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Title: The Treasure Of The Lake (1926)

Author: H. Rider Haggard

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A Project Gutenberg of Australia eBook

Title: The Treasure Of The Lake (1926)

Author: H. Rider Haggard

CONTENTS

PREFACE

I. KANEKE’S TALE

II. ALLAN’S BUSINESS INSTINCTS

III. THE TRIAL OF KANEKE

IV. WHITE-MOUSE

V. THE RESCUE

VI. KANEKE’S FRIENDS

VII. THE JOURNEY

VIII. THE ELEPHANT DANCE

IX. EXPLANATIONS

X. THE WANDERER

XI. ARKLE’S STORY

XII. KANEKE SWEARS AN OATH

XIII. BEFORE THE ALTAR

XIV. SHADOW

XV. LAKE MONE AND THE FOREST

XVI. KANEKE’S MESSAGE

XVII. THE GREAT STORM

XVIII. ALLAN RUNS AWAY

XIX. THE BRIDAL AND THE CURSE

XX. FAREWELL

PREFACE

By Allan Quatermain

I cannot remember that anywhere in this book I have stated what it

was that first gave me the idea of attempting to visit Mone, the

Holy Lake, and the Dabanda who live upon, or, to be precise, at

some distance from its shores. Therefore I will do so now.

There is a certain monastery in Natal where I have been made

welcome from time to time, among whose brethren was a very learned

monk, now “gone down”, as the Zulus say, who, although our faiths

were different, honoured me with his confidence upon many matters,

and I think I may add with his friendship. Brother Ambrose, as he

was called in religion—what his real name may have been I do not

know—a Swede by birth, would have been an archaeologist, also an

anthropologist pure and simple, had he not chanced to be a saint.

As it was he managed to combine much knowledge of these sciences

with his noted and singular holiness. For example, he was the

greatest authority upon Bushmen’s paintings that I have ever met,

and knew more of the history, religions, customs, and habits of the

inhabitants of Southern, Eastern, and South-central Africa—well,

than I did myself. Thus it came about, our tastes being so similar

on these and other subjects, that when we could not meet and talk,

often we corresponded.

One of his learned letters, which I still preserve, was written to

me many years ago from Mozambique, whither he had gone upon a

journey connected with the missionary enterprises of his order.

From it, for the sake of accuracy, I will quote some passages.

Brother Ambrose says:

“In this island I have come into touch with a man, a rescued slave

whom it was my privilege to baptize and to attend through his last

illness, during which he made many confidences to me. Peter, as he

was called because he was received into the Church upon the feast

day of that saint, was a man of unusual appearance. His general

cast of countenance and physique were Arab, and his native language

was a somewhat archaic dialect of Arabic. His eyes, however, were

large and round, almost owl-like, indeed—by the way, he had a

singular faculty of seeing in the dark—and his handsome features

were remarkable for a melancholy, which I think must have been

inherited and not due to his experiences of life.

“He told me that he belonged to a small tribe dwelling in the

neighbourhood of mountains called Ruga, far beyond a great lake—I

am not sure what lake—which mountains I gathered are not far

distant from some branch of the Congo River in the remote interior.

The home of his tribe, if I understood him aright, was a large

hollow of land enclosed by cliffs. In the centre of this hollow

lies a big sheet of water surrounded by forest which, he said, is

considered holy. When I asked him why it was holy, he replied

because on an island in this water dwelt a priestess who is a

Shadow of God, or of the gods, a beautiful woman with many magical

powers, who utters oracles and bestows blessings on her worshippers

(which, being interpreted, means, I take it, a fetish or rather the

head servant of a fetish credited with the power of making rain and

of averting misfortunes). About this person he told me many

legends too absurd to record, amongst others that she and her

husband, who is the chief of the tribe—for she has a husband—are

sacrificed at a certain age, when her place is taken by another

‘Shadow’, who is reputed to be her daughter.

“One other thing he told me which I am sure will interest you very

much; indeed, although I am very busy, I write this letter chiefly

in order to pass on the superstition, or legend, or whatever it may

be, before I forget exactly what he said. You and I have often

discussed the mysteries of the African forms of taboo. Well, Peter

described a variety of it that was quite new to me. He declared

that to his tribe ALL wild game are taboo and may not be killed or

eaten by any member of the tribe, who, it seems, are largely

vegetarians, but supplement this diet with the flesh of goats and

cattle, of which they possess many herds. Nor is this all, for he

assured me further that his people exercised great power over these

untamed beasts, living with them on the same terms of familiarity

as we do with dogs and horses and other domestic animals. Thus he

asserted positively that they can send them away to or call them

back from any given spot, and make them do their bidding in various

other fashions, even to the extent of being able to cause them to

attack anyone they choose.

“I tried to extract from him what he believed to be the reason for

this alleged remarkable authority over the wild fauna of his

country, but all I could make out was that the priests taught some

form of the old Pythagorean doctrine of metempsychosis (as you

know, not uncommon in Africa, especially when tyrannical chiefs are

concerned); I mean that the souls of men, particularly of those who

had led evil lives, are reborn in the bodies of beasts, which

beasts are therefore, in a sense, their kin, and on this account

feared and venerated.

“It was extremely curious to hear these pre-Christian delusions

from the mouth of a modern African native, and I wonder very much

if his story has any faint foundation in fact. Probably not, but,

my dear friend, if ever you get the chance in the course of your

explorations, DO try to find out. You know that, like you, I hold

that scattered here and there through the vast expanse of Africa

are the remains of peoples who still preserve fragments of ancient

systems and religions, such as the Babylonian star-worship or that

of the gods of old Egypt.”

Then the letter goes on to tell of the decease of Peter, before

Brother Ambrose could further pursue his inquiries about a carving

that he had discovered somewhere on the East Coast, which he

thought must have been executed by Bushmen in the remote past;

although there is, or was, no other evidence that they ever lived

so far north.

This incident of the strange story told to Father Ambrose by the

dying native, Peter, remained fixed in my mind, and in the end was

the real cause of the journey described in the following pages.

I should like to take this opportunity to say that on re-reading

this record, which is an expanded version of a diary I kept at the

time, I am not sure that I have succeeded in conveying an adequate

sense of the eeriness that pervaded the Dabanda people and their

country. No wonder that added to the various humiliations which I

suffered in their land, this unearthly atmosphere, whereof dwellers

in the fetish-ridden districts of Africa have often had experience,

at last got upon my nerves to such an extent that if I had stopped

there much longer I believe I should have gone crazy.

Another thing that I wish to state is that on weighing the

evidence, whatever reasons old Kumpana and others may have given, I

am now convinced that Hans was right and that the real cause which

led them to procure the return of Kaneke to Mone-land, was that

they might execute him in punishment for his crime of sacrilege in

earlier life. On this I believe they were determined both from

vindictiveness and because, under their iron law, while he lived it

was impossible for the mysterious “Treasure of the Lake” to take

another man to husband, as for their own secret reasons they

desired that she should do.

Lastly, it might be asked why I do not more accurately indicate the

exact geographic position of Mone-land and its holy hidden lake. I

will face ridicule—especially as I shall never live to feel its

shafts—and make a confession. Before I left his country, as Arkle

had done in his letter, Kumpana assured me with much quiet emphasis

that if I revealed its exact locality and explained how it could be

reached by any other white man, the results to them, also to myself

and Hans in this or later lives, would be most unpleasant. I did

not and do not believe him; still, in view of my experience of the

uncanny powers of the Dabanda priests, I thought it wise—well, to

keep on the safe side and on this point to remain a little

indefinite.

Allan Quatermain.

CHAPTER I

KANEKE’S TALE

Now when I grow old it becomes every day more clear to me, Allan

Quatermain, that each of us is a mystery living in the midst of

mysteries, bringing these with us when we are born and taking them

away with us when we die; doubtless into a land of other and yet

deeper mysteries. At first, while we are quite young, everything

seems very clear and simple. There is a male individual called

Father and a female called Mother who, between them, have made us a

present to the world, or of the world to us, whichever way you like

to put it, apparently by arrangement with the kingdom of heaven; at

least that is what we are taught. There are the sun, the moon, and

the stars above us and the solid earth beneath, there are lessons

and dinner and a time to get up and a time to go to bed—in short

there are a multitude of things, all quite obvious and commonplace,

which may be summed up in three words, the established order, in

which, by the decree of Papa and Mamma and the heavens above, we

live and move and have our being.

Then the years go by, the terrible, remorseless years that bear us

as steadily from the cradle to the grave as a creeping glacier

bears a stone. With every one of them, after the first fifteen or

so when we become adult, or in some instances earlier if we chance

to be what is called “rather unusual”, a little piece of the

curtain is rolled up or a little hole is widened in the veil, and

beneath that curtain, or through that enlarging hole, we see the

mysteries moving in the dusk beyond. So swiftly do they come and

go, and so dark is the background, that we never discern them

clearly. There, if time is given to us to fix them in our minds,

they appear; for a moment they are seen, then they are gone, to be

succeeded by others even yet more wondrous, or perhaps more awful.

But why go on talking of what is endless and unfathomable? Amidst

this wondrous multitude of enigmas we poor, purblind, slow-witted

creatures must make our choice of those we wish to study. Long ago

I made mine, one local and terrestrial, namely the land with which

I have been connected all my life—Africa—and the other universal

and spiritual, namely human nature. What! some may ask, do you

call human nature spiritual? The very words belie you. What is

there spiritual about that which is human?

My friend, I answer, in my opinion, my most humble and fallible

opinion, almost everything. More and more do I become convinced

that we are nearly all spirit, notwithstanding our gross apparent

bodies with their deeds and longings. You have seen those coloured

globes that pedlars sell—I mean the floating things tinted to this

hue or that, that are the delight of children. The children buy

these balls and toss them into the air, where they travel one way

or the other, blown by winds we cannot see, till in the end they

burst and of each there remains nothing but a little shrivelled

skin, a shred of substance, which they are told is made from the

gum of a tree. Well, to my fancy that expanded skin or shred is a

good symbol of the human body, so large and obvious to the sight,

yet driven here and there by the breath of circumstance and in the

end destroyed. But what was within it which escapes at last and is

no more seen? To my mind the gas with which the globe was filled

represents the spirit of man, imprisoned for a while; then to all

appearance lost.

I dare say that the example is faulty; still, I use it because it

conveys something of my idea. So, good or bad, I let it stand and

pass on to an easier theme, or at any rate one easier to handle,

namely that of the mysteries of the great continent of Africa.

Now all the world is wonderful, but surely among its countries

there is none more so than Africa; no, not even China the

unchanging, or India the ancient. For this reason, I think: those

great lands have always been more or less known to their own

inhabitants, whereas Africa, as a whole, from the beginning was and

still remains unknown.

To this day great sections of its denizens are quite ignorant of

other sections, as much so as was mighty Egypt of the millions of

the neighbouring peoples in the time when a voyage to the Land of

Punt, which I take to have been the country that we now know as

Uganda, was looked upon as a marvellous adventure. Again, there is

the instance of Solomon, or rather Hiram and his gold traffic with

Ophir, the dim and undefined, that doubtless was the district lying

at the back of Sofala. But why multiply such examples, of which

there are many? And if this is true of Africa, the Libya of the

early world, as a country, is it not still more true of its

inhabitants, divided as these are into countless races, peoples,

and tribes, each of them with its own gods or ancestral spirits,

language, customs, traditions, and mental outlook established in

the passage of innumerable ages?

So far as my small experience goes, for though many might think it

large it is still small, these are my opinions which I venture to

state as an opening to what I have always considered a very curious

history, in which it was my fortune to play some small and humble

part. For let it be understood at once that I was by no means the

chief actor in this business. Indeed, I was never more than an

agent, a kind of connecting wire between the parties concerned, an

insignificant bridge over which their feet travelled to certain

ends that I presume to have been appointed by Fate. Still, I saw

much of the play and now, when the curtain has been long rung down,

by help of the diary I kept at the time and have preserved, I will

try to record such memories of it as remain to me—well, because

rightly or wrongly I think that they are worth recording.

Years ago, accompanied by my servant Hans, the old and faithful

Hottentot with whom I have experienced so many adventures, I made a

great journey to what I may almost call Central Africa, starting in

from the East Coast. It was a hazardous adventure into which I had

been led by tales that had reached me of the enormous herds of

elephants to be found in what I suppose must now be the north of

the Belgian Congo. Or perhaps it is still No Man’s Land as it was

in those days—really, I do not know. Nor is this wonderful,

seeing that with a single exception I believe that I was the first

white man to set foot in that particular district which lies beyond

the Lado mountains north of Jissa and of the Denbo River.

To be truthful, however, it was not only the elephants that took me

to these parts, guessing, as I did, that if I found them it might

be of little avail, since probably ivory in bulk would prove

impossible to carry. No, it was rather the desire to look upon new

things, to discover the Unknown which is so strong a part of my

nature, that at times it half reconciles me to the prospect of

death which I, who believe that we do not go out, believe also must

be a land or a state full of all that is strange and wonderful.

I had heard from natives in the neighbourhood of the great lake

Victoria Nyanza that there was a marvellous country between two

rivers known as M’bomu and Balo, where dwelt strange tribes who

were said to dress like Arabs and to talk a sort of Arabic; also

that somewhere in this country was a holy lake, a big sheet of

water that none was allowed to approach. Further, that in this

lake, which was called Mone (pronounced like groan), a word of

unknown meaning, was an island “where dwelt the gods”, or the

spirits, for the term used was capable of either interpretation.

Now, when I heard of this Holy Lake called Mone, “where dwelt the

gods”, at once my mind went back to the letter of which I have

spoken in the preface of this book, that long years before I had

received from my late friend, Brother Ambrose, telling me what he

had learned from a slave whom he had christened.

Could it be the same, I wondered, as that of which the slave had

told Brother Ambrose? Instantly, and with much suppressed

excitement, I set to work to make further inquiries, and was

informed that a certain Kaneke, a stranger who had been a slave and

was now the chief or captain of an Arab settlement some fifty miles

away from where I met these natives, could give me information

about the lake, inasmuch as he was reported to be born of the

people who dwelt upon its borders.

Then and there I changed my plans, as indeed was convenient to me

because of the suddenly developed hostility of a chief through

whose territory I had intended to pass, and in order to seek out

this Kaneke, took a road running in another direction to that which

I had designed to travel. Little did I guess at the time that

Kaneke was seeking ME out and that the natives who told me the

legend of the lake were, in fact, his emissaries sent to tempt me

to visit him, or that it was he who had incited the chief against

me in order to block my path.

Well, in due course I reached Kaneke-town, as it was called,

without accident, for although between me and it dwelt a very

dangerous tribe whom at first I had purposed to avoid, all at once

their chief and headman became friendly and helped me in every way

upon my journey. Kaneke, a remarkable person whom I will describe

later, received me well, giving me a place to camp outside his

village and all the food that we required. Also he proved

extraordinarily communicative, telling me directly that he belonged

to a tribe called Dabanda, which had its home in the wild parts

whereof I have spoken. He added that he was the “high-born” son of

a great doctor or medicine-man, a calling which all his family had

followed for generations. In some curious way, of which I did not

at first learn the details, while undergoing his novitiate as a

doctor or magician, this man had been seized by a rival tribe, the

Abanda, and ultimately sold as a slave to an Arab trader, one

Hassan, who brought him down to the neighbourhood of the great

lake.

Here also, according to his own story, it seemed that one night

this Kaneke succeeded in murdering Hassan.

“I crept on him in the night. I got him by the throat. I choked

the life out of him,” he said, twitching his big hands, “and as he

died I whispered in his ear of all the cruel things he had done to

me. He made signs to me, praying for mercy, but I went on till I

had killed him, whispering to him all the while. When he was dead

I took his body and threw it out into the bush, having first

stripped him. There a lion found it and bore it away, for in the

morning it was gone. Then, Macumazahn” (that is the native name by

which I, Allan Quatermain, am known in Africa, and which had come

with me to these parts), “I played a great game, such as you might

have done, O Watcher-by-Night. I returned to the tent of Hassan

and sat there thinking.

“I heard the lion, or lions come, for I think there was more than

one of them, as I was sure that they would come who had called them

by a charm, and guessed that they had eaten or carried away Hassan

the evil. When all was quiet I dressed myself in the robes of

Hassan. I found his gun, which on the journey he had taught me to

use, that I might shoot the slaves who could travel no farther for

him; his pistol also, and saw that they were loaded. Then I sat

myself upon his stool and waited for the light.

“At the dawn one of his women crept into the tent to visit him. I

seized her. She stared at me, saying:

“‘You are not my master. You are not Hassan.’

“I answered, ‘I am your master. I am Hassan, whose face the

spirits have changed in the night.’

“She opened her mouth to cry out. I said:

“‘Woman, if you try to scream, I will kill you. If you are quiet I

will take you. Look on me. I am young. Hassan was old. I am a

finer man, you will be happier with me. Choose now. Will you die,

or live?’

“‘I will live,’ she said, she who was no fool.

“‘Then I am Hassan, am I not?’ I asked.

“‘Yes,’ she said, ‘you are Hassan and my lord. I am sure of it

now.’

“For I tell you, that woman had wit, Macumazahn, and I was sorry

when, two years afterwards, she died.

“‘Good,’ I said. ‘Now, when the servants of Hassan come you will

swear that I am he and no other, remembering that if you do not

swear you die.’

“‘I will swear,’ she answered.

“Presently the headman of Hassan came, a big fat fellow who was

half an Arab, to bring him his morning drink. I took it and drank.

The light of the rising sun struck into the tent. He saw and

started back.

“‘You are not Hassan,’ he said. ‘You are the slave Kaneke, whom we

bought.’

“‘I am Hassan,’ I answered. ‘Ask my wife here, whom you know, if I

am not Hassan. Also, if I am not, where is Hassan?’

“‘Yes, he is Hassan, my husband,’ broke in the woman.

“‘This is witchcraft!’ he cried, and ran away.

“‘Now he is gone to fetch the others,’ I said to the woman.

‘Fasten back the sides of the tent that I may see, and give me the

guns.’

“She obeyed, though then she sat exposed, and I took the double-barrelled gun and held it ready.

“Presently, they all came, five or six Arabs, or half Arabs, and a

score or so of black soldiers. Even the slaves came, dragging

their yokes, fifty or more of them of whom perhaps thirty were men,

all known to me, for had we not shared the yoke? There they stood

huddled together behind the Arabs, staring.

“‘Take a knife,’ I whispered to the woman; ‘slip out, get among the

slaves and cut the thongs of the yokes.’

“She nodded—have I not told you that girl had wits, Macumazahn?—

and slipped away.

“Cried the fat one, the captain:

“‘This fellow, whom we all know for Kaneke, the slave whom we

bought, says that he is Hassan our lord. Yes, there he sits in

Hassan’s robes and says that he is Hassan. Dog, where is Hassan?’

“‘Inside this garment,’ I answered. ‘Listen. I made a bargain

with Hassan, I who am a wizard. I forgave him his sins against me,

and in return he gave me his soul while his body flew away to

Paradise.’

“‘The liar!’ shouted the captain. ‘Kill him!’ and he brandished a

spear.

“‘Admit that I am Hassan or I will send you to where you will learn

that I am no liar,’ I said quietly.

“In answer he lifted the spear to stab me. Then I shot him dead.

“‘Now am I Hassan?’ I asked, while the rest stared at him.

“One or two who were frightened said ‘Yes’. Others stood silent,

and a big fellow began to put a cap upon his gun. I shot him with

the other barrel, then, rising, roared in a great voice:

“‘On to them, slaves, if you would be free!’ for by now I saw that

the woman had cut many of the thongs.

“Those men were brave, they came of good stock. They heard, and

leapt on to the Arabs with a shout, knocking them down with the

yokes and throttling them with their hands. Soon it was over.

Most of them were killed, but two or three crawled before me crying

that I was certainly Hassan.

“‘Very well,’ I said. ‘Take away these’—here I pointed to the

dead men—‘and throw them into yonder ravine, and bid the women

prepare food while I make prayer according to my custom.’

“Then I took Hassan’s beautiful prayer-rug, spread it and made

obeisance in the proper fashion, muttering with my lips as I had

often watched him do; after which everything went smoothly. That

is all the story, Macumazahn.”

When he had finished this tale, which, true or false, of its sort

was remarkable even in equatorial Africa, where such things happen,

or happened, by the score without anybody hearing of them, I sat

awhile considering Kaneke.

To tell the truth he was worth study. A giant of a man in size, he

was not a negro by any means, for his features had a somewhat

Semitic cast and he was yellow-hued rather than black. Moreover,

he had hair, not wool, wavy hair that he wore rather long. His

eyes were so prominent, round, and lustrous that they gave an owl-like cast to his countenance, his features well cut, although the

lips were somewhat coarse and the nose was hooked like a hawk’s

beak, while his hands and feet were thin and shapely, and in

curious contrast to his great athletic frame and swelling muscles.

His age might have been anything between thirty-five and forty, and

he carried his years well, moving with the swing and vigour of

youth.

It was his face, however, that commanded my attention as a student

of character. It was extraordinarily strong and yet dreamy, almost

mystical, indeed, when in repose, the face of a thinker, or even of

a priest. Contemplating him I could almost believe the strange

tale he had told me, which in the case of most natives I should

have set down as an outrageous lie. For here, without doubt, was a

man who could conceive a plot of the sort and execute it without

hesitation. Yet he was one to whom I took a dislike from the

moment I set eyes upon him. Instinctively, however attractive he

might be in some ways, I felt that at bottom he was dangerous and

not to be trusted. Still, he interested me very much, as did his

story, especially that part of it in which he said that he called

the lions “by a charm”.

“What happened afterwards, Kaneke?” I asked at last.

“Oh, very little, Macumazahn. I became Hassan, though they called

me ‘the Changeling’; that is all. I did not travel on towards the

coast because I thought it safer to stop where I was, not daring to

go either forward or back. So I gathered people about me and

founded the town in which you are. Once some Arabs came to kill

me, but I killed them, and after that I was no more molested,

because, you see, I was looked upon as a ghost-man, one who had a

great ju-ju, one not to be touched; and all were afraid of me.”

“You mean you became a witch-doctor again, Kaneke.”

“Yes, Macumazahn. Or, rather, I was that already, a diviner and a

master of spells, like my fathers before me. So here I set up as a

sort of wise man as well as a warrior, and soon gained a great

repute, which caused all the people round about to send to me to

give them medicines and charms, or to make rain. Thus, and with

the help of trade, I became rich and powerful as I am today.”

“Then you are a happy man, Kaneke.”

He rolled his big round eyes and looked at me earnestly, asking:

“Is any man happy, Macumazahn, or at least any man who thinks? The

beasts are happy; can man be happy like the beasts who never look

to tomorrow or to the hour of death?”

“Now that you mention it, Kaneke, I do not suppose that any man is

happy, except sometimes for an hour when he forgets himself in

drink, or love, or war.”

“Or when he talks with the heavens,” added Kaneke, which I thought

a strange remark. “Yes, then and in sleep he is sometimes happy

till he wakes to the sorrow of the day.”

He paused a little and went on:

“If this be so with all men, how much more is it so with those who

have known the yoke and who must grow old far from their homes, as

I do? For such there is no joy, for even their dreams are haunted.

In these they see the village where they were born and the distant

mountains and the face of their mother, and hear the voices of

their playmates and of those they loved, that now are still.”

I sighed as the truth of his words came home to me.

“If you feel thus,” I answered presently, “why do you not return to

your home?”

“I will tell you, Macumazahn. There are many reasons, among them

these. Here I rule over people who would not wish to go with me

and who, if I forced them, would run away, or perhaps poison me.

Indeed, they would not let me go because I am necessary to them,

protecting them from their enemies and from wild beasts, and giving

them rain, as I can do. Again, the road is long and dangerous, and

maybe I should not live to come to its end. Also, if I did, what

should I find? I was my father’s eldest son, born of his chief

wife, and to me he told the secrets of his wisdom that have come

down to us through the generations. But I have been absent for

years and mayhap another has taken my place. My people would not

welcome me, Macumazahn. They might kill me, especially if they who

know all, have learned that I have betrayed my own goddess by

bending the knee to the Prophet, even though I never bent my heart.

Still, it is true that I wish to risk all and return, even if it be

to die.”

Now I grew deeply interested, for always I have loved to discover

the mysteries of these strange African faiths.

“Your own goddess?” I asked. “What goddess?”

All this time we were seated in the shade of a flat-topped, thick-leaved tree of the banyan species, the Tree of Council it was

called, that grew upon a little knoll at a distance from Kaneke’s

town. He rose and walked all round this place, as though to make

sure that no one was near us. Then he stared up into its branches,

where he discovered a monkey sitting. I knew that it was there,

but he did not seem to have noticed it. At this monkey he began to

shout out something, as though he were giving it orders, till at

last the little beast ran along the boughs of the tree, dropped to

the ground and bolted for the bush in the distance.

“Why do you hunt it away?” I asked.

“A monkey can hear and is very like a man. Perhaps a monkey can

tell tales, Macumazahn.”

I laughed, for of course I understood that this was an African way

of indicating that the matter to be discussed was most solemn and

private. By driving away that monkey Kaneke was swearing me to the

strictest secrecy—or so I thought.

He came back and moved his stool, I noted, into such a position

that the light of the westering sun striking through the lower

boughs of the tree flickered on my face and left his in shadow.

I lit my pipe leisurely, so that for some time there was silence

between us. The fact is I was determined that he should be the

first to speak. It is a good rule with any native when a subject

of importance is concerned.

“You asked me of my goddess, Macumazahn.”

“Did I, Kaneke?” I replied, puffing at my pipe to make it burn.

“Oh yes, I remember. Well, who is she and where does she live?

On earth or in heaven—which is the home of goddesses?”

“Yesterday, Macumazahn, you—or perhaps it was that little yellow

man, your servant Hans—asked me if I had ever heard of a lake

called Mone which lies in the hidden land where dwell my people,

the Dabanda, beyond the Ruga-Ruga Mountains.”

“I dare say. I remember having heard of this lake, which

interested me because of legends connected with it, though I forget

what they were. What about it?”

“Only that it is there my goddess dwells, Macumazahn.”

“Indeed. Then I suppose that she is a water-spirit.”

“I cannot say, Macumazahn. I only know that she dwells with her

women on the island in the lake, and at night, when it is very

dark, sometimes she and her companions are heard upon the water, or

passing through the forests, singing and laughing.”

“Did you ever see her, Kaneke?”

He hesitated like one who seeks time to make up a plausible story,

or so I thought, then answered:

“Yes. Once when I was young. I had been sent to look for some

goats of ours that had strayed, and following them into the forest

which slopes down to the lake, I lost myself there. Night came on

and I lay down to sleep under a tree, or rather to watch for the

dawn, so that with the light I might escape from that darksome,

haunted place, of which I was afraid.”

“Well, and what happened?”

“So much that I cannot remember all, Macumazahn. Spirits went by

me; I heard them in the tree-tops and above; I heard them pass

through the forest, laughing; I felt them gather about me and knew

that they were mocking me. At length all those Wood-Dwellers went

away, leaving me as terrified as though a lion had come and eaten

out of my bowl. The moon rose and her light pierced down through

the boughs, a shaft of it here, a shaft of it there, with breadths

of blackness between. I shut my eyes, trying to sleep, then

hearing sounds, I opened them again. I looked up. There in the

heart of one of the pools of light stood a woman, a fair-skinned

woman like to one of your people, Macumazahn. She seemed to be

young and slender, also beautiful, as I perceived when she turned

her head and the moon shone upon her face and showed her soft, dark

eyes, which were like those of a buck. For the rest she was clad

in grey garments that glimmered like a spider’s web filled with dew

at dawn. There was a cap upon her head and from beneath it her

black hair flowed down upon her shoulders. Oh, she was beautiful—

so beautiful …” and he paused.

“That what, Kaneke?” I asked curiously.

“Lord, that I committed a great crime, the greatest in the whole

world, the crime of sacrilege against her who is called the

Shadow.”

“Shadow! Whose shadow?”

“The Shadow of the Engoi, the goddess who dwells in heaven and is

shone upon by the star we worship above all other stars.” (This, I

found afterwards, was the planet Venus.) “Or perhaps she dwells in

the star and is shone upon by the moon—I do not know. At least,

she who lives upon the island in the lake is the shadow of the

Engoi upon earth, and that is why she is called Engoi and Shadow.”

“Very interesting,” I said, though I understood little of what he

said, except that it was a piece of African occultism to which as

yet I had not the key. “But what crime did you commit?”

“Lord, I was young and my blood was hot and the beauty of this

wanderer in the forest made me mad. Lord, I threw my arms about

her and embraced her. Or, rather, I tried to embrace her, but

before my lips touched hers all my strength left me, my arms fell

down and I became as a man of stone, though I could still see and

hear… .”

“What did you see and hear, Kaneke?” I asked, for again he paused

in his story.

“I saw her lovely face grow terrible and I heard her say, ‘Do you

know who I am, O man Kaneke, who are not afraid to do me violence

in my holy, secret grove where none may set his foot?’ Lord, I

tried to lie, but I could not who must answer, ‘I know that you are

the Engoi; I know that your name is Shadow. I pray you to pardon

me, O Shadow.’

“‘For what you have done there is no pardon. Still, your life is

spared, if only for a while. Get you gone and let the Council of

the Engoi deal with you as it will.’”

“And what happened then?”

“Then, Lord, she departed, vanishing away, and I too departed,

flying through the forest terribly afraid and pursued by voices

that proclaimed my crime and threatened vengeance. Next day the

Council seized me and passed judgment on me, driving me from the

land so that I fell into the hands of our enemies, the Abanda, who

dwell upon the slopes of the mountains, and in the end was sold as

a slave.”

“And how did this Council know what you had done, Kaneke?”

“What is known to the Shadow is known to her Council, and what is

known to her Council is known to the Shadow, Lord.”

Now I considered Kaneke and his story, and came to the conclusion,

a perfectly correct one, as I think, that he was lying to me. What

his exact offence against this priestess may have been I don’t know

and never learned in detail, though I believe that it was much

worse than what he described. All that was certain is that he had

committed some sacrilegious crime of such a character that,

notwithstanding his rank, he was forced to fly out of his country

in order to save his life, and to become an exile, which he

remained.

Leaving that subject without further comment, I asked him who were

these Abanda who delivered him into slavery.

“Lord,” he replied, “they are a branch of a people from whom we

separated ages ago and who live on the plains beyond the mountains.

They hate us and are jealous of us because the Engoi gives us rain

and fruitful season, whereas often they suffer from drought and

scarcity. Therefore they wish to take the land and Lake Mone, so

that the Engoi may once more be their goddess also. More, they are

a mighty people, whereas we are very few, for from generation to

generation our numbers dwindle.”

“Then why do they not invade and defeat you, Kaneke?”

“Because they dare not, Lord; because if they set foot within the

land of Mone a curse will fall upon them, seeing that it and we who

dwell there are protected by the Stars of Heaven. Yet always they

hope that the day will come when they can defy the curse and

conquer us, who hold them back by wisdom and not by spears. And

now, Macumazahn, I must go to make my prayer before the people to

that prophet in whom I do not believe. Yet come to me again when

the evening star has risen, for I have more to say to you,

Macumazahn.”

I got up, then said:

“One more question before I go, Kaneke. Is this Engoi of whom you

speak, who lives in a lake, a woman or—something more?”

“Lord, how can I answer? Certainly she is a woman, for she is born

and dies, leaving behind her a daughter to take her place. Also

she is something more, or so we are taught.”

“What do you mean?”

“I mean that the same flesh or Shadow dwells in every Engoi,

although the flesh which holds it changes from generation to

generation. There is a legend that she is an angel who sinned and

fell from heaven.”

“What is the legend and how did she sin?”

A cunning look came over the face of Kaneke as he answered:

“The priests’ tale runs, Lord, that an Engoi of long ago loved a

white man and that when he was forbidden to her, she killed him to

take him to heaven with her. Therefore she must return to the

world again and again till she finds that white man” (here he

glanced at me) “and makes amends to him for her crime. She is

looking for him now, and the Stars declare that the time is at hand

when she will find him again.”

“Do they really?” I remarked. “Well, I hope she won’t be

disappointed,” I added, reflecting to myself that Kaneke was a

first-class imaginative liar, for though the idea of the sinful

spirit returning to inhabit mortal flesh is as old as the world,

his adaptation of it was ingenious.

What, I wondered, as I walked away, did that specious but false-hearted ruffian Kaneke want to get out of me? Whatever his object,

certainly the man could not be trusted. According to his own

account he was a fugitive outcast who had committed murder, one

also who for his personal advantage pretended to profess a faith in

which he admitted that he had no belief, showing thereby that he

was of a traitorous and contemptible character. So sure was I of

this, that but for one thing I would have put an end to my

acquaintance with him then and there. He knew the way to Lake Mone

and declared that it was his country. And I—well, I burned to

find out the truth about this holy lake and the mysterious

priestess who dwelt in the midst of its waters, she, without doubt,

of whom Brother Ambrose had written to me so many years ago.

CHAPTER II

ALLAN’S BUSINESS INSTINCTS

I went to my camp, which was situated upon the outskirts of

Kaneke’s village in a deserted garden where bananas, oranges,

papaws, and other semi-tropical products fought for existence in a

neglected confusion, working out the problem of the survival of the

fittest. Here I found Hans the Hottentot, who had been my servant

and in his own way friend from my youth up, as he was that of my

father before me. He was seated in front of the palm-leaf shelter

watching a pot upon the fire made of mealie-cobs from which the

corn had been stripped, looking very hot and cross.

“So you have come at last, Baas,” he said volubly. “An hour ago

that coast cook-boy, Aru, went off, leaving me to watch this stew

which he said must be kept upon the simmer, neither boiling nor

going cold, or it would be spoiled. He swore that he was going to

pray to Allah, for he is a Prophet-worshipper, Baas. But I know

what his prophet is like, for I found him kissing her last night;

great fat girl with a mouth as wide as that plate and a bold eye

that frightens me, Baas, who have always been timid of women.”

“Have you?” I said. “Then I wish you would be timid of other

things too, gin-bottles, for instance.”

“Ah, Baas, a gin-bottle, I mean one that is full, is better than a

woman, for of a gin-bottle you know the worst. You swallow the

gin, you get drunk and it is very sad, and next morning your head

aches and you think of all the sins you ever did. Yes, Baas, and

if the gin was at all bad, their number is endless, and their

colour so black that you feel that they can never be forgiven,

however hard your reverend father, the Predikant, may pray for you

up there. But, Baas, as the morning goes on, especially if you

have the sense to drink a pint of milk and the luck to get it, and

the sun shines, you grow better. Your sins roll away, you feel, or

at least I do, that the prayers of your reverend father may have

prevailed there in the Place of Fires, and that the slip is

overlooked because Life’s road is so full of greasy mud, Baas, that

few can travel it without sometimes sitting down to think. Now

with women, as the Baas knows better perhaps than anyone, the

matter is not so simple. You can’t wash HER away with a pint of

milk and a little sunshine, Baas. She is always waiting round the

corner; yes, even if she is dead—in your mind you know, Baas.”

“Be silent, Hans,” I said, “and give me my supper.”

“Yes, Baas; that is what I am trying to do, Baas, but something has

gone wrong after all, for the stuff is sticking to the pot and I

can’t get it out even with this iron spoon. I think that if the

Baas would not mind taking the pot and helping himself, it would be

much easier,” and he thrust that blackened article towards me.

“Hans,” I said, “if this place were not Mahommedan where there is

no liquor, I should think that you had been drinking.”

“Baas, if you believe that Prophet-worshippers do not drink, your

head is even softer than I imagined. It is true that they have no

gin here, at least at present, because they have finished the last

lot and cannot get any more till the traders come. But they make a

kind of wine of their own out of palm trees which answers quite

well if you can swallow enough of it without being sick, which I am

sorry to say I can’t, Baas, and therefore this afternoon I have

only had two pannikins full. If the Baas would like to try some—”

Here I lifted the first thing that came to hand—it was a three-legged stool—and hurled it at Hans, who slipped cleverly round the

corner of the hut, probably because he was expecting its advent.

A while later, after I had tackled the stew—which had stuck to the

pot—with unsatisfactory results, and lit my pipe, he returned to

clear up, in such a chastened frame of mind that I gathered the

palm-wine—well, let that be.

“What has the Baas been doing all the afternoon in this dull

place?” he asked humbly, watching me with a furtive eye, for there

was another stool within reach, also the pot. “Talking to that

giant rainmaker, who looks like an owl in sunlight—I mean Kaneke—

or perhaps to one of his wives; she who is so pretty,” he added,

by an after-thought.

“Yes,” I said, “I have—to Kaneke, I mean, not to the wife, whom I

do not know; indeed, I never heard that he had any wives.”

Then I added suddenly, for now that he had recovered from the palm-wine I wished to surprise the truth out of his keen mind:

“What do you think of Kaneke, Hans?”

Hans twiddled his dirty hat and fixed his little yellow eyes upon

the evening sky, then he took the pot and, finding a remaining leg

of fowl, ate it reflectively, after which he produced his corn-cob

pipe and asked me for some tobacco. This, by the way, I was glad

to see, for when Hans could smoke I knew that he was quite sober.

These preliminaries finished, he remarked.

“As to what was it that the Baas wished me to instruct him? Oh, I

remember. About that big village headman, Kaneke. Well, Baas, I

have made inquiries concerning him from his wife, who says she is

jealous of him and therefore in a mood to speak the truth. First

of all he is a great liar, Baas, though that is nothing for all

these people are liars—not like me and you, Baas, who often speak

the truth, or at least I do.”

“Stop fooling, and answer my question,” I said.

“Yes, Baas. Well, I said that he was a liar, did I not? For

instance, I dare say he has told the Baas a fine tale about how he

came to settle here, by killing the head of the slave-gang, after

which all the other slavers acknowledged him as their chief. The

truth is that he and the other slaves murdered the lot of them

because he said he was a good Mahommedan and could not bear to see

them drinking gin against the law, which for my part I think was

clever of him. They surprised them in their sleep, Baas, and

dragged them to the top of that cliff over the stream, where they

threw them one by one into the water, except two who had beaten

Kaneke. These he flogged to death, which I dare say they deserved.

After this the people here, who hated the slavers because they

robbed them, made Kaneke their chief because he was such a holy man

who could not bear to see followers of the Prophet drink gin, also

because they were afraid lest he should throw them over the cliff

too. That is why he must be so strict about his prayers, because,

you see, he must keep his fame for holiness and show that he is as

good as he wishes others to be.”

Hans stopped to relight his pipe with an ember, and I asked him

impatiently if he had any more to say.

“Yes, Baas, lots. This Kaneke is not one man, he is two. The

first Kaneke is a tyrant, one full of plots who would like to rule

the world, a lover of liquor too, which he drinks in secret;

fierce, cunning, cruel. The second Kaneke is one who dreams, who

hears voices and sees things in the sky, who follows after visions,

a true witch-doctor, a man who would seek what is afar, but who,

living in this soft place, is like a lion in a cage. His mother

must have made a mistake, and instead of bearing twins, got two

spirits into one body where they must fight together till he dies.”

“I dare say. Many men have two spirits in one body. Is that all,

Hans?”

“Yes—that is, no, Baas. You know this Kaneke brought you here,

don’t you, Baas, and that all those troubles which we met with, so

that we could not go the road we wanted because that tribe sent to

say they would kill us if we did, were made by him so that you

might come to his village.”

“I know nothing of the sort.”

“Well, it was so, Baas. The jealous woman told me all about it.”

“Why? What for? There is no big game here that I can shoot, and I

am not rich to give him presents. Indeed, he has asked for nothing

and feeds us without payment.”

“I am not sure, Baas, but I think that he wishes you to go

somewhere with him; that the lion wants to come out of the cage and

to kill for himself, instead of living on dead meat of which he is

tired. Has he spoken to you about that holy lake of which we have

heard, Baas? If not, I think he will.”

“Yes, Hans. It seems that it is in his country where he was born

and that he had an adventure there in his youth, because of which

his people drove him away.”

“Just so, Baas, and presently you will find that he desires to go

back to his country and have more adventures or to pay off old

scores, or both. Do you wish to go with him, Baas?”

“Do you, Hans?”

“I think not, Baas. This Kaneke is a spook man, and I am afraid of

spooks who always make me feel cold down the back.”

Here Hans stared at the sky again, then added:

“And yet, Baas, I’d rather go to the lake or anywhere than stop in

this place where there is nothing to do and the palm-wine makes one

sick, especially as after all, a good Christian like Hans has

nothing to fear from spooks, whom he can tell to go to hell, as

your reverend father did, Baas. Lastly, as your reverend father

used to say, too, when he stood in the box in a nightshirt, it

doesn’t matter what I wish to do, or what you wish to do, since we

shall go where we must, yes, where it pleases the Great One in the

sky to send us, Baas, even if He uses Kaneke to drag us there by

the hair of the head. And now, Baas, I must wash up those things

before it gets dark, after which I have to meet that jealous wife

of Kaneke’s yonder in a quiet place, and learn a little more from

her, for as you know, Baas, Hans is always a seeker after wisdom.”

“Mind that you don’t find folly,” I remarked sententiously. Then

remembering my promise and noting that the evening star was showing

brightly in the quiet sky, I rose and went through the gate of the

town, for my camp was outside the fence of prickly pears which was

planted round the palisade, thinking as I walked that in his

ridiculous way Hans had spoken a great truth. It was useless to

bother about plans, seeing that we should go where it was fated

that we should go, and nowhere else. Doubtless man has free will,

but the path of circumstance upon which he is called to exercise it

is but narrow.

At the gate I found a white-robed man waiting to guide me to

Kaneke’s abode, “to keep off the dogs and see that I did not step

upon a thorn”, as he said.

So I was conducted through the village, a tidy place in its way, to

the north end, where outside the fence was that cliff with a

stream, now nearly dry, running at the bottom of it over which Hans

said Kaneke had thrown the slave-traders.

Round Kaneke’s house, that was square, thatched, and built of

whitewashed clay, was a strong palisade through which the only

entrance was by a double gate, for evidently this chief was one who

took no risks. At the inner gate my guide bowed and left me. As

he departed it was opened by Kaneke himself, who, I noted, made it

fast behind me with a bar and some kind of primitive lock. Then he

bowed before me in almost reverential fashion, saying:

“Enter, my lord Macumazahn, White Lord whose fame has travelled

far. Yes, whose fame has reached me even in this dead place where

no news comes.”

Now I looked at him, thinking to myself for the second time, “I do

wonder what it is you want to get out of me, my friend.” Then I

said:

“Has it indeed? That is very strange, seeing that I am no great

one, no Queen’s man who wears ribbons and bright stars, nor even

rich, but only a humble hunter who shoots and trades for his

living.”

“It is not at all strange, O Macumazahn. Do you not know that

every man of account has two values?—one his public value in the

marketplace, which may be much or little; and the other his

private value, which is written in all minds that have judgment.

Nor is it strange that I should be acquainted with this second and

higher value of yours that stands apart from wealth, or honours

cried by heralds. Have I not told you that I am one of the

fraternity of witch-doctors, and do you not know that throughout

Africa such doctors communicate with one another by curious and

secret ways? I say that before ever you set foot upon our shores I

knew that you were coming in a ship, also much concerning you.

Amongst others a certain Zikali who dwells in the land of the

Zulus, a chief of our brotherhood, sent me a message.”

“Oh, did he?” I said. “Well, Zikali’s ways are dark and strange,

so I can almost believe it. But, friend Kaneke, is it wise to talk

thus openly here? Doubtless you have women in your house, and

women’s ears are long.”

“Women,” he answered. “Do you suppose that I keep such trash about

me in my private place? Not so. Here my servants are men who are

sworn to me, and even these leave me at sundown, save for the guard

without my gates.”

“So you are a hermit, Kaneke.”

“At night I am a hermit, for then I commune with heaven. In the

day I am as other men are, better than some and worse than others.”

Now I bethought me of Hans’ definition of this strange fellow whom

he described as having two natures and not for the first time

marvelled at the little Hottentot’s acumen and deductive powers.

Kaneke led me across the courtyard of beaten polished earth to the

stoep or verandah of his house, which was more or less square in

shape, consisting apparently of two rooms that had doors and

windows after the Arab fashion, or rather window-places closed with

mats, for there was no glass. On this stoep were two chairs, large

string-seated chairs of ebony with high backs, such as are

sometimes still to be found upon the East Coast. The view from the

place was fine, for beneath at the foot of a precipice lay the

river bed, and beyond it stretched a great plain. When I was

seated Kaneke went into the house where a lamp was burning, and

returned with a bottle of brandy, two glasses, curious old glasses,

by the way, and an earthen vessel of water. At his invitation I

helped myself, moderately enough; then he did the same—not quite

so moderately.

“I thought that you were a Mahommedan,” I said, with an affectation

of mild surprise.

“Then, Macumazahn, you have a bad memory. Did I not tell you a few

hours ago that I am nothing of the sort. In the daytime out yonder

I worship the Prophet. Here at night, when I am alone, I worship,

not the Moslem crescent, but yonder star,” and he pointed to Venus

now shining brightly in the sky, lifted his glass, bowed as though

to her, and drank.

“You play a risky game,” I said.

“Not very,” he said, shrugging his shoulders. “There are few

zealots in this place, and I think no one who from time to time

will not drink a tot. Moreover, am I not a witch-doctor, and

although such arts are forbidden, have they not all consulted me

and are they not afraid of me?”

“I dare say, Kaneke, but the question is, are you not also afraid

of them?”

“Yes, Macumazahn, at times I am,” he answered frankly, “for even a

‘heaven-herd’” (he meant a rainmaker) “has a stomach, and some of

these Great Lake people understand poisons very well, especially

the women. You see, Macumazahn, I am a slave who has become a

master, and they do not forget it.”

“What do you want with me?” I asked suddenly.

“Your help, Lord. Although I am rich here, I wish to get out of

this place and to return to my own country.”

“Well, what is there to prevent you from doing so?”

“Much, Lord, without an excuse, as I told you before sundown.

Indeed, it is impossible. If I tried to go I should be murdered as

a traitor and a renegade. That is the tree of Truth; ask me not to

count the leaves upon it and tell you why or how they grow.”

“Good. I see your tree and that it is large. But what do you want

with me, Kaneke?”

“Lord, have I not told you that your repute has reached me and the

rest? Now I add something which you will not believe, but yet is

another tree of Truth. I am not all a cheat, Lord. Visions come

to me, as they did to my fathers; moreover, I have looked upon the

face of Engoi, and he who has seen the Engoi partakes of her

wisdom. Lord, in a vision, I have been warned to seek your help.”

“Is that why you blocked my road by raising that Lake tribe against

me, and otherwise, Kaneke, so that I was forced to come to your

town?”

“Yes, Lord, though I do not know who betrayed me to you. Some of

the women, perhaps, or that little yellow man of yours, who hears

in his sleep like a mere-cat—yes, even when he seems to be drunk—

and is quick as a snake at pairing-time. Because of the vision, I

did bring you here.”

“What do you want me to do?” I repeated, growing impatient. “I am

tired of talk. Out with it that I may hear and judge, Kaneke.”

He rose from his seat, and, stepping to the edge of the verandah,

stared at the evening star as though he sought an omen. Then he

returned and answered:

“You are a wanderer, athirst for knowledge, a seeker for new

things, Lord Macumazahn. You have heard of the holy hidden lake

called Mone, on which no white man has looked, and desire to solve

its mysteries, and what I have told you of it has whetted your

appetite. Without a guide you can never reach that lake. I, who

am of the people of its guardians, alone can guide you. Will you

take me with you on your journey?”

“Hold hard, my friend,” I said. “You are putting the tail of the

ox before the horns. I may wish to find that place, or I may not,

but it seems that you MUST find it, I don’t know why, and that you

cannot do so without me.”

“It is so,” he answered with something like a groan. “I will open

the doors of my heart to you. I must seek that lake, for those

upon whom the Shadow has fallen must follow the Shadow even though

its shape be changed; and it has come to me in a dream, thrice

repeated, that if I try to do so without your help, Lord, I shall

be killed. Therefore, I pray you, give me that help.”

Now my business instincts awoke, for though some do not think so, I

am really a very sharp business man, even hard at times, I fear.

“Look here, friend Kaneke,” I said, “I came to this country because

I have heard that beyond it is a land full of elephants and other

game, and you know I am a hunter by trade. I did not come to

search for a mysterious lake, though I should be glad enough to see

one if it lay in my path. So the point is this: if I were to

consent to undertake a journey which according to your own account

is most dangerous and difficult, I should require to be paid for

it. Yes, to be largely paid,” and I looked at him as fiercely as I

suppose a usurer does at a minor who requires a loan.

“I understand. Indeed, it is natural. Listen, Lord, I have a

hundred sovereigns in English gold that I have saved up coin by

coin. When we get to the lake they shall be yours.”

I sprang from my chair.

“A hundred sovereigns! When we get to the lake, which probably we

shall never do! Man, I see that you wish to insult me. Good

night, indeed good-bye, for tomorrow I leave this place,” and I

lifted my foot to step off the verandah.

“Lord,” he said, catching at my coat, “be not offended with your

slave. Everything I have is yours.”

“That’s better,” I said. “What have you?”

“Lord, I deal in ivory, of which I have a good store buried.”

“How much?”

“Lord, I think about a hundred bull-tusks, which I proposed to send

away at next new moon. If you would accept some of them—”

“Some?” I said. “You mean all of them, with the one hundred pounds

for immediate expenses.”

He rolled his eyes and sighed, then answered:

“Well, if it must be so, so be it. Tomorrow you shall see the

ivory.”

Next he went into the house and returned presently with a canvas

bag, of which he opened the mouth to show me that it was full of

gold.

“Take this on account, Lord,” he said.

Again my business instincts came to my help. Remembering that if I

touched a single coin I should be striking a bargain, whatever the

ivory might prove to be worth, I waved the bag away.

“When I have seen the tusks, we will talk,” I said; “not before.

And now good night.”

Next morning a messenger arrived, again inviting me to Kaneke’s

house.

I went, accompanied this time by Hans to whom I had explained the

situation, whereon that worthy gave me some excellent advice.

“Be stiff, Baas,” he said; “be very stiff, and get everything you

can. It is unfortunate that you do not sell women like these

Arabs, for this Kaneke has a nice lot of young girls whom he would

give you for the asking, were you not too good a Christian.

Listen, Baas, I have learned that you can’t ask too much, for

yonder Kaneke must get out of this place, and soon, if he wants to

go on living. I am sure of it, and without your help he is afraid

to move.”

“Cease your foolish talk,” I answered, though in my heart I had

come to the same conclusion.

On reaching the house, as before the gate was opened by Kaneke, who

looked rather doubtfully at Hans, but said nothing. Within, for

the most part arranged against the fence, was the ivory. My eyes

gleamed at the sight of it, for it was a splendid lot though in

some cases rather black with age as if it had been hidden away for

a long time, and among it were three or four tusks as large as any

that I ever shot. Hans, who was a fine judge of ivory, went over

it piece by piece, which took a long time. I made a calculation of

its value and from market rates then prevailing, allowing twenty-five per cent for transport and other costs, I reckoned that it was

worth at least Ł700, and Hans, I found, put it somewhat higher.

Then we bargained for a long time, and in the end came to the

following agreement, which I reduced to writing: I undertook to

accompany Kaneke to his own country of the Dabanda tribe, unless,

indeed, sickness or disaster of any sort made this impossible,

after which I was to be at liberty to return or to go where I

would. He, on his part, was to pay me the ivory as a fee, also to

deliver it free to my agent at Zanzibar, a man whom I trusted, who

was to sell it to the best advantage and to remit the proceeds to

my bank at Durban.

Further, the bag which proved to contain one hundred and three

sovereigns was handed over to me. At this I rejoiced at the time,

though afterwards I regretted it, for what is the use of dragging

about gold in wild places where it has no value? Kaneke undertook

also to guide me to his country, to arrange that I should be

welcome there and generally to protect me in every way in his

power.

Such, roughly, was our contract which I concluded with secret

exultation while that ivory was before my eyes. I signed it in my

large, bold handwriting; Kaneke signed it in crabbed Arabic

characters of which he had acquired some knowledge; and Hans signed

it as a witness with a mark, or rather a blot, for in making it he

split the pen. Thus all was finished and I went away exultant, as

I have said, promising to return in the afternoon to make

arrangements about the despatch of the ivory and as to our journey.

“Hans,” I said, for there was no one else to talk to, “I did that

business very well, did I not? Take a lesson from me and learn

always to strike when the iron is hot. Tomorrow Kaneke might have

changed his mind and offered much less.”

“Yes, Baas, very well indeed, though sometimes if the iron is too

hot the sparks blind one, Baas. Only I think that tomorrow Kaneke

would have offered you double, for I know that he has much more

ivory buried. If you had taken a lesson from ME, you would have

waited, Baas. Did I not tell you that he MUST get out of this

place and would pay all he had for your help?”

“At any rate, Hans,” I replied, somewhat staggered, “the pay is

good, as much as I could ask.”

“That depends upon what price the Baas puts upon his life,” said

Hans reflectively. “For my part I do not see that all the tusks of

all the elephants in the world are of any use when one is dead, for

they won’t even make a coffin, Baas.”

“What do you mean?” I asked angrily.

“Oh, nothing, Baas, except that I believe that we shall both be

dead long before this business is finished. Also have you thought,

Baas, that probably this ivory will never get to the coast at all?

Because you see Kaneke, who, I think, is also good at business,

will arrange for it to be stolen on the road and returned to him

later, just as you or I would have done, Baas, had we been in his

place. However, the Baas has the hundred sovereigns which no doubt

will be very useful to eat when we are starving in some wilderness,

or as a bribe to Kaneke’s fetish, whatever it may be. Or—”

Here, unable to bear any more, I turned upon Hans with intent to do

him personal injury, whereon he bolted, grinning, leaving me to

wait upon myself at dinner. It was not a cheerful meal, for, as I

reflected, the little wretch was probably right. To secure very

doubtful advantages I had to let myself in for unknown difficulties

and dangers, in company with a native of whom I knew little or

nothing, except that he was an odd fish, and whose servant I had

practically become in consideration for value received. For even

if I never saw that ivory again, or its proceeds, there were the

hundred sovereigns weighing down my pocket—and my conscience—like

a lump of lead.

Most heartily did I wish that I had never touched the business. I

thought of sending back the gold to Kaneke by Hans, but for various

reasons dismissed the idea. Of these the chief was that probably

it would never reach him, not because Hans was dishonest where

money was concerned, but for the reason that it would go against

what he called HIS conscience, to return anything to a person of

the sort from whom it had been extracted. He might bury it; he

might even give it to that jealous wife from whom he acquired so

much backstair information; but Kaneke, I was sure, would never see

its colour unless I took it myself, which I was too proud to do.

Then suddenly my mood changed, transformed, perhaps, by some semi-spiritual influence, or as is more likely, by that of a good meal,

for it is a humiliating fact that our outlook upon life and its

affairs depends largely upon our stomach. What a rabbit of a man

was I that I should be scared from a great project by the idle

chatter and prognostications of Hans, uttered probably to exercise

his mischievous mind at my expense. If I were, and on that account

turned my face towards the coast again, Hans, who loved adventure

even more than I do, would be the first to reproach me, not openly,

but by means of the casual arrows of his barbed wit. Moreover, it

was useless to run away from anything, for as he himself had said

but yesterday, we must go where Fate drives us. Well, Fate had

driven me to pocket Kaneke’s sovereigns and a kind of note of hand

in ivory, so there was an end of the matter. I would start for the

home of the Dabanda people, and for the unvisited shores of the

Lake Mone, and if I never got there, what did it matter? All our

journeyings must end some day, be it next month, or next year, or a

decade hence.

I sent for Hans, who came looking pious and aggrieved, perhaps the

most aggravating of his many moods.

“Hans,” I said, “I have made up my mind to go with Kaneke to the

Dabanda country, and if you try to prevent me any more, I shall be

angry with you and send you down to the coast with the ivory.”

“Yes, Baas,” he answered in a meek voice. “The Baas could scarcely

do less, could he, after taking that fellow’s money, which no doubt

he made by selling girls; that is, unless he wished to be called a

thief. Moreover, I never tried to stop the Baas. Why should I

when I shall be glad to go anywhere out of this place, where, to

tell the truth, that jealous little wife of Kaneke who tells me so

much, is beginning to think me too handsome and to roll her eyes

and to press her hand upon her middle whenever she sees me, which

makes me feel ill, Baas.”

“You mean you make her feel ill, you little humbug,” I suggested.

“No, Baas. I wish it were so, for then I could think better of

her. For the rest, Baas, if I pointed out the dangers of this

journey, it was not for my own self, but only because the Baas’s

reverend father left him in my charge and therefore I must do my

best to guide him when I see him going astray.”

At this I jumped up and Hans went on in a hurry.

“The Baas will not send me away to the coast with the ivory as he

threatened to do, will he? He knows that in one way I am weak and

perhaps if I was separated from him, grief might cause me to drink

too much of that palm-wine and make myself ill.” Then, reading in

my face that I had no such intention, Hans took my hand, kissed it,

and departed.

At the corner of the cook-house he turned and said:

“The Baas has made his will, has he not? So I need only remind him

that if he wishes to write any good-bye-we-shall-meet-in-heaven

letters, he had better do so at once, so that they can be sent down

to the coast with the ivory.”

CHAPTER III

THE TRIAL OF KANEKE

I will pass over all the details concerning the dispatch of the

ivory on its long road to Zanzibar and our other preparations for

departure. Suffice it to say that the stuff went off all right on

the shoulders of porters, together with a lot more, for Hans

guessed well when he said that Kaneke had plenty of other tusks

hidden away, although he declared that these belonged to someone

else. What is more, here I will state that, strange as it may

seem, in due course the ivory reached Zanzibar in safety and was

delivered to my agent, who sold it according to instructions and,

minus his commission, remitted the proceeds, which were more than I

had expected, to my bank in Durban. So in this matter Kaneke dealt

honestly.

What happened to the remainder of the ivory, which I presume to

have been his, I do not know, nor can it have interested him, as he

never returned to receive its price. Nor do I know what other

goods went with that caravan which was led by Arabs, for I was

careful not to inquire.

Notwithstanding the insinuations of Hans, I saw no girl slaves, and

imagine them to have been apocryphal. Indeed, I believe that what

Kaneke really dealt in was guns and powder. Once a year a caravan

came up from Zanzibar laden with these and other goods, such as

cloth, calico, and beads, returning with the ivory that Kaneke had

collected in the interval. The money which he made on these

transactions was large and kept in an English bank at Zanzibar, as

I learned in after years. I wonder what became of it.

Well, the string of porters, headed by Arabs mounted upon donkeys,

departed and were no more seen. We, too, prepared to depart. Here

I should explain that my following was limited. I had with me two

gun-bearers, skilled hunters both of them, who had been strongly

recommended to me in Zanzibar and who, having learned my repute as

a professional big-game shot, which had followed me from the South,

were very glad to enter my service. One of these men was, it

appeared, an Abyssinian by birth with a name so unpronounceable

that I christened him Tom, though the natives called him “Little

Holes”, because his face was marked with small-pox.

The other was born of a Somali woman and an Arab, or perhaps a

European father. To tell the truth he was remarkably British in

his appearance with a round, open face and almost straight, reddish

hair, although of course—except in certain lights—his skin was

dark. His name, he informed me proudly, speaking in excellent

English, for he had been educated at one of the first Mission

schools and served as gun-bearer to several English sportsmen, was

Jeremiah Jackson. Who his father might have been he had no idea,

and as his mother died before he was five, she had never told him.

