King Solomon's Mines

PREPARER’S NOTE

This was typed from a 1907 edition published by Cassell and Company,

Limited.

DEDICATION

This faithful but unpretending record

of a remarkable adventure

is hereby respectfully dedicated

by the narrator,

ALLAN QUATERMAIN,

to all the big and little boys

who read it.

AUTHOR’S NOTE

The author ventures to take this opportunity to thank his readers for

the kind reception they have accorded to the successive editions of

this tale during the last twelve years. He hopes that in its present

form it will fall into the hands of an even wider public, and that in

years to come it may continue to afford amusement to those who are

still young enough at heart to love a story of treasure, war, and wild

adventure.

Ditchingham,

11 March, 1898.

POST SCRIPTUM

Now, in 1907, on the occasion of the issue of this edition, I can only

add how glad I am that my romance should continue to please so many

readers. Imagination has been verified by fact; the King Solomon’s

Mines I dreamed of have been discovered, and are putting out their gold

once more, and, according to the latest reports, their diamonds also;

the Kukuanas or, rather, the Matabele, have been tamed by the white

man’s bullets, but still there seem to be many who find pleasure in

these simple pages. That they may continue so to do, even to the third

and fourth generation, or perhaps longer still, would, I am sure, be

the hope of our old and departed friend, Allan Quatermain.

H. Rider Haggard.

Ditchingham, 1907.

INTRODUCTION

Now that this book is printed, and about to be given to the world, a

sense of its shortcomings both in style and contents, weighs very

heavily upon me. As regards the latter, I can only say that it does not

pretend to be a full account of everything we did and saw. There are

many things connected with our journey into Kukuanaland that I should

have liked to dwell upon at length, which, as it is, have been scarcely

alluded to. Amongst these are the curious legends which I collected

about the chain armour that saved us from destruction in the great

battle of Loo, and also about the “Silent Ones” or Colossi at the mouth

of the stalactite cave. Again, if I had given way to my own impulses, I

should have wished to go into the differences, some of which are to my

mind very suggestive, between the Zulu and Kukuana dialects. Also a few

pages might have been given up profitably to the consideration of the

indigenous flora and fauna of Kukuanaland.[1] Then there remains the

most interesting subject—that, as it is, has only been touched on

incidentally—of the magnificent system of military organisation in

force in that country, which, in my opinion, is much superior to that

inaugurated by Chaka in Zululand, inasmuch as it permits of even more

rapid mobilisation, and does not necessitate the employment of the

pernicious system of enforced celibacy. Lastly, I have scarcely spoken

of the domestic and family customs of the Kukuanas, many of which are

exceedingly quaint, or of their proficiency in the art of smelting and

welding metals. This science they carry to considerable perfection, of

which a good example is to be seen in their “tollas,” or heavy throwing

knives, the backs of these weapons being made of hammered iron, and the

edges of beautiful steel welded with great skill on to the iron frames.

The fact of the matter is, I thought, with Sir Henry Curtis and Captain

Good, that the best plan would be to tell my story in a plain,

straightforward manner, and to leave these matters to be dealt with

subsequently in whatever way ultimately may appear to be desirable. In

the meanwhile I shall, of course, be delighted to give all information

in my power to anybody interested in such things.

And now it only remains for me to offer apologies for my blunt way of

writing. I can but say in excuse of it that I am more accustomed to

handle a rifle than a pen, and cannot make any pretence to the grand

literary flights and flourishes which I see in novels—for sometimes I

like to read a novel. I suppose they—the flights and flourishes—are

desirable, and I regret not being able to supply them; but at the same

time I cannot help thinking that simple things are always the most

impressive, and that books are easier to understand when they are

written in plain language, though perhaps I have no right to set up an

opinion on such a matter. “A sharp spear,” runs the Kukuana saying,

“needs no polish”; and on the same principle I venture to hope that a

true story, however strange it may be, does not require to be decked

out in fine words.

ALLAN QUATERMAIN.

[1] I discovered eight varieties of antelope, with which I was

previously totally unacquainted, and many new species of plants, for

the most part of the bulbous tribe.—A.Q.

KING SOLOMON’S MINES

CHAPTER I.

I MEET SIR HENRY CURTIS

It is a curious thing that at my age—fifty-five last birthday—I should

find myself taking up a pen to try to write a history. I wonder what

sort of a history it will be when I have finished it, if ever I come to

the end of the trip! I have done a good many things in my life, which

seems a long one to me, owing to my having begun work so young,

perhaps. At an age when other boys are at school I was earning my

living as a trader in the old Colony. I have been trading, hunting,

fighting, or mining ever since. And yet it is only eight months ago

that I made my pile. It is a big pile now that I have got it—I don’t

yet know how big—but I do not think I would go through the last fifteen

or sixteen months again for it; no, not if I knew that I should come

out safe at the end, pile and all. But then I am a timid man, and

dislike violence; moreover, I am almost sick of adventure. I wonder why

I am going to write this book: it is not in my line. I am not a

literary man, though very devoted to the Old Testament and also to the

“Ingoldsby Legends.” Let me try to set down my reasons, just to see if

I have any.

First reason: Because Sir Henry Curtis and Captain John Good asked me.

Second reason: Because I am laid up here at Durban with the pain in my

left leg. Ever since that confounded lion got hold of me I have been

liable to this trouble, and being rather bad just now, it makes me limp

more than ever. There must be some poison in a lion’s teeth, otherwise

how is it that when your wounds are healed they break out again,

generally, mark you, at the same time of year that you got your

mauling? It is a hard thing when one has shot sixty-five lions or more,

as I have in the course of my life, that the sixty-sixth should chew

your leg like a quid of tobacco. It breaks the routine of the thing,

and putting other considerations aside, I am an orderly man and don’t

like that. This is by the way.

Third reason: Because I want my boy Harry, who is over there at the

hospital in London studying to become a doctor, to have something to

amuse him and keep him out of mischief for a week or so. Hospital work

must sometimes pall and grow rather dull, for even of cutting up dead

bodies there may come satiety, and as this history will not be dull,

whatever else it may be, it will put a little life into things for a

day or two while Harry is reading of our adventures.

Fourth reason and last: Because I am going to tell the strangest story

that I remember. It may seem a queer thing to say, especially

considering that there is no woman in it—except Foulata. Stop, though!

there is Gagaoola, if she was a woman, and not a fiend. But she was a

hundred at least, and therefore not marriageable, so I don’t count her.

At any rate, I can safely say that there is not a _petticoat_ in the

whole history.

Well, I had better come to the yoke. It is a stiff place, and I feel as

though I were bogged up to the axle. But, “_sutjes, sutjes_,” as the

Boers say—I am sure I don’t know how they spell it—softly does it. A

strong team will come through at last, that is, if they are not too

poor. You can never do anything with poor oxen. Now to make a start.

I, Allan Quatermain, of Durban, Natal, Gentleman, make oath and

say—That’s how I headed my deposition before the magistrate about poor

Khiva’s and Ventvögel’s sad deaths; but somehow it doesn’t seem quite

the right way to begin a book. And, besides, am I a gentleman? What is

a gentleman? I don’t quite know, and yet I have had to do with

niggers—no, I will scratch out that word “niggers,” for I do not like

it. I’ve known natives who _are_, and so you will say, Harry, my boy,

before you have done with this tale, and I have known mean whites with

lots of money and fresh out from home, too, who _are not_.

At any rate, I was born a gentleman, though I have been nothing but a

poor travelling trader and hunter all my life. Whether I have remained

so I know not, you must judge of that. Heaven knows I’ve tried. I have

killed many men in my time, yet I have never slain wantonly or stained

my hand in innocent blood, but only in self-defence. The Almighty gave

us our lives, and I suppose He meant us to defend them, at least I have

always acted on that, and I hope it will not be brought up against me

when my clock strikes. There, there, it is a cruel and a wicked world,

and for a timid man I have been mixed up in a great deal of fighting. I

cannot tell the rights of it, but at any rate I have never stolen,

though once I cheated a Kafir out of a herd of cattle. But then he had

done me a dirty turn, and it has troubled me ever since into the

bargain.

Well, it is eighteen months or so ago since first I met Sir Henry

Curtis and Captain Good. It was in this way. I had been up elephant

hunting beyond Bamangwato, and had met with bad luck. Everything went

wrong that trip, and to top up with I got the fever badly. So soon as I

was well enough I trekked down to the Diamond Fields, sold such ivory

as I had, together with my wagon and oxen, discharged my hunters, and

took the post-cart to the Cape. After spending a week in Cape Town,

finding that they overcharged me at the hotel, and having seen

everything there was to see, including the botanical gardens, which

seem to me likely to confer a great benefit on the country, and the new

Houses of Parliament, which I expect will do nothing of the sort, I

determined to go back to Natal by the _Dunkeld_, then lying at the

docks waiting for the _Edinburgh Castle_ due in from England. I took my

berth and went aboard, and that afternoon the Natal passengers from the

_Edinburgh Castle_ transhipped, and we weighed and put to sea.

Among these passengers who came on board were two who excited my

curiosity. One, a gentleman of about thirty, was perhaps the

biggest-chested and longest-armed man I ever saw. He had yellow hair, a

thick yellow beard, clear-cut features, and large grey eyes set deep in

his head. I never saw a finer-looking man, and somehow he reminded me

of an ancient Dane. Not that I know much of ancient Danes, though I

knew a modern Dane who did me out of ten pounds; but I remember once

seeing a picture of some of those gentry, who, I take it, were a kind

of white Zulus. They were drinking out of big horns, and their long

hair hung down their backs. As I looked at my friend standing there by

the companion-ladder, I thought that if he only let his grow a little,

put one of those chain shirts on to his great shoulders, and took hold

of a battle-axe and a horn mug, he might have sat as a model for that

picture. And by the way it is a curious thing, and just shows how the

blood will out, I discovered afterwards that Sir Henry Curtis, for that

was the big man’s name, is of Danish blood.[2] He also reminded me

strongly of somebody else, but at the time I could not remember who it

was.

[2] Mr. Quatermain’s ideas about ancient Danes seem to be rather

confused; we have always understood that they were dark-haired people.

Probably he was thinking of Saxons.—Editor.

The other man, who stood talking to Sir Henry, was stout and dark, and

of quite a different cut. I suspected at once that he was a naval

officer; I don’t know why, but it is difficult to mistake a navy man. I

have gone shooting trips with several of them in the course of my life,

and they have always proved themselves the best and bravest and nicest

fellows I ever met, though sadly given, some of them, to the use of

profane language. I asked a page or two back, what is a gentleman? I’ll

answer the question now: A Royal Naval officer is, in a general sort of

way, though of course there may be a black sheep among them here and

there. I fancy it is just the wide seas and the breath of God’s winds

that wash their hearts and blow the bitterness out of their minds and

make them what men ought to be.

Well, to return, I proved right again; I ascertained that the dark man

_was_ a naval officer, a lieutenant of thirty-one, who, after seventeen

years’ service, had been turned out of her Majesty’s employ with the

barren honour of a commander’s rank, because it was impossible that he

should be promoted. This is what people who serve the Queen have to

expect: to be shot out into the cold world to find a living just when

they are beginning really to understand their work, and to reach the

prime of life. I suppose they don’t mind it, but for my own part I had

rather earn my bread as a hunter. One’s halfpence are as scarce

perhaps, but you do not get so many kicks.

The officer’s name I found out—by referring to the passengers’

lists—was Good—Captain John Good. He was broad, of medium height, dark,

stout, and rather a curious man to look at. He was so very neat and so

very clean-shaved, and he always wore an eye-glass in his right eye. It

seemed to grow there, for it had no string, and he never took it out

except to wipe it. At first I thought he used to sleep in it, but

afterwards I found that this was a mistake. He put it in his trousers

pocket when he went to bed, together with his false teeth, of which he

had two beautiful sets that, my own being none of the best, have often

caused me to break the tenth commandment. But I am anticipating.

Soon after we had got under way evening closed in, and brought with it

very dirty weather. A keen breeze sprung up off land, and a kind of

aggravated Scotch mist soon drove everybody from the deck. As for the

_Dunkeld_, she is a flat-bottomed punt, and going up light as she was,

she rolled very heavily. It almost seemed as though she would go right

over, but she never did. It was quite impossible to walk about, so I

stood near the engines where it was warm, and amused myself with

watching the pendulum, which was fixed opposite to me, swinging slowly

backwards and forwards as the vessel rolled, and marking the angle she

touched at each lurch.

“That pendulum’s wrong; it is not properly weighted,” suddenly said a

somewhat testy voice at my shoulder. Looking round I saw the naval

officer whom I had noticed when the passengers came aboard.

“Indeed, now what makes you think so?” I asked.

“Think so. I don’t think at all. Why there”—as she righted herself

after a roll—“if the ship had really rolled to the degree that thing

pointed to, then she would never have rolled again, that’s all. But it

is just like these merchant skippers, they are always so confoundedly

careless.”

Just then the dinner-bell rang, and I was not sorry, for it is a

dreadful thing to have to listen to an officer of the Royal Navy when

he gets on to that subject. I only know one worse thing, and that is to

hear a merchant skipper express his candid opinion of officers of the

Royal Navy.

Captain Good and I went down to dinner together, and there we found Sir

Henry Curtis already seated. He and Captain Good were placed together,

and I sat opposite to them. The captain and I soon fell into talk about

shooting and what not; he asking me many questions, for he is very

inquisitive about all sorts of things, and I answering them as well as

I could. Presently he got on to elephants.

“Ah, sir,” called out somebody who was sitting near me, “you’ve reached

the right man for that; Hunter Quatermain should be able to tell you

about elephants if anybody can.”

Sir Henry, who had been sitting quite quiet listening to our talk,

started visibly.

“Excuse me, sir,” he said, leaning forward across the table, and

speaking in a low deep voice, a very suitable voice, it seemed to me,

to come out of those great lungs. “Excuse me, sir, but is your name

Allan Quatermain?”

I said that it was.

The big man made no further remark, but I heard him mutter “fortunate”

into his beard.

Presently dinner came to an end, and as we were leaving the saloon Sir

Henry strolled up and asked me if I would come into his cabin to smoke

a pipe. I accepted, and he led the way to the _Dunkeld_ deck cabin, and

a very good cabin it is. It had been two cabins, but when Sir Garnet

Wolseley or one of those big swells went down the coast in the

_Dunkeld_, they knocked away the partition and have never put it up

again. There was a sofa in the cabin, and a little table in front of

it. Sir Henry sent the steward for a bottle of whisky, and the three of

us sat down and lit our pipes.

“Mr. Quatermain,” said Sir Henry Curtis, when the man had brought the

whisky and lit the lamp, “the year before last about this time, you

were, I believe, at a place called Bamangwato, to the north of the

Transvaal.”

“I was,” I answered, rather surprised that this gentleman should be so

well acquainted with my movements, which were not, so far as I was

aware, considered of general interest.

“You were trading there, were you not?” put in Captain Good, in his

quick way.

“I was. I took up a wagon-load of goods, made a camp outside the

settlement, and stopped till I had sold them.”

Sir Henry was sitting opposite to me in a Madeira chair, his arms

leaning on the table. He now looked up, fixing his large grey eyes full

upon my face. There was a curious anxiety in them, I thought.

“Did you happen to meet a man called Neville there?”

“Oh, yes; he outspanned alongside of me for a fortnight to rest his

oxen before going on to the interior. I had a letter from a lawyer a

few months back, asking me if I knew what had become of him, which I

answered to the best of my ability at the time.”

“Yes,” said Sir Henry, “your letter was forwarded to me. You said in it

that the gentleman called Neville left Bamangwato at the beginning of

May in a wagon with a driver, a voorlooper, and a Kafir hunter called

Jim, announcing his intention of trekking if possible as far as Inyati,

the extreme trading post in the Matabele country, where he would sell

his wagon and proceed on foot. You also said that he did sell his

wagon, for six months afterwards you saw the wagon in the possession of

a Portuguese trader, who told you that he had bought it at Inyati from

a white man whose name he had forgotten, and that he believed the white

man with the native servant had started off for the interior on a

shooting trip.”

“Yes.”

Then came a pause.

“Mr. Quatermain,” said Sir Henry suddenly, “I suppose you know or can

guess nothing more of the reasons of my—of Mr. Neville’s journey to the

northward, or as to what point that journey was directed?”

“I heard something,” I answered, and stopped. The subject was one which

I did not care to discuss.

Sir Henry and Captain Good looked at each other, and Captain Good

nodded.

“Mr. Quatermain,” went on the former, “I am going to tell you a story,

and ask your advice, and perhaps your assistance. The agent who

forwarded me your letter told me that I might rely on it implicitly, as

you were,” he said, “well known and universally respected in Natal, and

especially noted for your discretion.”

I bowed and drank some whisky and water to hide my confusion, for I am

a modest man—and Sir Henry went on.

“Mr. Neville was my brother.”

“Oh,” I said, starting, for now I knew of whom Sir Henry had reminded

me when first I saw him. His brother was a much smaller man and had a

dark beard, but now that I thought of it, he possessed eyes of the same

shade of grey and with the same keen look in them: the features too

were not unlike.

“He was,” went on Sir Henry, “my only and younger brother, and till

five years ago I do not suppose that we were ever a month away from

each other. But just about five years ago a misfortune befell us, as

sometimes does happen in families. We quarrelled bitterly, and I

behaved unjustly to my brother in my anger.”

Here Captain Good nodded his head vigorously to himself. The ship gave

a big roll just then, so that the looking-glass, which was fixed

opposite us to starboard, was for a moment nearly over our heads, and

as I was sitting with my hands in my pockets and staring upwards, I

could see him nodding like anything.

“As I daresay you know,” went on Sir Henry, “if a man dies intestate,

and has no property but land, real property it is called in England, it

all descends to his eldest son. It so happened that just at the time

when we quarrelled our father died intestate. He had put off making his

will until it was too late. The result was that my brother, who had not

been brought up to any profession, was left without a penny. Of course

it would have been my duty to provide for him, but at the time the

quarrel between us was so bitter that I did not—to my shame I say it

(and he sighed deeply)—offer to do anything. It was not that I grudged

him justice, but I waited for him to make advances, and he made none. I

am sorry to trouble you with all this, Mr. Quatermain, but I must to

make things clear, eh, Good?”

“Quite so, quite so,” said the captain. “Mr. Quatermain will, I am

sure, keep this history to himself.”

“Of course,” said I, for I rather pride myself on my discretion, for

which, as Sir Henry had heard, I have some repute.

“Well,” went on Sir Henry, “my brother had a few hundred pounds to his

account at the time. Without saying anything to me he drew out this

paltry sum, and, having adopted the name of Neville, started off for

South Africa in the wild hope of making a fortune. This I learned

afterwards. Some three years passed, and I heard nothing of my brother,

though I wrote several times. Doubtless the letters never reached him.

But as time went on I grew more and more troubled about him. I found

out, Mr. Quatermain, that blood is thicker than water.”

“That’s true,” said I, thinking of my boy Harry.

“I found out, Mr. Quatermain, that I would have given half my fortune

to know that my brother George, the only relation I possess, was safe

and well, and that I should see him again.”

“But you never did, Curtis,” jerked out Captain Good, glancing at the

big man’s face.

“Well, Mr. Quatermain, as time went on I became more and more anxious

to find out if my brother was alive or dead, and if alive to get him

home again. I set enquiries on foot, and your letter was one of the

results. So far as it went it was satisfactory, for it showed that till

lately George was alive, but it did not go far enough. So, to cut a

long story short, I made up my mind to come out and look for him

myself, and Captain Good was so kind as to come with me.”

“Yes,” said the captain; “nothing else to do, you see. Turned out by my

Lords of the Admiralty to starve on half pay. And now perhaps, sir, you

will tell us what you know or have heard of the gentleman called

Neville.”

CHAPTER II.

THE LEGEND OF SOLOMON’S MINES

“What was it that you heard about my brother’s journey at Bamangwato?”

asked Sir Henry, as I paused to fill my pipe before replying to Captain

Good.

“I heard this,” I answered, “and I have never mentioned it to a soul

till to-day. I heard that he was starting for Solomon’s Mines.”

“Solomon’s Mines?” ejaculated both my hearers at once. “Where are

they?”

“I don’t know,” I said; “I know where they are said to be. Once I saw

the peaks of the mountains that border them, but there were a hundred

and thirty miles of desert between me and them, and I am not aware that

any white man ever got across it save one. But perhaps the best thing I

can do is to tell you the legend of Solomon’s Mines as I know it, you

passing your word not to reveal anything I tell you without my

permission. Do you agree to that? I have my reasons for asking.”

Sir Henry nodded, and Captain Good replied, “Certainly, certainly.”

“Well,” I began, “as you may guess, generally speaking, elephant

hunters are a rough set of men, who do not trouble themselves with much

beyond the facts of life and the ways of Kafirs. But here and there you

meet a man who takes the trouble to collect traditions from the

natives, and tries to make out a little piece of the history of this

dark land. It was such a man as this who first told me the legend of

Solomon’s Mines, now a matter of nearly thirty years ago. That was when

I was on my first elephant hunt in the Matabele country. His name was

Evans, and he was killed the following year, poor fellow, by a wounded

buffalo, and lies buried near the Zambesi Falls. I was telling Evans

one night, I remember, of some wonderful workings I had found whilst

hunting koodoo and eland in what is now the Lydenburg district of the

Transvaal. I see they have come across these workings again lately in

prospecting for gold, but I knew of them years ago. There is a great

wide wagon road cut out of the solid rock, and leading to the mouth of

the working or gallery. Inside the mouth of this gallery are stacks of

gold quartz piled up ready for roasting, which shows that the workers,

whoever they were, must have left in a hurry. Also, about twenty paces

in, the gallery is built across, and a beautiful bit of masonry it is.”

“‘Ay,’ said Evans, ‘but I will spin you a queerer yarn than that’; and

he went on to tell me how he had found in the far interior a ruined

city, which he believed to be the Ophir of the Bible, and, by the way,

other more learned men have said the same long since poor Evans’s time.

I was, I remember, listening open-eared to all these wonders, for I was

young at the time, and this story of an ancient civilisation and of the

treasures which those old Jewish or Phoenician adventurers used to

extract from a country long since lapsed into the darkest barbarism

took a great hold upon my imagination, when suddenly he said to me,

‘Lad, did you ever hear of the Suliman Mountains up to the north-west

of the Mushakulumbwe country?’ I told him I never had. ‘Ah, well,’ he

said, ‘that is where Solomon really had his mines, his diamond mines, I

mean.’

“‘How do you know that?’ I asked.

“‘Know it! why, what is “Suliman” but a corruption of Solomon?[3]

Besides, an old Isanusi or witch doctoress up in the Manica country

told me all about it. She said that the people who lived across those

mountains were a “branch” of the Zulus, speaking a dialect of Zulu, but

finer and bigger men even; that there lived among them great wizards,

who had learnt their art from white men when “all the world was dark,”

and who had the secret of a wonderful mine of “bright stones.”’

[3] Suliman is the Arabic form of Solomon.—_Editor_.

“Well, I laughed at this story at the time, though it interested me,

for the Diamond Fields were not discovered then, but poor Evans went

off and was killed, and for twenty years I never thought any more of

the matter. However, just twenty years afterwards—and that is a long

time, gentlemen; an elephant hunter does not often live for twenty

years at his business—I heard something more definite about Suliman’s

Mountains and the country which lies beyond them. I was up beyond the

Manica country, at a place called Sitanda’s Kraal, and a miserable

place it was, for a man could get nothing to eat, and there was but

little game about. I had an attack of fever, and was in a bad way

generally, when one day a Portugee arrived with a single companion—a

half-breed. Now I know your low-class Delagoa Portugee well. There is

no greater devil unhung in a general way, battening as he does upon

human agony and flesh in the shape of slaves. But this was quite a

different type of man to the mean fellows whom I had been accustomed to

meet; indeed, in appearance he reminded me more of the polite doms I

have read about, for he was tall and thin, with large dark eyes and

curling grey mustachios. We talked together for a while, for he could

speak broken English, and I understood a little Portugee, and he told

me that his name was José Silvestre, and that he had a place near

Delagoa Bay. When he went on next day with his half-breed companion, he

said ‘Good-bye,’ taking off his hat quite in the old style.

“‘Good-bye, señor,’ he said; ‘if ever we meet again I shall be the

richest man in the world, and I will remember you.’ I laughed a

little—I was too weak to laugh much—and watched him strike out for the

great desert to the west, wondering if he was mad, or what he thought

he was going to find there.

“A week passed, and I got the better of my fever. One evening I was

sitting on the ground in front of the little tent I had with me,

chewing the last leg of a miserable fowl I had bought from a native for

a bit of cloth worth twenty fowls, and staring at the hot red sun

sinking down over the desert, when suddenly I saw a figure, apparently

that of a European, for it wore a coat, on the slope of the rising

ground opposite to me, about three hundred yards away. The figure crept

along on its hands and knees, then it got up and staggered forward a

few yards on its legs, only to fall and crawl again. Seeing that it

must be somebody in distress, I sent one of my hunters to help him, and

presently he arrived, and who do you suppose it turned out to be?”

“José Silvestre, of course,” said Captain Good.

“Yes, José Silvestre, or rather his skeleton and a little skin. His

face was a bright yellow with bilious fever, and his large dark eyes

stood nearly out of his head, for all the flesh had gone. There was

nothing but yellow parchment-like skin, white hair, and the gaunt bones

sticking up beneath.

“‘Water! for the sake of Christ, water!’ he moaned and I saw that his

lips were cracked, and his tongue, which protruded between them, was

swollen and blackish.

“I gave him water with a little milk in it, and he drank it in great

gulps, two quarts or so, without stopping. I would not let him have any

more. Then the fever took him again, and he fell down and began to rave

about Suliman’s Mountains, and the diamonds, and the desert. I carried

him into the tent and did what I could for him, which was little

enough; but I saw how it must end. About eleven o’clock he grew

quieter, and I lay down for a little rest and went to sleep. At dawn I

woke again, and in the half light saw Silvestre sitting up, a strange,

gaunt form, and gazing out towards the desert. Presently the first ray

of the sun shot right across the wide plain before us till it reached

the faraway crest of one of the tallest of the Suliman Mountains more

than a hundred miles away.

“‘There it is!’ cried the dying man in Portuguese, and pointing with

his long, thin arm, ‘but I shall never reach it, never. No one will

ever reach it!’

“Suddenly, he paused, and seemed to take a resolution. ‘Friend,’ he

said, turning towards me, ‘are you there? My eyes grow dark.’

“‘Yes,’ I said; ‘yes, lie down now, and rest.’

“‘Ay,’ he answered, ‘I shall rest soon, I have time to rest—all

eternity. Listen, I am dying! You have been good to me. I will give you

the writing. Perhaps you will get there if you can live to pass the

desert, which has killed my poor servant and me.’

“Then he groped in his shirt and brought out what I thought was a Boer

tobacco pouch made of the skin of the Swart-vet-pens or sable antelope.

It was fastened with a little strip of hide, what we call a rimpi, and

this he tried to loose, but could not. He handed it to me. ‘Untie it,’

he said. I did so, and extracted a bit of torn yellow linen on which

something was written in rusty letters. Inside this rag was a paper.

“Then he went on feebly, for he was growing weak: ‘The paper has all

that is on the linen. It took me years to read. Listen: my ancestor, a

political refugee from Lisbon, and one of the first Portuguese who

landed on these shores, wrote that when he was dying on those mountains

which no white foot ever pressed before or since. His name was José da

Silvestra, and he lived three hundred years ago. His slave, who waited

for him on this side of the mountains, found him dead, and brought the

writing home to Delagoa. It has been in the family ever since, but none

have cared to read it, till at last I did. And I have lost my life over

it, but another may succeed, and become the richest man in the

world—the richest man in the world. Only give it to no one, señor; go

yourself!’

“Then he began to wander again, and in an hour it was all over.

“God rest him! he died very quietly, and I buried him deep, with big

boulders on his breast; so I do not think that the jackals can have dug

him up. And then I came away.”

“Ay, but the document?” said Sir Henry, in a tone of deep interest.

“Yes, the document; what was in it?” added the captain.

“Well, gentlemen, if you like I will tell you. I have never showed it

to anybody yet except to a drunken old Portuguese trader who translated

it for me, and had forgotten all about it by the next morning. The

original rag is at my home in Durban, together with poor Dom José’s

translation, but I have the English rendering in my pocket-book, and a

facsimile of the map, if it can be called a map. Here it is.”

“I, José da Silvestra, who am now dying of hunger in the little cave

where no snow is on the north side of the nipple of the southernmost of

the two mountains I have named Sheba’s Breasts, write this in the year

1590 with a cleft bone upon a remnant of my raiment, my blood being the

ink. If my slave should find it when he comes, and should bring it to

Delagoa, let my friend (name illegible) bring the matter to the

knowledge of the king, that he may send an army which, if they live

through the desert and the mountains, and can overcome the brave

Kukuanes and their devilish arts, to which end many priests should be

brought, will make him the richest king since Solomon. With my own eyes

I have seen the countless diamonds stored in Solomon’s treasure chamber

behind the white Death; but through the treachery of Gagool the

witch-finder I might bring nought away, scarcely my life. Let him who

comes follow the map, and climb the snow of Sheba’s left breast till he

reaches the nipple, on the north side of which is the great road

Solomon made, from whence three days’ journey to the King’s Palace. Let

him kill Gagool. Pray for my soul. Farewell.

JOSÉ DA SILVESTRA.”[4]

[4] Eu José da Silvestra que estou morrendo de fome ná pequena cova

onde não ha neve ao lado norte do bico mais ao sul das duas montanhas

que chamei seio de Sheba; escrevo isto no anno 1590; escrevo isto com

um pedaço d’ôsso n’ um farrapo de minha roupa e com sangue meu por

tinta; se o meu escravo dér com isto quando venha ao levar para

Lourenzo Marquez, que o meu amigo ———— leve a cousa ao conhecimento d’

El Rei, para que possa mandar um exercito que, se desfiler pelo

deserto e pelas montonhas e mesmo sobrepujar os bravos Kukuanes e suas

artes diabolicas, pelo que se deviam trazer muitos padres Far o Rei

mais rico depois de Salomão. Com meus proprios olhos vé os di amantes

sem conto guardados nas camaras do thesouro de Salomão a traz da morte

branca, mas pela traição de Gagoal a feiticeira achadora, nada poderia

levar, e apenas a minha vida. Quem vier siga o mappa e trepe pela neve

de Sheba peito à esquerda até chegar ao bica, do lado norte do qual

està a grande estrada do Solomão por elle feita, donde ha tres dias de

jornada até ao Palacio do Rei. Mate Gagoal. Reze por minha alma.

Adeos.

JOSÉ DA SILVESTRA.

[Illustration: Messen SKETCH MAP OF THE ROUTE TO KING SOLOMON’S MINES]

When I had finished reading the above, and shown the copy of the map,

drawn by the dying hand of the old Dom with his blood for ink, there

followed a silence of astonishment.

“Well,” said Captain Good, “I have been round the world twice, and put

in at most ports, but may I be hung for a mutineer if ever I heard a

yarn like this out of a story book, or in it either, for the matter of

that.”

“It’s a queer tale, Mr. Quatermain,” said Sir Henry. “I suppose you are

not hoaxing us? It is, I know, sometimes thought allowable to take in a

greenhorn.”

“If you think that, Sir Henry,” I said, much put out, and pocketing my

paper—for I do not like to be thought one of those silly fellows who

consider it witty to tell lies, and who are for ever boasting to

newcomers of extraordinary hunting adventures which never happened—“if

you think that, why, there is an end to the matter,” and I rose to go.

Sir Henry laid his large hand upon my shoulder. “Sit down, Mr.

Quatermain,” he said, “I beg your pardon; I see very well you do not

wish to deceive us, but the story sounded so strange that I could

hardly believe it.”

“You shall see the original map and writing when we reach Durban,” I

answered, somewhat mollified, for really when I came to consider the

question it was scarcely wonderful that he should doubt my good faith.

“But,” I went on, “I have not told you about your brother. I knew the

man Jim who was with him. He was a Bechuana by birth, a good hunter,

and for a native a very clever man. That morning on which Mr. Neville

was starting I saw Jim standing by my wagon and cutting up tobacco on

the disselboom.

“‘Jim,’ said I, ‘where are you off to this trip? It is elephants?’

“‘No, Baas,’ he answered, ‘we are after something worth much more than

ivory.’

“‘And what might that be?’ I said, for I was curious. ‘Is it gold?’

“‘No, Baas, something worth more than gold,’ and he grinned.

“I asked no more questions, for I did not like to lower my dignity by

seeming inquisitive, but I was puzzled. Presently Jim finished cutting

his tobacco.

“‘Baas,’ said he.

“I took no notice.

“‘Baas,’ said he again.

“‘Eh, boy, what is it?’ I asked.

“‘Baas, we are going after diamonds.’

“‘Diamonds! why, then, you are steering in the wrong direction; you

should head for the Fields.’

“‘Baas, have you ever heard of Suliman’s Berg?’—that is, Solomon’s

Mountains, Sir Henry.

“‘Ay!’

“‘Have you ever heard of the diamonds there?’

“‘I have heard a foolish story, Jim.’

“‘It is no story, Baas. Once I knew a woman who came from there, and

reached Natal with her child, she told me:—she is dead now.’

“‘Your master will feed the aasvögels’—that is, vultures—‘Jim, if he

tries to reach Suliman’s country, and so will you if they can get any

pickings off your worthless old carcass,’ said I.

“He grinned. ‘Mayhap, Baas. Man must die; I’d rather like to try a new

country myself; the elephants are getting worked out about here.’

“‘Ah! my boy,’ I said, ‘you wait till the “pale old man” gets a grip of

your yellow throat, and then we shall hear what sort of a tune you

sing.’

“Half an hour after that I saw Neville’s wagon move off. Presently Jim

came back running. ‘Good-bye, Baas,’ he said. ‘I didn’t like to start

without bidding you good-bye, for I daresay you are right, and that we

shall never trek south again.’

“‘Is your master really going to Suliman’s Berg, Jim, or are you

lying?’

“‘No,’ he answered, ‘he is going. He told me he was bound to make his

fortune somehow, or try to; so he might as well have a fling for the

diamonds.’

“‘Oh!’ I said; ‘wait a bit, Jim; will you take a note to your master,

Jim, and promise not to give it to him till you reach Inyati?’ which

was some hundred miles off.

“‘Yes, Baas.’

“So I took a scrap of paper, and wrote on it, ‘Let him who comes . . .

climb the snow of Sheba’s left breast, till he reaches the nipple, on

the north side of which is Solomon’s great road.’

“‘Now, Jim,’ I said, ‘when you give this to your master, tell him he

had better follow the advice on it implicitly. You are not to give it

to him now, because I don’t want him back asking me questions which I

won’t answer. Now be off, you idle fellow, the wagon is nearly out of

sight.’

“Jim took the note and went, and that is all I know about your brother,

Sir Henry; but I am much afraid—”

“Mr. Quatermain,” said Sir Henry, “I am going to look for my brother; I

am going to trace him to Suliman’s Mountains, and over them if

necessary, till I find him, or until I know that he is dead. Will you

come with me?”

I am, as I think I have said, a cautious man, indeed a timid one, and

this suggestion frightened me. It seemed to me that to undertake such a

journey would be to go to certain death, and putting other

considerations aside, as I had a son to support, I could not afford to

die just then.

“No, thank you, Sir Henry, I think I had rather not,” I answered. “I am

too old for wild-goose chases of that sort, and we should only end up

like my poor friend Silvestre. I have a son dependent on me, so I

cannot afford to risk my life foolishly.”

Both Sir Henry and Captain Good looked very disappointed.

“Mr. Quatermain,” said the former, “I am well off, and I am bent upon

this business. You may put the remuneration for your services at

whatever figure you like in reason, and it shall be paid over to you

before we start. Moreover, I will arrange in the event of anything

untoward happening to us or to you, that your son shall be suitably

provided for. You will see from this offer how necessary I think your

presence. Also if by chance we should reach this place, and find

diamonds, they shall belong to you and Good equally. I do not want

them. But of course that promise is worth nothing at all, though the

same thing would apply to any ivory we might get. You may pretty well

make your own terms with me, Mr. Quatermain; and of course I shall pay

all expenses.”

“Sir Henry,” said I, “this is the most liberal proposal I ever had, and

one not to be sneezed at by a poor hunter and trader. But the job is

the biggest I have come across, and I must take time to think it over.

I will give you my answer before we get to Durban.”

“Very good,” answered Sir Henry.

Then I said good-night and turned in, and dreamt about poor long-dead

Silvestre and the diamonds.

CHAPTER III.

UMBOPA ENTERS OUR SERVICE

It takes from four to five days, according to the speed of the vessel

and the state of the weather, to run up from the Cape to Durban.

Sometimes, if the landing is bad at East London, where they have not

yet made that wonderful harbour they talk so much of, and sink such a

mint of money in, a ship is delayed for twenty-four hours before the

cargo boats can get out to take off the goods. But on this occasion we

had not to wait at all, for there were no breakers on the Bar to speak

of, and the tugs came out at once with the long strings of ugly

flat-bottomed boats behind them, into which the packages were bundled

with a crash. It did not matter what they might be, over they went

slap-bang; whether they contained china or woollen goods they met with

the same treatment. I saw one case holding four dozen of champagne

smashed all to bits, and there was the champagne fizzing and boiling

about in the bottom of the dirty cargo boat. It was a wicked waste, and

evidently so the Kafirs in the boat thought, for they found a couple of

unbroken bottles, and knocking off the necks drank the contents. But

they had not allowed for the expansion caused by the fizz in the wine,

and, feeling themselves swelling, rolled about in the bottom of the

boat, calling out that the good liquor was “tagati”—that is, bewitched.

I spoke to them from the vessel, and told them it was the white man’s

strongest medicine, and that they were as good as dead men. Those

Kafirs went to the shore in a very great fright, and I do not think

that they will touch champagne again.

Well, all the time that we were steaming up to Natal I was thinking

over Sir Henry Curtis’s offer. We did not speak any more on the subject

for a day or two, though I told them many hunting yarns, all true ones.

There is no need to tell lies about hunting, for so many curious things

happen within the knowledge of a man whose business it is to hunt; but

this is by the way.

At last, one beautiful evening in January, which is our hottest month,

we steamed past the coast of Natal, expecting to make Durban Point by

sunset. It is a lovely coast all along from East London, with its red

sandhills and wide sweeps of vivid green, dotted here and there with

Kafir kraals, and bordered by a ribbon of white surf, which spouts up

in pillars of foam where it hits the rocks. But just before you come to

Durban there is a peculiar richness about the landscape. There are the

sheer kloofs cut in the hills by the rushing rains of centuries, down

which the rivers sparkle; there is the deepest green of the bush,

growing as God planted it, and the other greens of the mealie gardens

and the sugar patches, while now and again a white house, smiling out

at the placid sea, puts a finish and gives an air of homeliness to the

scene. For to my mind, however beautiful a view may be, it requires the

presence of man to make it complete, but perhaps that is because I have

lived so much in the wilderness, and therefore know the value of

civilisation, though to be sure it drives away the game. The Garden of

Eden, no doubt, looked fair before man was, but I always think that it

must have been fairer when Eve adorned it.

To return, we had miscalculated a little, and the sun was well down

before we dropped anchor off the Point, and heard the gun which told

the good folks of Durban that the English Mail was in. It was too late

to think of getting over the Bar that night, so we went comfortably to

dinner, after seeing the Mails carried off in the life-boat.

When we came up again the moon was out, and shining so brightly over

sea and shore that she almost paled the quick, large flashes from the

lighthouse. From the shore floated sweet spicy odours that always

remind me of hymns and missionaries, and in the windows of the houses

on the Berea sparkled a hundred lights. From a large brig lying near

also came the music of the sailors as they worked at getting the anchor

up in order to be ready for the wind. Altogether it was a perfect

night, such a night as you sometimes get in Southern Africa, and it

threw a garment of peace over everybody as the moon threw a garment of

silver over everything. Even the great bulldog, belonging to a sporting

passenger, seemed to yield to its gentle influences, and forgetting his

yearning to come to close quarters with the baboon in a cage on the

foc’sle, snored happily at the door of the cabin, dreaming no doubt

that he had finished him, and happy in his dream.

We three—that is, Sir Henry Curtis, Captain Good, and myself—went and

sat by the wheel, and were quiet for a while.

“Well, Mr. Quatermain,” said Sir Henry presently, “have you been

thinking about my proposals?”

“Ay,” echoed Captain Good, “what do you think of them, Mr. Quatermain?

I hope that you are going to give us the pleasure of your company so

far as Solomon’s Mines, or wherever the gentleman you knew as Neville

may have got to.”

I rose and knocked out my pipe before I answered. I had not made up my

mind, and wanted an additional moment to decide. Before the burning

tobacco had fallen into the sea I had decided; just that little extra

second did the trick. It is often the way when you have been bothering

a long time over a thing.

“Yes, gentlemen,” I said, sitting down again, “I will go, and by your

leave I will tell you why, and on what conditions. First for the terms

which I ask.

“1. You are to pay all expenses, and any ivory or other valuables we

may get is to be divided between Captain Good and myself.

“2. That you give me £500 for my services on the trip before we start,

I undertaking to serve you faithfully till you choose to abandon the

enterprise, or till we succeed, or disaster overtakes us.

“3. That before we trek you execute a deed agreeing, in the event of my

death or disablement, to pay my boy Harry, who is studying medicine

over there in London, at Guy’s Hospital, a sum of £200 a year for five

years, by which time he ought to be able to earn a living for himself

if he is worth his salt. That is all, I think, and I daresay you will

say quite enough too.”

“No,” answered Sir Henry, “I accept them gladly. I am bent upon this

project, and would pay more than that for your help, considering the

peculiar and exclusive knowledge which you possess.”

“Pity I did not ask it, then, but I won’t go back on my word. And now

that I have got my terms I will tell you my reasons for making up my

mind to go. First of all, gentlemen, I have been observing you both for

the last few days, and if you will not think me impertinent I may say

that I like you, and believe that we shall come up well to the yoke

together. That is something, let me tell you, when one has a long

journey like this before one.

“And now as to the journey itself, I tell you flatly, Sir Henry and

Captain Good, that I do not think it probable we can come out of it

alive, that is, if we attempt to cross the Suliman Mountains. What was

the fate of the old Dom da Silvestra three hundred years ago? What was

the fate of his descendant twenty years ago? What has been your

brother’s fate? I tell you frankly, gentlemen, that as their fates were

so I believe ours will be.”

