NOTE BY GEORGE CURTIS, Esq.
INTRODUCTION
December
23'I
have just buried my boy, my poor handsome boy of whom I was so proud,
and my heart is broken. It is very hard having only one son to lose
him thus, but God's will be done. Who am I that I should complain?
The great wheel of Fate rolls on like a Juggernaut, and crushes us
all in turn, some soon, some late—it does not matter when, in the
end, it crushes us all. We do not prostrate ourselves before it like
the poor Indians; we fly hither and thither—we cry for mercy; but
it is of no use, the black Fate thunders on and in its season reduces
us to powder.'Poor
Harry to go so soon! just when his life was opening to him. He was
doing so well at the hospital, he had passed his last examination
with honours, and I was proud of them, much prouder than he was, I
think. And then he must needs go to that smallpox hospital. He wrote
to me that he was not afraid of smallpox and wanted to gain the
experience; and now the disease has killed him, and I, old and grey
and withered, am left to mourn over him, without a chick or child to
comfort me. I might have saved him, too—I have money enough for
both of us, and much more than enough—King Solomon's Mines provided
me with that; but I said, "No, let the boy earn his living, let
him labour that he may enjoy rest." But the rest has come to him
before the labour. Oh, my boy, my boy!'I
am like the man in the Bible who laid up much goods and builded
barns—goods for my boy and barns for him to store them in; and now
his soul has been required of him, and I am left desolate. I would
that it had been my soul and not my boy's!'We
buried him this afternoon under the shadow of the grey and ancient
tower of the church of this village where my house is. It was a
dreary December afternoon, and the sky was heavy with snow, but not
much was falling. The coffin was put down by the grave, and a few big
flakes lit upon it. They looked very white upon the black cloth!
There was a little hitch about getting the coffin down into the
grave—the necessary ropes had been forgotten: so we drew back from
it, and waited in silence watching the big flakes fall gently one by
one like heavenly benedictions, and melt in tears on Harry's pall.
But that was not all. A robin redbreast came as bold as could be and
lit upon the coffin and began to sing. And then I am afraid that I
broke down, and so did Sir Henry Curtis, strong man though he is; and
as for Captain Good, I saw him turn away too; even in my own distress
I could not help noticing it.'The
above, signed 'Allan Quatermain', is an extract from my diary written
two years and more ago. I copy it down here because it seems to me
that it is the fittest beginning to the history that I am about to
write, if it please God to spare me to finish it. If not, well it
does not matter. That extract was penned seven thousand miles or so
from the spot where I now lie painfully and slowly writing this, with
a pretty girl standing by my side fanning the flies from my august
countenance. Harry is there and I am here, and yet somehow I cannot
help feeling that I am not far off Harry.When
I was in England I used to live in a very fine house—at least I
call it a fine house, speaking comparatively, and judging from the
standard of the houses I have been accustomed to all my life in
Africa—not five hundred yards from the old church where Harry is
asleep, and thither I went after the funeral and ate some food; for
it is no good starving even if one has just buried all one's earthly
hopes. But I could not eat much, and soon I took to walking, or
rather limping—being permanently lame from the bite of a lion—up
and down, up and down the oak-panelled vestibule; for there is a
vestibule in my house in England. On all the four walls of this
vestibule were placed pairs of horns—about a hundred pairs
altogether, all of which I had shot myself. They are beautiful
specimens, as I never keep any horns which are not in every way
perfect, unless it may be now and again on account of the
associations connected with them. In the centre of the room, however,
over the wide fireplace, there was a clear space left on which I had
fixed up all my rifles. Some of them I have had for forty years, old
muzzle-loaders that nobody would look at nowadays. One was an
elephant gun with strips of rimpi, or green hide, lashed round the
stock and locks, such as used to be owned by the Dutchmen—a 'roer'
they call it. That gun, the Boer I bought it from many years ago told
me, had been used by his father at the battle of the Blood River,
just after Dingaan swept into Natal and slaughtered six hundred men,
women, and children, so that the Boers named the place where they
died 'Weenen', or the 'Place of Weeping'; and so it is called to this
day, and always will be called. And many an elephant have I shot with
that old gun. She always took a handful of black powder and a
three-ounce ball, and kicked like the very deuce.Well,
up and down I walked, staring at the guns and the horns which the
guns had brought low; and as I did so there rose up in me a great
craving:—I would go away from this place where I lived idly and at
ease, back again to the wild land where I had spent my life, where I
met my dear wife and poor Harry was born, and so many things, good,
bad, and indifferent, had happened to me. The thirst for the
wilderness was on me; I could tolerate this place no more; I would go
and die as I had lived, among the wild game and the savages. Yes, as
I walked, I began to long to see the moonlight gleaming silvery white
over the wide veldt and mysterious sea of bush, and watch the lines
of game travelling down the ridges to the water. The ruling passion
is strong in death, they say, and my heart was dead that night. But,
independently of my trouble, no man who has for forty years lived the
life I have, can with impunity go coop himself in this prim English
country, with its trim hedgerows and cultivated fields, its stiff
formal manners, and its well-dressed crowds. He begins to long—ah,
how he longs!—for the keen breath of the desert air; he dreams of
the sight of Zulu impis breaking on their foes like surf upon the
rocks, and his heart rises up in rebellion against the strict limits
of the civilized life.Ah!