This man I called Jerry, because of the natural association of the

name with that of Tom, for who has not heard of Tom and Jerry, the

typical “gay dogs” of the Georgian days of whom my father used to

tell me? Both of them were of about the same age, somewhere

between thirty and forty. Both were Christians of a sort, for Tom

belonged to the Abyssinian section of that faith, and both were

brave and competent men. Of the two Tom had the more dash, but

perhaps owing to a European strain of blood Jerry was the cooler

and the more dogged. Soon I became very friendly with them, but

Hans looked upon them suspiciously, at any rate at first, I think

because he was jealous.

These gun-bearers were well paid, according to the rate of that

day; still, as they had come with me to hunt elephants and not to

make long journeys of exploration, I thought it right to explain to

them my change of plans and to give them the opportunity of

returning to the coast with the ivory if they wished.

Tom said at once that he would go on with me to the end of the

journey, whatever it might be, for he was a born adventurer with

that touch of a mystic in him which I have observed to be not

uncommon among such Abyssinians as I have met. Jerry, more

cautious, began to talk about his wife, from whom it appeared he

was separated, and his little daughter who was at a Mission school,

which caused Hans, who was present, to make some sarcastic remark

about “family men”, who, he said, should stop at home and nurse the

babies. This caused Jerry to fire up and say that he would come

too and that Hans would see which of them wished to nurse babies

before all was done.

When the matter was settled I thanked them both and told them that

Kaneke had given me a hundred pounds in gold, a sum that, in view

of the dangers of the trip, I proposed to divide into three parts,

one for each of them and one for Hans. Now they thanked me warmly,

only Jerry remarked that he thought it probable he would never live

to earn his third, for which he was sorry as it would have been an

endowment for his little daughter.

“You are mistaken,” I said. “I propose to give you this money now,

trusting to the honour of you both to stick to me to the end, so

that if there is anyone in whom you put sufficient faith, among

those who are going to the coast with the ivory,”—for this was

before the caravan had started—“you can send it to your friends in

his charge.” They were much astonished and, I could see, touched,

swearing, both of them, Tom who was a Protestant by God, and Jerry

by the Virgin Mary, that they would never desert me, but would see

the business through to the end, whatever it might be. When they

had finished their protestations I turned to Hans, who all this

while had stood by twirling his hat with a superior smile upon his

ugly little face, and asked him if he did not thank me for his

share.

“No, Baas. I am not going to take the money, so why should I thank

you for nothing? I am not a hired man like these two hunters. I

am the Baas’s guardian appointed to look after him by his reverend

father, and when I want anything of the Baas, I take it as a

guardian has a right to do.”

Then as he marched off I called after him in Dutch, which the

others did not understand:

“You are a jealous, ill-conditioned little begger, and I shall keep

your share for myself.” This I did until eventually he drew it a

long while afterwards. I should add that besides Tom and Jerry I

had about twenty native bearers, who agreed, though very

doubtfully, to go on with me and carry the loads.

As the date fixed for our departure drew near, I observed that

Kaneke grew more and more nervous, though exactly of what he was

afraid I could not understand. He summoned a meeting of the

headmen of his village, at which I was present, and explained that

he proposed to accompany me upon an elephant-shooting trip whence

we should return in due course. This intimation was very ill

received, although he had added that they could elect one of their

number to act as father of the village during his absence. They

said that the time was coming when they expected him to pray for

rain, and if he were not there to do so they would get none.

Here I should explain that the religion of these people was a

strange mixture between that of Mahomet and the superstitions of

the East Coast savages. Indeed a man called Gaika, a truculent,

fierce-eyed fellow, not quite an Arab, for he had a dash of negroid

blood, leapt up and denounced him venomously, ostensibly because of

this proposed journey.

Kaneke, to my astonishment, remained very meek and calm, saying

that he would think the matter over and speak with them again,

after which the meeting broke up.

“What is at the back of all this?” I asked of Hans, who had been

present with me, when we were in our camp again.

“The Baas is very blind,” he said. “Does he not see that this

Gaika wishes to kill Kaneke and take his place?”

I pointed out that if it were so he ought to be glad to get rid of

him out of the town.

“Not so,” answered Hans, “for they think he is really going to

gather men from other tribes where his name as a witch-doctor is

great, with whom he will return and put them all to death. Baas,”

he added in a whisper, “they have a plan to kill Kaneke, whom they

both hate and fear, but they are not quite ready with their plan,

which is why they do not want him to go away.”

“How do you know all this—through that woman?” I asked.

Hans nodded.

“Some of it, Baas. The rest I picked up here and there when I

seemed to be asleep, or when I am asking that old fellow who is

called a Mullah to teach me the religion of Mahomet, which he

thinks I am going to adopt. Yet, Baas, I sit in that mosque-hut of

his listening to his nonsense and telling him that my soul is

growing oh! so happy, and all the while I keep my ears open and

pick up lots of things. For they think me very wise, Baas, and

tell me plenty which they would not trust to you.”

I looked at Hans with disgust, mixed with admiration, reflecting

that without doubt he had got the hang of the business. But I said

no more, for that place was a nest of spies.

That afternoon I had sent our porters on to a certain spot about

three miles away, together with the loads. This I did because I

was afraid lest they should be corrupted and the goods stolen. So

now only Hans, Tom, and Jerry remained with me in the town.

Next morning Hans brought me my coffee as usual and said in a

casual fashion:

“Baas, there is trouble. Kaneke was seized while he was asleep

last night. They broke into his house and tied him with ropes. It

seems that yesterday afternoon he had a quarrel with one of them

and killed him with a blow of his fist, or with a stone that he

held in his hand, for he is strong as an ox.”

I whistled and asked what was going to happen.

“They are going to try him for murder this morning, Baas, according

to their law, and they have sent to ask if you will be present at

the trial. What shall I say, Baas?”

At first I was inclined to answer that I would have nothing to do

with the business, but on reflection I remembered that if I did so

it would be set down to fear; also that I had taken Kaneke’s ivory

and gold and that it would be mean to desert him in his trouble.

So I sent an answer to say I would attend the trial with my

servants.

At the appointed hour we went accordingly, armed, all four of us,

and at the gate of the town were informed that the trial was to

take place at the Tree of Council, which, it will be remembered,

stood outside the village. So thither we marched and on arrival

found all the population of the place, numbering perhaps three or

four hundred people, assembled around the tree but outside of its

shadow. In that shadow sat about a dozen white-robed men, elders,

I suppose, whom I took to be the judges, some of them on the ground

and some on stools.

As we advanced through the crowd towards them they stared

doubtfully at our rifles, but in the end I was given a seat on the

right of the Court, if so it may be called, but at a little

distance, while my three retainers stood behind me. We were not

spoken to, nor did we speak. Presently the crowd parted, leaving

an open lane up which marched Kaneke with his hands bound behind

his back, guarded by six men armed with spears. I noted that all

looked upon him coldly as he went by. To judge by their faces he

had not a friend among them.

Finally he was placed in such a position that he had the judges,

who sat with their backs to the trunk of the tree, in front of him,

with myself on his right, and the audience on his left. There he

stood quietly, a fine and striking figure notwithstanding his

bonds, taller by a head than any of that company. Somehow he

reminded me of Samson bound and being led in to be mocked by the

Philistines, so much so that I wondered where Delilah might be.

Then I remembered Hans’ tale of the jealous wife and thought that I

knew—which I didn’t. He rolled his big eyes about him, taking in

everything. Presently they fell upon me, to whom he bowed. Of his

judges he took no notice at all, or, for the matter of that, of the

people either.

The “Mullah man”, as Hans called the priest, opened the proceedings

with some kind of prayer and many genuflexions. Then Gaika, who

appeared to act as Attorney General and Chief Justice rolled into

one, set out the case at considerable length and with much venom.

He narrated that Kaneke was a slave belonging to some strange

people, who by murder many years before, and cunning, had acquired

authority over them. Then he proceeded to detail all his crimes as

a ruler which, if he could be believed, were black indeed. Among

them were cruelty, oppression, theft, robbery of women, and I know

not what besides.

These were followed by a string of offences of another class:

necromancy which was against the law of the Prophet, bewitchments,

raising of spirits, breaches of the law of Ramadan, betrayal of the

Faith by one who was its secret enemy, worship of strange gods or

devils, drinking of spirituous liquors, plottings with their

enemies against the people, midnight sacrifice of lambs and infants

to the stars, and so forth. Lastly came the immediate charge, that

of the murder of an elder on the previous day. For all of these

crimes Gaika declared the slave and usurper Kaneke to be worthy of

death.

Having settled his hash in this fashion, he sat down and called

upon the prisoner to plead.

Kaneke answered in a resonant voice that struck me, and I think all

present, as powerful and impressive.

“To what purpose is it that I should plead,” he said, “seeing that

my chief judge and enemy has already declared me guilty of more

crimes than anyone could commit if he lived for a hundred years?

Still, letting the rest be, I will say that I am guilty of one

thing, namely of killing a man yesterday in a quarrel, in order to

prevent him from stabbing me, though it is true that I did not mean

to kill him, but only to fell him to the ground; so that it was

Allah who killed him, not I. Now I will tell you, O people, why I

am put upon my trial here before you, I who have lifted you up from

nothingness into a state of wealth and power.

“It is that yonder Gaika may take my place as your headman. Good.

He is welcome to my place. Know that I weary of ruling over you

and protecting you. What more need I say? It is enough. For a

long while you have plotted to kill me. Now let me go my way, and

go you yours.”

“It is not enough,” shouted Gaika. “You, O Kaneke, say that you

would accompany the white hunter, Macumazahn yonder, to shoot

elephants. It is a lie. You go to raise against us the tribes to

the north who have a quarrel with us from our father’s time, saying

that these seized their young people and sold them as slaves. We

know that it is your plan and it is for that reason that for years

we have never allowed you to leave our town. Nor shall you leave

it now. Nay, you shall stay here for ever while your spirit dwells

in hell, where wizards go.”

He ceased, and from the audience rose a murmur of applause.

Whatever his good qualities might be—if he had any—evidently

Kaneke was not popular among his flock. As the prisoner made no

answer, Gaika went on, addressing the other judges thus:

“My brothers, you have heard. To call witnesses is needless, since

some of you saw this Kaneke murder our brother yesterday. Is he

guilty of this and other crimes?”

“He is guilty,” they answered, speaking all together.

“Then what should be his punishment?”

“Death,” they answered, again speaking all together, while the

audience echoed the word “Death”.

“Kaneke,” shouted Gaika in triumph, “you are doomed to die. Not

one among these hundreds asks for mercy on you; no, not even the

women. Nor have you any children to plead for you, since

doubtless, being a magician, you slew them unborn lest they should

grow up to kill you. Yet according to the law it is not lawful

that you should be despatched at once. Therefore we send you back

to your own house under guard, that there you may pray to Allah and

His Prophet for forgiveness of your sins. Tomorrow at the dawn you

shall be brought back here and beaten to death with clubs, that we

may not shed your blood. Have you heard and do you understand?”

Then at length Kaneke spoke again. Showing no fear, he spoke

quietly, almost indifferently, yet in so clear a voice that none

could miss a word, saying in the midst of a deep silence:

“O Gaika, son of a dog, and all the rest of you, sons and daughters

of dogs, I hear and I understand. So tomorrow you would beat me to

death with clubs. It may happen or it may not, but if I know I

shall not tell you. Still, listen to the last wisdom that you

shall hear from my lips. You are right when you say that I am a

magician. It is so, and as such I have foreknowledge of the

future. I call down a curse on you all. Let Allah defend you if

he can, and will, and Mahomet make prayer for you. This is the

curse: a great sickness shall fall on you; I think it will begin

tonight. I think that some who are already sick are seated

yonder,” and he nodded towards the crowd, “although they know it

not. Yes, they began to be sick a minute ago, when the words of

cursing left my lips” (here there was a sensation among the

audience, every one of them staring at his neighbour). “Most of

you will die of this sickness because after I am gone there will be

none to doctor you. The rest will flee away. They will scatter

like goats without a herd. They will be taken by those whose sons

and daughters you used to steal, and become slaves and die as

slaves.”

Then he turned towards me and added, “Farewell, Lord Macumazahn.

If it is fated that in flesh I cannot guide you on your journey to

the place whither you would go, yet fear not, for my spirit will

guide you and when you are come there safely, then give a message

from me to one of whom I have spoken to you, which message shall be

delivered to you, perhaps in the night hours when you are asleep.

I do not ask you to lift your gun and shoot this rogue,” and he

nodded towards Gaika, “because you are but one and would be

overwhelmed with your servants. Nay, I only ask you to hearken to

the message when it comes and to do what it bids you.”

Not knowing what to say I made no answer to this peculiar appeal,

although Hans, to judge by his mumblings and fidgets, appeared to

wish me to say something. As I still declined, with his usual

impertinence he took it upon himself to act as my spokesmen, saying

in his debased Arabic:

“The great lord, my master, bids me inform you, Kaneke, that he is

sorry you are going to be killed. He tells me to say also that, if

you are killed and become a spook, he begs that you will keep away

from him, as spooks, especially of those who are magicians and have

been put to death for their evil deeds, are not nice company for

anyone.”

When I heard this, indignation took away my breath, but before I

could speak a word Gaika addressed me fiercely, crying out:

“White Wanderer, we believe that you are in league with this evil-doer and plot mischief against us. Get out of our town at once,

lest you share his fate.”

Now this unprovoked assault made me furious, and I answered in the

first words that came to my tongue:

“Who are you that tell lies and dare to talk to me of Fate? Let my

fate be, fellow, and have a care for your own, which perhaps is

nearer than you think.”

Little did I guess when I spoke thus, at hazard as it seemed, that

very soon doom would overtake this ruffian, and by my hand. Are we

sometimes filled with the spirit of prophecy, I wonder? Or do we,

perhaps, know everything on our inmost souls whence now and again

bursts a rush of buried truth?

After this the company broke up in confusion. Kaneke was hustled

away by his guards; men who waved their spears in a threatening

fashion advanced upon us and were so insolent that at last I looked

round and lifted the rifle I carried—I remember that it was one of

the first Winchester repeaters of a sort that carried five

cartridges. Thereon they fell back and we were allowed to regain

our huts in peace.

I did not stop there long. Nearly all our gear had been sent

forward with the bearers; indeed, no more of it remained than the

four of us could carry ourselves, although the arrangement was that

some of Kaneke’s men should do us this service on the morrow. As

this was now out of the question we loaded ourselves, also a donkey

that I possessed, with blankets, guns, cooking-pots, ammunition,

and I know not what besides, and started, I riding on the donkey

and looking, as I have since reflected, like the White Knight in

Alice in Wonderland.

Then, keeping clear of the town, we trekked for the place where our

bearers were encamped, reaching it unmolested about an hour later.

This spot, chosen by myself, was on the lowest slope of a steep

hill covered with thorn trees, through which ran a little stream

from a spring higher up the slope. The first thing I did was to

cut down a number of these thorns and drag them together into a

fence, making what is called a boma in that part of Africa, behind

which we could protect ourselves if necessary. By the time that

this was done and my tent was pitched, it was late in the

afternoon. Feeling tired, more, I think, from anxiety than

exertion, I lay down and after musing for a while upon the fate of

the unfortunate Kaneke and wishing, much as I disliked the man,

that I could save him from a doom I believed to be unjust, which

seemed impossible, I fell asleep, as I can do at any time. In my

sleep a curious dream came to me, which after all was not

wonderful, seeing how my mind was occupied.

I dreamed that Kaneke spoke to me, though I could not see him, but

distinctly I heard, or seemed to hear, his voice saying:

“Follow the woman. Do what the woman tells you, and you will save

me.”

Twice I heard this, and then I do not know how long afterwards, I

woke up, or rather was awakened by Hans setting some food upon the

camp table near the tent. On going out I saw that it was night,

for the full moon was just rising and already giving so clear a

light in a cloudless sky, that I could see to eat without the aid

of a lamp.

“Hans,” I said presently, “what did Kaneke mean when he talked of a

great sickness that was about to smite the town?”

“The Baas observes little,” answered Hans. “Did he notice nothing

among the people of that caravan which took away the ivory?”

“Yes, I noticed that they were a dirty lot and smelt so much that I

kept clear of them.”

“If the Baas had come a little closer, he would have seen that two

or three of them had pimples coming all over their faces.”

“Small-pox?” I suggested.

“Yes, Baas, small-pox, for I have seen it before. Also, they had

been mixing with the people of the town who have not had small-pox

for many years, for Kaneke kept it away by his charms, or stopped

it when it broke out. Baas, this time he did not keep it away, and

quite a number of the townspeople, as I heard this morning, are

feeling bad, with sore throats and headaches, Baas. Kaneke knew

all this as well as I do and that is why he talked about a

pestilence. It is easy to prophesy when one knows, Baas.”

“Is it easy to send dreams, Hans?” I asked; then before he could

answer I told him of the words I had seemed to hear in my sleep.

For a moment I caught sight of a look of astonishment upon Hans’

wrinkled and impassive countenance. Then he answered in an

unconcerned fashion:

“I dare say, Baas, if one knows how. Or perhaps Kaneke sent no

dream. Perhaps the Baas heard me and the woman talking together,

for she is here and waiting to see the Baas after he has eaten.”

CHAPTER IV

WHITE-MOUSE

“A woman!” I said, springing up. “What woman?”

“Kaneke’s jealous wife who likes me so much, she whom they call

White-Mouse because she is so quick and silent, I suppose. She has

a plan to save that bull of a man, just as the dream said, or you

overheard.”

“Then she must be fond of him after all, Hans.”

“I suppose so, Baas. Or perhaps she thinks she will get him back

again now, because some other woman, of whom she is jealous, has

got small-pox, of which she hopes that she will die, or become very

ugly. At least that is her tale, Baas.”

“I will see her at once,” I said.

“Best eat your supper first, Baas; it is always wise to keep women

waiting a while, for that makes them think more of you.”

Knowing that Hans always had a reason for what he said, even when

he seemed to be talking the most arrant nonsense, I took his

advice.

When I had finished my food he led me to a patch of bush that grew

round a pool at the foot of the slope about two hundred yards from

the camp. We entered and presently from beneath a tree a little

woman glided out so silently that she might have been a ghost, and

stood still with the moonlight falling on her white robes. She

threw back a hood that covered her head, revealing her face, which

was refined and in its way very pretty; also so fair for an Arab

that I thought she must have European blood in her. She looked at

me a little while, searching my face with her dark, appealing eyes,

then suddenly threw herself on her knees, took my hand, and kissed

it.

“That will do,” I said, lifting her up. “What do you want with

me?”

“Lord,” she said in Arabic, speaking in a low, impassioned voice,

“I am that slave of Kaneke whom here they call White-Mouse, though

elsewhere I have another name. Although he has treated me badly,

for he who loves a Shadow cares for no woman, his spell is still

upon me. Therefore I would pray you to save him if you can.”

“Me!”

“Yes, Lord, you.” Then as I said nothing she went on quickly, “I

know that you white men do not work without pay, and I have nothing

to give you, except myself. I will be a good servant to you and

Kaneke will not mind. He has told me to go where I will.”

“Don’t be frightened, Baas,” whispered Hans into my ear in Dutch.

“When she says you—she must mean me.”

I hit him in the middle with the point of my elbow, which stopped

his breath. Then I said:

“Set out your plan, White-Mouse, if you have one. But please

understand that I do not want you as a servant.”

“Then you can drive me away, Lord, for if you do my will, your

slave I shall be till death. Only one thing do I ask, that you do

not give me to that little yellow monkey, or to either of your

hunters.”

“How well she acts!” grunted the unconquered Hans behind me.

“The plan, the plan,” I said.

“Lord, it is this: there is a path up the cliff on the crest of

which is the house of Kaneke, wherein he lies bound awaiting death

at the rising of the morrow’s sun. It is known to few; indeed only

to Kaneke and myself. I will lead you with your two hunters and

this yellow one up that path and into Kaneke’s house. There, if it

be needful, you can deal with those who guard him—there are but

three of them, for the rest watch without the fence—and get him

away down the cliff.”

“This is nonsense,” I said. “I examined that cliff when I visited

Kaneke. There is no fence upon its edge because it overhangs in

such a fashion that without long ropes, such as we have not got,

made fast above, it cannot be climbed or descended.”

“It seems to do so, Lord, but beneath its overhanging crest there

is a hole, which hole leads into a tunnel. This tunnel ends

beneath the pavement of Kaneke’s house just in front of where he

sits to watch the stars. Do you understand, Lord?”

I nodded, for I knew that she meant the stoep where Kaneke and I

had drunk brandy and water together.

“The pavement is solid,” I said. “How does one pass through it?”

“A block of the hard floor, which is made of lime and other things

so that it is like stone, can be moved from beneath. I have its

secret, Lord. That is all. Will you come with me now? The

beginning of the gorge is not very far from this place which, as

you know, by any other road is a long way from the town. Therefore

we need not start yet because I do not wish to reach the house

until two hours after midnight, when all men are asleep, except

those who watch the sick in the town, where a pestilence has broken

out, as Kaneke foretold, and these will take little heed if they

hear a noise.”

“No, I won’t,” I answered firmly. “This is a mad business. Why

should I give my life and those of my servants to try to save

Kaneke, whom I have only known for a week or two and who may be all

that his enemies say?”

She considered the point, then answered:

“Because he alone can guide you to that hidden place whither you

wish to go.”

“I don’t wish to go anywhere in particular,” I replied testily;

“unless it is back to Zanzibar.”

Again she considered, and said:

“Because you have taken Kaneke’s ivory and gold, Lord.”

At this I winced a little and then replied:

“I took the ivory and gold in payment for services to be rendered

to Kaneke, if he could accompany me upon a certain journey, and he

paid, asking nothing in return if he could not do so. Through no

fault of mine he is unable to come, and therefore the bargain is at

an end.”

“That is well said, Lord, in the white man’s merchant-fashion. Now

I have another reason to which I think any man will listen. You

should help Kaneke because I, your slave, who am a woman young and

fair, pray you to do so.”

“Ah! she is clever; she knows the Baas,” I heard Hans mutter

reflectively, words that hardened my heart and caused me to reply:

“Not for the sake of any woman in Africa, nor of all of them put

together, would I do what you ask, White-Mouse. Do you take me for

a madman?”

She laughed a little in a dreary fashion and answered:

“Indeed I do not, who see that it is I who am mad. Hearken, Lord:

like others I have heard tales of Macumazahn. I have heard that he

is generous and great-hearted; one who never goes back upon his

word, a staff to lean on in the hour of trouble, a man who does not

refuse the prayer of those in distress; brave too, and a lover of

adventure if a good cause may be served, a great one whom it

pleases to pretend to be small. All these things I have heard from

that yellow man, and others; yes, and from Kaneke himself, and

watching from afar, although you never knew I did so, I have judged

these stories to be true. Now I see that I am mistaken. This lord

Macumazahn is as are other white traders, neither better nor worse.

So it is finished. Unaided I am not able to save Kaneke, as by my

spirit I have sworn that I would. Therefore I pray your pardon,

Lord, who have put you to trouble, and here before your eyes will

end all, that I may go to make report of this business to those I

serve far away.”

While I stared at her, wondering what she meant, also how much

truth there was in all this mysterious tale, suddenly she drew a

knife from her girdle, and tearing open her robe, lifted it above

her bared breast. I sprang and seized her wrist.

“You must love this man very much!” I exclaimed, more, I think, to

myself than to her.

“You are mistaken, Lord,” she answered, with her strange little

laugh. “I do not love him; indeed I think I hate him who have

never found one whom I could love—as yet. Still, for a while he

is my master, also I have sworn to hold him safe by certain oaths

that may not be broken and—I keep my word, as I must do or perish

everlastingly.”

For a little while there was silence between us. Never can I

forget the strangeness of that scene. The patch of bush by the

edge of the pool, the little open space where the bright moonlight

fell, and standing full in that moonlight which shone upon the

whiteness of her rounded breast, this small, elfin-faced woman with

the dark eyes and curling hair, a knife in her raised right hand.

Then myself, much perplexed and agitated, rather a ridiculous

figure, as I suspect, clasping her wrist to prevent that knife from

falling; and in the background upon the edge of the shadow,

sardonic, his face alight with the age-old wisdom of the wild man

who had eaten of the tree of Knowledge, interested and yet

indifferent, hideous and yet lovable—the Hottentot, Hans. And the

look upon that beautiful woman’s face, for in its way it was

beautiful, or at any rate most attractive, the inscrutable look,

suggestive of secrets, of mysteries even—oh! I say I shall never

forget it all.

As we stood thus facing each other like people in a scene of a

play, a thought came to me, this thought—if that woman was

prepared to die because she had failed in an effort to save from

death the man whom she declared she hated (why was she prepared to

die and why did she hate him? I wondered), ought I not to try to

save her even at some personal risk to myself? Also if I could,

ought I not to help Kaneke, whose goods I had taken? Certainly it

was impossible to allow her to immolate herself in this fashion

before my eyes. I might take away her knife, but if I did she

could find a second; also there were many other roads to self-destruction by which she might travel.

“Give me that dagger,” I said, “and let us talk.”

She unclasped her hand and it fell to the ground. I set my foot

upon it and loosed her.

“Listen,” I went on. “I am minded to do what you wish if I can.”

“Yes, Lord, already I have read that in your face,” she replied,

smiling faintly.

“But, White-Mouse,” I continued, “I am not the only one concerned.

I cannot undertake this business alone. Others must risk their

lives as well. Hans here, for instance, and I suppose the two

hunters. I cannot lay any commands upon them in such a matter and

I do not know if they will come of their own will.”

She turned and looked at the Hottentot, a question in her eyes.

Hans fidgeted under her gaze, then he spat upon the ground and

said:

“If the Baas goes I think that the Baas will be a fool. Still,

where the Baas goes, there I must go also, not to pull Kaneke out

of a trap, but because I promised the Baas’s reverend father that I

would do so. As for those other men I cannot say. I think they

will answer, ‘No, thank you’, but if they reply, ‘Oh yes’, then I

believe that we should be better without them, because they are so

stupid and think so much about their souls that they would be sure

to grow frightened at the wrong time, or to make a noise and bring

us all to trouble. In a hole such as White-Mouse talks of, two men

are better than four. Also it would be wiser to send Tom and Jerry

on with the porters, for should we drag Kaneke out of this hole,

those Arabs will try to follow and drag him back, and the farther

off we are with the stores the safer we shall be. Porters go

slowly, so we can catch them up, Baas.”

“You hear,” I said to the woman. “What is your word?”

“This yellow one, whom I thought but a vain fool, is wise—for

once, Lord. What has to be done I cannot do alone, for there must

be some to deal with the guards and hold the mouth of the hole

while I cut Kaneke’s bonds. Yet for this business two will serve

as well as four; indeed better, for they can get back into the

tunnel more quickly. Therefore I say do as the yellow man says.

Order your hunters to march on with the porters and the stores as

long before the break of day as the men will move. If you escape

with Kaneke, you can run upon their spoor and join them much faster

than will the Arabs who must go round. Then if the Arabs overtake

you, they will be tired and you can beat them off with your guns.”

“And what will you do?” I asked curiously, for I noticed that she

left herself out of the plan.

“Oh! I do not know,” she answered, with another of her strange

smiles. “Lord, have I not said that I am your slave? Doubtless in

this fashion or in that I shall follow my master as a slave should,

or perhaps I shall go before him.”

Now I remembered that she had spoken of Kaneke as her “master”, and

presumed that she alluded to him, although in the hyperbole of her

people she spoke of herself as my slave. However, I did not pursue

the subject, which at the time interested me little, who had more

important matters to consider. Indeed, I set myself to extract

details from her which I need not enumerate, and to examine her

scheme of rescue.

When I had learned all I could, bidding the woman, White-Mouse, to

remain hidden, I went back to the camp with Hans and sent for Tom

and Jerry. In as careless a fashion as I could, I told them that

with Hans I must return towards the town to speak with a man who

had promised to meet me secretly upon a matter of importance. Then

I ordered them to rouse the porters two hours before dawn and to

march on with them towards a certain hill which we had all visited

together upon a little shooting-expedition I had made while we were

at Kaneke’s town, to kill duiker buck and pauw, as we called

bustards, for a change of food.

Although I could see that they were troubled, Tom and Jerry said

that they would obey my instructions and, that there should be no

mistake, fetched the headman of the porters, that I might repeat

them to him, which I did. This done, they went away to sleep, Tom

saying, as he bade me good night, that he would have preferred to

accompany me back to the town where he thought I might come into

danger. I thanked him, remarking that I was quite safe. So we

parted; I wondering whether I should ever see them again and what

they would do if I returned no more. Travel back to the coast,

probably, and become rich according to their ideas by selling the

guns and goods.

Then I lay down to rest for a while, making Hans do likewise.

At the appointed time I woke from my doze, as I can always do, and

left the tent to find Hans awaiting me without and checking such

things as we must carry. These were few—a water-bottle filled

with cold tea, a small flask of spirits, a strip or two of biltong

or dried meat in case we should need food, and a few yards of thin

cord. For arms I took a Winchester repeater and a pocketful of

cartridges, also a revolver and a sharp butcher’s knife in a

sheath. Hans had no rifle, but carried two revolvers and a knife,

also a couple of candles and a box of matches.

Having made sure that we had collected everything and packed our

other belongings to be cared for by Tom and Jerry as arranged, we

slipped away to the patch of bush by the pool, taking with us extra

food, for we remembered that White-Mouse must be hungry. We did

not find her at once, whereon Hans explained to me that having made

fools of us, doubtless she had run away. While he was still

talking I saw her leaning against the trunk of a tree. Or rather I

saw her eyes, which at first I took for those of some animal, for

she was no longer a white figure, but a black, having covered her

white robe with a thin dark garment she had brought with her in a

bundle. I offered her the food, but she shook her head, saying:

“Nay, I eat no more”—words which frightened me a little.

Indeed, altogether there was something fateful and alarming about

this woman. She glanced at the moon, then whispered:

“Lord, it is time to depart. Be pleased to follow me and do not

smoke, or make fire, or talk too loud.”

So off she went, gliding ahead like a shadow, while we marched

after, I with a doubting heart. Our road ran along the bank of a

little stream, of which the spring I have spoken of seemed to be

the source, that wended its way through thin bush to the mouth of

the gorge, which here sloped up to the high lands. Doubtless it

was this stream, once a primeval torrent, that in the course of

thousands of years dug out this cleft in the bosom of the earth.

As we went Hans murmured his reflections into my ear.

“This is a strange journey, Baas, made at night, when we ought to

be asleep. I wonder that the Baas should have undertaken it. I

think, although he does not know it, he would never have done so

had not White-Mouse been so pretty. Perhaps the Baas has noted

that when a woman asks for anything of a man, generally he finds it

impossible to give it her if she be old and ugly, and quite

possible if she is young and very pretty.”

“Rubbish!” I answered. “I gave way because, if I had not, White-Mouse would have killed herself, and for no other reason.”

“Yes, but if she had been a hideous old grandmother, with a black

face wrinkled like that of the Baas, he would not have cared

whether she killed herself or not. For who wants a slave with a

skin like the hide of a buck that has lain for three months in the

sun and rain?”

“As I have told you, I want no slave, Hans,” I answered

indignantly.

“Ah! so the Baas says now, but sometimes he changes his mind. Thus

a little while ago the Baas swore that never, never would he go up

the hole to try to save Kaneke. And yet we are taking this long

walk with lions about and God knows what at the end of it, to do

what the Baas said could not be done. Why, then, did he change his

mind, unless it is because that woman is such a pretty mouse with

big eyes and a queer smile and not an ugly old yellow-toothed rat?

Also, is he sure that all this story of hers is true? For my part

I don’t believe it, and even doubt whether she is Kaneke’s wife as

she pretended to me.”

At this moment we began to enter the gorge, and our guide turned

and laid her finger on her lips in token that we must be silent.

Of this I was very glad, for really Hans’ jeers were intolerable.

Very soon we descended into the cleft itself, which proved to be a

huge donga with sheer sides quite two hundred feet high where it

was deepest. The bottom along which the shrunken river ran was

strewn with boulders washed from the cliffs above, that made

progress slow and difficult. Especially was this so as we

scrambled down the deeps, where often little of the moonlight

reached us, and sometimes even the sky was hidden by tropical

shrubs and tall palms and grasses which grew along the edge of the

torrent bed.

Fortunately the journey was not very long, for after about half an

hour of this break-back work White-Mouse halted.

“Here is the place,” she whispered. “Listen. You can hear the

dogs in the town above.”

It was true; I could, and the sound of those brutes howling at the

moon, as they do at night in Africa, was eerie enough in our

depressing circumstances.

“This is the place,” she repeated, then after studying the sky a

while, added: “Presently will be the time. Meanwhile let us rest,

for we shall need all our strength.”

Motioning to Hans to remain where he was, she led me to a flat

stone out of his hearing, on which I sat down, while she crouched

on the ground at my feet, native fashion, a little black ball in

the shadow with the faint light gleaming upon a white patch that I

knew to be her face.

“Lord,” she said, “you go upon a dangerous business, yet I say to

you, fear nothing for yourself or the yellow man.”

“Why? I fear much.”

“Lord, those who have to do with Kaneke’s people, as I have from a

child, catch something of their wisdom and mind; also I too have

been taught to read the stars he worships.”

“So our friend is an astrologer,” thought I to myself. That is new

to me in Africa, but aloud I said:

“Well, what wisdom have you caught or read in the stars?”

“Only that you are both safe, Lord, now and on the journey you will

make with Kaneke; yes, and for many years after.”

“I am glad to hear it,” I remarked somewhat sarcastically, though

in my heart I was cheered, as even the most instructed and

civilized of us are when anyone speaks words of good omen. Also in

that darksome place at the dead of night, on the edge of a

desperate adventure, a little comfort went a long way, for when the

bread is dry some butter is better than none at all, as Hans used

to observe.

“Lord, a word more and I cease to trouble you. Do you believe in

blessings, Lord?”

“Oh yes, White-Mouse, though I don’t see any about me just now.”

“You are wrong, Lord; I see them. They are thick upon your head,

they shall be with you through life, and afterwards thousands shall

love you. Among them is that blessing which I lay upon you.”

“You are very kind, I am sure, White-Mouse. But as you say you

hate this Kaneke I don’t understand why you should bless me for

what I am trying to do.”

“No, Lord, and perhaps while you live you never will. Yet I would

have you know one thing. I am not Kaneke’s jealous wife as I made

yonder yellow one believe, or his wife at all, or any man’s, any

more than my name is White-Mouse. Lord, you go to seek a wonderful

one whom I serve, and I think that you will find her far away.

Perhaps I shall be there in her company, and in helping her you

will again help me. Now it is time to be at our work.”

Then she took my hand and kissed it. I remember that her kiss felt

like a butterfly alighting on my flesh, and that her breath was

wonderfully sweet. Next she beckoned to Hans, who, devoured by

curiosity, was glowering at us from a distance, and led the pair of

us a little way up the cliff which sloped at its bottom because of

debris washed up by the torrent in ancient days, or perhaps fallen

from above. We came to some bushes, in the midst of which lay a

large boulder. Here she halted and spoke to us in a whisper,

saying:

“On the farther side of that stone is the mouth of the cleft. If

you look you will see that the crest of the cliff overhangs its

topmost part by many feet, so that it is impossible for it to be

ascended or descended, even with any rope the Arabs have, because

the height is too great. As I have told you, this tunnel, or

waterway, runs to the top for the most part underground, though

here and there it is open to the sky. After it reaches that sheer

face of the cliff which the stone lip overhangs, the passage

pierces the solid rock and is very steep. Here two lamps are hid

which I will light with the little fire sticks that your servant

has given to me. One lamp must be left as a guide in the descent

when you return; the other I, who go first, will carry to show you

where to set your feet. Do you understand, Lord?”

“Yes, but what I want to know is, what happens when we reach the

top of the tunnel?”

“Lord, as I have said, at its head the hole is closed with a moving

block that seems to be part of the floor of the courtyard of

Kaneke’s house. I have its secret and can cause it to open, which

I will do after I have hidden the lamp. Then we must creep into

the courtyard. Kaneke, as I believe, is on the stoep of the house

with his hands tied behind him, and bound with a rope round his

middle to a post that supports the roof of the stoep. It may be,

however, that he is in one of the rooms of the house, in which case

our task will be difficult—”

“Very difficult,” I interrupted with a groan.

“My hope is,” she went on, taking no heed of my words, “that those

who guard him will be asleep, or perhaps drunk, for doubtless they

will have found the white man’s drink that Kaneke keeps in the

house, which they love, all of them, although it is forbidden by

their law. Or Kaneke himself may have told them where it is and

begged them to get him some of it. If so, I shall cut his bonds so

that he may come to the mouth of the hole and climb into it and

thus escape.”

“And if they are awake and sober—as they ought to be?” I said.

“Then, Lord, you and the yellow man must play your part; it is not

for me to tell you what it is,” she answered dryly. “There will

not be many of these men set to keep one who is bound, and the most

of the guard watch outside the fence, thinking that if any rescue

is attempted, it will be from the town. Now I have told you all,

so let us start.”

Well, start we did; White-Mouse, going first, went round the

boulder and pulled aside some loose stones, revealing an orifice,

into which we crept after her, Hans nipping in before me. For some

way we crawled in the dark up a slope of rock. Then, as she had

said would be the case, light reached us from the sky because here

the cleft was open. Indeed, there were two or three of these

alternating lengths of darkness and light.

After ten minutes or so of this climbing White-Mouse halted and

whispered:

“Now the real tunnel begins. Rest a while, for it is steep.”

I obeyed with gratitude. Presently there was the sound of a match

being struck. She had found the lamp, an earthenware affair filled

with palm-oil such as the Arabs used in those days, and lit it.

After the darkness its light seemed dazzling. By it I saw a round

hole running upwards almost perpendicularly; it was the tunnel

which she had told us pierced the lip of solid cliff that overhung

the gorge. To all appearance it had been made by man, though a

long while ago. Perhaps it was a mine-shaft, hollowed by primeval

metal-workers; after all, these are common in Africa, where I have

seen many of them in Matabele Land.

At any rate, on its walls I noted gleaming specks that I took to be

ore of some sort, but of course this guess may be quite wrong. Up

this shaft ran a kind of ladder with little landing-places at

intervals, made by niches cut in the rock to give foot-and hand-holds. There was a rope also that must have been fastened to

something above, which, I may add, looked to me rather rotten, as

though it had been there a long while. My heart sank as I

contemplated it and the niches, and most heartily did I wish myself

anywhere else than in that beastly hole. However, it was no use

showing fear; there was nothing to be done except go through with

the business, so I held my tongue, though I heard Hans praying, or

cursing, or both, in front of me.

“Forward now. Have no fear,” whispered our guide. “Set your hands

and feet in the niches as I do; they will not break away, and the

rope is stronger than it looks.”

Then she slung or strapped to her back the second lamp, which I

forgot to say she had lit also and placed in a kind of basket so

made that it could be used in this fashion without setting fire to

its bearer, thus giving us light whereby to climb, and sprang at

the face of the rock. Up she went with an extraordinary

nimbleness, which caused me to reflect in an inconsequent fashion

that she was well named Mouse, a creature that can run up a wall.

We followed as best we could, clasping the rotten-looking rope,

which seemed to be made of twisted buffalo-hide, with our right

hands and the niches in which we must afterwards set our feet with

our left. I think that rope was the greatest terror of this

horrible journey; though, as we were destined to prove, White-Mouse

was right when she said that it was stronger than it looked—very

strong, in truth, though this we did not know at the time.

No, not the greatest, for even worse than the rope, that is when we

had ascended a long way, was the lamp which we had left burning at

the bottom of the hole, because the spark of light it gave showed

what a terrible distance there was to fall if one made a mistake.

I only looked at it once, or at most twice; it frightened me too

much. Another minor trouble in my case was my Winchester repeater

that was slung upon my back, of which the strap cut my shoulder and

the lock rubbed my spine. Much did I regret that I had not

followed the example of Hans and left it behind.

We reached the first landing-place and rested. After eyeing me

with some anxiety, for doubtless my face showed trepidation, Hans,

I imagine to divert my mind, took the chance to deliver a little

homily.

“The Baas,” he said, wiping the sweat from his face with the back

of his hand, “is very fond of helping people in trouble, a bad

habit of which I hope the Baas will break himself in future. For

see what happens to those who are such fools. Not even to help my

own father would I come into this hole again, especially as I don’t

know who he was. However, Baas,” he added more cheerfully—for

secretly agreeing with Hans, I made no reply—“if this is an old

mine-shaft as I suppose, think how much worse it must have been for

the miners to climb up it with a hundred-pound bag of ore on their

backs, than it is for us; especially as they weren’t Christians,

like you and me, Baas, and didn’t know that they would go to heaven

if they tumbled off, like we do. When one is fording a bad river

safely, Baas, as we are, it is always nice to remember that lots of

other people have been drowned in it.”

Will it be believed that even then and there that little beast Hans

made me laugh, or at any rate smile, especially as I knew that his

cynicism was assumed and therefore could bring no ill luck on us?

For really Hans had the warmest of hearts.

Presently, off we went again for another spell of niches and

apparently rotten rope, and in due course came safely to the second

landing-place. Here White-Mouse bade us wait a little.

Saying that she would return presently, she went up a third flight

of niches at great speed, and reaching yet another landing-place,

did something—we could not see what.

Then she returned, and her descent was strange to see. Taking the

rope in both hands (afterwards we discovered that it was made fast

to a point or hook of stone on the third landing-place in such

fashion that it hung well clear of the face of the rock below), she

came down it hand over—or rather under—hand, sometimes setting

her foot into one of the niches, but more often swinging quite

clear. She was wonderful to look on; her slight figure illumined

by the lantern on her back and surrounded by darkness, appeared

more like a spirit floating in mid-air than that of a woman.

Presently she stood beside us.

“Lord,” she said, when she had rested a minute, “I have been to see

whether the catch of the stone which covers the mouth of the hole

is in order. It works well and I have loosed it. Now at a push

this stone, that like the rest of the courtyard is faced with lime

plaster, will swing upwards, for it is hung upon a bar of iron, and

remain on edge, leaving a space large enough for any man to climb

into the courtyard by the little ladder that is set upon the

landing-place. Be careful, however, not to touch the stone when

you have passed the opening into the courtyard, for if so much as a

finger is laid upon it, it will swing to again and make itself

fast, cutting off retreat.”

“Cannot it be opened from above?” I asked anxiously.

“Yes, Lord, if one knows how, which it is impossible to explain to

you except in the courtyard itself, as perhaps I shall have no time

or chance to do. Still, do not be afraid, for I will fix it with a

wedge so that it cannot shut unless the wedge is pulled away. Nay,

ask no more questions, for I have not time to answer them,” she

went on impatiently, as I opened my mouth to speak. “Have I not

told you that all will be well? Follow me with a bold heart.”

Then, as though to prevent the possibility of further conversation,

she went to the edge of the resting-place and began to climb, Hans

and I scrambling after her as before. Of this ascent I remember

little, for my mind was so fixed upon what was to happen when we

reached the top that, dreadful as it was, it made small impression

on me. Also by now I was growing more or less used to this

steeplejack work, and since I had seen the woman hanging on to it,

gained confidence in the rope. The end of it was that we reached

the third landing-place in safety, being now, as I reckoned, quite

two hundred feet above the spot where the actual tunnel sprang from

the cleft which sometimes went underground and sometimes was open

to the sky.

CHAPTER V

THE RESCUE

When we had recovered breath White-Mouse unfastened the lantern

from her back and showed us a stout wooden ladder with broad rungs

almost resembling steps, which ran from the edge of the resting-place to what looked like a solid roof, but really was the bottom

of the movable stone.

“Examine it well,” she said, “and note that this resting-place is

not beneath the stone, but to the right of it. Therefore I can

leave the lamp burning here that it may be ready for use in the

descent; for if the basket is set in front of the flame the light

will not show in the courtyard above.”

This she proceeded to do, and it was then that I noted how the hide

rope was fastened to a hook-shaped point of rock at the edge of the

platform, also—which I did not like—that it was somewhat frayed

by this edge, although originally that length of it had been bound

round with grass and a piece of cloth.

Now we were in semi-darkness and my spirits sank proportionately.

“What are we to do, White-Mouse?” I asked.

“This, Lord. I will go up the ladder and push open the stone, as I

told you. Then I will climb into the courtyard and creep to the

stoep where I am sure Kaneke lies bound, hoping that there I may be

able to cut his cords without awakening those who guard him, who, I

trust, will be asleep, or drunk, or both. You and Hans will follow

me through the hole and stand or kneel on either side of it with

your weapons ready. If there is trouble you will use those

weapons, Lord, and kill any who strive to prevent the escape of

Kaneke.”

Now my patience was exhausted, and I asked her:

“Why should I do this thing? Why should I take the lives of men

with whom I have no quarrel in order to rescue Kaneke, and very

probably lose my own in the attempt?”

“First, because that is what you came here to do, Lord,” she

answered quietly. “Secondly, because it is necessary that Kaneke

should be saved in order that he may guide you, which he alone can

do, to a place where you will save others, and thus serve a certain

holy one against whom he has sinned in the past.”

Now I remembered the story that this Kaneke had told me about a

mysterious woman who lived on an island in a lake whom he had

affronted, and answered:

“Oh yes, I have heard of her and believe nothing of the tale.”

“Doubtless you are right not to believe the tale as Kaneke told it

to you, Lord. Learn that once he tried to work bitter wrong to

that holy one, being bewitched by her beauty; yes, to do sacrilege

to our goddess.” (I remembered that “our” afterwards, though at

the time I made no comment.) “Being merciful, she spared him, but

because of his crime misfortune overtook him, and for years he must

dwell afar. Now the hour has come when for certain reasons he is

bidden to return and expiate his evil deeds, and not here must his

fate find him, Lord—”

“Baas,” broke in Hans, “it is no use talking to this White-Mouse,

who stuffs our brains with spiders’ webs and talks nonsense. She

wants us to save Kaneke for her own ends or those of others of whom

she is the voice, and we have said that we will try. Now either we

must keep our word or break it and climb down this hole again, if

we can—which would be much better. Indeed, Baas, I think we

should start—”

Here White-Mouse looked at Hans with remarkable effect, for he

stopped suddenly and began to fan himself with his hat.

“Which advice does the Lord Macumazahn desire to take?” she asked

of me in a cold and quiet voice.

“Go on,” I said, nodding towards the ladder, “we follow you.”

Next instant she was running up it with Hans at her heels, for as

before, he slipped in before me. I may add that it was quite dark

on that ladder, which was very unpleasant.

Soon something above me swung back. I felt a breath of fresh air

on my face, and looking upwards, saw a star shining in the sky, for

at that moment a cloud had passed over the moon, which star gave me

comfort, though I did not know why it should.

I reached the top of the ladder and saw that White-Mouse had

vanished and that Hans was scrambling into the courtyard. Then he

gave me his hand and dragged me after him. The place was quite

quiet and because of the cloud I could only see the house as a dark

mass and trace the outlines of the stoep, which I remembered very

well. Presently I heard a faint stir upon this stoep and got my

rifle ready; Hans, on the other side of the mouth of the pit,

already had his revolver in his hand.

A while went by, perhaps a minute—it seemed an hour—and looking

upwards, to my dismay, I perceived the edge of the moon appearing

beyond the curtain of cloud. Swiftly she emerged and flooded the

place with light, as an African moon can do. Now I saw all.

Coming down the steps of the stoep, very slowly as though he were

cramped by his bonds, was the great form of Kaneke leaning on the

shoulder of the frail girl, as a man might upon a stick. Pieces of

rope still hung to his arms and legs, and she had a bared knife in

her hand. In the shadow of the stoep I made out the dim figures of

men, two I saw, but in fact there were three, who appeared to be

asleep.

As he reached the courtyard Kaneke stumbled and fell on to his

hands and knees with a crash, but recovering himself, plunged

towards us. The men on the stoep sat up—then it was that I

counted three. White-Mouse flung off her dark cloak and stood

there in shining white, looking like a ghost in the moonlight;

indeed, I believe her object was to personate a ghost. If so it

was successful as far as two of the men were concerned, for they

howled aloud with terror, crying out something about Afreets. The

third, however, who was bolder or perhaps guessed the truth, rushed

at her. I saw the knife flash and down he went, yelling in fear

and pain. The others vanished, I think into the house, for I heard

them shouting there. Kaneke reached us. The woman flitted after

him, saying:

“Into the pit! Into the pit! Help him, Lord!”

We did so and he scrambled down the ladder.

At this moment a terrific hubbub arose. The guard outside the

fence were rushing through the gate, a number of them, I do not

know how many.

Hans snatched the rifle from my hand and pushed me to the edge of

the hole—I noticed that the gallant fellow did not wish to go

first this time! I clambered down the ladder with great rapidity,

calling to Hans to follow, which he did so fast that he trod upon

my fingers.

“Where’s White-Mouse?” I said.

“I don’t know, Baas. Talking with those fellows up there, I

think.”

“Out of the way!” I cried. “She can’t be left. They will kill

her!”

I climbed past him up the ladder again until I could look over the

edge of the hole.

This is what I saw and heard: White-Mouse, the knife in her hand,

was haranguing the oncoming Arabs so fiercely that they shrank

together before her, invoking curses on them as I imagine, which

frightened them very much, and pointing now at one and now at

another with the knife. As she called down her maledictions she

retreated slowly backwards towards the mouth of the pit, whence she

must have rushed to meet the men as they burst through the gateway,

I presume in order to give us time to get down the ladder.

Suddenly the crowd of them seemed to recover courage. One shouted:

“It is White-Mouse, not a ghost!” Another invoked Allah; a third

called out: “Kill the foreign sorceress who has brought the

spotted sickness on us and snatched away the star-worshipper.”

They came forward—doubtfully lifting their spears, for they did

not seem to have any firearms.

“Give me my rifle,” I called to Hans, for in my hurry I forgot that

I had a pistol in my pocket, my purpose being to get on the top

step of the ladder, and thence open fire on them, so as to hold

them back till White-Mouse could join us.

“Yes, Baas,” called Hans from below as he began to climb the ladder

again with the rifle in his hand, a slow job, because it cumbered

him. I bent down as far as I could to grasp it, thus lowering my

head, although I still managed to watch what was going on in the

courtyard.

Just as my fingers touched the barrel of the Winchester, White-Mouse hurled her knife at the first of her attackers. Then she

turned, followed by the whole crowd of them, and ran for the pit.

One caught hold of her, but she slipped from his grasp and,

although another gripped her garment, reached the stone which stood

up edgeways some three feet above the level of the pavement of the

courtyard.

In a flash I divined her purpose. It was not escape she sought,

indeed, now that was impossible, but to let fall the block of rock

or cement, and thus make pursuit of us also impossible. Horror

filled me and my blood seemed to freeze, for I understood that this

meant that she would be left in the hands of her enemies.

It was too late to do anything; indeed, as the thought passed my

mind she hurled her weight against the stone (if she had ever

wedged it open, as she said she would, which I doubt, she must have

knocked away the prop with her foot). I saw it begin to swing

downwards, and ducked instinctively, which was fortunate for me,

for otherwise it would have struck my head and killed me. As it

was it crushed in the top of the soft hat I was wearing. Down it

came with a clang, leaving us in the dark.

“Hans,” I cried, “bring that lantern and help me to try to push up

this stone!”

He obeyed, although it took a long while, for he had to go back to

the resting-place to fetch it. Then, standing side by side upon

the ladder, we pushed at the stone, but it would not stir a hair’s

breadth. We saw something that looked like a bolt, and worked away

at it, but utterly without result. We did not know the trick of

the thing, if there was one. Then I bethought me of Kaneke who all

this while was on the landing-place beneath, and sent Hans to ask

him how to raise the stone. Presently he returned and reported

that Kaneke said that if once it had been slammed down in this

fashion, it could only be opened from above with much labour, if,

indeed, this could be done at all.

I ran down the ladder in a fury and found Kaneke seated on the

landing-place, a man bemused.

I reviled him, saying that he must come and move the stone, of

which doubtless he knew the secret, so as to enable us to try to

rescue the woman who had saved him. He listened with a kind of

dull patience, then answered:

“Lord, you ask what cannot be done. Believe me I would help White-Mouse if I could, if indeed she needs help, but the catches that

loose this mass of rock are very delicate and doubtless were

destroyed by its violent closing. Moreover by this time of a

certainty she is killed, if death can touch her, and even were it

possible to lift it, you would be killed also, for those sons of

Satan will wait there hoping that this may happen.”

Still I was not satisfied, and made the man come up the ladder with

me, which he did very stiffly, threatening to shoot him if he did

not. This, to tell the truth, at that moment I would have done

without compunction, so enraged and horrified was I at what had

happened which, perhaps unjustly, I half attributed to him.

Well, he came and explained certain things to me about the catches

whereof I forget the details, after which we pushed with all our

might, till the stave of the ladder on which we stood began to

crack, in fact; but nothing happened. Evidently in some way the

block was jammed on its upper side, or perhaps the pin or hinges

upon which it was balanced had broken. I do not know and it

matters nothing.

All was finished. We were helpless. And that poor woman—oh, that

poor woman!—what of her?

I returned to the landing-place and sat down to rest, almost

weeping. Hans, I observed, was in much the same state, without a

gibe or an impertinence left in him.

“Baas,” he said, “if we had got out of the hole too, it would have

been no better; worse, indeed, for we should have been killed as

well as White-Mouse, even if we had managed to shoot some of those

Prophet-worshipping dogs before they spotted us. Alas, Baas, I

think that White-Mouse meant to get herself killed from the first.

Perhaps she had had enough of that man,” and he nodded towards

Kaneke, who sat brooding and taking no heed, “or perhaps her job

was done and she knew it. Or perhaps she can’t be killed, as this

Kaneke seems to think.”

Listening to him, I reflected that he must be right, for now I

remembered that White-Mouse had spoken several times of the escape

of Hans, Kaneke, and myself, and never of her own, though when she

did so I had not quite caught her drift. The woman meant to die,

or knew that she would die, it did not matter which, seeing that

the end was the same. Or she meant something else that was dark to

me.

Presently, Hans spoke again:

“Baas,” he said, “this place is a good grave, but I do not want to

be buried in it, and oil in these Arab lamps does not last for

ever; they are not like those of the widow, which the old prophet

kept burning for years and years to cook meal on, as your reverend

father used to tell us. Don’t you think we had better be moving,

Baas?”

“I suppose so,” I answered, “but what about Kaneke? He seems in a

bad way.”

“Oh, Baas, let him come or let him stay behind. I don’t care

which. Now I will strap the basket with the lantern on to my back

as White-Mouse did, and go first, and you must follow me, and

Kaneke can come when he likes, or stop here and repent of his

sins.”

He paused, then added (he was speaking in Dutch all this time):

“No, Baas, I have changed my mind. Kaneke had better go first. He

is very heavy, also stiff, and if he came last and fell on to our

heads, where should we be, Baas? It is better that we should fall

on Kaneke rather than that Kaneke should fall on us.”

Being puzzled what to do, I turned to speak to the man. Hans, who

was fixing the basket on his back, had set down the lamp which was

to be placed in such a position that its light fell full upon

Kaneke. By it I saw that his face had changed. While I was

questioning him about the bolts of the stone, it had been that of a

man bemused, of one who awakes from a drunken sleep, or has been

drugged, or is in the last stage of terror and exhaustion. Now it

was very much alive and grown almost spiritual, like to the face of

one who is rapt in prayer. The large round eyes were turned

upwards as though they saw a vision, the lips were moving as if in

speech, yet no word came from them, and from time to time they

ceased to move, as though the ears listened for an answer.

I stared at him, then said politely in Arabic:

“Might I ask what you are doing, friend Kaneke?”

He started and a kind of veil seemed to fall over his face; I mean

that it changed again and became normal.

“Lord,” he answered, “I was returning thanks for my escape.”

“You take time by the nose, for you haven’t escaped yet,” I

replied, adding rather bitterly, “and were you returning thanks for

the great deed of another who has not escaped, of the woman who is

called White-Mouse?”

“How do you know that she has not escaped?”

“Because you yourself said that she must be dead—if she could die,

which of course she can.”

“Yes, I said some such words, but now I think that she has been

speaking to me, although it may have been her spirit that was

speaking.”

“Look here!” I said, exasperated. “Who and what is, or was, White-Mouse? Your wife, or your daughter?”

“No, Lord, neither,” he answered, with a little shiver.

“Then who? Tell me the truth or I have done with you.”

“Lord, she is a messenger from my own country who came a while ago

to command me to return thither. It is because of her that these

Arabs hate me so much, for they think she is my familiar through

whom I work magic and bring evil upon them.”

“And is she, Kaneke?”

“Baas,” broke in Hans, “have you finished chatting, for the oil in

that lamp burns low and I have only two candles. Those niches will

not be nice in the dark, Baas.”

“True,” I said.

Then I bid Kaneke go first, suggesting that he knew the road, with

Hans following him and I coming last.

“My legs are stiff, Lord,” he said, “but my arms are recovered. I

go.”

He went; he went with the most amazing swiftness. In a few seconds

he was over the edge of the pit and descending rapidly, hand over

hand, as it seemed to me only occasionally touching the niches with

his feet. Not that I had much time to judge of this, for presently

he was out of sight and only by the jerking of the hide rope could

we tell that he was there at all.

“Will it break, Baas?” asked Hans doubtfully. “That brute Kaneke

weighs a lot.”

“I don’t know and I don’t much care,” I answered. “White-Mouse

said we should get through safely, and I am beginning to believe in

White-Mouse. So say your prayers and start.”

He obeyed, and I followed.

I will omit the details of that horrible descent. Hans and I

reached the second platform and rested. Unfortunately in starting

again I looked down, and far, far below saw the lamp we had left

burning at the bottom, which gave me such an idea of precipitous

death that I grew dizzy. My strength left me and I almost fell,

especially as just then my foot slipped in one of the niches,

leaving all my weight upon my arms. I think I should have fallen,

had not a voice, doubtless that of my subconscious self at work,

seemed to say to me:

“Remember, if you fall, you will kill Hans as well as yourself.”

Then my brain cleared, I recovered control of my faculties, and

slipping down the rope a little way I found the next niche with my

left foot. Doubtless this return was even more fearsome than the

ascent, perhaps owing to physical weariness, or perhaps because the

object of the effort was achieved and there was now nothing left to

hope for except personal safety, the thought of which is always the

father of fear. I am not sure; all I know is that my spine crept

and my brain sickened much more than had been the case on the

upward adventure.

At length, thank God, the worst of it was over and we reached the

sloping passage or gulley, or whatever it may have been, that in

places was open to the sky. By help of the lamps that now were

almost spent, we scrambled down this declivity with comparative

ease, and so came out of the mouth of the hole into the little

clump of bush that concealed it.

I sat down trembling like a jelly; the perspiration pouring off me,

for the heat of that place had been awful. Hans, who although so

tough, was in little better case than myself, found the water-bottle full of cold tea which, to save weight, we had left hidden

with everything else we could spare, including our jackets, and

passed it to me. I drank, and the insipid stuff tasted like

nectar; then gave it to Hans, although I could gladly have

swallowed the whole bottleful.

When he had taken a pull I stopped him, remembering Kaneke, who

must also be athirst. But where was Kaneke? We could not see him

anywhere. Hans opined that he had bolted into some hiding-place of

his own, and being too weary to argue or even to speculate upon the

matter, I accepted the explanation.

After this we finished the cold tea and topped it up with a nip of

brandy apiece, carefully measured in a little cup. The flask

itself, to which the cup was screwed, I did not dare to give to

Hans, knowing that temptation would overcome him and he would empty

it to the last drop.

Much refreshed and more thankful than I can say at having escaped

the perils of that darksome climb, I put the extinguished lamps

into poor White-Mouse’s basket, thinking that they might come in

useful afterwards (or perhaps I wished to keep them as a souvenir,

I don’t remember which). Then by common consent we started for the

bottom of the great gulley, proposing to trek up it back towards

the camp. On reaching the stream we stopped to drink water—for

our thirst was still unsatisfied—and to wash the sweat from our

faces, also to cool our feet bruised by those endless niches of the

shaft.

