CHAPTER I THE CONSUL'S YARN
A week had passed since the funeral of my poor boy Harry, and oneevening I was in my room walking up and down and thinking, when therewas 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 widehearth, 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 aremark; 'it must have been heavy walking in the snow.'
They said nothing, but Sir Henry slowly filled his pipe and lit it witha burning ember. As he leant forward to do so the fire got hold of agassy bit of pine and flared up brightly, throwing the whole scene intostrong relief, and I thought, What a splendid-looking man he is! Calm,powerful face, clear-cut features, large grey eyes, yellow beard andhair--altogether a magnificent specimen of the higher type of humanity.Nor did his form belie his face. I have never seen wider shoulders or adeeper chest. Indeed, Sir Henry's girth is so great that, though he issix feet two high, he does not strike one as a tall man. As I looked athim I could not help thinking what a curious contrast my little dried-upself presented to his grand face and form. Imagine to yourself a small,withered, yellow-faced man of sixty-three, with thin hands, large browneyes, a head of grizzled hair cut short and standing up like a half-wornscrubbing-brush--total weight in my clothes, nine stone six--and youwill get a very fair idea of Allan Quatermain, commonly called HunterQuatermain, or by the natives 'Macumazahn'--Anglice, he who keeps abright look-out at night, or, in vulgar English, a sharp fellow who isnot 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 aneyeglass 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 amost disgraceful way. Sir Henry tells him that it comes from idlenessand over-feeding, and Good does not like it at all, though he cannotdeny it.
We sat for a while, and then I got a match and lit the lamp that stoodready on the table, for the half-light began to grow dreary, as it isapt 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 whiskyand some tumblers and water. I always like to do these things formyself: 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 andGood had been silent, feeling, I suppose, that they had nothing to saythat could do me any good, and content to give me the comfort of theirpresence and unspoken sympathy; for it was only their second visit sincethe funeral. And it is, by the way, from the _presence_ of others thatwe really derive support in our dark hours of grief, and not from theirtalk, which often only serves to irritate us. Before a bad storm thegame always herd together, but they cease their calling.
They sat and smoked and drank whisky and water, and I stood by the firealso smoking and looking at them.
At last I spoke. 'Old friends,' I said, 'how long is it since we gotback from Kukuanaland?'
'Three years,' said Good. 'Why do you ask?'
'I ask because I think that I have had a long enough spell ofcivilization. I am going back to the veldt.'
Sir Henry laid his head back in his arm-chair and laughed one of hisdeep 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 Idislike mysteries.
'Don't you, old fellow?' said Sir Henry; 'then I will explain. As Goodand I were walking up here we had a talk.'
'If Good was there you probably did,' I put in sarcastically, for Goodis 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 betalking about. He talks about so many things.
'Well, it was about a little plan that I have formed--namely, that ifyou were willing we should pack up our traps and go off to Africa onanother 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 ofmanner. 'I'm tired of it too, dead-tired of doing nothing more exceptplay the squire in a country that is sick of squires. For a year or moreI have been getting as restless as an old elephant who scents danger. Iam always dreaming of Kukuanaland and Gagool and King Solomon's Mines.I can assure you I have become the victim of an almost unaccountablecraving. I am sick of shooting pheasants and partridges, and want tohave a go at some large game again. There, you know the feeling--whenone has once tasted brandy and water, milk becomes insipid to thepalate. That year we spent together up in Kukuanaland seems to me worthall the other years of my life put together. I dare say that I am a foolfor my pains, but I can't help it; I long to go, and, what is more, Imean to go.' He paused, and then went on again. 'And, after all, whyshould 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 andhis boy, as it would ultimately do in any case. I am of no importance toany one.'
'Ah!' I said, 'I thought you would come to that sooner or later. Andnow, 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 isit?' I said.
'Well, if you really want to know, though I'd rather not speak of adelicate and strictly personal matter, I'll tell you: I'm getting toofat.'
'Shut up, Good!' said Sir Henry. 'And now, Quatermain, tell us, where doyou 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 andthence make our way about 250 miles inland to Mt Kenia; from Mt Kenia oninland to Mt Lekakisera, another 200 miles, or thereabouts, beyond whichno white man has to the best of my belief ever been; and then, if we getso far, right on into the unknown interior. What do you say to that, myhearties?'