this civilization, what does it all come to? For forty years and more
I lived among savages, and studied them and their ways; and now for
several years I have lived here in England, and have in my own stupid
manner done my best to learn the ways of the children of light; and
what have I found? A great gulf fixed? No, only a very little one,
that a plain man's thought may spring across. I say that as the
savage is, so is the white man, only the latter is more inventive,
and possesses the faculty of combination; save and except also that
the savage, as I have known him, is to a large extent free from the
greed of money, which eats like a cancer into the heart of the white
man. It is a depressing conclusion, but in all essentials the savage
and the child of civilization are identical. I dare say that the
highly civilized lady reading this will smile at an old fool of a
hunter's simplicity when she thinks of her black bead-bedecked
sister; and so will the superfine cultured idler scientifically
eating a dinner at his club, the cost of which would keep a starving
family for a week. And yet, my dear young lady, what are those pretty
things round your own neck?—they have a strong family resemblance,
especially when you wear that
very low dress, to
the savage woman's beads. Your habit of turning round and round to
the sound of horns and tom-toms, your fondness for pigments and
powders, the way in which you love to subjugate yourself to the rich
warrior who has captured you in marriage, and the quickness with
which your taste in feathered head-dresses varies—all these things
suggest touches of kinship; and you remember that in the fundamental
principles of your nature you are quite identical. As for you, sir,
who also laugh, let some man come and strike you in the face whilst
you are enjoying that marvellous-looking dish, and we shall soon see
how much of the savage there is in
you.There,
I might go on for ever, but what is the good? Civilization is only
savagery silver-gilt. A vainglory is it, and like a northern light,
comes but to fade and leave the sky more dark. Out of the soil of
barbarism it has grown like a tree, and, as I believe, into the soil
like a tree it will once more, sooner or later, fall again, as the
Egyptian civilization fell, as the Hellenic civilization fell, and as
the Roman civilization and many others of which the world has now
lost count, fell also. Do not let me, however, be understood as
decrying our modern institutions, representing as they do the
gathered experience of humanity applied for the good of all. Of
course they have great advantages—hospitals for instance; but then,
remember, we breed the sickly people who fill them. In a savage land
they do not exist. Besides, the question will arise: How many of
these blessings are due to Christianity as distinct from
civilization? And so the balance sways and the story runs—here a
gain, there a loss, and Nature's great average struck across the two,
whereof the sum total forms one of the factors in that mighty
equation in which the result will equal the unknown quantity of her
purpose.I
make no apology for this digression, especially as this is an
introduction which all young people and those who never like to think
(and it is a bad habit) will naturally skip. It seems to me very
desirable that we should sometimes try to understand the limitations
of our nature, so that we may not be carried away by the pride of
knowledge. Man's cleverness is almost indefinite, and stretches like
an elastic band, but human nature is like an iron ring. You can go
round and round it, you can polish it highly, you can even flatten it
a little on one side, whereby you will make it bulge out the other,
but you will never,
while the world endures and man is man, increase its total
circumference. It is the one fixed unchangeable thing—fixed as the
stars, more enduring than the mountains, as unalterable as the way of
the Eternal. Human nature is God's kaleidoscope, and the little bits
of coloured glass which represent our passions, hopes, fears, joys,
aspirations towards good and evil and what not, are turned in His
mighty hand as surely and as certainly as it turns the stars, and
continually fall into new patterns and combinations. But the
composing elements remain the same, nor will there be one more bit of
coloured glass nor one less for ever and ever.This
being so, supposing for the sake of argument we divide ourselves into
twenty parts, nineteen savage and one civilized, we must look to the
nineteen savage portions of our nature, if we would really understand
ourselves, and not to the twentieth, which, though so insignificant
in reality, is spread all over the other nineteen, making them appear
quite different from what they really are, as the blacking does a
boot, or the veneer a table. It is on the nineteen rough serviceable
savage portions that we fall back on emergencies, not on the polished
but unsubstantial twentieth. Civilization should wipe away our tears,
and yet we weep and cannot be comforted. Warfare is abhorrent to her,
and yet we strike out for hearth and home, for honour and fair fame,
and can glory in the blow. And so on, through everything.So,
when the heart is stricken, and the head is humbled in the dust,
civilization fails us utterly. Back, back, we creep, and lay us like
little children on the great breast of Nature, she that perchance may
soothe us and make us forget, or at least rid remembrance of its
sting. Who has not in his great grief felt a longing to look upon the
outward features of the universal Mother; to lie on the mountains and
watch the clouds drive across the sky and hear the rollers break in
thunder on the shore, to let his poor struggling life mingle for a
while in her life; to feel the slow beat of her eternal heart, and to
forget his woes, and let his identity be swallowed in the vast
imperceptibly moving energy of her of whom we are, from whom we came,
and with whom we shall again be mingled, who gave us birth, and will
in a day to come give us our burial also.And
so in my trouble, as I walked up and down the oak-panelled vestibule
of my house there in Yorkshire, I longed once more to throw myself
into the arms of Nature. Not the Nature which you know, the Nature
that waves in well-kept woods and smiles out in corn-fields, but
Nature as she was in the age when creation was complete, undefiled as
yet by any human sinks of sweltering humanity. I would go again where
the wild game was, back to the land whereof none know the history,
back to the savages, whom I love, although some of them are almost as
merciless as Political Economy. There, perhaps, I should be able to
learn to think of poor Harry lying in the churchyard, without feeling
as though my heart would break in two.And
now there is an end of this egotistical talk, and there shall be no
more of it. But if you whose eyes may perchance one day fall upon my
written thoughts have got so far as this, I ask you to persevere,
since what I have to tell you is not without its interest, and it has
never been told before, nor will again.