Whilst I was thus engaged, hearing a sound, I peeped round a stone

and perceived the lost Kaneke kneeling upon the rock like a man at

prayer, and groaning. My first thought was that he must be hurt,

perhaps in the course of his remarkably rapid descent, and my

second that he was grieving over the death of White-Mouse, or

mayhap because of his separation from his wives whom he would see

no more. Afterwards, however, I reflected that the latter was

improbable, seeing that he was so ready to leave them. Indeed, I

doubted whether he had really any wives, or children either.

Certainly I never saw any about the house in which he dwelt like a

hermit; there was nothing to show that these ever existed. If they

did, I was sure that Hans would have discovered them.

However, this might be, not wishing to spy upon the man’s private

sorrows, I coughed, whereon he rose and came round the rock.

“So you are here before us,” I said.

“Yes, Lord,” he answered, “and waiting for you. The descent of the

shaft is easy to those who know the road.”

“Indeed. We found it difficult, also dangerous. However, like the

woman called White-Mouse”—here he winced and bowed his head—“that

is done with. Might I ask what your plans are now, Kaneke?”

“What they have always been, Lord. To guide you to my people, the

Dabanda, who live in the land of the Holy Lake. Only, Lord, I

think that we had better leave this place as quickly as we can,

seeing it is certain that, thinking we have escaped, the Arabs, my

enemies, will follow to your camp to attack you there.”

“I agree,” I answered. “Let us go at once.”

So off we went on our long tramp up the darksome gorge, I, to tell

the truth, full of indignation and in the worst of tempers. At

length I could control myself no longer.

“Kaneke,” I said, for he was walking at my side, Hans being a

little ahead engaged in picking our way through the gloom and

watching for possible attacks—“Kaneke, it seems that I and my

servant are suffering many things on your behalf. This night we

have run great risks to save you from death, as has another who is

gone, and now you tell me that because of you we are to be attacked

by those who hate you. I think it would be better if I repaid to

you what I have received, together with whatever money the ivory

you gave me may bring, and you went your way, leaving me to go

mine.”

“It cannot be,” he answered vehemently. “Lord, although you do not

know it, we are bound together until all is accomplished as may be

fated. Yes, it is decreed in the stars, and destiny binds us

together. You think that I am ungrateful, but it is not so; my

heart is full of thankfulness towards you and I am your slave. Ask

me no more, I pray you, for if I told you all you would not believe

me.”

“Already you have told me a good deal that I do not believe,” I

replied sharply, “so perhaps you had better keep your stories and

promises to yourself. At any rate, I cannot desert you at present,

for if I did, I suppose those Arab blackguards would cut your

throat.”

“Yes, Lord, and yours too. Together we shall best them, as you

will see, but separated they will kill us both, and your servants

and porters also.”

After this we went on in silence and in the end, without

molestation except from a lion, emerged from the gorge and came to

the knoll where I had camped. We struck this beast in the open

bushy country just outside the mouth of the gorge, or rather it

struck us and followed us very persistently, which made me think

that it must have been in great want of food. Occasionally it

growled, but for the most part slunk along not more than thirty or

forty paces to our right, taking cover in the high grass or behind

bushes. Also twice it went ahead to clumps of thorn trees as

though to waylay us. I think I could have shot it then, but Hans

begged me not to fire for fear of letting our whereabouts be known

to Arabs who might be searching for us. So instead we made detours

and avoided those clumps of trees.

This seemed to irritate the lion, which for the third time crept

forward and, as I saw clearly by the light of the sinking moon,

crouched down on our path about fifty paces in front of us in such

a spot that, owing to the nature of the land, it was difficult to

circumvent it without going a long way round.

Now I thought that I must accept the challenge of this savage or

starving animal, but Hans, who was most anxious that I should not

shoot, remarked sarcastically that since the “owl-man”, as he

called Kaneke, was such a wonderful wizard, perhaps he would exert

his powers and send it away.

Kaneke, who had been marching moodily along as fast as his legs,

still stiff from the bonds, would allow, paying little or no

attention to the matter of the lion, heard him and seemed to wake

up.

“Yes,” he said, “if you are afraid of the beast I can do that.

Bide here, I pray you, Lord, till I call you.”

Then, quite unarmed, without so much as a stick in his hand indeed,

he walked forward quietly to where the lion, a large one with a

somewhat scrubby mane, lay upon a rock between the bank of the

stream and a little cliff. I watched him amazed, holding my rifle

ready and feeling sure that unless I could shoot it first, which

was improbable because he was in my line of fire, there would soon

be an end of Kaneke. This, however, did not happen, for the man

trudged on and presently was so close to the lion that his body hid

it from my sight.

After this I heard a growl which degenerated into a yelp like to

that of a beast in pain. The next thing I saw was Kaneke standing

on the rock where the lion had been, outlined very clearly against

the sky, and beckoning to us to come forward. So we went, not

without doubt, and found Kaneke seated on the rock with his face

towards us as though to rest his legs, and as it seemed once more

lost in reverie.

“The lion has gone,” he said shortly, “or rather the lions, for

there were two of them, and will return no more to trouble you.

Let us walk on, I will go first.”

“He is a very good wizard, Baas,” said Hans reflectively in Dutch,

as we followed. “Or perhaps,” he added, “that lion is one of his

familiars which he calls and sends away as he likes.”

“Bosh!” I grunted. “The brute bolted, that is all.”

“Yes, Baas. Still, I think that if you or I had gone forward

without a gun it would have bolted us, for as you know, when a lion

follows a man like that, its belly has been empty for days. This

Kaneke’s other name must be Daniel, Baas, who used to like to sleep

with lions.”

I did not argue with Hans; indeed, I was too tired to talk, but

stumped along till presently we came to the site of the camp which

we had left early on that eventful night—days ago it seemed to be.

Here I found that my orders had been obeyed and that Tom and Jerry

had gone forward with the porters, as I judged from various

indications, such as the state of the cooking-fire, not much more

than an hour before. Therefore there was nothing to do but follow

their trail, which was broad and easy, even in the low moonlight.

On we marched accordingly, always uphill, which made our weary

progress slow. At length came the dawn, a hot, still dawn, and

after it the sunrise. By its bright light we saw two things: our

porters camping at the appointed spot about half a mile away among

some rocks just above a pool of water that remained in a dry river-bed; and behind us, perhaps two miles off, tracking our spoor up

the slope that we had travelled, a party of white-robed Arabs,

twenty of them or more.

“Now we are in for it,” I said. “Come on, Hans, there is no time

to spare.”

CHAPTER VI

KANEKE’S FRIENDS

I know of no greater pick-me-up for a tired man than the sight of a

body of enemies running on his spoor with the clear and definite

object of putting an end to his mortal existence. On this

occasion, for instance, suddenly I felt quite fresh again and

covered that half-mile which lay between us and the camp in almost

record time. So did the other two, for the three of us arrived

there nearly neck and neck.

As we scrambled into the place I observed with joy that Tom and

Jerry had taken in the situation, for already the porters were

engaged in piling stones into a wall, or in hacking down thorn

trees and dragging their prickly boughs together so as to form a

boma. More, those excellent men had breakfast cooking for us upon

a fire, and coffee ready.

Having given such orders as were necessary, though in truth there

was little to be done, I fell upon that breakfast and devoured it,

for we were starving. Hot coffee and food are great stimulants,

and in ten minutes I felt a new man. Then the four of us, namely,

Tom, Jerry, Hans, and I, took counsel together, for at the moment I

could not see Kaneke who, having bolted some meat, had gone, as I

presumed, to help with the boma-building. It was needful, for the

position seemed fairly desperate.

By now the Arabs, who advanced slowly, were about half a mile away,

and with the aid of my glasses I saw that there were more of them

than I had thought, forty or fifty indeed, of whom quite half

carried guns of one sort or another. I surveyed the position and

found that it was good for defence. The camp was on the slope of a

little koppie, round-topped and thickly strewn with boulders. To

our right at the foot of the koppie was the long, broad pool I have

mentioned.

Behind lay the river-bed half encircling the koppie, or rather a

swamp through which the river ran when it was full, which swamp was

so deep with sticky mud that advance over it would be difficult, if

not impossible. To our left, however, was a dry vlei overgrown

with tall grass and thorn trees, through which wended the native

path that we had been following. In front the veld over which we

had advanced, was open, but gave no cover, for here the grass had

been burned leaving the soil bare. Therefore the Arabs could only

advance upon us from this direction, or possibly through the thick

grass and trees to our left.

But here came the rub. With a dozen decent shots I should have

feared nothing. We, however, had but four upon whom we could rely,

and Kaneke, who was an unknown quantity. If these Arabs meant

business our case was hopeless, for of course no reliance could be

placed on the porters, or at any rate upon most of them, who

moreover had no guns. In short there was nothing to be done except

trust in Providence and fight our hardest.

We got out the guns, Winchester repeaters all of them, of which I

had six with me, and opened a couple of boxes of ammunition. The

heavy game rifles we loaded and kept in reserve, also a couple of

shot-guns charged with loopers, as we called slugs, for these are

very effective in meeting a rush. Then I told Hans to find Kaneke,

that I might explain matters and give him a rifle. He went and

returned presently saying that Kaneke was not working at the walls

or cutting down thorns.

“Baas,” he added, “I think that skunk has run away or turned into a

snake and slid into the reeds.”

“Nonsense,” I answered. “Where could he run to? I will look for

him myself; those Arabs won’t be here yet awhile.”

So off I went and climbed to the top of the koppie to get a better

view. Presently I thought I heard a sound beneath me, and looking

over the edge of the boulder, saw Kaneke standing in a little bay

of rock, waving his arms in a most peculiar fashion and talking in

a low voice as though he were carrying on a conversation with some

unseen person.

“Hi!” I said, exasperated. “Perhaps you are not aware that those

friends of yours will be here presently and that you had better

come to help to keep them off. Might I ask what you are doing?”

“That will be seen later, Lord,” he answered quietly. Then, with a

final wave of the hand and a nod of the head, such as a man gives

in assent, he turned and climbed up to where I was.

Not one word did he say until we reached the others, nor did I

question him. Indeed, I thought it useless as I had made up my

mind that the fellow was mad. Still; as he was an able-bodied man

who said that he could shoot, I gave him one of the rifles and a

supply of cartridges, and hoped for the best.

By now the Arabs had come within four hundred yards, whereon a new

trouble developed, for the porters grew frightened and threatened

to bolt. I sent Hans to tell them that I would shoot the first man

who stirred, and when, notwithstanding this, one of them did begin

to run, I fired a shot which purposely missed him by a few inches

and flattened on a rock in front of his face. This frightened him

so much that he fell down and lay still, which caused me to fear

that I had made a mistake and hit him through the head. The effect

upon the others was marked, for they squatted on the ground and

began to pray to whatever gods or idols they worshipped, or to talk

about their mothers, nor did any of them attempt to stir again.

At the sound of this shot the Arabs halted, thinking that it had

been fired at them, and began to consult together. After they had

talked for some time one man came forward waving a flag of truce

made of a white turban cloth tied to a spear. In reply I shook a

pocket handkerchief which was far from white, whereon he walked

forward to within twenty yards of the boma. Here I shouted to him

to stop, suspecting that he wished to spy upon us, and went out to

meet him with Hans, who would not allow me to go alone.

“What do you and your people want?” I said, in a loud voice to the

man, whom I recognized as one of the judges who had tried Kaneke.

“White Master,” he answered, “we want the wizard Kaneke, whom you

have stolen away from us, and whom we have doomed to die. Give him

to us, dead or alive, and we will let you and your people go in

peace, for against you we have no other quarrel. If you do not, we

will kill you, every one.”

“That remains to be seen,” I answered boldly. “As for the rest,

hand over to me the woman called White-Mouse and I will talk with

you.”

“I cannot,” he answered.

“Why not? Have you killed her?”

“By Allah, no!” he exclaimed earnestly. “We have not killed that

witch, though it is true we wished to do so. Somehow in the

confusion she slipped from our hands, and we cannot find her. We

think that she has turned into an owl and flown to Satan, her

master.”

“Do you? Well, I think that you lie. Now tell me why you wish to

kill Kaneke after he has run away from you, leaving you to walk

your own road?”

“Because,” answered the Arab in a fury, “he has left his curse upon

us, which can only be loosed with his blood. Did you not hear him

swear to bring a plague upon us, and has not the spotted sickness

broken out in the town so that already many are ill and doubtless

will die? Also has he not murdered our brother and bewitched us in

many other ways, and will he not utterly destroy us by bringing our

enemies upon us, as two moons ago he swore that he would do unless

we let him go?”

“So you were keeping him a prisoner?”

“Of course, White Man. He has been a prisoner ever since he came

among us, though at times it is true that he has been seen outside

the town, and now we know how he came there.”

“Why did you keep him a prisoner?”

“That in protecting himself he might protect us also by his magic,

for we knew that if he should escape he would bring destruction

upon us. And now, will you give him up to us, or will you not?”

There was a certain insolence about the way in which the man asked

this question that put my back up at once, and I answered on the

impulse of the moment:

“I will not. First, I will see all of you in hell. What business

have you and your fellow half-breed Arabs to threaten to attack me,

a subject of the Queen of England, because I give shelter to a

fugitive whom you wish to murder? And what have you done with the

woman called White-Mouse who, you say, has changed into an owl?

Produce her, lest I hold you all to account for her life. Oh, you

think that I am weak because I have but few men with me here. Yet

I tell you that before the sun has set, I, Macumazahn, will teach

you a lesson, if, indeed, any of you live to learn it.”

The man stared at me, frightened by my bold talk. Then, without a

word, he turned and ran back towards his people, zigzagging as he

went, doubtless because he feared that I would shoot him. I too,

turned, and strolled unconcernedly up the slope to the boma, just

to show them that I was not afraid.

“Baas,” said Hans, as we went, “as usual you are wrong. Why do you

not surrender that big-eyed wizard who is putting us to so much

trouble?”

“Because, Hans, I should be ashamed of myself if I did, and what is

more, you would be ashamed of me.”

“Yes, Baas, that is quite true. I should never think the same of

you again. But, Baas, when a man’s throat’s going to be cut, he

doesn’t remember what he would think afterwards if it wasn’t cut.

Well, we are all going to be killed, for what we can do against

those men I can’t see, and when we meet your reverend father

presently in the Place of Fires, I shall tell him that I did my

best to keep you from coming there so soon. And now Baas, I will

bet you that monkey-skin tobacco pouch of mine of which you are so

jealous, against a bottle of gin, to be paid when we get back to

the coast, that before the day is over I put a bullet through that

Arab villain who talked to you so insolently.”

We reached the boma, where I told Tom and Jerry, also Kaneke, the

gist of what had passed. The dashing Tom seemed not displeased at

the prospect of a fight, while Jerry the phlegmatic, shook his head

and shrugged his shoulders, after which they both retired behind a

rock for a few moments, as Hans informed me, to say their prayers

and confess their sins to each other. Kaneke listened and made but

one remark.

“You are behaving well to me, Lord Macumazahn, and now I will

behave well to you.”

“Thank you,” I answered. “I shall remind you of that if we meet on

the other side of the sun, or in that star you worship. Now please

go to your post, shoot as straight as you can, and don’t waste

cartridges.”

Then, when the hunters had returned from their religious exercises,

we took our places, each in a little shelter of rocks, so arranged

that we could fire over the fence of the boma. I was in the

middle, with Hans and Kaneke on either side of me, while Tom and

Jerry were at the ends of the line. There we crouched, expecting a

frontal attack, but this did not develop. After a long talk the

Arabs fired a few shots from a distance of about four hundred

yards, which either fell short or went I know not where. Then

suddenly they began to run over the open land where, as I have

said, the veld was burned, towards the tall grass with thorn trees

growing in it that lay upon our left, evidently with the design of

outflanking us.

At the head of their scattered band was a tall man in whom, by the

aid of my glasses, I recognized the venomous and evil-tempered

Gaika, who had acted as chief-justice at Kaneke’s trial, a person

who had threatened me and of whom I had conceived an intense

dislike. Hans, whose sight was as keen as a vulture’s, recognized

him also, for he said:

“There goes that hyena Gaika.”

“Give me my express,” I said, laying down the Winchester, and he

handed it to me cocked.

“Let no man fire!” I cried as I took it, and lifted the flap-sight

that was marked five hundred yards. Then I stood up, set my left

elbow upon a stone, and waited my chance.

It came a few moments later, when Gaika must cross a little ridge

of ground where he was outlined against the sky. The shot was a

long one for an express, but I knew my rifle and determined to risk

it. I got on to him, aiming at his middle, and swung the barrel

the merest fraction in front to allow time for the bullet to

travel. Then, drawing a long breath to steady myself, I pressed

the trigger, of which the pull was very light.

The rifle rang out and I waited anxiously, for, although the best

of shots need not have been ashamed to do so, I feared to miss,

knowing that if this happened it would be taken as an omen. Well,

I did not miss, for two seconds later I saw Gaika plunge to the

ground, roll over and over and lie still.

“Oh!” said my people simultaneously, looking at me with admiration

and pride. But I was not proud, except a little perhaps at my

marksmanship, for I was sorry to have to shoot this disagreeable

and to us most dangerous man, so much so that I did not fire the

other barrel of the express.

For a moment his nearest companions stopped and stared at Gaika;

then they fled on towards the high grass and reeds, leaving him on

the ground, which showed me that he must be dead. I hoped that

they were merely taking cover and that the sudden end of Gaika

would have caused them to change their minds about attacking us,

which was why I shot him. This, however, was not the case, for a

while later fire was opened on us from a score of places in these

reeds. Here and there in the centre of clumps of them and behind

the trunks of thorns the Arabs had hidden themselves, singly or in

pairs, and the trouble was that we could not see one of them. This

made it quite useless to attempt to return their fire because our

bullets would only have been wasted, and I had no ammunition to

throw away in such a fashion. So there we must lie, doing nothing.

It was true that for the present we were not in any great danger,

because we could take shelter behind stones upon which the missiles

of the Arabs flattened themselves, if they hit at all, for the

shooting being erratic, most of them sang over us harmlessly. The

sound of these bullets, which sometimes I think were only pebbles

coated with lead, or fragments of iron, terrified our bearers,

however, especially after one of them had been slightly wounded by

a lead splinter, or a fragment of rock. The wretched men began to

jabber and now and again to cry out with fear, nor could all my

orders and threats keep them quiet.

At length, after this bombardment had continued for nearly two

hours, there came a climax. Suddenly, as though at a word of

command, the bearers rose and rushed down the slope like a bunch of

startled buck. They ran to the bank of the pool which I have

mentioned, following it eastwards towards Kaneke’s town, till they

came to the bed of the river of which the pool formed a part in the

wet season, where they vanished.

Of course we could have shot some of them as they went, as Hans,

who was feeling spiteful, wanted to do, but this I would not allow,

for what was the use of trying to stop a pack of cowards who, as

likely as not, would attack us from behind if a rush came, hoped

thus to propitiate the Arabs? What happened to those men I do not

know, for they vanished completely, nor did I ever hear of them

again. Perhaps some of them escaped back to the coast, but being

without arms or food, this I think more than doubtful. The poor

wretches must have wandered till they starved or were killed by

wild beasts, unless indeed they were captured and enslaved.

Now our position was very serious. Here we were, five men and one

donkey; for I think I have said that I possessed this beast, a

particularly intelligent creature called Donna after a half-breed

Portuguese woman the rest of whose name I forget, who had sold it

to me with two others that died on the road. Beneath us,

completely hidden, were forty or fifty determined enemies who

probably were waiting for nightfall to creep up the koppie and cut

our throats. What could we do?

Hans, whose imagination was fertile, suggested various expedients.

His first was that we should try to fire the reeds and long grass

in which the Arabs had taken cover, which was quite impracticable,

because first we had to get there without being shot; also they

were still too green to burn and the wind was blowing the wrong

way. His next idea was that we should follow the example of the

porters and bolt. This, I pointed out, was foolish, for we should

only be run down and killed. Even if we waited till dark, almost

certainly the end would be disaster; moreover we should be obliged

to leave most of our gear and ammunition behind. Then he made a

third proposal in a mixture of Dutch and English, which was but an

old one in a new form, namely, that we should try to buy off the

Arabs by surrendering Kaneke.

“I have already told you that I will do nothing of the sort. I

promised White-Mouse to try to save this man, and there’s an end.”

“Yes, Baas, I know you did. Oh, what bad luck it is that White-Mouse was so pretty. If only her face had been like a squashed

pumpkin, or if she had been dirty, with creatures in her hair, we

shouldn’t be looking at our last sun, Baas. Well, no doubt soon we

shall be talking over the business with her in the Place of Fires,

where I am sure she has gone, whatever that liar of a messenger may

have said. Now I have finished who can think of nothing more,

except to pray to your reverend father, who doubtless can help us

if he chooses, which perhaps he doesn’t, because he is so anxious

to see me again.”

Having delivered himself thus, Hans squatted a little more closely

beneath his stone, over which a bullet had just passed with a most

vicious whiz, and lit a pipe.

Next I tried the two hunters, only to find that they were quite

barren of ideas, for they shook their heads and went on murmuring

prayers. There remained Kaneke, at whom I glanced in despair.

There he sat silent, with a face like a brickbat so impassive was

it, giving me the idea of a man who is listening intently for

something. For what? I wondered.

“Kaneke,” I said, “by you, or on your behalf by another whom I

think is dead, we have been led into a deep hole. Here we are who

can be counted on the fingers of one hand, under fire from those

who hate you, but against whom we have no quarrel, except on your

account. The porters have fled away and our enemies, whom we

cannot shoot because they are invisible in the reeds and grass of

that pan, only await darkness to attack and make an end of us. Now

if you have any word of comfort, speak, for it is needed,

remembering that if we die, you die also.”

“Comfort!” he answered in his dreamy fashion. “Oh yes, it is at

hand. I am waiting for it now, my Lord Macumazahn,” and he went on

listening like one who has been interrupted in a serious matter by

some babbler of trivialities.

This was too much for me; my patience gave way, and I addressed

Kaneke in language which I will not record, saying amongst other

forcible things that I was sorry I had not followed Hans’ advice

and abandoned him or surrendered him to the Arabs.

“You could not do that, my Lord Macumazahn,” he answered mildly,

“seeing that you had promised White-Mouse to save me. No one could

break his word to White-Mouse, could he?”

“White-Mouse!” I ejaculated. “Where is she? Poor woman, she is

dead, and for you, as the rest of us soon will be. And now you

talk to me about my promises to her. How do you know what I

promised her, you anathema’d bag of mysteries?”

“I do know, Lord,” he replied, still more vaguely and gently. Then

suddenly he added, “Hark! I hear the comfort coming,” and lifted

his hand in an impressive manner, only to drop it again in haste,

because a passing bullet had scraped the skin off his finger.

Something caught my ear and I listened. From far away came a sound

which reminded me of that made by a pack of wild dogs hunting a

buck at night, a kind of surging, barbarous music.

“What is it?” I asked.

Kaneke, who was sucking the scraped finger, removed it from his

mouth and replied that it was “the comfort”, and that if I would

look perhaps I should see.

So I did look through a crack between two stones towards the

direction from which the sound seemed to come, namely eastward

beyond the dry swamp where the veld was formed of great waves of

land spotted with a sparse growth of thorn trees, swelling

undulations like to those of the deep ocean, only on a larger

scale. Presently, coming over the crest of one of these waves, now

seen and now lost among the thorns, appeared a vast number of men,

savage-looking fellows who wore feathers in their hair and very

little else, and carried broad, long-handled spears.

“Who the deuce are these?” I asked, but Kaneke made no answer.

There he sat behind his stone, pointing towards the reeds in which

the Arabs were hidden with his bleeding finger and muttering to

himself.

Hans who, wild with curiosity, had thrust his sticky face against

mine in order to share the view through the chink, whispered into

my ear:

“Don’t disturb him, Baas. These are his friends and he is telling

them where those Arabs are.”

“How can he tell people half a mile away anything, you idiot?” I

asked.

“Oh, quite easily, Baas. You see, he is a magician, and magicians

talk with their minds. It is their way of sending telegrams, as

you do in Natal, Baas. Well, things look better now. As your

reverend father used to say, if only you wait long enough the devil

always helps you at last.”

“Rot!” I ejaculated, though I agreed that things did look better,

that is, unless these black scoundrels intended to attack us and

not the Arabs. Then I set myself to watch events with the greatest

interest.

The horde of savages, advancing at a great pace—there must have

been two or three hundred of them—made for the dry pan like bees

for their hive. Whether Kaneke instructed them or not, evidently

their intelligence department was excellent, for they knew exactly

what they had to do. Reaching the edge of it, they halted for a

while and ceased their weird song, I suppose to get their breath

and to form up. Then at some signal the song began again and they

plunged into those reeds like dogs after an otter.

Up to this moment the Arabs hidden there did not seem to be aware

of their approach, I suppose because their attention was too firmly

fixed upon us, for they kept on firing at the koppie in a desultory

fashion. Now of a sudden this firing ceased, and from the thicket

below arose yells of fear, surprise, and anger. Next at its

further end, that which lay towards Kaneke’s town, appeared the

Arabs running for all they were worth, and presently, after them,

their savage attackers.

Heavens, what a race was that! Never have I seen men go faster

than did those Arabs across the plain with the wild pursuers at

their heels. Some were caught and killed, but when at last they

vanished out of sight, most of them were still well ahead. Hans

wanted to shoot at them, but I would not allow it, for what was the

use of trying to kill the poor wretches while others were fighting

our battle? So it came about that the only shot we fired that day,

I mean in earnest, was that which I had aimed at Gaika, which was

strange when I had prepared for a desperate battle against

overwhelming odds.

All having vanished behind the irregularities of the ground, except

a few who had been caught and speared, in the silence which

followed the war-song and the shoutings, I turned to Kaneke and

asked for explanations. He replied quite pleasantly and briefly,

that these black men were some of his “friends” whom the Arabs had

always feared he would bring upon them, which was why they kept him

prisoner and wished to kill him.

“I had no intention of doing anything of the sort, Lord,” he added,

“until it became necessary in order to save our lives. Then, of

course I asked them for help, whereon they came at once and did

what was wanted, as you have seen.”

“And pray how did you ask them, Kaneke?”

“Oh, Lord, by messengers as one always asks people at a distance,

though they were so long coming I feared lest the messengers might

not have reached them.”

“He lies, Baas,” said Hans, in Dutch. “It is no good trying to

pump the truth out of his heart, for you will only tire yourself

bringing up more lies.”

As I agreed, I dropped the subject and inquired of Kaneke whether

his friends were coming back again. He said he thought so and

before very long, as he had told them not to attack the town in

which dwelt many innocent women and children.

“But, Lord,” he went on, with unusual emphasis, “when they do

return I think it will be well that you should not go to speak to

them. To tell the truth, they are savage people, and being very

naked, might take a fancy to your clothes, also to your guns and

ammunition. I will just go down to give them a word of thanks and

bring back some porters to take the place of those who have run

away, whom, by the way, I hope they have not met. Foreseeing

something of the sort, I asked them to bring a number of suitable

men.”

“Did you?” I gasped. “You are indeed a provident person. And now

may I ask you whether you intend to return to your town, or what

you mean to do?”

“Certainly I do not intend to return, Lord, in order to care for

people who have been so ungrateful. Also, that spotted sickness is

most unpleasant to see. No, Lord, I intend to accompany you to the

country of the Lake Mone.”

“The Lake Mone!” I said. “I have had enough of that lake, or

rather of the journey to it, and I have made up my mind not to go

there.”

He looked at me, and under the assumed mildness of that look I read

intense determination as he answered:

“I think you will go to the Lake Mone, Lord Macumazahn.”

“And I think I will not, Kaneke.”

“Indeed. In that case, Lord, I must talk to my friends when they

return, and make certain arrangements with them.”

We stared at each other for what seemed quite a long time, though I

dare say it was only a few seconds. I don’t know what Kaneke read

of my mind, but what I read of his was a full intention that I

should accompany him to the Lake Mone, or be left to the tender

mercies of his “friends”, at present engaged in Arab-hunting who,

it seemed, had so great a passion for European guns and garments.

Now there are times when it is well to give way, and the knowledge

of those times, to my mind, often marks the difference between a

wise man and a fool. As we all know, wisdom and folly are

contiguous states, and the line dividing them is very thin and

crooked, which makes it difficult not to blunder across its

borders, I mean from the land of wisdom into that of folly, for the

other step is rarely taken, save by one inspired by the best of

angels.

In this instance, although I do not pretend to any exceptional

sagacity, I felt strongly that it would be well to stick on my own

side of the line and not defy the Fates as represented by that

queer person Kaneke, and his black “friends” whom he seemed to have

summoned from nowhere in particular. After all, I was in a tight

place. To travel back without porters, even if I escaped the

“friends” and the Arabs who now had a quarrel against me, was

almost impossible, and the same might be said of a journey in any

other direction. It seemed, therefore, that it would be best to

continue to suffer those ills I knew of, namely the fellowship of

Kaneke on an expedition into the unknown.

“Very well,” I remarked casually, after a swift weighing of these

matters and a still swifter remembrance of the prophecy of White-Mouse that I should come safely through the business. (Why this

should have struck me at that moment I could not say.)—“Very well,

it does not much matter to me whether I turn east or west. So let

us go to Lake Mone, if there be such a place, though I wonder what

will be the end of that journey.”

“So do I,” replied Kaneke dryly.

CHAPTER VII

THE JOURNEY

Now, for sundry reasons, I am going to follow the example of a lady

of my acquaintance who makes it a rule to read two three-volume

novels a week, and skip, by which I mean that I will compress the

tale of our journey to the land of the mysterious Lake Mone into

the smallest possible compass. If set out in full the details of

such a trek as this through country that at the time was

practically unknown to white men—it took between two and three

months—would suffice to fill a volume. It might be an interesting

volume in its way, to a few who care for descriptions of African

races and scenery, but to the many I fear that its chapters would

present a certain sameness. So I shall leave them untold and

practise the art of précis-writing until I come to the heart of the

story.

After the conversation of which I have spoken, we cooked and ate

food, which all of us needed badly. Then, being very tired and

worn with many emotions, Hans and I went to sleep in the shade of

some rocks, leaving Tom and Jerry to keep watch. About three

o’clock in the afternoon one of them woke us up, or rather woke me

up, for Hans, who could do with very little sleep, was already

astir and engaged in overhauling the rifles. They told me that the

black men were returning. I asked where Kaneke was, and learned

that he had gone to meet them. Then I took my glasses and from a

point of vantage kept watch upon what happened.

The savages, impressive-looking fellows in their plume-crowned

nakedness, came streaming across the veld, some of them carrying in

their hands objects which I believe to have been the heads of

Arabs, though of this I cannot be sure because they were so far

away. They were no longer singing or in haste but walked quietly,

with the contented air of men filled with a sense of duty done.

Appeared Kaneke marching towards them, whereon they halted and

saluted by raising their spears, thus showing me that in their

opinion he was a man of great position and dignity. They formed a

ring round Kaneke, from the centre of which he seemed to address

them. When this ring opened out again, which it did after a while,

I observed that a fire had been lit, how, or fed with what fuel, I

do not know, and that on it the savages were laying the objects

which I took to be the heads of Arabs.

“Kaneke is their great devil, and they are sacrificing to him,

Baas,” whispered Hans.

“At any rate, on this occasion he has been a useful devil,” I

answered, “or, rather, his worshippers have been useful.”

A while later, when the rite, or sacrifice, or whatever it may have

been, was completed, the savages started forward again, leaving the

fire still burning on the veld, and marched almost to the foot of

the koppie, which caused me some alarm, as I thought they might be

coming to the camp. This was not so, however, for when they were

within a few hundred yards, of a sudden they broke into a chant,

not the same which they had used when advancing, but one which had

in it a kind of note of farewell, and departing at a run past the

outer edge of the dry vlei from which they had driven the Arabs,

soon were lost to sight. Yes, their song grew fainter and fainter,

till at length it was swallowed up in silence and the singers

vanished into the vast depths of distance whence they came.

Where did they come from and who were they? I know not, for on

this matter Kaneke preserved a silence so impenetrable that at

length the mystery of their appearance and disappearance began, to

my mind, to take the character of an episode in a dream. Or,

rather, it would have done so had it not been for the circumstance

that they did not all go. On the contrary, about twenty were left,

who stood before Kaneke with folded arms and bent heads, their

spears thrust into the ground in front of them, blade upwards, by

means of the iron spikes that were fixed to the handles. Also at

the feet of each man was a bundle wrapped round with a mat.

“Hullo!” I said. “What do those men want? Do they mean mischief?”

“Oh no, Baas,” answered Hans. “The Baas will remember that Kaneke

promised us some more porters, and these are the men. Doubtless he

is a great wizard, and for aught I know, may have made them and all

the rest out of mud; like Adam and Eve, Baas. Still, I am

beginning to think better of Kaneke, who is not just a humbug, as I

thought, but one who can do things.”

Meanwhile at some sign the men picked up the bundles and slung them

over their shoulders, drew their spears from the ground and

followed Kaneke towards the camp, where we waited for them with our

rifles ready in case of accidents.

“Baas,” said Hans, as they approached, “I do not think that these

men are the brothers of those who attacked the Arabs just now; I

think that they are different.”

I studied them and came to the same conclusion. To begin with, so

far as I could judge who had only seen our wild rescuers from a

distance, these were lighter in colour, brown rather than black,

indeed, also they were taller and their hair was much less woolly,

only curling up at the ends which hung down upon their shoulders.

For the rest, they were magnificently built, with large brown eyes

not unlike those of Kaneke, and well-cut features with nothing

negroid about them. Nor, in truth, were they of Arab type who

seemed rather to belong to some race that was new to me, and yet of

very ancient and unmixed blood.

Could they, I wondered, belong to the same people as Kaneke

himself? No; although so like him, it seemed impossible, for how

would they have got here?

Very quietly and solemnly the men approached to where I was sitting

on a stone, walking in as good a double line as the nature of the

ground would allow, as though they had been accustomed to

discipline, and laying their right hands upon their hearts, bowed

to me in a courtly fashion that was almost European; so courtly,

indeed, that I felt bound to stand up, take off my hat, and return

the bow. To Hans they did not bow, but only regarded him with a

mild curiosity, or to the hunters either, for these they seemed to

recognize were servants.

The sight of the donkey, Donna, however, appeared to astonish them,

and when at that moment she broke into her loudest bray, intimating

that she wished to be fed, they looked downright frightened,

thinking, I suppose, that she was some strange wild beast.

Kaneke spoke a word or two to them in a tongue I did not know,

whereon they smiled as though in apology. Then he said:

“Lord Macumazahn, you, and still more your servant Hans, have

mistrusted me, thinking either that I was mad or leading you into

some trap. Nor do I wonder at this, seeing that much has happened

since yesterday which you must find it hard to understand. Still,

Lord, as you will admit, all has gone well. Those whom I summoned

to aid us have done their work and departed, to be seen of you no

more; the Arabs over whom I ruled and who went near to murdering

me, and would have murdered you because you refused to deliver me

to them, as Hans wished that you should do, have learned their

lesson and will not trouble you again. These men”—and he pointed

to his companions—“you will find brave and trustworthy, nor will

they be a burden to you in any way; nay, rather they will bear your

burdens. Only, I pray you, do not question them as to who they are

or whence they come, for they are under a vow of silence. Have I

your promise?”

“Oh, certainly,” I answered, adding with inward doubt, “and that of

Hans and the hunters also. And now as I understand nothing of all

this business, which I do not consider has gone as well as you say,

seeing that White-Mouse, the woman who saved your life, although,

as she told me, she was not your wife—”

“That is true, as I have said already,” interrupted Kaneke, bowing

his head in a way that struck me as almost reverential.

“—Seeing that White-Mouse,” I repeated, “doubtless is dead at the

hands of those Arabs of yours who hated you, which blackens

everything, perhaps you will be so good as to tell me, Kaneke, what

is to happen next.”

“Our journey, Lord,” he replied, with a stare of surprise. “What

else? Moreover, Lord, be sure that about this journey you need not

trouble any more. Henceforward, until we reach the land of my

people I will take command and arrange for everything. All that

you need do is to follow where I lead and amuse yourself, resting

or stopping to shoot when you will, and giving me your orders as to

every matter of the sort, which shall be obeyed. This you can do

without fear seeing that, as White-Mouse told you, all shall go

well with you.”

Now once more I was tempted to question him as to the source of his

information about what passed between me and White-Mouse, but

refrained, remarking only that he was very good at guessing.

“Yes, Lord,” he replied. “I have always had a gift that way, as

you may have noticed when I guessed that those savages would come

to help us, and bring with them men to take the place of the

porters who have fled. Well, I notice that you do not contradict

my guess and again I assure you that White-Mouse spoke true words.”

Now for a minute I was indignant at Kaneke’s impudence. It seemed

outrageous that he, or any native African, should presume to put

me, Allan Quatermain, under his orders, to go where HE liked and to

do what HE chose. Indeed, I was about to refuse such a position

with the greatest emphasis when suddenly it occurred to me that

there was another side to the question.

Although I had never travelled there, I had heard from friends how

people touring in the East place themselves in charge of a

dragoman, a splendid but obsequious individual who dry-nurses them

day and night, arranges, commands, feeds, masters difficulties,

wrangles with extortioners or obstructionists, and finally gently

leads his employers whither they would go and back again. It is

true I had heard, too, that these skilled and professional persons

are rather apt to melt away in times of real danger or trouble,

leaving their masters to do the fighting, also that their bills are

invariably large. For every system has its drawbacks and these are

chances which must be faced.

Still, this idea of being dragomanned, personally conducted like a

Cook’s tourist, through untrodden parts of Africa, had charms. It

would be such a thorough change—at any rate to me. Then and there

I determined to accept the offer, reflecting that if the worst came

to the worst, I could always take command again. It was obvious

that I must accompany Kaneke or run the risk of strange things

happening to me at his hands and those of his followers whom he had

collected out of nowhere. Therefore the responsibilities of the

expedition might as well be his as mine.

So I answered mildly:

“Agreed, Kaneke. You shall lead and I will follow. I place myself

and my servants in your hands, trusting to you to guide us safely

and to protect us against every danger. Though,” I added in a

sterner voice, “I warn you that at the first sign of treachery I

will shoot you dead. And now tell me, when are we to start?”

“At moonrise, I think, Lord, for then it will be cooler. Meanwhile

you and your servants can sleep who need rest after so many

labours. Fear nothing; I and my men will watch.”

“Baas,” said Hans as we went away to act upon this advice, “I never

thought you and I, who are getting old, would live to find a new

mammy, and such a one with eye and beak of an owl who, like an owl,

loves to stare at the stars and to fly at night. However, if the

Baas does not mind, I don’t.”

I made no answer, though I thought to myself that Kaneke’s great

sleepy eyes were really not unlike those of an owl, that mysterious

bird which in the native mind is always connected with omens and

magic. Yes, in calling him an owl Hans showed his usual aptitude,

especially as he believed that he was the destroyer of that strange

and beautiful woman, White-Mouse.

Well, we rested, and ate on waking, and at moonrise departed upon

our journey, heading nor’-west. Everything was prepared, even the

loads were apportioned among the new porters. Indeed, there was

nothing left for us to do except roll up the little tent and tie

it, together with my personal belongings, on to the back of Donna,

whom Hans fed and Tom and Jerry led alternately. We met with no

adventures. The lion or lions, on whom, according to Hans, Kaneke

had thrown a charm, did not trouble us; we saw nothing of the Arabs

or the savages whom that strange person called his “friends”. In

short, we just walked forward where Kaneke guided as safely as

though we had been upon an English road, till we came to the place

where he said we were to halt.

Such was our first march which in the weeks that followed was

typical of scores of others. Nothing happened to us upon that

prolonged trek; at least, nothing out of the way. It was as though

a charm had been laid upon us, protecting us from all evils and

difficulties. A great deal of the country through which we passed

was practically uninhabited. I suppose that the slave-traders had

desolated it in bygone years, for often we saw ruined villages with

no one in them. When they were inhabited, however, Kaneke would go

in advance and speak to their headman. What he said to them I do

not know, but in the issue we always found the people friendly and

ready to supply us with such provisions as they had, generally

without payment.

One thing I noted: that they looked on me with awe. At first I put

this down to the fact that most of them had never before seen a

real white man, but by degrees I came to the conclusion that there

was more behind, namely that for some reason or another I was

regarded as a most powerful fetish, or even as a kind of god. Thus

they would abase themselves upon their faces before me and even

make offerings to me of whatever they had, generally grain or

fruits.

While they confined themselves to these I took no notice, but when

at one village the chief, who could talk a little Arabic, having

mixed with slave-traders in his youth, brought a white cock and

proceeded to cut its throat and sprinkle my feet with the blood, I

thought it time to draw the line. Snatching the dead bird from his

hand, I threw it away and asked him why he had done this thing. At

first he was too terrified to answer, imagining that his offering

was rejected because I was angry with him.

Presently, however, he fell upon his knees and mumbled something to

the effect that he was only doing me honour, as the “messenger”, or

“my messenger”, had commended him. For the life of me I could not

understand what he meant, unless he alluded to Kaneke. While I was

trying to find out, that worthy arrived and gave the chief one look

which caused him to rise and run away.

Then I cross-examined Kaneke without result, for he only shrugged

his shoulders and said that all these people were very simple and

wished to do honour to a white man. Hans took a different view.

“How is it, Baas,” he asked, “that they are always prepared to

receive us at these places and waiting with gifts? None of those

men of the Owl’s” (he often called Kaneke the “Owl”) “go forward to

warn them, for I count them continually, especially at night and in

the morning, to find if one is missing. Nor when we are travelling

through bush can they see us coming from far away. How, then, do

they know?”

“I can’t tell you.”

“Then I will tell the Baas. The owl-man sends his spirit ahead to

give them notice.” He paused, then added, “Or perhaps—” Here he

stopped, saying that he had left his pipe on the ground, or

something of the sort, and departed.

So this mystery remained unsolved, like others.

In every way our good luck was so phenomenal that with the

superstition of a hunter, which infects all of our trade, I began

to fear that we must have some awful time ahead of us. When we

came to rivers they were invariably fordable. When we wanted meat,

there was always game at hand that could be shot without trouble by

Tom and Jerry—Kaneke, I observed, would never fire at any beast

even when I offered to lend him my rifle. The weather was most

propitious, or if a bad storm came up we were under shelter. No

one fell sick of fever or any other complaint; no one met with an

accident. No lion troubled us, no snake bit us, and so forth. At

last this unnatural state of affairs began to get upon our nerves,

especially upon those of Tom and Jerry, who came to me one evening

almost weeping, and declared that we were bewitched and going to

our deaths.

“Nonsense,” I answered, “you ought to be glad that we have so much

good luck.”

“Sugar is good,” replied Tom, who loved sweet things, “but one

cannot live on nothing but sugar; it makes one sick, and I have had

bad dreams at night.”

“I never expect to see my little daughter again, but if it is the

will of Heaven that cannot be helped,” remarked the more phlegmatic

Jerry, adding, “Master, we do not like this Kaneke whom Hans calls

the Owl, and we wish that you would take command, as we do not know

where he is leading us.”

“Nor do I, so I should be of no use as a guide. But be at ease,

for I am making a map of the road for our return journey.”

“When we return we shall need no map,” said Tom in a hollow voice.

“We have heard from Hans that the lady or the witch called White-Mouse promised safety and good fortune to him, and to you, Lord,

but it seems that about us she said nothing—”

“Look here,” I broke in, exasperated, “if you two men are so

frightened for no cause that I can see, except that everything goes

well with us, you had better follow the example of the porters at

our first camp, and run away. I will give you your rifles and as

many cartridges as you want, also the donkey Donna to carry them.

I can see no reason why you should not get back to the coast

safely, especially as you have money in your pockets.”

Tom shook his head, remarking that he thought it probable that they

would be murdered before they had completed the first day’s

journey. Then Jerry, the phlegmatic, showed his real quality, or

perhaps the English blood, which I am sure ran in his veins,

manifested itself.

“Listen, Little Holes,” he said to Tom. “If we go on like this,

our master Macumazahn will learn to despise us, and we shall be the

laughing stock of the yellow man Hans, and perhaps of Kaneke and

his people also. We undertook this journey; let us play the man

and go through with it to the end. We can only die once, and

because we are Christians, should we also be cowards? You have

none to mourn for you, and I have but one daughter, who has seen

little of me and who will be well looked after if I return no more.

Therefore I say let us put aside our fears, which after all are

built on water, and cease to trouble the master with them.”

“That is well said,” replied Tom, alias Little Holes, “and if it

were not for the accursed wizard, one of those who is spoken

against in the Holy Book, I should be quite happy. But while he is

our guide, he who with his people, as I have seen at night, makes

incantations to the stars—”

Here Tom chanced to look up and to perceive Kaneke standing at a

distance, apparently out of hearing, with his large eyes fixed upon

us. The effect was wonderful. “Be careful. Here is the wizard

himself,” he whispered to Jerry, whereon they both turned and went

away.

Kaneke came up to me.

“Those hunters are afraid of something, Lord,” he said quietly.

“For days past I have read it in their faces. What is it that they

fear?”

“You,” I answered bluntly—“you and the future.”

“All men should hold the future in awe, Lord, so there they are

wise. But why should they dread me?”

“Because they think you are a wizard, Kaneke.”

He smiled in his slow fashion, and answered:

“As others have done and do. If a man has more foresight or sees

deeper into hearts, or turns from women, or worships that which

most men do not worship, or is different from the rest in other

ways, then he is always called a wizard, as I am. Lord, what your

servants need is that which will change their minds so that they

cease to think about themselves. I have come to tell you that

tomorrow we enter into forest lands, which at this season are

haunted by vast herds of elephants that travel from different

quarters and meet here for the purposes of which we men know

nothing. It might please you and those brave hunters of yours to

see this meeting and to shoot one or two of those elephants, for

among them are their kings, mighty bulls.”

“I should like to see such a sight,” I answered, “but there is

little use in shooting the beasts when one cannot carry the ivory.”

“It might be buried till you return, Lord; at any rate it will give

the hunters occupation for a while.”

“Very well,” I answered indifferently, for to tell the truth I did

not believe in Kaneke’s tale of vast herds of elephants that held a

kind of parliament in a particular forest.

Next night we camped on the outskirts of this forest of which

Kaneke had spoken. It was a very strange place, different from any

other that I have seen. In it grew great and solemn trees of a

species that was new to me; huge, clean-boiled trees with leafy

tops that met together and shut out the sun, so that where they

were thickest there was twilight even at midday, nor could any

undergrowth live beneath them. But the trees did not grow

everywhere, for here and there were wide open spaces in which, for

some unknown reason, they refused to flourish. These spaces, that

sometimes were as much as a mile across, were covered with scanty

bush and grasses.

All that night we heard elephants trumpeting around us, and when

morning came found that a great herd of them must have passed

within a quarter of a mile of our camp. The sight of their spoor

excited the professional instincts of Tom and Jerry, who,

forgetting their gloom, prayed me to follow the herd. I objected,

for the reason I have given, namely that if we killed any of them

it would be difficult to deal with the ivory. Kaneke, however,

hearing our talk, declared that the porters needed rest and that he

would be very glad if it could be given to them for a day or two,

while we amused ourselves with hunting.

Then I gave way, being anxious to learn if there was any truth in

Kaneke’s story about the meeting-place of elephants that was

supposed to exist in this forest. Also I was desirous that the two

hunters should find something to do which would take their thoughts

into a more cheerful channel. Personally, too, I felt that I

should be glad of a change from this continuous marching unmarked

by any incident.

So, after we had eaten and made our preparations, the four of us,

that is Tom, Jerry, Hans, and I, started—Kaneke would not come—

carrying large-bore rifles, a good supply of cartridges and some

food and water. All the rest of that day we followed the spoor of

the elephants, that had not stopped to feed in the glades I have

described, as I had hoped that they would do, but appeared to be

pushing forward at a great rate towards some definite objective.

With one halt we marched on steadily in the shadow of those huge

trees, noticing that the elephant-spoor seemed to follow a kind of

road which wound in and out between their trunks or struck in a

straight line across the stretches of thin bushes and grass.

More than once I wished to return, as did Hans who, like myself saw

no use in this adventure. Always, however, Tom and Jerry prayed to

be allowed to proceed, so on we went. Towards sunset we lost the

spoor in a thick patch of forest. Pushing on to find it again

while there was still light, we came suddenly to one of the open

spaces that I have mentioned which seemed to be much larger than

any other we had seen, also more bare of vegetation. It must have

covered at least a thousand acres of ground, and perfectly flat;

indeed, I thought that at some faraway epoch it had formed the

bottom of a lake.

Near the centre of this oasis in the forest was a mound which, if I

may judge from pictures I have seen of them, resembled one of those

great tumuli that in certain parts of Europe the wild tribes of

thousands of years ago reared over the bones of their chieftains.

Or, as I afterwards discovered, more probably it was the natural

foundation of some lake-town where a tribe dwelt for safety when

all this place was under water. At any rate there it stood, a low,

round eminence covered with a scanty growth of flowering bushes and

small trees.

Thinking that from this mound we might be able to see the

elephants, or at least which way they had gone, we marched thither,

I reflecting that at the worst it would be a better place for

camping than the gloomy and depressing forest. Having climbed its

sloping side, we found that on the top it was flat except for a

large depression in the centre, where perhaps once had stood the

huts of its primeval inhabitants. What was of more interest to us,

however, than the past history of the place, was that at the bottom

of this depression lay a pool of water supplied by some spring, or

by rain that had fallen recently.

Seeing this water, which we needed who had drunk all our own, I

determined that we would pass the night on the mound, although the

most careful search from its top failed to show any sign of the

elephants we had been spooring.

“Yes, Baas,” said Hans, when I gave my orders, “but, all the same,

I don’t like this place, Baas, and should prefer to get back to the

forest after we have drunk and filled our bottles.”

I inquired why.

“I don’t know, Baas. Perhaps the spooks of those who once lived

here are all about, though we can’t see them. Or—but tell me,

Bass, why did that Owl-man, Kaneke, send us after those elephants?”

“To give Tom and Jerry something to think about, Hans.”

He grinned and answered:

“Kaneke does not care whether those fellows have anything to think

about or not. I should believe that he did it to give us the slip,

only I am sure that he does not want to go on alone. So, Baas, it

must be to teach us some lesson and show us how powerful he is, so

powerful that he makes the Baas do what he wants, which no one has

done before.”

I reflected that Hans was right. I had not desired to come upon

this absurd hunt, yet somehow Kaneke had pushed me into it.

“I don’t believe there are any elephants,” went on Hans with

conviction. “The spoor? Oh, a magician like Kaneke can make

spoor, Baas. Or if there seem to be elephants, then I believe that

they are really ghosts that put on that shape. Let us go back to

the forest, Baas—if the Owl-man will give you leave.”

Now I felt that the time had come for me to put my foot down, and I

did so with firmness.

“Stop talking nonsense, Hans,” I said. “I don’t know what’s the

matter with all you fellows. Is your brain going soft as a rotten

coconut, like those of Tom and Jerry? We will sleep here tonight

and return tomorrow to the camp.”

“Oh, the Baas thinks he is going to sleep tonight. Yes, he thinks

he is going to sleep,” sniggered Hans. “Well, we shall see,” and

he bolted, still sniggering, before my wrath could descend upon

him.

The sun set and presently the big moon came up. We ate of the food

we had with us; as we had nothing to cook it was needless to light

a fire, nor indeed did I wish to do so, for in such a spot a fire

was a dangerous advertisement. So, as it seemed foolish to set a

watch in the middle of that open space, where there being no buck

there would be no lions—for lions do not hunt elephants—we just

lay down and went to sleep, as tired men should do. I remember

thinking, as I dropped off, how extraordinarily quiet the place

was. No beast called, no night-bird cried, nothing stirred on that

dead and windless calm. Indeed, the silence was so oppressive that

for once I should have welcomed the familiar ping! of a mosquito,

but here there were none.

So off I went and at some time unknown, to judge by the moon it was

towards the middle of the night, was awakened by a sense of

oppression. I dreamed that a great vampire bat was hanging over me

and sucking my toe. Now I was lying on my face, as I often do when

camping out to avoid the risk of moon blindness, just at the edge

of that hole where, as I have told, water had collected, in such a

position that I could look down into the pool. This water was very

still and clear and thus formed a perfect mirror.

As it happened there was something remarkable for it to reflect,

namely the head, trunk, and tusks of one of the hugest elephants I

ever saw—not Jana himself could have been much bigger! As my

mirror showed, he was standing over me; yes, I lay between his

fore-legs, while he was engaged in sniffing at the back of my head

with the tip of his trunk which, however, never actually touched

me.

Talk of a nightmare, or of a night-elephant for the matter of that,

never did I know of one to touch it. Of course I thought it was a

dream of a particularly vivid order arising from undigested

biltong, or something of the sort. But that did not make it any

better, for although I had wakened the vision did not go away, as

every decent nightmare does. Moreover, if it were a dream, what

was the hideous stabbing pain in my leg? (Afterwards this was

explained: Hans was trying to arouse me without calling the

elephant’s attention to himself by driving into my thigh the point

of a “wait-a-bit” thorn which he used to pin up his trousers.)

Also was it possible that in a dream an elephant could blow so hard

upon the back of one’s neck that it sent dust and bits of dry grass

up one’s nostrils, inducing a terrible desire to sneeze?

While I was pondering the question in a perfect agony and staring

at the alarming picture in the water, the gigantic beast ceased its

investigation of my person and stepping over me with calculated

gentleness, went to where Tom and Jerry were lying at a little

distance. Whether these worthies were awake or asleep I do not

know, for what happened terrified them so much that it produced

aphasia on this and some other points, so that they could never

tell me. The beast sniffed, first at Tom and then at Jerry; one

sniff each was all it vouchsafed to them. Then with its trunk it

seized, first Tom and next Jerry, and with an easy motion flung

them one after the other into the pool of water. This done,

avoiding Hans as though it disliked his odour, it walked away over

the crest of the cup or depression in the mound, and vanished.

Instantly I sat up, boxed the ears of Hans, who was still stabbing

at me idiotically with his wait-a-bit thorn and giving me great

pain, for speak to him I dared not, and slipped down the slope to

the lip of the pool to save Tom and Jerry from drowning, if indeed

they were not already dead. As it happened, my attentions were

needless, for the pool was quite shallow and this pair, whom the

elephant had not hurt at all, were seated on its bottom and

indulging in suppressed hysterics, their heads appearing above the

surface of the water.

A more ridiculous sight than they presented, even in the terror of

that occurrence, cannot be imagined. In all my life I never saw

its like. Think of two men of whom nothing was visible except the

heads, seated in the water and gibbering at each other in a dumb

paroxysm of fear.

I whispered to them to come out, also that if they made a noise I

would kill them both, whereupon somewhat reassured at my

appearance, they crawled to the bank of the pool, which proved that

none of their bones were broken, and emerged wreathed in watercresses. Then leaving them to recover as best they could, followed

by Hans and carrying my heavy rifle, I crept to the edge of the

depression and peeped over.

There, as the bright moonlight showed me, not twenty yards away

stood the enormous bull upon a little promontory or platform which

projected from the side of the mound, reminding one of a rostrum

erected for the convenience of the speaker at an open-air meeting.

Yes, there it stood as though it were carved in stone.

CHAPTER VIII

THE ELEPHANT DANCE

Never shall I forget that amazing scene, bitten as it is into the

tablets of my mind by the acids of fear and wonder. Imagine it!

The wide plain or lake bottom surrounded upon all sides by the

black ring of the forest and plunged in a silence so complete that

it seemed almost audible. Then there, just beneath us, the

gigantic and ancient elephant—for it was ancient, as I could see

by various signs, standing motionless and in an attitude which gave

a strange impression of melancholy, such melancholy as might

possess an aged man who, revisiting the home of his youth, finds it

a desolation.

“Baas,” whispered Hans, “if you shift a little more to the left

you might get him behind the ear and shoot him dead.”

“I don’t want to shoot him,” I replied, “and if you fire I will

break your neck.”

Hans, I know, thought I made this answer because my nerve was

shaken and I feared lest I should bungle the job. But as a matter

of fact, it was nothing of the sort. For some unexplained reason I

would as soon have committed a murder as shoot that elephant, which

had just spared my life when I lay at its mercy.

Low as we spoke, I suppose that the bull must have heard us. At

any rate it turned its head and looked in our direction, which

caused me to fear lest I should be obliged to fire after all. It

was not so, however, for having apparently satisfied itself that we

were harmless, once more it fell into contemplation, which must

have lasted for another two minutes.

Then suddenly it lifted its trunk and emitted a call or cry louder

and more piercing than that of any trumpet. Thrice it repeated

this call, and for the third time as its echoes died the silence of

the night was broken by a terrifying response. From every part of

the surrounding ring of forest rose the sound of elephants

trumpeting in unison, hundreds of elephants, or so it seemed.

“Allemagter! Baas,” whispered Hans in a shaky voice, “that old

spook beast is sending for his friends to kill us. Let us run,

Baas.”

“Where to, seeing that they are all round us?” I asked faintly,

adding: “If he wanted to kill us he could do so for himself. Lie

still. It is our only chance; and tell those hunters behind to

stop praying so loudly and to unload their rifles, lest they should

be tempted to fire.”

Hans crept away to the edge of the pool, where the dripping Tom and

Jerry were putting up audible petitions in the extremity of their

terror. Then watching, I saw the most marvellous sight in my

hunting experience. As though they were the trained beasts of

India or of the ancient kings, marching in endless lines and

ordered ranks, appeared three vast herds of elephants. From the

forest in front of us, from that to our right and that to our left,

and from aught I know from behind also, though these I could not

see, they came out into the moonlit open space, and marched towards

the mound with their regulated tread, which shook the earth.

Perhaps I saw double. Perhaps my nerves were so shaken that I

could not estimate numbers, but I should be prepared to swear that

there were at least a thousand of them, and afterwards the others

declared that there were many more. In each troop the bulls

marched first, the moonlight shining on their white tusks. Then

came the cows with calves running at their side, and last of all

the half-grown beasts, sorted seemingly according to their size.

So Kaneke had not lied. This was the meeting of the elephants

which he had prophesied we should see. Only how in Heaven’s name

did he know anything about it? For a few moments I began to think

that he was really what Hans and the hunters believed him to be—

some kind of magician who perhaps had sent us hither that we might

be torn to pieces or trampled to death.

Then I forgot all about Kaneke in the immediate interest of that

wild and wonderous spectacle. The herds arrived. They arranged

themselves in a semicircle, deep, curved lines of them, in front to

the mound upon which stood the ancient bull. For a while they were

still, then as though at a signal, they knelt down. Yes, even the

calves knelt, with their trunks stretched out straight upon the

ground in front of them.

“They do homage to their king, Baas,” whispered Hans, and so in

truth it seemed to be.

The giant bull trumpeted once, as though in acknowledgment of the

salute. The herds rose, and there followed a marvellous

performance that might have been taken for a dream. The bulls

massed themselves together in squadrons, as it were, and charged

past the mound from right to left, trumpeting as they charged.

After them came the regiments of the cows, and lastly those of the

partly grown beasts, all trumpeting; even the little calves set up

piercing squeals. They re-formed, but not as they were before.

For now the bulls faced the cows and the rest. Then began a kind

of dance, so swift and intricate that I could not follow it, a kind

of unearthly quadrille it seemed to be, in which the males sought

out the females, or it may have been the other way about, and they

caressed each other with their trunks. Perhaps it was some kind of

ceremony of betrothal, I do not know.