I paused to watch the effect of my words. Captain Good looked a little

uncomfortable, but Sir Henry’s face did not change. “We must take our

chance,” he said.

“You may perhaps wonder,” I went on, “why, if I think this, I, who am,

as I told you, a timid man, should undertake such a journey. It is for

two reasons. First I am a fatalist, and believe that my time is

appointed to come quite without reference to my own movements and will,

and that if I am to go to Suliman’s Mountains to be killed, I shall go

there and shall be killed. God Almighty, no doubt, knows His mind about

me, so I need not trouble on that point. Secondly, I am a poor man. For

nearly forty years I have hunted and traded, but I have never made more

than a living. Well, gentlemen, I don’t know if you are aware that the

average life of an elephant hunter from the time he takes to the trade

is between four and five years. So you see I have lived through about

seven generations of my class, and I should think that my time cannot

be far off, anyway. Now, if anything were to happen to me in the

ordinary course of business, by the time my debts are paid there would

be nothing left to support my son Harry whilst he was getting in the

way of earning a living, whereas now he will be set up for five years.

There is the whole affair in a nutshell.”

“Mr. Quatermain,” said Sir Henry, who had been giving me his most

serious attention, “your motives for undertaking an enterprise which

you believe can only end in disaster reflect a great deal of credit on

you. Whether or not you are right, of course time and the event alone

can show. But whether you are right or wrong, I may as well tell you at

once that I am going through with it to the end, sweet or bitter. If we

are to be knocked on the head, all I have to say is, that I hope we get

a little shooting first, eh, Good?”

“Yes, yes,” put in the captain. “We have all three of us been

accustomed to face danger, and to hold our lives in our hands in

various ways, so it is no good turning back now. And now I vote we go

down to the saloon and take an observation just for luck, you know.”

And we did—through the bottom of a tumbler.

Next day we went ashore, and I put up Sir Henry and Captain Good at the

little shanty I have built on the Berea, and which I call my home.

There are only three rooms and a kitchen in it, and it is constructed

of green brick with a galvanised iron roof, but there is a good garden

with the best loquot trees in it that I know, and some nice young

mangoes, of which I hope great things. The curator of the botanical

gardens gave them to me. It is looked after by an old hunter of mine

named Jack, whose thigh was so badly broken by a buffalo cow in

Sikukunis country that he will never hunt again. But he can potter

about and garden, being a Griqua by birth. You will never persuade a

Zulu to take much interest in gardening. It is a peaceful art, and

peaceful arts are not in his line.

Sir Henry and Good slept in a tent pitched in my little grove of orange

trees at the end of the garden, for there was no room for them in the

house, and what with the smell of the bloom, and the sight of the green

and golden fruit—in Durban you will see all three on the tree

together—I daresay it is a pleasant place enough, for we have few

mosquitos here on the Berea, unless there happens to come an unusually

heavy rain.

Well, to get on—for if I do not, Harry, you will be tired of my story

before ever we fetch up at Suliman’s Mountains—having once made up my

mind to go I set about making the necessary preparations. First I

secured the deed from Sir Henry, providing for you, my boy, in case of

accidents. There was some difficulty about its legal execution, as Sir

Henry was a stranger here, and the property to be charged is over the

water; but it was ultimately got over with the help of a lawyer, who

charged £20 for the job—a price that I thought outrageous. Then I

pocketed my cheque for £500.

Having paid this tribute to my bump of caution, I purchased a wagon and

a span of oxen on Sir Henry’s behalf, and beauties they were. It was a

twenty-two-foot wagon with iron axles, very strong, very light, and

built throughout of stink wood; not quite a new one, having been to the

Diamond Fields and back, but, in my opinion, all the better for that,

for I could see that the wood was well seasoned. If anything is going

to give in a wagon, or if there is green wood in it, it will show out

on the first trip. This particular vehicle was what we call a

“half-tented” wagon, that is to say, only covered in over the after

twelve feet, leaving all the front part free for the necessaries we had

to carry with us. In this after part were a hide “cartle,” or bed, on

which two people could sleep, also racks for rifles, and many other

little conveniences. I gave £125 for it, and think that it was cheap at

the price.

Then I bought a beautiful team of twenty Zulu oxen, which I had kept my

eye on for a year or two. Sixteen oxen is the usual number for a team,

but I took four extra to allow for casualties. These Zulu cattle are

small and light, not more than half the size of the Africander oxen,

which are generally used for transport purposes; but they will live

where the Africanders would starve, and with a moderate load can make

five miles a day better going, being quicker and not so liable to

become footsore. What is more, this lot were thoroughly “salted,” that

is, they had worked all over South Africa, and so had become proof,

comparatively speaking, against red water, which so frequently destroys

whole teams of oxen when they get on to strange “veldt” or grass

country. As for “lung sick,” which is a dreadful form of pneumonia,

very prevalent in this country, they had all been inoculated against

it. This is done by cutting a slit in the tail of an ox, and binding in

a piece of the diseased lung of an animal which has died of the

sickness. The result is that the ox sickens, takes the disease in a

mild form, which causes its tail to drop off, as a rule about a foot

from the root, and becomes proof against future attacks. It seems cruel

to rob the animal of his tail, especially in a country where there are

so many flies, but it is better to sacrifice the tail and keep the ox

than to lose both tail and ox, for a tail without an ox is not much

good, except to dust with. Still it does look odd to trek along behind

twenty stumps, where there ought to be tails. It seems as though Nature

made a trifling mistake, and stuck the stern ornaments of a lot of

prize bull-dogs on to the rumps of the oxen.

Next came the question of provisioning and medicines, one which

required the most careful consideration, for what we had to do was to

avoid lumbering the wagon, and yet to take everything absolutely

necessary. Fortunately, it turned out that Good is a bit of a doctor,

having at some point in his previous career managed to pass through a

course of medical and surgical instruction, which he has more or less

kept up. He is not, of course, qualified, but he knows more about it

than many a man who can write M.D. after his name, as we found out

afterwards, and he had a splendid travelling medicine chest and a set

of instruments. Whilst we were at Durban he cut off a Kafir’s big toe

in a way which it was a pleasure to see. But he was quite nonplussed

when the Kafir, who had sat stolidly watching the operation, asked him

to put on another, saying that a “white one” would do at a pinch.

There remained, when these questions were satisfactorily settled, two

further important points for consideration, namely, that of arms and

that of servants. As to the arms I cannot do better than put down a

list of those which we finally decided on from among the ample store

that Sir Henry had brought with him from England, and those which I

owned. I copy it from my pocket-book, where I made the entry at the

time.

“Three heavy breech-loading double-eight elephant guns, weighing about

fifteen pounds each, to carry a charge of eleven drachms of black

powder.” Two of these were by a well-known London firm, most excellent

makers, but I do not know by whom mine, which is not so highly

finished, was made. I have used it on several trips, and shot a good

many elephants with it, and it has always proved a most superior

weapon, thoroughly to be relied on.

“Three double-500 Expresses, constructed to stand a charge of six

drachms,” sweet weapons, and admirable for medium-sized game, such as

eland or sable antelope, or for men, especially in an open country and

with the semi-hollow bullet.

“One double No. 12 central-fire Keeper’s shot-gun, full choke both

barrels.” This gun proved of the greatest service to us afterwards in

shooting game for the pot.

“Three Winchester repeating rifles (not carbines), spare guns.

“Three single-action Colt’s revolvers, with the heavier, or American

pattern of cartridge.”

This was our total armament, and doubtless the reader will observe that

the weapons of each class were of the same make and calibre, so that

the cartridges were interchangeable, a very important point. I make no

apology for detailing it at length, as every experienced hunter will

know how vital a proper supply of guns and ammunition is to the success

of an expedition.

Now as to the men who were to go with us. After much consultation we

decided that their number should be limited to five, namely, a driver,

a leader, and three servants.

The driver and leader I found without much difficulty, two Zulus, named

respectively Goza and Tom; but to get the servants proved a more

difficult matter. It was necessary that they should be thoroughly

trustworthy and brave men, as in a business of this sort our lives

might depend upon their conduct. At last I secured two, one a Hottentot

named Ventvögel, or “windbird,” and one a little Zulu named Khiva, who

had the merit of speaking English perfectly. Ventvögel I had known

before; he was one of the most perfect “spoorers,” that is, game

trackers, I ever had to do with, and tough as whipcord. He never seemed

to tire. But he had one failing, so common with his race, drink. Put

him within reach of a bottle of gin and you could not trust him.

However, as we were going beyond the region of grog-shops this little

weakness of his did not so much matter.

Having secured these two men I looked in vain for a third to suit my

purpose, so we determined to start without one, trusting to luck to

find a suitable man on our way up country. But, as it happened, on the

evening before the day we had fixed for our departure the Zulu Khiva

informed me that a Kafir was waiting to see me. Accordingly, when we

had done dinner, for we were at table at the time, I told Khiva to

bring him in. Presently a tall, handsome-looking man, somewhere about

thirty years of age, and very light-coloured for a Zulu, entered, and

lifting his knob-stick by way of salute, squatted himself down in the

corner on his haunches, and sat silent. I did not take any notice of

him for a while, for it is a great mistake to do so. If you rush into

conversation at once, a Zulu is apt to think you a person of little

dignity or consequence. I observed, however, that he was a “Keshla” or

ringed man; that is, he wore on his head the black ring, made of a

species of gum polished with fat and worked up in the hair, which is

usually assumed by Zulus on attaining a certain age or dignity. Also it

struck me that his face was familiar to me.

“Well,” I said at last, “What is your name?”

“Umbopa,” answered the man in a slow, deep voice.

“I have seen your face before.”

“Yes; the Inkoosi, the chief, my father, saw my face at the place of

the Little Hand”—that is, Isandhlwana—“on the day before the battle.”

Then I remembered. I was one of Lord Chelmsford’s guides in that

unlucky Zulu War, and had the good fortune to leave the camp in charge

of some wagons on the day before the battle. While I was waiting for

the cattle to be inspanned I fell into conversation with this man, who

held some small command among the native auxiliaries, and he had

expressed to me his doubts as to the safety of the camp. At the time I

told him to hold his tongue, and leave such matters to wiser heads; but

afterwards I thought of his words.

“I remember,” I said; “what is it you want?”

“It is this, ‘Macumazahn.’” That is my Kafir name, and means the man

who gets up in the middle of the night, or, in vulgar English, he who

keeps his eyes open. “I hear that you go on a great expedition far into

the North with the white chiefs from over the water. Is it a true

word?”

“It is.”

“I hear that you go even to the Lukanga River, a moon’s journey beyond

the Manica country. Is this so also, ‘Macumazahn?’”

“Why do you ask whither we go? What is it to you?” I answered

suspiciously, for the objects of our journey had been kept a dead

secret.

“It is this, O white men, that if indeed you travel so far I would

travel with you.”

There was a certain assumption of dignity in the man’s mode of speech,

and especially in his use of the words “O white men,” instead of “O

Inkosis,” or chiefs, which struck me.

“You forget yourself a little,” I said. “Your words run out unawares.

That is not the way to speak. What is your name, and where is your

kraal? Tell us, that we may know with whom we have to deal.”

“My name is Umbopa. I am of the Zulu people, yet not of them. The house

of my tribe is in the far North; it was left behind when the Zulus came

down here a ‘thousand years ago,’ long before Chaka reigned in

Zululand. I have no kraal. I have wandered for many years. I came from

the North as a child to Zululand. I was Cetewayo’s man in the

Nkomabakosi Regiment, serving there under the great Captain,

Umslopogaasi of the Axe,[5] who taught my hands to fight. Afterwards I

ran away from Zululand and came to Natal because I wanted to see the

white man’s ways. Next I fought against Cetewayo in the war. Since then

I have been working in Natal. Now I am tired, and would go North again.

Here is not my place. I want no money, but I am a brave man, and am

worth my place and meat. I have spoken.”

[5] For the history of Umslopogaasi and his Axe, the reader is

referred to the books called “Allan Quatermain” and “Nada the

Lily.”—_Editor_.

I was rather puzzled by this man and his way of speech. It was evident

to me from his manner that in the main he was telling the truth, but

somehow he seemed different from the ordinary run of Zulus, and I

rather mistrusted his offer to come without pay. Being in a difficulty,

I translated his words to Sir Henry and Good, and asked them their

opinion.

Sir Henry told me to ask him to stand up. Umbopa did so, at the same

time slipping off the long military great coat which he wore, and

revealing himself naked except for the moocha round his centre and a

necklace of lions’ claws. Certainly he was a magnificent-looking man; I

never saw a finer native. Standing about six foot three high he was

broad in proportion, and very shapely. In that light, too, his skin

looked scarcely more than dark, except here and there where deep black

scars marked old assegai wounds. Sir Henry walked up to him and looked

into his proud, handsome face.

“They make a good pair, don’t they?” said Good; “one as big as the

other.”

“I like your looks, Mr. Umbopa, and I will take you as my servant,”

said Sir Henry in English.

Umbopa evidently understood him, for he answered in Zulu, “It is well”;

and then added, with a glance at the white man’s great stature and

breadth, “We are men, thou and I.”

CHAPTER IV.

AN ELEPHANT HUNT

Now I do not propose to narrate at full length all the incidents of our

long travel up to Sitanda’s Kraal, near the junction of the Lukanga and

Kalukwe Rivers. It was a journey of more than a thousand miles from

Durban, the last three hundred or so of which we had to make on foot,

owing to the frequent presence of the dreadful “tsetse” fly, whose bite

is fatal to all animals except donkeys and men.

We left Durban at the end of January, and it was in the second week of

May that we camped near Sitanda’s Kraal. Our adventures on the way were

many and various, but as they are of the sort which befall every

African hunter—with one exception to be presently detailed—I shall not

set them down here, lest I should render this history too wearisome.

At Inyati, the outlying trading station in the Matabele country, of

which Lobengula (a great and cruel scoundrel) is king, with many

regrets we parted from our comfortable wagon. Only twelve oxen remained

to us out of the beautiful span of twenty which I had bought at Durban.

One we lost from the bite of a cobra, three had perished from “poverty”

and the want of water, one strayed, and the other three died from

eating the poisonous herb called “tulip.” Five more sickened from this

cause, but we managed to cure them with doses of an infusion made by

boiling down the tulip leaves. If administered in time this is a very

effective antidote.

The wagon and the oxen we left in the immediate charge of Goza and Tom,

our driver and leader, both trustworthy boys, requesting a worthy

Scotch missionary who lived in this distant place to keep an eye on

them. Then, accompanied by Umbopa, Khiva, Ventvögel, and half a dozen

bearers whom we hired on the spot, we started off on foot upon our wild

quest. I remember we were all a little silent on the occasion of this

departure, and I think that each of us was wondering if we should ever

see our wagon again; for my part I never expected to do so. For a while

we tramped on in silence, till Umbopa, who was marching in front, broke

into a Zulu chant about how some brave men, tired of life and the

tameness of things, started off into a vast wilderness to find new

things or die, and how, lo and behold! when they had travelled far into

the wilderness they found that it was not a wilderness at all, but a

beautiful place full of young wives and fat cattle, of game to hunt and

enemies to kill.

Then we all laughed and took it for a good omen. Umbopa was a cheerful

savage, in a dignified sort of way, when he was not suffering from one

of his fits of brooding, and he had a wonderful knack of keeping up our

spirits. We all grew very fond of him.

And now for the one adventure to which I am going to treat myself, for

I do dearly love a hunting yarn.

About a fortnight’s march from Inyati we came across a peculiarly

beautiful bit of well-watered woodland country. The kloofs in the hills

were covered with dense bush, “idoro” bush as the natives call it, and

in some places, with the “wacht-een-beche,” or “wait-a-little thorn,”

and there were great quantities of the lovely “machabell” tree, laden

with refreshing yellow fruit having enormous stones. This tree is the

elephant’s favourite food, and there were not wanting signs that the

great brutes had been about, for not only was their spoor frequent, but

in many places the trees were broken down and even uprooted. The

elephant is a destructive feeder.

One evening, after a long day’s march, we came to a spot of great

loveliness. At the foot of a bush-clad hill lay a dry river-bed, in

which, however, were to be found pools of crystal water all trodden

round with the hoof-prints of game. Facing this hill was a park-like

plain, where grew clumps of flat-topped mimosa, varied with occasional

glossy-leaved machabells, and all round stretched the sea of pathless,

silent bush.

As we emerged into this river-bed path suddenly we started a troop of

tall giraffes, who galloped, or rather sailed off, in their strange

gait, their tails screwed up over their backs, and their hoofs rattling

like castanets. They were about three hundred yards from us, and

therefore practically out of shot, but Good, who was walking ahead, and

who had an express loaded with solid ball in his hand, could not resist

temptation. Lifting his gun, he let drive at the last, a young cow. By

some extraordinary chance the ball struck it full on the back of the

neck, shattering the spinal column, and that giraffe went rolling head

over heels just like a rabbit. I never saw a more curious thing.

“Curse it!” said Good—for I am sorry to say he had a habit of using

strong language when excited—contracted, no doubt, in the course of his

nautical career; “curse it! I’ve killed him.”

“_Ou_, Bougwan,” ejaculated the Kafirs; “_ou! ou!_”

They called Good “Bougwan,” or Glass Eye, because of his eye-glass.

“Oh, ‘Bougwan!’” re-echoed Sir Henry and I, and from that day Good’s

reputation as a marvellous shot was established, at any rate among the

Kafirs. Really he was a bad one, but whenever he missed we overlooked

it for the sake of that giraffe.

Having set some of the “boys” to cut off the best of the giraffe’s

meat, we went to work to build a “scherm” near one of the pools and

about a hundred yards to its right. This is done by cutting a quantity

of thorn bushes and piling them in the shape of a circular hedge. Then

the space enclosed is smoothed, and dry tambouki grass, if obtainable,

is made into a bed in the centre, and a fire or fires lighted.

By the time the “scherm” was finished the moon peeped up, and our

dinners of giraffe steaks and roasted marrow-bones were ready. How we

enjoyed those marrow-bones, though it was rather a job to crack them! I

know of no greater luxury than giraffe marrow, unless it is elephant’s

heart, and we had that on the morrow. We ate our simple meal by the

light of the moon, pausing at times to thank Good for his wonderful

shot; then we began to smoke and yarn, and a curious picture we must

have made squatting there round the fire. I, with my short grizzled

hair sticking up straight, and Sir Henry with his yellow locks, which

were getting rather long, were rather a contrast, especially as I am

thin, and short, and dark, weighing only nine stone and a half, and Sir

Henry is tall, and broad, and fair, and weighs fifteen. But perhaps the

most curious-looking of the three, taking all the circumstances of the

case into consideration, was Captain John Good, R.N. There he sat upon

a leather bag, looking just as though he had come in from a comfortable

day’s shooting in a civilised country, absolutely clean, tidy, and well

dressed. He wore a shooting suit of brown tweed, with a hat to match,

and neat gaiters. As usual, he was beautifully shaved, his eye-glass

and his false teeth appeared to be in perfect order, and altogether he

looked the neatest man I ever had to do with in the wilderness. He even

sported a collar, of which he had a supply, made of white gutta-percha.

“You see, they weigh so little,” he said to me innocently, when I

expressed my astonishment at the fact; “and I always like to turn out

like a gentleman.” Ah! if he could have foreseen the future and the

raiment prepared for him.

Well, there we three sat yarning away in the beautiful moonlight, and

watching the Kafirs a few yards off sucking their intoxicating “daccha”

from a pipe of which the mouthpiece was made of the horn of an eland,

till one by one they rolled themselves up in their blankets and went to

sleep by the fire, that is, all except Umbopa, who was a little apart,

his chin resting on his hand, and thinking deeply. I noticed that he

never mixed much with the other Kafirs.

Presently, from the depths of the bush behind us, came a loud “_woof_,

_woof_!” “That’s a lion,” said I, and we all started up to listen.

Hardly had we done so, when from the pool, about a hundred yards off,

we heard the strident trumpeting of an elephant. “_Unkungunklovo_!

_Indlovu_!” “Elephant! Elephant!” whispered the Kafirs, and a few

minutes afterwards we saw a succession of vast shadowy forms moving

slowly from the direction of the water towards the bush.

Up jumped Good, burning for slaughter, and thinking, perhaps, that it

was as easy to kill elephant as he had found it to shoot giraffe, but I

caught him by the arm and pulled him down.

“It’s no good,” I whispered, “let them go.”

“It seems that we are in a paradise of game. I vote we stop here a day

or two, and have a go at them,” said Sir Henry, presently.

I was rather surprised, for hitherto Sir Henry had always been for

pushing forward as fast as possible, more especially since we

ascertained at Inyati that about two years ago an Englishman of the

name of Neville _had_ sold his wagon there, and gone on up country. But

I suppose his hunter instincts got the better of him for a while.

Good jumped at the idea, for he was longing to have a shot at those

elephants; and so, to speak the truth, did I, for it went against my

conscience to let such a herd as that escape without a pull at them.

“All right, my hearties,” said I. “I think we want a little recreation.

And now let’s turn in, for we ought to be off by dawn, and then perhaps

we may catch them feeding before they move on.”

The others agreed, and we proceeded to make our preparations. Good took

off his clothes, shook them, put his eye-glass and his false teeth into

his trousers pocket, and folding each article neatly, placed it out of

the dew under a corner of his mackintosh sheet. Sir Henry and I

contented ourselves with rougher arrangements, and soon were curled up

in our blankets, and dropping off into the dreamless sleep that rewards

the traveller.

Going, going, go—What was that?

Suddenly, from the direction of the water came sounds of violent

scuffling, and next instant there broke upon our ears a succession of

the most awful roars. There was no mistaking their origin; only a lion

could make such a noise as that. We all jumped up and looked towards

the water, in the direction of which we saw a confused mass, yellow and

black in colour, staggering and struggling towards us. We seized our

rifles, and slipping on our veldtschoons, that is shoes made of

untanned hide, ran out of the scherm. By this time the mass had fallen,

and was rolling over and over on the ground, and when we reached the

spot it struggled no longer, but lay quite still.

Now we saw what it was. On the grass there lay a sable antelope

bull—the most beautiful of all the African antelopes—quite dead, and

transfixed by its great curved horns was a magnificent black-maned

lion, also dead. Evidently what had happened was this: The sable

antelope had come down to drink at the pool where the lion—no doubt the

same which we had heard—was lying in wait. While the antelope drank,

the lion had sprung upon him, only to be received upon the sharp curved

horns and transfixed. Once before I saw a similar thing happen. Then

the lion, unable to free himself, had torn and bitten at the back and

neck of the bull, which, maddened with fear and pain, had rushed on

until it dropped dead.

As soon as we had examined the beasts sufficiently we called the

Kafirs, and between us managed to drag their carcases up to the scherm.

After that we went in and lay down, to wake no more till dawn.

With the first light we were up and making ready for the fray. We took

with us the three eight-bore rifles, a good supply of ammunition, and

our large water-bottles, filled with weak cold tea, which I have always

found the best stuff to shoot on. After swallowing a little breakfast

we started, Umbopa, Khiva, and Ventvögel accompanying us. The other

Kafirs we left with instructions to skin the lion and the sable

antelope, and to cut up the latter.

We had no difficulty in finding the broad elephant trail, which

Ventvögel, after examination, pronounced to have been made by between

twenty and thirty elephants, most of them full-grown bulls. But the

herd had moved on some way during the night, and it was nine o’clock,

and already very hot, before, by the broken trees, bruised leaves and

bark, and smoking droppings, we knew that we could not be far from

them.

Presently we caught sight of the herd, which numbered, as Ventvögel had

said, between twenty and thirty, standing in a hollow, having finished

their morning meal, and flapping their great ears. It was a splendid

sight, for they were only about two hundred yards from us. Taking a

handful of dry grass, I threw it into the air to see how the wind was;

for if once they winded us I knew they would be off before we could get

a shot. Finding that, if anything, it blew from the elephants to us, we

crept on stealthily, and thanks to the cover managed to get within

forty yards or so of the great brutes. Just in front of us, and

broadside on, stood three splendid bulls, one of them with enormous

tusks. I whispered to the others that I would take the middle one; Sir

Henry covering the elephant to the left, and Good the bull with the big

tusks.

“Now,” I whispered.

Boom! boom! boom! went the three heavy rifles, and down came Sir

Henry’s elephant dead as a hammer, shot right through the heart. Mine

fell on to its knees and I thought that he was going to die, but in

another moment he was up and off, tearing along straight past me. As he

went I gave him the second barrel in the ribs, and this brought him

down in good earnest. Hastily slipping in two fresh cartridges I ran

close up to him, and a ball through the brain put an end to the poor

brute’s struggles. Then I turned to see how Good had fared with the big

bull, which I had heard screaming with rage and pain as I gave mine its

quietus. On reaching the captain I found him in a great state of

excitement. It appeared that on receiving the bullet the bull had

turned and come straight for his assailant, who had barely time to get

out of his way, and then charged on blindly past him, in the direction

of our encampment. Meanwhile the herd had crashed off in wild alarm in

the other direction.

For awhile we debated whether to go after the wounded bull or to follow

the herd, and finally deciding for the latter alternative, departed,

thinking that we had seen the last of those big tusks. I have often

wished since that we had. It was easy work to follow the elephants, for

they had left a trail like a carriage road behind them, crushing down

the thick bush in their furious flight as though it were tambouki

grass.

But to come up with them was another matter, and we had struggled on

under the broiling sun for over two hours before we found them. With

the exception of one bull, they were standing together, and I could

see, from their unquiet way and the manner in which they kept lifting

their trunks to test the air, that they were on the look-out for

mischief. The solitary bull stood fifty yards or so to this side of the

herd, over which he was evidently keeping sentry, and about sixty yards

from us. Thinking that he would see or wind us, and that it would

probably start them off again if we tried to get nearer, especially as

the ground was rather open, we all aimed at this bull, and at my

whispered word, we fired. The three shots took effect, and down he went

dead. Again the herd started, but unfortunately for them about a

hundred yards further on was a nullah, or dried-out water track, with

steep banks, a place very much resembling the one where the Prince

Imperial was killed in Zululand. Into this the elephants plunged, and

when we reached the edge we found them struggling in wild confusion to

get up the other bank, filling the air with their screams, and

trumpeting as they pushed one another aside in their selfish panic,

just like so many human beings. Now was our opportunity, and firing

away as quickly as we could load, we killed five of the poor beasts,

and no doubt should have bagged the whole herd, had they not suddenly

given up their attempts to climb the bank and rushed headlong down the

nullah. We were too tired to follow them, and perhaps also a little

sick of slaughter, eight elephants being a pretty good bag for one day.

So after we were rested a little, and the Kafirs had cut out the hearts

of two of the dead elephants for supper, we started homewards, very

well pleased with our day’s work, having made up our minds to send the

bearers on the morrow to chop away the tusks.

Shortly after we re-passed the spot where Good had wounded the

patriarchal bull we came across a herd of eland, but did not shoot at

them, as we had plenty of meat. They trotted past us, and then stopped

behind a little patch of bush about a hundred yards away, wheeling

round to look at us. As Good was anxious to get a near view of them,

never having seen an eland close, he handed his rifle to Umbopa, and,

followed by Khiva, strolled up to the patch of bush. We sat down and

waited for him, not sorry of the excuse for a little rest.

The sun was just going down in its reddest glory, and Sir Henry and I

were admiring the lovely scene, when suddenly we heard an elephant

scream, and saw its huge and rushing form with uplifted trunk and tail

silhouetted against the great fiery globe of the sun. Next second we

saw something else, and that was Good and Khiva tearing back towards us

with the wounded bull—for it was he—charging after them. For a moment

we did not dare to fire—though at that distance it would have been of

little use if we had done so—for fear of hitting one of them, and the

next a dreadful thing happened—Good fell a victim to his passion for

civilised dress. Had he consented to discard his trousers and gaiters

like the rest of us, and to hunt in a flannel shirt and a pair of

veldt-schoons, it would have been all right. But as it was, his

trousers cumbered him in that desperate race, and presently, when he

was about sixty yards from us, his boot, polished by the dry grass,

slipped, and down he went on his face right in front of the elephant.

We gave a gasp, for we knew that he must die, and ran as hard as we

could towards him. In three seconds it had ended, but not as we

thought. Khiva, the Zulu boy, saw his master fall, and brave lad as he

was, turned and flung his assegai straight into the elephant’s face. It

stuck in his trunk.

With a scream of pain, the brute seized the poor Zulu, hurled him to

the earth, and placing one huge foot on to his body about the middle,

twined its trunk round his upper part and _tore him in two_.

We rushed up mad with horror, and fired again and again, till presently

the elephant fell upon the fragments of the Zulu.

As for Good, he rose and wrung his hands over the brave man who had

given his life to save him, and, though I am an old hand, I felt a lump

grow in my throat. Umbopa stood contemplating the huge dead elephant

and the mangled remains of poor Khiva.

“Ah, well,” he said presently, “he is dead, but he died like a man!”

CHAPTER V.

OUR MARCH INTO THE DESERT

We had killed nine elephants, and it took us two days to cut out the

tusks, and having brought them into camp, to bury them carefully in the

sand under a large tree, which made a conspicuous mark for miles round.

It was a wonderfully fine lot of ivory. I never saw a better, averaging

as it did between forty and fifty pounds a tusk. The tusks of the great

bull that killed poor Khiva scaled one hundred and seventy pounds the

pair, so nearly as we could judge.

As for Khiva himself, we buried what remained of him in an ant-bear

hole, together with an assegai to protect himself with on his journey

to a better world. On the third day we marched again, hoping that we

might live to return to dig up our buried ivory, and in due course,

after a long and wearisome tramp, and many adventures which I have not

space to detail, we reached Sitanda’s Kraal, near the Lukanga River,

the real starting-point of our expedition. Very well do I recollect our

arrival at that place. To the right was a scattered native settlement

with a few stone cattle kraals and some cultivated lands down by the

water, where these savages grew their scanty supply of grain, and

beyond it stretched great tracts of waving “veld” covered with tall

grass, over which herds of the smaller game were wandering. To the left

lay the vast desert. This spot appears to be the outpost of the fertile

country, and it would be difficult to say to what natural causes such

an abrupt change in the character of the soil is due. But so it is.

Just below our encampment flowed a little stream, on the farther side

of which is a stony slope, the same down which, twenty years before, I

had seen poor Silvestre creeping back after his attempt to reach

Solomon’s Mines, and beyond that slope begins the waterless desert,

covered with a species of karoo shrub.

It was evening when we pitched our camp, and the great ball of the sun

was sinking into the desert, sending glorious rays of many-coloured

light flying all over its vast expanse. Leaving Good to superintend the

arrangement of our little camp, I took Sir Henry with me, and walking

to the top of the slope opposite, we gazed across the desert. The air

was very clear, and far, far away I could distinguish the faint blue

outlines, here and there capped with white, of the Suliman Berg.

“There,” I said, “there is the wall round Solomon’s Mines, but God

knows if we shall ever climb it.”

“My brother should be there, and if he is, I shall reach him somehow,”

said Sir Henry, in that tone of quiet confidence which marked the man.

“I hope so,” I answered, and turned to go back to the camp, when I saw

that we were not alone. Behind us, also gazing earnestly towards the

far-off mountains, stood the great Kafir Umbopa.

The Zulu spoke when he saw that I had observed him, addressing Sir

Henry, to whom he had attached himself.

“Is it to that land that thou wouldst journey, Incubu?” (a native word

meaning, I believe, an elephant, and the name given to Sir Henry by the

Kafirs), he said, pointing towards the mountain with his broad assegai.

I asked him sharply what he meant by addressing his master in that

familiar way. It is very well for natives to have a name for one among

themselves, but it is not decent that they should call a white man by

their heathenish appellations to his face. The Zulu laughed a quiet

little laugh which angered me.

“How dost thou know that I am not the equal of the Inkosi whom I

serve?” he said. “He is of a royal house, no doubt; one can see it in

his size and by his mien; so, mayhap, am I. At least, I am as great a

man. Be my mouth, O Macumazahn, and say my words to the Inkoos Incubu,

my master, for I would speak to him and to thee.”

I was angry with the man, for I am not accustomed to be talked to in

that way by Kafirs, but somehow he impressed me, and besides I was

curious to know what he had to say. So I translated, expressing my

opinion at the same time that he was an impudent fellow, and that his

swagger was outrageous.

“Yes, Umbopa,” answered Sir Henry, “I would journey there.”

“The desert is wide and there is no water in it, the mountains are high

and covered with snow, and man cannot say what lies beyond them behind

the place where the sun sets; how shalt thou come thither, Incubu, and

wherefore dost thou go?”

I translated again.

“Tell him,” answered Sir Henry, “that I go because I believe that a man

of my blood, my brother, has gone there before me, and I journey to

seek him.”

“That is so, Incubu; a Hottentot I met on the road told me that a white

man went out into the desert two years ago towards those mountains with

one servant, a hunter. They never came back.”

“How do you know it was my brother?” asked Sir Henry.

“Nay, I know not. But the Hottentot, when I asked what the white man

was like, said that he had thine eyes and a black beard. He said, too,

that the name of the hunter with him was Jim; that he was a Bechuana

hunter and wore clothes.”

“There is no doubt about it,” said I; “I knew Jim well.”

Sir Henry nodded. “I was sure of it,” he said. “If George set his mind

upon a thing he generally did it. It was always so from his boyhood. If

he meant to cross the Suliman Berg he has crossed it, unless some

accident overtook him, and we must look for him on the other side.”

Umbopa understood English, though he rarely spoke it.

“It is a far journey, Incubu,” he put in, and I translated his remark.

“Yes,” answered Sir Henry, “it is far. But there is no journey upon

this earth that a man may not make if he sets his heart to it. There is

nothing, Umbopa, that he cannot do, there are no mountains he may not

climb, there are no deserts he cannot cross, save a mountain and a

desert of which you are spared the knowledge, if love leads him and he

holds his life in his hands counting it as nothing, ready to keep it or

lose it as Heaven above may order.”

I translated.

“Great words, my father,” answered the Zulu—I always called him a Zulu,

though he was not really one—“great swelling words fit to fill the

mouth of a man. Thou art right, my father Incubu. Listen! what is life?

It is a feather, it is the seed of the grass, blown hither and thither,

sometimes multiplying itself and dying in the act, sometimes carried

away into the heavens. But if that seed be good and heavy it may

perchance travel a little way on the road it wills. It is well to try

and journey one’s road and to fight with the air. Man must die. At the

worst he can but die a little sooner. I will go with thee across the

desert and over the mountains, unless perchance I fall to the ground on

the way, my father.”

He paused awhile, and then went on with one of those strange bursts of

rhetorical eloquence that Zulus sometimes indulge in, which to my mind,

full though they are of vain repetitions, show that the race is by no

means devoid of poetic instinct and of intellectual power.

“What is life? Tell me, O white men, who are wise, who know the secrets

of the world, and of the world of stars, and the world that lies above

and around the stars; who flash your words from afar without a voice;

tell me, white men, the secret of our life—whither it goes and whence

it comes!

“You cannot answer me; you know not. Listen, I will answer. Out of the

dark we came, into the dark we go. Like a storm-driven bird at night we

fly out of the Nowhere; for a moment our wings are seen in the light of

the fire, and, lo! we are gone again into the Nowhere. Life is nothing.

Life is all. It is the Hand with which we hold off Death. It is the

glow-worm that shines in the night-time and is black in the morning; it

is the white breath of the oxen in winter; it is the little shadow that

runs across the grass and loses itself at sunset.”

“You are a strange man,” said Sir Henry, when he had ceased.

Umbopa laughed. “It seems to me that we are much alike, Incubu. Perhaps

_I_ seek a brother over the mountains.”

I looked at him suspiciously. “What dost thou mean?” I asked; “what

dost thou know of those mountains?”

“A little; a very little. There is a strange land yonder, a land of

witchcraft and beautiful things; a land of brave people, and of trees,

and streams, and snowy peaks, and of a great white road. I have heard

of it. But what is the good of talking? It grows dark. Those who live

to see will see.”

Again I looked at him doubtfully. The man knew too much.

“You need not fear me, Macumazahn,” he said, interpreting my look. “I

dig no holes for you to fall in. I make no plots. If ever we cross

those mountains behind the sun I will tell what I know. But Death sits

upon them. Be wise and turn back. Go and hunt elephants, my masters. I

have spoken.”

And without another word he lifted his spear in salutation, and

returned towards the camp, where shortly afterwards we found him

cleaning a gun like any other Kafir.

“That is an odd man,” said Sir Henry.

“Yes,” answered I, “too odd by half. I don’t like his little ways. He

knows something, and will not speak out. But I suppose it is no use

quarrelling with him. We are in for a curious trip, and a mysterious

Zulu won’t make much difference one way or another.”

Next day we made our arrangements for starting. Of course it was

impossible to drag our heavy elephant rifles and other kit with us

across the desert, so, dismissing our bearers, we made an arrangement

with an old native who had a kraal close by to take care of them till

we returned. It went to my heart to leave such things as those sweet

tools to the tender mercies of an old thief of a savage whose greedy

eyes I could see gloating over them. But I took some precautions.

First of all I loaded all the rifles, placing them at full cock, and

informed him that if he touched them they would go off. He tried the

experiment instantly with my eight-bore, and it did go off, and blew a

hole right through one of his oxen, which were just then being driven

up to the kraal, to say nothing of knocking him head over heels with

the recoil. He got up considerably startled, and not at all pleased at

the loss of the ox, which he had the impudence to ask me to pay for,

and nothing would induce him to touch the guns again.

“Put the live devils out of the way up there in the thatch,” he said,

“or they will murder us all.”

Then I told him that, when we came back, if one of those things was

missing I would kill him and his people by witchcraft; and if we died

and he tried to steal the rifles I would come and haunt him and turn

his cattle mad and his milk sour till life was a weariness, and would

make the devils in the guns come out and talk to him in a way he did

not like, and generally gave him a good idea of judgment to come. After

that he promised to look after them as though they were his father’s

spirit. He was a very superstitious old Kafir and a great villain.

Having thus disposed of our superfluous gear we arranged the kit we

five—Sir Henry, Good, myself, Umbopa, and the Hottentot Ventvögel—were

to take with us on our journey. It was small enough, but do what we

would we could not get its weight down under about forty pounds a man.

This is what it consisted of:—

The three express rifles and two hundred rounds of ammunition.

The two Winchester repeating rifles (for Umbopa and Ventvögel), with

two hundred rounds of cartridge.

Five Cochrane’s water-bottles, each holding four pints.

Five blankets.

Twenty-five pounds’ weight of biltong—i.e. sun-dried game flesh.

Ten pounds’ weight of best mixed beads for gifts.

A selection of medicine, including an ounce of quinine, and one or two

small surgical instruments.

Our knives, a few sundries, such as a compass, matches, a pocket

filter, tobacco, a trowel, a bottle of brandy, and the clothes we stood

in.

This was our total equipment, a small one indeed for such a venture,

but we dared not attempt to carry more. Indeed, that load was a heavy

one per man with which to travel across the burning desert, for in such

places every additional ounce tells. But we could not see our way to

reducing the weight. There was nothing taken but what was absolutely

necessary.

With great difficulty, and by the promise of a present of a good

hunting-knife each, I succeeded in persuading three wretched natives

from the village to come with us for the first stage, twenty miles, and

to carry a large gourd holding a gallon of water apiece. My object was

to enable us to refill our water-bottles after the first night’s march,

for we determined to start in the cool of the evening. I gave out to

these natives that we were going to shoot ostriches, with which the

desert abounded. They jabbered and shrugged their shoulders, saying

that we were mad and should perish of thirst, which I must say seemed

probable; but being desirous of obtaining the knives, which were almost

unknown treasures up there, they consented to come, having probably

reflected that, after all, our subsequent extinction would be no affair

of theirs.

All next day we rested and slept, and at sunset ate a hearty meal of

fresh beef washed down with tea, the last, as Good remarked sadly, we

were likely to drink for many a long day. Then, having made our final

preparations, we lay down and waited for the moon to rise. At last,

about nine o’clock, up she came in all her glory, flooding the wild

country with light, and throwing a silver sheen on the expanse of

rolling desert before us, which looked as solemn and quiet and as alien

to man as the star-studded firmament above. We rose up, and in a few

minutes were ready, and yet we hesitated a little, as human nature is

prone to hesitate on the threshold of an irrevocable step. We three

white men stood by ourselves. Umbopa, assegai in hand and a rifle

across his shoulders, looked out fixedly across the desert a few paces

ahead of us; while the hired natives, with the gourds of water, and

Ventvögel, were gathered in a little knot behind.

“Gentlemen,” said Sir Henry presently, in his deep voice, “we are going

on about as strange a journey as men can make in this world. It is very

doubtful if we can succeed in it. But we are three men who will stand

together for good or for evil to the last. Now before we start let us

for a moment pray to the Power who shapes the destinies of men, and who

ages since has marked out our paths, that it may please Him to direct

our steps in accordance with His will.”

Taking off his hat, for the space of a minute or so, he covered his

face with his hands, and Good and I did likewise.

I do not say that I am a first-rate praying man, few hunters are, and

as for Sir Henry, I never heard him speak like that before, and only

once since, though deep down in his heart I believe that he is very

religious. Good too is pious, though apt to swear. Anyhow I do not

remember, excepting on one single occasion, ever putting up a better

prayer in my life than I did during that minute, and somehow I felt the

happier for it. Our future was so completely unknown, and I think that

the unknown and the awful always bring a man nearer to his Maker.

“And now,” said Sir Henry, “_trek_!”

So we started.

We had nothing to guide ourselves by except the distant mountains and

old José da Silvestra’s chart, which, considering that it was drawn by

a dying and half-distraught man on a fragment of linen three centuries

ago, was not a very satisfactory sort of thing to work with. Still, our

sole hope of success depended upon it, such as it was. If we failed in

finding that pool of bad water which the old Dom marked as being

situated in the middle of the desert, about sixty miles from our

starting-point, and as far from the mountains, in all probability we

must perish miserably of thirst. But to my mind the chances of our

finding it in that great sea of sand and karoo scrub seemed almost

infinitesimal. Even supposing that da Silvestra had marked the pool

correctly, what was there to prevent its having been dried up by the

sun generations ago, or trampled in by game, or filled with the

drifting sand?