CHAPTER I THE CONSUL'S YARN
A
week had passed since the funeral of my poor boy Harry, and one
evening I was in my room walking up and down and thinking, when there
was a ring at the outer door. Going down the steps I opened it
myself, and in came my old friends Sir Henry Curtis and Captain John
Good, RN. They entered the vestibule and sat themselves down before
the wide hearth, where, I remember, a particularly good fire of logs
was burning.'It
is very kind of you to come round,' I said by way of making a remark;
'it must have been heavy walking in the snow.'They
said nothing, but Sir Henry slowly filled his pipe and lit it with a
burning ember. As he leant forward to do so the fire got hold of a
gassy bit of pine and flared up brightly, throwing the whole scene
into strong relief, and I thought, What a splendid-looking man he is!
Calm, powerful face, clear-cut features, large grey eyes, yellow
beard and hair—altogether a magnificent specimen of the higher type
of humanity. Nor did his form belie his face. I have never seen wider
shoulders or a deeper chest. Indeed, Sir Henry's girth is so great
that, though he is six feet two high, he does not strike one as a
tall man. As I looked at him I could not help thinking what a curious
contrast my little dried-up self presented to his grand face and
form. Imagine to yourself a small, withered, yellow-faced man of
sixty-three, with thin hands, large brown eyes, a head of grizzled
hair cut short and standing up like a half-worn scrubbing-brush—total
weight in my clothes, nine stone six—and you will get a very fair
idea of Allan Quatermain, commonly called Hunter Quatermain, or by
the natives 'Macumazahn'—Anglicè, he who keeps a bright look-out
at night, or, in vulgar English, a sharp fellow who is not to be
taken in.Then
there was Good, who is not like either of us, being short, dark,
stout—very
stout—with twinkling black eyes, in one of which an eyeglass is
everlastingly fixed. I say stout, but it is a mild term; I regret to
state that of late years Good has been running to fat in a most
disgraceful way. Sir Henry tells him that it comes from idleness and
over-feeding, and Good does not like it at all, though he cannot deny
it.We
sat for a while, and then I got a match and lit the lamp that stood
ready on the table, for the half-light began to grow dreary, as it is
apt to do when one has a short week ago buried the hope of one's
life. Next, I opened a cupboard in the wainscoting and got a bottle
of whisky and some tumblers and water. I always like to do these
things for myself: it is irritating to me to have somebody
continually at my elbow, as though I were an eighteen-month-old baby.
All this while Curtis and Good had been silent, feeling, I suppose,
that they had nothing to say that could do me any good, and content
to give me the comfort of their presence and unspoken sympathy; for
it was only their second visit since the funeral. And it is, by the
way, from the
presence of others
that we really derive support in our dark hours of grief, and not
from their talk, which often only serves to irritate us. Before a bad
storm the game always herd together, but they cease their calling.They
sat and smoked and drank whisky and water, and I stood by the fire
also smoking and looking at them.At
last I spoke. 'Old friends,' I said, 'how long is it since we got
back from Kukuanaland?''Three
years,' said Good. 'Why do you ask?''I
ask because I think that I have had a long enough spell of
civilization. I am going back to the veldt.'Sir
Henry laid his head back in his arm-chair and laughed one of his deep
laughs. 'How very odd,' he said, 'eh, Good?'Good
beamed at me mysteriously through his eyeglass and murmured, 'Yes,
odd—very odd.''I
don't quite understand,' said I, looking from one to the other, for I
dislike mysteries.'Don't
you, old fellow?' said Sir Henry; 'then I will explain. As Good and I
were walking up here we had a talk.''If
Good was there you probably did,' I put in sarcastically, for Good is
a great hand at talking. 'And what may it have been about?''What
do you think?' asked Sir Henry.I
shook my head. It was not likely that I should know what Good might
be talking about. He talks about so many things.'Well,
it was about a little plan that I have formed—namely, that if you
were willing we should pack up our traps and go off to Africa on
another expedition.'I
fairly jumped at his words. 'You don't say so!' I said.'Yes
I do, though, and so does Good; don't you, Good?''Rather,'
said that gentleman.'Listen,
old fellow,' went on Sir Henry, with considerable animation of
manner. 'I'm tired of it too, dead-tired of doing nothing more except
play the squire in a country that is sick of squires. For a year or
more I have been getting as restless as an old elephant who scents
danger. I am always dreaming of Kukuanaland and Gagool and King
Solomon's Mines. I can assure you I have become the victim of an
almost unaccountable craving. I am sick of shooting pheasants and
partridges, and want to have a go at some large game again. There,
you know the feeling—when one has once tasted brandy and water,
milk becomes insipid to the palate. That year we spent together up in
Kukuanaland seems to me worth all the other years of my life put
together. I dare say that I am a fool for my pains, but I can't help
it; I long to go, and, what is more, I mean to go.' He paused, and
then went on again. 'And, after all, why should I not go? I have no
wife or parent, no chick or child to keep me. If anything happens to
me the baronetcy will go to my brother George and his boy, as it
would ultimately do in any case. I am of no importance to any one.''Ah!'