It ceased as suddenly as it had begun. The herds massed themselves

as at first, then wheeled and marched off in their three divisions

back to the forest whence they came. Soon all were gone except the

old king-bull, who still stood silent just beneath us, majesty and

loneliness personified.

“Do you think he is going to stop here always, Baas?” whispered

Hans. “Because if so, really it might be best to shoot him now

that the others have gone away.”

“Be silent,” I answered; “he may understand you.”

Yes, my nerves were so upset by what I had seen that I was fool

enough to talk thus.

“Yes, Baas,” assented Hans in his hoarse whisper, “I forgot that;

he may, so I didn’t really mean what I seemed to say about shooting

him. It was only a joke. Also it might bring the others back.”

At that moment, to my horror, the king-bull turned and walked

straight up to us. I couldn’t have shot him if I had wished,

because as I had made the others do, I had unloaded my rifle to

keep myself out of temptation. Also I did not wish; I was too much

afraid. He stood still, contemplating us, a giant of a creature

with a mild and meditative eye. Then he lifted his trunk and I

muttered a prayer, thinking that all was over. But no, he only

placed the tip of it against the middle of Hans, who somehow had

got to his knees, and let off one fearful scream accompanied by

such a blast of air that it blew Hans backwards down the slope on

to the recumbent forms of Tom and Jerry.

This done, the bull turned again, walked down the mound and out

across the plain, a picture of stately solitude till at last he

vanished in the dark shadow of the forest.

When he was lost to sight I went down to the pool and drank, for

the perspiration induced by terror seemed to have dried me up.

Then I looked at my three retainers, who were huddled in a heap on

the edge of the pool.

“I am dead,” muttered Hans, who was lying on the other two. “That

Satan of an elephant has blown out my inside. It has gone; there

is nothing left but my backbone.”

“No wonder, as you cursed him and wanted Macumazahn to shoot him,”

muttered Tom. “For did not that afreet of a beast cast us into the

pool for nothing at all?”

“Whether you have a stomach or not, be pleased to cease sitting on

my face, yellow man, or I will make my teeth meet in you,” gurgled

Jerry.

Thus they went on, and so ridiculous were the aspect and the talk

of the three of them, that at last I burst out laughing, which

relieved my nerves and did me good. Then I lit my pipe, hoping

that those elephants would not see the light or smell the tobacco

down in that hole, and not caring much if they did, for I seemed to

desire a smoke more than anything on earth.

“Let us talk,” I said to the others. “What are we to do?”

“Get out of this, master, and at once,” said Tom. “That beast is

not an elephant, it is an evil spirit in the shape of one. Yes, I

who am a Christian and have renounced all superstitions, say that

it is an evil spirit.”

“Little Holes is quite right,” broke in Jerry. “If it had been an

elephant, it would have killed us, but being an evil spirit it

threw us into the water.”

“Fool!” grunted Hans, rubbing his middle, “do you make an evil

spirit better than an elephant? In truth, as the Baas knows, the

bull is neither; it is a chief or a king who once lived in this

place as a man, and now had turned into an elephant, and all those

other beasts whom you did not see, being so much afraid, were once

his people, but now also are elephants. That is quite clear to the

Baas, and to me who am a better Christian than either of you.

Still, I agree with you that the sooner we see the last of this

haunted place, the better it will be.”

Thus they wrangled on till they were tired. When they had finished

I said:

“Here we stop till dawn breaks. Do you three climb to the top of

this hole and keep watch. I am tired and am going to sleep. Wake

me if you see the elephants coming back.”

So I lay down and slept, or at any rate dozed, which, as I have

said—thank Heaven!—I can do at any time after any experience. I

am a fatalist, one who does not trouble as to what is to happen in

the future, because I know it must happen and that worry is

therefore useless. If the elephants were going to kill me, I could

not help it; meanwhile I would get some rest.

So I slept, and dreamed that I saw this place standing in the

middle of a lake and full of people. They were tall, dark men and

women, the latter decently dressed in garments that were dyed with

various colours. The mound was covered with huts that were

thatched with reeds, and wooden jetties, to which canoes were tied,

ran out into the surrounding shallow water. On the broad surface

of the lake were other canoes, each containing one or two men who

were engaged in fishing, while round this lake lay the dense

forest, as it did today. In my dream the hollow in which now was

the pool by which I lay, was thatched over, the roof being

supported by carved posts of black wood. They were very curious

carvings, but when I woke up I could not remember their details.

There was a meeting going on in this large public gathering place,

and a man who wore a cloak and cap made of feathers, the chief, I

take it, had risen from a chair fashioned of four tusks of ivory

with a seat of twisted rushes, and was addressing the assembly,

apparently upon some important subject, for his audience of old men

seemed to be much impressed. He beat his breast and put some

question to them. Then, while they debated in low tones as to

their answer, I woke up to find that it was light.

Of course this dream was all nonsense born of imaginings as to what

might have been the previous history of that place, and I paid no

attention to it. Still, it fitted in well enough with the

surroundings, so well that had I been mystically minded, I might

have been inclined to believe that it did really portray some

incident of past history that had happened when this mound was an

island in a lake inhabited by a primeval people who dwelt there in

order to be safe from the attacks of enemies.

Hans, like myself, had been asleep, but the hunters, who were far

too frightened to think of shutting their eyes, reported that they

had neither seen nor heard any elephants.

“Then let’s go off home, before they come back,” I said cheerfully.

So I took a drink of water, ate a handful of watercress, which I

have always found a very sustaining herb, and away we started; glad

enough to see the last of that haunted mount, as Hans called it.

While we were on the plain we felt quite merry, at least Hans and I

did, although it was strange to look at that lonesome lake bottom

and think of the scene that had been enacted within a few hours, so

strange, indeed, that I was almost tempted to believe we had been

the victims of a vision of the night, induced by Kaneke’s tale as

to the great herds of elephants which came together in this

district.

When we entered the forest, however, our mood changed, for about

this place with its endless giant trees that shut out the light of

the sun, there was an air of gloom which was most depressing. On

we marched into the depths, following our own trail backwards, for

I had been careful to mark the trunk of a tree here and there, Red

Indian fashion, so that we might make no mistake upon our return.

To lose oneself in that forest would indeed be a dreadful fate.

When we had tramped for a good while and reached the spot where we

had missed the spoor on the previous day, I observed that Hans was

growing anxious, for he kept glancing over his shoulder.

“What is the matter?” I asked.

“If the Baas will look back the Baas will see; that is, unless I

have become drunk upon water and stream grasses,” he replied in a

weak voice.

I did look back and I did see. There, about a hundred yards

behind, standing between two tree-trunks, exactly on our spoor, was

our friend the king-elephant!

I halted, for I confess that for a moment my knees grew weak.

“Perhaps it is only a shadow—or a fancy,” I said.

“Oh no, Baas. It’s him right enough. I have felt him in the small

of my back for the last half-mile, but did not dare to look.

Still, if the Baas has any doubts, perhaps he would like to go and

see.”

At this moment, Tom and Jerry, who were well ahead, came tearing up

to announce that they had caught sight of elephants to their right

and left, and that we must go back.

“Oh yes,” said Hans, “you are both very brave men, as you have

always told me, so please go back,” and he pointed with his finger

at the apparition behind us, that seemed to have come nearer as we

were talking, although, if so, it was once more standing still.

They saw it, and really I thought that one or both of them would

collapse in a fit, for they were horribly frightened, as indeed I

was myself. However, I pulled myself together and spoke to them

severely, ending with an order to advance.

“Oh yes,” repeated Hans who, in this extremity seemed to be moved

to a kind of grim humour.

“Advance, you brave hunters, for that is your trade, isn’t it? and

please protect me, the poor little yellow man. No, don’t look at

those trees, because we are not lizards or woodpeckers and nothing

else could run up them. And if we could, what would be the use,

seeing that those spook elephants would only wait till we came down

again. Advance, brave hunters, who told me only the other night

that all elephants will run away from a man.”

So he went on till at last I cut his drivel short.

“Come on,” I said, “and keep together, for there is nothing else to

be done. Remember that if anyone fires unless we are actually

charged, probably it will mean the death of all of us. Now follow

me.”

They obeyed; indeed they followed uncommonly close, so close that

when I halted for a moment, the barrel of the rifle of one of them,

which I observed was at full cock, poked me in the back.

Soon I became aware that we were absolutely surrounded by

elephants. That is to say, the great bull was behind, while

unnumbered other beasts were on our right and left, though in front

I could detect none. It was as though they were seeing us off the

premises and politely leaving a road by which we might depart as

quickly as possible. They saw us, there was no doubt of that, for

occasionally one of them would stretch out its trunk and sniff as

we passed within twenty or thirty yards of it. Moreover there was

another thing. All these elephants were standing at intervals head

on to our trail, forcing us as it were to keep to a straight and

narrow road.

But each of them, when we had passed it, fell in behind the big

bull and marched after it. Of this there could be no question, for

when we were crossing one of the open glades that I have described,

I looked back and saw an enormous number of them, hundreds there

seemed to be, stretching along in a solemn and purposeful

procession. Yet to right and left there were more ahead. It was

as though all the elephants in Central Africa were gathered in that

forest!

Well, it is useless to continue the description, because to do so

would only be to say the same thing over and over again. For hours

this went on, till we got near the camp, indeed, towards which we

were travelling much faster than when we left it. Here the forest

thinned and the glades were more frequent. I counted them one by

one until I knew that we were close to the last of them and about a

mile from the boma, or perhaps a little more. Just then one of the

hunters looked back and gasped out:

“Lord, the elephants are beginning to run.”

I verified the statement. It was true. The king-bull was breaking

into a dignified trot, and all his subjects were following his

example. Needless to say, we began to run too.

Oh, that last mile! Seldom have I done such time since I was a boy

in the long-distance race at school, and fast as I went, the others

kept pace with me, or went faster. We streaked across that glade

and after us thundered the elephants, the ground shaking beneath

their ponderous footfall. They were gaining, they were quite

close, I could hear their deep breathing just behind. There ahead

was the camp, and there, standing on a great ant-hill just in front

of it, conspicuous in his white robe, was Kaneke watching the

chase.

Suddenly the elephants seemed to catch sight of him, or perhaps

they saw the smoke from the fire. At any rate they stopped dead,

turned, and without a sound melted away into the depths of the

forest, the king-bull going last as though he were loth to leave

us.

I staggered on to the camp, dishevelled, breathless, ridiculous in

my humiliation, as I was well aware. For was I not supposed

throughout much of Africa to be one of the greatest elephant-hunters of my day?—and here I appeared running away from elephants

with never a shot fired. It is true that the audience was small, a

mysterious person called Kaneke, a very spider of a man that seemed

to have got me into his web, and a score of porters, probably his

tribesmen. But that made the matter no better; indeed, if there

had been no one at all to see my disgrace, I should have felt

almost equally shamed. I was furious, especially with Kaneke, whom

I suspected, I dare say unjustly, of being at the bottom of the

business. Also I had lost my hat, and what is an Englishman

without his hat?

Kaneke descended from his ant-heap to meet me, all smiles and bows.

“I trust that your hunting has been good, Lord, for you seem to

have found plenty of elephants,” he said.

“You are laughing at me,” I replied. “As you know, I have not been

hunting; I have been hunted. Well, perhaps one day you will be

hunted and I shall laugh at you.”

Then I waved him aside and went into my tent to recover breath and

composure.

Throwing myself down on the little folding canvas stretcher-bed

which, whenever it was possible, I carried with me upon my various

expeditions, I watched the arrival of the others who, after the

elephants turned, had come on more slowly. Tom and Jerry were

almost speechless with rage. They shook their fists at Kaneke;

indeed, if their rifles had been at hand, which was not the case

for these were dropped in their last desperate race for life (they

were recovered afterwards, unhurt, together with my hat), I think

it very likely that they would have shot him, or tried to do so.

“You have made us cowards before our master’s eyes,” gasped one of

them, I forget which. Then they passed on out of my range of

vision.

Lastly Hans arrived (HE had not dropped his rifle), who squatted on

the ground and began to fan himself with his hat.

“Why is everybody so angry with me, Hans?” said Kaneke.

“I don’t know,” answered Hans, “but perhaps if you gave me a drop

out of that bottle which you keep under your blanket I might be

able to remember—I mean the one the Baas gave you when you had the

toothache.”

Kaneke went into the shelter made of boughs where he slept, and

returning with a flask of square-face gin, poured a stiff tot of it

in to a pannikin, which he gave to Hans, who gulped it down.

“Now I am beginning to remember,” said Hans, licking the edge of

the empty tin. “They are angry with you, Kaneke, because they

think that you have played a great trick upon them who being a

wizard, have clothed a lot of spooks that serve you in the shapes

of elephants and caused them to hunt us that you might laugh.”

“Yet I have done nothing of the sort, Hans,” answered Kaneke

indignantly. “Am I a god that I can make elephants?”

“Oh no, Kaneke, certainly whatever you may be you are not a god.

Nor indeed do I believe anything of this story, like those silly

hunters. Yet for your own sake I hope that the next time you send

us out hunting, nothing of this sort will happen, because, Kaneke,

we can still shoot, and those hunters might be tempted to learn

whether a wizard’s skin can turn bullets. And now, as your

toothache has gone, I will take that gin and give it back to the

Baas, because he has not much of it, and even a wizard cannot make

good gin.”

Then Hans rose and snatched the bottle out of Kaneke’s hand. I

must add that to his credit he returned it to me undiminished,

which—in Hans—was an act of great virtue.

Such was the end of that elephant-hunt, by means of which I had

hoped to relieve the tedium of that strangely uneventful journey

and to restore the moral tone of Tom and Jerry, also, to a lesser

degree, that of Hans and myself. Certainly the first end was

achieved, for whatever may be thought of our experiences at the

meeting-place of elephants, and afterwards, they were not tedious.

But of the second as much could not be said. Indeed, it left the

hunters thoroughly frightened, the more so because they did not

know exactly of what they were afraid.

All the circumstances of the business were unnatural. None of us

had seen elephants behave as did those great herds, and the very

mercy that the beasts showed to us was beyond experience.

Why did not the old king-bull either run away or kill us there upon

the ground? Why did it and the rest of them hunt us back to the

camp in that fashion, yet without doing us any actual harm? No

wonder that these uneducated men saw magic at work and were scared.

Thrusting such nonsense from my mind, for nonsense I knew it to be,

I could not help remembering the odd coincidence that on this

prolonged adventure of our expedition, nothing seemed to

materialize. So far it had the inconsequence of a dream. Thus, at

the beginning of it, when we expected a desperate fight for our

lives, there was no fight, at least on our part. Only one shot was

fired, that with which I killed the Arab Gaika, who, be it noted,

was Kaneke’s particular foe, whose death he ardently desired. In

the same way when we went out with much preparation to slay

elephants and found them in enormous numbers no shot was fired and

the beasts chased us ignominiously back to our camp. Further,

there were more incidents of the same kind which I need not

particularize.

I was sick of the whole job and longed to escape. Indeed, that

night I went to Kaneke and told him so, pointing out that the

hunters were off their balance and that as I could not send them

back alone I thought it would be well if he parted company with me

and my men, as I proposed to retrace my steps towards the coast.

Kaneke was much disturbed and argued with me, very politely at

first, pointing out the many dangers of such a course. As I would

not give way, he changed his tone, and told me flatly that what I

proposed would mean the death of all four of us.

“At whose hands? Yours, Kaneke?” I asked.

“Certainly not, Lord,” he answered. “However cruelly you break

your bargain with me, and this after taking my pay,” (here he was

alluding to the cash and ivory which, like a fool, I had accepted),

“I should not be base enough to lift a hand against one who saved

my life at what he believed to be the risk of his own, although in

truth no risk was run.”

“What do you mean? How do you know that, Kaneke?”

“I mean what I say, and I do know it, Lord. Even in that pit which

you thought so dangerous you were quite safe, as you were when the

Arabs attacked you and the elephants chased you, and as you will be

to the end of this adventure, if only you keep your promises. For

was this not vowed to you at the beginning?”

“Yes, Kaneke, by an unhappy woman whom I see no more.”

“Those who are not seen may still be present, Lord, or their

strength may remain behind them. But if you turn back before your

mission is ended, it will depart. Those tribes who have welcomed

you upon your outward journey will one and all fight against you on

your return, until in this way or in that you are brought to your

deaths. Never again will you look upon the sea, Lord.”

“That’s pleasant!” I exclaimed, controlling my temper as best I

could. “Listen. You talk of my mission. Be so good as to tell me

what it is. The only mission that I have, or had, was to visit a

certain lake called Mone, if it exists, in order to satisfy my

curiosity and love of seeing new things. Well, I have changed my

mind; I no longer desire to travel to the Lake Mone.”

“Yet I think you must go there, Lord, as I must, for that which is

stronger than we are draws us both. In this world, Lord, we do not

serve ourselves, we serve something else; I cannot tell what it is.

Everything we do or seem to do, good and bad together, is done to

carry out the purpose of what we cannot see. Like that beast Donna

of yours, we travel our road, sometimes willingly, sometimes to

satisfy our appetites, sometimes driven forward with strokes. Each

of us has his powers, which are given to him, not that he may gain

what he desires, but that he may fulfil an invisible purpose. Thus

you have yours and I have mine. I know that your servants and

others hold me to be a magician, and now and again you are tempted

to believe them. Well, perhaps in a certain way I am something of

a magician, that is to say, strength works through me, though

whence that strength comes I cannot say.”

“All this does not leave me much wiser, Kaneke.”

“How can we who have no wisdom at all ever grow wiser, Lord? To do

so, first we must be wise, and that will not happen to us until we

are dead. All our lives we toil that we may grow wise—in death,

when we may learn that wisdom is nothingness, or nothingness

wisdom.”

“Oh, have done!” I said in a rage. “Your talk goes round and

round, and ends nowhere. You are fooling me with words, but I

suppose that what you mean is, that we must go on with you.”

“Yes, Lord, I mean that, amongst other things, unless indeed you

wish to stop altogether and go to seek wisdom in the stars, or

wherever she may dwell. Safety and good fortune have been promised

to you and to the yellow man your servant, knowledge also such as

you love. These lie in front of you, but behind lies that which

all men shun, or so I read what is written.”

“Where do you read it, Kaneke?”

“Yonder,” he answered, pointing to the sky that was thick with

stars, though the moon had not yet risen.

I stared at this solemn-faced, big-eyed man. Of all that he said I

believed nothing, holding that if not merely a clever cheat, like

others of his kind, he was a self-deluder. Yet of one thing I was

sure, that if I tried to cross his will and deserted him, his

prophecies would certainly be fulfilled, so far as we were

concerned. Evidently this Kaneke was one who had authority among

natives. It would be easy for him to pass a word back over the

road that we had travelled, or in any direction that we might go,

which word would mean what he foretold for us, four men only who

must be at the mercy of a mob of savages, namely—death. On the

other hand, if we went forward, his vanity would see to it that

what he had asserted should come true, namely that we should be

safe. Not till afterwards did I remember that only Hans and I were

included in that assertion. Nothing was said about the two

hunters.

On the whole, after this talk I hated Kaneke more than ever.

Something told me that however plausible and smooth-tongued he

might be, at heart the man was deceitful, one, too, whose ends were

not good.

CHAPTER IX

EXPLANATIONS

Next morning early I laid all this matter before Tom and Jerry,

telling them that I had made up my mind to go forward with Kaneke

and that Hans would accompany me, as I considered on the whole that

this would be the safer course. If, however, they wished to

return, I would give them rifles with a fair share of our

ammunition, also the donkey Donna to take the place of porters. In

fact, only in more detail, I repeated the offer which I made before

we went out to hunt, or rather to be hunted by, elephants,

explaining that I did so because after that experience they might

have changed their mind about its acceptance.

They consulted together, then Tom the Abyssinian, who was always

the spokesman, said:

“Master, after what we went through on the mound in the midst of

the plain and in the forest with those elephants, which we believe

to have been creatures bewitched, it is true that we are much more

frightened even than we were before. So frightened are we that

were it not for one matter, we would now do what we said we would

not do, and attempt to work our way towards the coast, even though

we must go alone.”

“What matter?” I asked.

“This, Macumazahn. We are men disgraced; not only did we show fear

and run when on duty, we did worse, we threw away our guns that we

might run more quickly, and therefore, although they have been

found and brought back by Kaneke’s people, I say that we are men

disgraced.”

“Oh!” I said, trying to soothe their pride. “Hans and I ran also.

Who would not have run with all those elephants thundering after

him? It was the only thing to do.”

“Yes, Macumazahn, you ran also, and it was the only thing to do.

But, Lord, neither you nor Hans threw away your rifle against the

hunter’s law—”

“No, we should never do that,” I said, trying to interrupt, but he

went on rapidly:

“—So ashamed are we, Macumazahn, that I tell you, were it not that

we are Christians, both of us, we should have hung ourselves or

otherwise have put an end to our lives. But being Christians, this

we cannot do, for then we should go to answer for that crime to a

greater Master than you are. For this reason, Macumazahn, seeing

that we may not wipe out our shame as savages would do, we propose

to redeem our honour in another fashion. We hold that if we go

forward with Kaneke we shall die, for we believe ourselves to be

men bewitched, yes, men doomed by that wizard, whatever may be the

fate of you, master, and of Hans. If so, thus let it be, for we

are determined that if we must die, we will do so in some great

fashion which will cause you to forget that we are men who broke

the hunter’s law and threw away our guns, with which it was our

duty to defend you, and to remember us only as two faithful

servants who knew how to give their lives to save that of their

master.”

I was so astonished at this solemn speech that I began to wonder

whether Tom, in order to console himself for the slur upon his

honour, the breach of the “hunter’s law”, as he called it, had got

at my scanty stock of spirits.

“What do you say?” I asked, looking hard at Jerry.

“Oh, Macumazahn,” answered that phlegmatic person, “I say that

Little Holes is quite right. We two who have always had a good

name—as the writings about us told you—when trouble came have

shown ourselves to be not watch-dogs, but jackals. Yes, we are

fellows who in the hour of danger have thrown away our rifles,

which we should have kept to the last to protect the white lord who

paid us. Therefore we will not go back, although we believe that

we walk to our deaths, being under a curse. No, we will go on

hoping that before the end you may learn that we are not really

jackals but stout watch-dogs; yes, if God is good to us, that we

are more, that we are bull-buffaloes, that we are lions.”

“Stuff and rubbish!” I exclaimed. “You make trees of grass stalks.

I never thought you jackals, who know you to be great-hearted. I

dare say if I had remembered to do so when those elephants were at

my heels, I should have thrown away my own rifle that I might run

the faster. Still, I think that on the whole you are wiser to come

on than to try to return alone, for reasons that I have told you.

If there are dangers in front of us there are worse behind,

because, although he is no wizard, as you think, Kaneke is better

as a friend than as an enemy. So I pray you to cease from dreams

and quakings born of superstitions at which Christians should mock,

and to go on with bold hearts.” Then, as I thought we had talked

enough, I shook them both by the hand, to show that I was not angry

with them, and sent them away.

Afterwards very diplomatically I began to tell Hans something of

this conversation, hoping to learn from him of what these hunters

really were afraid.

“Oh, Baas,” he broke in, “it is no use to speak to me about what

passed between you and those fellows with half your tongue and your

head turned aside”—by which he meant telling only a part of the

truth—“because I was on the other side of that bush and heard

every word.”

“You are a dirty little spy,” I said indignantly.

“Yes, Baas, that’s it, because if one wants to know the truth, one

must sometimes be a spy. Well, there’s nothing to be said. No

doubt Little Holes and Jerry are quite right; they are bewitched,

or at least the Owl-man while he is flitting about at night has

read their deaths written in the stars, which they know. But they

know also that, as they have got to die, it doesn’t matter whether

they go with us or by themselves. So, if coming on will make them

depart to the place of Fires happy and singing instead of sad and

ashamed, thinking themselves lions instead of jackals, as they

said—why, Baas, let them come on and don’t trouble your head any

more about them. For my part, however much I love them, I am quite

content that it should be they who have to die, and not you and me.

So cheer up, Baas, and take things as they happen.”

“Get out, you heartless little beast,” I said, and Hans got out.

But all the while I knew that he was not really heartless, and,

what is more, he knew that I knew it. Hans in his own way was, on

the outside, just a rather cynical and half-savage philosopher, but

within, a very warm-natured person.

The end of it all was that we marched on as before, and, as before,

nothing particular happened. Kaneke, our guide, for I had not the

faintest idea where we were going, led us through every variety of

African country. We forded rivers, or if they were too deep and

wide, were conveyed across them by friendly natives on rafts or in

canoes, for when Kaneke had spoken to their chiefs, all the natives

became most helpful. On one occasion, it is true, as there were no

natives, or such as there were had no boats or rafts, we were

obliged to swim, which I did with trembling, being afraid of

crocodiles. However, the crocodiles, if there were any, politely

left us alone, so that as usual we came over safely.

After passing the last of these rivers our path ran through a dense

forest for two days. On the afternoon of the second day the forest

grew thinner and at length changed to a plain, or rather barren

land that was covered with small timber, bush-veld in short. This

place was intensely hot, filled with game of every kind and, as we

soon discovered from numerous bites, infested with tsetse-fly which

lived upon the game. As tsetse, except for the irritation of their

bites, are harmless to man and we had no horses or cattle, they did

not alarm us, for up to that time I shared the belief that donkeys

were immune as men and buck to their poison. This, however, proved

not to be the case, at any rate in the case of Donna that I was

riding a good deal because the heat made walking a most laborious

business.

One day I noticed that she seemed suddenly to have grown weak and

stumbled so frequently that at length I dismounted. Relieved of my

weight she came on well enough without being led, for the

intelligent and affectionate beast would follow me or Hans, who fed

her, like a dog. When we camped that night she would not eat and

was seized with a fit of staggering.

At once I guessed what must be the matter. Probably she had been

infected a long while before and the added doses of the poison in

this fly-haunted plain had brought matters to a crisis, helped by a

shower of rain, which often develops the illness. There was

nothing to be done, for this venom has no known antidote. So we

lay down and went to sleep as usual. In the middle of the night I

was awakened by feeling something pushing at me. At first I was

frightened, thinking it must be a lion or some other beast, until I

discovered that poor Donna had managed to thrust her way through

the thorn fence we had built and even into my tent, of which the

flaps were open because of the heat, and by prodding at me with her

nose, was calling attention to her state and asking my assistance.

Of course I could do nothing except lead her out of the tent and

offer her water, which she would not drink. I tried to go away,

but whenever I moved she made piteous efforts to follow me, for the

poor thing was growing weaker every minute, till at last she

tumbled down. I sat myself at her side and presently she rolled

over, laying her head, whether by accident or design, upon my knee

and died.

I have told of her end in some detail, because with the single

exception, that of a dog named Stump which once I owned when I was

young, it was the most touching and piteous that I have known where

an animal is concerned. Surely if there is any other life for us

men, there must be one also for creatures which are capable of so

much affection; at least I do not think I should care for a heaven

where these were not.

When it was all over I went back to my tent and slept as best I

could, to be awakened at the first dawn by a sound of lamentation.

Rising, I peeped over the fence to discover its origin and in the

faint light saw—what do you think?—Hans, whom it pleased to seem

so callous and hard-hearted, seated on the ground blubbering—there

is no other word for it—and kissing poor Donna’s nose. Then I

went back to bed, where in due course he brought me my coffee, as

was his custom at sunrise.

“Baas,” he said in a cheerful voice, “there is good news this

morning. Those tsetse-flies have finished off Donna.”

“Why is that good news?” I asked.

“Oh, Baas, because the Owl-man, Kaneke, says there are mountains

ahead of us which she could not have climbed. He told me only the

other day that we should have to shoot her there, or leave her to

be eaten by lions, which would have been a pity. Also she was

growing weak and really was of very little use, so I am glad that

she is dead, as now I shall be saved the trouble of feeding her.”

“Yes, Hans,” I answered, “I saw how glad you were when I looked

over the fence just as the light began to glint upon the spears of

Kaneke’s porters.”

At this Hans put down the coffee in a hurry and departed,

apparently much ashamed of himself, because, as he said after I had

told him the story, he did not like being spied upon when his

stomach was upset and made him behave like a fool. I should add

that the hunters were depressed at this incident, not that they

cared particularly for Donna, but because they said that now our

luck had changed and that death was “a hungry lion”, who, having

tasted beast’s flesh, would long for that of men.

They were right. Our luck had changed. The decease of poor Donna

marked the end of our peaceful progress.

A few days later we came to mountains which for a long time past we

had seen in the distance, bold hills upon which at nightfall a

wonderful and mysterious blue light seemed to gather—the Ruga

Mountains, I believe they were called. It was quite true that here

we should have been obliged to leave Donna, dead or alive, for

their ascent proved to be a most precipitous business. Indeed, had

not Kaneke known the path, never could we have climbed them,

because of certain precipices that rose in tiers of terraces and

must be circumvented, since to scramble up the faces of them was

impossible.

However he did know it, though to call it a path is a misnomer,

because there was nothing to show that it was used by man. For

three or four days we crept along the base of those great bare

cliffs, always at length finding some crack by which their flanks

could be turned. So it went on, an exhausting business, and as we

mounted higher, very cold at night, for although there was no snow,

the air grew thin and piercing.

At length we reached the summit of the mountains, which I found to

be table-topped, a very common African formation. (What caused it?

I wonder. Were the crests shorn off by ice in some remote era of

the world’s history, say, a few hundred million years ago?) As it

was nightfall I could see no more, especially as a sort of blinding

Scotch mist, the fog called the “table-cloth” which so often hangs

about these flat-topped mountains, came up and obscured everything.

Next morning before the dawn Hans woke me up saying that Kaneke

wished to speak with me. I went grumbling in all the clothes I

had, with a blanket on the top of them and an old otter-skin

kaross, that I used above the thin cork mattress of my portable

bedstead, thrown over that, for the cold was bitter, or seemed so,

after those hot tsetse-haunted lowlands. I found Kaneke seated on

a stone near to the edge of the tableland. He rose and greeted me

in his ceremonious fashion, saying:

“Lord, you should not have slept so long, for after midnight the

mist melted or was blown away, and the stars were more beautiful

and brighter than I have seen them since last I stood upon this

place a long while ago. Indeed, so clear were they that in them I

read many things which hitherto had been hidden from me.”

“Did you?” I exclaimed. “I hope that among them you read that we

shall soon escape from this cold which is gnawing my bones.”

“Yes, Lord, I can promise you that before long you will be hot

enough. Hearken,” he went on with a change of tone, “the time has

come when I must tell you something of my country and of what lies

before us. Look! The sun rises in the east. The sight is fine,

is it not?”

I nodded. It was very fine. The rays of the morning light

revealed a vast plain lying some thousands of feet beneath us, and

far away, set apparently in the centre of this plain, other

mountains shaped like a flattened ring. Or perhaps it was a single

mountain; at that distance I could not be sure.

“See,” went on Kaneke, pointing to this mass, “yonder within that

wall of cliff is the home of my people, the Dabanda, and there too

is the holy lake, Mone. From here the place looks small, but it is

not small. For a whole day a swift-footed man might run and not

cross it from side to side.”

“What is it?” I asked. “A valley?”

“I think not, Lord. I think that it is the cup of one or more of

those great mountains that once vomited out fire; a huge basin with

steep walls that cannot be climbed, and slopes within that run down

to the forest at its base, which forest surrounds the Holy Lake.”

“How large is this lake, Kaneke?”

“I do not know. Perhaps if a man could walk on water it would take

him two hours to reach the island in its centre; one hour to cross

that island and another two hours to come to the farther shore.”

“That is a big piece of water, Kaneke, which means that the whole

space within the lip of the rock must be large. Are your people

who dwell in it also large?”

“Nay, Lord. Perhaps they can count five hundred men of an age to

bear arms; not more. Still, they are strong because they are holy,

and for another reason.”

“What other reason?”

He dropped his voice as he answered:

“Did I not tell you the story of the goddess who dwells in my

country, she whose title is Engoi the Divine, and whose name is

Shadow?”

“You told me a story of which I remember something, as I remember

also that I did not believe a word of it.”

“There you are both right and wrong, Lord Macumazahn, because some

of that story was lies with which I filled your ears for my own

purposes, and some was true. For instance, what I said about the

Engoi waiting for a white man was a lie. It was a bait in my trap.

Lord, it was necessary that you should come with me; why, I do not

quite know, but so I was commanded.”

“Who commanded you?”

“That is my secret, Lord.”

Now I bethought me of the deceased White-Mouse, and did not pursue

the matter, but asked:

“What do you mean by telling me that this lie was a bait?”

“What I say, Lord. I have learned through your servant, the yellow

man, who told it not to me but to another, that you worship all

that is beautiful, especially beautiful women, who when they see

you, so you announce, fall in love with you at once. Now you will

understand, Lord, why I baited my trap with this story of one who

was very lovely and waited for a white man, namely because I knew

that you would believe yourself to be that man and come with me

upon that journey, being sure that she who is named Shadow would

reward you by kissing your feet and redeeming you from your sins

towards the other beautiful women, whom the yellow man says you

throw aside one after another as soon as you are tired of them.”

Now when I heard this preposterous and most shameless yarn, it is

true that, cold as it was, I nearly burst with heat and rage. If

that mischievous and romancing little Hans had been there, which he

was not, I declare that it would have gone ill with him; indeed, so

angry was I with Kaneke for repeating his calumnies, that I nearly

made a physical attack upon him. On second thoughts, however, I

refrained—first, because he was a much larger and stronger man

than myself, and, secondly, because I wished to get at the kernel

of this mystery, for I felt that, divested of the trappings

invented by Kaneke, there remained something most unusual to be

elucidated. So I put the brake upon my temper and answered:

“I thought that in your way you were a wise man, Kaneke, but now I

see that after all you are but a fool, who otherwise would have

known that Hans is an even bigger liar than you announce yourself

to be, and that the last thing I wish is to run after beautiful

women, or any woman, which always ends like our adventures with the

elephants, in the hunter being hunted. But let that be. Was any

of your story true?”

“Yes, Lord, much. We have a goddess who is called Shadow, and who,

as we believe and not we alone, controls the gifts of heaven,

sending rain or withholding it, causing women to bear children or

making them barren, and doing many such things that bring

happiness or misery to men, though this goddess I have never seen,

except once, as I told you.”

“A goddess! Do you mean that she is immortal?”

“No, Lord, but I mean that her power is immortal, or at least that

it goes on from generation to generation. The goddess, as I think,

when her office is fulfilled, dies or perhaps is killed.”

“What office?”

“Lord, the Chief of my tribe, the Dabanda, is her head-priest.

When the goddess is of ripe age he is married to her, and in due

time becomes the father of a daughter, of which she is the mother.

Perhaps he is also the father of male children, but if so they are

never heard of, so I suppose that they are killed. When this

daughter, the Engoi-to-be, grows up, her mother, the Engoi-that-was, vanishes away.”

“Vanishes! How does she vanish?”

“I do not know, Lord. Some say that she who is called Shadow is

drawn up to heaven, some that she who is also called the Lake-dweller, or Treasure of the Lake, swims out into the lake and is

lost beneath its waters, and some that the virgins who attend her,

poison her with the scent of certain flowers that bloom upon the

island. At least she departs, and her daughter, the new Engoi,

reigns in her place and, like her mothers before her, is married to

her high-priest, the Chief of the Dabanda.”

“What!” I asked, horrified. “Do you mean to say that this chief

marries his own daughter?”

“Oh no, Lord. The chief never outlives the Shadow. He knows when

she is going to fade, and he fades at the same time, or earlier.”

“How does he ‘fade’, as you call it?”

“That is a matter for him to choose, Lord. Generally, if he seeks

honour, in fighting our enemies the Abanda, among whom he will rush

alone until he is cut down. Or sometimes he chooses other roads to

darkness. At least he must walk one of them, because if he does

not he is seized and burnt alive; as the end is the same it does

not matter how it is reached.”

“My word,” I exclaimed, “it is strange that this goddess finds it

easy to get a husband!”

“It is not at all strange, Lord,” answered Kaneke haughtily,

“seeing that to wed the Engoi is the greatest honour that can

befall any man in the world. Moreover, he knows that when his life

here is over he will dwell with her for ever in joy in heaven.

Yes, they will be twin stars shining to all eternity. Therefore

before the Chief marries the Shadow, he names some child he loves

to be the husband of the Shadow which shall appear.

“Thus it came about, Lord, that when I was but little, I was named

by the Chief, the half-brother of my mother, to wed the Engoi-to-be. But I committed the great crime. I entered the sacred forest,

hoping to look upon the Engoi, of whose beauty I had heard, not her

whom I should wed, for as yet she did not live, but one who went

before her. It was for this crime that misfortunes fell upon me,

as I have told you, and I was driven from the land to atone my

sins. Now I have been called back again to become the husband of

the new Engoi, for such is my glorious destiny.”

“Oh,” I said, “now at last I get the hang of the thing. Well,

every man to his taste, but after what you have told me, I am glad

that no one nominated me to marry an Engoi or Shadow, or whatever

you call her.”

“Strange are the varying ways of men! That which you, White Lord,

think of small account, we hold to be the greatest honour which can

befall one born of woman. It is true that death lies beyond the

honour, but what of this, seeing that soon or late death must come?

It is true also that he who is named and consecrated the spouse of

the Engoi of days to come, must look upon no other woman.”

Here I could not help remarking:

“But surely, Kaneke, you told me a story of a woman who helped you

to become chief of the Arabs in your town yonder, saying that you

grieved much when she died; also I think you spoke to me of your

wives who dwelt without your fence.”

“Very likely, Lord, for have I not told you many things? Also, did

I say that the child that brought the woman to her death was mine,

or show you the wives who dwelt without my fence? Learn that I had

not, nor ever had a wife, which is one of the reasons why those

Arabs held me a magician. What does a man want with wives who is

sealed as the husband of the Engoi, yes of the Shadow herself, if

only for a year, or even for an hour?”

“Nothing. Of course, nothing,” I answered with enthusiasm. Then a

thought struck me, and I added, “But supposing that when at last he

sees this Engoi, he does not like her, or that she does not like

him, having met some other man whom she prefers?”

“Lord Macumazahn, you speak in ignorance, therefore I forgive you

what might otherwise be considered insult, or even blasphemy. It

is not possible that her appointed husband should not like the

Engoi. Even were she hideous he would adore her, seeing the soul

within. How much more, then, will he do so, since she is always

the loveliest woman on the earth, filled with light like a star and

crowned with wisdom from above.”

“Indeed! In that case there is nothing more to be said. Only

then, Kaneke, why do her adoring people drown or otherwise make

away with such divine beauty and wisdom as soon as her daughter

begins to grow up?”

“As regards your second question,” went on Kaneke, taking no notice

of an interruption which doubtless he considered irreverent and

trivial, “still less is it possible that the Engoi should prefer

any other man to him to whom she is vowed, for the reason that she

never sees one.”

“Oh,” I said, “now I understand. That accounts for everything,

including your banishment from your home. A woman who never sees

any man except the one she must marry is of course easily pleased,

even if she is called a goddess.”

“Lord Macumazahn,” replied Kaneke, much offended, “I see that you

wish to make a mock of me and my faith.”

“As you did of that of the Mahommedans,” I suggested mildly.

“I see also,” he went on, “that you think I tell you lies.”

“As you have just admitted you did in the past.”

He waved his hand, as though to thrust this trifle aside, and went

on;

“Yet you will learn that as to the Lady Shadow, Treasure of the

Lake, and her husband, who is called ‘Shield of the Shadow’, I

speak the truth. Indeed, you should have learnt it already, for

have I not told you that amongst other powers, he who is affianced

to her whose title is Engoi, yes, even before he has married her,

has command over wild beasts and men. What of the lion that I

turned aside on that night when you climbed the pit? What of those

whom I called to rescue you when the Arabs came up against you?

What of the elephants which hunted you when you went out to hunt

them, and ceased when they saw me?”

“What indeed?” I echoed. “Perhaps when you have time you will

answer your own questions. Meanwhile I will put one more to you.

Why have you plotted and planned and so brought it about that I

should be your companion upon this very mysterious business?”

“Because it was conveyed to me that I must do so, Lord Macumazahn,

for reasons that as yet are not made clear to me. Doubtless you

are appointed to be of service to the Engoi and therefore to me.

Also I know that there will be a great war between my people, the

Dabanda, and the Abanda, who dwell in their thousands upon the

farther side of yonder mountain and who desire—as they have always

done—that their chief should wed the Shadow and thus bring rain

and prosperity upon them, and in this war you, who are a great

general or so I have heard, and who are so skilled with a rifle as

I have seen, may be of use to me.”

“I see,” I said. “As I was when I rescued you from your house and

afterwards when I shot that fellow Gaika. Well, perhaps I may and

perhaps I mayn’t, since no one knows to whom he will be of use.

Meanwhile I thank you for telling me many things, some of which may

be true. And now I will go to breakfast, so good-bye for the

present,” and I departed, aware that if I had disliked Kaneke

before, now I positively detested him.

To me the man seemed to be a mixture of a liar, a braggart, a self-seeker, and a mystic, a most unpleasant compound, or so I thought.

Yet I had taken his money and was bound to serve him, or at any

rate to serve this wonderful Engoi, whose personal name was Shadow,

if such a woman existed. Possibly she might be better than Kaneke;

at any rate I hoped so.

CHAPTER X

THE WANDERER

By evening that day we had reached the plain at the foot of the

mountain and advanced some little way into its desolation. I use

this word advisedly, for when once we had got away from the

foothills where there was water, we entered most unpromising

country upon which it was evident rain fell but seldom.

The vegetation here was almost entirely of the cactus order, grey

or green prickly growths that stored up moisture within themselves.

Some of these were enormous, thick and tall as moderate-sized

trees, and, as I should judge, of great antiquity, their form

suggesting huge candelabra (for they had no proper leaves) or

straight fingers pointing up to heaven from flat bases, shaped like

to the palm of the hand. Others again were round green lumps,

ranging from the size of a football down to that of a pin-cushion,

all of them, big or little, being covered with sharp spikes, which

made progress among them difficult and, indeed, dangerous, for the

prick of some of the species is poisonous. These cacti, I should

add, or a large proportion of them, bore the most beautiful but

unnatural-looking flowers of every size and brilliant hue.

Another feature of this strange semi-desert area was the outcrop

here and there of columns of stone that from a distance looked like

obelisks, monoliths sometimes, but generally formed of round,

water-worn rocks resting one upon another. How they came here I

cannot imagine; it is a matter for geologists, but I noticed that

they seemed to be composed of hard rock left, perhaps, when

millions of years ago the lava from the great extinct volcanic area

towards which we were heading, was washed away by floods.

Through this curious country we travelled for three days, coming on

the second day to a small oasis where there was a spring of water,

which I was glad to see for our bottles were empty and we had begun

to thirst. I must add that we went at a great rate. Two or three

of the porters, relieved of their loads, which the others added to

their own, marched ahead, quite five hundred yards ahead, which, as

Hans remarked, showed that they knew the way and were scouts sent

out to guard against surprise. Kaneke followed, in the midst of

the remaining porters, who acted as his bodyguard. Then came Hans

and I, the two hunters bringing up the rear.

“Now I begin to believe, Baas,” said Hans to me, “that something of

all that story which Kaneke has told is true, for though they will

never say so, it is evident that these men who know the road so

well belong to his people, also that they are afraid of being

attacked. Otherwise they would not go so fast through this

wilderness of thorns, or look so frightened.”

“How do you know what tale Kaneke told me? Were you listening

behind a stone?” I asked, but got no answer, for at that moment

Hans pricked, or pretended to prick, his foot upon a cactus, and

dropped behind to dig out the thorn.

I pass on to the evening of the third day. We were at length

getting clear of the cactus scrub and reaching the foot of the

westernmost slope of the huge and massive mountain, which Kaneke

had told me was the shell of an extinct volcano within whose crater

dwelt his people, the Dabanda. There was but an hour to sunset,

and though much distressed by the heat and the lack of water, we

were marching at a great rate to reach a point where Kaneke said we

should find a spring. This he was anxious to do before dark, for

now the nights were almost moonless. Presently as we trudged

forward, begrimed with dust and gasping from the still heat, Hans,

who was at my side, poked me in the ribs, exclaiming in Dutch:

“Kek!” (that is, “Look!”)

I did look in the direction to which he pointed, and saw so strange

a sight that at first I thought I must be suffering from delusions.

There, running towards us down the slope of a low ridge of the

mountain mass where it merged into the plain, appeared a man, a

very exhausted man, who came or rather staggered forward in short

rushes, halting after every few paces as though to get his breath.

This much I could see with my eyes, but when I took my glasses,

which I always carry with me, I saw more, namely that this man was

white! Yes, there could be no mistake, for his garments, which

seemed to have been torn from his shoulders, showed the white skin

beneath. Moreover his beard and hair were red, or even golden, and

his height and breadth were greater than are those of most natives.

Next moment I saw something else also, for on that ridge of ground

which he had crossed, appeared a number of black spearsmen, who

evidently were hunting him. Dropping the glasses into my pocket, I

sang out to Tom and Jerry to give me my Winchester, which one of

them carried as well as his own, the heavy rifles and ammunition

being in charge of the bearers. In a minute it was in my hands,

with a bagful of cartridges.

“Now follow me,” I said, and the four of us ran forward, passing

through the bearers.

By this time the exhausted white man was within about fifty paces

of us, while his pursuers, not more than six yards or so behind,

were beginning to throw spears at him as though they were

determined to kill him before he could reach us. As it chanced it

was some of them who were killed, for at my word we opened fire,

and being decent shots, all four of us, down they went. The man

arrived, unhurt, and sank to the ground, gasping out:

“My God! you are white! Give me a rifle.”

I didn’t, because I hadn’t one at hand, nor, indeed, was he in a

fit state to handle a gun. Also, next minute there began a general

engagement on a small scale.

More spearsmen—tall, shapely fellows—appeared over the ridge,

thirty of forty of them perhaps. Our bearers threw down their

loads and came into action with great vigour, uttering a war-cry of

“Engoi!—Engoi!” We fired away with the repeating rifles.

It was all over in a few minutes, for a good many of the attackers

were down and the rest had bolted back across the ridge, while our

losses were nil, except for one man who had received a spear-cut in

the shoulder. They had gone, pursued by the porters who, from

peaceful bearers of baggage suddenly were turned into perfect

tigers, furious fighting-men who, weary as they were, rushed into

battle like the best of Zulu veterans. The transformation was so

marked and instantaneous that it astonished me, as it did Hans, who

said:

“Look at those fellows, Baas. They are fighting, not strangers,

but old enemies whom they have hated from their mothers’ breasts.

And look at Kaneke. He bristles with rage like a porcupine.”

(This was quite true; the man’s hair and beard seemed to be

standing on end and his eyes, usually so sleepy, flashed fire.)

“Did you see him tackle that tall one whom you missed,” (this was a

lie. I never shot at the man), “the warrior who threw a knife at

you—snatching the spear from his hand and driving it through him?

I think they must be Abandas whom, as we have heard, the Dabandas

hate.”

“I dare say,” I answered, “but if so they are uncommonly like

Kaneke’s crowd; of the same blood perhaps.”

Then I bethought me of the white man, whom I had forgotten in the

excitement of the scrap, and went to look for him. I found him

seated on the ground, having just emptied a water-bottle that Jerry

had given him.

“There is something in horoscopes, after all,” he panted out, for

he had not yet recovered his breath.

“Horoscopes! What the devil do you mean?” I asked, thinking that

he must be crazy.

“What I say,” he answered. “My father was cracked on astrology and

cast mine when I was born. I remember that it foretold that I

should meet a white man in a desert and that he would save me from

being killed by savages.”

“Did it indeed? To change the subject, might I ask your name?”

“John Taurus Arkle,” he murmured. “Taurus from the constellation

under which I was born, or so I understand,” he added with a little

smile and in the voice of one whose mind wandered; then shut his

eyes and began to faint.

Faint he did; so thoroughly that he had to be revived from my

scanty store of spirits. While he was recovering I took stock of

the man, who evidently was off his head from exhaustion. That he

was an Englishman of good birth was clear from that unfailing

guide, his voice and manner of speaking. Also he was well named

John Taurus, i.e. John Bull, though perhaps if the constellation

Leo had been in the ascendant or whatever it is called when he was

born, that of Lion would have suited him even better.

To tell the truth his physical qualities partook of both a taurine

and a leonine character. The wide breast, the strong limbs and the

massive brow were distinctly bull-like, while the yellow beard and

hair which, having been neglected, hung down on to his shoulders

like a mane, also the eyes which, when the sun shone on them,

gleamed with a sort of golden hue, as do those of lions, did

suggest something leonine.

In short, although not handsome, he was a most striking person,

like to no one else I had ever seen; aged, as I guessed, anything

between thirty and thirty-five years. Much did I wonder how he

came to be in this strange place where, as I believe from what

Kaneke had told me, at that time I was the first white man to set

foot.

The gin did its work, and in due course John Taurus Arkle—a

strange name enough—regained his wits. While he was still

unconscious Kaneke, looking both disturbed and fierce, the spear

with which he had killed its owner still in his hand, came up and

stared at him.

“It’s all right,” I said; “only a swoon. He will recover

presently.”

“Is it so, Lord?” he answered, staring at Arkle with evident

disapproval and, I thought, dislike. “I hoped that he was dead.”

“And why, pray?” I inquired shortly.

“Because this white man will bring trouble on us, as I always

feared.”

“As you feared! What do you mean?”

“Oh, only that the stars told me something about him; as I read

them, that we should find his body.”

Stars, I thought to myself; more stars. But aloud I said:

“Well, you read them wrongly—if at all, for he is alive, and

please understand that I mean to keep him so. But what is this

talk of trouble?”

“Talk,” said Kaneke, pointing with the spear to certain silent

forms that lay around. “Is there not already trouble here?

Moreover I learned something from one of those Abanda fellows

before he died, namely that this white man had forced his way over

the mountain crest into my country of the Dabanda; that he had been

driven out into that of the Abanda; that he was forced to fly

before them who wished to kill him, as they do all strangers; that

he fled, and being very strong and swift of foot, outran them, till

at last, when he was being hunted down like a tired buck by wild

dogs, he met us, and that happened which was decreed.”

“Yes,” I repeated after him, “that happened which was decreed,

whether in your stars or elsewhere. But I want to know what is to

happen next. It appears that neither the Dabanda nor the Abanda

like this white lord, who henceforth must be our companion.”

“Why must he be our companion, Macumazahn? See, he is senseless.

One tap on the head and he so will remain for ever, who, if he

comes on with us among peoples whom he has offended—I know not

how—may cost us our lives.”

In an absent-minded fashion I took the revolver from my belt and

began to examine it as though to see whether it were loaded.

“Look here, Kaneke,” I said, “let us come to an understanding. You

have just been suggesting to me that to suit some purpose of your

own I should murder, or allow you to murder, one of my own

countrymen who has been attacked by your people and other savages,

and escaped. Perhaps you do not understand what that means to a

white man, so I am going to tell you.”

Here suddenly I lifted the revolver and held it within a few inches

of his eyes. Then I said in a quiet voice:

“Look here, my friend, in your country when you take an oath that

may not be broken, by whom do you swear?”

“By the Engoi, Lord,” he answered in a startled voice. “To break

an oath sworn by the Engoi is death, and more than death.”

“Good. Now swear to me by the Engoi that you will not harm this

white lord or cause him to be harmed.”

“And if I refuse?” he asked sullenly.

“If you refuse, Kaneke, then I will give you time to change your

mind, while I count fifty between my teeth. If, after I have

counted fifty, you still refuse, or are silent, then I will send a

bullet through your head, because, friend Kaneke, it is time to

settle which of us two is master.”

“If you kill me, my people will kill you, Macumazahn.”

“Oh no, they won’t, Kaneke. Have you forgotten that a certain lady

called White-Mouse, in whom I put much faith, promised me that I

should come quite safe out of this journey. Don’t trouble yourself

about that matter, for I will settle with your people after you are

dead. Now I am going to begin to count.”

So I counted, pausing at ten and at twenty. At thirty I saw

Kaneke’s fingers tighten on the handle of the spear with which he

had killed the Abanda man.

“Be pleased to drop that spear,” I said, “or I shall stop

counting.”

He opened his hand and it fell to the ground.

Then I counted on to forty, and pausing once more, remarked that

time was short, but that perhaps he was right to have done with it

and to take his chance of what awaited him in or beyond the stars

he worshipped, seeing that this world was full of sorrows.

I counted on to forty-five, at which number I aligned the pistol

very carefully on a spot just above Kaneke’s nose.

“Forty-six, forty-seven, forty-eight,” I said, and began to press

upon the trigger.

Then came the collapse, for Kaneke threw himself down and in truly

Eastern fashion began to kiss the ground before my feet. As he did

so I fired, the bullet of course passing over his head.

“Dear me!” I exclaimed, “how fortunate that you made up your mind.

This pistol is much lighter triggered than I thought or perhaps the

heat has affected the spring. Well, do you swear?”

“Yes, Lord,” he said hoarsely. “I swear by the Engoi that I will

not harm yonder white man, or cause him to be harmed. That was the

oath you asked, but I know that in it lies one that is wider,

namely that henceforth, instead of your serving me, I must serve

you, who have conquered me.”

“That’s it. You have put it very well,” I replied cheerfully.

“And now—a gift for a gift. I am quite ready to renounce my new-won lordship over you, and taking this white wanderer with me if he

will come, to leave you to go your own ways, while I and my

servants go mine, you promising not to follow or molest me in any

manner. Is that your wish?”

“No, Lord,” he answered sullenly. “You must accompany me to the

Lake Mone.”

“Very good, Kaneke, so be it. Tell me how matters stand and I will

give you my orders. But remember that if you disobey one of them

or try to trick me, or to injure this white lord, I who have only

counted forty-eight, shall count forty-nine and fifty. It is

agreed?”

“It is agreed, Lord,” he replied humbly. “Hearken. Yonder,” and

he pointed to some rocks upon a slope not more than a few hundred

yards away, where grew trees of a different and more vigorous

character from any about us—“yonder, I say, is the spring we seek.

Lord, we must reach it at once, for our water is done, the white

man has drank the last, and very soon it will be quite dark and

impossible to travel.”

“Good,” I said. “Go on with your men and prepare the camp. I will

follow with the wanderer as soon as he can walk. Afterwards we can

talk.”

He looked at me doubtfully, wondering, I was sure, whether I had it

in my mind to give him the slip. If so, probably he concluded that

without water and with a sick man it would not be possible for me

to do so. At least he went to collect his people, and presently I

saw them march with the loads up to the rocks where grew the green

trees. To make certain of his movements I sent Hans with them,

telling him to return at once and report if there was a spring and

if so whether Kaneke was preparing to camp.

To tell the truth I was by no means certain as to his intentions.

Possibly he meant to melt away in the darkness, leaving us in the

wilderness to our fate. This would not have troubled me very much

had it not been for the fact that nearly all the ammunition and

food, also some of my rifles, were among the loads. Otherwise,

indeed, I should have been glad to see the last of Kaneke, for I

was filled with doubts of him and of the business into which he was

dragging me. However, I must take my chance; amongst so many risks

what was one more?

When he had gone I went to where the stranger lay behind some

stones, and to my joy found that he was coming out of his swoon,

for he had sat up and was staring about him.

“Who are you and where am I? Oh, wasn’t there a fight? Give me

water.”

“Keep quiet a little, Mr. Arkle,” I said. “I hope to have some

water presently.” (I had given Hans a bottle to fill.) “There has

been a fight. By God’s mercy we managed to save you. You shall

tell me about your adventures afterwards.”

He nodded, fixing his attractive eyes, which reminded me of those

of a retriever, on my face. Then, doubtless unaware that he was

speaking out loud, he said something rather rude, namely:

“Queer-looking little chap; hair like that of a half-clipped

poodle; skin like an old parchment, but tough as nails; and

straight. Yes, I am sure, straight. John Taurus, you are in luck.

Well, it’s time.”

Of course I took no notice, but went to speak to Tom and Jerry, who

were standing close by bewildered and whispering, asking them how

many cartridges they had fired in the scrap, and answering their

questions as best I could, till presently in the waning light I

caught sight of Hans returning.

“It is all right, Baas,” he said. “There’s a good spring yonder,

as the Owl-man said, and he is camping by it. Here’s water.”

I took the bottle and handed it to Arkle, who seized it eagerly.

Then suddenly a thought struck him and he held it out to me, saying

in his pleasant, cultivated voice:

“You too look thirsty, sir. Drink first,” words that showed me

that I had to deal with a gentleman.

To tell the truth I was dry, perished with thirst, indeed. But not

to be outdone I made him take the first pull. Then I drank and

gave some to Tom and Jerry. Between us those two quarts did not go

far; still, a pint apiece was something.

“Can you walk a little?” I asked Arkle.

“Rather,” he said. “I’m a new man, and thank God those scoundrels

didn’t get my boots. But where are we going?”

“To the camp yonder first. Afterwards to the Lake Mone if we can.”

A flash of joy passed across his face.

“That will suit me very well,” he said. Then it fell, and he

added: “You are very good to me, and it is my duty to warn you

that the journey is dangerous, and if we get there, that the place

and people are—well, not canny. Indeed, you would be wise to turn

back, for I think that death is very fond of Lake Mone.”

“I guessed as much,” I said. “Have you been there, Mr. Arkle?”

He nodded.

“Then take my advice and say nothing of your experiences to those

with whom we are going to camp, for I suppose you talk Arabic. I

will explain why afterwards.”

He nodded again, then asked:

“What is your name, sir?”

I told him.

“Allan Quatermain,” he said. “Seems familiar to me somehow. Oh, I

remember, a man I knew—Lord Ragnall—told me about you. Indeed,

he gave me a letter of introduction in case I went south. But

that’s gone with the rest. Odd to have met you in this fashion,

but so is everything in this place. Now, Mr. Quatermain, if I may

put my hand on your shoulder, for my head still swims a bit, I am

ready to walk.”

“Right,” I answered, “but again I beg you not to be ready to talk,

at any rate in any language but our own, for except Hans, who can

be trusted on all important matters”—and I pointed to the

Hottentot—“none of these people understand English.”

“I see,” he said, and we started, Arkle, who limped badly, towering

above me, for he was a very big man, and leaning on me as though I

were a stick.

We reached the camp without difficulty just as darkness fell.

While the hunters pitched my tent which, although low, was large

enough to cover two men, Arkle lay down by the stream and drank

until I begged him to stop. Then he poured water over his head,

and thrust his arms into it to the shoulders, as though to take up

moisture like a dry sponge, after which he asked for food.

Fortunately, we had still plenty to eat—of a kind, hard cakes made

of crushed corn that we had obtained from the last natives we had

met, and sliced biltong, that is buck’s flesh dried in the sun.

These he devoured ravenously, as though they were delicious, which

showed me that he was almost starved. Then he lay down in the tent

and fell at once into a profound sleep.

For a while I sat listening to his breathing, which sounded quite

loud in the intense stillness of the place, and staring at the

stars that in the clear sky shone with wonderful brilliance. By

their light I saw Kaneke glide past me and, taking his stand upon a

flat stone at a little distance, make strange motions with his

arms, which he held up above his head.

“The Owl-Man is talking to his star, Baas; that bright one up

there,” whispered Hans at my side, pointing to the planet Venus.

“He does that every night, Baas, and it tells him what to do next

day.”

“I am glad to hear it,” I answered, “for I am sure I do not know

what we are to do.”

“Oh, just go on, Baas,” said Hans. “If you only go on long enough

you always come out the other side,” a remark which I thought

contained a deal of true philosophy, though it left the question of

what one would find on the other side quite unsolved.