On we tramped silently as shades through the night and in the heavy

sand. The karoo bushes caught our feet and retarded us, and the sand

worked into our veldtschoons and Good’s shooting-boots, so that every

few miles we had to stop and empty them; but still the night kept

fairly cool, though the atmosphere was thick and heavy, giving a sort

of creamy feel to the air, and we made fair progress. It was very

silent and lonely there in the desert, oppressively so indeed. Good

felt this, and once began to whistle “The Girl I left behind me,” but

the notes sounded lugubrious in that vast place, and he gave it up.

Shortly afterwards a little incident occurred which, though it startled

us at the time, gave rise to a laugh. Good was leading, as the holder

of the compass, which, being a sailor, of course he understood

thoroughly, and we were toiling along in single file behind him, when

suddenly we heard the sound of an exclamation, and he vanished. Next

second there arose all around us a most extraordinary hubbub, snorts,

groans, and wild sounds of rushing feet. In the faint light, too, we

could descry dim galloping forms half hidden by wreaths of sand. The

natives threw down their loads and prepared to bolt, but remembering

that there was nowhere to run to, they cast themselves upon the ground

and howled out that it was ghosts. As for Sir Henry and myself, we

stood amazed; nor was our amazement lessened when we perceived the form

of Good careering off in the direction of the mountains, apparently

mounted on the back of a horse and halloaing wildly. In another second

he threw up his arms, and we heard him come to the earth with a thud.

Then I saw what had happened; we had stumbled upon a herd of sleeping

quagga, on to the back of one of which Good actually had fallen, and

the brute naturally enough got up and made off with him. Calling out to

the others that it was all right, I ran towards Good, much afraid lest

he should be hurt, but to my great relief I found him sitting in the

sand, his eye-glass still fixed firmly in his eye, rather shaken and

very much frightened, but not in any way injured.

After this we travelled on without any further misadventure till about

one o’clock, when we called a halt, and having drunk a little water,

not much, for water was precious, and rested for half an hour, we

started again.

On, on we went, till at last the east began to blush like the cheek of

a girl. Then there came faint rays of primrose light, that changed

presently to golden bars, through which the dawn glided out across the

desert. The stars grew pale and paler still, till at last they

vanished; the golden moon waxed wan, and her mountain ridges stood out

against her sickly face like the bones on the cheek of a dying man.

Then came spear upon spear of light flashing far away across the

boundless wilderness, piercing and firing the veils of mist, till the

desert was draped in a tremulous golden glow, and it was day.

Still we did not halt, though by this time we should have been glad

enough to do so, for we knew that when once the sun was fully up it

would be almost impossible for us to travel. At length, about an hour

later, we spied a little pile of boulders rising out of the plain, and

to this we dragged ourselves. As luck would have it, here we found an

overhanging slab of rock carpeted beneath with smooth sand, which

afforded a most grateful shelter from the heat. Underneath this we

crept, and each of us having drunk some water and eaten a bit of

biltong, we lay down and soon were sound asleep.

It was three o’clock in the afternoon before we woke, to find our

bearers preparing to return. They had seen enough of the desert

already, and no number of knives would have tempted them to come a step

farther. So we took a hearty drink, and having emptied our

water-bottles, filled them up again from the gourds that they had

brought with them, and then watched them depart on their twenty miles’

tramp home.

At half-past four we also started. It was lonely and desolate work, for

with the exception of a few ostriches there was not a single living

creature to be seen on all the vast expanse of sandy plain. Evidently

it was too dry for game, and with the exception of a deadly-looking

cobra or two we saw no reptiles. One insect, however, we found

abundant, and that was the common or house fly. There they came, “not

as single spies, but in battalions,” as I think the Old Testament[6]

says somewhere. He is an extraordinary insect is the house fly. Go

where you will you find him, and so it must have been always. I have

seen him enclosed in amber, which is, I was told, quite half a million

years old, looking exactly like his descendant of to-day, and I have

little doubt but that when the last man lies dying on the earth he will

be buzzing round—if this event happens to occur in summer—watching for

an opportunity to settle on his nose.

[6] Readers must beware of accepting Mr. Quatermain’s references as

accurate, as, it has been found, some are prone to do. Although his

reading evidently was limited, the impression produced by it upon his

mind was mixed. Thus to him the Old Testament and Shakespeare were

interchangeable authorities.—_Editor_.

At sunset we halted, waiting for the moon to rise. At last she came up,

beautiful and serene as ever, and, with one halt about two o’clock in

the morning, we trudged on wearily through the night, till at last the

welcome sun put a period to our labours. We drank a little and flung

ourselves down on the sand, thoroughly tired out, and soon were all

asleep. There was no need to set a watch, for we had nothing to fear

from anybody or anything in that vast untenanted plain. Our only

enemies were heat, thirst, and flies, but far rather would I have faced

any danger from man or beast than that awful trinity. This time we were

not so lucky as to find a sheltering rock to guard us from the glare of

the sun, with the result that about seven o’clock we woke up

experiencing the exact sensations one would attribute to a beefsteak on

a gridiron. We were literally being baked through and through. The

burning sun seemed to be sucking our very blood out of us. We sat up

and gasped.

“Phew,” said I, grabbing at the halo of flies which buzzed cheerfully

round my head. The heat did not affect _them_.

“My word!” said Sir Henry.

“It is hot!” echoed Good.

It was hot, indeed, and there was not a bit of shelter to be found.

Look where we would there was no rock or tree, nothing but an unending

glare, rendered dazzling by the heated air that danced over the surface

of the desert as it dances over a red-hot stove.

“What is to be done?” asked Sir Henry; “we can’t stand this for long.”

We looked at each other blankly.

“I have it,” said Good, “we must dig a hole, get in it, and cover

ourselves with the karoo bushes.”

It did not seem a very promising suggestion, but at least it was better

than nothing, so we set to work, and, with the trowel we had brought

with us and the help of our hands, in about an hour we succeeded in

delving out a patch of ground some ten feet long by twelve wide to the

depth of two feet. Then we cut a quantity of low scrub with our

hunting-knives, and creeping into the hole, pulled it over us all, with

the exception of Ventvögel, on whom, being a Hottentot, the heat had no

particular effect. This gave us some slight shelter from the burning

rays of the sun, but the atmosphere in that amateur grave can be better

imagined than described. The Black Hole of Calcutta must have been a

fool to it; indeed, to this moment I do not know how we lived through

the day. There we lay panting, and every now and again moistening our

lips from our scanty supply of water. Had we followed our inclinations

we should have finished all we possessed in the first two hours, but we

were forced to exercise the most rigid care, for if our water failed us

we knew that very soon we must perish miserably.

But everything has an end, if only you live long enough to see it, and

somehow that miserable day wore on towards evening. About three o’clock

in the afternoon we determined that we could bear it no longer. It

would be better to die walking than to be killed slowly by heat and

thirst in this dreadful hole. So taking each of us a little drink from

our fast diminishing supply of water, now warmed to about the same

temperature as a man’s blood, we staggered forward.

We had then covered some fifty miles of wilderness. If the reader will

refer to the rough copy and translation of old da Silvestra’s map, he

will see that the desert is marked as measuring forty leagues across,

and the “pan bad water” is set down as being about in the middle of it.

Now forty leagues is one hundred and twenty miles, consequently we

ought at the most to be within twelve or fifteen miles of the water if

any should really exist.

Through the afternoon we crept slowly and painfully along, scarcely

doing more than a mile and a half in an hour. At sunset we rested

again, waiting for the moon, and after drinking a little managed to get

some sleep.

Before we lay down, Umbopa pointed out to us a slight and indistinct

hillock on the flat surface of the plain about eight miles away. At the

distance it looked like an ant-hill, and as I was dropping off to sleep

I fell to wondering what it could be.

With the moon we marched again, feeling dreadfully exhausted, and

suffering tortures from thirst and prickly heat. Nobody who has not

felt it can know what we went through. We walked no longer, we

staggered, now and again falling from exhaustion, and being obliged to

call a halt every hour or so. We had scarcely energy left in us to

speak. Up to this Good had chatted and joked, for he is a merry fellow;

but now he had not a joke in him.

At last, about two o’clock, utterly worn out in body and mind, we came

to the foot of the queer hill, or sand koppie, which at first sight

resembled a gigantic ant-heap about a hundred feet high, and covering

at the base nearly two acres of ground.

Here we halted, and driven to it by our desperate thirst, sucked down

our last drops of water. We had but half a pint a head, and each of us

could have drunk a gallon.

Then we lay down. Just as I was dropping off to sleep I heard Umbopa

remark to himself in Zulu—

“If we cannot find water we shall all be dead before the moon rises

to-morrow.”

I shuddered, hot as it was. The near prospect of such an awful death is

not pleasant, but even the thought of it could not keep me from

sleeping.

CHAPTER VI.

WATER! WATER!

Two hours later, that is, about four o’clock, I woke up, for so soon as

the first heavy demand of bodily fatigue had been satisfied, the

torturing thirst from which I was suffering asserted itself. I could

sleep no more. I had been dreaming that I was bathing in a running

stream, with green banks and trees upon them, and I awoke to find

myself in this arid wilderness, and to remember, as Umbopa had said,

that if we did not find water this day we must perish miserably. No

human creature could live long without water in that heat. I sat up and

rubbed my grimy face with my dry and horny hands, as my lips and

eyelids were stuck together, and it was only after some friction and

with an effort that I was able to open them. It was not far from dawn,

but there was none of the bright feel of dawn in the air, which was

thick with a hot murkiness that I cannot describe. The others were

still sleeping.

Presently it began to grow light enough to read, so I drew out a little

pocket copy of the “Ingoldsby Legends” which I had brought with me, and

read “The Jackdaw of Rheims.” When I got to where

“A nice little boy held a golden ewer,

Embossed, and filled with water as pure

As any that flows between Rheims and Namur,”

literally I smacked my cracking lips, or rather tried to smack them.

The mere thought of that pure water made me mad. If the Cardinal had

been there with his bell, book, and candle, I would have whipped in and

drunk his water up; yes, even if he had filled it already with the suds

of soap “worthy of washing the hands of the Pope,” and I knew that the

whole consecrated curse of the Catholic Church should fall upon me for

so doing. I almost think that I must have been a little light-headed

with thirst, weariness and the want of food; for I fell to thinking how

astonished the Cardinal and his nice little boy and the jackdaw would

have looked to see a burnt up, brown-eyed, grizzly-haired little

elephant hunter suddenly bound between them, put his dirty face into

the basin, and swallow every drop of the precious water. The idea

amused me so much that I laughed or rather cackled aloud, which woke

the others, and they began to rub _their_ dirty faces and drag _their_

gummed-up lips and eyelids apart.

As soon as we were all well awake we began to discuss the situation,

which was serious enough. Not a drop of water was left. We turned the

bottles upside down, and licked their tops, but it was a failure; they

were dry as a bone. Good, who had charge of the flask of brandy, got it

out and looked at it longingly; but Sir Henry promptly took it away

from him, for to drink raw spirit would only have been to precipitate

the end.

“If we do not find water we shall die,” he said.

“If we can trust to the old Dom’s map there should be some about,” I

said; but nobody seemed to derive much satisfaction from this remark.

It was so evident that no great faith could be put in the map. Now it

was gradually growing light, and as we sat staring blankly at each

other, I observed the Hottentot Ventvögel rise and begin to walk about

with his eyes on the ground. Presently he stopped short, and uttering a

guttural exclamation, pointed to the earth.

“What is it?” we exclaimed; and rising simultaneously we went to where

he was standing staring at the sand.

“Well,” I said, “it is fresh Springbok spoor; what of it?”

“Springbucks do not go far from water,” he answered in Dutch.

“No,” I answered, “I forgot; and thank God for it.”

This little discovery put new life into us; for it is wonderful, when a

man is in a desperate position, how he catches at the slightest hope,

and feels almost happy. On a dark night a single star is better than

nothing.

Meanwhile Ventvögel was lifting his snub nose, and sniffing the hot air

for all the world like an old Impala ram who scents danger. Presently

he spoke again.

“I _smell_ water,” he said.

Then we felt quite jubilant, for we knew what a wonderful instinct

these wild-bred men possess.

Just at that moment the sun came up gloriously, and revealed so grand a

sight to our astonished eyes that for a moment or two we even forgot

our thirst.

There, not more than forty or fifty miles from us, glittering like

silver in the early rays of the morning sun, soared Sheba’s Breasts;

and stretching away for hundreds of miles on either side of them ran

the great Suliman Berg. Now that, sitting here, I attempt to describe

the extraordinary grandeur and beauty of that sight, language seems to

fail me. I am impotent even before its memory. Straight before us, rose

two enormous mountains, the like of which are not, I believe, to be

seen in Africa, if indeed there are any other such in the world,

measuring each of them at least fifteen thousand feet in height,

standing not more than a dozen miles apart, linked together by a

precipitous cliff of rock, and towering in awful white solemnity

straight into the sky. These mountains placed thus, like the pillars of

a gigantic gateway, are shaped after the fashion of a woman’s breasts,

and at times the mists and shadows beneath them take the form of a

recumbent woman, veiled mysteriously in sleep. Their bases swell gently

from the plain, looking at that distance perfectly round and smooth;

and upon the top of each is a vast hillock covered with snow, exactly

corresponding to the nipple on the female breast. The stretch of cliff

that connects them appears to be some thousands of feet in height, and

perfectly precipitous, and on each flank of them, so far as the eye can

reach, extend similar lines of cliff, broken only here and there by

flat table-topped mountains, something like the world-famed one at Cape

Town; a formation, by the way, that is very common in Africa.

To describe the comprehensive grandeur of that view is beyond my

powers. There was something so inexpressibly solemn and overpowering

about those huge volcanoes—for doubtless they are extinct

volcanoes—that it quite awed us. For a while the morning lights played

upon the snow and the brown and swelling masses beneath, and then, as

though to veil the majestic sight from our curious eyes, strange

vapours and clouds gathered and increased around the mountains, till

presently we could only trace their pure and gigantic outlines, showing

ghostlike through the fleecy envelope. Indeed, as we afterwards

discovered, usually they were wrapped in this gauze-like mist, which

doubtless accounted for our not having seen them more clearly before.

Sheba’s Breasts had scarcely vanished into cloud-clad privacy, before

our thirst—literally a burning question—reasserted itself.

It was all very well for Ventvögel to say that he smelt water, but we

could see no signs of it, look which way we would. So far as the eye

might reach there was nothing but arid sweltering sand and karoo scrub.

We walked round the hillock and gazed about anxiously on the other

side, but it was the same story, not a drop of water could be found;

there was no indication of a pan, a pool, or a spring.

“You are a fool,” I said angrily to Ventvögel; “there is no water.”

But still he lifted his ugly snub nose and sniffed.

“I smell it, Baas,” he answered; “it is somewhere in the air.”

“Yes,” I said, “no doubt it is in the clouds, and about two months

hence it will fall and wash our bones.”

Sir Henry stroked his yellow beard thoughtfully. “Perhaps it is on the

top of the hill,” he suggested.

“Rot,” said Good; “whoever heard of water being found at the top of a

hill!”

“Let us go and look,” I put in, and hopelessly enough we scrambled up

the sandy sides of the hillock, Umbopa leading. Presently he stopped as

though he was petrified.

“_Nanzia manzie_!” that is, “Here is water!” he cried with a loud

voice.

We rushed up to him, and there, sure enough, in a deep cut or

indentation on the very top of the sand koppie, was an undoubted pool

of water. How it came to be in such a strange place we did not stop to

inquire, nor did we hesitate at its black and unpleasant appearance. It

was water, or a good imitation of it, and that was enough for us. We

gave a bound and a rush, and in another second we were all down on our

stomachs sucking up the uninviting fluid as though it were nectar fit

for the gods. Heavens, how we did drink! Then when we had done drinking

we tore off our clothes and sat down in the pool, absorbing the

moisture through our parched skins. You, Harry, my boy, who have only

to turn on a couple of taps to summon “hot” and “cold” from an unseen,

vasty cistern, can have little idea of the luxury of that muddy wallow

in brackish tepid water.

After a while we rose from it, refreshed indeed, and fell to on our

“biltong,” of which we had scarcely been able to touch a mouthful for

twenty-four hours, and ate our fill. Then we smoked a pipe, and lay

down by the side of that blessed pool, under the overhanging shadow of

its bank, and slept till noon.

All that day we rested there by the water, thanking our stars that we

had been lucky enough to find it, bad as it was, and not forgetting to

render a due share of gratitude to the shade of the long-departed da

Silvestra, who had set its position down so accurately on the tail of

his shirt. The wonderful thing to us was that the pan should have

lasted so long, and the only way in which I can account for this is on

the supposition that it is fed by some spring deep down in the sand.

Having filled both ourselves and our water-bottles as full as possible,

in far better spirits we started off again with the moon. That night we

covered nearly five-and-twenty miles; but, needless to say, found no

more water, though we were lucky enough the following day to get a

little shade behind some ant-heaps. When the sun rose, and, for awhile,

cleared away the mysterious mists, Suliman’s Berg with the two majestic

Breasts, now only about twenty miles off, seemed to be towering right

above us, and looked grander than ever. At the approach of evening we

marched again, and, to cut a long story short, by daylight next morning

found ourselves upon the lowest slopes of Sheba’s left breast, for

which we had been steadily steering. By this time our water was

exhausted once more, and we were suffering severely from thirst, nor

indeed could we see any chance of relieving it till we reached the snow

line far, far above us. After resting an hour or two, driven to it by

our torturing thirst, we went on, toiling painfully in the burning heat

up the lava slopes, for we found that the huge base of the mountain was

composed entirely of lava beds belched from the bowels of the earth in

some far past age.

By eleven o’clock we were utterly exhausted, and, generally speaking,

in a very bad state indeed. The lava clinker, over which we must drag

ourselves, though smooth compared with some clinker I have heard of,

such as that on the Island of Ascension, for instance, was yet rough

enough to make our feet very sore, and this, together with our other

miseries, had pretty well finished us. A few hundred yards above us

were some large lumps of lava, and towards these we steered with the

intention of lying down beneath their shade. We reached them, and to

our surprise, so far as we had a capacity for surprise left in us, on a

little plateau or ridge close by we saw that the clinker was covered

with a dense green growth. Evidently soil formed of decomposed lava had

rested there, and in due course had become the receptacle of seeds

deposited by birds. But we did not take much further interest in the

green growth, for one cannot live on grass like Nebuchadnezzar. That

requires a special dispensation of Providence and peculiar digestive

organs.

So we sat down under the rocks and groaned, and for one I wished

heartily that we had never started on this fool’s errand. As we were

sitting there I saw Umbopa get up and hobble towards the patch of

green, and a few minutes afterwards, to my great astonishment, I

perceived that usually very dignified individual dancing and shouting

like a maniac, and waving something green. Off we all scrambled towards

him as fast as our wearied limbs would carry us, hoping that he had

found water.

“What is it, Umbopa, son of a fool?” I shouted in Zulu.

“It is food and water, Macumazahn,” and again he waved the green thing.

Then I saw what he had found. It was a melon. We had hit upon a patch

of wild melons, thousands of them, and dead ripe.

“Melons!” I yelled to Good, who was next me; and in another minute his

false teeth were fixed in one of them.

I think we ate about six each before we had done, and poor fruit as

they were, I doubt if I ever thought anything nicer.

But melons are not very nutritious, and when we had satisfied our

thirst with their pulpy substance, and put a stock to cool by the

simple process of cutting them in two and setting them end on in the

hot sun to grow cold by evaporation, we began to feel exceedingly

hungry. We had still some biltong left, but our stomachs turned from

biltong, and besides, we were obliged to be very sparing of it, for we

could not say when we should find more food. Just at this moment a

lucky thing chanced. Looking across the desert I saw a flock of about

ten large birds flying straight towards us.

“_Skit, Baas, skit!_” “Shoot, master, shoot!” whispered the Hottentot,

throwing himself on his face, an example which we all followed.

Then I saw that the birds were a flock of _pauw_ or bustards, and that

they would pass within fifty yards of my head. Taking one of the

repeating Winchesters, I waited till they were nearly over us, and then

jumped to my feet. On seeing me the _pauw_ bunched up together, as I

expected that they would, and I fired two shots straight into the thick

of them, and, as luck would have it, brought one down, a fine fellow,

that weighed about twenty pounds. In half an hour we had a fire made of

dry melon stalks, and he was toasting over it, and we made such a feed

as we had not tasted for a week. We ate that _pauw_; nothing was left

of him but his leg-bones and his beak, and we felt not a little the

better afterwards.

That night we went on again with the moon, carrying as many melons as

we could with us. As we ascended we found the air grew cooler and

cooler, which was a great relief to us, and at dawn, so far as we could

judge, we were not more than about a dozen miles from the snow line.

Here we discovered more melons, and so had no longer any anxiety about

water, for we knew that we should soon get plenty of snow. But the

ascent had now become very precipitous, and we made but slow progress,

not more than a mile an hour. Also that night we ate our last morsel of

biltong. As yet, with the exception of the _pauw_, we had seen no

living thing on the mountain, nor had we come across a single spring or

stream of water, which struck us as very odd, considering the expanse

of snow above us, which must, we thought, melt sometimes. But as we

afterwards discovered, owing to a cause which it is quite beyond my

power to explain, all the streams flowed down upon the north side of

the mountains.

Now we began to grow very anxious about food. We had escaped death by

thirst, but it seemed probable that it was only to die of hunger. The

events of the next three miserable days are best described by copying

the entries made at the time in my note-book.

“21st May.—Started 11 a.m., finding the atmosphere quite cold enough to

travel by day, and carrying some water-melons with us. Struggled on all

day, but found no more melons, having evidently passed out of their

district. Saw no game of any sort. Halted for the night at sundown,

having had no food for many hours. Suffered much during the night from

cold.

“22nd.—Started at sunrise again, feeling very faint and weak. Only made

about five miles all day; found some patches of snow, of which we ate,

but nothing else. Camped at night under the edge of a great plateau.

Cold bitter. Drank a little brandy each, and huddled ourselves

together, each wrapped up in his blanket, to keep ourselves alive. Are

now suffering frightfully from starvation and weariness. Thought that

Ventvögel would have died during the night.

“23rd.—Struggled forward once more as soon as the sun was well up, and

had thawed our limbs a little. We are now in a dreadful plight, and I

fear that unless we get food this will be our last day’s journey. But

little brandy left. Good, Sir Henry, and Umbopa bear up wonderfully,

but Ventvögel is in a very bad way. Like most Hottentots, he cannot

stand cold. Pangs of hunger not so bad, but have a sort of numb feeling

about the stomach. Others say the same. We are now on a level with the

precipitous chain, or wall of lava, linking the two Breasts, and the

view is glorious. Behind us the glowing desert rolls away to the

horizon, and before us lie mile upon mile of smooth hard snow almost

level, but swelling gently upwards, out of the centre of which the

nipple of the mountain, that appears to be some miles in circumference,

rises about four thousand feet into the sky. Not a living thing is to

be seen. God help us; I fear that our time has come.”

And now I will drop the journal, partly because it is not very

interesting reading; also what follows requires telling rather more

fully.

All that day—the 23rd May—we struggled slowly up the incline of snow,

lying down from time to time to rest. A strange gaunt crew we must have

looked, while, laden as we were, we dragged our weary feet over the

dazzling plain, glaring round us with hungry eyes. Not that there was

much use in glaring, for we could see nothing to eat. We did not

accomplish more than seven miles that day. Just before sunset we found

ourselves exactly under the nipple of Sheba’s left Breast, which

towered thousands of feet into the air, a vast smooth hillock of frozen

snow. Weak as we were, we could not but appreciate the wonderful scene,

made even more splendid by the flying rays of light from the setting

sun, which here and there stained the snow blood-red, and crowned the

great dome above us with a diadem of glory.

“I say,” gasped Good, presently, “we ought to be somewhere near that

cave the old gentleman wrote about.”

“Yes,” said I, “if there is a cave.”

“Come, Quatermain,” groaned Sir Henry, “don’t talk like that; I have

every faith in the Dom; remember the water! We shall find the place

soon.”

“If we don’t find it before dark we are dead men, that is all about

it,” was my consolatory reply.

For the next ten minutes we trudged in silence, when suddenly Umbopa,

who was marching along beside me, wrapped in his blanket, and with a

leather belt strapped so tightly round his stomach, to “make his hunger

small,” as he said, that his waist looked like a girl’s, caught me by

the arm.

“Look!” he said, pointing towards the springing slope of the nipple.

I followed his glance, and some two hundred yards from us perceived

what appeared to be a hole in the snow.

“It is the cave,” said Umbopa.

We made the best of our way to the spot, and found sure enough that the

hole was the mouth of a cavern, no doubt the same as that of which da

Silvestra wrote. We were not too soon, for just as we reached shelter

the sun went down with startling rapidity, leaving the world nearly

dark, for in these latitudes there is but little twilight. So we crept

into the cave, which did not appear to be very big, and huddling

ourselves together for warmth, swallowed what remained of our

brandy—barely a mouthful each—and tried to forget our miseries in

sleep. But the cold was too intense to allow us to do so, for I am

convinced that at this great altitude the thermometer cannot have

marked less than fourteen or fifteen degrees below freezing point. What

such a temperature meant to us, enervated as we were by hardship, want

of food, and the great heat of the desert, the reader may imagine

better than I can describe. Suffice it to say that it was something as

near death from exposure as I have ever felt. There we sat hour after

hour through the still and bitter night, feeling the frost wander round

and nip us now in the finger, now in the foot, now in the face. In vain

did we huddle up closer and closer; there was no warmth in our

miserable starved carcases. Sometimes one of us would drop into an

uneasy slumber for a few minutes, but we could not sleep much, and

perhaps this was fortunate, for if we had I doubt if we should have

ever woke again. Indeed, I believe that it was only by force of will

that we kept ourselves alive at all.

Not very long before dawn I heard the Hottentot Ventvögel, whose teeth

had been chattering all night like castanets, give a deep sigh. Then

his teeth stopped chattering. I did not think anything of it at the

time, concluding that he had gone to sleep. His back was resting

against mine, and it seemed to grow colder and colder, till at last it

felt like ice.

At length the air began to grow grey with light, then golden arrows

sped across the snow, and at last the glorious sun peeped above the

lava wall and looked in upon our half-frozen forms. Also it looked upon

Ventvögel, sitting there amongst us, _stone dead_. No wonder his back

felt cold, poor fellow. He had died when I heard him sigh, and was now

frozen almost stiff. Shocked beyond measure, we dragged ourselves from

the corpse—how strange is that horror we mortals have of the

companionship of a dead body—and left it sitting there, its arms

clasped about its knees.

By this time the sunlight was pouring its cold rays, for here they were

cold, straight into the mouth of the cave. Suddenly I heard an

exclamation of fear from someone, and turned my head.

And this is what I saw: Sitting at the end of the cavern—it was not

more than twenty feet long—was another form, of which the head rested

on its chest and the long arms hung down. I stared at it, and saw that

this too was a _dead man_, and, what was more, a white man.

The others saw also, and the sight proved too much for our shattered

nerves. One and all we scrambled out of the cave as fast as our

half-frozen limbs would carry us.

CHAPTER VII.

SOLOMON’S ROAD

Outside the cavern we halted, feeling rather foolish.

“I am going back,” said Sir Henry.

“Why?” asked Good.

“Because it has struck me that—what we saw—may be my brother.”

This was a new idea, and we re-entered the place to put it to the

proof. After the bright light outside, our eyes, weak as they were with

staring at the snow, could not pierce the gloom of the cave for a

while. Presently, however, they grew accustomed to the semi-darkness,

and we advanced towards the dead man.

Sir Henry knelt down and peered into his face.

“Thank God,” he said, with a sigh of relief, “it is _not_ my brother.”

Then I drew near and looked. The body was that of a tall man in middle

life with aquiline features, grizzled hair, and a long black moustache.

The skin was perfectly yellow, and stretched tightly over the bones.

Its clothing, with the exception of what seemed to be the remains of a

woollen pair of hose, had been removed, leaving the skeleton-like frame

naked. Round the neck of the corpse, which was frozen perfectly stiff,

hung a yellow ivory crucifix.

“Who on earth can it be?” said I.

“Can’t you guess?” asked Good.

I shook my head.

“Why, the old Dom, José da Silvestra, of course—who else?”

“Impossible,” I gasped; “he died three hundred years ago.”

“And what is there to prevent him from lasting for three thousand years

in this atmosphere, I should like to know?” asked Good. “If only the

temperature is sufficiently low, flesh and blood will keep fresh as New

Zealand mutton for ever, and Heaven knows it is cold enough here. The

sun never gets in here; no animal comes here to tear or destroy. No

doubt his slave, of whom he speaks on the writing, took off his clothes

and left him. He could not have buried him alone. Look!” he went on,

stooping down to pick up a queerly-shaped bone scraped at the end into

a sharp point, “here is the ‘cleft bone’ that Silvestra used to draw

the map with.”

We gazed for a moment astonished, forgetting our own miseries in this

extraordinary and, as it seemed to us, semi-miraculous sight.

“Ay,” said Sir Henry, “and this is where he got his ink from,” and he

pointed to a small wound on the Dom’s left arm. “Did ever man see such

a thing before?”

There was no longer any doubt about the matter, which for my own part I

confess perfectly appalled me. There he sat, the dead man, whose

directions, written some ten generations ago, had led us to this spot.

Here in my own hand was the rude pen with which he had written them,

and about his neck hung the crucifix that his dying lips had kissed.

Gazing at him, my imagination could reconstruct the last scene of the

drama, the traveller dying of cold and starvation, yet striving to

convey to the world the great secret which he had discovered:—the awful

loneliness of his death, of which the evidence sat before us. It even

seemed to me that I could trace in his strongly-marked features a

likeness to those of my poor friend Silvestre his descendant, who had

died twenty years before in my arms, but perhaps that was fancy. At any

rate, there he sat, a sad memento of the fate that so often overtakes

those who would penetrate into the unknown; and there doubtless he will

still sit, crowned with the dread majesty of death, for centuries yet

unborn, to startle the eyes of wanderers like ourselves, if ever any

such should come again to invade his loneliness. The thing overpowered

us, already almost perished as we were with cold and hunger.

“Let us go,” said Sir Henry in a low voice; “stay, we will give him a

companion,” and lifting up the dead body of the Hottentot Ventvögel, he

placed it near to that of the old Dom. Then he stooped, and with a jerk

broke the rotten string of the crucifix which hung round da Silvestra’s

neck, for his fingers were too cold to attempt to unfasten it. I

believe that he has it still. I took the bone pen, and it is before me

as I write—sometimes I use it to sign my name.

Then leaving these two, the proud white man of a past age, and the poor

Hottentot, to keep their eternal vigil in the midst of the eternal

snows, we crept out of the cave into the welcome sunshine and resumed

our path, wondering in our hearts how many hours it would be before we

were even as they are.

When we had walked about half a mile we came to the edge of the

plateau, for the nipple of the mountain does not rise out of its exact

centre, though from the desert side it had seemed to do so. What lay

below us we could not see, for the landscape was wreathed in billows of

morning fog. Presently, however, the higher layers of mist cleared a

little, and revealed, at the end of a long slope of snow, a patch of

green grass, some five hundred yards beneath us, through which a stream

was running. Nor was this all. By the stream, basking in the bright

sun, stood and lay a group of from ten to fifteen _large antelopes_—at

that distance we could not see of what species.

The sight filled us with an unreasoning joy. If only we could get it,

there was food in plenty. But the question was how to do so. The beasts

were fully six hundred yards off, a very long shot, and one not to be

depended on when our lives hung on the results.

Rapidly we discussed the advisability of trying to stalk the game, but

in the end dismissed it reluctantly. To begin with, the wind was not

favourable, and further, we must certainly be perceived, however

careful we were, against the blinding background of snow, which we

should be obliged to traverse.

“Well, we must have a try from where we are,” said Sir Henry. “Which

shall it be, Quatermain, the repeating rifles or the expresses?”

Here again was a question. The Winchester repeaters—of which we had

two, Umbopa carrying poor Ventvögel’s as well as his own—were sighted

up to a thousand yards, whereas the expresses were only sighted to

three hundred and fifty, beyond which distance shooting with them was

more or less guess-work. On the other hand, if they did hit, the

express bullets, being “expanding,” were much more likely to bring the

game down. It was a knotty point, but I made up my mind that we must

risk it and use the expresses.

“Let each of us take the buck opposite to him. Aim well at the point of

the shoulder and high up,” said I; “and Umbopa, do you give the word,

so that we may all fire together.”

Then came a pause, each of us aiming his level best, as indeed a man is

likely to do when he knows that life itself depends upon the shot.

“Fire,” said Umbopa in Zulu, and at almost the same instant the three

rifles rang out loudly; three clouds of smoke hung for a moment before

us, and a hundred echoes went flying over the silent snow. Presently

the smoke cleared, and revealed—oh, joy!—a great buck lying on its back

and kicking furiously in its death agony. We gave a yell of triumph—we

were saved—we should not starve. Weak as we were, we rushed down the

intervening slope of snow, and in ten minutes from the time of

shooting, that animal’s heart and liver were lying before us. But now a

new difficulty arose, we had no fuel, and therefore could make no fire

to cook them. We gazed at each other in dismay.

“Starving men should not be fanciful,” said Good; “we must eat raw

meat.”

There was no other way out of the dilemma, and our gnawing hunger made

the proposition less distasteful than it would otherwise have been. So

we took the heart and liver and buried them for a few minutes in a

patch of snow to cool them. Then we washed them in the ice-cold water

of the stream, and lastly ate them greedily. It sounds horrible enough,

but honestly, I never tasted anything so good as that raw meat. In a

quarter of an hour we were changed men. Our life and vigour came back

to us, our feeble pulses grew strong again, and the blood went coursing

through our veins. But mindful of the results of over-feeding on

starved stomachs, we were careful not to eat too much, stopping whilst

we were still hungry.

“Thank Heaven!” said Sir Henry; “that brute has saved our lives. What

is it, Quatermain?”

I rose and went to look at the antelope, for I was not certain. It was

about the size of a donkey, with large curved horns. I had never seen

one like it before; the species was new to me. It was brown in colour,

with faint red stripes, and grew a thick coat. I afterwards discovered

that the natives of that wonderful country call these bucks “_inco_.”

They are very rare, and only found at a great altitude where no other

game will live. This animal was fairly hit high up in the shoulder,

though whose bullet brought it down we could not, of course, discover.

I believe that Good, mindful of his marvellous shot at the giraffe,

secretly set it down to his own prowess, and we did not contradict him.

We had been so busy satisfying our hunger that hitherto we had not

found time to look about us. But now, having set Umbopa to cut off as

much of the best meat as we were likely to be able to carry, we began

to inspect our surroundings. The mist had cleared away, for it was

eight o’clock, and the sun had sucked it up, so we were able to take in

all the country before us at a glance. I know not how to describe the

glorious panorama which unfolded itself to our gaze. I have never seen

anything like it before, nor shall, I suppose, again.

Behind and over us towered Sheba’s snowy Breasts, and below, some five

thousand feet beneath where we stood, lay league on league of the most

lovely champaign country. Here were dense patches of lofty forest,

there a great river wound its silvery way. To the left stretched a vast

expanse of rich, undulating veld or grass land, whereon we could just

make out countless herds of game or cattle, at that distance we could

not tell which. This expanse appeared to be ringed in by a wall of

distant mountains. To the right the country was more or less

mountainous; that is, solitary hills stood up from its level, with

stretches of cultivated land between, amongst which we could see groups

of dome-shaped huts. The landscape lay before us as a map, wherein

rivers flashed like silver snakes, and Alp-like peaks crowned with

wildly twisted snow wreaths rose in grandeur, whilst over all was the

glad sunlight and the breath of Nature’s happy life.

Two curious things struck us as we gazed. First, that the country

before us must lie at least three thousand feet higher than the desert

we had crossed, and secondly, that all the rivers flowed from south to

north. As we had painful reason to know, there was no water upon the

southern side of the vast range on which we stood, but on the northern

face were many streams, most of which appeared to unite with the great

river we could see winding away farther than our eyes could follow.

We sat down for a while and gazed in silence at this wonderful view.

Presently Sir Henry spoke.

“Isn’t there something on the map about Solomon’s Great Road?” he said.

I nodded, for I was still gazing out over the far country.

“Well, look; there it is!” and he pointed a little to our right.

Good and I looked accordingly, and there, winding away towards the

plain, was what appeared to be a wide turnpike road. We had not seen it

at first because, on reaching the plain, it turned behind some broken

country. We did not say anything, at least, not much; we were beginning

to lose the sense of wonder. Somehow it did not seem particularly

unnatural that we should find a sort of Roman road in this strange

land. We accepted the fact, that was all.

“Well,” said Good, “it must be quite near us if we cut off to the

right. Hadn’t we better be making a start?”

This was sound advice, and so soon as we had washed our faces and hands

in the stream we acted on it. For a mile or more we made our way over

boulders and across patches of snow, till suddenly, on reaching the top

of the little rise, we found the road at our feet. It was a splendid

road cut out of the solid rock, at least fifty feet wide, and

apparently well kept; though the odd thing was that it seemed to begin

there. We walked down and stood on it, but one single hundred paces

behind us, in the direction of Sheba’s Breasts, it vanished, the entire

surface of the mountain being strewn with boulders interspersed with

patches of snow.

“What do you make of this, Quatermain?” asked Sir Henry.

I shook my head, I could make nothing of the thing.

“I have it!” said Good; “the road no doubt ran right over the range and

across the desert on the other side, but the sand there has covered it

up, and above us it has been obliterated by some volcanic eruption of

molten lava.”

This seemed a good suggestion; at any rate, we accepted it, and

proceeded down the mountain. It proved a very different business

travelling along down hill on that magnificent pathway with full

stomachs from what it was travelling uphill over the snow quite starved

and almost frozen. Indeed, had it not been for melancholy recollections

of poor Ventvögel’s sad fate, and of that grim cave where he kept

company with the old Dom, we should have felt positively cheerful,

notwithstanding the sense of unknown dangers before us. Every mile we

walked the atmosphere grew softer and balmier, and the country before

us shone with a yet more luminous beauty. As for the road itself, I

never saw such an engineering work, though Sir Henry said that the

great road over the St. Gothard in Switzerland is very similar. No

difficulty had been too great for the Old World engineer who laid it

out. At one place we came to a ravine three hundred feet broad and at

least a hundred feet deep. This vast gulf was actually filled in with

huge blocks of dressed stone, having arches pierced through them at the

bottom for a waterway, over which the road went on sublimely. At

another place it was cut in zigzags out of the side of a precipice five

hundred feet deep, and in a third it tunnelled through the base of an

intervening ridge, a space of thirty yards or more.

Here we noticed that the sides of the tunnel were covered with quaint

sculptures, mostly of mailed figures driving in chariots. One, which

was exceedingly beautiful, represented a whole battle scene with a

convoy of captives being marched off in the distance.

“Well,” said Sir Henry, after inspecting this ancient work of art, “it

is very well to call this Solomon’s Road, but my humble opinion is that

the Egyptians had been here before Solomon’s people ever set a foot on

it. If this isn’t Egyptian or Phoenician handiwork, I must say that it

is very like it.”

By midday we had advanced sufficiently down the mountain to search the

region where wood was to be met with. First we came to scattered bushes

which grew more and more frequent, till at last we found the road

winding through a vast grove of silver trees similar to those which are

to be seen on the slopes of Table Mountain at Cape Town. I had never

before met with them in all my wanderings, except at the Cape, and

their appearance here astonished me greatly.

“Ah!” said Good, surveying these shining-leaved trees with evident

enthusiasm, “here is lots of wood, let us stop and cook some dinner; I

have about digested that raw heart.”

Nobody objected to this, so leaving the road we made our way to a

stream which was babbling away not far off, and soon had a goodly fire

of dry boughs blazing. Cutting off some substantial hunks from the

flesh of the _inco_ which we had brought with us, we proceeded to toast

them on the end of sharp sticks, as one sees the Kafirs do, and ate

them with relish. After filling ourselves, we lit our pipes and gave

ourselves up to enjoyment that, compared with the hardships we had

recently undergone, seemed almost heavenly.

The brook, of which the banks were clothed with dense masses of a

gigantic species of maidenhair fern interspersed with feathery tufts of

wild asparagus, sung merrily at our side, the soft air murmured through

the leaves of the silver trees, doves cooed around, and bright-winged

birds flashed like living gems from bough to bough. It was a Paradise.

The magic of the place combined with an overwhelming sense of dangers

left behind, and of the promised land reached at last, seemed to charm

us into silence. Sir Henry and Umbopa sat conversing in a mixture of

broken English and Kitchen Zulu in a low voice, but earnestly enough,

and I lay, with my eyes half shut, upon that fragrant bed of fern and

watched them.

Presently I missed Good, and I looked to see what had become of him.

Soon I observed him sitting by the bank of the stream, in which he had

been bathing. He had nothing on but his flannel shirt, and his natural

habits of extreme neatness having reasserted themselves, he was

actively employed in making a most elaborate toilet. He had washed his

gutta-percha collar, had thoroughly shaken out his trousers, coat and

waistcoat, and was now folding them up neatly till he was ready to put

them on, shaking his head sadly as he scanned the numerous rents and

tears in them, which naturally had resulted from our frightful journey.

Then he took his boots, scrubbed them with a handful of fern, and

finally rubbed them over with a piece of fat, which he had carefully

saved from the _inco_ meat, till they looked, comparatively speaking,

respectable. Having inspected them judiciously through his eye-glass,

he put the boots on and began a fresh operation. From a little bag that

he carried he produced a pocket-comb in which was fixed a tiny

looking-glass, and in this he surveyed himself. Apparently he was not

satisfied, for he proceeded to do his hair with great care. Then came a

pause whilst he again contemplated the effect; still it was not

satisfactory. He felt his chin, on which the accumulated scrub of a ten

days’ beard was flourishing.

“Surely,” thought I, “he is not going to try to shave.” But so it was.

Taking the piece of fat with which he had greased his boots, Good

washed it thoroughly in the stream. Then diving again into the bag he

brought out a little pocket razor with a guard to it, such as are

bought by people who are afraid of cutting themselves, or by those

about to undertake a sea voyage. Then he rubbed his face and chin

vigorously with the fat and began. Evidently it proved a painful

process, for he groaned very much over it, and I was convulsed with

inward laughter as I watched him struggling with that stubbly beard. It

seemed so very odd that a man should take the trouble to shave himself

with a piece of fat in such a place and in our circumstances. At last

he succeeded in getting the hair off the right side of his face and

chin, when suddenly I, who was watching, became conscious of a flash of

light that passed just by his head.