I said, 'I thought you would come to that sooner or later. And now,
Good, what is your reason for wanting to trek; have you got one?''I
have,' said Good, solemnly. 'I never do anything without a reason;
and it isn't a lady—at least, if it is, it's several.'I
looked at him again. Good is so overpoweringly frivolous. 'What is
it?' I said.'Well,
if you really want to know, though I'd rather not speak of a delicate
and strictly personal matter, I'll tell you: I'm getting too fat.''Shut
up, Good!' said Sir Henry. 'And now, Quatermain, tell us, where do
you propose going to?'I
lit my pipe, which had gone out, before answering.'Have
you people ever heard of Mt Kenia?' I asked.'Don't
know the place,' said Good.'Did
you ever hear of the Island of Lamu?' I asked again.'No.
Stop, though—isn't it a place about 300 miles north of Zanzibar?''Yes.
Now listen. What I have to propose is this. That we go to Lamu and
thence make our way about 250 miles inland to Mt Kenia; from Mt Kenia
on inland to Mt Lekakisera, another 200 miles, or thereabouts, beyond
which no white man has to the best of my belief ever been; and then,
if we get so far, right on into the unknown interior. What do you say
to that, my hearties?''It's
a big order,' said Sir Henry, reflectively.'You
are right,' I answered, 'it is; but I take it that we are all three
of us in search of a big order. We want a change of scene, and we are
likely to get one—a thorough change. All my life I have longed to
visit those parts, and I mean to do it before I die. My poor boy's
death has broken the last link between me and civilization, and I'm
off to my native wilds. And now I'll tell you another thing, and that
is, that for years and years I have heard rumours of a great white
race which is supposed to have its home somewhere up in this
direction, and I have a mind to see if there is any truth in them. If
you fellows like to come, well and good; if not, I'll go alone.''I'm
your man, though I don't believe in your white race,' said Sir Henry
Curtis, rising and placing his arm upon my shoulder.'Ditto,'
remarked Good. 'I'll go into training at once. By all means let's go
to Mt Kenia and the other place with an unpronounceable name, and
look for a white race that does not exist. It's all one to me.''When
do you propose to start?' asked Sir Henry.'This
day month,' I answered, 'by the British India steamboat; and don't
you be so certain that things have no existence because you do not
happen to have heard of them. Remember King Solomon's mines!'Some
fourteen weeks or so had passed since the date of this conversation,
and this history goes on its way in very different surroundings.After
much deliberation and inquiry we came to the conclusion that our best
starting-point for Mt Kenia would be from the neighbourhood of the
mouth of the Tana River, and not from Mombassa, a place over 100
miles nearer Zanzibar. This conclusion we arrived at from information
given to us by a German trader whom we met upon the steamer at Aden.
I think that he was the dirtiest German I ever knew; but he was a
good fellow, and gave us a great deal of valuable information.
'Lamu,' said he, 'you goes to Lamu—oh ze beautiful place!' and he
turned up his fat face and beamed with mild rapture. 'One year and a
half I live there and never change my shirt—never at all.'And
so it came to pass that on arriving at the island we disembarked with
all our goods and chattels, and, not knowing where to go, marched
boldly up to the house of Her Majesty's Consul, where we were most
hospitably received.Lamu
is a very curious place, but the things which stand out most clearly
in my memory in connection with it are its exceeding dirtiness and
its smells. These last are simply awful. Just below the Consulate is
the beach, or rather a mud bank that is called a beach. It is left
quite bare at low tide, and serves as a repository for all the filth,
offal, and refuse of the town. Here it is, too, that the women come
to bury coconuts in the mud, leaving them there till the outer husk
is quite rotten, when they dig them up again and use the fibres to
make mats with, and for various other purposes. As this process has
been going on for generations, the condition of the shore can be
better imagined than described. I have smelt many evil odours in the
course of my life, but the concentrated essence of stench which arose
from that beach at Lamu as we sat in the moonlit night—not under,
but on
our friend the Consul's hospitable roof—and sniffed it, makes the
remembrance of them very poor and faint. No wonder people get fever
at Lamu. And yet the place was not without a certain quaintness and
charm of its own, though possibly—indeed probably—it was one
which would quickly pall.'Well,
where are you gentlemen steering for?' asked our friend the
hospitable Consul, as we smoked our pipes after dinner.'We
propose to go to Mt Kenia and then on to Mt Lekakisera,' answered Sir
Henry. 'Quatermain has got hold of some yarn about there being a
white race up in the unknown territories beyond.'The
Consul looked interested, and answered that he had heard something of
that, too.'What
have you heard?' I asked.'Oh,
not much. All I know about it is that a year or so ago I got a letter
from Mackenzie, the Scotch missionary, whose station, "The
Highlands", is placed at the highest navigable point of the Tana
River, in which he said something about it.''Have
you the letter?' I asked.'No,
I destroyed it; but I remember that he said that a man had arrived at
his station who declared that two months' journey beyond Mt
Lekakisera, which no white man has yet visited—at least, so far as
I know—he found a lake called Laga, and that then he went off to
the north-east, a month's journey, over desert and thorn veldt and
great mountains, till he came to a country where the people are white
and live in stone houses. Here he was hospitably entertained for a
while, till at last the priests of the country set it about that he
was a devil, and the people drove him away, and he journeyed for
eight months and reached Mackenzie's place, as I heard, dying. That's
all I know; and if you ask me, I believe that it is a lie; but if you
want to find out more about it, you had better go up the Tana to
Mackenzie's place and ask him for information.'Sir
Henry and I looked at each other. Here was something tangible.'I
think that we will go to Mr Mackenzie's,' I said.'Well,'
answered the Consul, 'that is your best way, but I warn you that you
are likely to have a rough journey, for I hear that the Masai are
about, and, as you know, they are not pleasant customers. Your best
plan will be to choose a few picked men for personal servants and
hunters, and to hire bearers from village to village. It will give
you an infinity of trouble, but perhaps on the whole it will prove a
cheaper and more advantageous course than engaging a caravan, and you
will be less liable to desertion.'Fortunately
there were at Lamu at this time a party of Wakwafi Askari (soldiers).