'It's a big order,' said Sir Henry, reflectively.
'You are right,' I answered, 'it is; but I take it that we are all threeof us in search of a big order. We want a change of scene, and we arelikely to get one--a thorough change. All my life I have longed to visitthose parts, and I mean to do it before I die. My poor boy's death hasbroken the last link between me and civilization, and I'm off to mynative wilds. And now I'll tell you another thing, and that is, thatfor years and years I have heard rumours of a great white race which issupposed to have its home somewhere up in this direction, and I have amind 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 SirHenry Curtis, rising and placing his arm upon my shoulder.
'Ditto,' remarked Good. 'I'll go into training at once. By all meanslet'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; anddon't you be so certain that things have no existence because you do nothappen to have heard of them. Remember King Solomon's mines!'
Some fourteen weeks or so had passed since the date of thisconversation, and this hist
ory goes on its way in very differentsurroundings.
After much deliberation and inquiry we came to the conclusion that ourbest starting-point for Mt Kenia would be from the neighbourhood of themouth of the Tana River, and not from Mombassa, a place over 100 milesnearer Zanzibar. This conclusion we arrived at from information given tous by a German trader whom we met upon the steamer at Aden. I think thathe was the dirtiest German I ever knew; but he was a good fellow, andgave us a great deal of valuable information. 'Lamu,' said he, 'yougoes to Lamu--oh ze beautiful place!' and he turned up his fat face andbeamed with mild rapture. 'One year and a half I live there and neverchange my shirt--never at all.'
And so it came to pass that on arriving at the island we disembarkedwith all our goods and chattels, and, not knowing where to go, marchedboldly up to the house of Her Majesty's Consul, where we were mosthospitably received.
Lamu is a very curious place, but the things which stand out mostclearly in my memory in connection with it are its exceeding dirtinessand its smells. These last are simply awful. Just below the Consulate isthe beach, or rather a mud bank that is called a beach. It is left quitebare 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 burycoconuts in the mud, leaving them there till the outer husk is quiterotten, when they dig them up again and use the fibres to make matswith, and for various other purposes. As this process has been going onfor generations, the condition of the shore can be better imagined thandescribed. I have smelt many evil odours in the course of my life, butthe concentrated essence of stench which arose from that beach at Lamuas we sat in the moonlit night--not under, but _on_ our friend theConsul's hospitable roof--and sniffed it, makes the remembrance of themvery poor and faint. No wonder people get fever at Lamu. And yet theplace was not without a certain quaintness and charm of its own, thoughpossibly--indeed probably--it was one which would quickly pall.
'Well, where are you gentlemen steering for?' asked our friend thehospitable Consul, as we smoked our pipes after dinner.
'We propose to go to Mt Kenia and then on to Mt Lekakisera,' answeredSir Henry. 'Quatermain has got hold of some yarn about there being awhite race up in the unknown territories beyond.'
The Consul looked interested, and answered that he had heard somethingof that, too.
'What have you heard?' I asked.
'Oh, not much. All I know about it is that a year or so ago I gota letter from Mackenzie, the Scotch missionary, whose station, "TheHighlands", 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 hadarrived at his station who declared that two months' journey beyond MtLekakisera, which no white man has yet visited--at least, so far asI know--he found a lake called Laga, and that then he went off to thenorth-east, a month's journey, over desert and thorn veldt and greatmountains, till he came to a country where the people are white and livein stone houses. Here he was hospitably entertained for a while, tillat last the priests of the country set it about that he was a devil, andthe people drove him away, and he journeyed for eight months and reachedMackenzie's place, as I heard, dying. That's all I know; and if you askme, I believe that it is a lie; but if you want to find out more aboutit, you had better go up the Tana to Mackenzie's place and ask him forinformation.'