Good sprang up with a profane exclamation (if it had not been a safety

razor he would certainly have cut his throat), and so did I, without

the exclamation, and this was what I saw. Standing not more than twenty

paces from where I was, and ten from Good, were a group of men. They

were very tall and copper-coloured, and some of them wore great plumes

of black feathers and short cloaks of leopard skins; this was all I

noticed at the moment. In front of them stood a youth of about

seventeen, his hand still raised and his body bent forward in the

attitude of a Grecian statue of a spear-thrower. Evidently the flash of

light had been caused by a weapon which he had hurled.

As I looked an old soldier-like man stepped forward out of the group,

and catching the youth by the arm said something to him. Then they

advanced upon us.

Sir Henry, Good, and Umbopa by this time had seized their rifles and

lifted them threateningly. The party of natives still came on. It

struck me that they could not know what rifles were, or they would not

have treated them with such contempt.

“Put down your guns!” I halloed to the others, seeing that our only

chance of safety lay in conciliation. They obeyed, and walking to the

front I addressed the elderly man who had checked the youth.

“Greeting,” I said in Zulu, not knowing what language to use. To my

surprise I was understood.

“Greeting,” answered the old man, not, indeed, in the same tongue, but

in a dialect so closely allied to it that neither Umbopa nor myself had

any difficulty in understanding him. Indeed, as we afterwards found

out, the language spoken by this people is an old-fashioned form of the

Zulu tongue, bearing about the same relationship to it that the English

of Chaucer does to the English of the nineteenth century.

“Whence come you?” he went on, “who are you? and why are the faces of

three of you white, and the face of the fourth as the face of our

mother’s sons?” and he pointed to Umbopa. I looked at Umbopa as he said

it, and it flashed across me that he was right. The face of Umbopa was

like the faces of the men before me, and so was his great form like

their forms. But I had not time to reflect on this coincidence.

“We are strangers, and come in peace,” I answered, speaking very

slowly, so that he might understand me, “and this man is our servant.”

“You lie,” he answered; “no strangers can cross the mountains where all

things perish. But what do your lies matter?—if ye are strangers then

ye must die, for no strangers may live in the land of the Kukuanas. It

is the king’s law. Prepare then to die, O strangers!”

I was slightly staggered at this, more especially as I saw the hands of

some of the men steal down to their sides, where hung on each what

looked to me like a large and heavy knife.

“What does that beggar say?” asked Good.

“He says we are going to be killed,” I answered grimly.

“Oh, Lord!” groaned Good; and, as was his way when perplexed, he put

his hand to his false teeth, dragging the top set down and allowing

them to fly back to his jaw with a snap. It was a most fortunate move,

for next second the dignified crowd of Kukuanas uttered a simultaneous

yell of horror, and bolted back some yards.

“What’s up?” said I.

“It’s his teeth,” whispered Sir Henry excitedly. “He moved them. Take

them out, Good, take them out!”

He obeyed, slipping the set into the sleeve of his flannel shirt.

In another second curiosity had overcome fear, and the men advanced

slowly. Apparently they had now forgotten their amiable intention of

killing us.

“How is it, O strangers,” asked the old man solemnly, “that this fat

man (pointing to Good, who was clad in nothing but boots and a flannel

shirt, and had only half finished his shaving), whose body is clothed,

and whose legs are bare, who grows hair on one side of his sickly face

and not on the other, and who wears one shining and transparent eye—how

is it, I ask, that he has teeth which move of themselves, coming away

from the jaws and returning of their own will?”

“Open your mouth,” I said to Good, who promptly curled up his lips and

grinned at the old gentleman like an angry dog, revealing to his

astonished gaze two thin red lines of gum as utterly innocent of

ivories as a new-born elephant. The audience gasped.

“Where are his teeth?” they shouted; “with our eyes we saw them.”

Turning his head slowly and with a gesture of ineffable contempt, Good

swept his hand across his mouth. Then he grinned again, and lo, there

were two rows of lovely teeth.

Now the young man who had flung the knife threw himself down on the

grass and gave vent to a prolonged howl of terror; and as for the old

gentleman, his knees knocked together with fear.

“I see that ye are spirits,” he said falteringly; “did ever man born of

woman have hair on one side of his face and not on the other, or a

round and transparent eye, or teeth which moved and melted away and

grew again? Pardon us, O my lords.”

Here was luck indeed, and, needless to say, I jumped at the chance.

“It is granted,” I said with an imperial smile. “Nay, ye shall know the

truth. We come from another world, though we are men such as ye; we

come,” I went on, “from the biggest star that shines at night.”

“Oh! oh!” groaned the chorus of astonished aborigines.

“Yes,” I went on, “we do, indeed”; and again I smiled benignly, as I

uttered that amazing lie. “We come to stay with you a little while, and

to bless you by our sojourn. Ye will see, O friends, that I have

prepared myself for this visit by the learning of your language.”

“It is so, it is so,” said the chorus.

“Only, my lord,” put in the old gentleman, “thou hast learnt it very

badly.”

I cast an indignant glance at him, and he quailed.

“Now friends,” I continued, “ye might think that after so long a

journey we should find it in our hearts to avenge such a reception,

mayhap to strike cold in death the imperious hand that—that, in

short—threw a knife at the head of him whose teeth come and go.”

“Spare him, my lords,” said the old man in supplication; “he is the

king’s son, and I am his uncle. If anything befalls him his blood will

be required at my hands.”

“Yes, that is certainly so,” put in the young man with great emphasis.

“Ye may perhaps doubt our power to avenge,” I went on, heedless of this

by-play. “Stay, I will show you. Here, thou dog and slave (addressing

Umbopa in a savage tone), give me the magic tube that speaks”; and I

tipped a wink towards my express rifle.

Umbopa rose to the occasion, and with something as nearly resembling a

grin as I have ever seen on his dignified face he handed me the gun.

“It is here, O Lord of Lords,” he said with a deep obeisance.

Now just before I had asked for the rifle I had perceived a little

_klipspringer_ antelope standing on a mass of rock about seventy yards

away, and determined to risk the shot.

“Ye see that buck,” I said, pointing the animal out to the party before

me. “Tell me, is it possible for man born of woman to kill it from here

with a noise?”

“It is not possible, my lord,” answered the old man.

“Yet shall I kill it,” I said quietly.

The old man smiled. “That my lord cannot do,” he answered.

I raised the rifle and covered the buck. It was a small animal, and one

which a man might well be excused for missing, but I knew that it would

not do to miss.

I drew a deep breath, and slowly pressed on the trigger. The buck stood

still as a stone.

“Bang! thud!” The antelope sprang into the air and fell on the rock

dead as a door nail.

A groan of simultaneous terror burst from the group before us.

“If you want meat,” I remarked coolly, “go fetch that buck.”

The old man made a sign, and one of his followers departed, and

presently returned bearing the _klipspringer_. I noticed with

satisfaction that I had hit it fairly behind the shoulder. They

gathered round the poor creature’s body, gazing at the bullet-hole in

consternation.

“Ye see,” I said, “I do not speak empty words.”

There was no answer.

“If ye yet doubt our power,” I went on, “let one of you go stand upon

that rock that I may make him as this buck.”

None of them seemed at all inclined to take the hint, till at last the

king’s son spoke.

“It is well said. Do thou, my uncle, go stand upon the rock. It is but

a buck that the magic has killed. Surely it cannot kill a man.”

The old gentleman did not take the suggestion in good part. Indeed, he

seemed hurt.

“No! no!” he ejaculated hastily, “my old eyes have seen enough. These

are wizards, indeed. Let us bring them to the king. Yet if any should

wish a further proof, let _him_ stand upon the rock, that the magic

tube may speak with him.”

There was a most general and hasty expression of dissent.

“Let not good magic be wasted on our poor bodies,” said one; “we are

satisfied. All the witchcraft of our people cannot show the like of

this.”

“It is so,” remarked the old gentleman, in a tone of intense relief;

“without any doubt it is so. Listen, children of the Stars, children of

the shining Eye and the movable Teeth, who roar out in thunder, and

slay from afar. I am Infadoos, son of Kafa, once king of the Kukuana

people. This youth is Scragga.”

“He nearly scragged me,” murmured Good.

“Scragga, son of Twala, the great king—Twala, husband of a thousand

wives, chief and lord paramount of the Kukuanas, keeper of the great

Road, terror of his enemies, student of the Black Arts, leader of a

hundred thousand warriors, Twala the One-eyed, the Black, the

Terrible.”

“So,” said I superciliously, “lead us then to Twala. We do not talk

with low people and underlings.”

“It is well, my lords, we will lead you; but the way is long. We are

hunting three days’ journey from the place of the king. But let my

lords have patience, and we will lead them.”

“So be it,” I said carelessly; “all time is before us, for we do not

die. We are ready, lead on. But Infadoos, and thou Scragga, beware!

Play us no monkey tricks, set for us no foxes’ snares, for before your

brains of mud have thought of them we shall know and avenge. The light

of the transparent eye of him with the bare legs and the half-haired

face shall destroy you, and go through your land; his vanishing teeth

shall affix themselves fast in you and eat you up, you and your wives

and children; the magic tubes shall argue with you loudly, and make you

as sieves. Beware!”

This magnificent address did not fail of its effect; indeed, it might

almost have been spared, so deeply were our friends already impressed

with our powers.

The old man made a deep obeisance, and murmured the words, “_Koom

Koom_,” which I afterwards discovered was their royal salute,

corresponding to the _Bayéte_ of the Zulus, and turning, addressed his

followers. These at once proceeded to lay hold of all our goods and

chattels, in order to bear them for us, excepting only the guns, which

they would on no account touch. They even seized Good’s clothes, that,

as the reader may remember, were neatly folded up beside him.

He saw and made a dive for them, and a loud altercation ensued.

“Let not my lord of the transparent Eye and the melting Teeth touch

them,” said the old man. “Surely his slave shall carry the things.”

“But I want to put ’em on!” roared Good, in nervous English.

Umbopa translated.

“Nay, my lord,” answered Infadoos, “would my lord cover up his

beautiful white legs (although he is so dark Good has a singularly

white skin) from the eyes of his servants? Have we offended my lord

that he should do such a thing?”

Here I nearly exploded with laughing; and meanwhile one of the men

started on with the garments.

“Damn it!” roared Good, “that black villain has got my trousers.”

“Look here, Good,” said Sir Henry; “you have appeared in this country

in a certain character, and you must live up to it. It will never do

for you to put on trousers again. Henceforth you must exist in a

flannel shirt, a pair of boots, and an eye-glass.”

“Yes,” I said, “and with whiskers on one side of your face and not on

the other. If you change any of these things the people will think that

we are impostors. I am very sorry for you, but, seriously, you must. If

once they begin to suspect us our lives will not be worth a brass

farthing.”

“Do you really think so?” said Good gloomily.

“I do, indeed. Your ‘beautiful white legs’ and your eye-glass are now

_the_ features of our party, and as Sir Henry says, you must live up to

them. Be thankful that you have got your boots on, and that the air is

warm.”

Good sighed, and said no more, but it took him a fortnight to become

accustomed to his new and scant attire.

CHAPTER VIII.

WE ENTER KUKUANALAND

All that afternoon we travelled along the magnificent roadway, which

trended steadily in a north-westerly direction. Infadoos and Scragga

walked with us, but their followers marched about one hundred paces

ahead.

“Infadoos,” I said at length, “who made this road?”

“It was made, my lord, of old time, none know how or when, not even the

wise woman Gagool, who has lived for generations. We are not old enough

to remember its making. None can fashion such roads now, but the king

suffers no grass to grow upon it.”

“And whose are the writings on the wall of the caves through which we

have passed on the road?” I asked, referring to the Egyptian-like

sculptures that we had seen.

“My lord, the hands that made the road wrote the wonderful writings. We

know not who wrote them.”

“When did the Kukuana people come into this country?”

“My lord, the race came down here like the breath of a storm ten

thousand thousand moons ago, from the great lands which lie there

beyond,” and he pointed to the north. “They could travel no further

because of the high mountains which ring in the land, so say the old

voices of our fathers that have descended to us the children, and so

says Gagool, the wise woman, the smeller out of witches,” and again he

pointed to the snow-clad peaks. “The country, too, was good, so they

settled here and grew strong and powerful, and now our numbers are like

the sea sand, and when Twala the king calls up his regiments their

plumes cover the plain so far as the eye of man can reach.”

“And if the land is walled in with mountains, who is there for the

regiments to fight with?”

“Nay, my lord, the country is open there towards the north, and now and

again warriors sweep down upon us in clouds from a land we know not,

and we slay them. It is the third part of the life of a man since there

was a war. Many thousands died in it, but we destroyed those who came

to eat us up. So since then there has been no war.”

“Your warriors must grow weary of resting on their spears, Infadoos.”

“My lord, there was one war, just after we destroyed the people that

came down upon us, but it was a civil war; dog ate dog.”

“How was that?”

“My lord the king, my half-brother, had a brother born at the same

birth, and of the same woman. It is not our custom, my lord, to suffer

twins to live; the weaker must always die. But the mother of the king

hid away the feebler child, which was born the last, for her heart

yearned over it, and that child is Twala the king. I am his younger

brother, born of another wife.”

“Well?”

“My lord, Kafa, our father, died when we came to manhood, and my

brother Imotu was made king in his place, and for a space reigned and

had a son by his favourite wife. When the babe was three years old,

just after the great war, during which no man could sow or reap, a

famine came upon the land, and the people murmured because of the

famine, and looked round like a starved lion for something to rend.

Then it was that Gagool, the wise and terrible woman, who does not die,

made a proclamation to the people, saying, ‘The king Imotu is no king.’

And at the time Imotu was sick with a wound, and lay in his kraal not

able to move.

“Then Gagool went into a hut and led out Twala, my half-brother, and

twin brother to the king, whom she had hidden among the caves and rocks

since he was born, and stripping the ‘_moocha_’ (waist-cloth) off his

loins, showed the people of the Kukuanas the mark of the sacred snake

coiled round his middle, wherewith the eldest son of the king is marked

at birth, and cried out loud, ‘Behold your king whom I have saved for

you even to this day!’

“Now the people being mad with hunger, and altogether bereft of reason

and the knowledge of truth, cried out—‘_The king! The king!_’ but I

knew that it was not so, for Imotu my brother was the elder of the

twins, and our lawful king. Then just as the tumult was at its height

Imotu the king, though he was very sick, crawled from his hut holding

his wife by the hand, and followed by his little son Ignosi—that is, by

interpretation, the Lightning.

“‘What is this noise?’ he asked. ‘Why cry ye _The king! The king!_’

“Then Twala, his twin brother, born of the same woman, and in the same

hour, ran to him, and taking him by the hair, stabbed him through the

heart with his knife. And the people being fickle, and ever ready to

worship the rising sun, clapped their hands and cried, ‘_Twala is

king!_ Now we know that Twala is king!’”

“And what became of Imotu’s wife and her son Ignosi? Did Twala kill

them too?”

“Nay, my lord. When she saw that her lord was dead the queen seized the

child with a cry and ran away. Two days afterward she came to a kraal

very hungry, and none would give her milk or food, now that her lord

the king was dead, for all men hate the unfortunate. But at nightfall a

little child, a girl, crept out and brought her corn to eat, and she

blessed the child, and went on towards the mountains with her boy

before the sun rose again, and there she must have perished, for none

have seen her since, nor the child Ignosi.”

“Then if this child Ignosi had lived he would be the true king of the

Kukuana people?”

“That is so, my lord; the sacred snake is round his middle. If he lives

he is king; but, alas! he is long dead.”

“See, my lord,” and Infadoos pointed to a vast collection of huts

surrounded by a fence, which was in its turn encircled by a great

ditch, that lay on the plain beneath us. “That is the kraal where the

wife of Imotu was last seen with the child Ignosi. It is there that we

shall sleep to-night, if, indeed,” he added doubtfully, “my lords sleep

at all upon this earth.”

“When we are among the Kukuanas, my good friend Infadoos, we do as the

Kukuanas do,” I said majestically, and turned round quickly to address

Good, who was tramping along sullenly behind, his mind fully occupied

with unsatisfactory attempts to prevent his flannel shirt from flapping

in the evening breeze. To my astonishment I butted into Umbopa, who was

walking along immediately behind me, and very evidently had been

listening with the greatest interest to my conversation with Infadoos.

The expression on his face was most curious, and gave me the idea of a

man who was struggling with partial success to bring something long ago

forgotten back into his mind.

All this while we had been pressing on at a good rate towards the

undulating plain beneath us. The mountains we had crossed now loomed

high above our heads, and Sheba’s Breasts were veiled modestly in

diaphanous wreaths of mist. As we went the country grew more and more

lovely. The vegetation was luxuriant, without being tropical; the sun

was bright and warm, but not burning; and a gracious breeze blew softly

along the odorous slopes of the mountains. Indeed, this new land was

little less than an earthly paradise; in beauty, in natural wealth, and

in climate I have never seen its like. The Transvaal is a fine country,

but it is nothing to Kukuanaland.

So soon as we started Infadoos had despatched a runner to warn the

people of the kraal, which, by the way, was in his military command, of

our arrival. This man had departed at an extraordinary speed, which

Infadoos informed me he would keep up all the way, as running was an

exercise much practised among his people.

The result of this message now became apparent. When we arrived within

two miles of the kraal we could see that company after company of men

were issuing from its gates and marching towards us.

Sir Henry laid his hand upon my arm, and remarked that it looked as

though we were going to meet with a warm reception. Something in his

tone attracted Infadoos’ attention.

“Let not my lords be afraid,” he said hastily, “for in my breast there

dwells no guile. This regiment is one under my command, and comes out

by my orders to greet you.”

I nodded easily, though I was not quite easy in my mind.

About half a mile from the gates of this kraal is a long stretch of

rising ground sloping gently upwards from the road, and here the

companies formed. It was a splendid sight to see them, each company

about three hundred strong, charging swiftly up the rise, with flashing

spears and waving plumes, to take their appointed place. By the time we

reached the slope twelve such companies, or in all three thousand six

hundred men, had passed out and taken up their positions along the

road.

Presently we came to the first company, and were able to gaze in

astonishment on the most magnificent set of warriors that I have ever

seen. They were all men of mature age, mostly veterans of about forty,

and not one of them was under six feet in height, whilst many stood six

feet three or four. They wore upon their heads heavy black plumes of

Sakaboola feathers, like those which adorned our guides. About their

waists and beneath the right knees were bound circlets of white ox

tails, while in their left hands they carried round shields measuring

about twenty inches across. These shields are very curious. The

framework is made of an iron plate beaten out thin, over which is

stretched milk-white ox-hide.

The weapons that each man bore were simple, but most effective,

consisting of a short and very heavy two-edged spear with a wooden

shaft, the blade being about six inches across at the widest part.

These spears are not used for throwing but like the Zulu “_bangwan_,”

or stabbing assegai, are for close quarters only, when the wound

inflicted by them is terrible. In addition to his _bangwan_ every man

carried three large and heavy knives, each knife weighing about two

pounds. One knife was fixed in the ox-tail girdle, and the other two at

the back of the round shield. These knives, which are called “_tollas_”

by the Kukuanas, take the place of the throwing assegai of the Zulus.

The Kukuana warriors can cast them with great accuracy to a distance of

fifty yards, and it is their custom on charging to hurl a volley of

them at the enemy as they come to close quarters.

Each company remained still as a collection of bronze statues till we

were opposite to it, when at a signal given by its commanding officer,

who, distinguished by a leopard skin cloak, stood some paces in front,

every spear was raised into the air, and from three hundred throats

sprang forth with a sudden roar the royal salute of “_Koom_.” Then, so

soon as we had passed, the company formed up behind us and followed us

towards the kraal, till at last the whole regiment of the “Greys”—so

called from their white shields—the crack corps of the Kukuana people,

was marching in our rear with a tread that shook the ground.

At length, branching off from Solomon’s Great Road, we came to the wide

fosse surrounding the kraal, which is at least a mile round, and fenced

with a strong palisade of piles formed of the trunks of trees. At the

gateway this fosse is spanned by a primitive drawbridge, which was let

down by the guard to allow us to pass in. The kraal is exceedingly well

laid out. Through the centre runs a wide pathway intersected at right

angles by other pathways so arranged as to cut the huts into square

blocks, each block being the quarters of a company. The huts are

dome-shaped, and built, like those of the Zulus, of a framework of

wattle, beautifully thatched with grass; but, unlike the Zulu huts,

they have doorways through which men could walk. Also they are much

larger, and surrounded by a verandah about six feet wide, beautifully

paved with powdered lime trodden hard.

All along each side of this wide pathway that pierces the kraal were

ranged hundreds of women, brought out by curiosity to look at us. These

women, for a native race, are exceedingly handsome. They are tall and

graceful, and their figures are wonderfully fine. The hair, though

short, is rather curly than woolly, the features are frequently

aquiline, and the lips are not unpleasantly thick, as is the case among

most African races. But what struck us most was their exceedingly quiet

and dignified air. They were as well-bred in their way as the

_habituées_ of a fashionable drawing-room, and in this respect they

differ from Zulu women and their cousins the Masai who inhabit the

district beyond Zanzibar. Their curiosity had brought them out to see

us, but they allowed no rude expressions of astonishment or savage

criticism to pass their lips as we trudged wearily in front of them.

Not even when old Infadoos with a surreptitious motion of the hand

pointed out the crowning wonder of poor Good’s “beautiful white legs,”

did they suffer the feeling of intense admiration which evidently

mastered their minds to find expression. They fixed their dark eyes

upon this new and snowy loveliness, for, as I think I have said, Good’s

skin is exceedingly white, and that was all. But it was quite enough

for Good, who is modest by nature.

When we reached the centre of the kraal, Infadoos halted at the door of

a large hut, which was surrounded at a distance by a circle of smaller

ones.

“Enter, Sons of the Stars,” he said, in a magniloquent voice, “and

deign to rest awhile in our humble habitations. A little food shall be

brought to you, so that ye may have no need to draw your belts tight

from hunger; some honey and some milk, and an ox or two, and a few

sheep; not much, my lords, but still a little food.”

“It is good,” said I. “Infadoos; we are weary with travelling through

realms of air; now let us rest.”

Accordingly we entered the hut, which we found amply prepared for our

comfort. Couches of tanned skins were spread for us to lie on, and

water was placed for us to wash in.

Presently we heard a shouting outside, and stepping to the door, saw a

line of damsels bearing milk and roasted mealies, and honey in a pot.

Behind these were some youths driving a fat young ox. We received the

gifts, and then one of the young men drew the knife from his girdle and

dexterously cut the ox’s throat. In ten minutes it was dead, skinned,

and jointed. The best of the meat was then cut off for us, and the

rest, in the name of our party, I presented to the warriors round us,

who took it and distributed the “white lords’ gift.”

Umbopa set to work, with the assistance of an extremely prepossessing

young woman, to boil our portion in a large earthenware pot over a fire

which was built outside the hut, and when it was nearly ready we sent a

message to Infadoos, and asked him and Scragga, the king’s son, to join

us.

Presently they came, and sitting down upon little stools, of which

there were several about the hut, for the Kukuanas do not in general

squat upon their haunches like the Zulus, they helped us to get through

our dinner. The old gentleman was most affable and polite, but it

struck me that the young one regarded us with doubt. Together with the

rest of the party, he had been overawed by our white appearance and by

our magic properties; but it seemed to me that, on discovering that we

ate, drank, and slept like other mortals, his awe was beginning to wear

off, and to be replaced by a sullen suspicion—which made me feel rather

uncomfortable.

In the course of our meal Sir Henry suggested to me that it might be

well to try to discover if our hosts knew anything of his brother’s

fate, or if they had ever seen or heard of him; but, on the whole, I

thought that it would be wiser to say nothing of the matter at this

time. It was difficult to explain a relative lost from “the Stars.”

After supper we produced our pipes and lit them; a proceeding which

filled Infadoos and Scragga with astonishment. The Kukuanas were

evidently unacquainted with the divine delights of tobacco-smoke. The

herb is grown among them extensively; but, like the Zulus, they use it

for snuff only, and quite failed to identify it in its new form.

Presently I asked Infadoos when we were to proceed on our journey, and

was delighted to learn that preparations had been made for us to leave

on the following morning, messengers having already departed to inform

Twala the king of our coming.

It appeared that Twala was at his principal place, known as Loo, making

ready for the great annual feast which was to be held in the first week

of June. At this gathering all the regiments, with the exception of

certain detachments left behind for garrison purposes, are brought up

and paraded before the king; and the great annual witch-hunt, of which

more by-and-by, is held.

We were to start at dawn; and Infadoos, who was to accompany us,

expected that we should reach Loo on the night of the second day,

unless we were detained by accident or by swollen rivers.

When they had given us this information our visitors bade us

good-night; and, having arranged to watch turn and turn about, three of

us flung ourselves down and slept the sweet sleep of the weary, whilst

the fourth sat up on the look-out for possible treachery.

CHAPTER IX.

TWALA THE KING

It will not be necessary for me to detail at length the incidents of

our journey to Loo. It took two full days’ travelling along Solomon’s

Great Road, which pursued its even course right into the heart of

Kukuanaland. Suffice it to say that as we went the country seemed to

grow richer and richer, and the kraals, with their wide surrounding

belts of cultivation, more and more numerous. They were all built upon

the same principles as the first camp which we had reached, and were

guarded by ample garrisons of troops. Indeed, in Kukuanaland, as among

the Germans, the Zulus, and the Masai, every able-bodied man is a

soldier, so that the whole force of the nation is available for its

wars, offensive or defensive. As we travelled we were overtaken by

thousands of warriors hurrying up to Loo to be present at the great

annual review and festival, and more splendid troops I never saw.

At sunset on the second day, we stopped to rest awhile upon the summit

of some heights over which the road ran, and there on a beautiful and

fertile plain before us lay Loo itself. For a native town it is an

enormous place, quite five miles round, I should say, with outlying

kraals projecting from it, that serve on grand occasions as cantonments

for the regiments, and a curious horseshoe-shaped hill, with which we

were destined to become better acquainted, about two miles to the

north. It is beautifully situated, and through the centre of the kraal,

dividing it into two portions, runs a river, which appeared to be

bridged in several places, the same indeed that we had seen from the

slopes of Sheba’s Breasts. Sixty or seventy miles away three great

snow-capped mountains, placed at the points of a triangle, started out

of the level plain. The conformation of these mountains is unlike that

of Sheba’s Breasts, being sheer and precipitous, instead of smooth and

rounded.

Infadoos saw us looking at them, and volunteered a remark.

“The road ends there,” he said, pointing to the mountains known among

the Kukuanas as the “Three Witches.”

“Why does it end?” I asked.

“Who knows?” he answered with a shrug; “the mountains are full of

caves, and there is a great pit between them. It is there that the wise

men of old time used to go to get whatever it was they came for to this

country, and it is there now that our kings are buried in the Place of

Death.”

“What was it they came for?” I asked eagerly.

“Nay, I know not. My lords who have dropped from the Stars should

know,” he answered with a quick look. Evidently he knew more than he

chose to say.

“Yes,” I went on, “you are right, in the Stars we learn many things. I

have heard, for instance, that the wise men of old came to these

mountains to find bright stones, pretty playthings, and yellow iron.”

“My lord is wise,” he answered coldly; “I am but a child and cannot

talk with my lord on such matters. My lord must speak with Gagool the

old, at the king’s place, who is wise even as my lord,” and he went

away.

So soon as he was gone I turned to the others, and pointed out the

mountains. “There are Solomon’s diamond mines,” I said.

Umbopa was standing with them, apparently plunged in one of the fits of

abstraction which were common to him, and caught my words.

“Yes, Macumazahn,” he put in, in Zulu, “the diamonds are surely there,

and you shall have them, since you white men are so fond of toys and

money.”

“How dost thou know that, Umbopa?” I asked sharply, for I did not like

his mysterious ways.

He laughed. “I dreamed it in the night, white men;” then he too turned

on his heel and went.

“Now what,” said Sir Henry, “is our black friend driving at? He knows

more than he chooses to say, that is clear. By the way, Quatermain, has

he heard anything of—of my brother?”

“Nothing; he has asked everyone he has become friendly with, but they

all declare that no white man has ever been seen in the country

before.”

“Do you suppose that he got here at all?” suggested Good; “we have only

reached the place by a miracle; is it likely he could have reached it

without the map?”

“I don’t know,” said Sir Henry gloomily, “but somehow I think that I

shall find him.”

Slowly the sun sank, then suddenly darkness rushed down on the land

like a tangible thing. There was no breathing-space between the day and

night, no soft transformation scene, for in these latitudes twilight

does not exist. The change from day to night is as quick and as

absolute as the change from life to death. The sun sank and the world

was wreathed in shadows. But not for long, for see in the west there is

a glow, then come rays of silver light, and at last the full and

glorious moon lights up the plain and shoots its gleaming arrows far

and wide, filling the earth with a faint refulgence.

We stood and watched the lovely sight, whilst the stars grew pale

before this chastened majesty, and felt our hearts lifted up in the

presence of a beauty that I cannot describe. Mine has been a rough

life, but there are a few things I am thankful to have lived for, and

one of them is to have seen that moon shine over Kukuanaland.

Presently our meditations were broken in upon by our polite friend

Infadoos.

“If my lords are rested we will journey on to Loo, where a hut is made

ready for my lords to-night. The moon is now bright, so that we shall

not fall by the way.”

We assented, and in an hour’s time were at the outskirts of the town,

of which the extent, mapped out as it was by thousands of camp fires,

appeared absolutely endless. Indeed, Good, who is always fond of a bad

joke, christened it “Unlimited Loo.” Soon we came to a moat with a

drawbridge, where we were met by the rattling of arms and the hoarse

challenge of a sentry. Infadoos gave some password that I could not

catch, which was met with a salute, and we passed on through the

central street of the great grass city. After nearly half an hour’s

tramp, past endless lines of huts, Infadoos halted at last by the gate

of a little group of huts which surrounded a small courtyard of

powdered limestone, and informed us that these were to be our “poor”

quarters.

We entered, and found that a hut had been assigned to each of us. These

huts were superior to any that we had yet seen, and in each was a most

comfortable bed made of tanned skins, spread upon mattresses of

aromatic grass. Food too was ready for us, and so soon as we had washed

ourselves with water, which stood ready in earthenware jars, some young

women of handsome appearance brought us roasted meats, and mealie cobs

daintily served on wooden platters, and presented them to us with deep

obeisances.

We ate and drank, and then, the beds having been all moved into one hut

by our request, a precaution at which the amiable young ladies smiled,

we flung ourselves down to sleep, thoroughly wearied with our long

journey.

When we woke it was to find the sun high in the heavens, and the female

attendants, who did not seem to be troubled by any false shame, already

standing inside the hut, having been ordered to attend and help us to

“make ready.”

“Make ready, indeed,” growled Good; “when one has only a flannel shirt

and a pair of boots, that does not take long. I wish you would ask them

for my trousers, Quatermain.”

I asked accordingly, but was informed that these sacred relics had

already been taken to the king, who would see us in the forenoon.

Somewhat to their astonishment and disappointment, having requested the

young ladies to step outside, we proceeded to make the best toilet of

which the circumstances admitted. Good even went the length of again

shaving the right side of his face; the left, on which now appeared a

very fair crop of whiskers, we impressed upon him he must on no account

touch. As for ourselves, we were contented with a good wash and combing

our hair. Sir Henry’s yellow locks were now almost upon his shoulders,

and he looked more like an ancient Dane than ever, while my grizzled

scrub was fully an inch long, instead of half an inch, which in a

general way I considered my maximum length.

By the time that we had eaten our breakfast, and smoked a pipe, a

message was brought to us by no less a personage than Infadoos himself

that Twala the king was ready to see us, if we would be pleased to

come.

We remarked in reply that we should prefer to wait till the sun was a

little higher, we were yet weary with our journey, &c., &c. It is

always well, when dealing with uncivilised people, not to be in too

great a hurry. They are apt to mistake politeness for awe or servility.

So, although we were quite as anxious to see Twala as Twala could be to

see us, we sat down and waited for an hour, employing the interval in

preparing such presents as our slender stock of goods permitted—namely,

the Winchester rifle which had been used by poor Ventvögel, and some

beads. The rifle and ammunition we determined to present to his royal

highness, and the beads were for his wives and courtiers. We had

already given a few to Infadoos and Scragga, and found that they were

delighted with them, never having seen such things before. At length we

declared that we were ready, and guided by Infadoos, started off to the

audience, Umbopa carrying the rifle and beads.

After walking a few hundred yards we came to an enclosure, something

like that surrounding the huts which had been allotted to us, only

fifty times as big, for it could not have covered less than six or

seven acres of ground. All round the outside fence stood a row of huts,

which were the habitations of the king’s wives. Exactly opposite the

gateway, on the further side of the open space, was a very large hut,

built by itself, in which his majesty resided. All the rest was open

ground; that is to say, it would have been open had it not been filled

by company after company of warriors, who were mustered there to the

number of seven or eight thousand. These men stood still as statues as

we advanced through them, and it would be impossible to give an

adequate idea of the grandeur of the spectacle which they presented,

with their waving plumes, their glancing spears, and iron-backed

ox-hide shields.

The space in front of the large hut was empty, but before it were

placed several stools. On three of these, at a sign from Infadoos, we

seated ourselves, Umbopa standing behind us. As for Infadoos, he took

up a position by the door of the hut. So we waited for ten minutes or

more in the midst of a dead silence, but conscious that we were the

object of the concentrated gaze of some eight thousand pairs of eyes.

It was a somewhat trying ordeal, but we carried it off as best we

could. At length the door of the hut opened, and a gigantic figure,

with a splendid tiger-skin karross flung over its shoulders, stepped

out, followed by the boy Scragga, and what appeared to us to be a

withered-up monkey, wrapped in a fur cloak. The figure seated itself

upon a stool, Scragga took his stand behind it, and the withered-up

monkey crept on all fours into the shade of the hut and squatted down.

Still there was silence.

Then the gigantic figure slipped off the karross and stood up before

us, a truly alarming spectacle. It was that of an enormous man with the

most entirely repulsive countenance we had ever beheld. This man’s lips

were as thick as a Negro’s, the nose was flat, he had but one gleaming

black eye, for the other was represented by a hollow in the face, and

his whole expression was cruel and sensual to a degree. From the large

head rose a magnificent plume of white ostrich feathers, his body was

clad in a shirt of shining chain armour, whilst round the waist and

right knee were the usual garnishes of white ox-tail. In his right hand

was a huge spear, about the neck a thick torque of gold, and bound on

the forehead shone dully a single and enormous uncut diamond.

Still there was silence; but not for long. Presently the man, whom we

rightly guessed to be the king, raised the great javelin in his hand.

Instantly eight thousand spears were lifted in answer, and from eight

thousand throats rang out the royal salute of “_Koom_.” Three times

this was repeated, and each time the earth shook with the noise, that

can only be compared to the deepest notes of thunder.

“Be humble, O people,” piped out a thin voice which seemed to come from

the monkey in the shade, “it is the king.”

“_It is the king_,” boomed out the eight thousand throats in answer.

“_Be humble, O people, it is the king._”

Then there was silence again—dead silence. Presently, however, it was

broken. A soldier on our left dropped his shield, which fell with a

clatter on to the limestone flooring.

Twala turned his one cold eye in the direction of the noise.

“Come hither, thou,” he said, in a cold voice.

A fine young man stepped out of the ranks, and stood before him.

“It was thy shield that fell, thou awkward dog. Wilt thou make me a

reproach in the eyes of these strangers from the Stars? What hast thou

to say for thyself?”

We saw the poor fellow turn pale under his dusky skin.

“It was by chance, O Calf of the Black Cow,” he murmured.

“Then it is a chance for which thou must pay. Thou hast made me

foolish; prepare for death.”

“I am the king’s ox,” was the low answer.

“Scragga,” roared the king, “let me see how thou canst use thy spear.

Kill me this blundering fool.”

Scragga stepped forward with an ill-favoured grin, and lifted his

spear. The poor victim covered his eyes with his hand and stood still.

As for us, we were petrified with horror.

“Once, twice,” he waved the spear, and then struck, ah! right home—the

spear stood out a foot behind the soldier’s back. He flung up his hands

and dropped dead. From the multitude about us rose something like a

murmur, it rolled round and round, and died away. The tragedy was

finished; there lay the corpse, and we had not yet realised that it had

been enacted. Sir Henry sprang up and swore a great oath, then,

overpowered by the sense of silence, sat down again.

“The thrust was a good one,” said the king; “take him away.”

Four men stepped out of the ranks, and lifting the body of the murdered

man, carried it thence.

“Cover up the blood-stains, cover them up,” piped out the thin voice

that proceeded from the monkey-like figure; “the king’s word is spoken,

the king’s doom is done!”

Thereupon a girl came forward from behind the hut, bearing a jar filled

with powdered lime, which she scattered over the red mark, blotting it

from sight.

Sir Henry meanwhile was boiling with rage at what had happened; indeed,

it was with difficulty that we could keep him still.

“Sit down, for heaven’s sake,” I whispered; “our lives depend on it.”

He yielded and remained quiet.

Twala sat silent until the traces of the tragedy had been removed, then

he addressed us.

“White people,” he said, “who come hither, whence I know not, and why I

know not, greeting.”

“Greeting, Twala, King of the Kukuanas,” I answered.

“White people, whence come ye, and what seek ye?”

“We come from the Stars, ask us not how. We come to see this land.”

“Ye journey from far to see a little thing. And that man with you,”

pointing to Umbopa, “does he also come from the Stars?”

“Even so; there are people of thy colour in the heavens above; but ask

not of matters too high for thee, Twala the king.”

“Ye speak with a loud voice, people of the Stars,” Twala answered in a

tone which I scarcely liked. “Remember that the Stars are far off, and

ye are here. How if I make you as him whom they bore away?”

I laughed out loud, though there was little laughter in my heart.

“O king,” I said, “be careful, walk warily over hot stones, lest thou

shouldst burn thy feet; hold the spear by the handle, lest thou should

cut thy hands. Touch but one hair of our heads, and destruction shall

come upon thee. What, have not these”—pointing to Infadoos and Scragga,

who, young villain that he was, was employed in cleaning the blood of

the soldier off his spear—“told thee what manner of men we are? Hast

thou seen the like of us?” and I pointed to Good, feeling quite sure

that he had never seen anybody before who looked in the least like

_him_ as he then appeared.

“It is true, I have not,” said the king, surveying Good with interest.

“Have they not told thee how we strike with death from afar?” I went

on.

“They have told me, but I believe them not. Let me see you kill. Kill

me a man among those who stand yonder”—and he pointed to the opposite

side of the kraal—“and I will believe.”

“Nay,” I answered; “we shed no blood of men except in just punishment;

but if thou wilt see, bid thy servants drive in an ox through the kraal

gates, and before he has run twenty paces I will strike him dead.”

“Nay,” laughed the king, “kill me a man and I will believe.”

“Good, O king, so be it,” I answered coolly; “do thou walk across the

open space, and before thy feet reach the gate thou shalt be dead; or

if thou wilt not, send thy son Scragga” (whom at that moment it would

have given me much pleasure to shoot).

On hearing this suggestion Scragga uttered a sort of howl, and bolted

into the hut.

Twala frowned majestically; the suggestion did not please him.

“Let a young ox be driven in,” he said.

Two men at once departed, running swiftly.

“Now, Sir Henry,” said I, “do you shoot. I want to show this ruffian

that I am not the only magician of the party.”

Sir Henry accordingly took his “express,” and made ready.

“I hope I shall make a good shot,” he groaned.

“You must,” I answered. “If you miss with the first barrel, let him

have the second. Sight for 150 yards, and wait till the beast turns

broadside on.”

Then came a pause, until presently we caught sight of an ox running

straight for the kraal gate. It came on through the gate, then,

catching sight of the vast concourse of people, stopped stupidly,

turned round, and bellowed.

“Now’s your time,” I whispered.

Up went the rifle.

Bang! _thud_! and the ox was kicking on his back, shot in the ribs. The

semi-hollow bullet had done its work well, and a sigh of astonishment

went up from the assembled thousands.

I turned round coolly—

“Have I lied, O king?”

“Nay, white man, it is the truth,” was the somewhat awed answer.

“Listen, Twala,” I went on. “Thou hast seen. Now know we come in peace,

not in war. See,” and I held up the Winchester repeater; “here is a

hollow staff that shall enable thee to kill even as we kill, only I lay

this charm upon it, thou shalt kill no man with it. If thou liftest it

against a man, it shall kill thee. Stay, I will show thee. Bid a

soldier step forty paces and place the shaft of a spear in the ground

so that the flat blade looks towards us.”

In a few seconds it was done.

“Now, see, I will break yonder spear.”

Taking a careful sight I fired. The bullet struck the flat of the

spear, and shattered the blade into fragments.

Again the sigh of astonishment went up.

“Now, Twala, we give this magic tube to thee, and by-and-by I will show

thee how to use it; but beware how thou turnest the magic of the Stars

against a man of earth,” and I handed him the rifle.

The king took it very gingerly, and laid it down at his feet. As he did

so I observed the wizened monkey-like figure creeping from the shadow

of the hut. It crept on all fours, but when it reached the place where

the king sat it rose upon its feet, and throwing the furry covering

from its face, revealed a most extraordinary and weird countenance.

Apparently it was that of a woman of great age so shrunken that in size

it seemed no larger than the face of a year-old child, although made up

of a number of deep and yellow wrinkles. Set in these wrinkles was a

sunken slit, that represented the mouth, beneath which the chin curved

outwards to a point. There was no nose to speak of; indeed, the visage

might have been taken for that of a sun-dried corpse had it not been

for a pair of large black eyes, still full of fire and intelligence,

which gleamed and played under the snow-white eyebrows, and the

projecting parchment-coloured skull, like jewels in a charnel-house. As

for the head itself, it was perfectly bare, and yellow in hue, while

its wrinkled scalp moved and contracted like the hood of a cobra.

The figure to which this fearful countenance belonged, a countenance so

fearful indeed that it caused a shiver of fear to pass through us as we

gazed on it, stood still for a moment. Then suddenly it projected a

skinny claw armed with nails nearly an inch long, and laying it on the

shoulder of Twala the king, began to speak in a thin and piercing

voice—

“Listen, O king! Listen, O warriors! Listen, O mountains and plains and

rivers, home of the Kukuana race! Listen, O skies and sun, O rain and

storm and mist! Listen, O men and women, O youths and maidens, and O ye

babes unborn! Listen, all things that live and must die! Listen, all

dead things that shall live again—again to die! Listen, the spirit of

life is in me and I prophesy. I prophesy! I prophesy!”