The Wakwafi, who are a cross between the Masai and the Wataveta, are
a fine manly race, possessing many of the good qualities of the Zulu,
and a great capacity for civilization. They are also great hunters.
As it happened, these particular men had recently been on a long trip
with an Englishman named Jutson, who had started from Mombasa, a port
about 150 miles below Lamu, and journeyed right round Kilimanjaro,
one of the highest known mountains in Africa. Poor fellow, he had
died of fever when on his return journey, and within a day's march of
Mombasa. It does seem hard that he should have gone off thus when
within a few hours of safety, and after having survived so many
perils, but so it was. His hunters buried him, and then came on to
Lamu in a dhow. Our friend the Consul suggested to us that we had
better try and hire these men, and accordingly on the following
morning we started to interview the party, accompanied by an
interpreter.In
due course we found them in a mud hut on the outskirts of the town.
Three of the men were sitting outside the hut, and fine frank-looking
fellows they were, having a more or less civilized appearance. To
them we cautiously opened the object of our visit, at first with very
scant success. They declared that they could not entertain any such
idea, that they were worn and weary with long travelling, and that
their hearts were sore at the loss of their master. They meant to go
back to their homes and rest awhile. This did not sound very
promising, so by way of effecting a diversion I asked where the
remainder of them were. I was told there were six, and I saw but
three. One of the men said they slept in the hut, and were yet
resting after their labours—'sleep weighed down their eyelids, and
sorrow made their hearts as lead: it was best to sleep, for with
sleep came forgetfulness. But the men should be awakened.'Presently
they came out of the hut, yawning—the first two men being evidently
of the same race and style as those already before us; but the
appearance of the third and last nearly made me jump out of my skin.
He was a very tall, broad man, quite six foot three, I should say,
but gaunt, with lean, wiry-looking limbs. My first glance at him told
me that he was no Wakwafi: he was a pure bred Zulu. He came out with
his thin aristocratic-looking hand placed before his face to hide a
yawn, so I could only see that he was a 'Keshla' or ringed man
{Endnote 1}, and that he had a great three-cornered hole in his
forehead. In another second he removed his hand, revealing a
powerful-looking Zulu face, with a humorous mouth, a short woolly
beard, tinged with grey, and a pair of brown eyes keen as a hawk's. I
knew my man at once, although I had not seen him for twelve years.
'How do you do, Umslopogaas?' I said quietly in Zulu.The
tall man (who among his own people was commonly known as the
'Woodpecker', and also as the 'Slaughterer') started, and almost let
the long-handled battleaxe he held in his hand fall in his
astonishment. Next second he had recognized me, and was saluting me
in an outburst of sonorous language which made his companions the
Wakwafi stare.'Koos'
(chief), he began, 'Koos-y-Pagete! Koos-y-umcool! (Chief from of
old—mighty chief) Koos! Baba! (father) Macumazahn, old hunter,
slayer of elephants, eater up of lions, clever one! watchful one!
brave one! quick one! whose shot never misses, who strikes straight
home, who grasps a hand and holds it to the death (i.e. is a true
friend) Koos! Baba! Wise is the voice of our people that says,
"Mountain never meets with mountain, but at daybreak or at even
man shall meet again with man." Behold! a messenger came up from
Natal, "Macumazahn is dead!" cried he. "The land knows
Macumazahn no more." That is years ago. And now, behold, now in
this strange place of stinks I find Macumazahn, my friend. There is
no room for doubt. The brush of the old jackal has gone a little
grey; but is not his eye as keen, and are not his teeth as sharp? Ha!