After this, having arranged that Hans and the two hunters were to

keep watch alternately, which was unnecessary where Hans was

concerned, seeing that he always slept with one eye open, I lay

down in the tent, and having said a short prayer, as I am not

ashamed to confess I have always done since boyhood, or at any rate

nearly always, fell instantly into a profound slumber.

While it was still dark—although, as I could tell by the stars and

the smell of the air, the night drew towards morning, I was

awakened by Arkle creeping into the tent.

“Been to get a bathe in that spring,” he said, when he found that I

was awake. “Needed it when one hasn’t washed for a week. I feel

all right again now.”

I remarked that I was glad to hear it, and that he seemed to have

had a squeak for his life.

“Yes,” he added thoughtfully, “it was a very close thing. Lucky

that I am a good runner. I won the three-mile race two years in

succession at the Oxford and Cambridge sports. Look here, Mr.

Quatermain, you must be wondering who I am and how I came here.

I will tell you while it’s quiet, if you care to listen.

“The Arkles, though that isn’t the name of the firm, for some

generations have been in a big way of business in Manchester and

London; colonial merchants they call themselves. They deal all

over the world, with West Africa among other places. My father,

who has been dead some years, struck out a line of his own,

however. He was a dreamy kind of a man, a crank his relatives

called him, who studied all sorts of odd subjects, astrology among

them, as I think I told you. Also he refused to have anything to

do with trade, and insisted upon becoming a doctor, or rather a

surgeon. He met with great success in his profession, for

notwithstanding his fads, he was a wonderful operator. Being well-off he took little private practice, but worked almost entirely at

hospitals for nothing.

“When I left college, by his wish I became a doctor too, but

shortly after I qualified at Bart’s my father, whose only child I

was, died. Also my cousin, the only son of my uncle, Sir Thomas

Arkle the baronet, was killed in an accident, and my uncle begged

me to enter the business. In the end I did so, very unwillingly,

to please my relations. To cut the story short, I did not care for

business, and when there was so much property entailed upon me with

the baronetcy, I could not see why it was necessary that I should

remain in an office. On the other hand my uncle did not wish me to

return to practice.

“So we compromised; I agreed to travel for some years in the

interests of the firm, specially in West Africa, where they wanted

to develop their trade, and incidentally in my own interest,

because I wanted as a physician to observe man in his primitive

state and to study his indigenous diseases. When the tour was

finished I was to return and put up for Parliament and in due

course inherit the Arkle fortunes, which are large, and advance the

Arkle dignity, which is nothing in particular, by the judicious

purchase of a peerage, for that is what it came to. That, more or

less, was the arrangement.”

“Quite so,” I said, “or as much of it as you choose to tell me,

though perhaps there is a good deal more behind which, quite

properly, you prefer to keep to yourself.”

“Perfectly true, Mr. Quatermain. By the way, as I am telling you

about myself, would you mind telling me who and what you are?”

“Not in the least. I was born in England of a good family, and

received a decent education from my father, who was a scholar, a

gentleman, and something of a saint. For the rest I am nobody and

nothing in particular, only a hunter with some skill at his trade,

an observer, like you, of mankind in the rough, and one cursed with

a curiosity and a desire to learn new things which, in the end,

will no doubt put a stop to all my foolishness.”

“Oh no, it won’t,” he answered cheerfully, “that is, not until the

time appointed. I’ll cast your horoscope for you, if you like—my

father taught me the trick—and tell you when it will happen.”

“No, you won’t,” I answered firmly.

At this moment Hans arrived with the coffee and informed me that

Kaneke was anxious that we should march at sunrise, as here we were

in danger.

Then followed anxious consultations. Arkle had a coat, or rather a

Norfolk jacket, but no shirt; and one of my spares, a flannel

garment that had cost me fifteen shillings at Durban and had never

been used, must be provided for him. Luckily it was over-size, so

he managed to drag it on to his great frame. Then a hat must be

found, and so forth. Lastly it was necessary to provide him with

one of the spare Winchester rifles and some cartridges.

Even before we were ready Kaneke arrived, not a little agitated, as

I could see, and prayed us to hasten.

“Where to, Kaneke?” I asked.

“Up the side of the mountain and over its lip, Lord, that we may

take shelter among my people the Dabanda. For be sure that after

what happened yesterday, the Abanda will kill us if they can. If

this white wanderer whom your servants call Red-Bull cannot march,

he must be left behind.”

Here Arkle, who it seemed understood and could speak Arabic

perfectly, looked Kaneke up and down and replied that this was

unnecessary, as he believed that he could get along.

So, having swallowed some food, presently off we went, guided by

Kaneke up the steep mountain side.

“Did you call that man, Kaneke?” Arkle inquired when that worthy

was out of earshot.

“Yes,” I answered; “but why do you ask?”

“Oh, only because of late I have heard a good deal of a person

named Kaneke from a native I know. But perhaps there are two

Kanekes. The one he spoke of was a young fellow who committed a

great crime.”

Then rather abruptly he changed the subject, leaving me wondering.

CHAPTER XI

ARKLE’S STORY

At first Arkle walked rather lamely, being troubled with stiffness

and his sore heel, but soon these wore off for the time, and in the

fresh air of the morning his vigour returned to him. Certainly he

was a splendid-looking man, I reflected, as I marched at his side,

a perfect specimen of the finest stamp of the Anglo-Saxon race.

While we went he continued his story.

“You were quite right in supposing that there were other reasons

which induced me to come to Africa besides those I mentioned. I

will tell them to you, if you care to hear them, for I may as well

put my cards on the table. If not, please say so, for I do not

wish to bore anybody with my affairs.”

I replied that nothing would please me better, for to tell the

truth my curiosity was much excited.

“Here goes, then,” he said, “though I expect that the tale won’t

raise your opinion of me and my intelligence. As I have said, I am

what is called a man with prospects or rather I was, for these seem

far enough off today, and as such, having plenty of money to spend,

I was exposed to many temptations. Mr. Quatermain, I cannot

pretend that these were always resisted. I will pass over my

follies, of which I am ashamed, with the remark that they were such

as are common to impetuous young men.

“In short, I lived fast, so fast that my uncle and connections—my

mother, by the way, died when I was young—being nonconformist of

that puritanical stamp which often combines piety with a continual

thirst for worldly advancement, were quite properly scandalized,

and remonstrated. They said that I must change my mode of life,

and as a first step, get married. This my uncle desired above all

things, for there was no other heir, and as he often used to remark

in a solemn voice, life is uncertain.

“At length I gave way and became engaged to a lady very well born

indeed and very handsome, but without means, which, as I would have

plenty, did not matter. To be honest, I did not greatly care for

this lady, nor did she care for me, being, as I discovered

afterwards, in love with somebody else. In fact the marriage would

have been one of mutual convenience, nothing more. Now I am going

to make you laugh.

“Although no one knew it and I scarcely expect you to believe it,

I, a man who, as I have said, could and did plunge into dissipations,

have another side to my nature. At times, Mr. Quatermain, I am a

dreamer and what is called a mystic. I suppose I inherited it from

my father, at any rate there it is.”

“There is nothing wonderful in that,” I remarked; “the old story of

the flesh and the spirit, nothing more.”

“Perhaps. At least I put faith in queer and unprovable things, for

instance in what are called ‘soul affinities’, and even in the

theory that we have lived before. Would you believe that the great

lump of British flesh and blood which you see before you developed

a ‘soul affinity’, if that is the right term, with someone I had

never met?”

I looked at him doubtfully, reflecting that the hardships through

which he had passed had probably touched his brain. He read my

mind, for he went on:

“Sounds as though I were a bit cracked, doesn’t it? So I thought

myself, and should still think, were it not for the fact that I

have found this affinity in Africa.”

“Where?” I asked lightly. “At Lake Mone?”

“Yes,” he replied, “at Lake Mone, where I always expected that I

should find her.”

I gasped, and felt as though I should like to sit down, which,

owing to our hurry, was impossible. Evidently the poor man was

rather mad.

“As I have begun it I had better go on with my story, taking things

as they happened,” he continued in a matter-of-fact voice. “I tell

you that in the midst of my wild and rather unedifying career I

began to be haunted by visions which came upon me at night.”

“Dreams?” I suggested.

“No, always when I was awake and looking at the stars, and

generally when I was in the open air. The first, I remember,

developed in Trafalgar Square at three in the morning after I had

been to a dance.”

“The wine is not always very good at those dances, I have been

told, or if it is, sometimes one drinks too much of it,” I

suggested again.

“Quite true, but as it happened this one was given by a relative of

mine who is a strict teetotaller and never allows anything

spirituous in her house. I had to go to meet my fiancée; it was a

terrible affair. When it was over I went for a walk and came to

Trafalgar Square, which at that hour was very quiet and lonely.

There I stood staring at the Nelson Column, or rather at the stars

above it, for it was frosty and they were beautiful that night.

Then the thing came. I saw a desolate sheet of water lit up by the

moon, an eerie kind of a place. Presently a form, that of a woman

draped in white, appeared gliding over the water towards me,

floating, not walking. It reached the shore and advanced to where

I stood, and I saw that this woman was young and very beautiful,

with large, tender eyes.

“She stopped opposite to me, considering me, and a change came over

her face as though after long search she had found that which she

sought. Looking at her, I too seemed to have found that which I

sought. She held out her arms, she spoke to me; distinctly I heard

her words, not with my ears but through some inner sense. What is

more, I understood one or two of them, though they were in Arabic.

“I have always had a taste for studying out-of-the-way subjects,

and it happened that in my medical reading I had become interested

in the works of some of the old Arabian physicians, and in order to

understand them had found it necessary to master something of the

language in which they were written. This was some years before,

and I had forgotten most of what I had learned, but not everything.

So it came about that I caught the meaning of a sentence here and

there—such as these:

“‘At last, O long sought. At last upon the earth.’ … ‘Not in

dreams.’ … ‘Follow, follow.’ … ‘Far away you will find and

remember.’ … ‘Yes, there the gates will be opened, the gates of

the past and the future.’

“At this point the vision, or whatever you like to call it, came to

a prosaic end, for a policeman arrived, eyed me suspiciously, and

said:

“‘Move on, young gentleman. This ain’t no place for the likes of

you on a cold night. Go home and sleep it off.’

“I remember that I burst out laughing; the contrast was so

ridiculous. Then because my heart was full of a strange joy, such

as is described by the old mystics who think that they have been in

communication with things Divine, I presented that policeman with

half a sovereign, wished him good night, walked away quietly to my

rooms in St. James’s Place, and went to bed a changed man.”

“What do you mean by ‘a changed man’?” I asked.

“Oh, only that I seemed different in every way. It was as though

something had been torn, or a veil had been lifted from my eyes, so

that now I saw all sorts of new things; at least the old things

took on new aspects. From that moment, for example, I hated the

dissipations which had attracted me. I acquired different and

higher objectives; I came to know, what doubtless is true, that

here in the world we are but wanderers lost in a fog which shuts

off glorious prospects, divine realities, so that we can see little

except dank weeds hanging from the rocks by which we feel our way,

and pebbles shining in the wet beneath our feet. We make crowns of

the weeds and fight for the bright pebbles, but the weeds wither,

and the pebbles when they are dry prove to be but common slate.

The dream woman that I had seen in Trafalgar Square showed me all

this, and a great deal more. I was changed! I who had been a

greedy caterpillar, devouring all that I could find, in that half-hour in Trafalgar Square became a chrysalis, and then was

transformed into a butterfly.”

“Most interesting!” I exclaimed, and with sincerity, for

notwithstanding Arkle’s fine words and metaphors which I found

rather difficult to follow, this story did interest me very much.

I didn’t believe in the Trafalgar Square vision, but, as an

American would say, I did hitch on to that transformation which, in

our degree, most of us have experienced at one time or another,

however impermanent its results may have proved. In some private

Trafalgar Square of their own, nearly all have met the Ideal, or

the Divine, and in its unearthly light have seen things high and

strange; have seen also how petty and how foul are the objects of

their temporal desire.

Half an hour later it is probable that they will have forgotten the

former, and be hunting the latter even more fiercely than before.

Still, they have had the vision, and those to whom such visions

came may always hope. They have learned that there are gates in

the gross wall that is built about their souls… .

“Most interesting,” I repeated, “but how about the lady to whom you

were engaged? Did you tell her what you had seen and heard in

Trafalgar Square?”

“No, I didn’t, at least not all of it. The only difference was

that whereas I had merely disliked her before, afterwards I

detested her, that is, as a prospective matrimonial partner.

However, I may add at once that this engagement affair cleared

itself up in a most satisfactory fashion. The lady’s aversion to

me was even more real than mine to her. Also she was rude enough

to believe and to tell me she believed that I was mad.”

“That was pretty straight, though if you talked to her—well, as

you are doing now, not altogether surprising,” I said.

“Quite straight, but I respected her for it. Lastly, as I have

said, there was a gentleman in the case. Now can you guess what

happened?”

“Of course. You broke it off, that’s all.”

“Not a bit. We didn’t dare, for the row in both families would

have been too terrific. No, my hated rival was impecunious like my

beloved betrothed, whereas I had a good lump of cash at call, which

my father had left me. So I lent him Ł5000—it’s more polite to

call it lent—and they bolted to Florida to start orange-farming.

I need not say that I proclaimed myself broken-hearted and everyone

sympathized with me to my face and laughed at me behind my back,

almost as heartily as I laughed myself behind their backs.

Meanwhile, I studied Arabic like anything, which amused me, as I am

rather quick at languages, and took long midnight walks to develop

my spiritual side.”

“I say,” I said doubtfully, “you are not making fun of me, are you,

Mr. Arkle?”

“Certainly not. At least I think I am not, for those Abanda have

killed my sense of humour. But you shall judge by the sequel. To

cut it short, I did seem to come more and more in touch with that

lady of the lake. Yes, in those starlit midnight hours she

appeared to talk to me more and more as my Arabic improved, and to

tell me all sorts of curious things about the past, the very

distant past, I gathered, in which we had been intimately connected

and taken part in various adventures, some of them tragic and all

in their way striking and even beautiful. I will skip these, for

what is the use of repeating a lot of old love-affairs that

apparently took place in remote ages, only saying that in the last

of them at some indefinite date she brought about my death and her

own, that we might go to heaven together or rather to a certain

star, a crime for which, according to the visions, she is most

anxious to make amends. That is why, still according to the

visions, she must live in the distant spot where it happened, for

as I understand, the experiment did not succeed—I mean that we

never got to that star.”

“Look here,” I said, “all this sounds rather like a nightmare,

doesn’t it?”

Yet as the words passed my lips, I remembered Kaneke’s yarn about

his goddess in the lake who was supposed to have descended from

heaven and fallen in love with a man. Surely he said that she had

killed this man to take him back to heaven with her, which was not

allowed. Therefore she waited in the lake until he appeared again,

after which I did not gather what was to happen. The legend was of

a sort that is not unknown in Central and West Africa, but really

it was odd to hear another version of it from Arkle’s lips.

“Very much like a nightmare,” he assented cheerfully. “Being a

doctor I came to the same conclusion, as did some of the most

eminent of my profession whom I consulted. One of them asked me if

I had spotted the locale of these strange happenings. I replied,

yes, somewhere near some mountains in the central parts of Africa

that were called Ruga, where, as I believed, no white man had ever

been, though I had found them marked on an old map. ‘Well,’ he

replied, with a twinkle in his eye, ‘if I were you I should go and

look for the lady there. At the worst you will get some good big-game shooting, and I have noticed that people with hallucinations

never come to any harm.’

“I thought this an excellent idea, and shortly afterwards I began

to work upon my uncle to send me out to Africa to advance the trade

interests of the firm. In the end he and the other partners

agreed; you see they sympathized with me very much on my

matrimonial fiasco and thought that a change would do me good.

“‘In such a case,’ said my uncle, who has a gift for platitude,

‘new countries, new customs, and new faces are most helpful.’ I

sighed and shook my head, but said that I hoped so.”

“How long have you been here?” I asked.

“Oh, I landed on the West Coast about three years ago. It took me

a long while to find those confounded Ruga Mountains, and I met

with many adventures on the way. However, at last I fetched up all

right with about half a dozen coast servants, good men all of them,

for the rest of the crowd had bolted at one time or another. And

now I come to the interesting part of the story, if you care to

hear it.”

“Of course I do. Who wouldn’t?” I answered. “Go on.”

“Well, I had heard of Lake Mone, the holy lake as it is called;

right away from the Congo and beyond it, indeed, rumours of this

place had reached me. I have told you that I am not bad at

languages, and during my first year in Africa, while I was

attending to the business of the firm, I also studied local tongues

and customs on every possible occasion. Thus I would get servants

who could not talk a word of English, and learn from them. Then I

began to work my way up country and at every tribe I came to, or

rather at every village, I always made a friend of the chief witch-doctor, for the African witch-doctors know everything that is

passing for hundreds of miles around them. Indeed often they seem

to know more than this, how or why I can’t tell.”

“That’s quite true,” I said, thinking of Zikali, “Opener of Roads”,

the great wizard of Zululand of whom I have told some tales.

“Now,” went on Arkle, “I must explain that I was not certain for

what I was searching. The visions which I had experienced in

England had shown me the desolate lake and a beautiful woman who

spoke about the past and our relations together in that past. But

beyond saying, or conveying, that it was in Central Africa she had

never mentioned the name of the lake, or told me how to get there,

and from the moment that I sailed from Liverpool the visions, or

whatever they may have been, ceased. In short I was left without

any guidance whatsoever.

“It was here that the witch-doctors came in. I explained my case

to several of them, and when their mouths were opened by gifts,

also by a belief that although my skin was white I was one of their

fraternity, they became communicative. They had heard something of

a sacred lake that was inhabited by a great fetish, they believed

this fetish was a woman; they would inquire. That was the burden

of their song. What is more, they DID inquire, once or twice by

means of drum messages which, as you know, the natives can send

over hundreds of miles, but generally in fashions that were dark to

me. Also answers came, from which in the end I learned that the

lake where the great rain-doctoress dwelt was named Mone, that her

title was the Engoi, and that she was known among the people round

her as Shadow, or The Shadow.

“Following these clues, such as they were, though of course all the

while I understood that this Engoi, or Shadow, might be quite

different from her of whom I had dreamed, I worked my way slowly

eastwards and southwards, till at last I came to certain mountains

which I was told bordered the country where the Engoi lived.

Indeed, from the crest of them I was shown this great volcano, or

whatever it may be, that we are climbing now, which was declared to

be her home. Also, I was informed that between it and me dwelt a

fierce and numerous tribe called the Abanda, whose habit it was to

kill anyone who set foot within their borders.

“It was here that the last six men who had clung to me struck.

They were good fellows, faithful and brave; I never had to do with

better. Still, they came in a body and explained that although

they feared no man, they did fear wizards and ghosts. The country

of the Abanda, and more especially that of the Dabanda beyond it

was, they had sure information, full of both, and the stranger who

entered there never came out alive, ‘even his spirit remained

captive after he was dead’. For these reasons they would not go

one step farther.

“I saw that it was quite useless to argue, and therefore I made a

bargain. The village where this talk took place was inhabited by

some very friendly and peaceful agriculturists in country that the

Abanda never visited. This was my bargain: that those men should

rest here for one year awaiting my return. If at the end of that

time I did not appear again or send them further orders, they were

to be at liberty to divide my goods and go wherever they liked.

These goods, I should explain, are, or were, of some value, trade-stuff of all kinds for presents or barter, rifles, ammunition,

clothes, etcetera.”

“How did six men manage to carry all these things?” I asked.

“They didn’t. After most of my people deserted, by the help of the

witch-doctors and chiefs I arranged for their transport from town

to town or from tribe to tribe, letting the bearers go back and

procuring others when I moved forward. So if I appear no more

those six coast men, old soldiers most of them, will be rich, that

is if they can get the stuff away.”

“Unless they are more honest than most of their kind, I expect that

they have done that already,” I said, smiling.

“Possibly. I don’t know, and to tell the truth I do not much care,

because it is improbable that we shall ever meet again. I realized

this when I made up my mind to continue the journey to Lake Mone

alone.”

“Do you mean to say that you tried to do that, Mr. Arkle?”

“Yes, and what is more, I succeeded. No, that isn’t true; I did

not go quite alone. At the last moment, when I was about to start,

a sharp-eyed, wrinkled old fellow turned up, where from no one

seemed to know, who said that he was one of the people who lived in

the Land of the Holy Lake, whither he wished to return. He said

that his name was Kumpana, and that he wanted no reward except my

companionship upon the journey. That was all I could get out of

him. Of course this sounded fishy enough, but as I was going on

anyhow, it did not matter, although my hunters and the chief of the

tribe—which, by the way was called Ruga-Ruga, I suppose after the

mountains—implored me not to trust myself to such a guide. You

see, I knew I should arrive and therefore I wasn’t anxious.”

“Now I understand what faith is,” I said.

“Yes, faith is everything. We are taught that in the Bible, you

remember. Well, I started; by the state of the moon it must be a

month ago. I took a gun and as much ammunition as I could carry,

also a pistol, a hunting-knife, and a few other necessaries,

including an extra pair of boots, while the mysterious old fellow,

Kumpana, carried the food. I say that he was old, for he looked

so, but I should add that he was one of the finest walkers and the

best guide that I ever knew.

“In three days, travelling down hill, we came to the country of the

Abanda, or rather to its outskirts. They are a numerous people who

live on a great plain upon the other side of this mountain, also on

its western slope, in a number of unfortified villages, with one

central town, which is much bigger than the rest. Their land,

consisting chiefly of decomposed lava, is extremely fertile when

there is rain, but just now it is suffering from a severe drought

which, Kumpana said, though how he knew it I can’t tell you, has

endured for three years, so that they are almost starving, and

consequently in a state of great excitement.

“This drought, he said also, they attribute to the magic of the

Dabanda who live over the rim of the mountain, that is in the great

crater of the extinct volcano or group of volcanoes. Therefore—if

they dared—they would attack these Dabanda and destroy them, in

order to occupy their country and become the subjects of their

goddess the Engoi. But for some strange reason, which Kumpana

could not or would not explain, they do not dare.”

“I have heard something of that tale—with differences,” I said.

“Did you meet any of these Abanda?”

“No, not at that time, thanks to Kumpana. But you know what they

are like, for yesterday you saw some of them. In point of fact

they almost exactly resemble those bearers of yours, who from the

look of them might be either Abanda or Dabanda, for the two people

are doubtless of one blood and even speak the same dialect of

Arabic.”

“How did you avoid them?” I asked, making no comment on this

statement.

“By lying hidden during the day and travelling at night. As there

was no moon visible we must journey by starlight, and even that

failed sometimes when mist or cloud came up. But it seemed to make

no difference to old Kumpana, who must know the country like a

book. On he went up the steep mountain paths, seeing and climbing

like a cat in the dark, and leading me by a string tied to his

wrist, for we were afraid to speak except in the lowest whisper.

Once or twice we passed quite close to villages, so close that we

could see the people gathered round the fires. Here our danger was

from the dogs, which smelt us and rushed out barking, but

fortunately their masters took no notice, thinking, I suppose, that

they smelt jackals or hyenas.

“On the third morning we came to the lip of the crater and had no

more to fear from the Abanda. Now another danger arose, for the

pass, which was nothing but a cleft in the rock, only large enough

in places for one man to squeeze through at a time, was occupied by

Dabanda watchmen, who of course challenged us, and were much

astonished at my appearance, for I think they had never seen a

white man. Kumpana they seemed to know (indeed, I believe that

they were waiting for him there), for they talked with him in a

friendly and deferential fashion, though I was not allowed to hear

what they said. The end of it was that we were detained here for a

day and a night while messengers were sent to a body of priests who

are called ‘The Council of the Engoi’.

“At dawn of the following day, that is twenty-four hours after our

arrival, these messengers returned, saying that we were to proceed

to the chief town upon the edge of the forest that surrounds the

lake. So off we went, escorted by some of the Dabandas, through a

lovely country, rich beyond imagining, for there had been plenty of

rain here. It reminded me of some of the lands that border on the

Rhine, and lower down, of those about Naples, and lower still of

the South Sea Islands. That is until I came to the deep belt of

forest which surrounds the Holy Lake where no man may set his

foot.”

“Did you see that lake?” I asked.

“Later I saw it and once or twice on the journey I caught a glimpse

of it, a black and gloomy sheet of water with an island in its

midst. In the evening we came to a large village where the huts or

houses, some of them round and some square, were white and stood in

gardens. I was taken to a large one of the square variety with a

courtyard outside of it, where soon I found I was a prisoner.

“After dark a man visited me. As there was no light in the hut I

could not see his face, but he told me that he was a priest of the

Engoi. Then, in the presence of Kumpana, he cross-examined me

sharply as to the reason of my visit, and affected surprise when I

answered him in his own tongue—Arabic. I told him all sorts of

lies; that I wished to see his country; that I was a white merchant

and wanted to open trade; that I desired to learn the wisdom of the

Dabanda; and I know not what besides. He replied that by rights I

should be burnt alive for sacrilege, but as a white man was

expected in the country and possibly I might be that man, the

matter must be referred to the Engoi. Meanwhile I was to remain a

prisoner. If I left the courtyard of the hut I should be seized

and burned.

“A prisoner I did remain accordingly. For ten long days I sat

about in that horrible hut and high-fenced courtyard, overeating

myself, for I was supplied with plenty of excellent food, and

driven nearly frantic by doubts and anxieties. I felt that I was

close to her whom I had come to see, and yet in a sense farther

away than I had been in London years before. No more visitors

reached me, nothing happened. At last I drew near to madness. I

even thought of suicide—anything to get out of that intolerable

hut and courtyard, for I saw, or thought I saw, that I had been the

victim of delusions.

“One evening when I was at my worst, Kumpana, my old guide, who

from something the priest said was, I discovered, a person of great

importance, came to visit me for the first time for days. He asked

me if I had a bold heart and was one who would dare much to satisfy

the desire of his heart, and if so, what was that desire. I

replied that it was to speak with a certain holy one whom already I

had met in dreams, she who was called Shadow and dwelt in a lake.

He did not seem in the least surprised, indeed he said he knew that

this was so. Then he added:

“‘When the moon appears, walk out of the hut boldly towards the

darkness of the forest. There you will find those who will guide

you. Go with them to the borders of the lake, where perchance

“one” will meet you. After that I do not know what may happen. It

may be death—understand that it may be death. If you fear this

adventure I will guide you back out of the country of the Dabanda,

but, then, know that never more, in dreams or otherwise, at least

during this life, will you meet her whom you seek. Now choose.’

“‘I have chosen,’ I answered. ‘I go into the forest.’

“‘A certain holy one has judged you well. Speak with her if you

will, yet beware that you touch her not. Again I warn you to

beware,’ he said, and bowing left me.

“At the appointed time I walked out of the door of the hut, my

rifle in my hand, for my arms had been left to me, perhaps because

my captors did not understand their use. The gate of the fence was

open and the guards had gone. I went through it and, following a

path, came to the edge of the forest. Here beneath the trees the

darkness was intense and I stood still, not knowing which way to

turn. Shadows glided up to me. Who or what they were I could not

see, nor did they speak. They did not touch me, so far as I could

feel, yet they seemed to push me along. Surrounded by them I

walked forward.

“I confess that I was afraid. It came into my mind that my

companions were not human, that they were the spirits of the

forest, or ghosts of those long dead returned to their earthly

habitations. Their company frightened me; I spoke to them, but

there was no answer, only I thought that cold hands were laid upon

my lips as though to enjoin silence. Whither was I going in

pursuit of a dream that had haunted me for years? Perhaps not to

find the lovely woman of that dream, but in her place some blood-stained African fetish, some evil-haunted symbol to which I should

be offered as a sacrifice. My blood ran cold at the thought, and I

tell you, Mr. Quatermain, that had I known which way to go, I would

have turned and fled, for in this last trial my faith failed me.

“But it was too late, and now I must face that risk of death of

which the old messenger had warned me.

“In dead silence I went on and on through the endless trees. My

hands brushed their trunks, I stumbled over their roots, but I

never struck them and I never fell. I could see nothing, could

hear nothing except my own footfall. Yes, by a pressure like to

that of wind, I was guided and sustained for hour after hour.

“At length we were out of the forest, for I saw the stars and the

faint effulgence of the hidden moon, also the gleam of water at my

feet. My guides seemed to have left me as though their task was

done. I was utterly alone, and the sense of that great solitude

appalled my soul.

“What was that upon the waters, just discernible, or perhaps

imagined? No, for it glided forward as a canoe glides that drifts

in a current, since of oars I heard no sound. It drew near, a

magic boat; a white veiled figure stepped upon the shore and stood

before me. The veil was drawn, I saw the outline of a face, I saw

the starlight mirrored in eyes that gleamed like stars.

“‘You have dared much to come, O friend of my heart,’ said a sweet

voice, speaking in Arabic, ‘and I have dared much to bring you here

that I might talk with you a little while.’

“‘Who and what are you, lady?’ I asked.

“‘I am one whose soul spoke with you in your great city far away.

Ay, and afterwards until I drew you to this land to find me in the

flesh. For I know that from of old your destiny and mine have been

intertwined, and so it must be till that end which is the real

beginning.’

“‘Yes, perhaps. Indeed, I think I feel that this is so,’ I

answered. ‘Yet what is your office here, you who live upon a lake

surrounded by savages?’

“‘For my sins, O Friend, I must play the queen to these savages,

and be their oracle.’

“‘Are you, then, divine?’

“‘Are we not all divine, spirits fallen from on high to expiate our

sins and to draw upwards those against whom we have sinned?’

“‘I do not know, Lady Shadow—for I suppose that you are she who in

this land is known as Shadow—since on this matter the different

faiths teach differently. Yet it may well be so, seeing that this

world is no happy home for man, but rather a place of bondage and

of tears. But let such questions be and tell me first—are you

woman?’

“‘I am woman,’ she answered very softly.

“‘Then being woman, why have you called me—a man—to your side

from half across the earth?’

“‘Because it was so fated, and for the sake of ancient love.’

“‘And now having heard your call and come and found you in the

place of which I dreamed, what must I do to win you?’

“‘Look on me,’ she said, ‘and having looked, say whether you still

wish to win me, and if it is between us as it was in days you have

forgotten.’

“She came a little nearer; she loosened that enveloping veil and

stood before me, perfect and entrancing. The starlight gathered

upon her pure and lovely face; to my fancy it was as though she

herself radiated light. She was human and yet a mystery. She was

a woman and yet half spirit.

“‘Of the past I know nothing,’ I said, hiding my eyes with my hand,

‘and of the present only that I desire you more than life and all

it has to give.’

“‘I thank you, and I am glad,’ she replied humbly. ‘Yet know that

I may not be lightly won. Great dangers threaten me and those over

whom I rule and whom I must save before I satisfy my soul—and

yours. How are you now named in the world?’

“‘John Arkle,’ I answered.

“‘Is it so? Then, O Arkle, you must return over the lip of this

mountain, and there find a white man who comes to help us and my

people in the war that is at hand. When you have found him and

that war is won, we will talk again. Go now. Your guides await

you.’

“‘I do not wish to go,’ I said. ‘Let me return with you to where

you dwell.’

“She became agitated. I saw her tremble as she answered hurriedly:

“‘It is not lawful; first all must be accomplished; that is the

price. No, lay no hand upon me, for I tell you we are watched by

those you cannot see, and if you touch me I shall find it hard to

save you.’

“I heard, but took no heed who was seized with a kind of madness,

and forgot Kumpana’s warning. I had found one whom I had sought

for years. Was I to lose her thus, perhaps for ever? I stretched

out my arms and swept her to my breast. I kissed her brow.

“Then came a tumult; it was as though some frightful tempest had

broken over us. She was wrenched away and vanished. I was seized

and shaken as though by the hands of giants; my senses left me.

“When they returned again—it must have been long afterwards—I was

running on the mountain side, hunted by those savages whom you met

and drove away.”

CHAPTER XII

KANEKE SWEARS AN OATH

Arkle’s story came to an end, and I said nothing. Luckily, he did

not appear to expect me to speak, for, glancing at him, I saw that

he was limping on like one in a dream, his eyes set upon the

mountain lip above us as though he were looking over, or rather

through it at some vision beyond, and that on his face was a faint,

fixed smile such as I have seen upon those of persons under

hypnotic influence while they go about the behests of the master of

their will.

Evidently the man was not with me. He, or rather his mind, was

fixed upon that lake and its mysterious lady, if such a woman

lived. Contemplating him I came to the conclusion that he was the

victim of hallucination, or to put it bluntly—mad. For years he

had been haunted by this dream of a spiritualized maiden who was

his twin soul, a very ancient fantasy after all, and one still

believed in by thousands.

For it is interesting to imagine that somewhere, in the universe or

beyond it, is hidden a counterpart, or rather a complement, of the

other sex who exists for us alone and thinks of us alone, he or she

from whom Fate has separated us for a while and laid upon us the

need to find again in life or death.

Such a dream is always popular because it flatters our human vanity

to believe that however lonesome and unappreciated we may seem to

be, always somewhere waits that adoring and desiring mate who burns

to welcome and to hold us everlastingly.

Without doubt Arkle was subject to this common craze, only in his

case, instead of keeping it to himself, as do the more modest, he

proclaimed it aloud, as might be expected of one of his robust and

sanguine temperament, streaked as it was with veins of inherited

mysticism. He had followed his clues, such as they were; he who

had dreamed of a lake-goddess, had heard of a holy lake supposed to

be presided over by some local and female spirit, and with

wonderful courage and resistance he had fought his way half across

Africa to the neighbourhood of this place.

Here he had fallen into the hands of a tribe hostile to those who

worshipped the water-fetish, or witch-doctoress, or rainmaker

(nearly all these African superstitions are connected with rain).

Naturally, never having seen a white man before, they seized him

and kept him prisoner. Ultimately they determined to kill him, but

getting warning of their kind intentions, he made a run for it, and

so blundered on to us with his would-be assassins at his heels.

This, I doubted not, was the whole story, all the rest about the

visit to the lady who met him on the shores of the lake being pure

imagination, or rather dementia. Still it was true that Kaneke

told somewhat similar tales—a puzzling fact. Oh, how I wished to

heaven that I had never tied myself to this Kaneke by accepting his

ivory and cash! But there it was: I had, as it were, signed the

note of hand, and must honour the bill.

As a matter of fact, at this very moment an instalment was ripe for

discharge.

We had stopped for a few minutes to rest and drink some water from

a mountain stream, and eat a few mouthfuls of food. Just as we had

finished our hasty meal, Kaneke, who was seated on higher ground

fifty yards ahead, turned and beckoned to me to come to him. I

went, and when I reached him, without a word he pointed to our

left.

I looked, and there, advancing along a fold of the mountain at a

considerably higher level than ourselves, just at the foot of the

precipitous crater cliff a mile and a half, or perhaps two miles

away, I caught sight of glittering specks which I knew must be the

points of spears shining in the sun.

“What is it?” I said.

“The Abanda, Lord, coming to block our road, two or three hundred

of them. Listen, now. There in that cliff far above us is the

only pass on this side of the mountain which runs through the cleft

to the crater. The Abanda know that if they can reach the cliff

before us we shall be cut off and killed, every one. But if we can

reach it before them, we shall win through in safety to my own

country, for there they will not follow us. Now it is a race

between us as to which of us will first gain the mouth of the pass.

See, already I have sent on the bearers,” and he pointed to the

line of them scrambling up the mountain-side several hundred yards

ahead of us. “Let us follow them if you would continue to live.”

By this time Arkle, Hans, and the two hunters had joined me. A few

words sufficed to explain the situation, and off we went. Then

ensued a struggle that I can only describe as fearsome. We who had

marched far with little rest were tired; moreover we must climb

uphill, whereas the Abanda savages were comparatively fresh and

their path though rough lay more or less upon the flat; therefore

they could cover twice the distance in the same time. Lastly,

Arkle, although so strong, was still stiff and footsore after his

race for life upon the yesterday, which delayed his progress. The

bearers who, it will be remembered, had the start of us, made

wonderful time, notwithstanding their loads; doubtless too they

knew the Abanda and what would happen to them if they were

overtaken. As we clambered up the mountain-side—heavens! how the

sun-scorched lava burned my feet—Hans gasped out:

“A lot of those fellows who were hunting the Bull-Baas, whom I wish

we had never met, got away yesterday evening, Baas, and told their

brothers, who have come to make us pay for those who didn’t get

away.”

“No doubt,” I grunted, “and what’s more, I think they will reach

the mouth of the pass—if there is one—before us.”

“Yes, Baas, I think so too, for the Bull-Baas has a sore heel and

walks slowly and that cliff is still some way ahead. But, Baas,

the ones who escaped yesterday have told these fellows about what

happened to those who didn’t escape and what bullets are like.

Perhaps we can hold them back with the rifles, Baas.”

“Perhaps. At any rate we’ll try. Look how fast Kaneke is going.”

“Yes, Baas, he climbs like a baboon or a rock-rabbit. HE doesn’t

mean to be caught by the Abanda, Baas, or his porters either,

whatever happens to us. Suppose I sent a bullet after him, Baas,

before he is out of shot, aiming at his legs to make him go a bit

slower.”

“No,” I answered. “Let the brute run. We must take our chance.”

At this moment Arkle, who was growing lamer, called out:

“Quatermain, get on with your servants. I’ll look after myself.”

“No, you won’t,” I replied. “We will sink or swim together.”

Then I looked at Tom and Jerry and saw that they were alarmed, as

well they might be. Hans saw it too, and began to fire sarcasms at

them.

“Why don’t you run, you brave hunters?” he asked. “Will you let

yourselves be beaten by the Owl-man? If the rifles are heavy, you

might leave them behind, as you remember you did when the elephants

were after us.”

Such were his rather bitter jests, for Hans would crack jokes at

Death itself. I know that afterwards he regretted them earnestly

enough, as we often regret unkind words which it is too late to

recall. They stung Tom to fury, for I heard him mutter:

“I’ll kill you for this afterwards, yellow man,” a threat at which

Hans grinned.

The more phlegmatic Jerry, however, only smiled in a sickly fashion

and made no reply.

At length we were quite close to the face of the cliff, into which

we saw the porters vanishing, showing us where the pass or cleft

began. Unfortunately, too, the Abanda were quite close to us;

indeed, their leading spearsmen had emerged from the fold in the

mountain-side about three hundred yards away on to the open slope

of lava, and were racing to cut off Kaneke. That active person,

however, was too quick for them, as before they came within spear-cast of him he bolted into the cliff-face like a meer-cat into its

hole—perhaps a snake would be a better simile.

“Now we are done,” I said. “We can’t get there before those brutes

and it’s no use trying to run down the hill, for they would

overtake us. So we had better stay where we are to get our breath

and make the best end we can.”

“No, Baas,” puffed Hans, who had been searching the scene with his

hawk-like eyes. “Look. The Abanda are halting. They want to kill

us, Baas, but there is a donga between them and the hole in the

cliff. See, one of them is beginning to climb down it.”

I looked. Although I had not observed it before, because it curved

away from us, on our left there was a donga, that is a gully or

crack, formed no doubt when the hot lava contracted ages before,

which crack the Abanda must cross to reach us.

“Push on!” I cried. “We may beat them yet.”

Forward we went, the lame Arkle resting his hand upon my shoulder.

Now at last we were near the face of the cliff and, not more than

sixty or seventy yards ahead of us, could see the crevice into

which Kaneke and his crowd had vanished. Could we reach it? As I

wondered an Abanda appeared on this side of the donga. I halted,

lifted my rifle, fired, and, so blown was I, missed him. Yes, I

missed him clean, for I saw the bullet strike the spear-blade three

feet above his head and shatter it to pieces. This seemed to

frighten him, however, for he dropped back into the donga, and we

pressed on.

When we had all but reached the cleft in the precipice that once

had been the lip of the extinct volcano, whence I trusted, quite

vainly as it proved, that Kaneke and his people would sally forth

to help us, out of the donga appeared six or seven men who rushed

between us and the cliff face in which we hoped to refuge.

There they stood preparing to attack us with their spears. We

opened fire on them and this time did not miss. They went down,

but as they fell more appeared, brave and terrible-looking fellows,

furious at the death of their companions. We fired rapidly,

forcing our way forward all the while, but I saw that the game was

almost hopeless, for every moment more of these Abanda crawled up

some narrow ladder or pathway from the bottom of the donga.

Then it was that I heard the Abyssinian hunter Tom call out:

“Run on, Macumazahn, with the lame master. Run on. I see how to

stop them.”

Without waiting to reflect how he proposed to do this, for at such

moments one has little time to think; with Arkle leaning on my

shoulder and Hans at my side, I charged forward to the mouth of the

cleft. Certain of the Abanda were between us and it, but with this

we managed to deal with the help of our revolvers before they could

stab us. Thus we reached the cleft and plunged into it, for, to my

relief, no more Abanda appeared. Once in the mouth of the place,

which was very narrow, so narrow and twisted that a few men could

have held it against a thousand, as Horatius and his two companions

held the bridge in the old Roman days, I stopped, for I heard

firing still going on outside.

“Who is shooting?” I asked, peering about me in the gloom of that

hole, and as I spoke the echoes of the last shot died away and were

followed by a savage yell of triumph.

“Little Holes and Jerry, I believe, Baas,” answered Hans, wiping

his brow with his sleeve, “though I do not think they will shoot

any more. You see, Baas, for once in their lives they behaved very

nicely. Yes, they ran to the edge of that donga and stuffed

themselves into the mouths of the two paths by which these Abanda

are climbing up it, firing away until they were speared, thus

giving you and the Bull-Baas time to get into this hole, for of

course they did not care what happened to me who was their friend.

So I suppose that they are now dead, although perhaps they may have

been taken alive.”

“Great heavens!” I exclaimed. Then after a moment’s reflection, in

spite of the remonstrances of Hans (at the moment Arkle was ahead

of us), I crept back to the mouth of the cleft and looked out,

taking the risk of being speared.

He was right. Yonder on the lava plateau lay the bodies of Tom and

Jerry, dragged there by the Abanda, one of whom was engaged in

cutting off poor Jerry’s head with a spear.

Filled with grief and fury, I put a bullet through that savage,

which caused them all to scuttle back into their donga. Then,

before they could recover from their surprise, followed by Hans I

rushed out, seized Tom’s rifle which one of them had been carrying

and let fall in his fright, and bolted back with it into the mouth

of the cleft. That of Jerry unfortunately we could not recover. I

suppose it was carried away.

That was the end of those two brave but ill-fated hunters who, from

the first day of our journey, had seemed to walk in the shadow of

approaching doom. It was a very gallant end, for without doubt

they had given their lives to save us, or rather to save me.

This indeed they had done, for by blocking the two exits of the

steep-sided donga for a few minutes, they had enabled us to fight

our way through into the cleft. Whether their courage was

spontaneous, or whether it was induced by a sense of their previous

failure when they had thrown away their guns, a trivial incident

that seemed to prey upon their minds, and by the gibes of Hans, I

do not know. At least in this moment of trial it asserted itself,

with the result that they died and we lived. All honour to their

memory! One of my hopes is that in some place and time unknown I

may be able to thank them face to face.

I returned into the cleft filled with sorrow and told the others

what had happened. Hans, to do him justice, when he saw that his

guess—it was nothing more—had come true and that Tom and Jerry

were really dead, was also much distressed. He began to talk of

their many virtues and to rejoice that they, like himself, were

“good Christians”, and therefore had nothing to fear in the “Place

of Fires”, his synonym for heaven, which doubtless they were now

inhabiting. Perhaps also his conscience smote him a little for all

the sharp things which jealousy had caused him to say about them

while they remained upon earth.

Arkle’s attitude was different.

“These hunters,” he said, “have died doing their duty, and

therefore are not to be pitied, for how can one make a better end?

But what of that fellow Kaneke, who ran ahead with his men and

deserted you, his companions? I say nothing of myself, for I am a

stranger towards whom he had no obligations. Why did he bolt?”

“I don’t know,” I answered wearily, “to save his skin, I suppose.

You had better ask him if we ever meet again.”

“I will!” exclaimed Arkle, and as he spoke I noted that his face

was white with rage.

Soon the opportunity came. We thought it unwise to remain so near

to the mouth of the cleft, although none of the Abanda so far had

attempted to follow us, why, I could not imagine at the time,

though it is true Kaneke had said it would be so. Therefore I

suggested that we had better go on and find out whither the road

led.

On we went accordingly, a darksome journey at first, for little

light reached us in that deep and narrow hole. Presently, however,

it widened and we found ourselves upon a kind of plateau bordered

by cliffs.

Here Kaneke was waiting for us seated on a rock, the bearers having

gone on; at any rate I could see nothing of them. He stared at us

with his sombre eyes and said to me:

“Knowing that you would be safe, Lord, I entered this passage

before you and have waited for you here, where the Abanda will not

follow us.”

“So I see,” I said sarcastically, “but pray, how did you know that

we should be safe?”

“I knew it, Lord, because it is written in your stars, as I knew

that the two hunters would die because I saw death in their stars;

and they are dead, are they not? As for the fate of the strange

white man,” and he looked at Arkle—malevolently, I thought—“I

knew nothing, for I have not yet had time to study it in the

heavens.”

Before I could answer Arkle broke in, speaking very quietly in a

low, fierce voice.

“No, you knew nothing, dog that you are, but I think that you hoped

much, for you believed that to save himself this white lord would

desert me who am lame, as you did, and that I should be speared.

Well, I can read stars better than you, and I tell you that you

will die before I shall and that what you lose I shall gain. Do

you understand me?—you who hope to be Chief of the Dabanda and

Lord of the Lake with its Treasure, as I learned before ever I set

eyes on you.”

How had he learned this? I wondered. At the moment I could not

guess, but it was quite obvious to me, watching him, that Kaneke

understood these dark words better than I did, for their effect

upon him was remarkable. First he turned pale, or rather a kind of

dirty white, as though with fear, a mood that was followed at once

by one of fury. His big eyes rolled, foam appeared at the corners

of his mouth, the hair of his face seemed to bristle.

“I know you,” he cried, pointing to Arkle, “and why you have come

here. Long ago my spirit warned me concerning you and your

purpose. You hope to rob me again, as once you robbed me in the

past, though that you have forgotten. For this reason I bribed the

white hunter Macumazahn to accompany me here, knowing that without

his help I was doomed to perish. But Fate has played me an evil

trick. It was revealed to me that I should reach the land before

you and be ready to make an end of you; revealed falsely, for while

I tarried you came—you, the white thief. Still there is time.

Never again shall you look upon the Treasure of the Lake.”

As he hissed out these last words, suddenly Kaneke drew knife, a

hideous curved knife of the Somali sort, and sprang at Arkle. He

sprang swiftly as a lion on a drinking buck, and it flashed through

my mind that all was over. Standing at a little distance with

Hans, I could do nothing; there was no time, not even to draw a

pistol; nothing except watch the end. It came, but in a strange

fashion.

Arkle must have been waiting and ready. He did not move; he only

stretched out his arms. Next instant, with his left hand he

gripped the right arm of Kaneke, which was raised for the blow, and

twisted it with such a grasp of iron that the knife fell to the

ground. With his right he seized him by the throat and shook him

as a mongoose shakes a snake. Then, putting out all his strength

which in truth was that of a bull, Arkle loosed Kaneke’s throat,

gripped him in his arms, lifted him from his feet, and hurled him

away so that he fell to the rocky ground, striking it with his

back, and lay there senseless.

At this moment a little withered, keen-eyed man whom I had never

seen before appeared from round a corner and, running across the

open space to Arkle, whispered rapidly into his ear after the

fashion of one who gives instructions. For quite a long time, or

so it seemed to me, he whispered thus, while now and again Arkle

nodded, showing that he understood the meaning of what he heard.

At last the old fellow uttered a warning exclamation and pointed to

Kaneke who, I saw, was recovering from his swoon. Then he ran back

across the open space towards the corner of the cleft whence he had

appeared, and for a minute I lost sight of him in its shadow.

Arkle picked up the knife, and, springing forward, set his foot

upon the breast of Kaneke, who was trying to rise.

“Now, dog,” he said, “shall I treat you as you would have treated

me? I think it would be wisest. Or will you swear an oath?”

“I will swear,” muttered Kaneke, fixing his eyes upon the knife.

“Good. Kneel before me.”

Kaneke scrambled stiffly to his knees, and at this moment Hans

nudged me and pointed. I looked and saw that from the corner of

the cleft where the old man had vanished on the farther side of the

open space, were advancing a number of the Dabanda, led, I think,

by some of our bearers who no doubt had summoned them. They were

tall, big-eyed men of the same type as Kaneke and the Abanda who

had attacked us; by no means naked savages, however, as every one

of them wore a long garment, apparently of linen, for the most part

white in colour, though in some instances these robes had been dyed

blue.

“Keep your rifle ready,” I said to Hans, and waited developments.

If these men had meant to attack us—which I do not think—the

strange sight before them caused them to abandon the idea, for all

their attention seemed to be concentrated upon Kaneke kneeling at

the white man’s feet.

Arkle saw them also and called out in his big, booming voice:

“Welcome, Kumpana, and you, men of the Dabanda, guardians of the

Treasure of the Lake. You come in a good hour. Listen now, while

this Kaneke who I hear is a great one among you swears an oath of

allegiance to me, the white wanderer from beyond the seas. Learn

that but now he tried to murder me, springing at me with this knife

to take me unaware, and that I overthrew him and spared his life.

I say listen to the oath—and do you, O Snake Kaneke, repeat in a

loud voice the words that I shall speak, so that all may hear them

and make them known to the people of the Dabanda, the guardians of

the Treasure of the Lake. Repeat them, I say, for if you refuse,

you die.”

Then he began thus, doubtless as Kumpana had taught him, and

sentence by sentence Kaneke echoed his words:

“I, Kaneke, of the people of the Dabanda, tried teacherously to

murder you, the white man from beyond the seas, but, being strong,

you overcame me and gave me my life. Therefore I, Kaneke, bow

myself to you henceforth, as your servant. All my rights and place

among the Dabanda I give over to you. Where I stood, there you

stand; henceforward my blood is in your body and all that comes to

me with this blood is yours. So I swear by the Engoi, the Shadow

that rests upon the holy lake, and if I break the oath in word or

deed, may the curse of the Engoi fall upon me.”

All of this Kaneke repeated readily enough until he came to the

words “So I swear by the Engoi”, at which he jibbed, and indeed

stopped dead.

“Continue,” said Arkle, but he would not.

“As you will,” went on Arkle, “but understand that if you refuse,

you die, as a murderer deserves to do,” and, bending down, he

seized Kaneke by the hair with his left hand, preparing to cut off

his head with the curved Somali knife.

Now Kaneke, evidently in a great fright, appealed to me.

“O Lord Macumazahn,” he cried, “save my life, I pray you!”

“Why should I?” I answered. “Just now you deserted me and my

people, so that my two brave hunters are dead. Had you with the

bearers stayed behind to fight with us, I think that they would not

have been dead—but this you can talk over with them in that land

whither you are going. Again, you tried to murder the white lord

for reasons which I do not understand, and after you had sworn to

me that you would not harm him. By his strength he overthrew you,

and now your life is justly forfeit to him. Yet out of the

greatness of his heart he offers to spare you if you will swear a

certain oath to him upon a certain name. You refuse to swear that

oath upon that name. So what more is there to be said?”

By this time, although he had not seen them, for his back was

towards them and they remained silent, watching these proceedings

with a kind of fascinated stare, evidently Kaneke remembered that

Arkle had addressed some of the Dabanda people, who must therefore

be present. To these he made his next appeal, calling out:

“Help me, O my brothers, you over whom I have been appointed to

rule. Would you see me done to death by this white wanderer who

comes to our land for no good purpose? Help me, O Guardians of the

Holy Lake and of the Shadow that rests upon the lake.”

“Yes,” said Arkle. “Come forward, you Dabanda, laying down your

spears, for know that he who first lifts a spear shall be dealt

with by the Lord Macumazahn. Come forward, I say, and judge

between me and this man.”

To my astonishment those Dabanda obeyed. They laid down their

spears, every one of them, and advanced to within a few paces of

us, led by the little withered old man with keen eyes, who moved as

lightly and silently as does a cat, the same man who had whispered

into Arkle’s ear. Arkle looked at this man and said:

“Greeting, Kumpana, my friend and guide. I thank you for the

counsel you gave to me but now, for I know you to be wise and great

among your people and it was you who taught me all that I have

learned of them and of this Kaneke. Judge now between me and him.

You have heard the story. According to your custom, is not this

man’s life forfeit to me whom he strove to murder?”

“It is forfeit,” answered Kumpana, “unless he buys it back with the

oath which you have demanded of him.”

“And if he swears that oath, must he not, under it, become my

servant and give to me his place, his power, and his rights among

the Dabanda?”

“That is so, White Lord.”

“And if he swears it and breaks the oath, what then, Kumpana?”

“Then, Lord, you can loose upon him the curse of the Engoi, and it

will surely be fulfilled. Is it not so, Dabanda?”

“It is so,” they assented.

“You have heard, Kaneke; yes, out of the lips of your own people

you have learned their law. Choose now. Will you swear, or will

you die?”

“I swear,” said Kaneke hoarsely, as the sharp knife—his own—

approached his neck. “I swear,” and slowly he repeated those words

which before he had refused to speak, transferring all his rights

and privileges to Arkle and calling down upon his own head the

curse of the Engoi if he should break the oath. I noticed that as

he invoked this fate upon himself, the man shivered, and reflected

that after all there might be something in the curse of the Engoi,

or that he believed there was. Indeed, sceptical as I am, I began

to feel that all this queer story had more in it than I had

hitherto imagined, and that I was coming to the heart of one of

those Central African mysteries of which most white men only learn

in the vaguest fashion, perhaps from prejudiced and unsympathetic

sources, and then often enough but by obscure hints and symbolical

fables.

The oath finished, Kaneke kissed the white man’s foot, which I

suppose was part of the ceremony, and strove to rise. But forcing

him to his knees again, Arkle addressed the little withered old man

who stood watching all.

“Tell me,” he said, “who and what are you, Kumpana?”

“Lord, though I until now have hid it from you, I am the head of

the Council of the Shadow, he who rules in this land when the

Shadow has passed from the world and before she returns again.”

“Are you then he who weds the Shadow, Kumpana?”

“Nay, Lord. He who is called Shield of the Shadow dies when the

Shadow passes. I am but a minister, an executor of decrees. As

such I led you to this land, whence you were hunted because you

would not be obedient, but broke the law. Mighty must be the

strength that guards you, or by now you would be dead.”

“If I have erred, O Kumpana, I have paid the price of error. Am I,

then, forgiven?”

“Lord, I think that you are forgiven, as this Kaneke, who also

erred in his youth in a worse fashion, was forgiven, or rather,” he

added, correcting himself, “suffered to go unpunished.”

“Who and what is Kaneke?” Arkle asked again.

“Kaneke is he who was destined to be the Shield of the Shadow when

she appears to rule for her appointed day. For his sin against the

Engoi he was driven from the land and lived far off, where the

white lord who is called Watcher-by-Night found him. At the proper

time he was ordered back that his fate might be fulfilled, and

returned bringing the white lord, Watcher-by-Night, with him, as

also was decreed. The rest you know.”

“Kaneke tried to murder me and bought his life by a certain oath,

selling to me his place and rights. Shall I then be known and

named Shield of the Shadow in place of this Kaneke?”

“It would seem so, Lord,” answered Kumpana, a little doubtfully as

I thought. “But first the matter must be submitted to the Council

of the Shadow, of which I am only one. It may be,” he added after

a pause, “that the Council will call upon you to buy the Shadow at

a great price.”

Then I, Allan, took up my parable, saying:

“Kumpana and men of the Dabanda, I, a white hunter, have been led,

or trapped, into a land that is full of mysteries which as yet I do

not understand. I have rescued this white lord when he was about

to be killed. I have brought him here, fighting my way through

warriors who seemed to be your enemies. In so doing I have lost

two servants of mine, brave men whom I loved, who came to their

deaths by the treachery of yonder Kaneke and therefore my heart is

sore. He deserted us, hoping that in like fashion I should desert

the other white lord who is lame, that thereby I might save my

life. I did not desert him, and you have seen the end of that

story. Now we are all weary, and sad because of the death of the

two hunters who sacrificed themselves for us; hungry also, needing

food and rest and sleep. The white lord whom you name Wanderer has

made his bargain with you, a strange bargain which bewilders me. I

would make mine, which is simpler. If I and my servant here, the

yellow man, come on into your country, have we peace? Do you swear

by the Engoi, who seems to be your goddess, and by the Shadow her

priestess, that no harm shall come to us and that when I desire it

in the future, I shall be helped to leave your country again, you

giving me all that I may need for my journey? If you do not swear,

then I turn and go back whence I came, if Heaven permits me to do

so.”

Kumpana spoke with some of his companions. Then he said:

“O Macumazahn, Watcher-by-Night, we swear these things to you by

the Engoi. At least we swear that after you have finished the

service, to work which we caused you to be brought hither, then you

shall be sent hence in safety as you demand.”

I reflected to myself that this promise was vague and qualified.

Yet remembering that I should certainly extract none more

favourable and being thoroughly worn out and quite unfit to face

the Abanda who probably were waiting outside, I accepted it for

what it was worth, and requested Kumpana to lead us to where we

could eat and rest in safety.

CHAPTER XIII

BEFORE THE ALTAR

By the time that we emerged from the pass, that really was nothing

but a cleft or crack zigzagging through the lava rock of the

volcano’s lips, which we did in complete safety, seeing no more of

the Abanda, it was drawing towards evening and the plain beneath us

was flooded with the light of the westering sun. It was a very

wonderful plain, though, except for its size, of a sort not

uncommon in the immense wilds of Africa. Looking at it stretching

away for miles and miles, it was difficult to realize that it was

nothing but the crater of some huge volcano, or group of volcanoes,

which millions of years ago had been a lake of seething fire. Yet

undoubtedly this was the case, for all round ran the precipice of

rock that once had formed the wall of the outer crater. Now this

wall enclosed a vast expanse of fertile land that sloped gently

down to the confines of a forest.

Nor was that all, for from this height we could see that within the

ring of forest, at the bottom of the crater-pit as it were, lay a

great sheet of water, the holy lake that was named Mone. It looked

handsome and terrifying enough at this hour when the tall forest

trees that grew around cut off from its surface the light of the

sinking sun, such a place as might well be the home of mysteries.

At that time, however, I was too tired to study scenery or indulge

in speculations, and glad enough I felt when we were led to a kind

of rest-house, or perhaps it was a watchman’s shelter, that was

hidden away in a grove of mountain palms. This place consisted of

a thatched roof supported upon tree-trunks and enclosed with a

fence of what looked like dried bulrushes, which formed the walls

of the house. It was clean, comfortable, and airy; moreover there

must have been a cooking-place outside, for hot food was brought to

us, of which I ate thankfully, being too exhausted to inquire its

nature or whence it came.

Only one thing did I ask of Kumpana—whether it was necessary to

set a guard. When he assured me that we were absolutely safe, I

took him at his word and went to sleep, hoping for the best. I

remember reflecting as my eyes closed that for some reason or

other, humble individual as I was, I seemed too valuable to these

people for them to wish to make away with me. So having

ascertained that Kaneke was elsewhere, I just turned in and slept

like a dog that has hunted all day, and I believe that Arkle did

likewise.

When I woke the sun was high and Arkle had gone. I asked Hans what

had become of him, saying that I feared foul play.

“Oh no, Baas,” answered Hans. “You see that Baas Red-Bull, having

conquered Kaneke, and bought his birthright from him in exchange

for not sticking him like a pig—just like the man in the Bible,

Baas—is now a great chief. So because he is lame those Dabanda

brought a litter in which they set him and have carried him off.

He told me to tell you that he did not wake you up because you were

so tired, but that you would meet again at their head place, which

is called Dabanda-town, Baas. Meanwhile you were to fear nothing.”

