mr Quatermain, the Masai have, in April 1886, massacred a missionary and=
his
wife -- Mr and Mrs Houghton -- on this very Tana River, and at the spot
described. These are, I believe, t=
he
first white people who are known to have fallen victims to this cruel
tribe. -- Editor.
Endno=
te 9
Mr Allan Quatermain misquotes -- Pleasure sat =
at
the helm. -- Editor.
Endno=
te 10
Where Alph the sacred river ran Through caverns
measureless to man Down to a sunless sea
Endno=
te 11
Mr Quatermain does not seem to have been aware
that it is common for animal-worshipping people to annually sacrifice the
beasts they adore. See Herodotus, =
ii. 45. -- Editor.
Endno=
te 12
There is another theory which might account for
the origin of the Zu-Vendi which does not seem to have struck my friend Mr =
Quatermain
and his companions, and that is, that they are descendants of the
Phoenicians. The cradle of the
Phoenician race is supposed to have been on the western shore of the Persian
Gulf. Thence, as there is good evidence to show, they emigrated in two stre=
ams,
one of which took possession of the shores of Palestine, while the other is
supposed by savants to have immigrated down the coast of Eastern Africa whe=
re,
near Mozambique, signs and remains of their occupation are not wanting. Indeed, it would have been very extraor=
dinary
if they did not, when leaving the Persian Gulf, make straight for the East =
Coast,
seeing that the north-east monsoon blows for six months in the year dead in
that direction, while for the other six months it blows back again. And, by=
the
way of illustrating the probability, I may add that to this day a very
extensive trade is carried on between the Persian Gulf and Lamu and other E=
ast
African ports as far south as Madagascar, which is of course the ancient Eb=
ony
Isle of the 'Arabian Nights'. -- E=
ditor.
Endno=
te 13
There are twenty-two letters in the Phoenician
alphabet (see Appendix, Maspero's Histoire ancienne des peuples de l'Orient=
, p.
746, etc.) Unfortunately Mr Quater=
main
gives us no specimen of the Zu-Vendi writing, but what he here states seems=
to
go a long way towards substantiating the theory advanced in the note on p. =
149. -- Editor.
Endno=
te 14
These are internal measurements. -- A. Q.
Endno=
te 15
Light was also admitted by sliding shutters un=
der
the eaves of the dome and in the roof.
-- A. Q.
Endno=
te 16
This line is interesting as being one of the f=
ew
allusions to be found in the Zu-Vendi ritual to a vague divine essence
independent of the material splendour of the orb they worship. 'Taia', the word used here, has a very
indeterminate meaning, and signifies essence, vital principle, spirit, or e=
ven
God.
Endno=
te 17
Alluding to the Zulu custom. -- A. Q.
Endno=
te 18
In Zu-Vendis members of the Royal House can on=
ly
be married by the High Priest or a formally appointed deputy. -- A. Q.
Endno=
te 19
Alluding to the Zu-Vendi custom of carrying de=
ad
officers on a framework of spears.
Endno=
te 20
The Zu-Vendi people do not use bows. -- A. Q.
Endno=
te 21
Of course, the roof of the Temple, being so hi=
gh,
caught the light some time before the breaking of the dawn. -- A. Q.
Endno=
te 22
Of course the Court of Probate would allow not=
hing
of the sort. -- Editor.
Endno=
te 23
It is suggested to me that this book is The Cr=
uise
of the "Falcon", with which work I am personally unacquainted.