ha! Macumazahn, mindest thou how thou didst plant the ball in the eye
of the charging buffalo—mindest thou—'I
had let him run on thus because I saw that his enthusiasm was
producing a marked effect upon the minds of the five Wakwafi, who
appeared to understand something of his talk; but now I thought it
time to put a stop to it, for there is nothing that I hate so much as
this Zulu system of extravagant praising—'bongering' as they call
it. 'Silence!' I said. 'Has all thy noisy talk been stopped up since
last I saw thee that it breaks out thus, and sweeps us away? What
doest thou here with these men—thou whom I left a chief in
Zululand? How is it that thou art far from thine own place, and
gathered together with strangers?'Umslopogaas
leant himself upon the head of his long battleaxe (which was nothing
else but a pole-axe, with a beautiful handle of rhinoceros horn), and
his grim face grew sad.'My
Father,' he answered, 'I have a word to tell thee, but I cannot speak
it before these low people (umfagozana),' and he glanced at the
Wakwafi Askari; 'it is for thine own ear. My Father, this will I
say,' and here his face grew stern again, 'a woman betrayed me to the
death, and covered my name with shame—ay, my own wife, a
round-faced girl, betrayed me; but I escaped from death; ay, I broke
from the very hands of those who came to slay me. I struck but three
blows with this mine axe Inkosikaas—surely my Father will remember
it—one to the right, one to the left, and one in front, and yet I
left three men dead. And then I fled, and, as my Father knows, even
now that I am old my feet are as the feet of the Sassaby {Endnote 2},
and there breathes not the man who, by running, can touch me again
when once I have bounded from his side. On I sped, and after me came
the messengers of death, and their voice was as the voice of dogs
that hunt. From my own kraal I flew, and, as I passed, she who had
betrayed me was drawing water from the spring. I fleeted by her like
the shadow of Death, and as I went I smote with mine axe, and lo! her
head fell: it fell into the water pan. Then I fled north. Day after
day I journeyed on; for three moons I journeyed, resting not,
stopping not, but running on towards forgetfulness, till I met the
party of the white hunter who is now dead, and am come hither with
his servants. And nought have I brought with me. I who was high-born,
ay, of the blood of Chaka, the great king—a chief, and a captain of
the regiment of the Nkomabakosi—am a wanderer in strange places, a
man without a kraal. Nought have I brought save this mine axe; of all
my belongings this remains alone. They have divided my cattle; they
have taken my wives; and my children know my face no more. Yet with
this axe'—and he swung the formidable weapon round his head, making
the air hiss as he clove it—'will I cut another path to fortune. I
have spoken.'I
shook my head at him. 'Umslopogaas,' I said, 'I know thee from of
old. Ever ambitious, ever plotting to be great, I fear me that thou
hast overreached thyself at last. Years ago, when thou wouldst have
plotted against Cetywayo, son of Panda, I warned thee, and thou didst
listen. But now, when I was not by thee to stay thy hand, thou hast
dug a pit for thine own feet to fall in. Is it not so? But what is
done is done. Who can make the dead tree green, or gaze again upon
last year's light? Who can recall the spoken word, or bring back the
spirit of the fallen? That which Time swallows comes not up again.
Let it be forgotten!'And
now, behold, Umslopogaas, I know thee for a great warrior and a brave
man, faithful to the death. Even in Zululand, where all the men are
brave, they called thee the "Slaughterer", and at night
told stories round the fire of thy strength and deeds. Hear me now.
Thou seest this great man, my friend'—and I pointed to Sir Henry;
'he also is a warrior as great as thou, and, strong as thou art, he
could throw thee over his shoulder. Incubu is his name. And thou
seest this one also; him with the round stomach, the shining eye, and
the pleasant face. Bougwan (glass eye) is his name, and a good man is
he and a true, being of a curious tribe who pass their life upon the
water, and live in floating kraals.'Now,
we three whom thou seest would travel inland, past Dongo Egere, the
great white mountain (Mt Kenia), and far into the unknown beyond. We
know not what we shall find there; we go to hunt and seek adventures,
and new places, being tired of sitting still, with the same old
things around us. Wilt thou come with us? To thee shall be given
command of all our servants; but what shall befall thee, that I know
not. Once before we three journeyed thus, in search of adventure, and
we took with us a man such as thou—one Umbopa; and, behold, we left
him the king of a great country, with twenty Impis (regiments), each
of 3,000 plumed warriors, waiting on his word. How it shall go with
thee, I know not; mayhap death awaits thee and us. Wilt thou throw
thyself to Fortune and come, or fearest thou, Umslopogaas?'The
great man smiled. 'Thou art not altogether right, Macumazahn,' he
said; 'I have plotted in my time, but it was not ambition that led me
to my fall; but, shame on me that I should have to say it, a fair
woman's face. Let it pass. So we are going to see something like the
old times again, Macumazahn, when we fought and hunted in Zululand?
Ay, I will come. Come life, come death, what care I, so that the
blows fall fast and the blood runs red? I grow old, I grow old, and I
have not fought enough! And yet am I a warrior among warriors; see my
scars'—and he pointed to countless cicatrices, stabs and cuts, that
marked the skin of his chest and legs and arms. 'See the hole in my
head; the brains gushed out therefrom, yet did I slay him who smote,
and live. Knowest thou how many men I have slain, in fair
hand-to-hand combat, Macumazahn? See, here is the tale of them'—and
he pointed to long rows of notches cut in the rhinoceros-horn handle
of his axe. 'Number them, Macumazahn—one hundred and three—and I
have never counted but those whom I have ripped open {Endnote 3}, nor
have I reckoned those whom another man had struck.''Be
silent,' I said, for I saw that he was getting the blood-fever on
him; 'be silent; well art thou called the "Slaughterer". We
would not hear of thy deeds of blood. Remember, if thou comest with
us, we fight not save in self-defence. Listen, we need servants.
These men,' and I pointed to the Wakwafi, who had retired a little
way during our 'indaba' (talk), 'say they will not come.''Will
not come!' shouted Umslopogaas; 'where is the dog who says he will
not come when my Father orders? Here, thou'—and with a single bound
he sprang upon the Wakwafi with whom I had first spoken, and, seizing
him by the arm, dragged him towards us. 'Thou dog!' he said, giving
the terrified man a shake, 'didst thou say that thou wouldst not go
with my Father? Say it once more and I will choke thee'—and his
long fingers closed round his throat as he said it—'thee, and those
with thee. Hast thou forgotten how I served thy brother?''Nay,
we will come with the white man,' gasped the man.'White
man!' went on Umslopogaas, in simulated fury, which a very little
provocation would have made real enough; 'of whom speakest thou,
insolent dog?''Nay,
we will go with the great chief.''So!'
said Umslopogaas, in a quiet voice, as he suddenly released his hold,
so that the man fell backward. 'I thought you would.''That
man Umslopogaas seems to have a curious moral ascendency over his
companions,' Good afterwards remarked thoughtfully.