The words died away in a faint wail, and dread seemed to seize upon the

hearts of all who heard them, including our own. This old woman was

very terrible.

“_Blood! blood! blood!_ rivers of blood; blood everywhere. I see it, I

smell it, I taste it—it is salt! it runs red upon the ground, it rains

down from the skies.

“_Footsteps! footsteps! footsteps!_ the tread of the white man coming

from afar. It shakes the earth; the earth trembles before her master.

“Blood is good, the red blood is bright; there is no smell like the

smell of new-shed blood. The lions shall lap it and roar, the vultures

shall wash their wings in it and shriek with joy.

“I am old! I am old! I have seen much blood; _ha, ha!_ but I shall see

more ere I die, and be merry. How old am I, think ye? Your fathers knew

me, and _their_ fathers knew me, and _their_ fathers’ fathers’ fathers.

I have seen the white man and know his desires. I am old, but the

mountains are older than I. Who made the great road, tell me? Who wrote

the pictures on the rocks, tell me? Who reared up the three Silent Ones

yonder, that gaze across the pit, tell me?” and she pointed towards the

three precipitous mountains which we had noticed on the previous night.

“Ye know not, but I know. It was a white people who were before ye are,

who shall be when ye are not, who shall eat you up and destroy you.

_Yea! yea! yea!_

“And what came they for, the White Ones, the Terrible Ones, the skilled

in magic and all learning, the strong, the unswerving? What is that

bright stone upon thy forehead, O king? Whose hands made the iron

garments upon thy breast, O king? Ye know not, but I know. I the Old

One, I the Wise One, I the _Isanusi_, the witch doctress!”

Then she turned her bald vulture-head towards us.

“What seek ye, white men of the Stars—ah, yes, of the Stars? Do ye seek

a lost one? Ye shall not find him here. He is not here. Never for ages

upon ages has a white foot pressed this land; never except once, and I

remember that he left it but to die. Ye come for bright stones; I know

it—I know it; ye shall find them when the blood is dry; but shall ye

return whence ye came, or shall ye stop with me? _Ha! ha! ha!_

“And thou, thou with the dark skin and the proud bearing,” and she

pointed her skinny finger at Umbopa, “who art _thou_, and what seekest

_thou_? Not stones that shine, not yellow metal that gleams, these thou

leavest to ‘white men from the Stars.’ Methinks I know thee; methinks I

can smell the smell of the blood in thy heart. Strip off the girdle—”

Here the features of this extraordinary creature became convulsed, and

she fell to the ground foaming in an epileptic fit, and was carried

into the hut.

The king rose up trembling, and waved his hand. Instantly the regiments

began to file off, and in ten minutes, save for ourselves, the king,

and a few attendants, the great space was left empty.

“White people,” he said, “it passes in my mind to kill you. Gagool has

spoken strange words. What say ye?”

I laughed. “Be careful, O king, we are not easy to slay. Thou hast seen

the fate of the ox; wouldst thou be as the ox is?”

The king frowned. “It is not well to threaten a king.”

“We threaten not, we speak what is true. Try to kill us, O king, and

learn.”

The great savage put his hand to his forehead and thought.

“Go in peace,” he said at length. “To-night is the great dance. Ye

shall see it. Fear not that I shall set a snare for you. To-morrow I

will think.”

“It is well, O king,” I answered unconcernedly, and then, accompanied

by Infadoos, we rose and went back to our kraal.

CHAPTER X.

THE WITCH-HUNT

On reaching our hut I motioned to Infadoos to enter with us.

“Now, Infadoos,” I said, “we would speak with thee.”

“Let my lords say on.”

“It seems to us, Infadoos, that Twala the king is a cruel man.”

“It is so, my lords. Alas! the land cries out because of his cruelties.

To-night ye shall see. It is the great witch-hunt, and many will be

smelt out as wizards and slain. No man’s life is safe. If the king

covets a man’s cattle, or a man’s wife, or if he fears a man that he

should excite a rebellion against him, then Gagool, whom ye saw, or

some of the witch-finding women whom she has taught, will smell that

man out as a wizard, and he will be killed. Many must die before the

moon grows pale to-night. It is ever so. Perhaps I too shall be killed.

As yet I have been spared because I am skilled in war, and am beloved

by the soldiers; but I know not how long I have to live. The land

groans at the cruelties of Twala the king; it is wearied of him and his

red ways.”

“Then why is it, Infadoos, that the people do not cast him down?”

“Nay, my lords, he is the king, and if he were killed Scragga would

reign in his place, and the heart of Scragga is blacker than the heart

of Twala his father. If Scragga were king his yoke upon our neck would

be heavier than the yoke of Twala. If Imotu had never been slain, or if

Ignosi his son had lived, it might have been otherwise; but they are

both dead.”

“How knowest thou that Ignosi is dead?” said a voice behind us. We

looked round astonished to see who spoke. It was Umbopa.

“What meanest thou, boy?” asked Infadoos; “who told thee to speak?”

“Listen, Infadoos,” was the answer, “and I will tell thee a story.

Years ago the king Imotu was killed in this country and his wife fled

with the boy Ignosi. Is it not so?”

“It is so.”

“It was said that the woman and her son died upon the mountains. Is it

not so?”

“It is even so.”

“Well, it came to pass that the mother and the boy Ignosi did not die.

They crossed the mountains and were led by a tribe of wandering desert

men across the sands beyond, till at last they came to water and grass

and trees again.”

“How knowest thou this?”

“Listen. They travelled on and on, many months’ journey, till they

reached a land where a people called the Amazulu, who also are of the

Kukuana stock, live by war, and with them they tarried many years, till

at length the mother died. Then the son Ignosi became a wanderer again,

and journeyed into a land of wonders, where white people live, and for

many more years he learned the wisdom of the white people.”

“It is a pretty story,” said Infadoos incredulously.

“For years he lived there working as a servant and a soldier, but

holding in his heart all that his mother had told him of his own place,

and casting about in his mind to find how he might journey thither to

see his people and his father’s house before he died. For long years he

lived and waited, and at last the time came, as it ever comes to him

who can wait for it, and he met some white men who would seek this

unknown land, and joined himself to them. The white men started and

travelled on and on, seeking for one who is lost. They crossed the

burning desert, they crossed the snow-clad mountains, and at last

reached the land of the Kukuanas, and there they found _thee_, O

Infadoos.”

“Surely thou art mad to talk thus,” said the astonished old soldier.

“Thou thinkest so; see, I will show thee, O my uncle.

“_I am Ignosi, rightful king of the Kukuanas!_”

Then with a single movement Umbopa slipped off his “moocha” or girdle,

and stood naked before us.

“Look,” he said; “what is this?” and he pointed to the picture of a

great snake tattooed in blue round his middle, its tail disappearing

into its open mouth just above where the thighs are set into the body.

Infadoos looked, his eyes starting nearly out of his head. Then he fell

upon his knees.

“_Koom! Koom!_” he ejaculated; “it is my brother’s son; it is the

king.”

“Did I not tell thee so, my uncle? Rise; I am not yet the king, but

with thy help, and with the help of these brave white men, who are my

friends, I shall be. Yet the old witch Gagool was right, the land shall

run with blood first, and hers shall run with it, if she has any and

can die, for she killed my father with her words, and drove my mother

forth. And now, Infadoos, choose thou. Wilt thou put thy hands between

my hands and be my man? Wilt thou share the dangers that lie before me,

and help me to overthrow this tyrant and murderer, or wilt thou not?

Choose thou.”

The old man put his hand to his head and thought. Then he rose, and

advancing to where Umbopa, or rather Ignosi, stood, he knelt before

him, and took his hand.

“Ignosi, rightful king of the Kukuanas, I put my hand between thy

hands, and am thy man till death. When thou wast a babe I dandled thee

upon my knees, now shall my old arm strike for thee and freedom.”

“It is well, Infadoos; if I conquer, thou shalt be the greatest man in

the kingdom after its king. If I fail, thou canst only die, and death

is not far off from thee. Rise, my uncle.”

“And ye, white men, will ye help me? What have I to offer you! The

white stones! If I conquer and can find them, ye shall have as many as

ye can carry hence. Will that suffice you?”

I translated this remark.

“Tell him,” answered Sir Henry, “that he mistakes an Englishman. Wealth

is good, and if it comes in our way we will take it; but a gentleman

does not sell himself for wealth. Still, speaking for myself, I say

this. I have always liked Umbopa, and so far as lies in me I will stand

by him in this business. It will be very pleasant to me to try to

square matters with that cruel devil Twala. What do you say, Good, and

you, Quatermain?”

“Well,” said Good, “to adopt the language of hyperbole, in which all

these people seem to indulge, you can tell him that a row is surely

good, and warms the cockles of the heart, and that so far as I am

concerned I’m his boy. My only stipulation is that he allows me to wear

trousers.”

I translated the substance of these answers.

“It is well, my friends,” said Ignosi, late Umbopa; “and what sayest

thou, Macumazahn, art thou also with me, old hunter, cleverer than a

wounded buffalo?”

I thought awhile and scratched my head.

“Umbopa, or Ignosi,” I said, “I don’t like revolutions. I am a man of

peace and a bit of a coward”—here Umbopa smiled—“but, on the other

hand, I stick up for my friends, Ignosi. You have stuck to us and

played the part of a man, and I will stick by you. But mind you, I am a

trader, and have to make my living, so I accept your offer about those

diamonds in case we should ever be in a position to avail ourselves of

it. Another thing: we came, as you know, to look for Incubu’s (Sir

Henry’s) lost brother. You must help us to find him.”

“That I will do,” answered Ignosi. “Stay, Infadoos, by the sign of the

snake about my middle, tell me the truth. Has any white man to thy

knowledge set his foot within the land?”

“None, O Ignosi.”

“If any white man had been seen or heard of, wouldst thou have known?”

“I should certainly have known.”

“Thou hearest, Incubu,” said Ignosi to Sir Henry; “he has not been

here.”

“Well, well,” said Sir Henry, with a sigh; “there it is; I suppose that

he never got so far. Poor fellow, poor fellow! So it has all been for

nothing. God’s will be done.”

“Now for business,” I put in, anxious to escape from a painful subject.

“It is very well to be a king by right divine, Ignosi, but how dost

thou propose to become a king indeed?”

“Nay, I know not. Infadoos, hast thou a plan?”

“Ignosi, Son of the Lightning,” answered his uncle, “to-night is the

great dance and witch-hunt. Many shall be smelt out and perish, and in

the hearts of many others there will be grief and anguish and fury

against the king Twala. When the dance is over, then I will speak to

some of the great chiefs, who in turn, if I can win them over, will

speak to their regiments. I shall speak to the chiefs softly at first,

and bring them to see that thou art indeed the king, and I think that

by to-morrow’s light thou shalt have twenty thousand spears at thy

command. And now I must go and think, and hear, and make ready. After

the dance is done, if I am yet alive, and we are all alive, I will meet

thee here, and we can talk. At the best there must be war.”

At this moment our conference was interrupted by the cry that

messengers had come from the king. Advancing to the door of the hut we

ordered that they should be admitted, and presently three men entered,

each bearing a shining shirt of chain armour, and a magnificent

battle-axe.

“The gifts of my lord the king to the white men from the Stars!” said a

herald who came with them.

“We thank the king,” I answered; “withdraw.”

The men went, and we examined the armour with great interest. It was

the most wonderful chain work that either of us had ever seen. A whole

coat fell together so closely that it formed a mass of links scarcely

too big to be covered with both hands.

“Do you make these things in this country, Infadoos?” I asked; “they

are very beautiful.”

“Nay, my lord, they came down to us from our forefathers. We know not

who made them, and there are but few left.[7] None but those of royal

blood may be clad in them. They are magic coats through which no spear

can pass, and those who wear them are well-nigh safe in the battle. The

king is well pleased or much afraid, or he would not have sent these

garments of steel. Clothe yourselves in them to-night, my lords.”

[7] In the Soudan swords and coats of mail are still worn by Arabs,

whose ancestors must have stripped them from the bodies of

Crusaders.—_Editor_.

The remainder of that day we spent quietly, resting and talking over

the situation, which was sufficiently exciting. At last the sun went

down, the thousand watch fires glowed out, and through the darkness we

heard the tramp of many feet and the clashing of hundreds of spears, as

the regiments passed to their appointed places to be ready for the

great dance. Then the full moon shone out in splendour, and as we stood

watching her rays, Infadoos arrived, clad in his war dress, and

accompanied by a guard of twenty men to escort us to the dance. As he

recommended, we had already donned the shirts of chain armour which the

king had sent us, putting them on under our ordinary clothing, and

finding to our surprise that they were neither very heavy nor

uncomfortable. These steel shirts, which evidently had been made for

men of a very large stature, hung somewhat loosely upon Good and

myself, but Sir Henry’s fitted his magnificent frame like a glove. Then

strapping our revolvers round our waists, and taking in our hands the

battle-axes which the king had sent with the armour, we started.

On arriving at the great kraal, where we had that morning been received

by the king, we found that it was closely packed with some twenty

thousand men arranged round it in regiments. These regiments were in

turn divided into companies, and between each company ran a little path

to allow space for the witch-finders to pass up and down. Anything more

imposing than the sight that was presented by this vast and orderly

concourse of armed men it is impossible to conceive. There they stood

perfectly silent, and the moon poured her light upon the forest of

their raised spears, upon their majestic forms, waving plumes, and the

harmonious shading of their various-coloured shields. Wherever we

looked were line upon line of dim faces surmounted by range upon range

of shimmering spears.

“Surely,” I said to Infadoos, “the whole army is here?”

“Nay, Macumazahn,” he answered, “but a third of it. One third is

present at this dance each year, another third is mustered outside in

case there should be trouble when the killing begins, ten thousand more

garrison the outposts round Loo, and the rest watch at the kraals in

the country. Thou seest it is a great people.”

“They are very silent,” said Good; and indeed the intense stillness

among such a vast concourse of living men was almost overpowering.

“What says Bougwan?” asked Infadoos.

I translated.

“Those over whom the shadow of Death is hovering are silent,” he

answered grimly.

“Will many be killed?”

“Very many.”

“It seems,” I said to the others, “that we are going to assist at a

gladiatorial show arranged regardless of expense.”

Sir Henry shivered, and Good said he wished that we could get out of

it.

“Tell me,” I asked Infadoos, “are we in danger?”

“I know not, my lords, I trust not; but do not seem afraid. If ye live

through the night all may go well with you. The soldiers murmur against

the king.”

All this while we had been advancing steadily towards the centre of the

open space, in the midst of which were placed some stools. As we

proceeded we perceived another small party coming from the direction of

the royal hut.

“It is the king Twala, Scragga his son, and Gagool the old; and see,

with them are those who slay,” said Infadoos, pointing to a little

group of about a dozen gigantic and savage-looking men, armed with

spears in one hand and heavy kerries in the other.

The king seated himself upon the centre stool, Gagool crouched at his

feet, and the others stood behind him.

“Greeting, white lords,” Twala cried, as we came up; “be seated, waste

not precious time—the night is all too short for the deeds that must be

done. Ye come in a good hour, and shall see a glorious show. Look

round, white lords; look round,” and he rolled his one wicked eye from

regiment to regiment. “Can the Stars show you such a sight as this? See

how they shake in their wickedness, all those who have evil in their

hearts and fear the judgment of ‘Heaven above.’”

“_Begin! begin!_” piped Gagool, in her thin piercing voice; “the hyænas

are hungry, they howl for food. _Begin! begin!_”

Then for a moment there was intense stillness, made horrible by a

presage of what was to come.

The king lifted his spear, and suddenly twenty thousand feet were

raised, as though they belonged to one man, and brought down with a

stamp upon the earth. This was repeated three times, causing the solid

ground to shake and tremble. Then from a far point of the circle a

solitary voice began a wailing song, of which the refrain ran something

as follows:—

“_What is the lot of man born of woman?_”

Back came the answer rolling out from every throat in that vast

company—

“_Death!_”

Gradually, however, the song was taken up by company after company,

till the whole armed multitude were singing it, and I could no longer

follow the words, except in so far as they appeared to represent

various phases of human passions, fears, and joys. Now it seemed to be

a love song, now a majestic swelling war chant, and last of all a death

dirge ending suddenly in one heart-breaking wail that went echoing and

rolling away in a volume of blood-curdling sound.

Again silence fell upon the place, and again it was broken by the king

lifting his hand. Instantly we heard a pattering of feet, and from out

of the masses of warriors strange and awful figures appeared running

towards us. As they drew near we saw that these were women, most of

them aged, for their white hair, ornamented with small bladders taken

from fish, streamed out behind them. Their faces were painted in

stripes of white and yellow; down their backs hung snake-skins, and

round their waists rattled circlets of human bones, while each held a

small forked wand in her shrivelled hand. In all there were ten of

them. When they arrived in front of us they halted, and one of them,

pointing with her wand towards the crouching figure of Gagool, cried

out—

“Mother, old mother, we are here.”

“_Good! good! good!_” answered that aged Iniquity. “Are your eyes keen,

_Isanusis_ [witch doctresses], ye seers in dark places?”

“Mother, they are keen.”

“_Good! good! good!_ Are your ears open, _Isanusis_, ye who hear words

that come not from the tongue?”

“Mother, they are open.”

“_Good! good! good!_ Are your senses awake, _Isanusis_—can ye smell

blood, can ye purge the land of the wicked ones who compass evil

against the king and against their neighbours? Are ye ready to do the

justice of ‘Heaven above,’ ye whom I have taught, who have eaten of the

bread of my wisdom, and drunk of the water of my magic?”

“Mother, we can.”

“Then go! Tarry not, ye vultures; see, the slayers”—pointing to the

ominous group of executioners behind—“make sharp their spears; the

white men from afar are hungry to see. _Go!_”

With a wild yell Gagool’s horrid ministers broke away in every

direction, like fragments from a shell, the dry bones round their

waists rattling as they ran, and headed for various points of the dense

human circle. We could not watch them all, so we fixed our eyes upon

the _Isanusi_ nearest to us. When she came to within a few paces of the

warriors she halted and began to dance wildly, turning round and round

with an almost incredible rapidity, and shrieking out sentences such as

“I smell him, the evil-doer!” “He is near, he who poisoned his mother!”

“I hear the thoughts of him who thought evil of the king!”

Quicker and quicker she danced, till she lashed herself into such a

frenzy of excitement that the foam flew in specks from her gnashing

jaws, till her eyes seemed to start from her head, and her flesh to

quiver visibly. Suddenly she stopped dead and stiffened all over, like

a pointer dog when he scents game, and then with outstretched wand she

began to creep stealthily towards the soldiers before her. It seemed to

us that as she came their stoicism gave way, and that they shrank from

her. As for ourselves, we followed her movements with a horrible

fascination. Presently, still creeping and crouching like a dog, the

_Isanusi_ was before them. Then she halted and pointed, and again crept

on a pace or two.

Suddenly the end came. With a shriek she sprang in and touched a tall

warrior with her forked wand. Instantly two of his comrades, those

standing immediately next to him, seized the doomed man, each by one

arm, and advanced with him towards the king.

He did not resist, but we saw that he dragged his limbs as though they

were paralysed, and that his fingers, from which the spear had fallen,

were limp like those of a man newly dead.

As he came, two of the villainous executioners stepped forward to meet

him. Presently they met, and the executioners turned round, looking

towards the king as though for orders.

“_Kill!_” said the king.

“_Kill!_” squeaked Gagool.

“_Kill!_” re-echoed Scragga, with a hollow chuckle.

Almost before the words were uttered the horrible deed was done. One

man had driven his spear into the victim’s heart, and to make assurance

double sure, the other had dashed out his brains with a great club.

“_One_,” counted Twala the king, just like a black Madame Defarge, as

Good said, and the body was dragged a few paces away and stretched out.

Hardly was the thing done before another poor wretch was brought up,

like an ox to the slaughter. This time we could see, from the

leopard-skin cloak which he wore, that the man was a person of rank.

Again the awful syllables were spoken, and the victim fell dead.

“_Two_,” counted the king.

And so the deadly game went on, till about a hundred bodies were

stretched in rows behind us. I have heard of the gladiatorial shows of

the Cæsars, and of the Spanish bull-fights, but I take the liberty of

doubting if either of them could be half so horrible as this Kukuana

witch-hunt. Gladiatorial shows and Spanish bull-fights at any rate

contributed to the public amusement, which certainly was not the case

here. The most confirmed sensation-monger would fight shy of sensation

if he knew that it was well on the cards that he would, in his own

proper person, be the subject of the next “event.”

Once we rose and tried to remonstrate, but were sternly repressed by

Twala.

“Let the law take its course, white men. These dogs are magicians and

evil-doers; it is well that they should die,” was the only answer

vouchsafed to us.

About half-past ten there was a pause. The witch-finders gathered

themselves together, apparently exhausted with their bloody work, and

we thought that the performance was done with. But it was not so, for

presently, to our surprise, the ancient woman, Gagool, rose from her

crouching position, and supporting herself with a stick, staggered off

into the open space. It was an extraordinary sight to see this

frightful vulture-headed old creature, bent nearly double with extreme

age, gather strength by degrees, until at last she rushed about almost

as actively as her ill-omened pupils. To and fro she ran, chanting to

herself, till suddenly she made a dash at a tall man standing in front

of one of the regiments, and touched him. As she did this a sort of

groan went up from the regiment which evidently he commanded. But two

of its officers seized him all the same, and brought him up for

execution. We learned afterwards that he was a man of great wealth and

importance, being indeed a cousin of the king.

He was slain, and Twala counted one hundred and three. Then Gagool

again sprang to and fro, gradually drawing nearer and nearer to

ourselves.

“Hang me if I don’t believe she is going to try her games on us,”

ejaculated Good in horror.

“Nonsense!” said Sir Henry.

As for myself, when I saw that old fiend dancing nearer and nearer, my

heart positively sank into my boots. I glanced behind us at the long

rows of corpses, and shivered.

Nearer and nearer waltzed Gagool, looking for all the world like an

animated crooked stick or comma, her horrid eyes gleaming and glowing

with a most unholy lustre.

Nearer she came, and yet nearer, every creature in that vast assemblage

watching her movements with intense anxiety. At last she stood still

and pointed.

“Which is it to be?” asked Sir Henry to himself.

In a moment all doubts were at rest, for the old hag had rushed in and

touched Umbopa, alias Ignosi, on the shoulder.

“I smell him out,” she shrieked. “Kill him, kill him, he is full of

evil; kill him, the stranger, before blood flows from him. Slay him, O

king.”

There was a pause, of which I instantly took advantage.

“O king,” I called out, rising from my seat, “this man is the servant

of thy guests, he is their dog; whosoever sheds the blood of our dog

sheds our blood. By the sacred law of hospitality I claim protection

for him.”

“Gagool, mother of the witch-finders, has smelt him out; he must die,

white men,” was the sullen answer.

“Nay, he shall not die,” I replied; “he who tries to touch him shall

die indeed.”

“Seize him!” roared Twala to the executioners; who stood round red to

the eyes with the blood of their victims.

They advanced towards us, and then hesitated. As for Ignosi, he

clutched his spear, and raised it as though determined to sell his life

dearly.

“Stand back, ye dogs!” I shouted, “if ye would see to-morrow’s light.

Touch one hair of his head and your king dies,” and I covered Twala

with my revolver. Sir Henry and Good also drew their pistols, Sir Henry

pointing his at the leading executioner, who was advancing to carry out

the sentence, and Good taking a deliberate aim at Gagool.

Twala winced perceptibly as my barrel came in a line with his broad

chest.

“Well,” I said, “what is it to be, Twala?”

Then he spoke.

“Put away your magic tubes,” he said; “ye have adjured me in the name

of hospitality, and for that reason, but not from fear of what ye can

do, I spare him. Go in peace.”

“It is well,” I answered unconcernedly; “we are weary of slaughter, and

would sleep. Is the dance ended?”

“It is ended,” Twala answered sulkily. “Let these dead dogs,” pointing

to the long rows of corpses, “be flung out to the hyænas and the

vultures,” and he lifted his spear.

Instantly the regiments began to defile through the kraal gateway in

perfect silence, a fatigue party only remaining behind to drag away the

corpses of those who had been sacrificed.

Then we rose also, and making our salaam to his majesty, which he

hardly deigned to acknowledge, we departed to our huts.

“Well,” said Sir Henry, as we sat down, having first lit a lamp of the

sort used by the Kukuanas, of which the wick is made from the fibre of

a species of palm leaf, and the oil from clarified hippopotamus fat,

“well, I feel uncommonly inclined to be sick.”

“If I had any doubts about helping Umbopa to rebel against that

infernal blackguard,” put in Good, “they are gone now. It was as much

as I could do to sit still while that slaughter was going on. I tried

to keep my eyes shut, but they would open just at the wrong time. I

wonder where Infadoos is. Umbopa, my friend, you ought to be grateful

to us; your skin came near to having an air-hole made in it.”

“I am grateful, Bougwan,” was Umbopa’s answer, when I had translated,

“and I shall not forget. As for Infadoos, he will be here by-and-by. We

must wait.”

So we lit our pipes and waited.

CHAPTER XI.

WE GIVE A SIGN

For a long while—two hours, I should think—we sat there in silence,

being too much overwhelmed by the recollection of the horrors we had

seen to talk. At last, just as we were thinking of turning in—for the

night drew nigh to dawn—we heard a sound of steps. Then came the

challenge of a sentry posted at the kraal gate, which apparently was

answered, though not in an audible tone, for the steps still advanced;

and in another second Infadoos had entered the hut, followed by some

half-dozen stately-looking chiefs.

“My lords,” he said, “I have come according to my word. My lords and

Ignosi, rightful king of the Kukuanas, I have brought with me these

men,” pointing to the row of chiefs, “who are great men among us,

having each one of them the command of three thousand soldiers, that

live but to do their bidding, under the king’s. I have told them of

what I have seen, and what my ears have heard. Now let them also behold

the sacred snake around thee, and hear thy story, Ignosi, that they may

say whether or no they will make cause with thee against Twala the

king.”

By way of answer Ignosi again stripped off his girdle, and exhibited

the snake tattooed about him. Each chief in turn drew near and examined

the sign by the dim light of the lamp, and without saying a word passed

on to the other side.

Then Ignosi resumed his moocha, and addressing them, repeated the

history he had detailed in the morning.

“Now ye have heard, chiefs,” said Infadoos, when he had done, “what say

ye: will ye stand by this man and help him to his father’s throne, or

will ye not? The land cries out against Twala, and the blood of the

people flows like the waters in spring. Ye have seen to-night. Two

other chiefs there were with whom I had it in my mind to speak, and

where are they now? The hyænas howl over their corpses. Soon shall ye

be as they are if ye strike not. Choose then, my brothers.”

The eldest of the six men, a short, thick-set warrior, with white hair,

stepped forward a pace and answered—

“Thy words are true, Infadoos; the land cries out. My own brother is

among those who died to-night; but this is a great matter, and the

thing is hard to believe. How know we that if we lift our spears it may

not be for a thief and a liar? It is a great matter, I say, of which

none can see the end. For of this be sure, blood will flow in rivers

before the deed is done; many will still cleave to the king, for men

worship the sun that still shines bright in the heavens, rather than

that which has not risen. These white men from the Stars, their magic

is great, and Ignosi is under the cover of their wing. If he be indeed

the rightful king, let them give us a sign, and let the people have a

sign, that all may see. So shall men cleave to us, knowing of a truth

that the white man’s magic is with them.”

“Ye have the sign of the snake,” I answered.

“My lord, it is not enough. The snake may have been placed there since

the man’s childhood. Show us a sign, and it will suffice. But we will

not move without a sign.”

The others gave a decided assent, and I turned in perplexity to Sir

Henry and Good, and explained the situation.

“I think that I have it,” said Good exultingly; “ask them to give us a

moment to think.”

I did so, and the chiefs withdrew. So soon as they had gone Good went

to the little box where he kept his medicines, unlocked it, and took

out a note-book, in the fly-leaves of which was an almanack. “Now look

here, you fellows, isn’t to-morrow the 4th of June?” he said.

We had kept a careful note of the days, so were able to answer that it

was.

“Very good; then here we have it—‘4 June, total eclipse of the moon

commences at 8.15 Greenwich time, visible in Teneriffe—_South Africa_,

&c.’ There’s a sign for you. Tell them we will darken the moon

to-morrow night.”

The idea was a splendid one; indeed, the only weak spot about it was a

fear lest Good’s almanack might be incorrect. If we made a false

prophecy on such a subject, our prestige would be gone for ever, and so

would Ignosi’s chance of the throne of the Kukuanas.

“Suppose that the almanack is wrong,” suggested Sir Henry to Good, who

was busily employed in working out something on a blank page of the

book.

“I see no reason to suppose anything of the sort,” was his answer.

“Eclipses always come up to time; at least that is my experience of

them, and it especially states that this one will be visible in South

Africa. I have worked out the reckonings as well as I can, without

knowing our exact position; and I make out that the eclipse should

begin here about ten o’clock tomorrow night, and last till half-past

twelve. For an hour and a half or so there should be almost total

darkness.”

“Well,” said Sir Henry, “I suppose we had better risk it.”

I acquiesced, though doubtfully, for eclipses are queer cattle to deal

with—it might be a cloudy night, for instance, or our dates might be

wrong—and sent Umbopa to summon the chiefs back. Presently they came,

and I addressed them thus—

“Great men of the Kukuanas, and thou, Infadoos, listen. We love not to

show our powers, for to do so is to interfere with the course of

nature, and to plunge the world into fear and confusion. But since this

matter is a great one, and as we are angered against the king because

of the slaughter we have seen, and because of the act of the _Isanusi_

Gagool, who would have put our friend Ignosi to death, we have

determined to break a rule, and to give such a sign as all men may see.

Come hither”; and I led them to the door of the hut and pointed to the

red ball of the moon. “What see ye there?”

“We see the sinking moon,” answered the spokesman of the party.

“It is so. Now tell me, can any mortal man put out that moon before her

hour of setting, and bring the curtain of black night down upon the

land?”

The chief laughed a little at the question. “No, my lord, that no man

can do. The moon is stronger than man who looks on her, nor can she

vary in her courses.”

“Ye say so. Yet I tell you that to-morrow night, about two hours before

midnight, we will cause the moon to be eaten up for a space of an hour

and half an hour. Yes, deep darkness shall cover the earth, and it

shall be for a sign that Ignosi is indeed king of the Kukuanas. If we

do this thing, will ye be satisfied?”

“Yea, my lords,” answered the old chief with a smile, which was

reflected on the faces of his companions; “_if_ ye do this thing, we

will be satisfied indeed.”

“It shall be done; we three, Incubu, Bougwan, and Macumazahn, have said

it, and it shall be done. Dost thou hear, Infadoos?”

“I hear, my lord, but it is a wonderful thing that ye promise, to put

out the moon, the mother of the world, when she is at her full.”

“Yet shall we do it, Infadoos.”

“It is well, my lords. To-day, two hours after sunset, Twala will send

for my lords to witness the girls dance, and one hour after the dance

begins the girl whom Twala thinks the fairest shall be killed by

Scragga, the king’s son, as a sacrifice to the Silent Ones, who sit and

keep watch by the mountains yonder,” and he pointed towards the three

strange-looking peaks where Solomon’s road was supposed to end. “Then

let my lords darken the moon, and save the maiden’s life, and the

people will believe indeed.”

“Ay,” said the old chief, still smiling a little, “the people will

believe indeed.”

“Two miles from Loo,” went on Infadoos, “there is a hill curved like a

new moon, a stronghold, where my regiment, and three other regiments

which these chiefs command, are stationed. This morning we will make a

plan whereby two or three other regiments may be moved there also.

Then, if in truth my lords can darken the moon, in the darkness I will

take my lords by the hand and lead them out of Loo to this place, where

they shall be safe, and thence we can make war upon Twala the king.”

“It is good,” said I. “Now leave us to sleep awhile and to make ready

our magic.”

Infadoos rose, and, having saluted us, departed with the chiefs.

“My friends,” said Ignosi, so soon as they were gone, “can ye do this

wonderful thing, or were ye speaking empty words to the captains?”

“We believe that we can do it, Umbopa—Ignosi, I mean.”

“It is strange,” he answered, “and had ye not been Englishmen I would

not have believed it; but I have learned that English ‘gentlemen’ tell

no lies. If we live through the matter, be sure that I will repay you.”

“Ignosi,” said Sir Henry, “promise me one thing.”

“I will promise, Incubu, my friend, even before I hear it,” answered

the big man with a smile. “What is it?”

“This: that if ever you come to be king of this people you will do away

with the smelling out of wizards such as we saw last night; and that

the killing of men without trial shall no longer take place in the

land.”

Ignosi thought for a moment after I had translated this request, and

then answered—

“The ways of black people are not as the ways of white men, Incubu, nor

do we value life so highly. Yet I will promise. If it be in my power to

hold them back, the witch-finders shall hunt no more, nor shall any man

die the death without trial or judgment.”

“That’s a bargain, then,” said Sir Henry; “and now let us get a little

rest.”

Thoroughly wearied out, we were soon sound asleep, and slept till

Ignosi woke us about eleven o’clock. Then we rose, washed, and ate a

hearty breakfast. After that we went outside the hut and walked about,

amusing ourselves with examining the structure of the Kukuana huts and

observing the customs of the women.

“I hope that eclipse will come off,” said Sir Henry presently.

“If it does not it will soon be all up with us,” I answered mournfully;

“for so sure as we are living men some of those chiefs will tell the

whole story to the king, and then there will be another sort of

eclipse, and one that we shall certainly not like.”

Returning to the hut we ate some dinner, and passed the rest of the day

in receiving visits of ceremony and curiosity. At length the sun set,

and we enjoyed a couple of hours of such quiet as our melancholy

forebodings would allow to us. Finally, about half-past eight, a

messenger came from Twala to bid us to the great annual “dance of

girls” which was about to be celebrated.

Hastily we put on the chain shirts that the king had sent us, and

taking our rifles and ammunition with us, so as to have them handy in

case we had to fly, as suggested by Infadoos, we started boldly enough,

though with inward fear and trembling. The great space in front of the

king’s kraal bore a very different appearance from that which it had

presented on the previous evening. In place of the grim ranks of

serried warriors were company after company of Kukuana girls, not

over-dressed, so far as clothing went, but each crowned with a wreath

of flowers, and holding a palm leaf in one hand and a white arum lily

in the other. In the centre of the open moonlit space sat Twala the

king, with old Gagool at his feet, attended by Infadoos, the boy

Scragga, and twelve guards. There were also present about a score of

chiefs, amongst whom I recognised most of our friends of the night

before.

Twala greeted us with much apparent cordiality, though I saw him fix

his one eye viciously on Umbopa.

“Welcome, white men from the Stars,” he said; “this is another sight

from that which your eyes gazed on by the light of last night’s moon,

but it is not so good a sight. Girls are pleasant, and were it not for

such as these,” and he pointed round him, “we should none of us be here

this day; but men are better. Kisses and the tender words of women are

sweet, but the sound of the clashing of the spears of warriors, and the

smell of men’s blood, are sweeter far! Would ye have wives from among

our people, white men? If so, choose the fairest here, and ye shall

have them, as many as ye will,” and he paused for an answer.

As the prospect did not seem to be without attractions for Good, who,

like most sailors, is of a susceptible nature,—being elderly and wise,

foreseeing the endless complications that anything of the sort would

involve, for women bring trouble so surely as the night follows the

day, I put in a hasty answer—

“Thanks to thee, O king, but we white men wed only with white women

like ourselves. Your maidens are fair, but they are not for us!”

The king laughed. “It is well. In our land there is a proverb which

runs, ‘Women’s eyes are always bright, whatever the colour,’ and

another that says, ‘Love her who is present, for be sure she who is

absent is false to thee;’ but perhaps these things are not so in the

Stars. In a land where men are white all things are possible. So be it,

white men; the girls will not go begging! Welcome again; and welcome,

too, thou black one; if Gagool here had won her way, thou wouldst have

been stiff and cold by now. It is lucky for thee that thou too camest

from the Stars; ha! ha!”

“I can kill thee before thou killest me, O king,” was Ignosi’s calm

answer, “and thou shalt be stiff before my limbs cease to bend.”

Twala started. “Thou speakest boldly, boy,” he replied angrily;

“presume not too far.”

“He may well be bold in whose lips are truth. The truth is a sharp

spear which flies home and misses not. It is a message from ‘the

Stars,’ O king.”

Twala scowled, and his one eye gleamed fiercely, but he said nothing

more.

“Let the dance begin,” he cried, and then the flower-crowned girls

sprang forward in companies, singing a sweet song and waving the

delicate palms and white lilies. On they danced, looking faint and

spiritual in the soft, sad light of the risen moon; now whirling round

and round, now meeting in mimic warfare, swaying, eddying here and

there, coming forward, falling back in an ordered confusion delightful

to witness. At last they paused, and a beautiful young woman sprang out

of the ranks and began to pirouette in front of us with a grace and

vigour which would have put most ballet girls to shame. At length she

retired exhausted, and another took her place, then another and

another, but none of them, either in grace, skill, or personal

attractions, came up to the first.

When the chosen girls had all danced, the king lifted his hand.

“Which deem ye the fairest, white men?” he asked.

“The first,” said I unthinkingly. Next second I regretted it, for I

remembered that Infadoos had told us that the fairest woman must be

offered up as a sacrifice.

“Then is my mind as your minds, and my eyes as your eyes. She is the

fairest! and a sorry thing it is for her, for she must die!”

“_Ay, must die!_” piped out Gagool, casting a glance of her quick eyes

in the direction of the poor girl, who, as yet ignorant of the awful

fate in store for her, was standing some ten yards off in front of a

company of maidens, engaged in nervously picking a flower from her

wreath to pieces, petal by petal.

“Why, O king?” said I, restraining my indignation with difficulty; “the

girl has danced well, and pleased us; she is fair too; it would be hard

to reward her with death.”

Twala laughed as he answered—

“It is our custom, and the figures who sit in stone yonder,” and he

pointed towards the three distant peaks, “must have their due. Did I

fail to put the fairest girl to death to-day, misfortune would fall

upon me and my house. Thus runs the prophecy of my people: ‘If the king

offer not a sacrifice of a fair girl, on the day of the dance of

maidens, to the Old Ones who sit and watch on the mountains, then shall

he fall, and his house.’ Look ye, white men, my brother who reigned

before me offered not the sacrifice, because of the tears of the woman,

and he fell, and his house, and I reign in his stead. It is finished;

she must die!” Then turning to the guards—“Bring her hither; Scragga,

make sharp thy spear.”

Two of the men stepped forward, and as they advanced, the girl, for the

first time realising her impending fate, screamed aloud and turned to

fly. But the strong hands caught her fast, and brought her, struggling

and weeping, before us.

“What is thy name, girl?” piped Gagool. “What! wilt thou not answer?

Shall the king’s son do his work at once?”

At this hint, Scragga, looking more evil than ever, advanced a step and

lifted his great spear, and at that moment I saw Good’s hand creep to

his revolver. The poor girl caught the faint glint of steel through her

tears, and it sobered her anguish. She ceased struggling, and clasping

her hands convulsively, stood shuddering from head to foot.

“See,” cried Scragga in high glee, “she shrinks from the sight of my

little plaything even before she has tasted it,” and he tapped the

broad blade of his spear.

“If ever I get the chance you shall pay for that, you young hound!” I

heard Good mutter beneath his breath.

“Now that thou art quiet, give us thy name, my dear. Come, speak out,

and fear not,” said Gagool in mockery.

“Oh, mother,” answered the girl, in trembling accents, “my name is

Foulata, of the house of Suko. Oh, mother, why must I die? I have done

no wrong!”

“Be comforted,” went on the old woman in her hateful tone of mockery.

“Thou must die, indeed, as a sacrifice to the Old Ones who sit yonder,”

and she pointed to the peaks; “but it is better to sleep in the night

than to toil in the daytime; it is better to die than to live, and thou

shalt die by the royal hand of the king’s own son.”

The girl Foulata wrung her hands in anguish, and cried out aloud, “Oh,

cruel! and I so young! What have I done that I should never again see

the sun rise out of the night, or the stars come following on his track

in the evening, that I may no more gather the flowers when the dew is

heavy, or listen to the laughing of the waters? Woe is me, that I shall

never see my father’s hut again, nor feel my mother’s kiss, nor tend

the lamb that is sick! Woe is me, that no lover shall put his arm

around me and look into my eyes, nor shall men children be born of me!

Oh, cruel, cruel!”

And again she wrung her hands and turned her tear-stained

flower-crowned face to Heaven, looking so lovely in her despair—for she

was indeed a beautiful woman—that assuredly the sight of her would have

melted the hearts of any less cruel than were the three fiends before

us. Prince Arthur’s appeal to the ruffians who came to blind him was

not more touching than that of this savage girl.

But it did not move Gagool or Gagool’s master, though I saw signs of

pity among the guards behind, and on the faces of the chiefs; and as

for Good, he gave a fierce snort of indignation, and made a motion as

though to go to her assistance. With all a woman’s quickness, the

doomed girl interpreted what was passing in his mind, and by a sudden

movement flung herself before him, and clasped his “beautiful white

legs” with her hands.

“Oh, white father from the Stars!” she cried, “throw over me the mantle

of thy protection; let me creep into the shadow of thy strength, that I

may be saved. Oh, keep me from these cruel men and from the mercies of

Gagool!”

“All right, my hearty, I’ll look after you,” sang out Good in nervous

Saxon. “Come, get up, there’s a good girl,” and he stooped and caught

her hand.

Twala turned and motioned to his son, who advanced with his spear

lifted.

“Now’s your time,” whispered Sir Henry to me; “what are you waiting

for?”

“I am waiting for that eclipse,” I answered; “I have had my eye on the

moon for the last half-hour, and I never saw it look healthier.”

“Well, you must risk it now, or the girl will be killed. Twala is

losing patience.”

Recognising the force of the argument, and having cast one more

despairing look at the bright face of the moon, for never did the most

ardent astronomer with a theory to prove await a celestial event with

such anxiety, I stepped with all the dignity that I could command

between the prostrate girl and the advancing spear of Scragga.

“King,” I said, “it shall not be; we will not endure this thing; let

the girl go in safety.”

Twala rose from his seat in wrath and astonishment, and from the chiefs

and serried ranks of maidens who had closed in slowly upon us in

anticipation of the tragedy came a murmur of amazement.