“Which means that he has deserted us,” I said.

“Oh no, Baas, I think not; I think he went because he was obliged,

and that we shall find him later on. You see, Baas, the Baas Red-Bull has become a priest and a chief, and such people are never

their own masters. They seem to rule spirits and men, but really

these rule them and order them about as they like. For the rest,

Kumpana stays here to guard us, and breakfast is coming, so let us

eat and be happy while we may, Baas.”

The advice was good and I acted upon it at once. After a wash at

the spring by which the rest-house was built, I ate an excellent

breakfast, a stew of kid’s flesh with quails in it, I remember it

was, made memorable by the fact that after it Hans produced a skin

bag full of excellent tobacco. On inquiry it appeared that the

Dabanda grew this herb, and what is more, smoked it in cigarettes

made of the soft sheath which covers the mealie cobs. Also, like

the Bantu, they took it in the form of snuff.

By the way, what an interesting study would be that of the history

of tobacco in Africa. Is it indigenous there, or was it perhaps

introduced from some other land by the Arabs, or later by the

Portuguese? I don’t know, but I remember how delighted I was to

see it upon this occasion, when ours was exhausted and the spare

supply a bearer carried in a box was discovered to have got wet in

crossing a river and to be nothing but a mass of stinking mould.

Some people inveigh against the use of tobacco, but to my mind it

is one of the best gifts that Heaven has given to man.

Just as I had lit my pipe with delight and was testing the sample,

which proved to be sweet and cool though rather strong, Kumpana

arrived and asked if I was ready to start. I said yes, and off we

went with a guard of ten Dabandas, marching downhill in the

direction of the forest.

Now I saw that this vast crater was a wondrous and a most beautiful

place, though it is true that its climate is hot. For the most

part it was lightly timbered with large trees, a species of

mahogany, many of them, mixed with cedars, growing in groups or

singly, and interspersed with grassy glades after the fashion of

some enormous park. Among these trees wandered great quantities of

game; thus I saw eland, koodoo, sable-antelope of a very large

variety, and blue wildebeest, to mention a few of them, also bush-buck of a bigger kind than I had ever found anywhere in Africa.

It seemed, however, that the elephant and the rhinoceros did not

live here; nor, strange to say, were there any lions, which perhaps

accounted for the great number of the various species of buck. The

birds, too, were numerous and beautiful; and everywhere I noted

lovely butterflies, some of which, of a brilliant blue colour, were

of great size and flew high and as fast as swallows. In short, so

far as its natural conditions were concerned, after the arid plains

beyond the mountains, the place was a kind of earthly paradise;

well watered, also, by little streams that came from springs and

ran down fern-clad ravines towards the lake.

As we went I talked with Kumpana, who, outwardly at any rate,

proved to be a most agreeable and candid old gentleman. From him I

gathered much information, true or false. Thus I learned that his

people were really star-worshippers, as were the Abanda who lived

without the mountain, and knew a good deal of crude astronomy.

It seemed that originally the Abanda and the Dabanda were one race,

but that “thousands of years ago”, as he put it, they were ruled by

two brothers, twins, who quarrelled. Then ensued a civil war, in

the course of which one brother murdered the other treacherously.

This angered the Engoi of that day, whom both of them aspired to

wed; indeed, this was the cause of their difference. She called

down the curse of heaven upon the murderer and those who clung to

him, divorcing them from her worship and causing them to be driven

(whether by force of arms or by supernatural means, I could not

discover) out of the earthly paradise of the crater on to the

mountain slopes and plains beyond.

From that time forward, Kumpana explained, the Abanda had sought

reunion with the goddess, both because of the material benefits

they believed to be in her gift, such as rain and plenty, and for

some spiritual reason that had to do with the fate of their souls

after death. This, however, they had never achieved, since the

curse upon them continued from age to age. Indeed, the prophecy

was that their desire could not be fulfilled until a high priest of

the Engoi, the husband or the affianced of the Shadow, she who was

also called “the Treasure of the Lake” came to lead them back into

the land of the Dabanda and made peace between them and the Engoi

incarnate in the priestess known from generation to generation by

the name of “Shadow”, who, from birth till death, dwelt on the

island in the holy Lake Mone. Until that hour, went on Kumpana,

none of the Abanda dared to attempt to re-enter Mone-land, as the

country encircled by the crater’s walls was called.

“Why not, if they are so brave and numerous?” I asked, astonished.

“Because, Lord, if they did the curse would fall upon them and they

would perish miserably, I know not how. At least, so they believe,

as we do; and it is for this reason that from the moment you

entered the pass of the cliff yesterday, you were safe. Had it

been otherwise the Abanda would have followed you and killed you in

the pass, for they were many and you were few. For this reason,

too, we do not so much as guard that path and certain others.”

Hearing this I reflected, first that I liked not the security. For

what was the sum of it? That a vast horde of savages, or semi-savages, who believed themselves to have been driven out of a kind

of Garden of Eden by the flaming sword of a heavenly curse,

although they were much more numerous and stronger than those who

still dwelt in the Garden, and although the gates of that garden

stood open, dared not enter them because they were sure that if

they did so, the invisible sword of the curse that always hung over

them would smite and destroy them.

Still, there seemed to be truth in the story, for otherwise why

were we not followed into the unguarded cleft? Doubtless the

Abanda were frightened of our firearms, but seeing that we were but

three men against hundreds, this was not enough to have held them

back. No, the mighty hand which restrained them must, as Kumpana

declared, have been that of spiritual fear.

Oh, what a force is superstition; as I sometimes think, the

greatest in the whole world, or at any rate in Africa. So mighty

is it that when I contemplate its amazing power, at times I wonder

whether in many of its developments it is not rooted deep in the

soil of unappreciated and unknown truths.

Of these reflections of mine, however, I said nothing to my

companion, because I thought it wiser to be silent. Yet I did ask

him—if he felt at liberty to tell me and had the necessary

knowledge—what part I and Arkle, whom he called “The Wanderer”,

had in all this business.

To my astonishment, instead of refusing to answer the question or

thrusting it aside as natives can, he replied quite frankly that he

did not know, or at any rate knew very little.

“The stars guide us, Lord,” he said. “We consult them, as our

fathers have done from the beginning; we read their messages and

obey their commands. Long ago the stars told us, speaking through

the mouth of her who is named Shadow, not she who rules today, but

she who went before her and has been gathered to the heavens, that

in this year a great war would fall upon us—we do not know what

war. More recently we were told, through the mouth of that Shadow

who has faded, to call back Kaneke from the land where he dwelt

because of his crime against her, that he might bring with him a

certain white man whose name was your name, namely Watcher-by-Night. This command was sent to Kaneke and he obeyed it, as he

must do or die; for if he disobeyed, the messenger was commanded to

bring death upon him, as she was commanded, if he obeyed, to

protect him from all dangers. That is all we know of the reason of

your coming, though now I see that if you had not come the other

white lord would have been killed.”

Reflecting that this tale about myself was, with variations, much

the same as that told by Kaneke, something real enough to these

people, but to me a mystery, and wondering if by any chance this

fate-dealing messenger was White-Mouse, I left the subject and

attacked one of more immediate interest, namely that of Arkle,

saying outright:

“The white lord Wanderer told me that you, Kumpana, met him beyond

the country of the Abanda and guided him into your own land. Why

did you do this?”

Kumpana’s face changed; it was as though a veil fell over his eyes

and mild, intelligent features, a veil of secrecy.

“Lord,” he answered, “there are matters of which it is scarcely

lawful that I should speak, even to you who have come here to be

our friend. I would have you understand that we Dabanda are not as

other folk. We are a small people and an ancient who live by

wisdom, not by strength, and this wisdom comes to us from heaven.

We worship the stars, or rather the Strength beyond the stars, and

from them come spirits who teach us through the mouth of the Lake-Dweller, Shadow, or otherwise, much that is not known even to the

wise of the earth, such as yourself, Lord. They give us gifts of

vision also, so that at times we can see into the darkness of the

past, and even look beneath its curtain into the light of the

future that blinds the eyes of other men.

“Moreover we, or some of us, have certain powers over Nature.

Death indeed we must suffer like all who live. Yet we know that it

is not death; that it is but a door of darkness through which we

pass to another house of flesh, a better or a worse house according

to our deserts, that is yet inhabited by the same spirit. So, too,

we have strength over beasts” (here I bethought me of Kaneke and

the elephants), “which we can cause to obey us as though they were

our dogs. You smile. Then, look upon those buck,” and he pointed

to a bunch of blue wildebeests, which I have always found wild and

savage creatures, that were staring at us from among some trees

about a hundred and fifty yards away. “Now I will call them, that

you may believe.”

Well, stepping a few paces to my right, call them he did, uttering

cries in a kind of sing-song voice. The wildebeests seemed to

listen. Then presently they moved slowly towards us, and soon were

standing within a few yards of Kumpana, as cows might do that are

waiting to be milked. There they stood, patient and submissive,

until they caught my wind, when they snorted, whisked their tails,

put down their heads and, to my great alarm, prepared to charge me.

Just as Hans and I were about to fire to keep them off, Kumpana

said something and waved his hands, as a beast-tamer does to his

performing animals, whereon those gnus turned and gambolled off in

their well-known lumbering fashion.

“They are no wildebeests, Baas,” whispered Hans to me. “Like the

elephants, they are men wearing the shape of brutes.”

“Perhaps,” I answered, for I was too mystified to argue; also

Kumpana was speaking again, saying:

“Now mayhap you will believe me when I tell you that we have power

over the animals, who are as our brothers and not to be harmed by

us; so much power that we have driven those of them that can hurt

men, such as lions, from our land; yes, and evil reptiles also.

Search where you will here, Lord, you will find no snakes,” a

statement which caused me to reflect that St. Patrick must have

bequeathed his mantle to the Dabanda. “Thus, too,” he went on, “we

control sicknesses, summon rain, and hold off tempests, which is

why we are reported to be a people of wizards.”

“If so,” I replied, “all this does not tell me why the white man

Wanderer was guided by you and why afterwards he was driven away,

as it seemed, to death.”

“I guided him, Macumazahn, because I was so commanded, and because

he is appointed to play a great part in our history, as once before

he did in the past. He was driven away because he was disobedient

and suffered folly to master him, for which causes he must be

punished and learn the taste of terror. Ask me no more concerning

this lord, for I cannot answer you. Yet it may happen that before

all is done you will learn the answer for yourself.”

Now I proposed, in my thirst for information, to put some questions

to him concerning the wondrous woman, or sacred personage who was

said to dwell in the lake, and who, as I suspected, was an African

version of the old legend of the Water-Spirit which is to be found

in many lands. But when I mentioned her name of Shadow, Kumpana

turned upon me with so fierce a look in his eyes, hitherto mild

enough, that I grew silent.

“Lord Macumazahn,” he said, “I see that you do not believe in our

priestess, the Shadow of the Engoi whom we worship. Though you

have never said so to me, it is written on your face. That is to

be understood, for white men, I have heard, can be very ignorant

and scornful of faiths that are not their own. Yet I pray you do

not make a mock of her to me, as I am sure you were about to do. I

have answered all your other questions as best I might, but as to

her I answer none. Nay, of her you must learn for yourself;” and

before I could reply or explain, he departed to join the guard,

leaving me alone with Hans.

“Baas,” said that worthy, “you are always seeking new adventures

and strange peoples, and this time I think you have found both.

These folk are all wizards, Baas, like Kaneke, and we are caught in

their web, where I expect they will suck us dry. I think the Baas

Red-Bull is a wizard also, for otherwise why was he not killed; and

unless he is one of their brothers, why are these Dabandas so glad

to see him? Also, how did he learn so quickly all that oath which

he made Kaneke swear? Then there was White-Mouse who, I am sure,

was a witch, though a very pretty one, for otherwise how could she

have deceived ME, Hans, as she did, making me believe all sorts of

things that were not true, such as that she was a jealous wife of

Kaneke who liked me for myself? Oh, we have come into a land of

spells where the fierce wildebeests are as dogs and the passes are

held by ghosts, and I do not think we shall ever get out of it

alive, Baas, unless indeed, for their sport they turn us into

animals, like elephants and the wildebeests and hunt us hence.”

Now I remembered that Tom and Jerry had talked in this fashion,

with good reason in their case; and looked at Hans doubtfully,

fearing lest he might have caught the infection. However, this was

not so, for as is common with primitive men of mercurial nature,

suddenly his mood changed, and, grinning, he said:

“Yet, Baas, though White-Mouse did blind me for a little while,

these wizards will have to be very clever if they hope to deceive

Hans, who is such a good Christian that he can defy the devil and

who, moreover, has the reverend predicant, your father, for his

friend and guide. Cheer up, Baas, for I think I shall bring you

through safely, if only you will be guided by me and not let that

Shadow woman make a fool of you, as White-Mouse did. Yes, yes,

everything may still be well, and after all, perhaps those

wildebeests were just tame buck like some that the Scotchman kept

on his farm near Durban which used to come and feed out of his

hand.”

“Yes,” I said, “no doubt they were tame, and I don’t believe in the

magic. Still, I should like to know what has become of the Baas

Arkle.”

Well, we walked on all day through that most lovely land, until

towards evening we came upon patches of cultivated ground and drew

near to the edge of the forest, where I saw that there was a town.

It was a straggling place and quite unprotected; just a number of

neat houses built of whitened clay and thatched with palm-leaves,

or in some cases, having flat roofs of lime cement, standing, each

of them, in a garden of its own on the borders of wide roads or

streets. In short, this Dabanda town had nothing in common with

the crowded cities, if they may be so called, which exist in

Nigeria and elsewhere. It was just a sparsely populated village,

such as may be seen by scores in certain districts of Eastern and

Central Africa.

“If this is their big kraal, these Dabanda are but a little people,

Baas,” said the observant Hans.

I agreed with him. As I had noted during our march, their crater-land was wide and most fertile, but until we approached the town I

saw few signs of cultivation. Here and there on the track that ran

to the pass were two or three huts surrounded by gardens. Nor in

these outlying districts were there many domestic animals; they

were almost entirely occupied by wild game. Near the town,

however, we did see herds of cattle of a small breed, also flocks

of long-haired goats. Clearly the Dabanda, so far as numbers were

concerned, must have been but an insignificant tribe, relying for

their protection upon moral forces rather than those of arms, a

fact that seemed to bear out some of Kumpana’s statements as to the

reason why the passes were left unfortified.

We entered the main street of the town which began nowhere in

particular, and walked down it without exciting much attention.

Occasionally a woman stared at us from the door-way of her house,

or an old man stopped his work in a garden to see who the passers-by might be. Also from time to time a few grave-faced children,

three or four perhaps, followed us for a little way, then stopped

and returned whence they came. This I thought strange, for they

could never before have seen a white man, except perhaps Arkle.

But then everything about the Dabanda was strange; evidently they

were a folk apart, one of whose characteristics was a lack of

curiosity.

To tell the truth, they gave me the impression of people living in

a dream, or under a spell, human in form and mind, yet lacking some

of the human attributes; lotus-eaters who felt no need for energy

or effort, because Nature fed them and they were, or considered

themselves to be, god-guarded. Such was my first impression of

these Dabanda, which in the main was confirmed by what I saw and

learned of them in after days. I should add that they were all

extremely good-looking, men and women together, but very like one

another, as though from continual in-breeding; remarkable, too, for

their fine-cut features, light-coloured skin like to that of half-castes or Persians, straight hair and large, sleepy, owl-like eyes,

of which I observed the pupils seemed to grow bigger after

nightfall, as do those of certain animals that seek their food by

night.

The long, wide street ended in an open area that for want of a

better name I will call a marketplace, where the ground was

levelled and trodden hard. At intervals round half this area stood

houses of a larger size than those that we had passed, occupied, as

I guessed rightly, by the chief men of the tribe, with their wives

and children, if they had any. The other half of the area was

bounded by a dense forest formed of tall and solemn trees, which

forest ran down to the borders of the lake that, as I had judged

from my view of it from the higher land, lay at a distance of

several miles from the town. In the centre of this open space

stood three curious erections; two pointed towers of rough stone,

fifty or sixty feet high perhaps, with spiral stairways winding

round them to their tops, and between these a large platform twenty

feet or so in height, that looked like the base of an uncompleted

pyramid, on which platform burned a fire.

“What are those, Baas?” asked Hans.

“Watch-towers,” I answered.

“What is the good of towers whence one can see nothing except the

sky?” asked Hans again.

Then I guessed their real object. They were observatories, and the

truncated pyramid was a great altar where priests gathered and

offered sacrifices. Of this I had little doubt, though I wondered

what they sacrificed.

At the moment I had no time to make further observations, for just

then we reached a house where Kumpana, who had rejoined us on the

outskirts of the town, informed me I was to lodge. Though flat-roofed and somewhat larger than the rest, except one adjoining

which I took to be that of the chief, like the others it was

situated in a garden and had a veranda, from which a door-way led

into the building. It consisted of one big, whitewashed room,

without windows. Such light as there was came through the open

door-way, over which a mat was hung, to be used at night, for there

was no door. Like the passes, the houses were undefended against

attack or thieves; indeed I learned afterwards that such a crime as

theft was quite unknown in Mone-land.

In this room, to my delight, I found all our goods which had been

carried by the Dabanda porters for so many weary marches. There

were the spare rifles, the ammunition, the medicines, the cooking-pots, the clothes, the beads and cloth for presents—everything;

even the suspicious Hans could not discover that a single article

was missing. While we were checking them, food that had been

prepared in a cook-hut in the garden at the back of the house, was

brought to us by a decently clothed old woman, who seemed to accept

our presence without curiosity, also earthenware jars full of water

and a tub burnt out of a block of wood in which to wash. This we

did on the veranda, for the surrounding fence made the place quite

private, and afterwards sat ourselves upon wooden stools which we

found in the room, and ate a good meal.

By the time we had finished our food it was dark, and the old woman

appeared again carrying two lighted earthenware lamps of an elegant

boat-shaped pattern, filled with some kind of sweet-smelling

vegetable oil in which floated wicks made of pith or fibre.

As there seemed nothing else to do and no one came near us, I began

to take off my clothes in order to turn in upon one of the very

comfortable-looking wooden bedsteads that had been provided for us.

This bedstead was of the kind that is common in Eastern Africa,

having a cartel, as the Boers call it, strung with green hide and a

mattress stiffed with dried grasses that gave a scent of hay.

Already my boots were off when Kumpana appeared and said that he

had come to conduct us to a ceremony where we should see the other

white lord who was called Wanderer. This being what I most

desired, I put them on again in a hurry and away we went.

Kumpana led us to the market-or gathering-place that I have

described. Here we found what I suppose was the entire adult

population of the town, seated on the ground in front of the

truncated pyramid of which I have spoken, the men upon one side and

the women upon the other, as they might be in some high churches.

They were very quiet and orderly and for the most part engaged in

smoking their native cigarettes. We were conducted along a broad

passage which was left between the men and the women, to the foot

of the pyramid and up some twenty rough steps to the platform that

proved to be quite a large place.

Here in front of a low altar, a primitive erection about twelve

feet square built of blocks of black lava, upon which altar burned

the fire that I have mentioned, stood three white-robed men facing

the fire, whom I took to be priests, for their heads were shaved

and they seemed to be engaged in prayer. To the right of this

altar, seated on a stool and clothed in a white robe like a

Dabanda, was none other than Arkle, who, I am bound to say, so far

as the firelight revealed him to me, looked very imposing in this

costume. Opposite to him, also clad in white and seated on a

stool, was his enemy Kaneke. Very fierce and sullen did he appear

as he glowed at Arkle with his great, round eyes. I noted at once

that he was guarded, probably to prevent him from making another

attack upon his rival, for behind him stood three tall men armed

with spears.

A second stool was set by that of Arkle and to this I was

conducted, Hans, who seemed rather uncomfortable and kept his hand

upon the hilt of his revolver, being directed to stand behind me.

Then Kumpana left us and took up a position facing the audience

midway between Arkle and Kaneke, with his back to the altar and the

priests. Here he stood silent; indeed, everyone was silent, and

when I tried to whisper something to Arkle, he shook his head and

laid his finger on his lips.

Very impressive was that silence. Never shall I forget the scene

as I saw it by the light of the young moon which changed its

quarter that day, and of the bright stars burning in the deep-blue

sky. Not a breath of air was stirring. To my left the great trees

of the forest stood motionless in endless rows. To my right were

the dim grey roofs of the town, and between them the crouching

audience of robed Dabandas, looking few and small upon that wide

expanse, the glowing tips of their cigarettes marking the ordered

lines in which they sat, like men and women stricken with dumbness.

Then, within a few paces, the primeval altar upon which even the

fire seemed to be subject to the general spell, for it burned

brightly without a sound, and the three shaven priests bowing and

waving their hands, but uttering no word.

I felt like one under a charm, which was not strange; for so deep

was this quiet that when I shifted my foot, causing the nails in my

boot to grate upon the stone platform, the noise seemed quite loud,

so loud that all turned their heads and looked at me as though I

had done something outrageous and indecorous. This went on for

quite a long time, till at length I felt an hysterical desire to

rise and make a speech, just to show that I was still alive.

Indeed, I think that very soon our strained nerves would have

caused either Hans or me to commit some indiscretion involving

sound, when suddenly the chain of silence was broken by a melodious

voice above us.

I stared to see whence it came, and for the first time observed

that on the top of each of the tall columns which rose in front of

the platform stood a white-robed figure, evidently engaged in

observing the stars. Instantly the chanting voice on the right-hand column was answered by a similar voice upon the left-hand

column. Then both of them sang something in unison, something

sweet and solemn, though what it meant I could not understand, and

as they sang, pointed with wands they held upwards to the heavens.

At this signal all present seemed to come to life, as in the story

did the Sleeping Beauty and her court at the kiss of the Fairy

Prince. The audience or congregation below us began to talk with

some eagerness, men calling across the passage to women, and vice

versa. Evidently they were discussing the message conveyed to them

in the chant of the astrologers on the towers, telling them, I

suppose, what those astrologers had read in the stars. In the same

way the three priests, ceasing from dumb show, broke into open

prayer, which again I could not understand, because the language

was probably archaic. At any rate it differed so much from the

dialect of Arabic used by these people that I could only

distinguish one word, “Engoi”, which was their name for the Divine.

Encouraged by this change of demeanour, I asked Arkle in English

what it all meant and what he was doing there dressed up like a

Dabanda.

“You forget, Quatermain,” he answered, “that I have become a chief

or a priest, or both, by virtue of what happened yesterday between

me and the gentleman opposite. At least, I fill these offices on

probation, for my true position is about to be settled at this

meeting. For the rest, those men on the towers have been reading

omens in the stars, though exactly what they read I cannot tell

you. Now I think that they are about to make prayers or offerings

to the planet Venus, which you can see blazing away up there near

the moon, after which my case will be tried.”

He was right. Having thrown something on to the fire, what it was

I could not see, the three priests turned so as to face the

congregation below and, pointing to Venus, began a hymn in which

the whole audience joined, also pointing at the planet with their

right hands. Even the astrologers on the towers pointed with their

wands and took part in this chant, which was really very fine and

moving, a great volume of rhythmical sound.

Presently Kumpana, who now stood in front of the three priests,

acting apparently as a master of ceremonies, waved his arms,

whereon the song ceased with a crash of sound. In the silence that

ensued he began to speak, but so rapidly that I could make out very

little of what he said. He may have been reciting ritual, as was

suggested by the strange words and forms he used. Or perhaps he

was repeating passages from ancient history. At length his address

became less impetuous. He spoke more slowly, and in language that

was easier to understand, so that I had no difficulty in discovering

that he was telling the story of what had happened between Arkle and

Kaneke in the pass; of the attempted assassination of Arkle, of the

overthrow of Kaneke, and of the oath that he had sworn to the

victor. Finally he said:

“The stars, having been consulted by those who can read them,

declare that Kaneke, who by the choice of that chief who went

before him, was appointed to follow him as Chief of the Dabanda,

the Holy People of the Lake and the Guardian of the Treasure of the

Lake, and, after long punishment and exile, was named to be the

Lord and Shield of the Shadow, is rejected from his place and

stripped of his offices. They declare also that the stranger, who

in this land is named Wanderer, he whom Kaneke tried to murder and

to whom he swore the oath of submission and fidelity, giving up to

him all rights and power in exchange for life, henceforward stands

where Kaneke stood. Do you, O People of the Dabanda, to whom is

revealed the secret mystery of the stranger that for ages has been

hidden, accept the decree of the stars and depose Kaneke, setting

up in his place the white lord, his conqueror?”

“We do,” answered the audience, with such singular unanimity that I

guessed all this scene to be formal and arranged.

“Kaneke,” cried Kumpana, “you have heard the decrees of the stars

and of the Holy People confirming your own oath. Do you obey?”

Now Kaneke sprang to his feet and answered in a great voice that

seemed alive with rage:

“I do not obey. What I swore was to save my life and such oaths

are binding upon no man. As for the decrees of the stars and of

the people of the Dabanda, these are but tricks. I, too, am a

master of the stars, and I read their writing otherwise, while the

people are in the hands of the priests, who in their turn are in

the hands of Kumpana and the Council who plot against me. The sin

that I sinned in my youth against the Shadow, who has passed back

to the Light which cast it, is purged by punishment. Moreover, was

it half as great as that of this white thief, whom most justly I

would have killed, he who, as I have heard, strove to do violence

to the Treasure of the Lake, and for that cause was hunted from the

land? But let that matter be. Who is this foreign man that you

name Wanderer? What does he in our country? I know what the

magicians declare, namely that, like myself, he is one long dead

who has returned again; that he is the very king who fought with

his brother to win the Treasure of the Lake, and drove his brother

and those who clung to him over the mountain edge, where they

became exiles and the fathers of the people of the Abanda. Yes,

that king who, being wed to the Treasure of the Lake, was so

beloved of her that when she knew death was near to her, she killed

him that he might accompany her to heaven, a crime for which heaven

brought woe upon her.

“So runs the tale, but I say that it is a lie told by the Council

of the Shadow to favour this white wanderer, who has made great

promises to them if they will give the Shadow into his keeping that

he may steal her away, leaving them to rule the land.”

This statement, I noticed, seemed to disturb the audience below,

among whom, it appeared afterwards, Kaneke had many friends,

members of his family and others who desired that he should be

chief and wed the Shadow. These stirred impatiently as the meaning

of the sacrilege came home to them and whispered to one another.

“Yes,” went on Kaneke, “such is the accursed plot of the white

stranger who is named Wanderer which has been revealed to me, a

plot so wicked that the guardian spirits of the Lake and Forest

cast him from our land that he might die by the spears of the

Abanda. Yet he did not die, because he was saved by the other

white man, the Lord Macumazahn whom I was commanded to lead to our

country, doubtless that he might play his part in the plot and be

rewarded of the thief his friend.”

Here I remarked in a loud voice to Kaneke that he was a liar as

well as a traitor, for I knew nothing of any plots, but he took no

heed of me and continued:

“Therefore it was that I sought to execute justice upon this red-bearded lord who had escaped from the Abanda. Yet I was overcome

not by strength, but by evil magic, and swore an oath to save my

life who desired to live on that I might avenge you, the Holy

People, upon him who would rob you of your Treasure and your

Oracle.”

At this point Arkle intervened in a businesslike and British

fashion.

“You dirty dog!” he said. “You snake who spits poison at me whom

you have failed to reach with your fangs. You traitor who deserted

the lord Watcher-by-Night and brought about the death of his

servants, because you hoped that it would mean my own death also,

and afterwards tried to stab me whom you had sworn not to harm.

You oath-breaker. I will not reason with you as to your

falsehoods, but I am ready to fight you again, here and now and to

the death. Yes, weary and lame as I am, I am ready to fight you

under the stars you worship, before their altar and in the presence

of your people and thus let Fate judge between us. Answer. Will

you fight me again?”

“I will not fight you, Red Wanderer, that I may once more be

overcome by magic and butchered,” shouted Kaneke. “Nay, I appeal

from you and from your fellow plotters to our Lady, the Voice of

the Engoi. If I am justly judged, if I have spoken what is not

true, let her appear here and now and pass sentence on me with her

own lips. Ay, Kumpana, chief of the Council of the Shadow, summon

the Shadow if you can, and let the people see her and hear her

voice.”

Thus he spoke in tones of triumph who, as I learned afterwards,

knew well that never in their history had the Lake-dweller who was

named Shadow come from the lake to the town to judge of any matter,

and having spoken, sat himself down and waited.

Then in quiet tones Kumpana answered:

“O Kaneke, I will make prayer to the Shadow. Perchance she may be

pleased to do as you desire, and come hither to give judgment in

this cause in the presence of her people.”

CHAPTER XIV

SHADOW

“Will she come?” I whispered to Arkle.

“Yes, I think so—that is, I hope so,” he replied.

Then I guessed it was arranged that on one pretext or another the

holy personage called Shadow or the Lake-Dweller, should make a

public appearance that night. It might well be, and indeed

probably was the case, that Kaneke’s appeal to the head and source

of the local law was but a happy accident which chanced to fit in

with a preconceived plan. But, putting two and two together, that

such a plan existed seemed to me more probable. After all there

might be something in Arkle’s story, which up till now I had held

to spring from the illusions of a man who had suffered great

hardships and had been hunted almost to death. I allude not to his

dreams of a twin-soul awaiting him in some far-off place, which

were of a character that has been heard of before in the case of

young men and women of strong imagination and romantic nature, but

to his tale of having actually met this lady on the shore of the

sacred lake, after which he remembered no more until he found

himself running for dear life from the spears of the Abanda.

According to this tale on that occasion his love-affair had made

most satisfactory progress. The lady, it seemed, was a thorough

convert to the twin-soul theory and alleged that what he had

experienced were no myths but spiritual realities, or in other

words that for years the two of them had been in some kind of

mystical communion. Moreover the not unnatural conclusion of the

matter was that he had embraced her. It was true that she

protested, yet why? Not because she was personally offended, and

much less shocked or pained; but for the reason that he was

violating the sacred law of her country and thereby exposing

himself, and possibly her also, to very terrible risks and danger,

even of death—which in fact, whether from this or some other

cause, nearly overtook him.

Well, always presuming that some such event took place, what was

more natural than that these two young people should wish to meet

again and to, so to speak, regularize their relationship? Nothing

can be more dangerous to either party among savage or semi-savage

peoples, than that a stranger should become extremely intimate with

a sanctified lady who by the custom of ages is vowed and sealed to

the ruler of her tribe. But if that stranger himself becomes the

ruler, the face of the problem changes.

Now it appeared that, for reasons which I could not pretend to

fathom, this was exactly what was desired by the priestess herself

and by some of her most important adherents. Otherwise why did

Kumpana, the Prime Minister or head of the Council of the Shadow,

go to meet Arkle far away and guide him through the Abanda and into

the hidden country at great risk to himself? And having done this

and other things, would it be surprising if he had arranged a

dramatic public appearance of that priestess, at which she was to

recognize the stranger as the man of the prophecy, as chief, too,

in place of one who had been given his life in exchange for his

abdication of that and other offices, and consequently as her

future husband? Oh, the whole business was as clear as the tall

observation tower in front of me; such obvious manoeuvres could not

deceive a person of my acumen for a moment—or so I thought.

Now while I was reflecting thus, Kumpana had passed between the

priests and, standing with his face to the fire upon the altar, was

engaged in uttering some petition in a voice which I could not hear

because he spoke very low and his back was towards me. Nor could

I see much of him or anything else, for the reason that the

observation tower I have just spoken of as so plainly visible,

vanished from my sight, being suddenly obscured by clouds which

appeared upon the face of the sky. They were thick tempest clouds,

for I heard the muttering of distant thunder, and a breath of cold

wind passed through the forest with a moaning noise. Indeed,

everything became so dark that I whispered to Arkle to look out

lest Kaneke should take advantage of the gloom to attack him. He

made no answer; his attention was so fixed upon other matters that

he did not seem to hear me. He leaned forward, breathing heavily

like a man under the stress of emotion, and stared at the fire upon

the altar. I, too, stared at this fire, because in that gloom I

could see little else except figures moving dimly against the

background of the fire, which I took to be those of Kumpana and the

priests.

The heart of the distant storm rolled away over the western cliffs

of the crater, drawing the clouds after it and the half-moon

appeared again. Its light falling direct upon the platform

revealed a single figure standing in front of the altar, the tall

figure of a woman arrayed in glittering robes, green they seemed to

be, sewn with silver. Of her face I could only see that it was

young, and fair-skinned like to that of a white woman, for it was

shadowed by a dark veil which hung from her head, unless indeed

what I took to be a veil was the mass of her black hair flowing

over her shoulders. Her arms were bare except for bracelets of

what looked like pearls fastened upon the wrists and above the

elbows, and on her head she wore some kind of crown or fillet which

added to her height and shone, but of what it was made I do not

know.

The whole effect of this figure seen thus in the half-light and

against a background of the altar with its flickering fire, was

strangely impressive, mystic, and beautiful; so much so that I

remember catching my breath at its first appearance. If I had any

doubt as to who this woman might be, it was removed by the audience

on the plain who, with one voice cried:

“Engoi! Engoi!” (a word that among them means, it seems, “Spirit”

as well as “Divinity”) and prostrated themselves.

Arkle, too, muttered something about “Shadow” and half rose as

though to go to her, when an instinct warned me to catch him by the

arm, whereon he sat down again and waited.

She fixed her fine eyes upon the face of old Kumpana, who stood in

front of her but to her left, and began to speak in a very sweet

low voice, that gave the suggestion of a chant learnt by heart

rather than of ordinary talk, for in it was something dreamlike and

rather unearthly. Indeed, it was unlike the voice and speech of

any woman that I had ever heard, except one—and she was in an

hypnotic trance. In fact, it reminded me forcibly of what the

prophet Isaiah describes as the voice “of one that hath a familiar

spirit” speaking “low out of the dust”. Hearing it for the first

time I felt rather frightened, because it suggested to my mind that

this fair creature might be under an unholy spell, or even

something more or less than mortal. Evidently Hans thought the

same, for he muttered into my ear:

“Keep clear of that one, Baas, or she will bewitch you worse than

White-Mouse. She is not a maiden but a spook. Yes, she is the

queen of the spooks.”

I hit him in the face with my elbow as a sign to be silent, though

the thought did pass through my mind that there was an air about

this lady which reminded me of White-Mouse, White-Mouse grown

taller and more imposing. To my fancy they might well have been

sisters.

Then in the midst of the deep quiet she spoke, or chanted as an

oracle might do.

“I have been called. I come from where I dwell upon the water. In

my secret place where I dwell with my maidens and no man may set

his foot save he who is appointed to be my lord; yes, there in the

ancient halls built by a people that is no more, the swift

messenger has brought me the message of my priests, and I have

considered of their riddle. To it I, the Oracle inspired, give

answer in the hearing of my people that all may learn my will and

the will of That I serve:

“One,” and she pointed to Kaneke with something in her hand, it

looked like a little wand or sceptre of ivory, “who sinned against

the Shadow that has faded, and was driven from the land, has

returned again to take the place that was sworn to him according to

the ancient law and to wed the Shadow that has risen from the House

of Shadows. One,” and she pointed to Arkle, “called hither by the

decree of Fate, a wanderer from far, has come to the hidden land

and suffered many things because in ignorance he broke its customs.

One,” and she pointed to me, “who, like the Wanderer also called

hither by the decree of Fate, rescued him, the Wanderer, from death

at the hands of the Abanda, my enemies. He who should be chief of

the people and Shelter of the Shadow, foully strove to murder the

white Wanderer, but was overthrown of him, and to save his life

swore an oath upon my name and upon that whereof I am the Voice,

that in return for breath he would sell his lordship and its

rights. So he was spared and not slain, and became the servant of

the Wanderer whom he would have murdered. Now, the message tells

me, he takes back his oath and claims the chieftainship that was

his heritage, and with it the Holy Bride. Is the case thus, O

Priests and Ministers and People?”

“It is thus,” all answered with one voice, for even Kaneke

attempted no denial.

Now she stared hard at Kumpana, as an actor might at the prompter

in the wings, then seemed to catch her cue and went on:

“I, the Voice, speak the judgment that is set within my lips.

Hearken. It is told, ay, and written in the secret records which

are hidden yonder where I dwell, that once in a far age it chanced

that he who was appointed to be the Shield of the Shadow, sought to

slay another foully. But this other conquered that murderer, and

in exchange for the gift of life bought from him his place and

power and the Shadow of his day herself. Thence came a great war

and the division of the people which endures until this hour. As

it was, so let it be. I, the Voice, decree and declare that

Kaneke, the murderer at heart and the oath-breaker, is no longer

chief of the Dabanda and that never shall he be the Shield of the

Shadow and her spouse. I decree and declare that his chieftainship

has passed to the Wanderer lord whom he would have slain, and that

with it passes the Shadow herself, should the Wanderer desire to

clasp her for his hour. The Voice has spoken. Is the decree

accepted, O Priests and Ministers and People?”

The dreamy, mysterious tones died in the silence and again in a

great volume of sound came the answer:

“It is accepted!” and a priest speaking out of the darkness added,

“Kaneke called upon the Shadow to appear and give the judgment of

the Engoi. The judgment has been given; the Engoi has spoken by

its oracle; it is finished.”

“It is not finished; it is but begun,” shouted Kaneke. “You who

have bewitched the Shadow, call down a curse upon your souls and on

her the curse of war.”

Here his words came to a sudden end, for what reason I could not

see, but I think that the guards threatened him with their spears,

commanding his silence. Nor did she who was called Shadow seem to

hear them, for once more she spoke in her cold, chirping voice like

one who repeats a lesson in her sleep.

“Come hither, O Wanderer,” she said, “to do me homage, and take

from me the lordship of the Land of the Holy Lake, and if it be

your pleasure, swear yourself to me, as I will swear myself to you.

Or, do not come, if such be your will. For know, O Wanderer, that

with this rule goes trouble and the dread of death. Yonder man who

would have murdered you spoke truth. War is at hand, and of that

war the end is not shown to me. Mayhap in it you will find nothing

save doom and loss. Choose, then.”

“I have chosen,” said Arkle, and rising, strove to walk to her,

only to find that his hurts had stiffened so that now he could

scarcely stand unaided.

“Help me!” he said, and a few seconds later was limping towards the

altar supporting himself upon my shoulder. It was but a little

way, yet that journey seemed long to me, perhaps because of its

strangeness, perhaps because the concentrated interest of every

watching man and woman beat upon me with such intensity that it

hampered my physical powers. At length we reached the altar and

the big, golden-bearded Arkle sank on to his knees before the

goddess, for so they held her.

For the first time I could see her face, though even now not too

clearly because her back was to the fire. Certainly it was

beautiful; the fine features, the curving lips, the large eyes,

dark and tender, shining under the ivory pallor of her brows, the

masses of the black hair flowing from beneath her coronal—all were

beautiful, as were her arms and shapely, tapering hands. Her tall

figure, too, was full of girlish grace and yet of dignity, that of

one born to command, while her shimmering robes, how fashioned or

of what stuff I know not, were such as might have been worn by the

creature of a dream and even suggested something unfamiliar to our

world.

What could this woman be, I wondered, and from what blood did she

spring? Arab, Egyptian, Eastern? I never learned the answer. One

thing, however, I did learn then and there, namely that when the

shell was off her, at heart she was very human. Her face showed it

as she bent down over this man whom in some strange fashion she had

drawn to her from half across the world. It was not the face of

the priestess of some ancient, secret faith welcoming a worshipper,

but rather that of a woman greeting her lover won at last. The

lips trembled, the eyes filled with happy tears, her figure

drooped; she grew languid as though with an access of passion, her

arms opened as if they would clasp him, then fell again when she

remembered that eyes were on her—oh, that this man was everything

to her I could not doubt!

With an evident effort of the will she recovered herself and began

to speak again, but in a fuller and more natural voice than she had

used when she played her part of oracle. Indeed it was so

different that if her face had been hidden from me, I should not

have thought the speaker to be the same.

“Wilt thou serve my people and accept lordship over them, O

Wanderer?” she asked, probably in the adapted words of some ancient

ritual.

“The lordship I have bought already, and I will serve them as best

I may,” he answered.

“Wilt thou do homage, O Wanderer, to me, Shadow, the Dweller in the

Lake, the Oracle, the Priestess of the Engoi?”

“I will do you homage, O Shadow,” he answered, and bent his head as

though to kiss her sandalled feet or the hem of her robe.

She saw it and swiftly stretched out her arm, murmuring so low that

only he and I could hear.

“Not my foot, my hand.”

He took it and pressed it to his lips. Then with her little ivory

sceptre she touched him on the brow twice, once to accept the

homage, and next to give him all authority. Now she spoke for a

third time, asking,

“Wilt thou swear thyself to me, that at the time appointed thou

mayest take the Shadow to thee and for thine hour protect her on

the path of Fate?”

This she said out loud so that all should hear, then before he

could answer, made a sign to him to be silent, and added in a

whisper,

“Bethink thee, O Beloved, before thou dost answer. Thou knowest

the mystery and that our hearts have spoken together across the

empty air, as once they spoke in an age bygone. Yet remember that

I am not of thy land and race, that I am strange and secret, full

of a wisdom that thou dost not understand, that my day is short and

that when I die it is the law that thou diest also, so that

together we may pass to another home of which thou dost not know

and in which thou mayest not believe. Remember also that dangers

are many, and it may be that never wilt thou hold me to thy heart.

Therefore be warned ere thou tiest a cord that cannot be undone

save by the sword of death. Dost thou understand?”

“I understand,” he whispered back, “and on the chance that thou

mayest be mine if only for an hour, I, who have risked much

already, will risk the rest, I who love thee, and if need be, for

love will die.”

She sighed, so deeply that her whole frame shook as though with the

joy of an intense relief, saying, still beneath her breath,

“So be it. Now take the oath.”

Then in a loud voice he said,

“I swear myself to thee, O Shadow. Dost thou swear thyself to me?”

“I swear myself,” she began, but said no more, for at that moment

Kaneke leapt upon her, swiftly as a leopard leaps upon a buck. I

suppose that while all watched the remarkable scene I have

described, he had slipped from his guards. What he meant to do I

am not sure, but I imagine that trusting to his great strength, he

intended to carry her off with the help of confederates among the

people. Or perhaps it was in his mind to kill her out of jealousy

rather than see her give herself to another man.

The sequel was both swift and most amazing. I did nothing, to my

shame be it said; I was taken too much by surprise, and before I

recovered myself that sequel was accomplished. The priests did

nothing either, being like myself overcome with astonishment.

Arkle was on his knees and even if he understood what was passing,

being lame and stiff, could not rise from them without assistance.

Only from either side of the altar, or from behind it, white-draped

figures seemed to flit forward. I suppose these were the virgins

of the Shadow, but really I cannot say, for their appearance was so

quick, so mysterious and so vague that in that light they might

quite well have been shades born of imagination, or even large

white-winged birds seen for a moment in the light of the fire.

Nor, whatever they were, did they take any action that I could

discern; they just came and presently were gone again. Further, my

attention was not fixed upon these appearances which I only saw out

of the corner of my eye, as it were, but on the central figures,

the lady called Shadow, and on her assailant, the owl-eyed Kaneke.

Evidently she saw him come, for her face grew frightened and she

uttered a little cry. Then in a twinkling her aspect changed, or

so I fancied. She drew herself up to her full height, her face

hardened and became stern, the fear passed from it and was replaced

by a cold anger. As the man leapt on her she stretched out her

arm, that in which she held the little sceptre and exclaimed.

“BE ACCURSED!”

The effect upon Kaneke of these words, or of her mien, or of both,

or of something that I could not see or appreciate, unless it were

the flitting white figures, was wonderful. I have compared his

rush with that of a leopard. Well, have you ever seen such a beast

stopped by a bullet, not a bullet that killed it dead, but one that

paralysed its nervous system with the shock of its impact, taking

all the courage out of it, causing it to stop, to tremble, and

finally to turn and flee for shelter? If so, you will understand

what happened to Kaneke better than I can describe it in writing.

He came to a standstill, so sudden that the weight of his charge

caused him to slide forward for a foot or two upon the pavement.

Then he appeared to collapse; at least to my sight he looked

actually smaller, I suppose because his breath left him, causing

his body to shrink. Next he uttered a low cry of fear and,

turning, fled like a flash, bounding down the steps that led to the

altar and vanishing into the gloom.

I think that some ran after him, but of this I am not sure. If so,

perhaps it was the faint indefinite figures that I have described,

for I lost him in a kind of white mist that may of course have been

an effect caused by the robes of those who followed.

To tell the truth I did not look long, because Arkle, who was

struggling to his feet, uttered an exclamation which caused me to

turn my head and perceive that the Shadow lady was no longer there.

“Where is she?” I asked.

“I don’t know,” he answered. “I think women came and took her

away, but it was all so confused I cannot swear.”

Then the gathering broke up in tumult. Kumpana and others escorted

us down the steps, Arkle still leaning on my shoulder and

expostulating, for naturally enough he wished to follow the Shadow,

which he was not allowed to do. At the foot of the steps we were

separated, he being helped off I knew not where, while I was taken

back to the guest-house.

“We will meet tomorrow,” he called after me, and I replied that I

hoped so. Then he and his escort vanished into the darkness.

“Baas,” said Hans, as I began to undress, “it is almost a pity that

those Abanda did not catch the Baas Red-Bull.”

“Why?” I asked wearily.

“For two reasons, Baas. If he had been killed he would have been

saved a great deal of trouble, who now is caught like a fly in a

spider’s web. You know the sort of spider, Baas, which bites the

fly and sends it to sleep for days or weeks, until it wants to eat

it. The fly looks quite happy and so it is until the eating

begins, when it wakes up and kicks because it can’t buzz as its

wings have been pulled off. Well, that is what will happen to the

Red Baas. The pretty-painted spider has got him and made him drunk

and he will be quite happy, not knowing that his wings have been

pulled off until the time comes when he wakes up to be sacrificed,

or something of that sort, Baas. That’s the first reason.”

Now I bethought me that as usual there was wisdom in Hans’ cynical

remarks and metaphors. Undoubtedly Arkle was entangled in an evil

web, and what was the fate which lay before him, a white man of

good birth and education and presumably a Christian? He was

beloved of a beautiful and mystic woman whom he in turn adored and

probably in due course would marry.

This seemed pleasant enough, and natural—if bizarre. Could he

have taken the lady away to his own land perhaps the adventure

might even have proved successful in a matrimonial sense. But what

were the facts? Departure was impossible for her and for him also.

Once he was wed to her, here he must remain to the end of the

chapter.

Moreover for a bridal dower he took with her a mass of obscure and

dangerous superstitions, as to which only one thing was clear,

namely that, as I had heard her declare with her own lips, these

would involve the pair of them in certain death, possibly quite

soon, and surely at no very distant date. Of course he might

maintain that he had been given fair warning and that the price he

must pay was not too high for what he won. But then he was not in

a state to judge with an even mind, and as an individual of his own

race and standing with some experience of the world, I could not

agree with this view of his case.

Such were some of the thoughts that passed through my mind but of

these I said nothing to Hans, contenting myself with asking his

second reason.

“Oh, Baas, it is this,” he answered. “If the Red Baas were out of

the way, you would have been put in his place, as I dare say will

happen after all if Kaneke manages to murder him, or those priests

change their minds about him.”

“Thank you,” I said, “and what then?”

“Then, Baas, as happy married pair always does, you would set up

house on that island, which otherwise we shall never see, and find

out where they keep their gold and other things that are worth

money, of which I learn they have plenty hidden away on the island,

although this silly people does not use them because they are a

holy, ancient treasure, Baas, that has been there for hundreds or

thousands of years.”

“And if this treasure exists and I found it, what next Hans?”

“Why, then, Baas, of course you would steal it and get away,

leaving the lady to look at the empty boxes, Baas. Perhaps you

think it would be difficult, but Hans would manage it all for you.

Priests can always be bought, Baas, and as for oaths and the rest,”

he added, springing to a very pinnacle of immorality, “good

Christians like you and me wouldn’t need to bother about THEM,

Baas, because you see they have all to do with the devil. So we

should get away very rich and be happy to the end of our lives.

But,” he went on with a sigh, “it is nothing but a nice dream,

because the Red Baas stands in our way. Unless indeed”—here he

brightened up—“we can make a bargain with him and go shares in

everything that he gets.”

I did not try to argue with Hans because his lack of moral sense,

real or assumed, was, so to speak, quite out of shot of argument.

So I only said:

“I should be glad enough to get out of this place without any

treasure, if only I could do so with a whole skin. Did you hear

all the talk about war?”

“Oh yes, Baas. From the beginning that owl-man Kaneke has said

that there would be war, which was why he brought you here.”

“Well, Hans, if it is to be with the Abanda, I don’t see what

chance these Dabanda will have, for they are but a handful.”

“None, Baas, if the fight were with spears. But they don’t trust

to spears; they trust to magic of which there is plenty in this

land. Didn’t you see when the Engoi woman cursed Kaneke, how he

curled up, just as though she had kicked him in the stomach, Baas,

and ran away, although a minute before he had meant to carry her

off with the help of his friends, of whom no doubt he has plenty?

That was magic, Baas.”

I shrugged my shoulders and answered:

“I think it was scare and a guilty conscience. But I don’t

understand about this Kaneke. Why, if they don’t like him, was he

ever brought away from the place where he was living? Why did

White-Mouse insist upon our rescuing him, and a dozen other

things?”

“Oh, for lots of reasons, Baas. While he was named as the Chief-to-be, no one else could take his place according to their law.

That is one. Also no one else could guide you to this country.

That is another. Also he had to come because the Shadow Lady said

so, something to do with their fetish business, or prophecies,

Baas; you will never learn what makes the minds of spook-people

like these Dabanda turn this way or that.”

“I dare say not. What I should like to learn is whether our friend

Kaneke is alive or dead.”

“Alive, I think, Baas; yes, I am almost sure that he got away by

the help of his friends in the crowd below, though I dare say that

the curses of the Shadow Queen went with him; indeed I thought I

saw them following him like white owls. I expect we shall see and

hear plenty more of Kaneke, Baas.”

As usual Hans was quite right; we did.

CHAPTER XV

LAKE MONE AND THE FOREST

After this tumultuous and exciting night I spent a very quiet time

at Dabanda-town, where for the next ten days or so nothing happened

that could be called remarkable.

Grateful enough I was to rest thus awhile, because our long journey

had tired me out and I found it delightful to enjoy repose and

leisure in a climate which although hot, was on the whole

delicious. Still as I am an active-minded person, I took advantage

of this pause to learn all I could about the Dabanda and their

enemies, the Abanda, only to find that in the end I had really

learned very little. Kumpana and other members of the Council came

to see me frequently and talked with great openness upon many

matters, but when I came to boil down their conversation, the

residium was small enough.

I was told that Kaneke had escaped, as they said, “by making

himself invisible”, a feat in which no doubt the darkness helped

him. Where he had gone, they were not sure. Possibly, they said,

he had turned traitor and run away to the Abanda, though such a

crime had never been heard of in their history. Or he might have

returned towards the country where I had met him. Or possibly he

was dead, killed by the curse of the Engoi, though they did not

think this probable, for being himself a magician and one of the

initiated, he knew how to fashion shields which would turn aside or

delay the deadliest curses.

My inquiries upon other matters were almost equally unfruitful. I

asked when the promised war would come and was informed that they

did not know, but that no doubt it “would happen at the time

appointed”.

Nor would they tell me anything definite about the lady called

Shadow, whom I had seen upon the altar platform. They were, they

asserted, ignorant of what caused her to be fairer-skinned and

more beautiful than other women; they only knew that for many

generations the Lake-Dweller always had been so; it was a family

gift. They admitted that she lived upon an island in the waters of

Mone, in the company of certain virgins who dwelt with her in

ancient buildings erected by an unknown and forgotten people, but

of these buildings and the fashion of her life there they could say

nothing, as none of them had ever visited the place, upon which it

was unlawful for any man to set foot except the husband of the

Engoi after marriage, and so on.

Thus it came about that at last I abandoned inquiries, which led to

no result, for the very good reason that those whom I questioned

were determined to tell me nothing, and fell back upon my own

powers of observation, assisted by those of Hans. Being allowed to

do so with an escort, I walked about the country, but saw nothing

worthy of note.

Here and there were little villages inhabited by a handful of

people, and round these some cultivated fields, also grazing

grounds on which were herded cattle of a small breed and goats, but

no true woolled sheep, creatures that would not thrive in so hot a

district. The rest of the land, which was of extraordinary

richness and could have supported ten times as many people, was

given up to game of every variety except, as I have said, those

that are harmful to man, which did not exist there.

The animals were wonderfully tame; indeed one could walk among them

as Adam and Eve are reported to have done in the Garden of Eden.

Again I asked Kumpana and others how this came about and was

answered—because of the spell laid upon them, also because they

were never molested or killed for food. I inquired why and was

informed because they were holy, taboo in short, as Father Ambrose

had heard from the slave in bygone years. Then for the first time

I discovered that the Dabanda believed that after death the spirits

of men, or those of certain men of their race, passed into the

bodies of animals; also that sometimes this happened before birth.

It was for this reason that the beasts were not touched, since

nobody likes to put a spear through his grandmother or his future

child.

Next I referred to the elephants we had met outside their country,

over which Kaneke seemed to have control, and inquired how this

happened. The reply was that these beasts or their progenitors had

once lived in Mone-land, whence they were driven, or “requested to

leave” as Kumpana put it, because they did so much mischief, which

accounted for the mystery.

My own view, of course, is (or, perhaps I should say, was) that the

creatures were tame because no man ever harmed them, but I quote

the story as an example of the superstitions of these star-worshippers. To many African tribes certain creatures are taboo,

but never before or since have I heard of one to which all game was

sacred, perchance because no other of small numbers has so rich a

food supply that it needs to be supplemented by the flesh of wild

animals. Among the Dabanda, however, this was so.

Their fertile soil, amply watered by rain and streams, needed but

to be scratched to yield abundantly of corn and various roots and

vegetables, while their numerous flocks and herds furnished all the

milk and meat they required. Therefore there was no necessity for

them to undertake the risk and toil of hunting, with the result

that those beasts which they never killed, in the course of time

naturally became both tame and sacred.

Having finished such investigation of the country as I was allowed

to make—all approach to the lip of the crater was, I should

explain, forbidden to me—I was seized with a great desire to

explore the forest land and to look upon the sacred waters of the

Lake Mone.

At first, when I mentioned this matter, Kumpana always turned the

subject, but ultimately on the day of full moon, he said that if I

so desired, he was ready to conduct me through the forest so that I

might look upon the lake by moonlight, adding that it was not

lawful for any man to enter this forest, much less to see the lake,

in the daytime.

Of course I jumped at the offer, and shortly after moonrise we

started, three of us, Kumpana, I, and Hans, whom at first Kumpana

wished to leave behind. Indeed he only gave way on the point when

I refused to go without him, while Hans on his part remarked, in

infamous Arabic, that it has always been his custom to shoot anyone

who tried to separate him from his master.

Within five minutes we found ourselves in a pit of blackness. That

forest must have been dark at noonday, and at night, even when

there was a full moon, it was like a coal-mine. We could only get

along at all by help of some yards of the stem of a creeper of

which Kumpana held one end. Then I grasped it at a distance of a

few feet, and lastly came Hans holding to the other end.

It may be asked how Kumpana could see his way.

The answer is—that I do not know, but he led us quite briskly

along some path that I was unable to perceive, which wound in and

out through the trunks of giant trees, and skirted some that had

fallen. Thus we walked for some hours, only seeing a ray of light

now and then where a tree, dead and devoid of leaf, allowed it to

reach the ground.

At length this forest ceased as suddenly as it had begun, and we

stood upon the broad beach of the lake, most of which doubtless was

covered in times of heavy rain.

Oh, how desolate was that great sheet of water glimmering in the

bright moonlight, and yet how beautiful, set in its ring of forest

land. Save for the soughing sound of wildfowl flighting far out of

sight, and the occasional croak of a frog, it was utterly silent.

Its lonesomeness was oppressive, almost terrible, for no beasts

seemed to frequent it; nor did I see or hear so much as a fish

stirring; well could I understand that a semi-savage race should

deem it to be holy and haunted. Far away I could see the island on

which the priestess Shadow was said to dwell, and noted that it was

large, over a mile long as I judged, though how wide it may have

been of course I did not know. What is more, I could distinguish

buildings amidst the palms which grew upon this island.

Taking my glasses, very good ones of a German make which were

fitted with a lens for use at night, I studied the place and saw at

once that these building were large, massive, and apparently

covered with sculpture. They seemed to be constructed of limestone

or alabaster, or some other white rock such as marble, and before

them stood gateways and towers, certain of which looked as though

they were half in ruins. In architecture and style they were

totally different from any that I knew of in Africa, not excepting

the Zimbabwe ruins.

They had, however, a distinct resemblance to the remains of the

temples of Old Egypt which at that time I had never seen except in

pictures. There were what might be pylon gates; there were walls

covered with great carvings; there were courts with pillars in

them, for the end of one of these had fallen down or never been

completed, and with the glasses I could see the columns.

The sight thrilled me. Was it possible that these mysterious

buildings had been erected by people from Ancient Egypt, or even by

some race that afterwards had migrated to Egypt, taking their

architecture with them? Now that I come to think of it, the

truncated pyramid outside the town where stood the stone altar upon

which the fire burned, suggested that this might be so.

I turned to Kumpana and questioned him closely, but he could, or

would, tell me very little. He repeated that he had never been on

the island “in the flesh” for the reasons that he had already

explained, but that he understood the buildings there to be

tremendous, of a sort indeed to defy time for thousands upon

thousands of years. There was no record of their construction, or

of the people who had accomplished this mighty work and dwelt

there. Not so much as a tradition survived. Time had eaten up

their name and race, though perhaps the sculptures might tell

something to anyone who learned enough to understand them. For the

rest from generation to generation they had always been sacred to

the Engoi and the home of her who for her day was known as Shadow,

and her virgins.

“Can I not visit them?” I asked.

I saw a sarcastic smile upon Kumpana’s wrinkled old face as he

answered.

“Oh yes, Lord, if you are a very good swimmer. Only should you

live to reach the island the women there will tear you to pieces.”

Now since then I have often thought that this was rubbish, for

surely women who lived in such an unnatural state would be glad to

satisfy their curiosity by inspecting even so unfavourable a

specimen of the male sex as myself, that is, if there were any

truth at all in this tale of an African nunnery or Order of

Virgins, like those of the Sun in Old Peru or the Vestals of Rome.

At the time, however, all I thought of was the fate of the men who

intruded upon the women’s mysteries in ancient Greece, which was

not one that I wished to share.

Today I am sorry that I did not show more pluck and have a try to

reach that island, but then the adventure appalled me and our lost

chances never return again. Not that I believed the story about

the nuns, for I felt quite sure that if no one ever visited the

island, these sometimes made a trip to the lake shore, as,

according to Arkle, the Shadow herself had done. Kumpana’s tale,

however, was that their numbers were kept up by votaries who joined

them every year from the mainland, picked girls of the age of

twelve who were called “slaves of the Engoi”.

While I was talking to him Hans, who had the sight of a vulture,

said in Dutch,

“Look, Baas. The women are coming out of that big house.”

Raising my glasses I saw that he was right, for a procession of

white-robed figures emerged from under a gateway and walked in

procession down to the water’s edge. Here they must have entered

boats, though, owing to the shadow of palms which grew upon the

island shore, I could not see them do so, for presently three large

canoes, each containing five or six women, appeared upon the

tranquil bosom of the lake and were paddled slowly towards us.

(Who made the canoes if no man ever visited the island? I

wondered.) In much excitement I asked if they were coming to see

me as I might not go to see them; but again Kumpana smiled and

shook his head.