CHAPTER II THE BLACK HAND
In
due course we left Lamu, and ten days afterwards we found ourselves
at a spot called Charra, on the Tana River, having gone through many
adventures which need not be recorded here. Amongst other things we
visited a ruined city, of which there are many on this coast, and
which must once, to judge from their extent and the numerous remains
of mosques and stone houses, have been very populous places. These
ruined cities are immeasurably ancient, having, I believe, been
places of wealth and importance as far back as the Old Testament
times, when they were centres of trade with India and elsewhere. But
their glory has departed now—the slave trade has finished them—and
where wealthy merchants from all parts of the then civilized world
stood and bargained in the crowded market-places, the lion holds his
court at night, and instead of the chattering of slaves and the eager
voices of the bidders, his awful note goes echoing down the ruined
corridors. At this particular place we discovered on a mound, covered
up with rank growth and rubbish, two of the most beautiful stone
doorways that it is possible to conceive. The carving on them was
simply exquisite, and I only regret that we had no means of getting
them away. No doubt they had once been the entrances to a palace, of
which, however, no traces were now to be seen, though probably its
ruins lay under the rising mound.
Gone!
quite gone! the way that everything must go. Like the nobles and the
ladies who lived within their gates, these cities have had their day,
and now they are as Babylon and Nineveh, and as London and Paris will
one day be. Nothing may endure. That is the inexorable law. Men and
women, empires and cities, thrones, principalities, and powers,
mountains, rivers, and unfathomed seas, worlds, spaces, and
universes, all have their day, and all must go. In this ruined and
forgotten place the moralist may behold a symbol of the universal
destiny. For this system of ours allows no room for standing
still—nothing can loiter on the road and check the progress of
things upwards towards Life, or the rush of things downwards towards
Death. The stern policeman Fate moves us and them on, on, uphill and
downhill and across the level; there is no resting-place for the
weary feet, till at last the abyss swallows us, and from the shores
of the Transitory we are hurled into the sea of the Eternal.
At
Charra we had a violent quarrel with the headman of the bearers we
had hired to go as far as this, and who now wished to extort large
extra payment from us. In the result he threatened to set the
Masai—about whom more anon—on to us. That night he, with all our
hired bearers, ran away, stealing most of the goods which had been
entrusted to them to carry. Luckily, however, they had not happened
to steal our rifles, ammunition, and personal effects; not because of
any delicacy of feeling on their part, but owing to the fact that
they chanced to be in the charge of the five Wakwafis. After that, it
was clear to us that we had had enough of caravans and of bearers.
Indeed, we had not much left for a caravan to carry. And yet, how
were we to get on?
It
was Good who solved the question. 'Here is water,' he said, pointing
to the Tana River; 'and yesterday I saw a party of natives hunting
hippopotami in canoes. I understand that Mr Mackenzie's mission
station is on the Tana River. Why not get into canoes and paddle up
to it?'
This
brilliant suggestion was, needless to say, received with acclamation;
and I instantly set to work to buy suitable canoes from the
surrounding natives. I succeeded after a delay of three days in
obtaining two large ones, each hollowed out of a single log of some
light wood, and capable of holding six people and baggage. For these
two canoes we had to pay nearly all our remaining cloth, and also
many other articles.
On
the day following our purchase of the two canoes we effected a start.
In the first canoe were Good, Sir Henry, and three of our Wakwafi
followers; in the second myself, Umslopogaas, and the other two
Wakwafis. As our course lay upstream, we had to keep four paddles at
work in each canoe, which meant that the whole lot of us, except
Good, had to row away like galley-slaves; and very exhausting work it
was. I say, except Good, for, of course, the moment that Good got
into a boat his foot was on his native heath, and he took command of
the party. And certainly he worked us. On shore Good is a gentle,
mild-mannered man, and given to jocosity; but, as we found to our
cost, Good in a boat was a perfect demon. To begin with, he knew all
about it, and we didn't. On all nautical subjects, from the torpedo
fittings of a man-of-war down to the best way of handling the paddle
of an African canoe, he was a perfect mine of information, which, to
say the least of it, we were not. Also his ideas of discipline were
of the sternest, and, in short, he came the royal naval officer over
us pretty considerably, and paid us out amply for all the chaff we
were wont to treat him to on land; but, on the other hand, I am bound
to say that he managed the boats admirably.