“_Shall not be!_ thou white dog, that yappest at the lion in his cave;

_shall not be!_ art thou mad? Be careful, lest this chicken’s fate

overtake thee, and those with thee. How canst thou save her or thyself?

Who art thou that thou settest thyself between me and my will? Back, I

say. Scragga, kill her! Ho, guards! seize these men.”

At his cry armed men ran swiftly from behind the hut, where they had

evidently been placed beforehand.

Sir Henry, Good, and Umbopa ranged themselves alongside of me, and

lifted their rifles.

“Stop!” I shouted boldly, though at the moment my heart was in my

boots. “Stop! we, the white men from the Stars, say that it shall not

be. Come but one pace nearer, and we will put out the moon like a

wind-blown lamp, as we who dwell in her House can do, and plunge the

land in darkness. Dare to disobey, and ye shall taste of our magic.”

My threat produced an effect; the men halted, and Scragga stood still

before us, his spear lifted.

“Hear him! hear him!” piped Gagool; “hear the liar who says that he

will put out the moon like a lamp. Let him do it, and the girl shall be

spared. Yes, let him do it, or die by the girl, he and those with him.”

I glanced up at the moon despairingly, and now to my intense joy and

relief saw that we—or rather the almanack—had made no mistake. On the

edge of the great orb lay a faint rim of shadow, while a smoky hue grew

and gathered upon its bright surface. Never shall I forget that

supreme, that superb moment of relief.

Then I lifted my hand solemnly towards the sky, an example which Sir

Henry and Good followed, and quoted a line or two from the “Ingoldsby

Legends” at it in the most impressive tones that I could command. Sir

Henry followed suit with a verse out of the Old Testament, and

something about Balbus building a wall, in Latin, whilst Good addressed

the Queen of Night in a volume of the most classical bad language which

he could think of.

Slowly the penumbra, the shadow of a shadow, crept on over the bright

surface, and as it crept I heard deep gasps of fear rising from the

multitude around.

“Look, O king!” I cried; “look, Gagool! Look, chiefs and people and

women, and see if the white men from the Stars keep their word, or if

they be but empty liars!

“The moon grows black before your eyes; soon there will be darkness—ay,

darkness in the hour of the full moon. Ye have asked for a sign; it is

given to you. Grow dark, O Moon! withdraw thy light, thou pure and holy

One; bring the proud heart of usurping murderers to the dust, and eat

up the world with shadows.”

A groan of terror burst from the onlookers. Some stood petrified with

dread, others threw themselves upon their knees and cried aloud. As for

the king, he sat still and turned pale beneath his dusky skin. Only

Gagool kept her courage.

“It will pass,” she cried; “I have often seen the like before; no man

can put out the moon; lose not heart; sit still—the shadow will pass.”

“Wait, and ye shall see,” I replied, hopping with excitement. “O Moon!

Moon! Moon! wherefore art thou so cold and fickle?” This appropriate

quotation was from the pages of a popular romance that I chanced to

have read recently, though now I come to think of it, it was ungrateful

of me to abuse the Lady of the Heavens, who was showing herself to be

the truest of friends to us, however she may have behaved to the

impassioned lover in the novel. Then I added: “Keep it up, Good, I

can’t remember any more poetry. Curse away, there’s a good fellow.”

Good responded nobly to this tax upon his inventive faculties. Never

before had I the faintest conception of the breadth and depth and

height of a naval officer’s objurgatory powers. For ten minutes he went

on in several languages without stopping, and he scarcely ever repeated

himself.

Meanwhile the dark ring crept on, while all that great assembly fixed

their eyes upon the sky and stared and stared in fascinated silence.

Strange and unholy shadows encroached upon the moonlight, an ominous

quiet filled the place. Everything grew still as death. Slowly and in

the midst of this most solemn silence the minutes sped away, and while

they sped the full moon passed deeper and deeper into the shadow of the

earth, as the inky segment of its circle slid in awful majesty across

the lunar craters. The great pale orb seemed to draw near and to grow

in size. She turned a coppery hue, then that portion of her surface

which was unobscured as yet grew grey and ashen, and at length, as

totality approached, her mountains and her plains were to be seen

glowing luridly through a crimson gloom.

On, yet on, crept the ring of darkness; it was now more than half

across the blood-red orb. The air grew thick, and still more deeply

tinged with dusky crimson. On, yet on, till we could scarcely see the

fierce faces of the group before us. No sound rose now from the

spectators, and at last Good stopped swearing.

“The moon is dying—the white wizards have killed the moon,” yelled the

prince Scragga at last. “We shall all perish in the dark,” and animated

by fear or fury, or by both, he lifted his spear and drove it with all

his force at Sir Henry’s breast. But he forgot the mail shirts that the

king had given us, and which we wore beneath our clothing. The steel

rebounded harmless, and before he could repeat the blow Curtis had

snatched the spear from his hand and sent it straight through him.

Scragga dropped dead.

At the sight, and driven mad with fear of the gathering darkness, and

of the unholy shadow which, as they believed, was swallowing the moon,

the companies of girls broke up in wild confusion, and ran screeching

for the gateways. Nor did the panic stop there. The king himself,

followed by his guards, some of the chiefs, and Gagool, who hobbled

away after them with marvellous alacrity, fled for the huts, so that in

another minute we ourselves, the would-be victim Foulata, Infadoos, and

most of the chiefs who had interviewed us on the previous night, were

left alone upon the scene, together with the dead body of Scragga,

Twala’s son.

“Chiefs,” I said, “we have given you the sign. If ye are satisfied, let

us fly swiftly to the place of which ye spoke. The charm cannot now be

stopped. It will work for an hour and the half of an hour. Let us cover

ourselves in the darkness.”

“Come,” said Infadoos, turning to go, an example which was followed by

the awed captains, ourselves, and the girl Foulata, whom Good took by

the arm.

Before we reached the gate of the kraal the moon went out utterly, and

from every quarter of the firmament the stars rushed forth into the

inky sky.

Holding each other by the hand we stumbled on through the darkness.

CHAPTER XII.

BEFORE THE BATTLE

Luckily for us, Infadoos and the chiefs knew all the paths of the great

town perfectly, so that we passed by side-ways unmolested, and

notwithstanding the gloom we made fair progress.

For an hour or more we journeyed on, till at length the eclipse began

to pass, and that edge of the moon which had disappeared the first

became again visible. Suddenly, as we watched, there burst from it a

silver streak of light, accompanied by a wondrous ruddy glow, which

hung upon the blackness of the sky like a celestial lamp, and a wild

and lovely sight it was. In another five minutes the stars began to

fade, and there was sufficient light to see our whereabouts. We then

discovered that we were clear of the town of Loo, and approaching a

large flat-topped hill, measuring some two miles in circumference. This

hill, which is of a formation common in South Africa, is not very high;

indeed, its greatest elevation is scarcely more than 200 feet, but it

is shaped like a horseshoe, and its sides are rather precipitous and

strewn with boulders. On the grass table-land at its summit is ample

camping-ground, which had been utilised as a military cantonment of no

mean strength. Its ordinary garrison was one regiment of three thousand

men, but as we toiled up the steep side of the mountain in the

returning moonlight we perceived that there were several of such

regiments encamped there.

Reaching the table-land at last, we found crowds of men roused from

their sleep, shivering with fear and huddled up together in the utmost

consternation at the natural phenomenon which they were witnessing.

Passing through these without a word, we gained a hut in the centre of

the ground, where we were astonished to find two men waiting, laden

with our few goods and chattels, which of course we had been obliged to

leave behind in our hasty flight.

“I sent for them,” explained Infadoos; “and also for these,” and he

lifted up Good’s long-lost trousers.

With an exclamation of rapturous delight Good sprang at them, and

instantly proceeded to put them on.

“Surely my lord will not hide his beautiful white legs!” exclaimed

Infadoos regretfully.

But Good persisted, and once only did the Kukuana people get the chance

of seeing his beautiful legs again. Good is a very modest man.

Henceforward they had to satisfy their æsthetic longings with his one

whisker, his transparent eye, and his movable teeth.

Still gazing with fond remembrance at Good’s trousers, Infadoos next

informed us that he had commanded the regiments to muster so soon as

the day broke, in order to explain to them fully the origin and

circumstances of the rebellion which was decided on by the chiefs, and

to introduce to them the rightful heir to the throne, Ignosi.

Accordingly, when the sun was up, the troops—in all some twenty

thousand men, and the flower of the Kukuana army—were mustered on a

large open space, to which we went. The men were drawn up in three

sides of a dense square, and presented a magnificent spectacle. We took

our station on the open side of the square, and were speedily

surrounded by all the principal chiefs and officers.

These, after silence had been proclaimed, Infadoos proceeded to

address. He narrated to them in vigorous and graceful language—for,

like most Kukuanas of high rank, he was a born orator—the history of

Ignosi’s father, and of how he had been basely murdered by Twala the

king, and his wife and child driven out to starve. Then he pointed out

that the people suffered and groaned under Twala’s cruel rule,

instancing the proceedings of the previous night, when, under pretence

of their being evil-doers, many of the noblest in the land had been

dragged forth and wickedly done to death. Next he went on to say that

the white lords from the Stars, looking down upon their country, had

perceived its trouble, and determined, at great personal inconvenience,

to alleviate its lot: That they had accordingly taken the real king of

the Kukuanas, Ignosi, who was languishing in exile, by the hand, and

led him over the mountains: That they had seen the wickedness of

Twala’s doings, and for a sign to the wavering, and to save the life of

the girl Foulata, actually, by the exercise of their high magic, had

put out the moon and slain the young fiend Scragga; and that they were

prepared to stand by them, and assist them to overthrow Twala, and set

up the rightful king, Ignosi, in his place.

He finished his discourse amidst a murmur of approbation. Then Ignosi

stepped forward and began to speak. Having reiterated all that Infadoos

his uncle had said, he concluded a powerful speech in these words:—

“O chiefs, captains, soldiers, and people, ye have heard my words. Now

must ye make choice between me and him who sits upon my throne, the

uncle who killed his brother, and hunted his brother’s child forth to

die in the cold and the night. That I am indeed the king

these”—pointing to the chiefs—“can tell you, for they have seen the

snake about my middle. If I were not the king, would these white men be

on my side with all their magic? Tremble, chiefs, captains, soldiers,

and people! Is not the darkness they have brought upon the land to

confound Twala and cover our flight, darkness even in the hour of the

full moon, yet before your eyes?”

“It is,” answered the soldiers.

“I am the king; I say to you, I am the king,” went on Ignosi, drawing

up his great stature to its full, and lifting his broad-bladed

battle-axe above his head. “If there be any man among you who says that

it is not so, let him stand forth and I will fight him now, and his

blood shall be a red token that I tell you true. Let him stand forth, I

say;” and he shook the great axe till it flashed in the sunlight.

As nobody seemed inclined to respond to this heroic version of “Dilly,

Dilly, come and be killed,” our late henchman proceeded with his

address.

“I am indeed the king, and should ye stand by my side in the battle, if

I win the day ye shall go with me to victory and honour. I will give

you oxen and wives, and ye shall take place of all the regiments; and

if ye fall, I will fall with you.

“And behold, I give you this promise, that when I sit upon the seat of

my fathers, bloodshed shall cease in the land. No longer shall ye cry

for justice to find slaughter, no longer shall the witch-finder hunt

you out so that ye may be slain without a cause. No man shall die save

he who offends against the laws. The ‘eating up’ of your kraals shall

cease; each one of you shall sleep secure in his own hut and fear

naught, and justice shall walk blindfold throughout the land. Have ye

chosen, chiefs, captains, soldiers, and people?”

“We have chosen, O king,” came back the answer.

“It is well. Turn your heads and see how Twala’s messengers go forth

from the great town, east and west, and north and south, to gather a

mighty army to slay me and you, and these my friends and protectors.

To-morrow, or perchance the next day, he will come against us with all

who are faithful to him. Then I shall see the man who is indeed my man,

the man who fears not to die for his cause; and I tell you that he

shall not be forgotten in the time of spoil. I have spoken, O chiefs,

captains, soldiers, and people. Now go to your huts and make you ready

for war.”

There was a pause, till presently one of the chiefs lifted his hand,

and out rolled the royal salute, “_Koom._” It was a sign that the

soldiers accepted Ignosi as their king. Then they marched off in

battalions.

Half an hour afterwards we held a council of war, at which all the

commanders of regiments were present. It was evident to us that before

very long we should be attacked in overwhelming force. Indeed, from our

point of vantage on the hill we could see troops mustering, and runners

going forth from Loo in every direction, doubtless to summon soldiers

to the king’s assistance. We had on our side about twenty thousand men,

composed of seven of the best regiments in the country. Twala, so

Infadoos and the chiefs calculated, had at least thirty to thirty-five

thousand on whom he could rely at present assembled in Loo, and they

thought that by midday on the morrow he would be able to gather another

five thousand or more to his aid. It was, of course, possible that some

of his troops would desert and come over to us, but it was not a

contingency which could be reckoned on. Meanwhile, it was clear that

active preparations were being made by Twala to subdue us. Already

strong bodies of armed men were patrolling round and round the foot of

the hill, and there were other signs also of coming assault.

Infadoos and the chiefs, however, were of opinion that no attack would

take place that day, which would be devoted to preparation and to the

removal of every available means of the moral effect produced upon the

minds of the soldiery by the supposed magical darkening of the moon.

The onslaught would be on the morrow, they said, and they proved to be

right.

Meanwhile, we set to work to strengthen the position in all ways

possible. Almost every man was turned out, and in the course of the

day, which seemed far too short, much was done. The paths up the

hill—that was rather a sanatorium than a fortress, being used generally

as the camping place of regiments suffering from recent service in

unhealthy portions of the country—were carefully blocked with masses of

stones, and every other approach was made as impregnable as time would

allow. Piles of boulders were collected at various spots to be rolled

down upon an advancing enemy, stations were appointed to the different

regiments, and all preparation was made which our joint ingenuity could

suggest.

Just before sundown, as we rested after our toil, we perceived a small

company of men advancing towards us from the direction of Loo, one of

whom bore a palm leaf in his hand for a sign that he came as a herald.

As he drew near, Ignosi, Infadoos, one or two chiefs and ourselves,

went down to the foot of the mountain to meet him. He was a

gallant-looking fellow, wearing the regulation leopard-skin cloak.

“Greeting!” he cried, as he came; “the king’s greeting to those who

make unholy war against the king; the lion’s greeting to the jackals

that snarl around his heels.”

“Speak,” I said.

“These are the king’s words. Surrender to the king’s mercy ere a worse

thing befall you. Already the shoulder has been torn from the black

bull, and the king drives him bleeding about the camp.”[8]

[8] This cruel custom is not confined to the Kukuanas, but is by no

means uncommon amongst African tribes on the occasion of the outbreak

of war or any other important public event.—A.Q.

“What are Twala’s terms?” I asked from curiosity.

“His terms are merciful, worthy of a great king. These are the words of

Twala, the one-eyed, the mighty, the husband of a thousand wives, lord

of the Kukuanas, keeper of the Great Road (Solomon’s Road), beloved of

the Strange Ones who sit in silence at the mountains yonder (the Three

Witches), Calf of the Black Cow, Elephant whose tread shakes the earth,

Terror of the evil-doer, Ostrich whose feet devour the desert, huge

One, black One, wise One, king from generation to generation! these are

the words of Twala: ‘I will have mercy and be satisfied with a little

blood. One in every ten shall die, the rest shall go free; but the

white man Incubu, who slew Scragga my son, and the black man his

servant, who pretends to my throne, and Infadoos my brother, who brews

rebellion against me, these shall die by torture as an offering to the

Silent Ones.’ Such are the merciful words of Twala.”

After consulting with the others a little, I answered him in a loud

voice, so that the soldiers might hear, thus—

“Go back, thou dog, to Twala, who sent thee, and say that we, Ignosi,

veritable king of the Kukuanas, Incubu, Bougwan, and Macumazahn, the

wise ones from the Stars, who make dark the moon, Infadoos, of the

royal house, and the chiefs, captains, and people here gathered, make

answer and say, ‘That we will not surrender; that before the sun has

gone down twice, Twala’s corpse shall stiffen at Twala’s gate, and

Ignosi, whose father Twala slew, shall reign in his stead.’ Now go, ere

we whip thee away, and beware how thou dost lift a hand against such as

we are.”

The herald laughed loudly. “Ye frighten not men with such swelling

words,” he cried out. “Show yourselves as bold to-morrow, O ye who

darken the moon. Be bold, fight, and be merry, before the crows pick

your bones till they are whiter than your faces. Farewell; perhaps we

may meet in the fight; fly not to the Stars, but wait for me, I pray,

white men.” With this shaft of sarcasm he retired, and almost

immediately the sun sank.

That night was a busy one, for weary as we were, so far as was possible

by the moonlight all preparations for the morrow’s fight were

continued, and messengers were constantly coming and going from the

place where we sat in council. At last, about an hour after midnight,

everything that could be done was done, and the camp, save for the

occasional challenge of a sentry, sank into silence. Sir Henry and I,

accompanied by Ignosi and one of the chiefs, descended the hill and

made a round of the pickets. As we went, suddenly, from all sorts of

unexpected places, spears gleamed out in the moonlight, only to vanish

again when we uttered the password. It was clear to us that none were

sleeping at their posts. Then we returned, picking our way warily

through thousands of sleeping warriors, many of whom were taking their

last earthly rest.

The moonlight flickering along their spears played upon their features

and made them ghastly; the chilly night wind tossed their tall and

hearse-like plumes. There they lay in wild confusion, with arms

outstretched and twisted limbs; their stern, stalwart forms looking

weird and unhuman in the moonlight.

“How many of these do you suppose will be alive at this time

to-morrow?” asked Sir Henry.

I shook my head and looked again at the sleeping men, and to my tired

and yet excited imagination it seemed as though Death had already

touched them. My mind’s eye singled out those who were sealed to

slaughter, and there rushed in upon my heart a great sense of the

mystery of human life, and an overwhelming sorrow at its futility and

sadness. To-night these thousands slept their healthy sleep, to-morrow

they, and many others with them, ourselves perhaps among them, would be

stiffening in the cold; their wives would be widows, their children

fatherless, and their place know them no more for ever. Only the old

moon would shine on serenely, the night wind would stir the grasses,

and the wide earth would take its rest, even as it did æons before we

were, and will do æons after we have been forgotten.

Yet man dies not whilst the world, at once his mother and his monument,

remains. His name is lost, indeed, but the breath he breathed still

stirs the pine-tops on the mountains, the sound of the words he spoke

yet echoes on through space; the thoughts his brain gave birth to we

have inherited to-day; his passions are our cause of life; the joys and

sorrows that he knew are our familiar friends—the end from which he

fled aghast will surely overtake us also!

Truly the universe is full of ghosts, not sheeted churchyard spectres,

but the inextinguishable elements of individual life, which having once

been, can never _die_, though they blend and change, and change again

for ever.

All sorts of reflections of this nature passed through my mind—for as I

grow older I regret to say that a detestable habit of thinking seems to

be getting a hold of me—while I stood and stared at those grim yet

fantastic lines of warriors, sleeping, as their saying goes, “upon

their spears.”

“Curtis,” I said, “I am in a condition of pitiable fear.”

Sir Henry stroked his yellow beard and laughed, as he answered—

“I have heard you make that sort of remark before, Quatermain.”

“Well, I mean it now. Do you know, I very much doubt if one of us will

be alive to-morrow night. We shall be attacked in overwhelming force,

and it is quite a chance if we can hold this place.”

“We’ll give a good account of some of them, at any rate. Look here,

Quatermain, this business is nasty, and one with which, properly

speaking, we ought not to be mixed up, but we are in for it, so we must

make the best of our job. Speaking personally, I had rather be killed

fighting than any other way, and now that there seems little chance of

our finding my poor brother, it makes the idea easier to me. But

fortune favours the brave, and we may succeed. Anyway, the battle will

be awful, and having a reputation to keep up, we shall need to be in

the thick of the thing.”

He made this last remark in a mournful voice, but there was a gleam in

his eye which belied its melancholy. I have an idea Sir Henry Curtis

actually likes fighting.

After this we went to sleep for a couple of hours or so.

Just about dawn we were awakened by Infadoos, who came to say that

great activity was to be observed in Loo, and that parties of the

king’s skirmishers were driving in our outposts.

We rose and dressed ourselves for the fray, each putting on his chain

armour shirt, for which garments at the present juncture we felt

exceedingly thankful. Sir Henry went the whole length about the matter,

and dressed himself like a native warrior. “When you are in

Kukuanaland, do as the Kukuanas do,” he remarked, as he drew the

shining steel over his broad breast, which it fitted like a glove. Nor

did he stop there. At his request Infadoos had provided him with a

complete set of native war uniform. Round his throat he fastened the

leopard-skin cloak of a commanding officer, on his brows he bound the

plume of black ostrich feathers worn only by generals of high rank, and

about his middle a magnificent moocha of white ox-tails. A pair of

sandals, a leglet of goat’s hair, a heavy battle-axe with a

rhinoceros-horn handle, a round iron shield covered with white ox-hide,

and the regulation number of _tollas_, or throwing-knives, made up his

equipment, to which, however, he added his revolver. The dress was, no

doubt, a savage one, but I am bound to say that I seldom saw a finer

sight than Sir Henry Curtis presented in this guise. It showed off his

magnificent physique to the greatest advantage, and when Ignosi arrived

presently, arrayed in a similar costume, I thought to myself that I had

never before seen two such splendid men.

As for Good and myself, the armour did not suit us nearly so well. To

begin with, Good insisted upon keeping on his new-found trousers, and a

stout, short gentleman with an eye-glass, and one half of his face

shaved, arrayed in a mail shirt, carefully tucked into a very seedy

pair of corduroys, looks more remarkable than imposing. In my case, the

chain shirt being too big for me, I put it on over all my clothes,

which caused it to bulge in a somewhat ungainly fashion. I discarded my

trousers, however, retaining only my veldtschoons, having determined to

go into battle with bare legs, in order to be the lighter for running,

in case it became necessary to retire quickly. The mail coat, a spear,

a shield, that I did not know how to use, a couple of _tollas_, a

revolver, and a huge plume, which I pinned into the top of my shooting

hat, in order to give a bloodthirsty finish to my appearance, completed

my modest equipment. In addition to all these articles, of course we

had our rifles, but as ammunition was scarce, and as they would be

useless in case of a charge, we arranged that they should be carried

behind us by bearers.

When at length we had equipped ourselves, we swallowed some food

hastily, and then started out to see how things were going on. At one

point in the table-land of the mountain, there was a little koppie of

brown stone, which served the double purpose of head-quarters and of a

conning tower. Here we found Infadoos surrounded by his own regiment,

the Greys, which was undoubtedly the finest in the Kukuana army, and

the same that we had first seen at the outlying kraal. This regiment,

now three thousand five hundred strong, was being held in reserve, and

the men were lying down on the grass in companies, and watching the

king’s forces creep out of Loo in long ant-like columns. There seemed

to be no end to the length of these columns—three in all, and each of

them numbering, as we judged, at least eleven or twelve thousand men.

As soon as they were clear of the town the regiments formed up. Then

one body marched off to the right, one to the left, and the third came

on slowly towards us.

“Ah,” said Infadoos, “they are going to attack us on three sides at

once.”

This seemed rather serious news, for our position on the top of the

mountain, which measured a mile and a half in circumference, being an

extended one, it was important to us to concentrate our comparatively

small defending force as much as possible. But since it was impossible

for us to dictate in what way we should be assailed, we had to make the

best of it, and accordingly sent orders to the various regiments to

prepare to receive the separate onslaughts.

CHAPTER XIII.

THE ATTACK

Slowly, and without the slightest appearance of haste or excitement,

the three columns crept on. When within about five hundred yards of us,

the main or centre column halted at the root of a tongue of open plain

which ran up into the hill, to give time to the other divisions to

circumvent our position, which was shaped more or less in the form of a

horse-shoe, with its two points facing towards the town of Loo. The

object of this manoeuvre was that the threefold assault should be

delivered simultaneously.

“Oh, for a gatling!” groaned Good, as he contemplated the serried

phalanxes beneath us. “I would clear that plain in twenty minutes.”

“We have not got one, so it is no use yearning for it; but suppose you

try a shot, Quatermain,” said Sir Henry. “See how near you can go to

that tall fellow who appears to be in command. Two to one you miss him,

and an even sovereign, to be honestly paid if ever we get out of this,

that you don’t drop the bullet within five yards.”

This piqued me, so, loading the express with solid ball, I waited till

my friend walked some ten yards out from his force, in order to get a

better view of our position, accompanied only by an orderly; then,

lying down and resting the express on a rock, I covered him. The rifle,

like all expresses, was only sighted to three hundred and fifty yards,

so to allow for the drop in trajectory I took him half-way down the

neck, which ought, I calculated, to find him in the chest. He stood

quite still and gave me every opportunity, but whether it was the

excitement or the wind, or the fact of the man being a long shot, I

don’t know, but this was what happened. Getting dead on, as I thought,

a fine sight, I pressed, and when the puff of smoke had cleared away,

to my disgust, I saw my man standing there unharmed, whilst his

orderly, who was at least three paces to the left, was stretched upon

the ground apparently dead. Turning swiftly, the officer I had aimed at

began to run towards his men in evident alarm.

“Bravo, Quatermain!” sang out Good; “you’ve frightened him.”

This made me very angry, for, if possible to avoid it, I hate to miss

in public. When a man is master of only one art he likes to keep up his

reputation in that art. Moved quite out of myself at my failure, I did

a rash thing. Rapidly covering the general as he ran, I let drive with

the second barrel. Instantly the poor man threw up his arms, and fell

forward on to his face. This time I had made no mistake; and—I say it

as a proof of how little we think of others when our own safety, pride,

or reputation is in question—I was brute enough to feel delighted at

the sight.

The regiments who had seen the feat cheered wildly at this exhibition

of the white man’s magic, which they took as an omen of success, while

the force the general had belonged to—which, indeed, as we ascertained

afterwards, he had commanded—fell back in confusion. Sir Henry and Good

now took up their rifles and began to fire, the latter industriously

“browning” the dense mass before him with another Winchester repeater,

and I also had another shot or two, with the result, so far as we could

judge, that we put some six or eight men _hors de combat_ before they

were out of range.

Just as we stopped firing there came an ominous roar from our far

right, then a similar roar rose on our left. The two other divisions

were engaging us.

At the sound, the mass of men before us opened out a little, and

advanced towards the hill and up the spit of bare grass land at a slow

trot, singing a deep-throated song as they ran. We kept up a steady

fire from our rifles as they came, Ignosi joining in occasionally, and

accounted for several men, but of course we produced no more effect

upon that mighty rush of armed humanity than he who throws pebbles does

on the breaking wave.

On they came, with a shout and the clashing of spears; now they were

driving in the pickets we had placed among the rocks at the foot of the

hill. After that the advance was a little slower, for though as yet we

had offered no serious opposition, the attacking forces must climb up

hill, and they came slowly to save their breath. Our first line of

defence was about half-way down the side of the slope, our second fifty

yards further back, while our third occupied the edge of the plateau.

On they stormed, shouting their war-cry, “_Twala! Twala! Chiele!

Chiele!_” (Twala! Twala! Smite! Smite!) “_Ignosi! Ignosi! Chiele!

Chiele!_” answered our people. They were quite close now, and the

_tollas_, or throwing-knives, began to flash backwards and forwards,

and now with an awful yell the battle closed in.

To and fro swayed the mass of struggling warriors, men falling fast as

leaves in an autumn wind; but before long the superior weight of the

attacking force began to tell, and our first line of defence was slowly

pressed back till it merged into the second. Here the struggle was very

fierce, but again our people were driven back and up, till at length,

within twenty minutes of the commencement of the fight, our third line

came into action.

But by this time the assailants were much exhausted, and besides had

lost many men killed and wounded, and to break through that third

impenetrable hedge of spears proved beyond their powers. For a while

the seething lines of savages swung backwards and forwards, in the

fierce ebb and flow of battle, and the issue was doubtful. Sir Henry

watched the desperate struggle with a kindling eye, and then without a

word he rushed off, followed by Good, and flung himself into the

hottest of the fray. As for myself, I stopped where I was.

The soldiers caught sight of his tall form as he plunged into battle,

and there rose a cry of—

“_Nanzia Incubu! Nanzia Unkungunklovo!_” (Here is the Elephant!)

“_Chiele! Chiele!_”

From that moment the end was no longer in doubt. Inch by inch, fighting

with splendid gallantry, the attacking force was pressed back down the

hillside, till at last it retreated upon its reserves in something like

confusion. At that instant, too, a messenger arrived to say that the

left attack had been repulsed; and I was just beginning to congratulate

myself, believing that the affair was over for the present, when, to

our horror, we perceived our men who had been engaged in the right

defence being driven towards us across the plain, followed by swarms of

the enemy, who had evidently succeeded at this point.

Ignosi, who was standing by me, took in the situation at a glance, and

issued a rapid order. Instantly the reserve regiment around us, the

Greys, extended itself.

Again Ignosi gave a word of command, which was taken up and repeated by

the captains, and in another second, to my intense disgust, I found

myself involved in a furious onslaught upon the advancing foe. Getting

as much as I could behind Ignosi’s huge frame, I made the best of a bad

job, and toddled along to be killed as though I liked it. In a minute

or two—we were plunging through the flying groups of our men, who at

once began to re-form behind us, and then I am sure I do not know what

happened. All I can remember is a dreadful rolling noise of the meeting

of shields, and the sudden apparition of a huge ruffian, whose eyes

seemed literally to be starting out of his head, making straight at me

with a bloody spear. But—I say it with pride—I rose—or rather sank—to

the occasion. It was one before which most people would have collapsed

once and for all. Seeing that if I stood where I was I must be killed,

as the horrid apparition came I flung myself down in front of him so

cleverly that, being unable to stop himself, he took a header right

over my prostrate form. Before he could rise again, _I_ had risen and

settled the matter from behind with my revolver.

Shortly after this somebody knocked me down, and I remember no more of

that charge.

When I came to I found myself back at the koppie, with Good bending

over me holding some water in a gourd.

“How do you feel, old fellow?” he asked anxiously.

I got up and shook myself before replying.

“Pretty well, thank you,” I answered.

“Thank Heaven! When I saw them carry you in, I felt quite sick; I

thought you were done for.”

“Not this time, my boy. I fancy I only got a rap on the head, which

knocked me stupid. How has it ended?”

“They are repulsed at every point for a while. The loss is dreadfully

heavy; we have quite two thousand killed and wounded, and they must

have lost three. Look, there’s a sight!” and he pointed to long lines

of men advancing by fours.

In the centre of every group of four, and being borne by it, was a kind

of hide tray, of which a Kukuana force always carries a quantity, with

a loop for a handle at each corner. On these trays—and their number

seemed endless—lay wounded men, who as they arrived were hastily

examined by the medicine men, of whom ten were attached to a regiment.

If the wound was not of a fatal character the sufferer was taken away

and attended to as carefully as circumstances would allow. But if, on

the other hand, the injured man’s condition proved hopeless, what

followed was very dreadful, though doubtless it may have been the

truest mercy. One of the doctors, under pretence of carrying out an

examination, swiftly opened an artery with a sharp knife, and in a

minute or two the sufferer expired painlessly. There were many cases

that day in which this was done. In fact, it was done in the majority

of cases when the wound was in the body, for the gash made by the entry

of the enormously broad spears used by the Kukuanas generally rendered

recovery impossible. In most instances the poor sufferers were already

unconscious, and in others the fatal “nick” of the artery was inflicted

so swiftly and painlessly that they did not seem to notice it. Still it

was a ghastly sight, and one from which we were glad to escape; indeed,

I never remember anything of the kind that affected me more than seeing

those gallant soldiers thus put out of pain by the red-handed medicine

men, except, indeed, on one occasion when, after an attack, I saw a

force of Swazis burying their hopelessly wounded _alive_.

Hurrying from this dreadful scene to the further side of the koppie, we

found Sir Henry, who still held a battle-axe in his hand, Ignosi,

Infadoos, and one or two of the chiefs in deep consultation.

“Thank Heaven, here you are, Quatermain! I can’t quite make out what

Ignosi wants to do. It seems that though we have beaten off the attack,

Twala is now receiving large reinforcements, and is showing a

disposition to invest us, with the view of starving us out.”

“That’s awkward.”

“Yes; especially as Infadoos says that the water supply has given out.”

“My lord, that is so,” said Infadoos; “the spring cannot supply the

wants of so great a multitude, and it is failing rapidly. Before night

we shall all be thirsty. Listen, Macumazahn. Thou art wise, and hast

doubtless seen many wars in the lands from whence thou camest—that is

if indeed they make wars in the Stars. Now tell us, what shall we do?

Twala has brought up many fresh men to take the place of those who have

fallen. Yet Twala has learnt his lesson; the hawk did not think to find

the heron ready; but our beak has pierced his breast; he fears to

strike at us again. We too are wounded, and he will wait for us to die;

he will wind himself round us like a snake round a buck, and fight the

fight of ‘sit down.’”

“I hear thee,” I said.

“So, Macumazahn, thou seest we have no water here, and but a little

food, and we must choose between these three things—to languish like a

starving lion in his den, or to strive to break away towards the north,

or”—and here he rose and pointed towards the dense mass of our foes—“to

launch ourselves straight at Twala’s throat. Incubu, the great

warrior—for to-day he fought like a buffalo in a net, and Twala’s

soldiers went down before his axe like young corn before the hail; with

these eyes I saw it—Incubu says ‘Charge’; but the Elephant is ever

prone to charge. Now what says Macumazahn, the wily old fox, who has

seen much, and loves to bite his enemy from behind? The last word is in

Ignosi the king, for it is a king’s right to speak of war; but let us

hear thy voice, O Macumazahn, who watchest by night, and the voice too

of him of the transparent eye.”

“What sayest thou, Ignosi,” I asked.

“Nay, my father,” answered our quondam servant, who now, clad as he was

in the full panoply of savage war, looked every inch a warrior king,

“do thou speak, and let me, who am but a child in wisdom beside thee,

hearken to thy words.”

Thus adjured, after taking hasty counsel with Good and Sir Henry, I

delivered my opinion briefly to the effect that, being trapped, our

best chance, especially in view of the failure of our water supply, was

to initiate an attack upon Twala’s forces. Then I recommended that the

attack should be delivered at once, “before our wounds grew stiff,” and

also before the sight of Twala’s overpowering force caused the hearts

of our soldiers “to wax small like fat before a fire.” Otherwise, I

pointed out, some of the captains might change their minds, and, making

peace with Twala, desert to him, or even betray us into his hands.

This expression of opinion seemed, on the whole, to be favourably

received; indeed, among the Kukuanas my utterances met with a respect

which has never been accorded to them before or since. But the real

decision as to our plans lay with Ignosi, who, since he had been

recognised as rightful king, could exercise the almost unbounded rights

of sovereignty, including, of course, the final decision on matters of

generalship, and it was to him that all eyes were now turned.

At length, after a pause, during which he appeared to be thinking

deeply, he spoke.

“Incubu, Macumazahn, and Bougwan, brave white men, and my friends;

Infadoos, my uncle, and chiefs; my heart is fixed. I will strike at

Twala this day, and set my fortunes on the blow, ay, and my life—my

life and your lives also. Listen; thus will I strike. Ye see how the

hill curves round like the half-moon, and how the plain runs like a

green tongue towards us within the curve?”

“We see,” I answered.

“Good; it is now mid-day, and the men eat and rest after the toil of

battle. When the sun has turned and travelled a little way towards the

darkness, let thy regiment, my uncle, advance with one other down to

the green tongue, and it shall be that when Twala sees it he will hurl

his force at it to crush it. But the spot is narrow, and the regiments

can come against thee one at a time only; so may they be destroyed one

by one, and the eyes of all Twala’s army shall be fixed upon a struggle

the like of which has not been seen by living man. And with thee, my

uncle, shall go Incubu my friend, that when Twala sees his battle-axe

flashing in the first rank of the Greys his heart may grow faint. And I

will come with the second regiment, that which follows thee, so that if

ye are destroyed, as it might happen, there may yet be a king left to

fight for; and with me shall come Macumazahn the wise.”

“It is well, O king,” said Infadoos, apparently contemplating the

certainty of the complete annihilation of his regiment with perfect

calmness. Truly, these Kukuanas are a wonderful people. Death has no

terrors for them when it is incurred in the course of duty.

“And whilst the eyes of the multitude of Twala’s soldiers are thus

fixed upon the fight,” went on Ignosi, “behold, one-third of the men

who are left alive to us (i.e. about 6,000) shall creep along the right

horn of the hill and fall upon the left flank of Twala’s force, and

one-third shall creep along the left horn and fall upon Twala’s right

flank. And when I see that the horns are ready to toss Twala, then will

I, with the men who remain to me, charge home in Twala’s face, and if

fortune goes with us the day will be ours, and before Night drives her

black oxen from the mountains to the mountains we shall sit in peace at

Loo. And now let us eat and make ready; and, Infadoos, do thou prepare,

that the plan be carried out without fail; and stay, let my white

father Bougwan go with the right horn, that his shining eye may give

courage to the captains.”

The arrangements for attack thus briefly indicated were set in motion

with a rapidity that spoke well for the perfection of the Kukuana

military system. Within little more than an hour rations had been

served out and devoured, the divisions were formed, the scheme of

onslaught was explained to the leaders, and the whole force, numbering

about 18,000 men, was ready to move, with the exception of a guard left

in charge of the wounded.

Presently Good came up to Sir Henry and myself.

“Good-bye, you fellows,” he said; “I am off with the right wing

according to orders; and so I have come to shake hands, in case we

should not meet again, you know,” he added significantly.

We shook hands in silence, and not without the exhibition of as much

emotion as Anglo-Saxons are wont to show.

“It is a queer business,” said Sir Henry, his deep voice shaking a

little, “and I confess I never expect to see to-morrow’s sun. So far as

I can make out, the Greys, with whom I am to go, are to fight until

they are wiped out in order to enable the wings to slip round unawares

and outflank Twala. Well, so be it; at any rate, it will be a man’s

death. Good-bye, old fellow. God bless you! I hope you will pull

through and live to collar the diamonds; but if you do, take my advice

and don’t have anything more to do with Pretenders!”

In another second Good had wrung us both by the hand and gone; and then

Infadoos came up and led off Sir Henry to his place in the forefront of

the Greys, whilst, with many misgivings, I departed with Ignosi to my

station in the second attacking regiment.

CHAPTER XIV.

THE LAST STAND OF THE GREYS

In a few more minutes the regiments destined to carry out the flanking

movements had tramped off in silence, keeping carefully to the lee of

the rising ground in order to conceal their advance from the keen eyes

of Twala’s scouts.

Half an hour or more was allowed to elapse between the setting out of

the horns or wings of the army before any stir was made by the Greys

and their supporting regiment, known as the Buffaloes, which formed its

chest, and were destined to bear the brunt of the battle.

Both of these regiments were almost perfectly fresh, and of full

strength, the Greys having been in reserve in the morning, and having

lost but a small number of men in sweeping back that part of the attack

which had proved successful in breaking the line of defence, on the

occasion when I charged with them and was stunned for my pains. As for

the Buffaloes, they had formed the third line of defence on the left,

and since the attacking force at that point had not succeeded in

breaking through the second, they had scarcely come into action at all.

Infadoos, who was a wary old general, and knew the absolute importance

of keeping up the spirits of his men on the eve of such a desperate

encounter, employed the pause in addressing his own regiment, the

Greys, in poetical language: explaining to them the honour that they

were receiving in being put thus in the forefront of the battle, and in

having the great white warrior from the Stars to fight with them in

their ranks; and promising large rewards of cattle and promotion to all

who survived in the event of Ignosi’s arms being successful.

I looked down the long lines of waving black plumes and stern faces

beneath them, and sighed to think that within one short hour most, if

not all, of those magnificent veteran warriors, not a man of whom was

under forty years of age, would be laid dead or dying in the dust. It

could not be otherwise; they were being condemned, with that wise

recklessness of human life which marks the great general, and often

saves his forces and attains his ends, to certain slaughter, in order

to give their cause and the remainder of the army a chance of success.

They were foredoomed to die, and they knew the truth. It was to be

their task to engage regiment after regiment of Twala’s army on the

narrow strip of green beneath us, till they were exterminated or till

the wings found a favourable opportunity for their onslaught. And yet

they never hesitated, nor could I detect a sign of fear upon the face

of a single warrior. There they were—going to certain death, about to

quit the blessed light of day for ever, and yet able to contemplate

their doom without a tremor. Even at that moment I could not help

contrasting their state of mind with my own, which was far from

comfortable, and breathing a sigh of envy and admiration. Never before

had I seen such an absolute devotion to the idea of duty, and such a

complete indifference to its bitter fruits.

“Behold your king!” ended old Infadoos, pointing to Ignosi; “go fight

and fall for him, as is the duty of brave men, and cursed and shameful

for ever be the name of him who shrinks from death for his king, or who

turns his back to the foe. Behold your king, chiefs, captains, and

soldiers! Now do your homage to the sacred Snake, and then follow on,

that Incubu and I may show you a road to the heart of Twala’s host.”

There was a moment’s pause, then suddenly a murmur arose from the

serried phalanxes before us, a sound like the distant whisper of the

sea, caused by the gentle tapping of the handles of six thousand spears

against their holders’ shields. Slowly it swelled, till its growing

volume deepened and widened into a roar of rolling noise, that echoed

like thunder against the mountains, and filled the air with heavy waves

of sound. Then it decreased, and by faint degrees died away into

nothing, and suddenly out crashed the royal salute.

Ignosi, I thought to myself, might well be a proud man that day, for no

Roman emperor ever had such a salutation from gladiators “about to

die.”

Ignosi acknowledged this magnificent act of homage by lifting his

battle-axe, and then the Greys filed off in a triple-line formation,

each line containing about one thousand fighting men, exclusive of

officers. When the last companies had advanced some five hundred yards,

Ignosi put himself at the head of the Buffaloes, which regiment was

drawn up in a similar three-fold formation, and gave the word to march,

and off we went, I, needless to say, uttering the most heartfelt

prayers that I might emerge from that entertainment with a whole skin.

Many a queer position have I found myself in, but never before in one

quite so unpleasant as the present, or one in which my chance of coming

off safe was smaller.