On they glided till they were within about two hundred yards from

where we stood. Then they halted in a line and began a sweet and

plaintive chant, of which in that great stillness the sound reached

us clearly.

“What are they doing?” I asked. “Making an offering to the full

moon?”

“Yes, Lord,” Kumpana answered, “and I think something more.”

He was right. There was “something more”, for presently the women

in the central canoe bent down and lifted a white draped form which

they cast over the prow, so that it fell into the water with a

large splash and vanished there.

“Is it a funeral?” I asked again.

“No doubt, Lord. See, they throw flowers on to the water where the

body sank.”

That was his reply, but something in his tone caused uncomfortable

doubts to rise in my mind. What if the form wrapped in those white

veils was quick—not dead? What if this rite was not one of burial

but of sacrifice or execution? Here I may state that afterwards

Hans swore that he saw the draped shape struggle, but as I did not,

this may have been his imagination.

Still the business was eerie and made me shiver; so much so that I

was not sorry when the women turned the canoe-heads islandwards,

and departed still singing, or even when Kumpana said it was time

for us to follow their example and go home. To my mind there was

something weird, even unholy, about this sacred lake and island,

where rose fantastic buildings of unknown age inhabited by night-haunting women who made offerings to the full moon, as the old

Egyptians might have done, and I believe did to Nut or Hathor,

ominous offerings shaped like a human corpse. And if this was so

with these, the forest was even worse, as I have now to tell.

We entered its shapes guided as before by Kumpana with the help of

the creeper-stem. Somehow it depressed me more even than it had

done upon our journey lakewards, perhaps because my nerves were

jangled by all that I have described. At any rate, I suppose in an

instinctive endeavour to keep up my spirits, I entered into

conversation with Hans behind me, speaking perhaps rather more

loudly than was necessary as a kind of challenge to that

overpowering silence.

I need not repeat our conversation in detail, or further than to

say that it had to do with the Dabandas, their superstitions, and

their pretentions to magical powers. Speaking in Dutch, and

sometimes in English, so that Kumpana might not understand me, I

criticized these in no measured terms, announcing my belief that

they were rubbish and that the Dabanda priests and magicians were a

set of infernal humbugs. Hans, always argumentative, combated this

view and gave it as his opinion that the Dabanda, from Kaneke and

Kumpana down, were particular favourites of the devil.

At this point Kumpana looked back and remarked somewhat sternly

that it was well not to talk so loudly in the forest lest the

spirits who had their home there should be angered.

Then I lost my temper and expressed entire disbelief in these

spirits, asking him too well what he meant by trying to fool a

white man with talk of tree-dwelling spirits, and whether he was

referring to monkeys which we knew lived in such places and were

reported sometimes to pelt travellers through them with sticks or

nuts.

Apparently Kumpana did not appreciate the joke, for he looked back

at me (I could see him because at the moment we were wading through

a little swamp where no trees grew), with an expression on his face

that I thought threatening, and said with cold courtesy:

“I pray you to be silent, Lord Macumazahn, and above all not to

offer insults to the masters of this place.”

This made me angrier than ever. Was I, a more or less educated

Christian man, to have my mouth stopped with the mud of such

heathen mumbo-jumbo stuff? Certainly not. Therefore I continued

my argument with Hans, speaking more loudly than before. Hans

replied with sarcasm which was the more irritating because it

contained a grain of truth, that the real reason I talked thus was

that I was afraid and therefore made a noise to shout down my fear,

as children do. Then he went on with a garbled version of the

story of the Witch of Endor who, he declared, I think erroneously,

also lived in a wood, and to quote absurd remarks about witchcraft,

which he attributed to my poor old father, adding his devout hope

that he, “the reverend Predikant” as he called him, was keeping an

eye upon us at that moment.

Truly I believe that there must have been some exciting quality in

the air of that forest, exhaled perhaps by the foliage or flowers

of certain trees or creepers that grew there, for at this point a

kind of rage possessed me which caused me to rate and objurgate

Hans, begging him to be good enough not to take my father’s name in

vain and put words in his mouth that he had never spoken, in order

to justify his low, savage beliefs in ghosts and magic.

Just then we came to a spot where a great tree had fallen, breaking

down others in its descent and allowing the moonlight to reach us

for a few paces. As we went round the stump of this prostrate tree

Kumpana turned again, saying:

“I have warned you and you will not listen. White stranger, I

shall warn you no more.”

I looked at the man and it struck me that his aspect had changed.

No longer did he seem the little withered old fellow with shrewd

eyes and a wrinkled, rather kindly, if cunning, face to whom I was

accustomed. He appeared to have grown taller and to have acquired

a fierce cast of countenance, while his eyes glowed like those of a

lion in a cave.

Remembering that moonlight plays strange tricks and that his added

height must be due to the fact that he was standing on a root of

the fallen tree, I took no heed, but continued to wrangle with Hans

like one who has had too much to drink, or is half under the

influence of laughing-gas. Then we proceeded as before and

presently were again enveloped in the utter gloom of the forest.

Suddenly I was brought to a standstill by butting into the trunk of

a tree, while Hans behind ran the muzzle of his rifle into my back.

“Where are you going, Kumpana?” I asked indignantly, but there was

no answer.

Then to call his attention I pulled at the vine-like creeper that

served us as a rope. It flew back and flicked me in the face; no

one was holding it!

“Hans!” I exclaimed. “Kumpana has given us the slip.”

“Yes, Baas,” he answered. “I thought something of that sort would

happen, Baas, if you would keep on spitting in the faces of the

forest spirits, of which probably he is one himself.”

I reflected a while and had an idea.

“Let us get back to the place where there is light, and think

things over,” I said.

“Yes, Baas,” he answered. “Lead on, Baas, for I don’t know the way

and can’t see our spoor in the dark.”

I turned and started, with the most disastrous results. Before we

had gone ten paces I crashed into another tree-trunk and hurt

myself considerably. Circumventing this, presently I plunged into

a piece of swampy ground and sank over my knees in tenacious mud,

out of which Hans pulled me with difficulty. Once more we started

with my boots full of water, but before I had taken five steps I

became entangled in some thorny creeper which pricked me horribly.

Freeing myself at length I stepped forward again, only to catch my

foot in a root and fall on my face. Then I sat down and said

things which I prefer not to record.

“It is very difficult, Baas, to find one’s way in a big wood when

it is quite dark,” remarked Hans blandly. “What does the Baas wish

to do now?”

“Stop here till it grows lighter, I suppose, if it ever does in

this infernal place,” I answered. Then I filled my pipe and

finding that I had lost my matches, probably when I fell, I asked

Hans for one.

He produced his cherished box, of which we had not too many left,

and having first filled his own pipe, struck a match and handed it

to me. As I took it I remembered noticing how steadily the flame

burned in that utterly still air. Then I lifted the match to my

pipe and as I did so something blew it out.

“Why did you do that?” I asked angrily of Hans. “Are you afraid of

setting the forest on fire?”

“Yes, Baas—I mean no, Baas. I mean I didn’t blow it out, Baas. A

monkey blew it out; I saw its ugly face,” replied Hans in a voice

that suggested to me that he was frightened.

“Rubbish!” I exclaimed. “Give me another match.”

He obeyed rather unwillingly and the same thing happened, no doubt

because there was a current of air which passed between the tree-trunks in puffs.

Well, my desire to smoke suddenly departed and I told Hans that we

must not waste any more matches in such a draughty spot. He agreed

and set his back firmly against mine, explaining that he was cold,

a palpable lie as the heat in that stifling place was so great that

we both ran with perspiration.

“Now be still and don’t talk; I am going to sleep. You can wake me

up at dawn,” I said.

Scarcely were the words out of my mouth, when distinctly I heard

laughter, of a queer sort it is true, for it was singularly

mirthless, but still eerie laughter which appeared to come first

from one quarter and then another.

“That old fool, Kumpana, is making fun of us all the time,” I said.

“He shall laugh the wrong side of his mouth—if I catch him.”

“Yes, Baas, only now he seems to be laughing on all sides of his

face and from everywhere at once—” Hans began, but the rest of his

remarks were lost in a peal of unholy merriment.

It came, as he said, “from everywhere at once”, and seemingly even

from above our heads.

“What the deuce is it—hyenas?” I asked.

“No, Baas, it’s spooks, very bad spooks. Oh, Baas, why would you

come into this accursed forest to look at a lake where they drown

people at midnight, and then sneer at the devils of the place and

call them monkeys? I am going to pray to your reverend father,

Baas, hoping that he will hear me in the Place of Fires. For if he

can’t help us, no one can.”

I did not answer him, for when Hans was in this superstitious mood

argument was useless. Moreover I was trying to remember a very

interesting lecture I had once heard about echoes and how these are

multiplied by natural causes. The laughter had died away and I was

just recovering the thread of the lecture when something else

happened. A great stone or clod of earth fell with a thud close to

me, and was followed presently by scores of similar missiles. None

of these touched us, it is true, but they struck everywhere around

and even against the trees above our heads.

After that I really cannot recall what followed, for between

weariness, bewilderment, and exhaustion I grew confused, so that my

mind became torpid. I remember all kinds of sounds, some of them

very loud as though trees were crashing at a distance, and some of

them small and sharp and close at hand, like the agonizing squeals

idle children can produce with a slate-pencil. I remember a

feeling on my face which suggested that my ears and nose were being

pulled by tiny hands.

I remember, too, Hans announcing in a voice which was full of fear

that gorillas with eyes of fire were dancing round us, though if so

I never saw them. Lastly I remember that he fired his rifle, I

suppose at one of the nightmare gorillas, or some other dream-beast, for the sound of it reverberated through the forest as

though it had been a cannon-shot. Also in its blinding flash I

thought I saw queer figures round us with fantastic faces.

Then I remember nothing more of all those noises and visions, which

were more appropriate to a victim of delirium tremens, than to a

strictly sober man lost in a wood, till at length I heard a gentle

voice say in Arabic:

“Rise, Macumazahn. You have wandered from your path and the air

beneath these trees is poisonous and gives bad dreams. I have been

sent to guide you and your servant back to Dabanda-town.”

I obeyed in a great hurry and presently felt a soft hand leading me

I knew not where. Or perhaps I should say that I thought I felt

it, for I dare say this was part of the nightmare from which

doubtless I was suffering, and seemed to be led forward, Hans

clinging to my coat-tails like a child to its mother’s skirts, for

how long I cannot tell. All I know is that just as the dawn was

breaking we found ourselves upon the edge of the forest, for there

in front of us was the truncated pyramid upon which burned the

altar fire, and beyond it the town. Here in the shadow of the last

trees our guide departed, or seemed to depart. I noted vaguely in

the gloom that she was a woman wrapped in white and of a graceful

figure.

“Farewell,” she said with a suspicion of mockery in her voice that

somehow I thought familiar, adding:

“You are very wise, Macumazahn, yet, I pray you, grow a little

wiser, for then you will not mock at what you do not understand,

and will learn that there are powers in the world known to its

ancient peoples of which even white men have not heard.”

As she spoke she stepped backwards and before I could answer her

had vanished, although still out of the darkness of that accursed

forest I could hear her musical voice repeating:

“Farewell, Macumazahn, and mock no more at the powers of the

ancient peoples.”

“Baas,” said Hans as we staggered into our house, “I think that

missie must have been White-Mouse come to life again.”

“I don’t want to know if she was White-Mouse, or Black-Mouse, or

Piebald-Mouse, or no Mouse at all. What I want is to get out of

this accursed country,” I replied savagely, as I kicked off my

boots and threw myself down upon the bed.

CHAPTER XVI

KANEKE’S MESSAGE

It may be wondered why I have said so little about Arkle, the real

hero of this story, whom Hans and the natives named Red-Bull

because of his taurine build and great strength. The reason is

that I saw little of the man. After the appearance of Shadow, “the

Treasure of the Lake”, that night before the altar and the

disappearance of Kaneke laden with curses like the scapegoat of the

ancient Jews, he was laid up for a while in the Chief’s big house

or hut with a sore heel. Notwithstanding their alleged mastery

over diseases, this heel, which resulted from his race for life

before the Abanda and his subsequent tramp to the Lake-town, defied

all the skill and spells of the Dabanda doctors or magicians, for

they had but one word to describe the followers of both these

trades.

So I was called in and tackled the case with the help of a pot of

antiseptic ointment bought originally in some chemist’s shop, and

lint that I made by picking a rag of linen to pieces. While

visiting him for this purpose of course I talked to him, but even

then with a sense of restraint. The truth was that already the man

was hedged round with ceremonial. Yes, this English gentleman was,

as it were, guarded by a pack of heathen priests; white-robed

mystics who never left us alone. Of course they could not

understand our language, but on the other hand they were

preternaturally shrewd at reading our faces and what was passing in

our minds, as I found out from remarks that they made now and

again.

Thus I always had a sense of being spied on, and so, I think, did

Arkle. If I tried to talk to him about the lady Shadow, I saw

their large eyes fixed upon me and their ears, as it were,

stretched out towards me, till at length I came almost to believe

that after all they understood or guessed the meaning of every word

I uttered. This did not tend to promote candid conversation,

indeed it was paralysing, and at last reduced me to prattling about

the weather or other trivial subjects.

At last I could bear no more, and taking advantage of the temporary

absence of the priest on guard, for I guessed that he had only

retired behind a mat curtain, I said outright, “Tell me, Mr. Arkle,

if you like this kind of life. You seem to me to be a prisoner in

all except name, though they call you a chief. Do you think such a

position right for a white man of your upbringing?”

“No, I don’t, Quatermain,” he answered with vigour. “I hate the

business, but I tell you that I am a man under a spell. I see you

smile, yet it is true. Years ago it began with those dreams in

London. Then I kissed, you know whom, down by that lake, and the

spell became a madness. Lastly I swore allegiance to her and all

the rest of it that night upon the platform yonder, and the madness

became a fate. I am bound by chains that cannot be broken, this

chieftainship is one that you can see; but there are others—and

that’s the end—or the beginning.”

“Do you wish to break them?” I asked.

“My reason does, but my spirit, or my heart, or whatever you choose

to call it, does not. I must win that woman, even if it costs me

my life; if I do not I shall go mad.”

“Forgive me,” I answered, “but don’t you think that in a way it may

cost you more than your life: that is, your honour?”

“What do you mean?” he asked.

“I mean that like all of us you were brought up with certain

traditions and, as you have told me, in a certain faith; in short,

you are a white man. Now a love-affair with a woman who has other

traditions and who is of another faith, or even a marriage is well

enough sometimes—as Saint Paul points out. But this business is

bigger than that, for in practice you must adopt HER traditions and

HER faith and give the lie to your own. Further, you don’t know

what these are or where they will lead you. Remember, she warned

you herself, for I heard her before that altar.”

“No, Quatermain, I don’t know, and she did warn me. But I took the

oath all the same and I’ve got to keep it; moreover, I wish to keep

it, for love sanctifies everything, doesn’t it? And if ever a man

was in love, I am.”

“That’s an old argument,” I said, “and I am not sure. For love

means passion and passion is a blind leader of the blind.”

Here my wise remarks were cut short by the re-entry of the priest,

who I was quite sure had been listening through the mat curtain and

making out all he could from the tone of our voices. He was

accompanied by Kumpana whom I had not seen since we parted in the

forest. Remembering the trick he had played me there, and all that

followed, the sight of this old fellow looking more bland and

amiable than usual made me indignant, especially when he asked me

how I was and if I and my servant had been taking any more walks in

the dark.

“Listen, Kumpana,” I said. “You played me an evil trick when you

left us alone the other night in that thick wood, and still worse

ones afterwards, of which I will not speak. You should be ashamed

of yourself, Kumpana, seeing that I am a stranger whom you are

bound to help and not to desert as you did.”

“I ask your pardon,” he replied very courteously, “if I say that I

think it is you who should be ashamed, Lord Macumazahn, for

although I prayed you not to do so, you reviled what I hold to be

holy until I was forced to leave you to your punishment, which

might have ended worse than it did. However, you are not at all to

blame, because the air of that forest sometimes goes to the head,

like strong drink, and takes away the judgment. Therefore let us

forgive each other and say no more.”

He spoke so courteously that I felt abashed and even humbled, for

after all he had some reason on his side; acting under influences

which I did not understand, I HAD offered insult to the spirits or

elementals, or natural forces, which he revered. So I turned the

subject by saying that Hans and I were now rested from our journey

and should be glad to say good-bye to him as soon as possible, if

the Council of the Shadow would be so kind as to help us to leave

the country.

“You are free to go when you will, Macumazahn,” he answered, “but

if you attempt to do so before the time appointed, I warn you that

it will be at great risk to yourself.”

“I am not afraid of risks—!” I exclaimed, and that moment Arkle

broke in, saying:

“For God’s sake don’t go, Quatermain. Stop here as long as you

can, that is, until I vanish from your sight, I mean until we are

separated, as I gather that we must be. For when this business is

finished I have to begin a new life, but until then, don’t leave me

to deal with war and trouble alone.”

Anxious as I had become now that my curiosity about Lake Mone was

satisfied by an actual sight of its waters, to get clear of these

eerie people who depressed me and of the land where even the air

was so strange and unnatural that it affected the nerves and made

one behave like a drunkard, I was touched by this appeal. I felt

that there was a struggle in the heart of Arkle between his

inherited convictions, or perhaps I should say all the impulses and

associations of a man of his race and class, and the devouring

passion which possessed him for a lovely and mystical woman, a

priestess of some faith with which it was not healthy for one of

white blood to have to do.

Perhaps if I stayed I might yet be able to save him from this

snare; or circumstances might arise which would cut its claims.

Whereas if I went his fate was sure. One by one the barriers of

civilization and Christianity, which protected him from the inroads

of primeval instincts and engulfment in the dark superstitions

surviving from the ancient world that flourished here untouched by

time, would be broken down. He would become in fact what already

he was in name, the chief of these star-worshipping Dabanda. He

would dwell upon the island with their priestess, his country would

see him no more, and at last, when his part was played, there would

be some unholy scene of sacrifice, mayhap such a one, if Hans were

right, as we had been shown beneath the midnight moon on the waters

of that lonesome mere beyond the forest.

I shuddered as a vision of it rose in my mind: the drugged man,

helpless in his encircling cerements, being cast with songs and

offerings of flowers into the bottomless crater-lake, there to seek

the woman who, her day of power done, had preceded him to doom. Or

there might be other fates yet more awful, such as madness induced

by disillusionment, despair, and the impossibility of escape, or

even by long-continued terrors like those of which we had tasted in

the forest. Oh, the bait was rose-scented and set with jewels, but

what of the hook within, I wondered, I before whose eyes it did not

dangle.

All this and more that I do not remember passed swiftly through my

mind with the result that I was about to say that I would stop and

see the business through, when suddenly the mat which hung in the

door-way of the room was thrust aside and there entered a priest

conducting two men. These men, whom I recognized at once as

belonging to the farming class of the Dabanda, prostrated

themselves before Arkle, showing me that he was now acknowledged as

Chief by all the people. Then the priest, bowing, informed him

that they had a tale to tell and a message to deliver.

He bade them speak, whereon the elder of the two husbandmen said:

“Last evening towards sunset, O Chief and Father of the Dabanda, to

whom it is promised that he shall be the Shield of the holy Shadow

and father of the Shadow that is to be, I and my son here were

tracking a lost goat. We followed this goat into the western pass

that leads through the lip of the mountain from the holy Land to

that of the Abanda on the slopes and plains beyond.

“At length we caught sight of the goat near to the farther mouth of

the cleft, and ran fast to catch it before it strayed into the

country of the Abanda, whither we might not follow. The goat heard

us and, being wilful, leaped ahead, so that before we could reach

it, it was out of the mouth of the pass and into Abanda-land.

“Here, then, we sat on the border line, since we dared not pursue

farther, and called to the goat to return to us. It knew our

voices and was coming, when suddenly between us and it appeared

armed men out of the bushes, and at the head of them no other than

Kaneke, he who has forfeited the chieftainship and been cursed of

the Engoi.

“‘Stay still and listen,’ he said, ‘for if you stir we will throw

spears and kill you.’ So we stood still and he went on:

“‘I, Kaneke, of the pure blood, the Chief of the Dabanda and the

Shield of the Shadow, am now Chief of the Abanda also. Yes, I have

brought together under one rule the two peoples who were divided

long ago. Go you therefore to Kumpana, the first of the Council of

the Shadow, and say to him that he may tell it to the Shadow, that

the Abanda perish for the want of rain, which is withheld from them

by the witchcraft of the priests and Council of the Dabanda. Their

crops wither, their cows and goats give no milk, their springs dry

up, and their children are in want and like to die.’

“‘Therefore if within six days no rain falls upon their land, I,

their chief and yours, will lead them in their thousands through

the passes of the mountain-lip, fearing no curses such as of old

have held them back, now that I, Shield to be of the Shadow, am

their captain. We will kill any that oppose us; we will kill

Kumpana and the Council of the Shadow who guide her ill; we will

kill the priests of the Shadow who are evil wizards, practisers of

black magic; we will pass the forest, not fearing the wood-dwellers; we will cross the lake, and I will take the Shadow and

make her mine, and thenceforward rule over the two people become

one again. Lastly, we will kill the white thief who is named

Wanderer, and by the people Red-Bull. Yes, we will kill him by

torture as an offering to the moon and the host of heaven, that

henceforth rain may fall without the mountain as well as within its

circle, giving plenty, so that all the people may increase and grow

fat.’

“‘With him we will kill the white hunter named Macumazahn, because

now I know that I was made to buy him to come to this land, not to

give me help as I believed, but to work me evil and to set in my

place the thief Red-Bull; and the yellow man his servant we will

also kill, burying them alive or burning them upon the altar. None

of them shall escape us, for night and day all the passes are

watched and any that set foot outside of them shall be hunted to

death for our sport, as the thief Red-Bull would have been, had he

not been saved by Macumazahn. Now go and at this same hour on the

second day return with the answer to my message.’

“Then, Lords, Kaneke and those with him went away laughing

together, killing our goat as they went, and my son and I came here

to deliver the message.”

For a while there was silence in that room. Kumpana seemed to be

perplexed; the priests were speechless with indignation; I was

horribly frightened at the prospect of the fate promised to me, and

so was Hans who all this while had been sitting on the ground

behind me, smoking and pretending to hear nothing, for he

whispered:

“Oh, Baas, why did you ever come to this land of spooks? Why did

you not run away after you had got Kaneke’s ivory? Now we shall be

buried alive. Or be grilled on that altar fire—just like buck’s

flesh, Baas.”

“If so, it won’t be Kaneke who will do the grilling, that is if

ever he comes within three hundred yards of me,” I answered

savagely in Dutch.

Then I stopped short to consider Arkle in whom I noticed a curious

change. A few minutes before he was looking troubled and unhappy,

for reasons that may be guessed. Now he had brisked up and seemed

quite cheerful, as is the way of some Anglo-Saxons (I am not one of

them) when there is the prospect of a fight.

“When did you say I should be able to get about as usual,

Quatermain? Was it tomorrow?”

“Yes, I think so, if you will keep a bandage on your heel,” I said,

then was silent, for Kumpana was speaking to the peasants, telling

them to go away and rest until he sent for them.

When they had departed he bade the priests summon the Council of

the Shadow, which they did with marvellous rapidity, for within

five minutes they arrived in the room, six or seven old fellows.

I suppose they were hanging about outside, having scented trouble.

At any rate they appeared, bowed to Arkle and to me and sat down

upon the ground. Kumpana repeated to them the tale of the two

peasants which did not seem to surprise them; indeed they appeared

to know it already. Next he asked them what they thought should be

done, and they gave various replies which I scarcely understood,

because they all talked together and very fast, using terms that

were not familiar to me. Nor in fact did Kumpana appear to pay

much attention to what they said, which gave me the idea that this

asking of their advice was more or less of a formality. When they

had finished he turned to Arkle and with much deference inquired

his views.

“Oh, fight the beast—I mean Kaneke,” answered Arkle with emphasis,

adding, “but first ask Macumazahn there; he is a wise man and has

seen many things.”

So Kumpana repeated his question, inquiring of me whether I also

held that we should fight.

“Certainly not, if you can do anything else,” I replied, “for you

are few and the Abanda are many. They say that they want rain and

I have heard you declare that you, or some of you, can cause rain

to fall. If this is true, do so. Give the Abanda as much water as

they want and there will be no war.”

This I said not because I believed that the priests or the Shadow,

or anyone else, could break the drought and bring rain from the

heavens upon the parched fields of the Abanda, but because I wanted

to hear Kumpana’s views upon the suggestion. To my surprise he

accepted it with great respect, saying that the plan was good and

worthy of consideration and that it should be submitted to the

Engoi—that is to the Lady Shadow—for her decision.

“Do you mean that she can give the Abanda rain if she chooses?”

“Certainly,” he answered with an air of mild astonishment, “at any

time and in any quantity.”

Then I collapsed, for what is the use of arguing with cranks or

lunatics, although of course I knew that many natives hold similar

beliefs as to the powers of their rainmakers.

Now, to my surprise Hans took up his parable. Squatted there upon

the floor, he said in a brazen fashion:

“The Baas thinks himself wise, you all think yourselves wise, but

Hans is much wiser than any of you. This is what you should do.

Kaneke is the post that holds up the roof of the Abanda house.

They dare to offer to fight you and to say that they will take away

your priestess who lives in the lake, because Kaneke, whom they

believe to be your real chief and high-priest with a right to the

Lake Lady, has become their captain, so they are no longer afraid

of you or of the curses of your Engoi. Kill Kaneke and once more

they will be afraid of you, for without him they dare not invade

your land which they have always held to be holy.”

“And how are we to kill Kaneke?” asked Kumpana.

“Oh, that is easy. When those two men take your answer—unless the

Baas would rather do it himself—I will go with them and hide

behind a stone, or disguise myself as a Dabanda …”

Here Kumpana looked at Hans and shook his head.

“… then when Kaneke comes to listen I will shoot him dead; that

is all and there will be no more trouble.”

On hearing this cold-blooded proposition Kumpana expressed doubts

as to whether Kaneke could be disposed of in this way. It seemed

to be his idea that a priest of the Engoi could only meet his end

in certain fashions which he did not specify, and he added that had

it been possible for him to die otherwise, Kaneke would have done

so before, especially not long ago when he had tried to seize the

Shadow, and afterwards. However, he was prepared to consider Hans’

suggestion which did not seem to shock him in the least.

Having collected all our views Kumpana announced coolly that he

would now lay them before the Engoi and learn that celestial

potentate’s will through the mouth of its earthly incarnation and

minister, the Shadow. Of course, I thought that he meant to pay a

visit to the island in the lake and remembering the riddle of those

ancient buildings which I yearned to explore, I began to wonder if

I could not persuade him to allow me to be his companion on the

trip, though it is true that I had no liking for another midnight

journey through that forest.

But not a bit of it. His methods were very different. Suddenly he

commanded silence and ordered extra mats to be hung over the door-way and window-places, so that the room became almost dark. Then

he sat down on the floor, the two priests kneeling on either side

of him, while the Council of the Shadow, also sitting on the ground

and holding one another’s hands made a circle round the three of

them. Hans, who, scenting spooks showed a strong disposition to

bolt. I and—as I was relieved to observe—Arkle remained outside

this circle playing the part for audience.

“By Jove,” thought I to myself, for I did not dare open my lips,

“we are in for a séance.”

A séance it was. Yes, there in Central Africa a séance, or

something uncommonly like it, which once more caused me to remember

the saying of wise old Solomon, that there is no new thing under

the sun. Doubtless for tens of thousands of years there have been

séances among almost every people of the earth, civilized and

savage, or at any rate similar gatherings having for their object

consultation with spirits or other powers of which ordinary men

know nothing.

The priests said some prayer in archaic language which I did not

understand, if indeed they understood it themselves. I gathered,

however, that it was an invocation. Then the circle began to sing

a low and solemn hymn, Kumpana seated in the centre keeping time to

the chant with motions of his hands and head. By degrees these

motions grew fainter, till at last his chin sank upon his breast

and he went into a deep trance or sleep.

Then I understood. Kumpana was what in spiritualistic parlance is

called a medium. Doubtless, I reflected, it was because of this

gift of his which enabled him to put himself in communication, real

or fancied, with intelligences that are not of the earth and with

human beings at a distance, also to exercise clairvoyant faculties,

that he had risen to the high estate of President of the Council of

the Shadow, the real governing body of the land. Afterwards I

found that I was quite right in this supposition, for Kumpana was

humble by birth and not a member of one of the priestly families;

yet owing to his uncanny powers he outdistanced them all and in

fact was the ruler of the Dabanda. The chief of the tribe was but

an executive officer who acted upon the advice of the Council and

in due course became the husband of the Shadow of the day, destined

to the dreadful fate of dying with her when the Council so decreed.

As for the Shadow herself, she was nothing but an oracle, the Voice

of some dim divinity through whom the commands of that divinity

were made known to the Council, which interpreted them as it

pleased, if indeed it did not inspire them as even then I

suspected. The priests, by comparison, played a small part in the

constitution of this State. For it was a State in miniature, the

survival and remnant, I imagine, of what once had been a strong and

in its way highly civilized community, whose principal gods were

the moon and the planets (not the sun, so far as I could learn),

one that had owed any greatness it might possess to its religious

reputation and alleged magical powers, rather than to strength in

war.

Therefore in the end it had gone down before the fighting peoples,

as in this carnal world the spirit so often does in its struggle

with the flesh, for as someone remarked, I think it was Napoleon,

Providence is, or seems to be, on the side of the big battalions.

These priests, I should add, in addition to attending to the

religious rites and offerings before the altar, were the learned

men and doctors of the tribe. It was they who studied the stars,

drawing horoscopes and reading omens in them, not without some

knowledge; for I have reason to believe that they could predict

eclipses with tolerable accuracy. Also they kept records, though

whether these were in any kind of writing, or merely by means of

signs, I am sorry to say I was never able to ascertain, because on

this point their secrecy was strict.

This is all I could discover, during my brief sojourn among them,

as to the mystical religion of the Dabanda, if religion it can be

called, of which I was now witnessing one of the manifestations.

After Kumpana had sunk into his trace the chant continued for a

considerable time, growing fainter by degrees till at length it

seemed to come from very far away like distant music heard across

the sea. At least that was the effect it produced upon me, one as

I think, of a semi-hypnotic character, for undoubtedly this hymn

had a mesmeric power. At any rate, either owing to it or to the

gloom and closeness of that room, I fell into a kind of bodily

torpor which left my mind extremely active, as happens to us when

we dream.

In my imagination I seemed to see a shadowy Kumpana standing before

the beautiful woman upon whom I had looked on the altar platform,

and speaking to her in some great dim hall.

She listened; then stood a while with outstretched hands and

upturned eyes, like one who waits for inspiration. At last it

came, for tremblings ran up and down her limbs, a slight convulsion

shook her face, her eyes rolled and grew wild; the pythoness was

possessed of her spirit or familiar. Then her lips moved rapidly

as though from them were pouring a flood of words, and the fancy

faded.

Of course it was nothing but a dream induced by my surroundings and

some heavy perfume, which I forgot to say, unseen by me, evidently

the priests had sprinkled or scattered about the room. Yet

probably this dream represented faithfully enough what took place

when the oracle was consulted, for whether such ceremonies occurred

in ancient Greece or are practised by the witch-doctors or diviners

of Africa, there is much similarity in their methods.

I woke up, Kumpana woke up, everybody woke up. (Both Arkle and

Hans told me afterwards that, like myself, they went to sleep and

dreamed dreams.) The old seer yawned, rubbed his eyes, stretched

himself and said quietly that he had received full directions from

the Engoi as to what was to be done to meet the danger which

threatened the Dabanda, but what those directions might be he

declined to reveal. Then he sent for the two husbandmen and,

pointing to one of the priests, said to them:

“Return to the Western pass with this man, and tomorrow at sunset,

be at that spot where Kaneke spoke with you. If he comes again or

sends messengers, as he will, say that his words have been

delivered to the Engoi, and that this is the answer: ‘Remember

that you are accursed, O traitor Kaneke. Take what road you will,

but learn that every one of them leads you to the grave.’ Say also

that the rain which the people of the Abanda demand shall fall upon

them in plenty, for the time of drought is done. Let them be

content therewith and know that if any of them dare to follow

Kaneke into the land of the Holy Lake, a curse shall fall upon them

also, such a curse as has not been told of among them or their

fathers. Add these words: ‘O Kaneke, the Engoi reads your heart.

You do not seek rain to make fruitful the fields of the Abanda.

You seek the Shadow. Kaneke, for you that Shadow has faded; for

you she is dead. She whom you strove to bear away is dead and

there awaits you only the fate of one who has slain the Shadow.’”

This cryptic message Kumpana caused the two peasants, also the

priest who was to accompany them, to repeat twice. When he was

sure that they had it by heart to the last word, he sent them away

without any ceremony, as though he attached no particular

importance to their mission.

Now I could no longer suppress my irritation, or rather my wrath.

I was most heartily sick of the whole affair. I saw that there was

going to be fighting of some sort in which no doubt I should be

expected to take part, and I did not want to fight. What had I to

do with this ancient quarrel between two long-separated sections of

a tribe, who were at loggerheads over the possession of a priestess

supposed to be gifted with powers as a rainmaker?

Moreover, the moral atmosphere of the place was unwholesome and

jarred upon me. African customs of the more recondite sort and

ancient superstitions are very interesting, but I could have too

much of them, especially if certain, as I was, that behind their

outward harmlessness, lies hid some red heart of secret cruelty. I

wanted to get out of the place before that cruelty became manifest,

or before something horrible happened to me—with Arkle if

possible, but if he would not come, without him.

To tell the truth I was frightened. I suppose that my dreams in

the forest and the occurrences of this séance, if I may so call it,

had got upon my nerves, just as old Zikali used to do in the Black

Kloof. I have always believed that there are forces round us which

our senses do not appreciate, secret doors in the natural boundary

wall of life that most of us never find, though to them some may

have the key. But I also believe that it is most dangerous and

unwholesome to come into touch with those forces, or to peep

through those doors when they are opened by others. Here in

Dabanda-land, however, they always stood ajar, or so I imagined,

and through them came experiences and what Hans called “spooks”,

which thrust themselves upon the attention of those who did not

desire their company. In short I wished to be gone back to a

wholesome, everyday existence and never to see or hear anything

more of Lake Mone, its priestess, or her votaries.

“Kumpana,” I said, “is there to be a war between your people and

the Abanda?”

“Yes,” he answered with a slow and rather creepy smile, “there is

to be war—of a sort.”

“Then I want to have nothing to do with it. Kumpana, I want to get

out of your country at once; risks or no risks, I wish to be off.”

“I fear that is impossible, Lord Macumazahn,” he answered. “Have

you not heard the word of the Engoi that the drought which has

endured beyond the mountain for three years is at an end? That

word is true; great storms are coming up through which you could

not travel. The rain would stop you even if you escaped the spears

of the Abanda. Moreover,” he added quickly before I could express

disbelief in the arrival of these storms, and with a faint sneer,

“we have been told that the Lord Macumazahn is a very brave man,

one who loves fighting.”

“Then you have been told a lie. Also, who told you?”

“That does not matter. We know more about you than you think,

Macumazahn. Also we have been told that you accepted payment from

Kaneke to come to this country and not to leave it until the object

of your coming was accomplished, payment in ivory and gold; and we

believed, Lord Macumazahn, that you were a very honest man who

always fulfilled your promises, especially when your services had

been bought.”

Here Arkle, to his credit, intervened sharply, saying:

“Be silent, Kumpana. Would you insult your guest—?”

“Thank you, Arkle,” I broke in in English, “but I can look after

myself. He will only tell you that you are now the Chief of his

people and that I am your guest, not his.”

Then addressing Kumpana in his own language, I went on.

“You have been misinformed. I never pretended to great courage,

especially in wars that do not concern me. For the rest my bargain

was to accompany Kaneke to his country, not to fight battles there,

as I could prove to you if you were able to read my language. This

Kaneke who was to be your chief, said that he could not travel here

without me, which is true, for had it not been for me and Hans he

would never have started. Further, had it not been for us he would

have been killed by the Abanda who were hunting the white lord who

is now your chief. So I came, not for that reason but because he

paid me, for in such fashions I earn my living. Yet I should not

have come for this cause alone. I had another. It was that I had

heard of your holy lake and a little of your people and their

customs, and being curious in such matters I desired to look upon

the one and to study the others for myself—”

“Which things you have done to your heart’s content,” broke in

Kumpana.

“Still,” I went on not heeding him, “never shall it be said that I,

Macumazahn, took pay that I did not earn to the full. Therefore I

will take my share in your war, doing all that is asked of me as

best I can, especially as I have a score to settle with this

Kaneke, who by his treachery brought my two servants to their

death. Only I demand your promise and that of the Council of the

Shadow and that of the white lord who has now become your chief

against my counsel, that when this war is finished, I and my

servant shall be allowed to depart at once in peace and with such

help as you can give me.”

“It is yours, Lord, we swear it by the Engoi!” exclaimed Kumpana in

a humble voice and with the air of one who is ashamed of himself.

“Pardon my words if they offended you, for know that as to your

love of fighting I have but repeated what your servant Hans told

me, and for the rest I learned it from Kaneke.”

“Whom you have proved to be a traitor and a liar,” I said angrily.

Then I turned to Arkle and asked him whether he also gave me his

promise that I should be allowed to go when the war was ended.

“Of course, if you wish it,” he answered in English, “though I

hoped that you would stop here with us a while. The truth is,

Quatermain, that I shall be very lonely without you,” he added with

a sigh, which I thought pathetic, knowing all it meant.

“Then why do you stay here?” I asked bluntly.

“Because I must; because it is my fate; because I am under a charm

that may not be broken. Also, Quatermain, do you not understand”

(this he said rapidly and in a low voice) “that if I were to break

my oaths, or try to—which I cannot—I should not live another

day?”

“Yes, Arkle, I understand and I am sorry,” I replied, and, bowing

to them all, left the house.

“Baas,” said Hans outside, “do you remember that trap of willow-rods I made once to catch eels” (he meant barbel mudfish) “down on

the Tugela when we could get nothing else to eat? It was a very

good trap, Baas, for when the eel had pushed its way in, the willow

rods shut up behind it, so that it could not get out again, and

afterwards we ate it. This land is a trap like that, and the Baas

Red-Bull is the eel and the Shadow lady is the bait, and by and by

I think these spook people will cook and eat him.”

I shivered at Hans’ suggestive illustrations, and answered:

“Look out that they do not cook and eat us too.”

“Oh no, Baas, they won’t do that because they haven’t found the

right bait to catch you. Luckily there are not two Shadow-ladies,

Baas, and the trap is no good without the right bait.”

CHAPTER XVII

THE GREAT STORM

That evening clouds like to those of a monsoon began to bank up

over lake-land and all the country round so far as the eye could

see.

“That Shadow-lady is a very good rain-doctoress, Baas,” said Hans.

“You remember Kumpana said that she promised rain to those Abanda

who have had none for three years, or very little. Now I think

that they are going to get plenty.”

“Then perhaps they won’t make war,” I answered indifferently.

Certainly the weather was very peculiar. The heat, which had been

considerable for some days before, now grew intense; I should

imagine that on this particular evening it must have risen to 108

or 110 degrees in the shade. Moreover it was of a most oppressive

character; the air was so thick that I felt as though I were

breathing cream and I could not make the slightest effort without

bursting into profuse perspiration.

There I lay upon my bed stripped to the shirt in the best draught

that I could find, which was none at all, and gasped like a fish

out of water, praying that the storm would burst and bring

coolness. In the lady Shadow’s powers I had no faith. I was quite

certain, however, that Kumpana and the other old men were well

acquainted with the signs of the local weather, and knew that it

was about to undergo a general break after the long drought. Hence

the prophecy so confidently announced by the Council. This

drought, for some reason which I cannot explain, never affected the

crater area unduly, for the Dabanda had just gathered in an

excellent harvest.

Hans, who like most Hottentots was quite indifferent to heat, went

out into the town to prospect and returned saying that the people

showed considerable alarm. Some were looking to the roofs of their

houses, while others were driving their stock into caves and

sheltered places, or carrying home the last of the harvest in

baskets, even the children, of whom there were not many, being

pressed into this service. The priests, too, he said, were engaged

in building a kind of palm-leaf tent over the altar on the stone

platform, presumably to prevent the rain from putting out the fire,

which it seemed had always burned there from time immemorial.

The night came, a night of dreadful heat in which I could not sleep

a wink, or do anything except swallow quantities of water mixed

with the juice of a sub-acid, plum-like fruit that grew wild in the

crater, which made an astringent and most refreshing drink. The

dawn that followed was as dark as that of a November day in London,

but as yet there was no rain nor any lifting of the heavy silence.

After eating, or pretending to eat, I crept across to the Chief’s

house, to be informed by a priest outside that I could not be

admitted, as the lord Wanderer was engaged with the Council. I

took the hint and went home again, feeling sure that the plan was

to cut me off from Arkle over whom my influence was feared. It

almost seemed as though Kumpana and his companions were psychological

experts, if that is the right description, who could read what was

passing in the minds of others. Indeed, I began to believe that

although they could not understand our words when we spoke in

English in their presence, they understood the drift of them, also

that I wished to persuade him to shake off their shackles and get

out of their clutches.

Why were they so anxious to keep him here? I wondered. I wonder

still. Doubtless there was some overwhelming reason which they

would not reveal. As I do today, I inclined to the view that

mainly they were actuated by ambition. They, a dwindling,

superstition-ridden race, desired once more to become a power in

their world. To accomplish this they must add to their number,

which could only be done by incorporating the thousands of the

virile Abanda under the rule of a man of force and ability who

understood the arts of civilization. This to my mind is why Arkle

was brought to Mone-land, tempted by the bait of the beautiful

woman called Shadow to whom he had been so mysteriously drawn.

That is the best explanation which I can offer; not a very

satisfactory one, I admit, because it presupposes that this lady

Shadow could impress her personality upon him from a great

distance, as he alleged that she had done, and also some knowledge

of the future on the part of her priests and advisers. Or mayhap

these were only acting upon the dictates of some ancient prophecy

of a sort that is common enough among the more mystical of the

African peoples, although such prophecies rarely come to the

knowledge of Europeans, save in forms too obscure and tangled to be

understood by them. The same reason, if to a less degree, made

them so anxious that I should visit their country for a while.

They wanted to pick my brains as to our system of government and

the rest, which indeed they did upon every opportunity, although I

have not recorded their questions. They were a little, buried

folk, which its astute rulers, especially that very clever man

Kumpana, desired to build up again into a nation. This, I believe,

was the true key to the secret of all their plottings.

When I got back I found men strengthening the roof of my house and

others digging a trench round it, connecting it with a sluice or

water-course not far away, which showed me what they expected in

the way of a storm. I went indoors and tried to take a nap, but

could not because of curious noises that I was unable to explain

and felt too languid to investigate.

Towards sunset Kumpana came to see me. Although I received him

somewhat coldly he was very polite. Having inspected the

arrangements for the protection of the house, he apologized for

having sneered at me on the previous day, saying that he did it for

a reason and not because he believed that I was a coward or had

taken pay for which I did not intend to give consideration. This

reason, he explained frankly, was that he knew I should get angry

and promise to stop with them till the end of the war, and that

having once given my word I should not break it.

I sat amazed at his cunning, which showed so deep a knowledge of

human nature and such insight into my character, but I really was

too hot to argue with him. Then, leaving the subject quickly, he

begged me not to go out, as the storm might begin at any minute,

and also for another cause.

“You are wondering what the strange sounds you hear may mean,” he

said. “Come up to the roof of the house and I will show you.”

As I have said I had heard such sounds, which I thought were like

to those of the galloping of herds of cattle, mixed with grunts and

bellowings. When I reached the roof I saw whence they came. On

either side of the town enormous numbers of every kind of game were

rushing towards the forest, doubtless to shelter there from the

approaching tempest. There were elands, hartebeest, gnus, sable-antelope, oryx, buffaloes, quaggas, and a host of smaller animals,

all possessed by fear and all galloping towards the trees.

“These beasts understand what is coming,” said Kumpana, “and are

mad with terror. They will not hurt us Dabanda because they know

us, and, as you have seen, we have power over them; but if they

smelt you, a stranger, they would toss and trample you.”

I admitted that it was very probable, and stood a while staring at

this, the strangest sight, perhaps, that I have seen in all my

experience as a hunter. Presently I turned to descend, but Kumpana

bade me wait a while if I would see something still more strange.

As he spoke I heard a sound which I could not mistake: that of an

elephant trumpeting shrilly.

“I thought you told me that all the elephants had been driven out

of Mone-land,” I said, astonished.

“So I did, Lord,” answered Kumpana, “but it seems that they have

come back again, flying before the great storm or earthquakes for

shelter to the country where some of them were bred generations

ago, before we sent them away.”

As he spoke, emerging from a cloud of dust to the right of the town

there appeared an enormous bull elephant running rapidly, and

behind it many others. I knew the beast at once by its size, the

grey markings on its trunk and forehead, and certain peculiarities

of its huge tusks. It was the king-elephant with which we had

experienced so curious an adventure upon the mound in the midst of

the plain that Kaneke had called the gathering-place of elephants;

the very beast which we had seen being greeted by the countless

company of its fellows, which, too, with them, had afterwards

pursued us back to our camp. Its appearance here was so

marvellous, so utterly unexpected even in that eerie land of

strange happenings, that really I turned quite faint. As for Hans,

who was beside me, he sank down in a heap, muttering:

“Allemagter! Baas, here is that ugly old devil which threw Little

Holes and Jerry into the pool and nearly blew my stomach out. He

has come after us, Baas, and all is finished.”

“Not yet,” I answered as quietly as I could. “Also perhaps he has

come after someone else.”

Then I turned and watched the majestic creature rush past the town,

followed by a great number of others, between fifty and seventy, I

should say; all of them, I noted, mature bulls, for not a cow or a

half-grown beast could I see among them.

Kumpana seemed to understand my wonder at this circumstance and

without its being explained to him, for he said:

“These elephants are the bulls that were bred in this country long

years ago in our fathers’ days, and have now returned to their

home. The cows and all their progeny have gone elsewhere, and

indeed we did not need them.”

“What do you mean by that?” I asked sharply, but he pretended not

to hear me, or at any rate he made no answer.

When the herd of elephants had thundered past and, following all

the other creatures, had vanished into the forest, we descended

from the roof into the house, where Kumpana began to say farewell,

cautioning me not to leave its shelter until the coming storm was

over.

“Wait a minute,” I said. “Where is the white lord, your new

Chief?”

“In his own place where he must stay, Macumazahn,” he answered.

“I perceive that you wish to separate us,” I said again.

“Perhaps for a while, Macumazahn, for the good of both of you.

You, for your part, wish to separate him from us which, though it

is natural enough, may not be. The white lord has sworn himself to

the Dweller in the Lake and must abide with her and us. Should he

try to break his oath, he would be slain; and should you tempt him

to do so, you would be slain also. Therefore it is best that you

should remain apart till this war is accomplished.”

“Is it certain that there will be a war?” I asked, “and, if so,

when?”

“Yes, Lord, I think there will be a war of men after that of heaven

is finished,” and he pointed towards the sky, “for Kaneke will

surely strive to win back all that he has lost. In that war, Lord,

you will be called upon to take your share, though perhaps it will

not be such a one as you expect. When the time comes I will wait

upon you, and now farewell, for the great storm is at hand and I

must seek shelter while it rages.”

When he had gone I talked to Hans about the arrival of the

mysterious old elephant and its herd, which upset him very much,

for he answered:

“I tell you, Baas, that these beasts are not elephants; they are

men bewitched by the Dabanda wizards, and, Baas, there is something

terrible going to happen in this accursed land.”

As he spoke “something terrible” began to happen, for the dense air

was filled with a moaning sound, the exact like of which I had

never heard before, caused, I suppose, by wind that as yet we did

not feel, stirring in the tops of the trees of the vast forest. It

was as though all the misery in the wide world had gathered and was

giving utterance to its pain and sorrows in prolonged, half-stifled

groans.

“The ghosts are flying over us, Baas,” began Hans, but he did not

finish his sentence, for at that moment the solid ground began to

heave beneath our feet. It heaved slowly in a sickening fashion

that made my vitals writhe within me and threw to the floor

articles from some rough shelves which Hans had made.

“Earthquake! Out you go before the roof comes down!” I exclaimed

to Hans, quite unnecessary advice in his case, for he was already

through the door-way. I followed, running across the little garden

to the open space where there was nothing to fall upon us. Here I

was brought to a standstill, for another prolonged heave threw me

to the ground where I thought it safer to remain, praying that it

would not open and swallow me.

“Look!” said Hans at my side, pointing to one of the two column-like towers whence the Dabanda astrologers observed the stars, or

rather at what had been the tower, for as he spoke it bowed

gracefully towards us, as did the forest trees, as though they were

making an obeisance. Then down it fell with a crash—which,

however, we could not hear because of the moaning sound that I have

described.

The heaving ceased; that earthquake went by, and with it the

moaning, which was succeeded by an intense and awful silence. It

was now the hour of sunset and the air seemed to be alight with a

red glow like to that of molten iron, though the sun itself could

not be seen. This glow, in which everything appeared monstrous and

distorted, suddenly broke up into great flakes of furious colour,

which to my fancy resembled wide-winged and fantastic creatures,

such as haunted the earth in the reptile age, only infinitely

larger, flitting away into the darkness overhead.

These shapes departed on rainbow-tinted wings and the darkness

fell, a palpable thing, a mass of solid night stretching from earth

to heaven. A minute later this inky blackness ceased to be, for it

was changed to fire. All space was filled with lightnings, not

here and there only, but everywhere those lightnings blazed, and in

the glare of them we could see for miles and miles. They seemed to

be striking all about us. Thus I saw trees collapse and vanish in

clouds of dust, and a great rock that lay not far off shatter to

pieces. By common consent we rose and ran back to the house, and

as we passed its door came the thunder.

I have listened to much thunder of the African brand during my

roving life, but over it all that of Lake Mone can claim supremacy.

Never have I heard its equal. Some thunder cracks, like a million

rifle shots, some roars like the greatest guns, and some rolls and

mutters. This did all three, and at once; moreover, the cliffs of

the huge crater in which the Dabanda lived caused it to echo

backwards and forwards, multiplying the volume of its sound. The

general effect was fearsome and overwhelming; combined with that of

simultaneous and continual lightnings it crushed the mind.

Through the tumult I was aware of Hans staring at me with a

terrified countenance which the blue gleam of the flashes had

turned livid, and heard him shouting out something about Judgment

Day, a quite unnecessary reminder, as my own thoughts were already

fixed upon that event, which almost I believed to be at hand. I do

not know for how long we endured this awful demonstration of Nature

at her worst, because I grew bewildered and could take no count of

time, but at length the turmoil lessened somewhat and the flashes

blazed at longer intervals. Then, just as I hoped that the storm

was passing, the rain, or rather the water-spout, began. Seldom

have I seen such rain; it fell in a sheet and with an incessant

roar for hours.

Our house had stood the shakings of the earthquake, which still

continued at intervals, because its walls were made of tree-trunks

plastered over, and therefore being non-rigid, gave to the shock.

But these had cracked the roof in two places, with the result, of

course, that the water poured into the building, so that soon we

were half flooded. Indeed had not the cement-like mixture, as yet

not firmly set, which had been poured on to the roof that day to

strengthen it, been driven into those cracks, and closed them, I

think that we should have been washed out of the house. But

luckily this happened and we only experienced great discomfort.

Luckily, too, our beds stood upon a kind of raised platform, so

that the water did not reach them and we were able to lie down, and

after the earth-tremors ceased, at last to sleep.

When I woke daylight, of a sort, had come and it was raining less

heavily. Throwing a skin rug over my head, I climbed to the roof,

and beheld a scene of desolation. All the country was more or less

under water, some of the houses of the town had been shaken down by

the earthquake or washed away, and many of the forest trees were

shattered by lightning.

The open place on which stood the stone platform was a lake, and

the shelter which had been erected to protect the fire upon the

altar was crushed or shaken flat, having as we learned afterwards,

extinguished the fire, to the great consternation of the Dabanda

people and especially of their priests. Moreover, although there

was less rain falling within the crater-ring, over the country

beyond, as the sky there showed, it was pouring as heavily as ever.

Also new thunderstorms were in progress far away.

For three days this miserable weather continued, marked by

constantly recurring tempests beyond the borders of Mone-land, and

a few more slight shocks of earthquake. During all this time Hans

and I scarcely left the house, nor were we visited by anyone,

except the women who waited on us and brought us food. With great

courage these women stuck to their duty through everything, and

from them we learned that all the people were terrified, for no

such tempest was told of in their annals.

On the fourth morning old Kumpana appeared, looking as calm as

ever. He told us that, so far as they could learn, no one had been

killed in Mone-land which, as the crops had been harvested, had

taken little harm. Reports reached them, however, that the Abanda

who lived on the outer slopes of the mountains and plains beyond

had suffered terribly. Some had been drowned by the torrents which

rushed down the hillsides, and some crushed in their houses that,

owing to their lack of timber, were largely built of stone, and

therefore were overthrown by the earthquake. Also such crops as

they had, which ripened later than those in Mone-land, were

flattened and destroyed.

I remarked that all these misfortunes must have taken the heart out

of them, with the result that they would probably give up the idea

of making war, especially as they had now got all the rain they

wanted.

“Not so,” answered Kumpana, “for they need food of which they know

there is plenty in our country and nowhere else. Tomorrow, Lord,

we shall ask you to march with us to fight them.”

“Where?” I inquired.

“I am not sure, Lord. The order that we have received is that we

should march to the western pass. Doubtless when we come to it,

other orders will reach us, telling us what we must do.”

“Whose orders?” I asked, exasperated. “Those of your new Chief?”

“No, Lord, those of the Engoi which come to us through the air.”

“Oh,” I exclaimed, “do they? And does your Chief, the Wanderer,

come with us to this battle?”

“No, Lord, he stays to guard the town. Now I must bid you farewell

as there is much to do. Tomorrow, when it is time to march, I will

send for you.”

“Well, I’m blessed!” I said as the door closed behind him.

“No, Baas,” said Hans, “not blessed; another word, Baas, which your

reverend father would never let me speak. As he used to say, Baas,

the world is full of wonders and it is nice to see as many of them

as one can before we go to the place where there is nothing but

fire, like there was here the other night when the storm burst.

This will be a very funny war, Baas, in which the orders reach the

generals through the air and they don’t know what they are going to

do until they get them. That war will be a fine thing to think

about afterwards, Baas, when we are back in Durban or in the Place

of Fires, whichever it may be.”

“Stop your ugly mouth and listen,” I said. “I mean to get out of

this hole. We are going to march to the western pass; well, I

shall run through it and desert.”

“Yes, Baas, and leave the guns and everything else behind, and be

killed by the Abanda on the other side, or lose our way and starve

if we escape them. Well, it will be soon over, Baas, and we shan’t

have a long journey to make this time.”

So he went on, talking sound enough sense in his silly, topsy-turvy

idioms, but I paid no more heed to him.

So sick and tired was I of the whole business that I did not care

what happened. I would just go as the wind took me, hoping that it

would blow me out of Mone-land as soon as possible. If it were

fated otherwise I could not help it and there was nothing more to

be said.

That day I made yet another effort to see Arkle, but when we had

tramped through the mud to the Chief’s house, it was only to find

it guarded by soldiers, who politely turned us back. Then

understanding that a wall had been built between him and me which I

could not climb, I returned and wrote up my diary. Those pages of

smudged pencil, by help of which I indite this record, are before

me now and their language is so lurid that it is difficult to

believe they were written by a man as temperate in all things, and

especially on paper, as myself.

That night some solemn ceremony took place on the altar platform,

to which I was not asked and, I think, should not have attended if

I had been. I believe that it had to do with the relighting of the

fire, for from our roof we saw this blaze up suddenly. It was

witnessed by a great number of people, Arkle among them, for Hans

caught sight of him arrayed in Dabanda dress and escorted by

priests with torches.

It distressed me to think of him playing the part of a high-priest

among these uncanny other-world kind of folk, but like the rest,

there it was and could not be helped.

The religious function, for I supposed it to be religious, was

accompanied by much melancholy music and many songs, also by drum-beating, which I had not heard before. It went on for a long while

and ended with a torchlight procession back to the town.

After we had breakfasted next morning, Kumpana arrived, accompanied

by a guard of thirty spearmen, and remarked casually, just as

though an evening party were concerned, that if we were ready, it

was time to start to the war. I replied in an airy fashion that,

being impatient for battle, I had been waiting for him, for I

wished to give him the impression that I was pawing the ground with

eagerness, like the warhorse in the Book of Job.

He smiled and said he was glad to hear it and that he hoped I

should remain in the same mind, adding that he knew I could run

fast from the rate at which I entered Mone-land.

I reflected to myself that this would be nothing compared with the

rate at which I should leave it, if I got the chance, but contented

myself with inquiring who would look after our possessions while we

were away. He replied that they would be removed to a hiding-place

and well cared for; which left me wondering whether they would ever

come out of it again.

So off we went, closely surrounded by the guard, two soldiers

carrying our spare rifles, ammunition, and necessary kit. As we

marched through the town where I saw women, but no men, repairing

the damage done to the houses and gardens by the storm, a girl

pushed through the soldiers and gave me a note. It was from Arkle

and read:

My Dear Quatermain,

Don’t misjudge me, as I fear you must. I cannot go with you. It

is impossible, for reasons you would scarcely understand. Also if

I could, my foot is not well enough yet. Whatever you see, do not

be astonished, for these Dabanda are not as other people and play

their own game, which is dark and difficult to follow. Above all,

don’t try to escape. It would only mean your death and that of

Hans.

That was all, except his initials, and quite enough too, as I

thought. Evidently Arkle was an eel in a trap, as Hans put it, or

a bull in a net, a better simile in his case. Also he or some of

his confounded councillors had guessed my desire to escape, for in

this country a bird of the air seemed to carry the matter even

faster than it does in others, and he warned me against it, having

been told what the result would be. Well, the idea must be

abandoned; from the first it was madness to think that such an

attempt could succeed.

About three miles away at a village, or what remained of it after

the storm, we met the “army”, to give it Kumpana’s imposing name.

It consisted of some two hundred and fifty spearmen! I asked him

where the rest of it was and he replied, with his odd little smile,

that it did not exist, for all the other able-bodied men had been

left to defend the town and the Chief. Then I asked him what

strength the Abanda could put into the field. He replied that he

was not sure, but he thought from ten to twelve thousand warriors,

for they were a large people accustomed to the use of arms, and

sometimes they warred with other tribes and, always conquering,

absorbed those who were left of them.

Lastly I inquired in mild exasperation how he expected to fight ten

thousand men with two hundred and fifty. He replied blandly that

he did not know, being himself a councillor and seer, not a

soldier, but that doubtless it would be done somehow according to

the directions he might receive; adding, I presume in a sarcastic

spirit, that my presence would be worth many regiments, because

Kaneke and the Abanda were afraid of me and my white man’s wisdom

and weapons. Then I gave up, fearing lest more of such gibes

should cause me to lose my temper and say things I might regret.

We marched on for the most of that day through the beautiful crater

country where flooded rivulets—for it had no large streams, some

of which we forded with difficulty—gave evidence of the great

tempest, as did landslides on the slopes and lightning-shattered

trees. But not one soul did we meet, although I saw a few cattle

grazing, apparently unherded. The land seemed to be quite

deserted, even by the game which I presumed was still hiding in the

forest, and when I asked Kumpana where the people had gone, he said

he did not know, but he supposed that they were in hiding fearing a

return of the storm. Or perhaps, he added, as though by an after-thought, it was the Abanda that they feared, knowing that now they

were under the command of Kaneke who might dare to enter the land.