After
the first day Good succeeded, with the help of some cloth and a
couple of poles, in rigging up a sail in each canoe, which lightened
our labours not a little. But the current ran very strong against us,
and at the best we were not able to make more than twenty miles a
day. Our plan was to start at dawn, and paddle along till about
half-past ten, by which time the sun got too hot to allow of further
exertion. Then we moored our canoes to the bank, and ate our frugal
meal; after which we ate or otherwise amused ourselves till about
three o'clock, when we again started, and rowed till within an hour
of sundown, when we called a halt for the night. On landing in the
evening, Good would at once set to work, with the help of the Askari,
to build a little 'scherm', or small enclosure, fenced with thorn
bushes, and to light a fire. I, with Sir Henry and Umslopogaas, would
go out to shoot something for the pot. Generally this was an easy
task, for all sorts of game abounded on the banks of the Tana. One
night Sir Henry shot a young cow-giraffe, of which the marrow-bones
were excellent; on another I got a couple of waterbuck right and
left; and once, to his own intense satisfaction, Umslopogaas (who,
like most Zulus, was a vile shot with a rifle) managed to kill a fine
fat eland with a Martini I had lent him. Sometimes we varied our food
by shooting some guinea-fowl, or bush-bustard (paau)—both of which
were numerous—with a shot-gun, or by catching a supply of beautiful
yellow fish, with which the waters of the Tana swarmed, and which
form, I believe, one of the chief food-supplies of the crocodiles.
Three
days after our start an ominous incident occurred. We were just
drawing in to the bank to make our camp as usual for the night, when
we caught sight of a figure standing on a little knoll not forty
yards away, and intensely watching our approach. One glance was
sufficient—although I was personally unacquainted with the tribe—to
tell me that he was a Masai Elmoran, or young warrior. Indeed, had I
had any doubts, they would have quickly been dispelled by the
terrified ejaculation of 'Masai!'
that burst simultaneously from the lips of our Wakwafi followers, who
are, as I think I have said, themselves bastard Masai.
And
what a figure he presented as he stood there in his savage war-gear!
Accustomed as I have been to savages all my life, I do not think that
I have ever before seen anything quite so ferocious or awe-inspiring.
To begin with, the man was enormously tall, quite as tall as
Umslopogaas, I should say, and beautifully, though somewhat slightly,
shaped; but with the face of a devil. In his right hand he held a
spear about five and a half feet long, the blade being two and a half
feet in length, by nearly three inches in width, and having an iron
spike at the end of the handle that measured more than a foot. On his
left arm was a large and well-made elliptical shield of buffalo hide,
on which were painted strange heraldic-looking devices. On his
shoulders was a huge cape of hawk's feathers, and round his neck was
a 'naibere', or strip of cotton, about seventeen feet long, by one
and a half broad, with a stripe of colour running down the middle of
it. The tanned goatskin robe, which formed his ordinary attire in
times of peace, was tied lightly round his waist, so as to serve the
purposes of a belt, and through it were stuck, on the right and left
sides respectively, his short pear-shaped sime, or sword, which is
made of a single piece of steel, and carried in a wooden sheath, and
an enormous knobkerrie. But perhaps the most remarkable feature of
his attire consisted of a headdress of ostrich-feathers, which was
fixed on the chin, and passed in front of the ears to the forehead,
and, being shaped like an ellipse, completely framed the face, so
that the diabolical countenance appeared to project from a sort of
feather fire-screen. Round the ankles he wore black fringes of hair,
and, projecting from the upper portion of the calves, to which they
were attached, were long spurs like spikes, from which flowed down
tufts of the beautiful black and waving hair of the Colobus monkey.
Such was the elaborate array of the Masai Elmoran who stood watching
the approach of our two canoes, but it is one which, to be
appreciated, must be seen; only those who see it do not often live to
describe it. Of course I could not make out all these details of his
full dress on the occasion of this my first introduction, being,
indeed, amply taken up with the consideration of the general effect,
but I had plenty of subsequent opportunities of becoming acquainted
with the items that went to make it up.
Whilst
we were hesitating what to do, the Masai warrior drew himself up in a
dignified fashion, shook his huge spear at us, and, turning, vanished
on the further side of the slope.
'Hulloa!'
holloaed Sir Henry from the other boat; 'our friend the caravan
leader has been as good as his word, and set the Masai after us. Do
you think it will be safe to go ashore?'
I
did not think it would be at all safe; but, on the other hand, we had
no means of cooking in the canoes, and nothing that we could eat raw,
so it was difficult to know what to do. At last Umslopogaas
simplified matters by volunteering to go and reconnoitre, which he
did, creeping off into the bush like a snake, while we hung off in
the stream waiting for him. In half an hour he returned, and told us
that there was not a Masai to be seen anywhere about, but that he had
discovered a spot where they had recently been encamped, and that
from various indications he judged that they must have moved on an
hour or so before; the man we saw having, no doubt, been left to
report upon our movements.
Thereupon
we landed; and, having posted a sentry, proceeded to cook and eat our
evening meal. This done, we took the situation into our serious
consideration. Of course, it was possible that the apparition of the
Masai warrior had nothing to do with us, that he was merely one of a
band bent upon some marauding and murdering expedition against
another tribe. But when we recalled the threat of the caravan leader,
and reflected on the ominous way in which the warrior had shaken his
spear at us, this did not appear very probable. On the contrary, what
did seem probable was that the party was after us and awaiting a
favourable opportunity to attack us. This being so, there were two
things that we could do—one of which was to go on, and the other to
go back. The latter idea was, however, rejected at once, it being
obvious that we should encounter as many dangers in retreat as in
advance; and, besides, we had made up our minds to journey onwards at
any price. Under these circumstances, however, we did not consider it
safe to sleep ashore, so we got into our canoes, and, paddling out
into the middle of the stream, which was not very wide here, managed
to anchor them by means of big stones fastened to ropes made of
coconut-fibre, of which there were several fathoms in each canoe.