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 thatyou are likely to have a rough journey, for I hear that the Masai areabout, and, as you know, they are not pleasant customers. Your best planwill be to choose a few picked men for personal servants and hunters,and to hire bearers from village to village. It will give you aninfinity of trouble, but perhaps on the whole it will prove a cheaperand more advantageous course than engaging a caravan, and you will beless 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 theWataveta, are a fine manly race, possessing many of the good qualitiesof the Zulu, and a great capacity for civilization. They are also greathunters. As it happened, these particular men had recently been on along trip with an Englishman named Jutson, who had started fromMombasa, a port about 150 miles below Lamu, and journeyed right roundKilimanjaro, one of the highest known mountains in Africa. Poor fellow,he had died of fever when on his return journey, and within a day'smarch of Mombasa. It does seem hard that he should have gone off thuswhen within a few hours of safety, and after having survived so manyperils, but so it was. His hunters buried him, and then came on to Lamuin a dhow. Our friend the Consul suggested to us that we had better tryand hire these men, and accordingly on the following morning we startedto 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-lookingfellows they were, having a more or less civilized appearance. To themwe cautiously opened the object of our visit, at first with very scantsuccess. They declared that they could not entertain any such idea, thatthey were worn and weary with long travelling, and that their heartswere sore at the loss of their master. They meant to go back to theirhomes and rest awhile. This did not sound very promising, so by way ofeffecting a diversion I asked where the remainder of them were. I wastold there were six, and I saw but three. One of the men said they sleptin the hut, and were yet resting after their labours--'sleep weigheddown their eyelids, and sorrow made their hearts as lead: it was bestto sleep, for with sleep came forgetfulness. But the men should beawakened.'
Presently they came out of the hut, yawning--the first two men beingevidently of the same race and style as those already before us; but theappearance 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, butgaunt, with lean, wiry-looking limbs. My first glance at him told methat he was no Wakwafi: he was a pure bred Zulu. He came out with histhin aristocratic-looking hand placed before his face to hide a yawn, soI could only see that he was a 'Keshla' or ringed man {Endnote 1}, andthat he had a great three-cornered hole in his forehead. In anothersecond he removed his hand, revealing a powerful-looking Zulu face, witha humorous mouth, a short woolly beard, tinged with grey, and a pair ofbrown eyes keen as a hawk's. I knew my man at once, although I had notseen him for twelve years. 'How do you do, Umslopogaas?' I said quietlyin Zulu.
The tall man (who among his own people was commonly known as the'Woodpecker', and also as the 'Slaughterer') started, and almost letthe 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 ofsonorous language which made his companions the Wakwafi stare.
'Koos' (chief), he began, 'Koos-y-Pagete! Koos-y-umcool! (Chief from ofold--mighty chief) Koos! Baba! (father) Macumazahn, old hunter, slayerof elephants, eater up of lions, clever one! watchful one! brave one!quick one! whose shot never misses, who strikes straight home, whograsps 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 meetswith mountain, but at daybreak or at even man shall meet again withman." Behold! a messenger came up from Natal, "Macumazahn is dead!"cried he. "The land knows Macumazahn no more." That is years ago. Andnow, behold, now in this strange place of stinks I find Macumazahn, myfriend. There is no room for doubt. The brush of the old jackal hasgone a little grey; but is not his eye as keen, and are not his teeth assharp? Ha! ha! Macumazahn, mindest thou how thou didst plant the ball inthe eye of the charging buffalo--mindest thou--'
I had let him run on thus because I saw that his enthusiasm wasproducing a marked effect upon the minds of the five Wakwafi, whoappeared to understand something of his talk; but now I thought it timeto put a stop to
it, for there is nothing that I hate so much as thisZulu system of extravagant praising--'bongering' as they call it.'Silence!' I said. 'Has all thy noisy talk been stopped up since lastI saw thee that it breaks out thus, and sweeps us away? What doest thouhere with these men--thou whom I left a chief in Zululand? How is itthat thou art far from thine own place, and gathered together withstrangers?'
Umslopogaas leant himself upon the head of his long battleaxe (whichwas nothing else but a pole-axe, with a beautiful handle of rhinoceroshorn), and his grim face grew sad.