At length in the afternoon we came to a village, to reach which we

had to march round some deep clefts that, from their fresh

appearance and great depth must, I saw, have been caused by the

recent earthquakes. Here a few old men, and some women, also old,

were engaged in cooking large quantities of food, evidently in

preparation for our arrival.

We were now within five or six miles of the wall of cliff which

surrounded the whole crater, although we could scarcely see this

cliff, because the village lay in a hollow and for some time we had

been passing through park-like country where tall trees grew so

thickly that they cut off the view.

We ate of the food, which was excellent, and rested, because

Kumpana told us that we should remain at this place until far on

into the night, when we must march again, so as to reach the cliff

by dawn. I asked what we were to do when we did reach it. Again

he replied that he did not know; perhaps we should go through the

pass and attack the Abanda, or perhaps we should wait for them to

attack us, or perhaps we should retire. Then he hurried off before

I could put more questions.

The last thing I saw as the sun set was the party of old men and

women who had cooked the food tramping off eastwards with their

bundles on their backs, which suggested that they did not mean to

return. Then, in order that I might be fresh in the face of

emergencies, I went to sleep, and so remained till about three on

the following morning when Kumpana woke us and suggested that we

should breakfast, as the army was about to start.

Having swallowed something, presently off we went, travelling by

the light of the waning moon and the stars. It was so dark among

those trees that had not a man led me by the hand I should not have

been able to see where to go, but the gloom did not seem to

incommode the Dabanda, a people who must have had the eyes of cats.

On we travelled, always uphill, for we were now climbing the slope

of the cliff, till at length the sky grew grey with dawn. Then we

halted, waiting for the sun.

Presently with startling suddenness it appeared over the eastern

edge of the crater far away, its level beams striking upon the

western cliffs, although the crater itself was still shrouded in

mist and gloom. Or rather, immediately in front of us, they struck

upon where the cliff should have been and showed us a strange and

terrible sight, which caused a gasp of astonishment to burst from

the lips of even those cold, silent men. For behold, it was riven

from crest to foot by the shock of earthquake, and in place of the

narrow pass a few yards wide, was a vast gulf that could not have

measured less than a quarter of a mile across!

The great mass of the precipice was torn asunder and hurled, I

suppose, down the outer slopes; at any rate there was but little

debris in the cleft itself, which suggested that the earth-waves

that did the damage must have rolled from within the crater

outwards towards the plain. Why it should have concentrated its

terrific strength and centre of disturbance upon this particular

spot I cannot say who am ignorant of the ways of earthquakes,

unless it was because here the wall of cliff was thinner and weaker

than elsewhere; also it may have been destroyed in other sections

of the gigantic ring of precipice upon which I never looked.

The result of the cataclysm, so far as the Dabanda and their

country were concerned, was obvious. They were no longer protected

by a mighty natural wall pierced only with a few narrow clefts that

could be held by a handful of men, for there was now, as Hans

remarked, a fine open road between them and the rest of Africa, on

which an army could march in safety without breaking its ranks.

Their seclusion was gone and their secret land lay open to the

world.

Did Kumpana understand this and all it meant? I wondered as I

gazed at his impassive face. More, did he know what had happened

before we reached the place, and, if so, why did he come there with

his beggarly little force? Was it with some subtle hidden object?

I cannot tell, though in view of what happened afterwards I have my

own opinion of the matter.

CHAPTER XVIII

ALLAN RUNS AWAY

“If you intended to hold the pass with these, Kumpana,” I said,

pointing to the redoubtable two hundred and fifty, “now that it has

grown so wide, that cannot be done.”

“No, Lord,” he answered, “it is not possible by strength alone;

even charging cattle could sweep us away with their horns if there

were enough of them.”

“Then what do you mean to do, Kumpana? Return home again?”

“I cannot say, Lord. Let us go forward and look through the gap in

the cliff, for then perhaps we shall learn what we must do. It may

be that the Abanda, frightened by its fall, have run away, or that

they are afraid to enter lest another earthquake should come out of

Mone-land and swallow them up living.”

“Perhaps,” I answered, but to myself I thought that unless I were

mistaken, it would take more than this to frighten the furious and

desperate Kaneke.

Kumpana issued an order to his men who, with a kind of stolid

indifference which suggested fatalism or a knowledge that they were

protected by unseen forces, instantly marched forward towards the

new pass.

“Baas,” said Hans to me, “we are not captains here, but only ‘luck-charms’, so let us keep behind. I don’t like the look of that

place, Baas.”

As usual there was practical wisdom in Hans’ suggestion, for if

there should happen to be an ambush, or anything of the sort, I did

not see why we should be its first victims. So, taking my chance

of again being sneered at by Kumpana, I kept well to the rear of

the little column, among the carriers indeed.

Well, there WAS an ambush, in fact a first-class specimen of that

stratagem of war. In one of Scott’s poems I remember a description

of how a highland hillside which seemed to be quite deserted,

suddenly bristled with men springing up from behind every bush and

fern-brake. Substituting rocks, of which thousands lay about in

the newly opened pass, for bushes and bracken, the scene repeated

itself in that Central African gorge.

Indeed, unless their Engoi had developed wonderful spiritual

activity for their protection, I suppose that every Dabanda spears-man would have been killed, had not some donkey among their enemies

made the mistake of blowing a horn before they had advanced into

the mouth of the pass, thereby giving a premature signal to attack.

At the sound of this horn the rocks became alive with Abanda

warriors who rushed to the onslaught with a savage yell. Our

heroes gave one look, then turned and bolted in a solid mass, I

presume without waiting for orders. Or perhaps their orders were

to bolt at this critical moment, which had been foreseen. Really I

neither know nor care.

“Run, Baas,” said Hans, wheeling round and giving me the example,

and off I went back upon our spoor. Never a shot did I fire, or do

anything except foot it as hard as I was able.

I think I have told how Kumpana remarked at the beginning of this

expedition that he believed I was a good runner, which is, or was,

true, for in those days I was very light and wiry with an excellent

pair of lungs. Now I determined to show him that he had not over-estimated my powers. In fact, for quite a long way I led the field

with Hans, who also knew how to step out when needful, immediately

at my heels.

“Baas,” puffed that worthy when we had done a mile or two down the

slope, “if we did not lead these dogs to battle, at least we are

leading them out of it.”

So we were, but just then some of the most active of them got ahead

of us.

Well, to cut a long story short, we ran all day, with short

intervals for repose and refreshment. Looking back just as we

entered the more densely wooded country where we had camped the

night before, I saw that this strategical retreat was quite

necessary, for at a distance followed the Abanda army by the

hundred, or, unless my fears multiplied their number, by the

thousand. But they could not run as we did, though once they made

a spurt and pressed us hard. Or perhaps they feared lest they too

were being led into an ambush and therefore advanced with caution,

sending scouts ahead. At any rate, after this rush from which we

escaped with difficulty, they fell back again, and when we reached

Dabanda-town, which we did before evening, for we returned at about

twice the rate of our outward journey, they were not in sight.

Some of the Council and a few others were waiting for us in the

town. Evidently they knew we were coming, how I cannot say, but

there they were with watchmen set upon the altar platform. Also

most fortunately they had prepared food and native beer for the

consumption of their retiring heroes. Good heavens! how we fell

upon it, especially upon the drink, of which Hans swallowed so much

that at last I was obliged to knock the pot out of his hand.

Whilst we were devouring this meal, with anxious eyes fixed upon

the route we had followed, I realized the fact that except for the

few people I have mentioned, the town was quite deserted; nobody

could be seen.

“Where have they gone?” I said to Hans.

“Into the forest to join the spook-elephants, I expect, Baas,” he

replied, stuffing a lump of meat into his mouth, “and that is where

we shall have to follow them.”

So it was, for just then Kumpana arrived, quite calm but looking a

little the worse for wear. Having congratulated me upon “the

strength of my legs”, he remarked that we must take refuge by the

lake at once, and that as the forest was a difficult place in which

to find one’s way, “we should do well to keep close to him.”

“Certainly,” I replied, “and I hope that this time you, Kumpana,

will keep close to us.”

So we started, wearily enough, and without an opportunity being

given to us to visit our house, as I wished to do. As we reached

the first of the trees, looking back I saw the Abanda hordes

running into the town, which was quite undefended. They did not

stay to plunder or to burn it; they simply ran through it on our

tracks. When they reached the stone platform, however, they

stopped, and one of them, I think it was Kaneke himself, rushed up

the steps followed by some others, and scattered the sacred fire,

extinguishing it for the second time.

Kumpana, at my side, shuddered at the sight.

“He shall pay. Oh, certainly he shall pay!” he muttered, adding,

“Come on, you fools, come on. The Engoi awaits you!”

Then we plunged into the thick of the forest and lost sight of

them.

This happened while it was still afternoon, some time before nightfall, so that light of a sort befriended us until we were well into

the wood. Just before the perennial gloom of the place, deepened

by the advance of evening, turned to darkness, we reached a spot

where few trees grew because of the swampy nature of the soil.

Here, on the shore of a shallow lake formed by flood water, Kumpana

announced that we must camp till the following morning, as so many

men ignorant of its paths could not travel through the forest

before the sun rose.

“What if the Abanda overtake us here?” I asked.

“They will not overtake us,” he answered. “They dare not enter the

trees until there is light, and then I think that only the boldest

will come, because they know this place to be holy, one forbidden

to them.”

As I was too tired to inquire further about this or any other

matter, I accepted the explanation and just lay down to sleep,

hoping that Kumpana would not give us the slip for the second time.

To tell the truth I was so exhausted after racing along all day in

a hot climate, that I was ready to trust to luck, not caring much

what happened.

On the whole I rested well, which is not always the case when one

is over-weary with mental and physical exertion, and without

suffering from any of the unpleasant experiences which had

afflicted Hans and myself on our return from our visit to the lake.

Once I did wake up, however; I think it was after midnight, for the

moon, now in its last quarter, shone brightly overhead and was

reflected in the flood-water. By its light I saw a long line of

shadowy and gigantic forms marching between the trees upon the

farther side of this water, and for a moment wondered what they

were, or whether I was dreaming. Then I remembered the elephants

that we had seen fleeing before the storm and earth-tremblings to

refuge in this forest, where doubtless they still remained with the

other wild beasts.

After this I went to sleep again, nor did I wake until the sun was

up. We rose and ate of food that was given to us. Whether the

soldiers carried it with them from the town, or whether it was

brought to them during the night, I do not know, but both then and

afterwards there was plenty for us all.

Our meal finished, Kumpana gave the order to march, and off we

went, walking slowly round the stretch of flood-water which I have

mentioned into the dense woodland beyond. While we crossed this

patch of comparatively open ground, I observed that our numbers

were now much diminished. We had entered the forest over two

hundred and fifty strong. Now I could not count more than five and

twenty men, the rest had vanished.

I asked Kumpana where they had gone.

“Oh,” he answered, “this way and that to talk to the wild beasts,

of which the wood is full after the storm, and tell them that we

are friends whom they must not harm,” a reply I thought so crazy

that I did not continue the conversation.

When I discussed the matter with Hans, however, he took another

view.

“They are spook-beasts, as I have told you before, Baas,” he said,

“especially the elephants. These wizards have command over them,

as we have seen with our eyes, and doubtless have gone to order

them out of our path, as Kumpana says. It is as well, Baas,” he

added meaningly, “seeing that we are without rifles.”

“Have you not been able to find that man to whom I gave mine to

carry?” I asked, colouring.

“No, Baas. He is not to be found; perhaps he is dead or perhaps he

has stolen it, or hidden it away. Nor are those who carried the

spare guns to be found.”

“And where is yours?” I asked sharply.

“Baas,” he answered in a dejected voice, “I threw it away. Yes,

when I thought those Abanda were going to catch us, I threw it away

that I might run the faster.”

We looked at each other.

“Hans,” I said, “do you remember that Tom and Jerry did this same

thing when we were hunted by the elephants, and how I told them

that this WE should never do, whereon they said that if they were

not Christians they would hang themselves for very shame? And do

you remember that only just before they died so bravely to save us,

you taunted them about that business, bidding them throw away their

guns again if they were too heavy to carry?”

“Yes, Baas, I have been thinking of it all night.”

“And yet, Hans, we have done worse than they did, for they were

only being hunted by beasts, while we fled from men, so that now

when presently we may have to fight, we have no rifles.”

“I know it all, Baas, and I am so ashamed that almost I could hang

myself as Little Holes and Jerry wished to do.”

“Then we ought to hang together, for what you did I did. At least

I gave my rifle to a savage, knowing that very likely I should

never see it again, so that we shall be defenceless before the

enemy and these Dabanda will make a mock of me, the white man who

has promised to serve them.”

Here Hans became so deeply affected that I saw him draw the back of

his hand over his flat little face to wipe away the tears of shame.

For a while we trudged on in silence, then he said in a broken

voice:

“Baas, it was quite right of you to give your rifle to a black man

to carry, as it is the custom of white masters to do, and if he

stole it or was killed, it cannot be helped. But it is different

with me. Baas, I am a yellow cur, but even curs can learn a

lesson, as I have.”

“What lesson, Hans?”

“That we shouldn’t judge each other, Baas, as I did when I mocked

Tom and Jerry, because you see we may always do the same things or

worse ones. Baas, if ever we get back to Zanzibar I will give all

the money I earn upon this journey to Jerry’s daughter, who is in a

school; yes, and my share of that which Kaneke gave you, and not

spend one shilling upon gin or new clothes.”

“That shows a good spirit,” I said, “but what should I do?”

Now all this requires a little explanation. When writing about our

flight before the Abanda hordes, I was ashamed to tell what after

all I have been obliged to record because of this talk between Hans

and myself, and what happened afterwards. As I have said, there

was a time during that flight when the Abanda, rushing forward,

pressed us very hard, and because of the heavy rifles and

ammunition which we carried, Hans and I were dropping behind and

likely to be speared. Then it was that I gave my gun and

cartridges to a long-legged soldier who bore nothing except his

spear, and Hans, seeing me do so, bettered my bad example by

throwing his away, which enabled us to put on the pace and again

draw out of danger.

It may be argued that we were justified by the circumstances, and,

so far as Hans was concerned, doubtless this is true. But I was

not justified, I, the white man to whom all these people looked up

as one braver and superior to themselves, and at whom now doubtless

they jeered as Hans had done at Tom and Jerry. There is nothing

more to say, except that I look upon this incident as one of the

greatest humiliations of my career. Not only to Hans did it teach

a lesson as to loose and easy criticism of others, for from it I

learned one which I shall never forget throughout my life.

For most of that day, stopping now and again at the command of

Kumpana, we marched on slowly and with caution through the forest,

of which the dense gloom did not tend to raise our spirits, that

were already low enough. From time to time I caught sight of

elephants and other wild game, which stared at us as we went by,

but neither ran away nor attempted to attack. It was as though

they knew these Dabanda, to whom they were taboo, to be their

friends. Indeed, during that march I grew quite convinced that

Kumpana’s story as to the mastery of his people over the beasts of

the field was true, for, as will be seen, they were savage enough

where others were concerned, whom, I suppose, they recognized to be

different by their smell. Of course, as I have said, Hans had

another explanation, for he was, and always remained, convinced

that these animals had the spirits of men in them, which is absurd.

At length towards evening we emerged from the forest and saw the

great lake in front of us. Also we saw that on its shores were

gathered several hundreds of the Dabanda, a sight that gladdened my

eyes, and in the midst of them Arkle himself, easy to recognize by

his great height and size and red beard, although he wore Dabanda

dress and carried a long spear.

Presently we were among them and I was shaking Arkle by the hand.

“I see that you look depressed,” he said, “and I fear that you have

had a bad time.”

“Very bad,” I answered. “I have run from enemies faster than ever

I ran before, and I have lost my arms, which a soldier should not

do—they were heavy to carry, you see. Nor indeed did I want to

shoot people with whom I had no quarrel.”

“I don’t wonder you threw them away, Quatermain. I did the same

when the Abanda hunted me. I had rather live without a rifle than

stick to it and die.”

“The point could be argued,” I answered, “but there isn’t time.

Tell me, what the devil does all this play-acting mean? Why was I

dragged out with two hundred and fifty men to fight thousands of

Abanda, which, of course, was impossible?”

“I am not sure. You see, Quatermain, I am only a figurehead in

this country, and figureheads are not told everything. But if you

ask me, I believe you were sent to be a bait. You see, Kaneke

thinks you a very great man, and it seems he had announced that if

he could capture you, or, failing this, if he could kill you, the

Abandas must win, he would get all he wanted—you know what it is—

and they would grow into a mighty people, never lacking rain or

anything else. Also the Dabanda would become their slaves and the

power and wisdom of the Engoi would go with them ever more.”

“Still I don’t understand why we went out to fight,” I said,

“without the ghost of a chance of winning, or doing anything except

run away.”

“Because you were meant to run away, Quatermain, in order that you

might draw the Abanda after you. Unless you had run they would not

have followed, for not even Kaneke could make them enter the Land

of the Holy Lake. You see the ruse has succeeded, for presently

they will be here. Don’t look at me angrily, for on my honour I

had nothing to do with the business.”

“I should hope not!” I exclaimed. “For if I thought you could play

such a trick upon a white man who has done his best to help you, I

would never speak to you again. Besides, what is the object of it

all? Why have the Abanda been tempted to take possession of this

country, from which you will never be able to drive them out

again?”

“I cannot tell you,” he answered in a low voice, “but I think in

order that their fighting men may be destroyed. Quatermain, I

believe that something terrible awaits those unfortunate people,

but I swear to you that I do not know what it is; those priests

will not tell me.”

At this moment Hans nudged me.

“Look,” he said, pointing towards the edge of the forest.

I did so and perceived a great body of men, a thousand or more of

them, emerging from its shadows, drawn up in companies. The Abanda

were upon us with Kaneke at the head of them. Arkle saw them also,

for I heard him utter an exclamation.

“Well,” I said, “we can’t run away this time, so I suppose that we

must fight until we are killed. Have you your rifle? If so, give

it me and I will shoot that Kaneke.”

“It has been taken from me,” he answered, shaking his head. “When

I protested they told me that the white man’s weapons were unlawful

for me, and would not be needed.”

As he spoke a number of Dabanda priests ran up and surrounded

Arkle, so that for the time I saw no more of him. Confusion ensued

while Kumpana and other officers tried to marshal their men into a

double rank. Hans and I found ourselves pushed into a place in the

centre of the first line. There we stood, unarmed, except for our

revolvers and a few cartridges, which fortunately we had preserved.

Arkle, still surrounded by priests and others, was kept at the back

of the second rank in such a position and with such precautions as

to give me the idea that the business of this force was to act as a

bodyguard and safeguard him, rather than to fight the Abanda. Yet

it seemed that fight it must, for the lake, into which retreat was

impossible, was behind it and the enemy was in front.

The Abanda marched on. Scrutinizing their faces as they came, it

struck me that there was something the matter with these men. Of

course they were tired, which was not strange, seeing that after

enduring the terror of the earthquake and the storm, they had

pursued us all the way from their own boundary and through the

forest. But their aspect suggested more than weariness; terror was

written on their faces. Why? I wondered; since although they must

have left most of their army behind, perhaps in occupation of

Dabanda-town, they still outnumbered our force by three or four to

one.

Had they perhaps met with strange adventures in the forest, as once

Hans and I had done? Or were they overcome by a sense of their

sacrilege in violating the forbidden land, upon whose soil for

generations none of them had set a foot, except their leader, the

renegade Kaneke, and were fearful of some supernatural vengeance?

I could not tell, but certainly they had a frightened air, very

different from that of the bold fellows whom we had met hunting

Arkle and who had tried to cut us off from the mountain pass.

Still they advanced in good order, as I supposed to attack and make

an end of us. Yet this was not so, for at a little distance they

formed themselves into three sides of a square and halted. Now,

while I marvelled what was going to happen (had I been in command

of the Dabanda I should have rushed at them), Kaneke emerged from

their ranks and walked to within fifty paces of us, which he was

quite safe in doing, for the Dabanda had no bows, being armed only

with long and heavy spears that could not be thrown.

“Men of the Dabanda,” he cried in his big voice, “though you ran

fast, I have caught you at length, and with nothing but water

behind you, you are in my power, for I see that the white man,

Macumazahn, has lost the weapon with which he is so skilled.”

(Here I was minded to see whether I could not reach him with a

pistol shot, but remembering that the quarrel was none of mine and

that I had very few cartridges, I refrained from trying.)

“Yet, men of the Dabanda,” went on Kaneke, “I do not wish to kill

you among whom I was bred and who I hope will live on to be my

subjects. I do not even wish to kill Macumazahn and his servant,

because once they saved me from murderers, and we have been

companions upon a long journey. There is only one whom I will

kill, and that is the white thief, whom I see skulking yonder

behind your lines, who has stolen my place and heritage, and would

steal the Shadow, my appointed wife. Therefore give him up to me

that I may make an end of him before your faces and submit

yourselves to me, who will harm no other man among you; no, not

even that cunning jackal, Kumpana.”

Now Kumpana stepped forward and said clearly but quietly:

“Cease from your boastful talk, Kaneke, wizard and traitor, who

sold your birthright to save your life, you who did violence to the

Engoi before her altar, you who but yesterday scattered the holy

fire of the altar and stamped it out, you who are accursed. Hear

me, men of the Abanda,” he went on, raising his voice, “what is the

quarrel with us? You asked for rain. Has not rain been sent to

you in plenty? Do not your lands run with water? Give us this man

who has beguiled you and depart in peace—or keep him and be

destroyed.

“Has not the ancient prophecy been handed down to you by your

fathers, that the very rocks will hurl themselves upon those of

your people who dare to set foot within the forest and to look upon

the holy lake, and that the wild beasts will rend them, and that

those who escape the rocks and the beasts will be seized with

madness? And have not the rocks already hurled themselves upon

you, killing many who dwelt beneath them? Will you wait till all

the curse fulfils itself, or will you give up this man and depart

in peace unharmed? Answer while you may, for by sunset it will be

too late.”

Now I could see that the Abanda soldiers were much disturbed. They

whispered one to another, and some of their captains began to

consult together. How it would have ended I do not know, though I

doubt whether these Abanda, who seemed to me to be brave and loyal

savages, would have consented to surrender the man whom they had

chosen as their general in the attempt to possess themselves of

Dabanda-land, with its material riches and the boon of what they

believed to be an especial spiritual protection. This matter,

however, remained undecided, for Kaneke, who doubtless feared the

worst, cried out:

“Men of the Abanda, am I not the appointed Shield of the Shadow, a

greater wizard than yonder low-born Kumpana, the son of a slave?

When the mountain heaved did I not open a roadway through it,

making the two lands one, and as for the beasts, are they not also

at my command? If you doubt it, ask the white lord, Watcher-by-Night, and the yellow man, his servant, to whom I showed my power

over them. And remember that but now I have led you unharmed

through a host of elephants that fled at my word. Ho! you white

thief”—and he pointed at Arkle with his spear—“I have an offer to

make to you. If you are not a coward, come out and fight me man to

man, and let the conqueror take the Shadow. Come out and fight me,

I say! Or go tell the Shadow that he who woos her and has come

from far to win her, is but a coward with a heart whiter than his

face.”

Arkle heard him; with a roar of rage he shook off the priests who

held him and charged through our lines straight at Kaneke. To my

horror I saw as he passed me that he was quite unarmed, for either

he had dropped his spear or it had been taken from him by the

priests; yes, he was attacking the man with nothing but his naked

hands.

“Let none come between us!” he shouted as he went.

Kaneke lifted his spear to pierce him, but somehow Arkle avoided

the thrust and, rushing in, gripped its haft and snapped it like a

twig, so that the broad blade fell between them. Then he threw his

arms round Kaneke and they wrestled. They were mighty men, both of

them, but once that spear was gone I had little doubt of the issue.

Still, the end came sooner than I expected, for Arkle seemed to

lift Kaneke from his feet and dash him to the ground, where he lay

half stunned. Then, before the Abanda could come to the help of

their captain, he picked him up as though he were a child, carried

him to the ranks of the Dabanda and through them, and cast him down

at the feet of the priests!

CHAPTER XIX

THE BRIDAL AND THE CURSE

The torrential rains which fell during the storm had reached the

lake by many streams, with the result that its waters had enlarged

themselves. The old shore-line, fringed with tall reeds, where I

had stood on my first visit, was quite a hundred yards away. Thus

the reeds, or rather the upper halves of them, now stood like a

thicket at that distance from the shore, cutting off the view from

the stretch of water that was beyond but near to them, while the

rest of the lake and the distant island were turned to a dazzle of

gold by the fierce rays of the sinking sun.

Out of these reeds, at the exact moment when Arkle cast down the

great form of Kaneke before the priests, suddenly emerged a large

canoe, or rather a barge, for its stern was square. It was paddled

by white-robed women, quite thirty of them, I should say, seated

upon either side of the craft, which had a gangway running down its

centre. Upon the broad poop was a curious carved seat, large

enough, I noted, to accommodate two persons, and in the centre of

this seat sat a woman whom I knew must be she who was called the

Engoi, or Shadow, a tall and beautiful young woman whose gauzy

robes glittered in the sunlight as though they were sewn with gold

and gems, which perhaps they were. She wore a high head-dress with

wings, not unlike to those of a viking’s helm, from which, half

hiding her face, flowed down a veil spangled with stars.

On came the boat, so gently that one could not hear the paddles’

dip, and as its prow touched the shore, priests sprang forward and

held it fast. The regal-looking woman rose to her feet, while

there went up a great shout of:

“ENGOI! ENGOI!”

Clothed, as it were, with burning light, she stood above us on the

high poop, gazing at the prostrate form of Kaneke, at the man who

had cast him there, at the tall, white-robed, large-eyed Dabanda

spearsmen, and at the Abanda warriors beyond. Then she spoke in a

clear, flute-like voice, which in that silence could be heard by

all.

“I, the Treasure of the Lake, greet you, servants of the Engoi; I

greet you, White Lord from far away” (this was addressed to Arkle;

of me she took no notice). “I greet you all. Tell me, O Kumpana,

Father of my Council, what host is this that threatens you with

spears?”

“That of the Abanda, O Engoi, who, breaking the oath sworn by their

forefathers and braving the curse, have dared to enter the holy

land of Mone to slay us and to give you, the divine Shadow, to be

the wife of this dog.” Here he pointed to Kaneke, who, I noted,

had recovered his senses, for he raised himself upon his arm and

listened.

“Take him and judge him, the accursed, according to your law,” she

said, “for on him I will never look again.” Then added in louder

tones that trembled with cold anger: “Men of the Abanda, the curse

with which Kaneke is cursed, clings to you also and the mercy that

you would not take departs from you. BEGONE TO THE BEASTS FOR

JUDGMENT AND BECOME AS BEASTS, till Heaven lifts its wrath from off

you and creep to my feet as slaves to pray pardon for your sins.”

The Abanda heard. They stared at the priestess clothed with light,

they spoke together, as I supposed making ready to attack us. But

it was not so, for, of a sudden, panic seemed to seize them. I saw

it pass from face to face, I saw them tremble and cover their eyes

with their hands. Then without a word they turned and ran back to

the shelter of the forest, an army that had become a terror-stricken mob.

They were gone, the thunder of a thousand feet died away into

silence; not one of them could be seen; they were lost among the

darksome trees.

The beautiful maiden called Shadow, whose eyes had been fixed upon

the water, lifted her head and looked at Arkle, saying softly:

“White Lord from afar, our dream is fulfilled and once more we

meet, as was foretold, and I am yours and you are mine. Yet if you

would depart with your companion”—here for the first time she

glanced at me—“still the road lies open. Go, then, if it pleases

you; only if you go, learn that henceforth for this life and all

that are to come we separate for ever. Learn, too, that if you

stay, there is no power in heaven or in earth that shall part us

while time endures and the star we follow shines in the sky.

Choose, then, and have done.”

Arkle stared at the ground, like to one who is lost in doubt. Then

he lifted his eyes and met hers that were fixed upon him, till the

radiance which shone upon her face seemed to pass to his, and I

knew that she had conquered. He turned and spoke to me, saying:

“Farewell, my friend whom I shall see no more. I know you believe

me mad, even wicked perhaps, and so I am according to your judgment

and that of the world we know. Yet my heart tells me that love can

do no wrong and that in my madness is the truest wisdom, for yonder

stands my destiny, she whom I was born to win, she who was lost and

is found again. Farewell once more, and think of me at times as we

shall of you, until perchance elsewhere”—and he pointed upwards—

“we meet again, and you too understand all that I cannot speak.”

He took my hand and pressed it, then very slowly stepped on to the

prow of the boat, and passing down its length between the two lines

of women who sat like statues, came to her who stood upon its poop.

As he came she opened her arms and received him in her arms, and

there they kissed before us all. For thus was the shadow wed in

the presence of her people.

Side by side they sat themselves upon the throne-like seat. The

priests thrust the boat out into the water, the paddlers turned its

prow towards the reeds and the island that lay beyond them, and the

sun sank.

The sun sank, the waters of the holy lake grew dark, and these

strange travellers departed into gloom. Once more only did I see

them after they had passed through the reeds out on to the darkened

bosom of the lake. Some cloud above caught the last rays of the

sun that had vanished behind the crater cliffs, and reflected them

in a shaft of light on to the water and the boat that floated

there, turning those it bore to shapes of glory. Then the ray

passed and the shadows hid them.

“That’s a good omen for the Red Baas and the pretty spook-lady who

has carried him off,” remarked Hans reflectively, “for you see

after the sun seemed to be dead, it came to life again to wish them

luck, Baas.”

“I hope so,” I replied, turning my back upon that melancholy lake

and not in the best of spirits. Arkle at least had won the lady

whom he so passionately desired, but I, who had won nothing and

nobody, felt very much alone. My part in all this business had

been to do everybody’s dirty work—that of White-Mouse, of Kaneke,

of Arkle, and of Kumpana—and to tell the truth I did not like it.

No one really enjoys the humble office of a tool which is thrown

aside when done with.

That night we camped by the lake, and I have seldom passed one that

was more disturbed. From its solemn and mysterious depths came the

mournful cries of wildfowl and the drear sighing of the wind among

the reeds. But these were as nothing compared with the sounds

which proceeded from the forest. Fierce trumpeting of infuriated

elephants, bellowing of other beasts, and, worst of all, what

sounded like the screams of terrified and tortured men, which were

so loud and persistent that if I had known where he was sleeping I

would have gone to Kumpana and asked their cause. But I did not

know and probably if I had found him he would have told me nothing.

At length, too, these noises ceased, and I got some rest.

Before sunrise, when the sky grew grey and the night mist still hid

the face of the lonesome lake, Kumpana appeared, bringing us some

food and saying that we must eat it as we marched, because it was

time to be gone. So off we went, and entered that hateful forest

just as the sun rose. Before I had gone three hundred paces

between the trees, I stumbled over something soft and, looking

down, to my horror discovered that it was the mutilated body of an

Abanda warrior, who from various signs I knew must have been killed

by an elephant.

“See here, Hans!” I said, pointing to the dreadful thing.

“I have seen, Baas,” he answered, “and there are plenty more of

them about. Didn’t you hear those spook elephants hunting them

last night as the Dabanda wizards brought them here to do?”

“I heard something,” I answered faintly, remembering as I spoke the

words of Shadow when she told the Abanda “to begone to the beasts

for judgment”! Great God, this was the judgment!

Hans was quite right. There were plenty more of the poor creatures

lying about, indeed I imagine that some hundreds of them must have

been killed. What an end! To be hunted in the darkness of night

and when caught, stamped flat or torn to pieces by these maddened

animals which probably tracked them by their scent. If this were

the fate of his tools, what, I wondered, was that reserved for

Kaneke, who by the way, as I supposed, had been taken on ahead of

us for I saw nothing of him?

Until then I had merely disliked the Dabanda, now I hated them and

desired nothing so much as to get out of this land of cruelty and

African witchcraft. For although I had tried to find other

explanations, such as the fact that all game was taboo to them,

what but witchcraft or some force which we white men do not

understand, could account for the dominion of these people over

wild animals? It may be thought that the attack upon these Abanda

by the elephants was an accident resulting from their breaking into

the herd in their terrified retreat after they fled from the

presence of one whom they believed to be almost a goddess. But

this could scarcely be so seeing that when, following on our

footsteps, the Abanda passed through the forest to the lake, the

elephants must have been all round them, for as I have said, I saw

the great beasts watching us from between the trees.

Why, then, were they not attacked upon this outward journey? I can

only suggest one explanation. At that time Kaneke was with them

whom the beasts knew and obeyed, as they did other leaders of his

tribe, for had he not shown his power over these very elephants

long before we entered Dabanda-land? When the Abanda soldiers were

deprived of his protection the case was different, for then they

were fallen upon, trampled and torn to pieces as Hans and I should

have been if we had been alone.

As a matter of fact, however, we should have had nothing to fear on

this return journey, for we never saw these beasts again. Indeed,

I heard afterwards that when they had wreaked vengeance on the

Abanda, led by the ancient bull, they marched solemnly out of the

forest and across the crater-land to the pass through which they

had appeared. What became of them I do not know, but I suppose

that they departed back to their own haunts where we had first met

them.

After sundry halts, of which I was not told the reason, towards

evening we emerged from that awful forest, only to be confronted

with more terrors. On the open space which surrounded the altar

platform and in the streets of the town beyond, hundreds of men of

the Abanda army were running to and fro, some with torn robes and

some stark naked, shrieking and staring about them with eyes that

were full of fear. A mob of raving maniacs who seemed hardly

human, they foamed at the mouth, they rolled upon the ground, they

tore their hair and bit each other’s flesh.

“They are all mad, Baas,” said Hans, getting behind me, for as is

common with African natives, he had a great horror of the insane

and supposed them to be inspired by heaven. “Don’t touch them,

Baas, or we shall go mad too.”

His exhortation was needless, for my one desire was to get as far

as possible from the hideous sight of these poor creatures. What

could have brought them to such a pass, I marvelled, as I do today.

I can only suppose that when the survivors of the regiments which

had followed us to the lake arrived among the army that awaited

them at the town, they communicated to their brothers the terror

which had driven them crazy.

Or perhaps now that Kaneke had disappeared, the superstitions he

had kept in check broke out among them with a force so irresistible

that they lost their minds, remembering the ancient curse which was

said to overtake any of their people who set foot in the land of

Lake Mone, whence they had been driven in past ages. I cannot

tell, but certainly they had “become as beasts”, as the priestess

Shadow foretold. It was shocking, it was terrible, and thankful

indeed was I when, on catching sight of us, with howls and

lamentations they drew together and fled away, I suppose back to

their own land.

Soon they were gone into the gathering darkness, thousands of them,

and quiet fell upon the town, which was quite unharmed. Hans and I

made our way to our own house where we found a lamp lit and food

prepared, I presume by the women who waited upon us, who all this

while had remained faithfully at their post. The first thing that

we saw were our lost rifles and ammunition, carefully laid upon our

beds.

“Allemagter!” exclaimed Hans, pointing first to the lamp and food

next to the rifles. “We have met many strange peoples in our

journeys, Baas, but never any like these. But, Baas, they are not

men and women, they are witches and wizards, every one of them,

whose master is the devil, as those Abanda will think when they get

their minds again.”

Then, quite overcome, he sank on to a stool and began to devour his

meal in silence. I, too, collapsed; no other word describes my

state, brought about by physical fatigue and mental astonishment.

At that moment I was almost inclined to agree with Hans, though now

of course I know that these events which at the time seemed so

strange were quite susceptible of a natural interpretation. It was

not wonderful that the Abanda soldier should have been attacked in

the forest by a herd of elephants whose tempers were upset by storm

and earthquake, or that the survivors of them and their fellows

should have been crazed by the experience, added to the effect of

their inherited superstitions.

Nor was it wonderful that an ardent man like Arkle should have

succumbed to the charm of a beautiful priestess, whose personal

attractions were enhanced by the mystery with which she was

surrounded, though I admit that I do not understand the tale of his

previous telepathic intercourse with her, if it may be so

described. Very possibly, however, this existed only in his

imagination, and the real romance began, on his part at any rate,

when he first saw her upon the borders of the lake.

Still, the cumulative effect of so many eerie happenings,

reinforced by the legends with which my ears were filled, and the

constant ceremonies and experiences of an abnormal and unwholesome

nature in which I had been forced to take a part, together with the

vanishing away of Arkle into what I understood to be a kind of

Eastern houri paradise, was crushing; at least this was its effect

upon a tired and puzzled man.

So I went to bed with an attack of fever and low spirits that kept

me there for a week, after which I took another week to recover my

strength.

During all this time very little happened, for Hans reported that

everything in the town went on as it used to do before the great

storm. The people were cultivating their gardens; the sacred fire

was re-lit upon the altar and the priests had rebuilt their fallen

observation tower, whence they watched the stars nightly as of old.

To judge from the aspect of the people, indeed one might have

thought that nothing unusual had occurred, or at any rate that it

was quite forgotten.

Now, being filled with nervous apprehensions and extremely anxious

to escape from this country as soon as I was well enough to face

the journey, I tried several times to get into touch with Kumpana,

the only man in the place who seemed to have any real authority,

but was always told that he was absent.

At length he came, bland and smiling as ever, and apologized for

not having done so before, “For then,” he added, “I, who am a

doctor, should have been able to cure you more quickly.”

I replied that it did not matter, as I was now quite recovered who

never suffered from serious illness. Then I asked him the news.

“There is little, Lord,” he answered. “From the lake we hear that

the Engoi and her husband, the Shield of the Shadow, are well and

most happy. The Abanda, now that they have reached their own land

and found their wits again—for only about two hundred of them were

killed by the elephants—are very humble and have sent to make

their submission, promising henceforth to be our faithful servants

and to live with us as one people.”

“So you have got what you want,” I said.

“Yes, Lord, for now we shall become a great tribe, a nation,

indeed, as once we were hundreds of years ago, because these Abanda

are brave fighting men and their women have many children, whereas

ours bear few or none at all. Never again will they threaten us,

but, directed by our wisdom, will do all that we command.”

“Which was your object throughout, I suppose, Kumpana?”

“Yes, Lord, it was our object, which explains much that you have

never been able to understand, amongst other things, why you were

brought to Mone-land. Without you Kaneke could not have been saved

from the Arabs, and the White Lord, Shield of the Shadow, could not

have been saved from the Abanda after his madness had caused him to

be cast out of our country, which even I was unable to prevent.”

“But why did you want Kaneke back, Kumpana, seeing that at once you

took away his chieftainship and made him an outlaw?”

“Because, amongst other reasons, if he had not returned and been

driven out again, he would not have fled to the Abanda and led them

to attack us, as we wished that he should do, knowing the fate that

would overtake them. Even then I do not think that the Abanda, who

fear the Engoi and her servants, would have followed him, had they

not seen you, the great white lord whose fame is everywhere,

running before them like a hunted jackal, which was why we took you

with us to the pass, telling you that it was to fight them.”

Now controlling my wrath as best I could, for it was useless to

argue with Kumpana about this disgraceful episode of my career, I

said with sarcasm:

“So you foresaw all these things, Kumpana, and arranged accordingly?”

“Of course, Lord, for we have that gift,” he replied in the mild,

protesting voice of one who humours an ignorant fool.

This amazing lie took away my breath, but again feeling it useless

to argue, I changed the subject, by asking:

“And why did you bring him who is now her husband here to marry the

Shadow, instead of giving her to Kaneke, to whom she was promised,

or to some other man of your people?”

“Because, Lord, our men are—” and he used an Arabic word which I

can only translate by the English phrase ‘played out’. “The race

has grown too ancient and too interbred. Therefore it was

necessary that she who is now the Engoi upon earth should wed one

of a different stock who has knowledge of the arts and laws of the

great white races. For, Lord, from this marriage will spring a

woman, the Engoi to be, who will be very great of heart. It is

she,” he went on with a ring of triumph in his voice, “who will

once more make the Dabanda mighty among the peoples of Africa, not

the lady who now rules over us, or the white wanderer who is her

spouse.”

“So that is another of your prophecies, Kumpana?”

“Yes, Lord, and one which most certainly will be fulfilled,” he

answered in the same triumphant tone. Then, as though the matter

were one which he declined to discuss, he said in his ordinary

voice:

“This is the night of full moon, and there is a ceremony before the

altar which we pray you to attend. For tomorrow doubtless you will

wish to bid us farewell as it has been arranged that you should

do.”

“I am glad to hear that,” I exclaimed, “but I don’t want to be

present at any more of your ceremonies.”

“Yet, Lord,” he answered with his queer little smile, “I am sure

you will do what we wish, now, as always before.”

“Which means that I must come.”

“Oh, Lord, I never said so. Still I am certain that you will come

and shall send an escort to attend upon you, that you may fear no

harm.”

Then he rose and bowed himself out.

Not until he was gone did I remember that I had never asked him

what had become of Kaneke.

“Baas,” said Hans, “I always thought you clever in your way, but

this Kumpana is much cleverer than you, or even than I am, because

you see in the end he always makes us do, not what we want but what

he wants, and then laughs at us about it afterwards. We shall have

to go to that fetish business tonight, because if we won’t walk, we

shall be carried there, quite nicely, of course, by the men he is

sending to protect us. I wonder what we shall see, Baas.”

“How do I know?” I snapped, for the gibes of Hans irritated me.

“Perhaps the lady Shadow and her husband will come to visit us.”

“I don’t think so, Baas. I think that they are sitting holding

each other’s hands and making faces at each other, and saying silly

things about the moon. If it were six months later when they want

to hold other people’s hands and to look into new faces and have

forgotten all about the moon, then they would come, Baas, but not

now. But perhaps Kaneke will visit us, unless he is dead, which we

haven’t heard, and I’d much rather see him, Baas, than two people

who keep saying ‘Sweetie-Sweet’ and ‘there’s no one else in the

world, Pretty’.”

“Would you, you ugly little sinner?” I replied, and walked away.

As it happened, Hans, who could smell out the truth like any witch-doctor, had made no mistake, for when, conducted by our promised

escort, a strong one by the way, we reached the altar platform that

night, it was to find that the centre of interest proved to be

Kaneke and no one else, and that for the second time it was our lot

to see him tried for his life. What is more, even among that

undemonstrative people, made apathetic by the passage of many ages

of plenty, and by iron priestly rule, the event excited keen and

universal interest.

This might be seen from the fact that every creature from the town

who could walk or be carried, was gathered upon the marketplace

beneath the platform, and with them a great number of people from

the villages and farms beyond its borders. The priests too were

present in force; the astrologers watched the heavens from their

towers and shouted out the messages of the stars; a choir hidden

behind the altar sang solemn chants at intervals; and the sacred

fire blazed like a signal beacon upon a mountain, as though to make

up for the fact that very recently it had twice been extinguished.

Indeed it was a veritable furnace.

In front of it, its fierce light playing on him, stood Kaneke,

bound and closely guarded, while on either side sat the white-robed

Council of the Shadow, whose office seemed to be that of judge or

jury, or both. Near to them, so placed that he could be heard from

the audience below as well as by all upon the platform, stood

Kumpana, who in this drama played the part of the prosecuting

counsel.

When I arrived with Hans and had been given a seat not far from

Kumpana and facing Kaneke, the proceedings began. I need not

detail them further than to say that they consisted of a recitation

of all his crimes, starting with a long account of the act of

sacrilege he had committed in his youth against a former Engoi,

that apparently was much worse than he had intimated to me, and had

resulted in his banishment or flight, and going on to those

offences with which I had some acquaintance.

At length the tale was finished, and Kaneke was called upon to

answer. This he did with a certain dignity, pleading that his

judges had no jurisdiction over him, that he was their lawful chief

and could not be tried by any court. The crimes alleged against

him he made no attempt to deny or explain, perhaps because they

were too flagrant to admit of defence.

When he had finished speaking, Kumpana said to the Council and the

priests:

“What say you?”

Whereupon they answered all together:

“We say that he is guilty!” and the people gathered in the marketplace beneath echoed the words in a roar of sounds.

Then Kumpana cried aloud to the astrologers upon their towers,

asking:

“What reward is appointed to this traitor Kaneke, the accursed of

the Engoi, for his sins against the Shadow and against the people?”

The diviners on the towers stared at the stars, making a pretence

of consulting them, then spoke together in a secret language I did

not understand. At last one of them, he on the right, called out:

“Hear the voice of Heaven! Let him who quenched the fire, feed the

fire.”

I contemplated the leaping flames upon which the priests had just

hurled more wood, and not understanding all that these words meant,

remarked to Hans that it did not seem to want feeding.

“Oh, Baas,” he replied, “why are you so stupid? Don’t you see that

they are going to burn this owl-man as an offering? The woman in

the hut told me that it is what they always do to anyone who has

tried to lay hands upon the Shadow of the Engoi, and sometimes to

her husband also if she gets tired of him.”

“Great heavens!” I exclaimed, turning quite faint. Then, before I

could get out another word, Kaneke, who was a coward at heart, as

he had shown when he bartered his birthright to Arkle in exchange

for his life, with ashen face and bulging eyes began an impassioned

appeal to me to save him.

I did try to say something on his behalf, I forget what it was, but

at once Kumpana cut me short with the remark that there was plenty

of room for two upon that altar. He added in explanation that in

his country under an ancient law, he who tried to save a criminal

condemned to death must share his punishment.

Hearing this, as I was helpless and could not stop there to see a

man burned alive, however great a blackguard he might be, I rose

and with the best dignity I could command, walked down the platform

steps and through the people at the foot of them, back to our

house. As I passed him Kaneke shouted out:

“Farewell, Macumazahn, whom I met in an evil hour. If, before you

leave this land, you see your friend, the white thief who has

stolen her that was mine, tell him that in a day to come, instead

of her lips he too shall kiss the altar flames.”

Now all my pity departed, for I knew well that these cruel words

had been spoken to create baseless fears and doubts in my mind and

in that of Arkle also, should they reach him.

“Cease from lying and die like a man,” I said.

If he answered me I did not hear him, for just then the priests set

up a song, a very savage song, which prevented his words from

reaching me. At the edge of the marketplace some impulse caused

me to look back, just in time to see the great shape of Kaneke

outlined against the flames into which he was being tossed whilst

the people around, who till now had remained silent, uttered a

shout of joy.

A while later Hans joined me.

“Baas,” he said, “I am glad they burned that beast Kaneke.”

“Why?” I asked, for I thought the remark pitiless.

“For two reasons, Baas. First because he left Little Holes and

Jerry to be killed when we were running for the pass, being a

coward who could desert his friends; and secondly because he called

out after you that if he had won, he would have burned you and the

Red Baas and me, Hans, as well. That is why I stopped to see the

end of him, Baas.”

“Let us pack up,” I said, “for tomorrow we start.”

“Yes, Baas, but where to, Baas?”

“I don’t know and I don’t care,” I answered, “so long as it is out

of this accursed country. Why on earth they ever brought me into

it I can’t understand even now.”

“That you might bring Kaneke, Baas.”

“But why did they want Kaneke? They would have got on quite as

well without him.”

“To burn him, Baas. He had sinned against another Shadow who is

dead and ran away, and the priests, who never forget, brought him

back that he might be killed for his sin. That is why White-Mouse

was sent to tempt him from home, telling him that he was to marry

the new Shadow, and that is why she was so much afraid lest he

should be killed by the Arabs and cheat the fire on the altar. Oh,

they had thought it all out quite nicely, Baas, as Kaneke has

learned.”

“Perhaps. Well, they won’t tempt ME back,” I said.

CHAPTER XX

FAREWELL

Now with the execution of Kaneke in the savage fashion that I have

described, the story of my visit to the sacred lake called Mone,

and the people who dwelt there comes to an end. Perhaps, however,

there are one or two things that I should mention.

All the day following the horrible scene upon the altar platform,

Hans and I spent in getting ready, tying up loads for the bearers

who, we were informed, would be provided on the next morning,

superintending the cooking of food to take with us, seeing to our

boots that were much the worse for wear, and so forth. In our

spare time I tried also to think out the great problem as to the

route that we should take. Were we to return by that which we had

followed into the Lake-country, or to strike out on a desperate

journey for the West Coast? Upon my soul I did not know, and all

that Hans would do was to point out the difficulties and dangers of

either course.

When I lay down that night I was still quite unable to make up my

mind, and went to sleep determined to postpone further consideration

till the morrow, hoping that meanwhile some inspiration might come

to me. As a matter of fact it did, and in a curious fashion.

About midnight I woke up and saw, by the light of the lamp which I

kept burning, the white-draped form of a woman, standing at the

foot of the bed, who appeared to be looking at me.

“What the dickens—” I began in a hurry, when she stopped me with a

motion of her hand.

Then she drew her veil aside so that I could see her face. It was

that of White-Mouse!

Surely I could not be mistaken, although I had only seen her twice

or thrice upon a single night. There was the same delicate shape,

the same pleading, dark eyes, the same curling hair, and the same

sweet, plaintive face so suggestive of mystery and acquaintance

with secret things.

“White-Mouse!” I murmured beneath my breath, for to tell the truth

I was half afraid to speak aloud, fearing lest what I saw before me

was a ghost, or at the best a dream.

“Yes, Lord Macumazahn; at least once I bore that name far away

among the Arabs.”

“But you are dead! They killed you there in the courtyard of

Kaneke’s house.”

“No, Lord, they could not kill me. I escaped out of their hands

and returned to this country before you, making your road smooth

and easy.”

“Before us! How did you do that?”

“It is one of the secrets which I may not reveal, Lord, nor does it

matter. Also we have met since then when you were in trouble

yonder with the ‘dwellers in the forest’ and one came to guide

you.”

“I thought it!” I exclaimed; “but before I could make sure you were

gone, so that almost I believed you to be—not a woman but—well—

one of the dwellers in the forest.”

“I knew it,” she replied with a sweet little smile, “and for the

rest, even now are you sure that I am a woman?”

“No, I am not,” I answered.

“Nor am I quite sure, Lord Macumazahn, but that is another of the

secrets, and it does not matter. See, I am a messenger tonight

whatever else I may be and I have brought you a letter which you

can read when I am gone, for I think that to it there is no answer.

Or if there should be an answer, shape it in your mind and I shall

learn it there and deliver it word for word.”

“Again I begin to think that you are a ghost, White-Mouse, for

women do not talk thus,” I said as I took the little roll of paper

which she handed to me and laid it down upon the bed.

The truth was that at the moment I was more interested in White-Mouse than in what might be written in the roll.

“Although some do not know it, we are all of us ghosts, are we not,

Lord Macumazahn? Though often if the veil of flesh be gross, the

light of the ghost-lamp that shines within you cannot be seen.

Lord, my time is short and I have something to say to you. Will it

please you to listen?”

“When you speak, what could please me better, especially in this

land, White-Mouse?”

Again there flitted across her face a quick smile so strangely

sweet that it thrilled the nerves, as do certain notes of music we

hear upon a violin. At least for some indefinable reason I always

connect that smile of hers with such vibrating notes.

“Yet it would not please you in other lands, Lord, for there among

your own people nothing would delight you less than to hear the

voice of a ghost-woman, the dweller in a spell-bound, haunted

place. Were it otherwise, perchance I should accompany you, as,

although you will not see me, I may do yet.”

“What do you mean?” I asked rather anxiously.

“Nothing that you need fear, Lord, except that I like you well, and

both ghosts and women are pleased to be with those whom they like.

Oh, I have watched you from the first and noted how you have borne

many troubles that were not of your seeking, and read your heart

and found it worthy to be praised. In this land, Lord, such are

not found.”

“I am glad to hear it,” I said, who had little admiration for the

Dabanda. Then to change the subject which I found somewhat

personal and embarrassing, especially to a modest man who could

neither rise nor escape, I added, “Will you do something for me,

White-Mouse, and before you go? Tell me, why I was ever brought to

your land?”

“You wished to come, Lord; and if they be real, wishes always

fulfil themselves soon or late. Moreover, besides those you know

which Kumpana has set out to you, there are other reasons, which,

even if I might explain them, you would not understand.”

“Why not?”

“Because they have to do with things which you have forgotten; yes,

with other lives that lie buried in the past, when you and I and

two great ones who dwell in the midst of Lake Mone, and Kumpana and

Kaneke knew each other, as we do today. Man’s life is a long

story, Lord, of which we read but one mad chapter at a time,

thinking that it is all the book, and not knowing what went before,

nor what shall follow after.”

Now I reflected that many wise men, of all epochs, such as Plato

and others, as I have heard, were of this opinion—one that it is

not impossible though difficult to accept at any rate in the West,

whatever the East may hold. Not wishing, however, to enter upon so

vast a subject, I merely said:

“And do YOU know, White-Mouse?”

“I know something, Lord, and I guess more. For the Dwellers in the

Lake, whom doubtless you believe to be savages blinded by the

teachings of a false faith, yet have the wisdom of our race.”

“Yes,” I answered sharply, “wisdom of which I saw the fruits last

night when a man was burned living upon your altar fire.”

“You are wrong, Lord. In our wisdom of the Lake, cruelty has no

place, and with it she who rules the Lake has naught to do, though

the Dabanda be given to her for servants, and in a fashion, for

masters. When she learned what had chanced to Kaneke and to those

whom he led astray, she wept, though she knew that these things

must come and uttered the decree of death. Yes, we women of the

Lake renounce the world and fix our thoughts on heaven, which is

our home. Therefore do not judge us hardly, Lord, or measure us

with the Dabanda rule. Now I have done, who may say no more, save

this: Have no fear upon your journey, for we know that you will

accomplish it safely and live on for many years. Go where fortune

seems to lead you and all will succeed with you. So farewell, Lord

Macumazahn. Think kindly of us of the Lake, although we be women,

for as you have learned, or will learn, women, with all their

faults, are better and wiser than men, for sometimes to them is

shown the light that is hidden from the eyes of men.”

Then she bent down, took my hand, kissed it, and turning lifted the

curtain of the door-way of the house and glided away into the

darkness, leaving me glad that I had found one person whom I could

like in Mone-land, one, too, who liked me!

From the bed on the other side of the room came the stifled voice

of Hans, whom all this while I had quite forgotten, saying:

“Is that the last kiss, Baas, and if so, may I put out my head? It

is very hot here under this skin rug, where I have hidden my eyes

for so long without being able to breathe, Baas.”

“Well, you haven’t hidden your ears,” I said, “so stop talking

rubbish and tell me what you think of White-Mouse.”

“Oh, Baas,” he said, sitting up, “I think that she is a spook, more

so than all the rest of them. But I think also that she is a nice

spook, although she did deceive me yonder in the Arab town, making

me believe that she was a jealous wife of the Owl-man Kaneke, and

that she liked me much more than she did him. Also I am happy now,

Baas, because she, who being a spook knows all about it, said that

we shall come safely to the end of our journey. But of course you

are very unhappy because you have seen the last of one of whom you

think so much, that you have even forgotten to read the letter she

brought you, for reading letters is much duller than being kissed,

Baas.”

“Bring me the lamp,” I said as I loosened the string of scented

grass with which it was bound and undid the little roll.

It was of paper cut from a note-book, and, as I expected, from

Arkle. It ran thus:

Dear Quatermain,

We know that you are going, and I send you this by a sure hand to

bid you farewell. Do not think badly of me, Quatermain, because I

have forsaken my country and put aside all the traditions in which

I was brought up, in order to marry the priestess of a strange

faith, here in Central Africa. Love is stronger than are the ties

of country or of tradition, and in our case it is a force which

will not be denied: a destiny indeed. Probably you put little

faith in the stories I have told you of how I came to be drawn to

my wife, thinking them the harmless imaginations of a romantic

mind. Therefore of them I will only say that to me they seemed

real enough and to be justified by the event, though of course here

coincidence might have played its part. Probably, too, you set

little store by the occult powers and superstitions of this secret

and ancient people, finding for all, or most of them, a natural

explanation.

For many reasons I wish that I could share this view, but alas! I

believe those powers to be very real. And here I want to make one

thing clear: they do not reside in the spirit of her who amongst

other titles is given that of the Engoi or rather of the Shadow of

the Engoi! She is but the medium. The strength lies with others,

in the present case principally with the head of the Council,

Kumpana.

Did you notice the voice with which she spoke when first you saw

her upon the altar platform, and again in the boat on the day of

our marriage, and that it was not natural? At least to me it

seemed very different from that which she used when addressing me

directly, as a woman addresses the man she loves. For example she

seemed to pass sentence upon the Abanda giving them into the power

of the beasts, over which undoubtedly the Dabanda have command, and

to the fate of madness, which I learn fell upon them afterwards.

Yet I assure you that she never knew she had spoken these words,

any more than she knew that the rascal, Kaneke, was doomed to be

burned alive, in short they were uttered by her under an obscure,

hypnotic influence. Further, it seems that these mediumistic gifts

pass away in the course of years, and that is why the Dabanda

priests kill their Engoi at a certain age, and her husband with her

and choose another Shadow to fill her place.

You will say that for her and for me the prospect therefore is

terrible enough. But I want you to understand, Quatermain, that I

have no intention of sitting still and allowing such a fate to

overtake us. I mean to match myself against those priests and the

Council and to overthrow them—how I do not know—and to establish

in their place a pure and kindly rule. If I find that this is not

possible, then I mean to escape from this country with my wife. So

do not look upon us as lost, or on me as wholly a renegade and an

apostate, but rather as one who is hidden for awhile.

Meanwhile, I assure you that I am intensely happy and that the book

of an ancient wisdom which I thought lost to the world, is being

opened to my eyes. I would that you could see this place and the

buildings on it, and the old writings it contains in a language I

have not yet learned to decipher. But that cannot be, for any such

attempt would certainly cost you your life. So you must go your

way while I go mine, hoping that our paths may cross again, even in

this world.

Meanwhile, I thank you for all you have done for me, and trust that

your strange experiences may bring you some reward for your work

and the dangers you have run. God bless you, my friend, if I may

call you so, and farewell! I beg you and Hans to talk as little as

possible about me or the Dabanda and Mone, the Holy Lake. Above

all, do not try to return, or to send other white men to explore,

or to search me out, for such attempts would certainly end in

death. Let me vanish away as many a white man does in Africa, and

my story with me.

Again farewell,

J. T. Arkle.

P.S.—I enclose a note addressed to the captain of the hunters whom

I left in charge of stores and equipment at a place to which you

will be guided. He can read more or less, and it commands him to

hand these over to you absolutely, and with them a sealed box that

contains a sum in gold, which I hope you will find useful. I

recommend you to head for the West Coast, as the hunters can guide

you on that road, at any rate for part of the way till you come

into touch with white men.

J. T. A.

Such was this strange letter, which I was most glad to receive.

For did it not give me hope that one day Arkle would escape from

this accursed country, either with or without the woman whom fate

had appointed to him as his wife? Further, did it not explain

much, or at any rate something, of mysteries that hitherto had been

as black as night to me? I think so.

Here I will stop this tale, for to describe all my adventures and

experiences on my way to the West Coast would take another book,

which I have neither the time nor the inclination to write.

Suffice it to say that all went well. I was guided to Arkle’s

camp, and by help of the outfit I found there, to say nothing of

the money, of which there was much, ultimately I came to the sea

and took ship back to South Africa, where I gave it out that I had

been for a long hunting-trip in Portuguese territory.

“Baas,” said Hans to me one day when we had been talking over Arkle

and his great passion, “what are the ‘twin hearts’ of which you

talk?”

I explained as best I could, and he replied:

“Baas, you remember that Kaneke said just before they put him on

the fire, that the Red Baas would follow him there one day. If

that is what must be paid for having a ‘twin heart’, I am glad I

haven’t got one—unless it is for you, Baas!”

I should add that of Arkle, if this was his real name (which I

doubt), I have heard no more. Nor until now, when after many years

I write it down, have I ever told his story.

End of this Project Gutenberg of Australia eBook

The Treasure Of The Lake by H. Rider Haggard

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