By the time that we reached the edge of the plateau the Greys were

already half-way down the slope ending in the tongue of grass land that

ran up into the bend of the mountain, something as the frog of a

horse’s foot runs up into the shoe. The excitement in Twala’s camp on

the plain beyond was very great, and regiment after regiment was

starting forward at a long swinging trot in order to reach the root of

the tongue of land before the attacking force could emerge into the

plain of Loo.

This tongue, which was some four hundred yards in depth, even at its

root or widest part was not more than six hundred and fifty paces

across, while at its tip it scarcely measured ninety. The Greys, who,

in passing down the side of the hill and on to the tip of the tongue,

had formed into a column, on reaching the spot where it broadened out

again, reassumed their triple-line formation, and halted dead.

Then we—that is, the Buffaloes—moved down the tip of the tongue and

took our stand in reserve, about one hundred yards behind the last line

of the Greys, and on slightly higher ground. Meanwhile we had leisure

to observe Twala’s entire force, which evidently had been reinforced

since the morning attack, and could not now, notwithstanding their

losses, number less than forty thousand, moving swiftly up towards us.

But as they drew near the root of the tongue they hesitated, having

discovered that only one regiment could advance into the gorge at a

time, and that there, some seventy yards from the mouth of it,

unassailable except in front, on account of the high walls of

boulder-strewn ground on each side, stood the famous regiment of Greys,

the pride and glory of the Kukuana army, ready to hold the way against

their power as the three Romans once held the bridge against thousands.

They hesitated, and finally stopped their advance; there was no

eagerness to cross spears with these three grim ranks of warriors who

stood so firm and ready. Presently, however, a tall general, wearing

the customary head-dress of nodding ostrich plumes, appeared, attended

by a group of chiefs and orderlies, being, I thought, none other than

Twala himself. He gave an order, and the first regiment, raising a

shout, charged up towards the Greys, who remained perfectly still and

silent till the attacking troops were within forty yards, and a volley

of _tollas_, or throwing-knives, came rattling among their ranks.

Then suddenly with a bound and a roar, they sprang forward with

uplifted spears, and the regiment met in deadly strife. Next second the

roll of the meeting shields came to our ears like the sound of thunder,

and the plain seemed to be alive with flashes of light reflected from

the shimmering spears. To and fro swung the surging mass of struggling,

stabbing humanity, but not for long. Suddenly the attacking lines began

to grow thinner, and then with a slow, long heave the Greys passed over

them, just as a great wave heaves up its bulk and passes over a sunken

ridge. It was done; that regiment was completely destroyed, but the

Greys had but two lines left now; a third of their number were dead.

Closing up shoulder to shoulder, once more they halted in silence and

awaited attack; and I was rejoiced to catch sight of Sir Henry’s yellow

beard as he moved to and fro arranging the ranks. So he was yet alive!

Meanwhile we moved on to the ground of the encounter, which was

cumbered by about four thousand prostrate human beings, dead, dying,

and wounded, and literally stained red with blood. Ignosi issued an

order, which was rapidly passed down the ranks, to the effect that none

of the enemy’s wounded were to be killed, and so far as we could see

this command was scrupulously carried out. It would have been a

shocking sight, if we had found time to think of such things.

But now a second regiment, distinguished by white plumes, kilts, and

shields, was moving to the attack of the two thousand remaining Greys,

who stood waiting in the same ominous silence as before, till the foe

was within forty yards or so, when they hurled themselves with

irresistible force upon them. Again there came the awful roll of the

meeting shields, and as we watched the tragedy repeated itself.

But this time the issue was left longer in doubt; indeed, it seemed for

awhile almost impossible that the Greys should again prevail. The

attacking regiment, which was formed of young men, fought with the

utmost fury, and at first seemed by sheer weight to be driving the

veterans back. The slaughter was truly awful, hundreds falling every

minute; and from among the shouts of the warriors and the groans of the

dying, set to the music of clashing spears, came a continuous hissing

undertone of “_S’gee, s’gee_,” the note of triumph of each victor as he

passed his assegai through and through the body of his fallen foe.

But perfect discipline and steady and unchanging valour can do wonders,

and one veteran soldier is worth two young ones, as soon became

apparent in the present case. For just when we thought that it was all

over with the Greys, and were preparing to take their place so soon as

they made room by being destroyed, I heard Sir Henry’s deep voice

ringing out through the din, and caught a glimpse of his circling

battle-axe as he waved it high above his plumes. Then came a change;

the Greys ceased to give; they stood still as a rock, against which the

furious waves of spearmen broke again and again, only to recoil.

Presently they began to move once more—forward this time; as they had

no firearms there was no smoke, so we could see it all. Another minute

and the onslaught grew fainter.

“Ah, these are _men_, indeed; they will conquer again,” called out

Ignosi, who was grinding his teeth with excitement at my side. “See, it

is done!”

Suddenly, like puffs of smoke from the mouth of a cannon, the attacking

regiment broke away in flying groups, their white head-dresses

streaming behind them in the wind, and left their opponents victors,

indeed, but, alas! no more a regiment. Of the gallant triple line,

which forty minutes before had gone into action three thousand strong,

there remained at most some six hundred blood-spattered men; the rest

were under foot. And yet they cheered and waved their spears in

triumph, and then, instead of falling back upon us as we expected, they

ran forward, for a hundred yards or so, after the flying groups of

foemen, took possession of a rising knoll of ground, and, resuming

their triple formation, formed a threefold ring around its base. And

there, thanks be to Heaven, standing on the top of the mound for a

minute, I saw Sir Henry, apparently unharmed, and with him our old

friend Infadoos. Then Twala’s regiments rolled down upon the doomed

band, and once more the battle closed in.

As those who read this history will probably long ago have gathered, I

am, to be honest, a bit of a coward, and certainly in no way given to

fighting, though somehow it has often been my lot to get into

unpleasant positions, and to be obliged to shed man’s blood. But I have

always hated it, and kept my own blood as undiminished in quantity as

possible, sometimes by a judicious use of my heels. At this moment,

however, for the first time in my life, I felt my bosom burn with

martial ardour. Warlike fragments from the “Ingoldsby Legends,”

together with numbers of sanguinary verses in the Old Testament, sprang

up in my brain like mushrooms in the dark; my blood, which hitherto had

been half-frozen with horror, went beating through my veins, and there

came upon me a savage desire to kill and spare not. I glanced round at

the serried ranks of warriors behind us, and somehow, all in an

instant, I began to wonder if my face looked like theirs. There they

stood, the hands twitching, the lips apart, the fierce features

instinct with the hungry lust of battle, and in the eyes a look like

the glare of a bloodhound when after long pursuit he sights his quarry.

Only Ignosi’s heart, to judge from his comparative self-possession,

seemed, to all appearances, to beat as calmly as ever beneath his

leopard-skin cloak, though even _he_ still ground his teeth. I could

bear it no longer.

“Are we to stand here till we put out roots, Umbopa—Ignosi, I

mean—while Twala swallows our brothers yonder?” I asked.

“Nay, Macumazahn,” was the answer; “see, now is the ripe moment: let us

pluck it.”

As he spoke a fresh regiment rushed past the ring upon the little

mound, and wheeling round, attacked it from the hither side.

Then, lifting his battle-axe, Ignosi gave the signal to advance, and,

screaming the wild Kukuana war-cry, the Buffaloes charged home with a

rush like the rush of the sea.

What followed immediately on this it is out of my power to tell. All I

can remember is an irregular yet ordered advance, that seemed to shake

the ground; a sudden change of front and forming up on the part of the

regiment against which the charge was directed; then an awful shock, a

dull roar of voices, and a continuous flashing of spears, seen through

a red mist of blood.

When my mind cleared I found myself standing inside the remnant of the

Greys near the top of the mound, and just behind no less a person than

Sir Henry himself. How I got there I had at the moment no idea, but Sir

Henry afterwards told me that I was borne up by the first furious

charge of the Buffaloes almost to his feet, and then left, as they in

turn were pressed back. Thereon he dashed out of the circle and dragged

me into shelter.

As for the fight that followed, who can describe it? Again and again

the multitudes surged against our momentarily lessening circle, and

again and again we beat them back.

“The stubborn spearmen still made good

The dark impenetrable wood,

Each stepping where his comrade stood

The instant that he fell,”

as someone or other beautifully says.

It was a splendid thing to see those brave battalions come on time

after time over the barriers of their dead, sometimes lifting corpses

before them to receive our spear-thrusts, only to leave their own

corpses to swell the rising piles. It was a gallant sight to see that

old warrior, Infadoos, as cool as though he were on parade, shouting

out orders, taunts, and even jests, to keep up the spirit of his few

remaining men, and then, as each charge rolled on, stepping forward to

wherever the fighting was thickest, to bear his share in its repulse.

And yet more gallant was the vision of Sir Henry, whose ostrich plumes

had been shorn off by a spear thrust, so that his long yellow hair

streamed out in the breeze behind him. There he stood, the great Dane,

for he was nothing else, his hands, his axe, and his armour all red

with blood, and none could live before his stroke. Time after time I

saw it sweeping down, as some great warrior ventured to give him

battle, and as he struck he shouted “_O-hoy! O-hoy!_” like his

Berserkir forefathers, and the blow went crashing through shield and

spear, through head-dress, hair, and skull, till at last none would of

their own will come near the great white “_umtagati_,” the wizard, who

killed and failed not.

But suddenly there rose a cry of “_Twala, y’ Twala_,” and out of the

press sprang forward none other than the gigantic one-eyed king

himself, also armed with battle-axe and shield, and clad in chain

armour.

“Where art thou, Incubu, thou white man, who slewest Scragga my son—see

if thou canst slay me!” he shouted, and at the same time hurled a

_tolla_ straight at Sir Henry, who fortunately saw it coming, and

caught it on his shield, which it transfixed, remaining wedged in the

iron plate behind the hide.

Then, with a cry, Twala sprang forward straight at him, and with his

battle-axe struck him such a blow upon the shield that the mere force

and shock of it brought Sir Henry, strong man as he is, down upon his

knees.

But at this time the matter went no further, for that instant there

rose from the regiments pressing round us something like a shout of

dismay, and on looking up I saw the cause.

To the right and to the left the plain was alive with the plumes of

charging warriors. The outflanking squadrons had come to our relief.

The time could not have been better chosen. All Twala’s army, as Ignosi

predicted would be the case, had fixed their attention on the bloody

struggle which was raging round the remnant of the Greys and that of

the Buffaloes, who were now carrying on a battle of their own at a

little distance, which two regiments had formed the chest of our army.

It was not until our horns were about to close upon them that they had

dreamed of their approach, for they believed these forces to be hidden

in reserve upon the crest of the moon-shaped hill. And now, before they

could even assume a proper formation for defence, the outflanking

_Impis_ had leapt, like greyhounds, on their flanks.

In five minutes the fate of the battle was decided. Taken on both

flanks, and dismayed at the awful slaughter inflicted upon them by the

Greys and Buffaloes, Twala’s regiments broke into flight, and soon the

whole plain between us and Loo was scattered with groups of running

soldiers making good their retreat. As for the hosts that had so

recently surrounded us and the Buffaloes, they melted away as though by

magic, and presently we were left standing there like a rock from which

the sea has retreated. But what a sight it was! Around us the dead and

dying lay in heaped-up masses, and of the gallant Greys there remained

but ninety-five men upon their feet. More than three thousand four

hundred had fallen in this one regiment, most of them never to rise

again.

“Men,” said Infadoos calmly, as between the intervals of binding a

wound on his arm he surveyed what remained to him of his corps, “ye

have kept up the reputation of your regiment, and this day’s fighting

will be well spoken of by your children’s children.” Then he turned

round and shook Sir Henry Curtis by the hand. “Thou art a great

captain, Incubu,” he said simply; “I have lived a long life among

warriors, and have known many a brave one, yet have I never seen a man

like unto thee.”

At this moment the Buffaloes began to march past our position on the

road to Loo, and as they went a message was brought to us from Ignosi

requesting Infadoos, Sir Henry, and myself to join them. Accordingly,

orders having been issued to the remaining ninety men of the Greys to

employ themselves in collecting the wounded, we joined Ignosi, who

informed us that he was pressing on to Loo to complete the victory by

capturing Twala, if that should be possible. Before we had gone far,

suddenly we discovered the figure of Good sitting on an ant-heap about

one hundred paces from us. Close beside him was the body of a Kukuana.

“He must be wounded,” said Sir Henry anxiously. As he made the remark,

an untoward thing happened. The dead body of the Kukuana soldier, or

rather what had appeared to be his dead body, suddenly sprang up,

knocked Good head over heels off the ant-heap, and began to spear him.

We rushed forward in terror, and as we drew near we saw the brawny

warrior making dig after dig at the prostrate Good, who at each prod

jerked all his limbs into the air. Seeing us coming, the Kukuana gave

one final and most vicious dig, and with a shout of “Take that,

wizard!” bolted away. Good did not move, and we concluded that our poor

comrade was done for. Sadly we came towards him, and were astonished to

find him pale and faint indeed, but with a serene smile upon his face,

and his eyeglass still fixed in his eye.

“Capital armour this,” he murmured, on catching sight of our faces

bending over him. “How sold that beggar must have been,” and then he

fainted. On examination we discovered that he had been seriously

wounded in the leg by a _tolla_ in the course of the pursuit, but that

the chain armour had prevented his last assailant’s spear from doing

anything more than bruise him badly. It was a merciful escape. As

nothing could be done for him at the moment, he was placed on one of

the wicker shields used for the wounded, and carried along with us.

On arriving before the nearest gate of Loo we found one of our

regiments watching it in obedience to orders received from Ignosi. The

other regiments were in the same way guarding the different exits to

the town. The officer in command of this regiment saluted Ignosi as

king, and informed him that Twala’s army had taken refuge in the town,

whither Twala himself had also escaped, but he thought that they were

thoroughly demoralised, and would surrender. Thereupon Ignosi, after

taking counsel with us, sent forward heralds to each gate ordering the

defenders to open, and promising on his royal word life and forgiveness

to every soldier who laid down his arms, but saying that if they did

not do so before nightfall he would certainly burn the town and all

within its gates. This message was not without its effect. Half an hour

later, amid the shouts and cheers of the Buffaloes, the bridge was

dropped across the fosse, and the gates upon the further side were

flung open.

Taking due precautions against treachery, we marched on into the town.

All along the roadways stood thousands of dejected warriors, their

heads drooping, and their shields and spears at their feet, who, headed

by their officers, saluted Ignosi as king as he passed. On we marched,

straight to Twala’s kraal. When we reached the great space, where a day

or two previously we had seen the review and the witch hunt, we found

it deserted. No, not quite deserted, for there, on the further side, in

front of his hut, sat Twala himself, with but one attendant—Gagool.

It was a melancholy sight to see him seated, his battle-axe and shield

by his side, his chin upon his mailed breast, with but one old crone

for companion, and notwithstanding his crimes and misdeeds, a pang of

compassion shot through me as I looked upon Twala thus “fallen from his

high estate.” Not a soldier of all his armies, not a courtier out of

the hundreds who had cringed round him, not even a solitary wife,

remained to share his fate or halve the bitterness of his fall. Poor

savage! he was learning the lesson which Fate teaches to most of us who

live long enough, that the eyes of mankind are blind to the

discredited, and that he who is defenceless and fallen finds few

friends and little mercy. Nor, indeed, in this case did he deserve any.

Filing through the kraal gate, we marched across the open space to

where the ex-king sat. When within about fifty yards of him the

regiment was halted, and accompanied only by a small guard we advanced

towards him, Gagool reviling us bitterly as we came. As we drew near,

Twala, for the first time, lifted his plumed head, and fixed his one

eye, which seemed to flash with suppressed fury almost as brightly as

the great diamond bound round his forehead, upon his successful

rival—Ignosi.

“Hail, O king!” he said, with bitter mockery; “thou who hast eaten of

my bread, and now by the aid of the white man’s magic hast seduced my

regiments and defeated mine army, hail! What fate hast thou in store

for me, O king?”

“The fate thou gavest to my father, whose throne thou hast sat on these

many years!” was the stern answer.

“It is good. I will show thee how to die, that thou mayest remember it

against thine own time. See, the sun sinks in blood,” and he pointed

with his battle-axe towards the setting orb; “it is well that my sun

should go down in its company. And now, O king! I am ready to die, but

I crave the boon of the Kukuana royal House[9] to die fighting. Thou

canst not refuse it, or even those cowards who fled to-day will hold

thee shamed.”

[9] It is a law amongst the Kukuanas that no man of the direct royal

blood can be put to death, unless by his own consent, which is,

however, never refused. He is allowed to choose a succession of

antagonists, to be approved by the king, with whom he fights, till one

of them kills him.—A.Q.

“It is granted. Choose—with whom wilt thou fight? Myself I cannot fight

with thee, for the king fights not except in war.”

Twala’s sombre eye ran up and down our ranks, and I felt, as for a

moment it rested on myself, that the position had developed a new

horror. What if he chose to begin by fighting _me_? What chance should

I have against a desperate savage six feet five high, and broad in

proportion? I might as well commit suicide at once. Hastily I made up

my mind to decline the combat, even if I were hooted out of Kukuanaland

as a consequence. It is, I think, better to be hooted than to be

quartered with a battle-axe.

Presently Twala spoke.

“Incubu, what sayest thou, shall we end what we began to-day, or shall

I call thee coward, white—even to the liver?”

“Nay,” interposed Ignosi hastily; “thou shalt not fight with Incubu.”

“Not if he is afraid,” said Twala.

Unfortunately Sir Henry understood this remark, and the blood flamed up

into his cheeks.

“I will fight him,” he said; “he shall see if I am afraid.”

“For Heaven’s sake,” I entreated, “don’t risk your life against that of

a desperate man. Anybody who saw you to-day will know that you are

brave enough.”

“I will fight him,” was the sullen answer. “No living man shall call me

a coward. I am ready now!” and he stepped forward and lifted his axe.

I wrung my hands over this absurd piece of Quixotism; but if he was

determined on this deed, of course I could not stop him.

“Fight not, my white brother,” said Ignosi, laying his hand

affectionately on Sir Henry’s arm; “thou hast fought enough, and if

aught befell thee at his hands it would cut my heart in twain.”

“I will fight, Ignosi,” was Sir Henry’s answer.

“It is well, Incubu; thou art a brave man. It will be a good fray.

Behold, Twala, the Elephant is ready for thee.”

The ex-king laughed savagely, and stepping forward faced Curtis. For a

moment they stood thus, and the light of the sinking sun caught their

stalwart frames and clothed them both in fire. They were a well-matched

pair.

Then they began to circle round each other, their battle-axes raised.

Suddenly Sir Henry sprang forward and struck a fearful blow at Twala,

who stepped to one side. So heavy was the stroke that the striker half

overbalanced himself, a circumstance of which his antagonist took a

prompt advantage. Circling his massive battle-axe round his head, he

brought it down with tremendous force. My heart jumped into my mouth; I

thought that the affair was already finished. But no; with a quick

upward movement of the left arm Sir Henry interposed his shield between

himself and the axe, with the result that its outer edge was shorn

away, the axe falling on his left shoulder, but not heavily enough to

do any serious damage. In another moment Sir Henry got in a second

blow, which was also received by Twala upon his shield.

Then followed blow upon blow, that were, in turn, either received upon

the shields or avoided. The excitement grew intense; the regiment which

was watching the encounter forgot its discipline, and, drawing near,

shouted and groaned at every stroke. Just at this time, too, Good, who

had been laid upon the ground by me, recovered from his faint, and,

sitting up, perceived what was going on. In an instant he was up, and

catching hold of my arm, hopped about from place to place on one leg,

dragging me after him, and yelling encouragements to Sir Henry—

“Go it, old fellow!” he hallooed. “That was a good one! Give it him

amidships,” and so on.

Presently Sir Henry, having caught a fresh stroke upon his shield, hit

out with all his force. The blow cut through Twala’s shield and through

the tough chain armour behind it, gashing him in the shoulder. With a

yell of pain and fury Twala returned the blow with interest, and, such

was his strength, shore right through the rhinoceros’ horn handle of

his antagonists battle-axe, strengthened as it was with bands of steel,

wounding Curtis in the face.

A cry of dismay rose from the Buffaloes as our hero’s broad axe-head

fell to the ground; and Twala, again raising his weapon, flew at him

with a shout. I shut my eyes. When I opened them again it was to see

Sir Henry’s shield lying on the ground, and Sir Henry himself with his

great arms twined round Twala’s middle. To and fro they swung, hugging

each other like bears, straining with all their mighty muscles for dear

life, and dearer honour. With a supreme effort Twala swung the

Englishman clean off his feet, and down they came together, rolling

over and over on the lime paving, Twala striking out at Curtis’ head

with the battle-axe, and Sir Henry trying to drive the _tolla_ he had

drawn from his belt through Twala’s armour.

It was a mighty struggle, and an awful thing to see.

“Get his axe!” yelled Good; and perhaps our champion heard him.

At any rate, dropping the _tolla_, he snatched at the axe, which was

fastened to Twala’s wrist by a strip of buffalo hide, and still rolling

over and over, they fought for it like wild cats, drawing their breath

in heavy gasps. Suddenly the hide string burst, and then, with a great

effort, Sir Henry freed himself, the weapon remaining in his hand.

Another second and he was upon his feet, the red blood streaming from

the wound in his face, and so was Twala. Drawing the heavy _tolla_ from

his belt, he reeled straight at Curtis and struck him in the breast.

The stab came home true and strong, but whoever it was who made that

chain armour, he understood his art, for it withstood the steel. Again

Twala struck out with a savage yell, and again the sharp knife

rebounded, and Sir Henry went staggering back. Once more Twala came on,

and as he came our great Englishman gathered himself together, and

swinging the big axe round his head with both hands, hit at him with

all his force.

There was a shriek of excitement from a thousand throats, and, behold!

Twala’s head seemed to spring from his shoulders: then it fell and came

rolling and bounding along the ground towards Ignosi, stopping just at

his feet. For a second the corpse stood upright; then with a dull crash

it came to the earth, and the gold torque from its neck rolled away

across the pavement. As it did so Sir Henry, overpowered by faintness

and loss of blood, fell heavily across the body of the dead king.

In a second he was lifted up, and eager hands were pouring water on his

face. Another minute, and the grey eyes opened wide.

He was not dead.

Then I, just as the sun sank, stepping to where Twala’s head lay in the

dust, unloosed the diamond from the dead brows, and handed it to

Ignosi.

“Take it,” I said, “lawful king of the Kukuanas—king by birth and

victory.”

Ignosi bound the diadem upon his brows. Then advancing, he placed his

foot upon the broad chest of his headless foe and broke out into a

chant, or rather a pæan of triumph, so beautiful, and yet so utterly

savage, that I despair of being able to give an adequate version of his

words. Once I heard a scholar with a fine voice read aloud from the

Greek poet Homer, and I remember that the sound of the rolling lines

seemed to make my blood stand still. Ignosi’s chant, uttered as it was

in a language as beautiful and sonorous as the old Greek, produced

exactly the same effect on me, although I was exhausted with toil and

many emotions.

“Now,” he began, “now our rebellion is swallowed up in victory, and our

evil-doing is justified by strength.

“In the morning the oppressors arose and stretched themselves; they

bound on their harness and made them ready to war.

“They rose up and tossed their spears: the soldiers called to the

captains, ‘Come, lead us’—and the captains cried to the king, ‘Direct

thou the battle.’

“They laughed in their pride, twenty thousand men, and yet a twenty

thousand.

“Their plumes covered the valleys as the plumes of a bird cover her

nest; they shook their shields and shouted, yea, they shook their

shields in the sunlight; they lusted for battle and were glad.

“They came up against me; their strong ones ran swiftly to slay me;

they cried, ‘Ha! ha! he is as one already dead.’

“Then breathed I on them, and my breath was as the breath of a wind,

and lo! they were not.

“My lightnings pierced them; I licked up their strength with the

lightning of my spears; I shook them to the ground with the thunder of

my shoutings.

“They broke—they scattered—they were gone as the mists of the morning.

“They are food for the kites and the foxes, and the place of battle is

fat with their blood.

“Where are the mighty ones who rose up in the morning?

“Where are the proud ones who tossed their spears and cried, ‘He is as

a man already dead’?

“They bow their heads, but not in sleep; they are stretched out, but

not in sleep.

“They are forgotten; they have gone into the blackness; they dwell in

the dead moons; yea, others shall lead away their wives, and their

children shall remember them no more.

“And I—! the king—like an eagle I have found my eyrie.

“Behold! far have I flown in the night season, yet have I returned to

my young at the daybreak.

“Shelter ye under the shadow of my wings, O people, and I will comfort

you, and ye shall not be dismayed.

“Now is the good time, the time of spoil.

“Mine are the cattle on the mountains, mine are the virgins in the

kraals.

“The winter is overpast with storms, the summer is come with flowers.

“Now Evil shall cover up her face, now Mercy and Gladness shall dwell

in the land.

“Rejoice, rejoice, my people!

“Let all the stars rejoice in that this tyranny is trodden down, in

that I am the king.”

Ignosi ceased his song, and out of the gathering gloom came back the

deep reply—

“_Thou art the king!_”

Thus was my prophecy to the herald fulfilled, and within the

forty-eight hours Twala’s headless corpse was stiffening at Twala’s

gate.

CHAPTER XV.

GOOD FALLS SICK

After the fight was ended, Sir Henry and Good were carried into Twala’s

hut, where I joined them. They were both utterly exhausted by exertion

and loss of blood, and, indeed, my own condition was little better. I

am very wiry, and can stand more fatigue than most men, probably on

account of my light weight and long training; but that night I was

quite done up, and, as is always the case with me when exhausted, that

old wound which the lion gave me began to pain. Also my head was aching

violently from the blow I had received in the morning, when I was

knocked senseless. Altogether, a more miserable trio than we were that

evening it would have been difficult to discover; and our only comfort

lay in the reflection that we were exceedingly fortunate to be there to

feel miserable, instead of being stretched dead upon the plain, as so

many thousands of brave men were that night, who had risen well and

strong in the morning.

Somehow, with the assistance of the beautiful Foulata, who, since we

had been the means of saving her life, had constituted herself our

handmaiden, and especially Good’s, we managed to get off the chain

shirts, which had certainly saved the lives of two of us that day. As I

expected, we found that the flesh underneath was terribly contused, for

though the steel links had kept the weapons from entering, they had not

prevented them from bruising. Both Sir Henry and Good were a mass of

contusions, and I was by no means free. As a remedy Foulata brought us

some pounded green leaves, with an aromatic odour, which, when applied

as a plaster, gave us considerable relief.

But though the bruises were painful, they did not give us such anxiety

as Sir Henry’s and Good’s wounds. Good had a hole right through the

fleshy part of his “beautiful white leg,” from which he had lost a

great deal of blood; and Sir Henry, with other hurts, had a deep cut

over the jaw, inflicted by Twala’s battle-axe. Luckily Good is a very

decent surgeon, and so soon as his small box of medicines was

forthcoming, having thoroughly cleansed the wounds, he managed to

stitch up first Sir Henry’s and then his own pretty satisfactorily,

considering the imperfect light given by the primitive Kukuana lamp in

the hut. Afterwards he plentifully smeared the injured places with some

antiseptic ointment, of which there was a pot in the little box, and we

covered them with the remains of a pocket-handkerchief which we

possessed.

Meanwhile Foulata had prepared us some strong broth, for we were too

weary to eat. This we swallowed, and then threw ourselves down on the

piles of magnificent karrosses, or fur rugs, which were scattered about

the dead king’s great hut. By a very strange instance of the irony of

fate, it was on Twala’s own couch, and wrapped in Twala’s own

particular karross, that Sir Henry, the man who had slain him, slept

that night.

I say slept; but after that day’s work, sleep was indeed difficult. To

begin with, in very truth the air was full

“Of farewells to the dying

And mournings for the dead.”

From every direction came the sound of the wailing of women whose

husbands, sons, and brothers had perished in the battle. No wonder that

they wailed, for over twelve thousand men, or nearly a fifth of the

Kukuana army, had been destroyed in that awful struggle. It was

heart-rending to lie and listen to their cries for those who never

would return; and it made me understand the full horror of the work

done that day to further man’s ambition. Towards midnight, however, the

ceaseless crying of the women grew less frequent, till at length the

silence was only broken at intervals of a few minutes by a long

piercing howl that came from a hut in our immediate rear, which, as I

afterwards discovered, proceeded from Gagool “keening” over the dead

king Twala.

After that I got a little fitful sleep, only to wake from time to time

with a start, thinking that I was once more an actor in the terrible

events of the last twenty-four hours. Now I seemed to see that warrior

whom my hand had sent to his last account charging at me on the

mountain-top; now I was once more in that glorious ring of Greys, which

made its immortal stand against all Twala’s regiments upon the little

mound; and now again I saw Twala’s plumed and gory head roll past my

feet with gnashing teeth and glaring eye.

At last, somehow or other, the night passed away; but when dawn broke I

found that my companions had slept no better than myself. Good, indeed,

was in a high fever, and very soon afterwards began to grow

light-headed, and also, to my alarm, to spit blood, the result, no

doubt, of some internal injury, inflicted during the desperate efforts

made by the Kukuana warrior on the previous day to force his big spear

through the chain armour. Sir Henry, however, seemed pretty fresh,

notwithstanding his wound on the face, which made eating difficult and

laughter an impossibility, though he was so sore and stiff that he

could scarcely stir.

About eight o’clock we had a visit from Infadoos, who appeared but

little the worse—tough old warrior that he was—for his exertions in the

battle, although he informed us that he had been up all night. He was

delighted to see us, but much grieved at Good’s condition, and shook

our hands cordially. I noticed, however, that he addressed Sir Henry

with a kind of reverence, as though he were something more than man;

and, indeed, as we afterwards found out, the great Englishman was

looked on throughout Kukuanaland as a supernatural being. No man, the

soldiers said, could have fought as he fought or, at the end of a day

of such toil and bloodshed, could have slain Twala, who, in addition to

being the king, was supposed to be the strongest warrior in the

country, in single combat, shearing through his bull-neck at a stroke.

Indeed, that stroke became proverbial in Kukuanaland, and any

extraordinary blow or feat of strength was henceforth known as

“Incubu’s blow.”

Infadoos told us also that all Twala’s regiments had submitted to

Ignosi, and that like submissions were beginning to arrive from chiefs

in the outlying country. Twala’s death at the hands of Sir Henry had

put an end to all further chance of disturbance; for Scragga had been

his only legitimate son, so there was no rival claimant to the throne

left alive.

I remarked that Ignosi had swum to power through blood. The old chief

shrugged his shoulders. “Yes,” he answered; “but the Kukuana people can

only be kept cool by letting their blood flow sometimes. Many are

killed, indeed, but the women are left, and others must soon grow up to

take the places of the fallen. After this the land would be quiet for a

while.”

Afterwards, in the course of the morning, we had a short visit from

Ignosi, on whose brows the royal diadem was now bound. As I

contemplated him advancing with kingly dignity, an obsequious guard

following his steps, I could not help recalling to my mind the tall

Zulu who had presented himself to us at Durban some few months back,

asking to be taken into our service, and reflecting on the strange

revolutions of the wheel of fortune.

“Hail, O king!” I said, rising.

“Yes, Macumazahn. King at last, by the might of your three right

hands,” was the ready answer.

All was, he said, going well; and he hoped to arrange a great feast in

two weeks’ time in order to show himself to the people.

I asked him what he had settled to do with Gagool.

“She is the evil genius of the land,” he answered, “and I shall kill

her, and all the witch doctors with her! She has lived so long that

none can remember when she was not very old, and she it is who has

always trained the witch-hunters, and made the land wicked in the sight

of the heavens above.”

“Yet she knows much,” I replied; “it is easier to destroy knowledge,

Ignosi, than to gather it.”

“That is so,” he said thoughtfully. “She, and she only, knows the

secret of the ‘Three Witches,’ yonder, whither the great road runs,

where the kings are buried, and the Silent Ones sit.”

“Yes, and the diamonds are. Forget not thy promise, Ignosi; thou must

lead us to the mines, even if thou hast to spare Gagool alive to show

the way.”

“I will not forget, Macumazahn, and I will think on what thou sayest.”

After Ignosi’s visit I went to see Good, and found him quite delirious.

The fever set up by his wound seemed to have taken a firm hold of his

system, and to be complicated with an internal injury. For four or five

days his condition was most critical; indeed, I believe firmly that had

it not been for Foulata’s indefatigable nursing he must have died.

Women are women, all the world over, whatever their colour. Yet somehow

it seemed curious to watch this dusky beauty bending night and day over

the fevered man’s couch, and performing all the merciful errands of a

sick-room swiftly, gently, and with as fine an instinct as that of a

trained hospital nurse. For the first night or two I tried to help her,

and so did Sir Henry as soon as his stiffness allowed him to move, but

Foulata bore our interference with impatience, and finally insisted

upon our leaving him to her, saying that our movements made him

restless, which I think was true. Day and night she watched him and

tended him, giving him his only medicine, a native cooling drink made

of milk, in which was infused juice from the bulb of a species of

tulip, and keeping the flies from settling on him. I can see the whole

picture now as it appeared night after night by the light of our

primitive lamp; Good tossing to and fro, his features emaciated, his

eyes shining large and luminous, and jabbering nonsense by the yard;

and seated on the ground by his side, her back resting against the wall

of the hut, the soft-eyed, shapely Kukuana beauty, her face, weary as

it was with her long vigil, animated by a look of infinite

compassion—or was it something more than compassion?

For two days we thought that he must die, and crept about with heavy

hearts.

Only Foulata would not believe it.

“He will live,” she said.

For three hundred yards or more around Twala’s chief hut, where the

sufferer lay, there was silence; for by the king’s order all who lived

in the habitations behind it, except Sir Henry and myself, had been

removed, lest any noise should come to the sick man’s ears. One night,

it was the fifth of Good’s illness, as was my habit, I went across to

see how he was doing before turning in for a few hours.

I entered the hut carefully. The lamp placed upon the floor showed the

figure of Good tossing no more, but lying quite still.

So it had come at last! In the bitterness of my heart I gave something

like a sob.

“Hush—h—h!” came from the patch of dark shadow behind Good’s head.

Then, creeping closer, I saw that he was not dead, but sleeping

soundly, with Foulata’s taper fingers clasped tightly in his poor white

hand. The crisis had passed, and he would live. He slept like that for

eighteen hours; and I scarcely like to say it, for fear I should not be

believed, but during the entire period did this devoted girl sit by

him, fearing that if she moved and drew away her hand it would wake

him. What she must have suffered from cramp and weariness, to say

nothing of want of food, nobody will ever know; but it is the fact

that, when at last he woke, she had to be carried away—her limbs were

so stiff that she could not move them.

After the turn had once been taken, Good’s recovery was rapid and

complete. It was not till he was nearly well that Sir Henry told him of

all he owed to Foulata; and when he came to the story of how she sat by

his side for eighteen hours, fearing lest by moving she should wake

him, the honest sailor’s eyes filled with tears. He turned and went

straight to the hut where Foulata was preparing the mid-day meal, for

we were back in our old quarters now, taking me with him to interpret

in case he could not make his meaning clear to her, though I am bound

to say that she understood him marvellously as a rule, considering how

extremely limited was his foreign vocabulary.

“Tell her,” said Good, “that I owe her my life, and that I will never

forget her kindness to my dying day.”

I interpreted, and under her dark skin she actually seemed to blush.

Turning to him with one of those swift and graceful motions that in her

always reminded me of the flight of a wild bird, Foulata answered

softly, glancing at him with her large brown eyes—

“Nay, my lord; my lord forgets! Did he not save _my_ life, and am I not

my lord’s handmaiden?”

It will be observed that the young lady appeared entirely to have

forgotten the share which Sir Henry and myself had taken in her

preservation from Twala’s clutches. But that is the way of women! I

remember my dear wife was just the same. Well, I retired from that

little interview sad at heart. I did not like Miss Foulata’s soft

glances, for I knew the fatal amorous propensities of sailors in

general, and of Good in particular.

There are two things in the world, as I have found out, which cannot be

prevented: you cannot keep a Zulu from fighting, or a sailor from

falling in love upon the slightest provocation!

It was a few days after this last occurrence that Ignosi held his great

“indaba,” or council, and was formally recognised as king by the

“indunas,” or head men, of Kukuanaland. The spectacle was a most

imposing one, including as it did a grand review of troops. On this day

the remaining fragments of the Greys were formally paraded, and in the

face of the army thanked for their splendid conduct in the battle. To

each man the king made a large present of cattle, promoting them one

and all to the rank of officers in the new corps of Greys which was in

process of formation. An order was also promulgated throughout the

length and breadth of Kukuanaland that, whilst we honoured the country

by our presence, we three were to be greeted with the royal salute, and

to be treated with the same ceremony and respect that was by custom

accorded to the king. Also the power of life and death was publicly

conferred upon us. Ignosi, too, in the presence of his people,

reaffirmed the promises which he had made, to the effect that no man’s

blood should be shed without trial, and that witch-hunting should cease

in the land.

When the ceremony was over we waited upon Ignosi, and informed him that

we were now anxious to investigate the mystery of the mines to which

Solomon’s Road ran, asking him if he had discovered anything about

them.

“My friends,” he answered, “I have discovered this. It is there that

the three great figures sit, who here are called the ‘Silent Ones,’ and

to whom Twala would have offered the girl Foulata as a sacrifice. It is

there, too, in a great cave deep in the mountain, that the kings of the

land are buried; there ye shall find Twala’s body, sitting with those

who went before him. There, also, is a deep pit, which, at some time,

long-dead men dug out, mayhap for the stones ye speak of, such as I

have heard men in Natal tell of at Kimberley. There, too, in the Place

of Death is a secret chamber, known to none but the king and Gagool.

But Twala, who knew it, is dead, and I know it not, nor know I what is

in it. Yet there is a legend in the land that once, many generations

gone, a white man crossed the mountains, and was led by a woman to the

secret chamber and shown the wealth hidden in it. But before he could

take it she betrayed him, and he was driven by the king of that day

back to the mountains, and since then no man has entered the place.”

“The story is surely true, Ignosi, for on the mountains we found the

white man,” I said.

“Yes, we found him. And now I have promised you that if ye can come to

that chamber, and the stones are there—”

“The gem upon thy forehead proves that they are there,” I put in,

pointing to the great diamond I had taken from Twala’s dead brows.

“Mayhap; if they are there,” he said, “ye shall have as many as ye can

take hence—if indeed ye would leave me, my brothers.”

“First we must find the chamber,” said I.

“There is but one who can show it to thee—Gagool.”

“And if she will not?”

“Then she must die,” said Ignosi sternly. “I have saved her alive but

for this. Stay, she shall choose,” and calling to a messenger he

ordered Gagool to be brought before him.

In a few minutes she came, hurried along by two guards, whom she was

cursing as she walked.

“Leave her,” said the king to the guards.

So soon as their support was withdrawn, the withered old bundle—for she

looked more like a bundle than anything else, out of which her two

bright and wicked eyes gleamed like those of a snake—sank in a heap on

to the floor.

“What will ye with me, Ignosi?” she piped. “Ye dare not touch me. If ye

touch me I will slay you as ye sit. Beware of my magic.”

“Thy magic could not save Twala, old she-wolf, and it cannot hurt me,”

was the answer. “Listen; I will this of thee, that thou reveal to us

the chamber where are the shining stones.”

“Ha! ha!” she piped, “none know its secret but I, and I will never tell

thee. The white devils shall go hence empty-handed.”

“Thou shalt tell me. I will make thee tell me.”

“How, O king? Thou art great, but can thy power wring the truth from a

woman?”

“It is difficult, yet will I do so.”

“How, O king?”

“Nay, thus; if thou tellest not thou shalt slowly die.”

“Die!” she shrieked in terror and fury; “ye dare not touch me—man, ye

know not who I am. How old think ye am I? I knew your fathers, and your

fathers’ fathers’ fathers. When the country was young I was here; when

the country grows old I shall still be here. I cannot die unless I be

killed by chance, for none dare slay me.”

“Yet will I slay thee. See, Gagool, mother of evil, thou art so old

that thou canst no longer love thy life. What can life be to such a hag

as thou, who hast no shape, nor form, nor hair, nor teeth—hast naught,

save wickedness and evil eyes? It will be mercy to make an end of thee,

Gagool.”

“Thou fool,” shrieked the old fiend, “thou accursed fool, deemest thou

that life is sweet only to the young? It is not so, and naught thou

knowest of the heart of man to think it. To the young, indeed, death is

sometimes welcome, for the young can feel. They love and suffer, and it

wrings them to see their beloved pass to the land of shadows. But the

old feel not, they love not, and, _ha! ha!_ they laugh to see another

go out into the dark; _ha! ha!_ they laugh to see the evil that is done

under the stars. All they love is life, the warm, warm sun, and the

sweet, sweet air. They are afraid of the cold, afraid of the cold and

the dark, _ha! ha! ha!_” and the old hag writhed in ghastly merriment

on the ground.

“Cease thine evil talk and answer me,” said Ignosi angrily. “Wilt thou

show the place where the stones are, or wilt thou not? If thou wilt not

thou diest, even now,” and he seized a spear and held it over her.

“I will not show it; thou darest not kill me, darest not! He who slays

me will be accursed for ever.”

Slowly Ignosi brought down the spear till it pricked the prostrate heap

of rags.

With a wild yell Gagool sprang to her feet, then fell again and rolled

upon the floor.

“Nay, I will show thee. Only let me live, let me sit in the sun and

have a bit of meat to suck, and I will show thee.”

“It is well. I thought that I should find a way to reason with thee.

To-morrow shalt thou go with Infadoos and my white brothers to the

place, and beware how thou failest, for if thou showest it not, then

thou shalt slowly die. I have spoken.”

“I will not fail, Ignosi. I always keep my word—_ha! ha! ha!_ Once

before a woman showed the chamber to a white man, and behold! evil

befell him,” and here her wicked eyes glinted. “Her name was Gagool

also. Perchance I was that woman.”

“Thou liest,” I said, “that was ten generations gone.”

“Mayhap, mayhap; when one lives long one forgets. Perhaps it was my

mother’s mother who told me; surely her name was Gagool also. But mark,

ye will find in the place where the bright things are a bag of hide

full of stones. The man filled that bag, but he never took it away.

Evil befell him, I say, evil befell him! Perhaps it was my mother’s

mother who told me. It will be a merry journey—we can see the bodies of

those who died in the battle as we go. Their eyes will be gone by now,

and their ribs will be hollow. _Ha! ha! ha!_”

CHAPTER XVI.