'My Father,' he answered, 'I have a word to tell thee, but I cannotspeak it before these low people (umfagozana),' and he glanced at theWakwafi 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 handsof those who came to slay me. I struck but three blows with this mineaxe Inkosikaas--surely my Father will remember it--one to the right, oneto the left, and one in front, and yet I left three men dead. And then Ifled, and, as my Father knows, even now that I am old my feet are as thefeet of the Sassaby {Endnote 2}, and there breathes not the man who, byrunning, can touch me again when once I have bounded from his side. On Isped, and after me came the messengers of death, and their voice was asthe 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 byher like the shadow of Death, and as I went I smote with mine axe, andlo! her head fell: it fell into the water pan. Then I fled north. Dayafter day I journeyed on; for three moons I journeyed, resting not,stopping not, but running on towards forgetfulness, till I met theparty of the white hunter who is now dead, and am come hither with hisservants. 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 theregiment of the Nkomabakosi--am a wanderer in strange places, a manwithout a kraal. Nought have I brought save this mine axe; of all mybelongings this remains alone. They have divided my cattle; they havetaken my wives; and my children know my face no more. Yet with thisaxe'--and he swung the formidable weapon round his head, making theair hiss as he clove it--'will I cut another path to fortune. I havespoken.'
I shook my head at him. 'Umslopogaas,' I said, 'I know thee from ofold. Ever ambitious, ever plotting to be great, I fear me that thou hastoverreached thyself at last. Years ago, when thou wouldst have plottedagainst 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 pitfor 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 abrave man, faithful to the death. Even in Zululand, where all the menare brave, they called thee the "Slaughterer", and at night told storiesround the fire of thy strength and deeds. Hear me now. Thou seest thisgreat man, my friend'--and I pointed to Sir Henry; 'he also is a warrioras great as thou, and, strong as thou art, he could throw thee over hisshoulder. Incubu is his name. And thou seest this one also; him with theround stomach, the shining eye, and the pleasant face. Bougwan (glasseye) is his name, and a good man is he and a true, being of a curioustribe 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 thingsaround us. Wilt thou come with us? To thee shall be given command of allour servants; but what shall befall thee, that I know not. Once beforewe three journeyed thus, in search of adventure, and we took with usa man such as thou--one Umbopa; and, behold, we left him the king ofa great country, with twenty Impis (regiments), each of 3,000 plumedwarriors, 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 andcome, or fearest thou, Umslopogaas?'
The great man smiled. 'Thou art not altogether right, Macumazahn,' hesaid; 'I have plotted in my time, but it was not ambition that led me tomy fall; but, shame on me that I should have to say it, a fair woman'sface. Let it pass. So we are going to see something like the old timesagain, Macumazahn, when we fought and hunted in Zululand? Ay, I willcome. Come life, come death, what care I, so that the blows fall fastand the blood runs red? I grow old, I grow old, and I have not foughtenough! And yet am I a warrior among warriors; see my scars'--and hepointed to countless cicatrices, stabs and cuts, that marked the skin ofhis chest and legs and arms. 'See the hole in my head; the brains gushedout therefrom, yet did I slay him who smote, and live. Knowest thou howmany 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 cutin the rhinoceros-horn handle of his axe. 'Number them, Macumazahn--onehundred and three--and I have never counted but those whom I haveripped open {Endnote 3}, nor have I reckoned those whom another man hadstruck.'
'Be silent,' I said, for I saw that he was getting the blood-fever onhim; 'be silent; well art thou called the "Slaughterer". We would nothear of thy deeds of blood. Remember, if thou comest with us, we fightnot save in self-defence. Listen, we need servants. These men,' and Ipointed 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 willnot come when my Father orders? Here, thou'--and with a single bound hesprang upon the Wakwafi with whom I had first spoken, and, seizing himby the arm, dragged him towards us. 'Thou dog!' he said, giving theterrified man a shake, 'didst thou say that thou wouldst not go with myFather? Say it once more and I will choke thee'--and his long fingersclosed round his throat as he said it--'thee, and those with thee. Hastthou 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 verylittle 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 hishold, so that the man fell backward. 'I thought you would.'
'That man Umslopogaas seems to have a curious moral ascendency over hiscompanions,' Good afterwards remarked thoughtfully.
CHAPTER II THE BLACK HAND
Allan Quatermain Page 2