THE PLACE OF DEATH

It was already dark on the third day after the scene described in the

previous chapter when we camped in some huts at the foot of the “Three

Witches,” as the triangle of mountains is called to which Solomon’s

Great Road runs. Our party consisted of our three selves and Foulata,

who waited on us—especially on Good—Infadoos, Gagool, who was borne

along in a litter, inside which she could be heard muttering and

cursing all day long, and a party of guards and attendants. The

mountains, or rather the three peaks of the mountain, for the mass was

evidently the result of a solitary upheaval, were, as I have said, in

the form of a triangle, of which the base was towards us, one peak

being on our right, one on our left, and one straight in front of us.

Never shall I forget the sight afforded by those three towering peaks

in the early sunlight of the following morning. High, high above us, up

into the blue air, soared their twisted snow-wreaths. Beneath the

snow-line the peaks were purple with heaths, and so were the wild moors

that ran up the slopes towards them. Straight before us the white

ribbon of Solomon’s Great Road stretched away uphill to the foot of the

centre peak, about five miles from us, and there stopped. It was its

terminus.

I had better leave the feelings of intense excitement with which we set

out on our march that morning to the imagination of those who read this

history. At last we were drawing near to the wonderful mines that had

been the cause of the miserable death of the old Portuguese Dom three

centuries ago, of my poor friend, his ill-starred descendant, and also,

as we feared, of George Curtis, Sir Henry’s brother. Were we destined,

after all that we had gone through, to fare any better? Evil befell

them, as that old fiend Gagool said; would it also befall us? Somehow,

as we were marching up that last stretch of beautiful road, I could not

help feeling a little superstitious about the matter, and so I think

did Good and Sir Henry.

For an hour and a half or more we tramped on up the heather-fringed

way, going so fast in our excitement that the bearers of Gagool’s

hammock could scarcely keep pace with us, and its occupant piped out to

us to stop.

“Walk more slowly, white men,” she said, projecting her hideous

shrivelled countenance between the grass curtains, and fixing her

gleaming eyes upon us; “why will ye run to meet the evil that shall

befall you, ye seekers after treasure?” and she laughed that horrible

laugh which always sent a cold shiver down my back, and for a while

quite took the enthusiasm out of us.

However, on we went, till we saw before us, and between ourselves and

the peak, a vast circular hole with sloping sides, three hundred feet

or more in depth, and quite half a mile round.

“Can’t you guess what this is?” I said to Sir Henry and Good, who were

staring in astonishment at the awful pit before us.

They shook their heads.

“Then it is clear that you have never seen the diamond diggings at

Kimberley. You may depend on it that this is Solomon’s Diamond Mine.

Look there,” I said, pointing to the strata of stiff blue clay which

were yet to be seen among the grass and bushes that clothed the sides

of the pit, “the formation is the same. I’ll be bound that if we went

down there we should find ‘pipes’ of soapy brecciated rock. Look, too,”

and I pointed to a series of worn flat slabs of stone that were placed

on a gentle slope below the level of a watercourse which in some past

age had been cut out of the solid rock; “if those are not tables once

used to wash the ‘stuff,’ I’m a Dutchman.”

At the edge of this vast hole, which was none other than the pit marked

on the old Dom’s map, the Great Road branched into two and circumvented

it. In many places, by the way, this surrounding road was built

entirely out of blocks of stone, apparently with the object of

supporting the edges of the pit and preventing falls of reef. Along

this path we pressed, driven by curiosity to see what were the three

towering objects which we could discern from the hither side of the

great gulf. As we drew near we perceived that they were Colossi of some

sort or another, and rightly conjectured that before us sat the three

“Silent Ones” that are held in such awe by the Kukuana people. But it

was not until we were quite close to them that we recognised the full

majesty of these “Silent Ones.”

There, upon huge pedestals of dark rock, sculptured with rude emblems

of the Phallic worship, separated from each other by a distance of

forty paces, and looking down the road which crossed some sixty miles

of plain to Loo, were three colossal seated forms—two male and one

female—each measuring about thirty feet from the crown of its head to

the pedestal.

The female form, which was nude, was of great though severe beauty, but

unfortunately the features had been injured by centuries of exposure to

the weather. Rising from either side of her head were the points of a

crescent. The two male Colossi, on the contrary, were draped, and

presented a terrifying cast of features, especially the one to our

right, which had the face of a devil. That to our left was serene in

countenance, but the calm upon it seemed dreadful. It was the calm of

that inhuman cruelty, Sir Henry remarked, which the ancients attributed

to beings potent for good, who could yet watch the sufferings of

humanity, if not without rejoicing, at least without sorrow. These

three statues form a most awe-inspiring trinity, as they sit there in

their solitude, and gaze out across the plain for ever.

Contemplating these “Silent Ones,” as the Kukuanas call them, an

intense curiosity again seized us to know whose were the hands which

had shaped them, who it was that had dug the pit and made the road.

Whilst I was gazing and wondering, suddenly it occurred to me—being

familiar with the Old Testament—that Solomon went astray after strange

gods, the names of three of whom I remembered—“Ashtoreth, the goddess

of the Zidonians, Chemosh, the god of the Moabites, and Milcom, the god

of the children of Ammon”—and I suggested to my companions that the

figures before us might represent these false and exploded divinities.

“Hum,” said Sir Henry, who is a scholar, having taken a high degree in

classics at college, “there may be something in that; Ashtoreth of the

Hebrews was the Astarte of the Phoenicians, who were the great traders

of Solomon’s time. Astarte, who afterwards became the Aphrodite of the

Greeks, was represented with horns like the half-moon, and there on the

brow of the female figure are distinct horns. Perhaps these Colossi

were designed by some Phoenician official who managed the mines. Who

can say?”[10]

[10] Compare Milton, “Paradise Lost,” Book i.:—

“With these in troop

Came Ashtoreth, whom the Phoenicians called

Astarté, Queen of Heaven, with crescent horns;

To whose bright image nightly by the moon

Sidonian virgins paid their vows and songs.”

Before we had finished examining these extraordinary relics of remote

antiquity, Infadoos came up, and having saluted the “Silent Ones” by

lifting his spear, asked us if we intended entering the “Place of

Death” at once, or if we would wait till after we had taken food at

mid-day. If we were ready to go at once, Gagool had announced her

willingness to guide us. As it was not later than eleven o’clock—driven

to it by a burning curiosity—we announced our intention of proceeding

instantly, and I suggested that, in case we should be detained in the

cave, we should take some food with us. Accordingly Gagool’s litter was

brought up, and that lady herself assisted out of it. Meanwhile

Foulata, at my request, stored some “biltong,” or dried game-flesh,

together with a couple of gourds of water, in a reed basket with a

hinged cover. Straight in front of us, at a distance of some fifty

paces from the backs of the Colossi, rose a sheer wall of rock, eighty

feet or more in height, that gradually sloped upwards till it formed

the base of the lofty snow-wreathed peak, which soared into the air

three thousand feet above us. As soon as she was clear of her hammock,

Gagool cast one evil grin upon us, and then, leaning on a stick,

hobbled off towards the face of this wall. We followed her till we came

to a narrow portal solidly arched that looked like the opening of a

gallery of a mine.

Here Gagool was waiting for us, still with that evil grin upon her

horrid face.

“Now, white men from the Stars,” she piped; “great warriors, Incubu,

Bougwan, and Macumazahn the wise, are ye ready? Behold, I am here to do

the bidding of my lord the king, and to show you the store of bright

stones. _Ha! ha! ha!_”

“We are ready,” I said.

“Good, good! Make strong your hearts to bear what ye shall see. Comest

thou too, Infadoos, thou who didst betray thy master?”

Infadoos frowned as he answered—

“Nay, I come not; it is not for me to enter there. But thou, Gagool,

curb thy tongue, and beware how thou dealest with my lords. At thy

hands will I require them, and if a hair of them be hurt, Gagool, be’st

thou fifty times a witch, thou shalt die. Hearest thou?”

“I hear, Infadoos; I know thee, thou didst ever love big words; when

thou wast a babe I remember thou didst threaten thine own mother. That

was but the other day. But, fear not, fear not, I live only to do the

bidding of the king. I have done the bidding of many kings, Infadoos,

till in the end they did mine. _Ha! ha!_ I go to look upon their faces

once more, and Twala’s also! Come on, come on, here is the lamp,” and

she drew a large gourd full of oil, and fitted with a rush wick, from

under her fur cloak.

“Art thou coming, Foulata?” asked Good in his villainous Kitchen

Kukuana, in which he had been improving himself under that young lady’s

tuition.

“I fear, my lord,” the girl answered timidly.

“Then give me the basket.”

“Nay, my lord, whither thou goest there I go also.”

“The deuce you will!” thought I to myself; “that may be rather awkward

if we ever get out of this.”

Without further ado Gagool plunged into the passage, which was wide

enough to admit of two walking abreast, and quite dark. We followed the

sound of her voice as she piped to us to come on, in some fear and

trembling, which was not allayed by the flutter of a sudden rush of

wings.

“Hullo! what’s that?” halloed Good; “somebody hit me in the face.”

“Bats,” said I; “on you go.”

When, so far as we could judge, we had gone some fifty paces, we

perceived that the passage was growing faintly light. Another minute,

and we were in perhaps the most wonderful place that the eyes of living

man have beheld.

Let the reader picture to himself the hall of the vastest cathedral he

ever stood in, windowless indeed, but dimly lighted from above,

presumably by shafts connected with the outer air and driven in the

roof, which arched away a hundred feet above our heads, and he will get

some idea of the size of the enormous cave in which we found ourselves,

with the difference that this cathedral designed by nature was loftier

and wider than any built by man. But its stupendous size was the least

of the wonders of the place, for running in rows adown its length were

gigantic pillars of what looked like ice, but were, in reality, huge

stalactites. It is impossible for me to convey any idea of the

overpowering beauty and grandeur of these pillars of white spar, some

of which were not less than twenty feet in diameter at the base, and

sprang up in lofty and yet delicate beauty sheer to the distant roof.

Others again were in process of formation. On the rock floor there was

in these cases what looked, Sir Henry said, exactly like a broken

column in an old Grecian temple, whilst high above, depending from the

roof, the point of a huge icicle could be dimly seen.

Even as we gazed we could hear the process going on, for presently with

a tiny splash a drop of water would fall from the far-off icicle on to

the column below. On some columns the drops only fell once in two or

three minutes, and in these cases it would be an interesting

calculation to discover how long, at that rate of dripping, it would

take to form a pillar, say eighty feet by ten in diameter. That the

process, in at least one instance, was incalculably slow, the following

example will suffice to show. Cut on one of these pillars we discovered

the crude likeness of a mummy, by the head of which sat what appeared

to be the figure of an Egyptian god, doubtless the handiwork of some

old-world labourer in the mine. This work of art was executed at the

natural height at which an idle fellow, be he Phoenician workman or

British cad, is in the habit of trying to immortalise himself at the

expense of nature’s masterpieces, namely, about five feet from the

ground. Yet at the time that we saw it, which _must_ have been nearly

three thousand years after the date of the execution of the carving,

the column was only eight feet high, and was still in process of

formation, which gives a rate of growth of a foot to a thousand years,

or an inch and a fraction to a century. This we knew because, as we

were standing by it, we heard a drop of water fall.

Sometimes the stalagmites took strange forms, presumably where the

dropping of the water had not always been on the same spot. Thus, one

huge mass, which must have weighed a hundred tons or so, was in the

shape of a pulpit, beautifully fretted over outside with a design that

looked like lace. Others resembled strange beasts, and on the sides of

the cave were fanlike ivory tracings, such as the frost leaves upon a

pane.

Out of the vast main aisle there opened here and there smaller caves,

exactly, Sir Henry said, as chapels open out of great cathedrals. Some

were large, but one or two—and this is a wonderful instance of how

nature carries out her handiwork by the same unvarying laws, utterly

irrespective of size—were tiny. One little nook, for instance, was no

larger than an unusually big doll’s house, and yet it might have been a

model for the whole place, for the water dropped, tiny icicles hung,

and spar columns were forming in just the same way.

We had not, however, enough time to examine this beautiful cavern so

thoroughly as we should have liked to do, since unfortunately, Gagool

seemed to be indifferent as to stalactites, and only anxious to get her

business over. This annoyed me the more, as I was particularly anxious

to discover, if possible, by what system the light was admitted into

the cave, and whether it was by the hand of man or by that of nature

that this was done; also if the place had been used in any way in

ancient times, as seemed probable. However, we consoled ourselves with

the idea that we would investigate it thoroughly on our way back, and

followed on at the heels of our uncanny guide.

On she led us, straight to the top of the vast and silent cave, where

we found another doorway, not arched as the first was, but square at

the top, something like the doorways of Egyptian temples.

“Are ye prepared to enter the Place of Death, white men?” asked Gagool,

evidently with a view to making us feel uncomfortable.

“Lead on, Macduff,” said Good solemnly, trying to look as though he was

not at all alarmed, as indeed we all did except Foulata, who caught

Good by the arm for protection.

“This is getting rather ghastly,” said Sir Henry, peeping into the dark

passageway. “Come on, Quatermain—_seniores priores_. We mustn’t keep

the old lady waiting!” and he politely made way for me to lead the van,

for which inwardly I did not bless him.

_Tap, tap,_ went old Gagool’s stick down the passage, as she trotted

along, chuckling hideously; and still overcome by some unaccountable

presentiment of evil, I hung back.

“Come, get on, old fellow,” said Good, “or we shall lose our fair

guide.”

Thus adjured, I started down the passage, and after about twenty paces

found myself in a gloomy apartment some forty feet long, by thirty

broad, and thirty high, which in some past age evidently had been

hollowed, by hand-labour, out of the mountain. This apartment was not

nearly so well lighted as the vast stalactite ante-cave, and at the

first glance all I could discern was a massive stone table running down

its length, with a colossal white figure at its head, and life-sized

white figures all round it. Next I discovered a brown thing, seated on

the table in the centre, and in another moment my eyes grew accustomed

to the light, and I saw what all these things were, and was tailing out

of the place as hard as my legs could carry me.

I am not a nervous man in a general way, and very little troubled with

superstitions, of which I have lived to see the folly; but I am free to

own that this sight quite upset me, and had it not been that Sir Henry

caught me by the collar and held me, I do honestly believe that in

another five minutes I should have been outside the stalactite cave,

and that a promise of all the diamonds in Kimberley would not have

induced me to enter it again. But he held me tight, so I stopped

because I could not help myself. Next second, however, _his_ eyes

became accustomed to the light, and he let go of me, and began to mop

the perspiration off his forehead. As for Good, he swore feebly, while

Foulata threw her arms round his neck and shrieked.

Only Gagool chuckled loud and long.

It _was_ a ghastly sight. There at the end of the long stone table,

holding in his skeleton fingers a great white spear, sat _Death_

himself, shaped in the form of a colossal human skeleton, fifteen feet

or more in height. High above his head he held the spear, as though in

the act to strike; one bony hand rested on the stone table before him,

in the position a man assumes on rising from his seat, whilst his frame

was bent forward so that the vertebræ of the neck and the grinning,

gleaming skull projected towards us, and fixed its hollow eye-places

upon us, the jaws a little open, as though it were about to speak.

“Great heavens!” said I faintly, at last, “what can it be?”

“And what are _those things_?” asked Good, pointing to the white

company round the table.

“And what on earth is _that thing_?” said Sir Henry, pointing to the

brown creature seated on the table.

“_Hee! hee! hee!_” laughed Gagool. “To those who enter the Hall of the

Dead, evil comes. _Hee! hee! hee! ha! ha!_”

“Come, Incubu, brave in battle, come and see him thou slewest;” and the

old creature caught Curtis’ coat in her skinny fingers, and led him

away towards the table. We followed.

Presently she stopped and pointed at the brown object seated on the

table. Sir Henry looked, and started back with an exclamation; and no

wonder, for there, quite naked, the head which Curtis’ battle-axe had

shorn from the body resting on its knees, was the gaunt corpse of

Twala, the last king of the Kukuanas. Yes, there, the head perched upon

the knees, it sat in all its ugliness, the vertebræ projecting a full

inch above the level of the shrunken flesh of the neck, for all the

world like a black double of Hamilton Tighe.[11] Over the surface of

the corpse there was gathered a thin glassy film, that made its

appearance yet more appalling, for which we were, at the moment, quite

unable to account, till presently we observed that from the roof of the

chamber the water fell steadily, _drip! drop! drip!_ on to the neck of

the corpse, whence it ran down over the entire surface, and finally

escaped into the rock through a tiny hole in the table. Then I guessed

what the film was—_Twala’s body was being transformed into a

stalactite._

[11] “Now haste ye, my handmaidens, haste and see

How he sits there and glowers with his head on his knee.”

A look at the white forms seated on the stone bench which ran round

that ghastly board confirmed this view. They were human bodies indeed,

or rather they had been human; now they were _stalactites_. This was

the way in which the Kukuana people had from time immemorial preserved

their royal dead. They petrified them. What the exact system might be,

if there was any, beyond the placing of them for a long period of years

under the drip, I never discovered, but there they sat, iced over and

preserved for ever by the siliceous fluid.

Anything more awe-inspiring than the spectacle of this long line of

departed royalties (there were twenty-seven of them, the last being

Ignosi’s father), wrapped, each of them, in a shroud of ice-like spar,

through which the features could be dimly discovered, and seated round

that inhospitable board, with Death himself for a host, it is

impossible to imagine. That the practice of thus preserving their kings

must have been an ancient one is evident from the number, which,

allowing for an average reign of fifteen years, supposing that every

king who reigned was placed here—an improbable thing, as some are sure

to have perished in battle far from home—would fix the date of its

commencement at four and a quarter centuries back.

But the colossal Death, who sits at the head of the board, is far older

than that, and, unless I am much mistaken, owes his origin to the same

artist who designed the three Colossi. He is hewn out of a single

stalactite, and, looked at as a work of art, is most admirably

conceived and executed. Good, who understands such things, declared

that, so far as he could see, the anatomical design of the skeleton is

perfect down to the smallest bones.

My own idea is, that this terrific object was a freak of fancy on the

part of some old-world sculptor, and that its presence had suggested to

the Kukuanas the idea of placing their royal dead under its awful

presidency. Or perhaps it was set there to frighten away any marauders

who might have designs upon the treasure chamber beyond. I cannot say.

All I can do is to describe it as it is, and the reader must form his

own conclusion.

Such, at any rate, was the White Death and such were the White Dead!

CHAPTER XVII.

SOLOMON’S TREASURE CHAMBER

While we were engaged in recovering from our fright, and in examining

the grisly wonders of the Place of Death, Gagool had been differently

occupied. Somehow or other—for she was marvellously active when she

chose—she had scrambled on to the great table, and made her way to

where our departed friend Twala was placed, under the drip, to see,

suggested Good, how he was “pickling,” or for some dark purpose of her

own. Then, after bending down to kiss his icy lips as though in

affectionate greeting, she hobbled back, stopping now and again to

address the remark, the tenor of which I could not catch, to one or

other of the shrouded forms, just as you or I might welcome an old

acquaintance. Having gone through this mysterious and horrible

ceremony, she squatted herself down on the table immediately under the

White Death, and began, so far as I could make out, to offer up

prayers. The spectacle of this wicked creature pouring out

supplications, evil ones no doubt, to the arch enemy of mankind, was so

uncanny that it caused us to hasten our inspection.

“Now, Gagool,” said I, in a low voice—somehow one did not dare to speak

above a whisper in that place—“lead us to the chamber.”

The old witch promptly scrambled down from the table.

“My lords are not afraid?” she said, leering up into my face.

“Lead on.”

“Good, my lords;” and she hobbled round to the back of the great Death.

“Here is the chamber; let my lords light the lamp, and enter,” and she

placed the gourd full of oil upon the floor, and leaned herself against

the side of the cave. I took out a match, of which we had still a few

in a box, and lit a rush wick, and then looked for the doorway, but

there was nothing before us except the solid rock. Gagool grinned. “The

way is there, my lords. _Ha! ha! ha!_”

“Do not jest with us,” I said sternly.

“I jest not, my lords. See!” and she pointed at the rock.

As she did so, on holding up the lamp we perceived that a mass of stone

was rising slowly from the floor and vanishing into the rock above,

where doubtless there is a cavity prepared to receive it. The mass was

of the width of a good-sized door, about ten feet high and not less

than five feet thick. It must have weighed at least twenty or thirty

tons, and was clearly moved upon some simple balance principle of

counter-weights, probably the same as that by which the opening and

shutting of an ordinary modern window is arranged. How the principle

was set in motion, of course none of us saw; Gagool was careful to

avoid this; but I have little doubt that there was some very simple

lever, which was moved ever so little by pressure at a secret spot,

thereby throwing additional weight on to the hidden counter-balances,

and causing the monolith to be lifted from the ground.

Very slowly and gently the great stone raised itself, till at last it

had vanished altogether, and a dark hole presented itself to us in the

place which the door had filled.

Our excitement was so intense, as we saw the way to Solomon’s treasure

chamber thrown open at last, that I for one began to tremble and shake.

Would it prove a hoax after all, I wondered, or was old Da Silvestra

right? Were there vast hoards of wealth hidden in that dark place,

hoards which would make us the richest men in the whole world? We

should know in a minute or two.

“Enter, white men from the Stars,” said Gagool, advancing into the

doorway; “but first hear your servant, Gagool the old. The bright

stones that ye will see were dug out of the pit over which the Silent

Ones are set, and stored here, I know not by whom, for that was done

longer ago than even I remember. But once has this place been entered

since the time that those who hid the stones departed in haste, leaving

them behind. The report of the treasure went down indeed among the

people who lived in the country from age to age, but none knew where

the chamber was, nor the secret of the door. But it happened that a

white man reached this country from over the mountains—perchance he too

came ‘from the Stars’—and was well received by the king of that day. He

it is who sits yonder,” and she pointed to the fifth king at the table

of the Dead. “And it came to pass that he and a woman of the country

who was with him journeyed to this place, and that by chance the woman

learnt the secret of the door—a thousand years might ye search, but ye

should never find that secret. Then the white man entered with the

woman, and found the stones, and filled with stones the skin of a small

goat, which the woman had with her to hold food. And as he was going

from the chamber he took up one more stone, a large one, and held it in

his hand.”

Here she paused.

“Well,” I asked, breathless with interest as we all were, “what

happened to Da Silvestra?”

The old hag started at the mention of the name.

“How knowest thou the dead man’s name?” she asked sharply; and then,

without waiting for an answer, went on—

“None can tell what happened; but it came about that the white man was

frightened, for he flung down the goat-skin, with the stones, and fled

out with only the one stone in his hand, and that the king took, and it

is the stone which thou, Macumazahn, didst take from Twala’s brow.”

“Have none entered here since?” I asked, peering again down the dark

passage.

“None, my lords. Only the secret of the door has been kept, and every

king has opened it, though he has not entered. There is a saying, that

those who enter there will die within a moon, even as the white man

died in the cave upon the mountain, where ye found him, Macumazahn, and

therefore the kings do not enter. _Ha! ha!_ mine are true words.”

Our eyes met as she said it, and I turned sick and cold. How did the

old hag know all these things?

“Enter, my lords. If I speak truth, the goat-skin with the stones will

lie upon the floor; and if there is truth as to whether it is death to

enter here, that ye will learn afterwards. _Ha! ha! ha!_” and she

hobbled through the doorway, bearing the light with her; but I confess

that once more I hesitated about following.

“Oh, confound it all!” said Good; “here goes. I am not going to be

frightened by that old devil;” and followed by Foulata, who, however,

evidently did not at all like the business, for she was shivering with

fear, he plunged into the passage after Gagool—an example which we

quickly followed.

A few yards down the passage, in the narrow way hewn out of the living

rock, Gagool had paused, and was waiting for us.

“See, my lords,” she said, holding the light before her, “those who

stored the treasure here fled in haste, and bethought them to guard

against any who should find the secret of the door, but had not the

time,” and she pointed to large square blocks of stone, which, to the

height of two courses (about two feet three), had been placed across

the passage with a view to walling it up. Along the side of the passage

were similar blocks ready for use, and, most curious of all, a heap of

mortar and a couple of trowels, which tools, so far as we had time to

examine them, appeared to be of a similar shape and make to those used

by workmen to this day.

Here Foulata, who had been in a state of great fear and agitation

throughout, said that she felt faint and could go no farther, but would

wait there. Accordingly we set her down on the unfinished wall, placing

the basket of provisions by her side, and left her to recover.

Following the passage for about fifteen paces farther, we came suddenly

to an elaborately painted wooden door. It was standing wide open.

Whoever was last there had either not found the time to shut it, or had

forgotten to do so.

_Across the threshold of this door lay a skin bag, formed of a

goat-skin, that appeared to be full of pebbles._

“_Hee! hee!_ white men,” sniggered Gagool, as the light from the lamp

fell upon it. “What did I tell you, that the white man who came here

fled in haste, and dropped the woman’s bag—behold it! Look within also

and ye will find a water-gourd amongst the stones.”

Good stooped down and lifted it. It was heavy and jingled.

“By Jove! I believe it’s full of diamonds,” he said, in an awed

whisper; and, indeed, the idea of a small goat-skin full of diamonds is

enough to awe anybody.

“Go on,” said Sir Henry impatiently. “Here, old lady, give me the

lamp,” and taking it from Gagool’s hand, he stepped through the doorway

and held it high above his head.

We pressed in after him, forgetful for the moment of the bag of

diamonds, and found ourselves in King Solomon’s treasure chamber.

At first, all that the somewhat faint light given by the lamp revealed

was a room hewn out of the living rock, and apparently not more than

ten feet square. Next there came into sight, stored one on the other to

the arch of the roof, a splendid collection of elephant-tusks. How many

of them there were we did not know, for of course we could not see to

what depth they went back, but there could not have been less than the

ends of four or five hundred tusks of the first quality visible to our

eyes. There, alone, was enough ivory to make a man wealthy for life.

Perhaps, I thought, it was from this very store that Solomon drew the

raw material for his “great throne of ivory,” of which “there was not

the like made in any kingdom.”

On the opposite side of the chamber were about a score of wooden boxes,

something like Martini-Henry ammunition boxes, only rather larger, and

painted red.

“There are the diamonds,” cried I; “bring the light.”

Sir Henry did so, holding it close to the top box, of which the lid,

rendered rotten by time even in that dry place, appeared to have been

smashed in, probably by Da Silvestra himself. Pushing my hand through

the hole in the lid I drew it out full, not of diamonds, but of gold

pieces, of a shape that none of us had seen before, and with what

looked like Hebrew characters stamped upon them.

“Ah!” I said, replacing the coin, “we shan’t go back empty-handed,

anyhow. There must be a couple of thousand pieces in each box, and

there are eighteen boxes. I suppose this was the money to pay the

workmen and merchants.”

“Well,” put in Good, “I think that is the lot; I don’t see any

diamonds, unless the old Portuguese put them all into his bag.”

“Let my lords look yonder where it is darkest, if they would find the

stones,” said Gagool, interpreting our looks. “There my lords will find

a nook, and three stone chests in the nook, two sealed and one open.”

Before translating this to Sir Henry, who carried the light, I could

not resist asking how she knew these things, if no one had entered the

place since the white man, generations ago.

“Ah, Macumazahn, the watcher by night,” was the mocking answer, “ye who

dwell in the stars, do ye not know that some live long, and that some

have eyes which can see through rock? _Ha! ha! ha!_”

“Look in that corner, Curtis,” I said, indicating the spot Gagool had

pointed out.

“Hullo, you fellows,” he cried, “here’s a recess. Great heavens! see

here.”

We hurried up to where he was standing in a nook, shaped something like

a small bow window. Against the wall of this recess were placed three

stone chests, each about two feet square. Two were fitted with stone

lids, the lid of the third rested against the side of the chest, which

was open.

“_See!_” he repeated hoarsely, holding the lamp over the open chest. We

looked, and for a moment could make nothing out, on account of a

silvery sheen which dazzled us. When our eyes grew used to it we saw

that the chest was three-parts full of uncut diamonds, most of them of

considerable size. Stooping, I picked some up. Yes, there was no doubt

of it, there was the unmistakable soapy feel about them.

I fairly gasped as I dropped them.

“We are the richest men in the whole world,” I said. “Monte Christo was

a fool to us.”

“We shall flood the market with diamonds,” said Good.

“Got to get them there first,” suggested Sir Henry.

We stood still with pale faces and stared at each other, the lantern in

the middle and the glimmering gems below, as though we were

conspirators about to commit a crime, instead of being, as we thought,

the most fortunate men on earth.

“_Hee! hee! hee!_” cackled old Gagool behind us, as she flitted about

like a vampire bat. “There are the bright stones ye love, white men, as

many as ye will; take them, run them through your fingers, _eat_ of

them, _hee! hee! drink_ of them, _ha! ha!_”

At that moment there was something so ridiculous to my mind at the idea

of eating and drinking diamonds, that I began to laugh outrageously, an

example which the others followed, without knowing why. There we stood

and shrieked with laughter over the gems that were ours, which had been

found for _us_ thousands of years ago by the patient delvers in the

great hole yonder, and stored for _us_ by Solomon’s long-dead overseer,

whose name, perchance, was written in the characters stamped on the

faded wax that yet adhered to the lids of the chest. Solomon never got

them, nor David, or Da Silvestra, nor anybody else. _We_ had got them:

there before us were millions of pounds’ worth of diamonds, and

thousands of pounds’ worth of gold and ivory only waiting to be taken

away.

Suddenly the fit passed off, and we stopped laughing.

“Open the other chests, white men,” croaked Gagool, “there are surely

more therein. Take your fill, white lords! _Ha! ha!_ take your fill.”

Thus adjured, we set to work to pull up the stone lids on the other

two, first—not without a feeling of sacrilege—breaking the seals that

fastened them.

Hoorah! they were full too, full to the brim; at least, the second one

was; no wretched burglarious Da Silvestra had been filling goat-skins

out of that. As for the third chest, it was only about a fourth full,

but the stones were all picked ones; none less than twenty carats, and

some of them as large as pigeon-eggs. A good many of these bigger ones,

however, we could see by holding them up to the light, were a little

yellow, “off coloured,” as they call it at Kimberley.

What we did _not_ see, however, was the look of fearful malevolence

that old Gagool favoured us with as she crept, crept like a snake, out

of the treasure chamber and down the passage towards the door of solid

rock.

Hark! Cry upon cry comes ringing up the vaulted path. It is Foulata’s

voice!

“_Oh, Bougwan! help! help! the stone falls!_”

“Leave go, girl! Then—”

“_Help! help! she has stabbed me!_”

By now we are running down the passage, and this is what the light from

the lamp shows us. The door of the rock is closing down slowly; it is

not three feet from the floor. Near it struggle Foulata and Gagool. The

red blood of the former runs to her knee, but still the brave girl

holds the old witch, who fights like a wild cat. Ah! she is free!

Foulata falls, and Gagool throws herself on the ground, to twist like a

snake through the crack of the closing stone. She is under—ah! god! too

late! too late! The stone nips her, and she yells in agony. Down, down

it comes, all the thirty tons of it, slowly pressing her old body

against the rock below. Shriek upon shriek, such as we have never

heard, then a long sickening _crunch_, and the door was shut just as,

rushing down the passage, we hurled ourselves against it.

It was all done in four seconds.

Then we turned to Foulata. The poor girl was stabbed in the body, and I

saw that she could not live long.

“Ah! Bougwan, I die!” gasped the beautiful creature. “She crept

out—Gagool; I did not see her, I was faint—and the door began to fall;

then she came back, and was looking up the path—I saw her come in

through the slowly falling door, and caught her and held her, and she

stabbed me, and _I die_, Bougwan!”

“Poor girl! poor girl!” Good cried in his distress; and then, as he

could do nothing else, he fell to kissing her.

“Bougwan,” she said, after a pause, “is Macumazahn there? It grows so

dark, I cannot see.”

“Here I am, Foulata.”

“Macumazahn, be my tongue for a moment, I pray thee, for Bougwan cannot

understand me, and before I go into the darkness I would speak to him a

word.”

“Say on, Foulata, I will render it.”

“Say to my lord, Bougwan, that—I love him, and that I am glad to die

because I know that he cannot cumber his life with such as I am, for

the sun may not mate with the darkness, nor the white with the black.

“Say that, since I saw him, at times I have felt as though there were a

bird in my bosom, which would one day fly hence and sing elsewhere.

Even now, though I cannot lift my hand, and my brain grows cold, I do

not feel as though my heart were dying; it is so full of love that it

could live ten thousand years, and yet be young. Say that if I live

again, mayhap I shall see him in the Stars, and that—I will search them

all, though perchance there I should still be black and he would—still

be white. Say—nay, Macumazahn, say no more, save that I love—Oh, hold

me closer, Bougwan, I cannot feel thine arms—_oh! oh!_”

“She is dead—she is dead!” muttered Good, rising in grief, the tears

running down his honest face.

“You need not let that trouble you, old fellow,” said Sir Henry.

“Eh!” exclaimed Good; “what do you mean?”

“I mean that you will soon be in a position to join her. _Man, don’t

you see that we are buried alive?_”

Until Sir Henry uttered these words I do not think that the full horror

of what had happened had come home to us, preoccupied as we were with

the sight of poor Foulata’s end. But now we understood. The ponderous

mass of rock had closed, probably for ever, for the only brain which

knew its secret was crushed to powder beneath its weight. This was a

door that none could hope to force with anything short of dynamite in

large quantities. And we were on the wrong side!

For a few minutes we stood horrified, there over the corpse of Foulata.

All the manhood seemed to have gone out of us. The first shock of this

idea of the slow and miserable end that awaited us was overpowering. We

saw it all now; that fiend Gagool had planned this snare for us from

the first.

It would have been just the jest that her evil mind would have rejoiced

in, the idea of the three white men, whom, for some reason of her own,

she had always hated, slowly perishing of thirst and hunger in the

company of the treasure they had coveted. Now I saw the point of that

sneer of hers about eating and drinking the diamonds. Probably somebody

had tried to serve the poor old Dom in the same way, when he abandoned

the skin full of jewels.

“This will never do,” said Sir Henry hoarsely; “the lamp will soon go

out. Let us see if we can’t find the spring that works the rock.”

We sprang forward with desperate energy, and, standing in a bloody

ooze, began to feel up and down the door and the sides of the passage.

But no knob or spring could we discover.

“Depend on it,” I said, “it does not work from the inside; if it did

Gagool would not have risked trying to crawl underneath the stone. It

was the knowledge of this that made her try to escape at all hazards,

curse her.”

“At all events,” said Sir Henry, with a hard little laugh, “retribution

was swift; hers was almost as awful an end as ours is likely to be. We

can do nothing with the door; let us go back to the treasure room.”

We turned and went, and as we passed it I perceived by the unfinished

wall across the passage the basket of food which poor Foulata had

carried. I took it up, and brought it with me to the accursed treasure

chamber that was to be our grave. Then we returned and reverently bore

in Foulata’s corpse, laying it on the floor by the boxes of coin.

Next we seated ourselves, leaning our backs against the three stone

chests which contained the priceless treasure.

“Let us divide the food,” said Sir Henry, “so as to make it last as

long as possible.” Accordingly we did so. It would, we reckoned, make

four infinitesimally small meals for each of us, enough, say, to

support life for a couple of days. Besides the “biltong,” or dried

game-flesh, there were two gourds of water, each of which held not more

than a quart.

“Now,” said Sir Henry grimly, “let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we

die.”

We each ate a small portion of the “biltong,” and drank a sip of water.

Needless to say, we had but little appetite, though we were sadly in

need of food, and felt better after swallowing it. Then we got up and

made a systematic examination of the walls of our prison-house, in the

faint hope of finding some means of exit, sounding them and the floor

carefully.

There was none. It was not probable that there would be any to a

treasure chamber.

The lamp began to burn dim. The fat was nearly exhausted.

“Quatermain,” said Sir Henry, “what is the time—your watch goes?”

I drew it out, and looked at it. It was six o’clock; we had entered the

cave at eleven.

“Infadoos will miss us,” I suggested. “If we do not return to-night he

will search for us in the morning, Curtis.”

“He may search in vain. He does not know the secret of the door, nor

even where it is. No living person knew it yesterday, except Gagool.

To-day no one knows it. Even if he found the door he could not break it

down. All the Kukuana army could not break through five feet of living

rock. My friends, I see nothing for it but to bow ourselves to the will

of the Almighty. The search for treasure has brought many to a bad end;

we shall go to swell their number.”

The lamp grew dimmer yet.

Presently it flared up and showed the whole scene in strong relief, the

great mass of white tusks, the boxes of gold, the corpse of the poor

Foulata stretched before them, the goat-skin full of treasure, the dim

glimmer of the diamonds, and the wild, wan faces of us three white men

seated there awaiting death by starvation.

Then the flame sank and expired.

CHAPTER XVIII.

WE ABANDON HOPE

I can give no adequate description of the horrors of the night which

followed. Mercifully they were to some extent mitigated by sleep, for

even in such a position as ours wearied nature will sometimes assert

itself. But I, at any rate, found it impossible to sleep much. Putting

aside the terrifying thought of our impending doom—for the bravest man

on earth might well quail from such a fate as awaited us, and I never

made any pretensions to be brave—the _silence_ itself was too great to

allow of it. Reader, you may have lain awake at night and thought the

quiet oppressive, but I say with confidence that you can have no idea

what a vivid, tangible thing is perfect stillness. On the surface of

the earth there is always some sound or motion, and though it may in

itself be imperceptible, yet it deadens the sharp edge of absolute

silence. But here there was none. We were buried in the bowels of a

huge snow-clad peak. Thousands of feet above us the fresh air rushed

over the white snow, but no sound of it reached us. We were separated

by a long tunnel and five feet of rock even from the awful chamber of

the Dead; and the dead make no noise. Did we not know it who lay by

poor Foulata’s side? The crashing of all the artillery of earth and

heaven could not have come to our ears in our living tomb. We were cut

off from every echo of the world—we were as men already in the grave.

Then the irony of the situation forced itself upon me. There around us

lay treasures enough to pay off a moderate national debt, or to build a

fleet of ironclads, and yet we would have bartered them all gladly for

the faintest chance of escape. Soon, doubtless, we should be rejoiced

to exchange them for a bit of food or a cup of water, and, after that,

even for the privilege of a speedy close to our sufferings. Truly

wealth, which men spend their lives in acquiring, is a valueless thing

at the last.

And so the night wore on.

“Good,” said Sir Henry’s voice at last, and it sounded awful in the

intense stillness, “how many matches have you in the box?”

“Eight, Curtis.”

“Strike one and let us see the time.”

He did so, and in contrast to the dense darkness the flame nearly

blinded us. It was five o’clock by my watch. The beautiful dawn was now

blushing on the snow-wreaths far over our heads, and the breeze would

be stirring the night mists in the hollows.

“We had better eat something and keep up our strength,” I suggested.

“What is the good of eating?” answered Good; “the sooner we die and get

it over the better.”

“While there is life there is hope,” said Sir Henry.

Accordingly we ate and sipped some water, and another period of time

elapsed. Then Sir Henry suggested that it might be well to get as near

the door as possible and halloa, on the faint chance of somebody

catching a sound outside. Accordingly Good, who, from long practice at

sea, has a fine piercing note, groped his way down the passage and set

to work. I must say that he made a most diabolical noise. I never heard

such yells; but it might have been a mosquito buzzing for all the

effect they produced.

After a while he gave it up and came back very thirsty, and had to

drink. Then we stopped yelling, as it encroached on the supply of

water.

So we sat down once more against the chests of useless diamonds in that

dreadful inaction which was one of the hardest circumstances of our

fate; and I am bound to say that, for my part, I gave way in despair.

Laying my head against Sir Henry’s broad shoulder I burst into tears;

and I think that I heard Good gulping away on the other side, and

swearing hoarsely at himself for doing so.

Ah, how good and brave that great man was! Had we been two frightened

children, and he our nurse, he could not have treated us more tenderly.

Forgetting his own share of miseries, he did all he could to soothe our

broken nerves, telling stories of men who had been in somewhat similar

circumstances, and miraculously escaped; and when these failed to cheer

us, pointing out how, after all, it was only anticipating an end which

must come to us all, that it would soon be over, and that death from

exhaustion was a merciful one (which is not true). Then, in a diffident

sort of way, as once before I had heard him do, he suggested that we

should throw ourselves on the mercy of a higher Power, which for my

part I did with great vigour.

His is a beautiful character, very quiet, but very strong.

And so somehow the day went as the night had gone, if, indeed, one can

use these terms where all was densest night, and when I lit a match to

see the time it was seven o’clock.

Once more we ate and drank, and as we did so an idea occurred to me.

“How is it,” said I, “that the air in this place keeps fresh? It is

thick and heavy, but it is perfectly fresh.”

“Great heavens!” said Good, starting up, “I never thought of that. It

can’t come through the stone door, for it’s air-tight, if ever a door

was. It must come from somewhere. If there were no current of air in

the place we should have been stifled or poisoned when we first came

in. Let us have a look.”

It was wonderful what a change this mere spark of hope wrought in us.

In a moment we were all three groping about on our hands and knees,

feeling for the slightest indication of a draught. Presently my ardour

received a check. I put my hand on something cold. It was dead

Foulata’s face.

For an hour or more we went on feeling about, till at last Sir Henry

and I gave it up in despair, having been considerably hurt by

constantly knocking our heads against tusks, chests, and the sides of

the chamber. But Good still persevered, saying, with an approach to

cheerfulness, that it was better than doing nothing.

“I say, you fellows,” he said presently, in a constrained sort of

voice, “come here.”

Needless to say we scrambled towards him quickly enough.

“Quatermain, put your hand here where mine is. Now, do you feel

anything?”

“I _think_ I feel air coming up.”

“Now listen.” He rose and stamped upon the place, and a flame of hope

shot up in our hearts. _It rang hollow._

With trembling hands I lit a match. I had only three left, and we saw

that we were in the angle of the far corner of the chamber, a fact that

accounted for our not having noticed the hollow sound of the place

during our former exhaustive examination. As the match burnt we

scrutinised the spot. There was a join in the solid rock floor, and,

great heavens! there, let in level with the rock, was a stone ring. We

said no word, we were too excited, and our hearts beat too wildly with

hope to allow us to speak. Good had a knife, at the back of which was

one of those hooks that are made to extract stones from horses’ hoofs.

He opened it, and scratched round the ring with it. Finally he worked