CHAPTER VII
SOLOMON'S ROAD
Outside the cavern we halted, feeling rather foolish.
"I am going back," said Sir Henry.
"Why?" asked Good.
"Because it has struck me that--what we saw--may be my brother."
This was a new idea, and we re-entered the place to put it to theproof. After the bright light outside, our eyes, weak as they were withstaring at the snow, could not pierce the gloom of the cave for awhile. Presently, however, they grew accustomed to the semi-darkness,and we advanced towards the dead man.
Sir Henry knelt down and peered into his face.
"Thank God," he said, with a sigh of relief, "it is _not_ my brother."
Then I drew near and looked. The body was that of a tall man in middlelife with aquiline features, grizzled hair, and a long black moustache.The skin was perfectly yellow, and stretched tightly over the bones.Its clothing, with the exception of what seemed to be the remains of awoollen pair of hose, had been removed, leaving the skeleton-like framenaked. Round the neck of the corpse, which was frozen perfectly stiff,hung a yellow ivory crucifix.
"Who on earth can it be?" said I.
"Can't you guess?" asked Good.
I shook my head.
"Why, the old Dom, Jose da Silvestra, of course--who else?"
"Impossible," I gasped; "he died three hundred years ago."
"And what is there to prevent him from lasting for three thousand yearsin this atmosphere, I should like to know?" asked Good. "If only thetemperature is sufficiently low, flesh and blood will keep fresh as NewZealand mutton for ever, and Heaven knows it is cold enough here. Thesun never gets in here; no animal comes here to tear or destroy. Nodoubt his slave, of whom he speaks on the writing, took off his clothesand left him. He could not have buried him alone. Look!" he went on,stooping down to pick up a queerly-shaped bone scraped at the end intoa sharp point, "here is the 'cleft bone' that Silvestra used to drawthe map with."
We gazed for a moment astonished, forgetting our own miseries in thisextraordinary and, as it seemed to us, semi-miraculous sight.
"Ay," said Sir Henry, "and this is where he got his ink from," and hepointed to a small wound on the Dom's left arm. "Did ever man see sucha thing before?"
There was no longer any doubt about the matter, which for my own part Iconfess perfectly appalled me. There he sat, the dead man, whosedirections, written some ten generations ago, had led us to this spot.Here in my own hand was the rude pen with which he had written them,and about his neck hung the crucifix that his dying lips had kissed.Gazing at him, my imagination could reconstruct the last scene of thedrama, the traveller dying of cold and starvation, yet striving toconvey to the world the great secret which he had discovered:--theawful loneliness of his death, of which the evidence sat before us. Iteven seemed to me that I could trace in his strongly-marked features alikeness to those of my poor friend Silvestre his descendant, who haddied twenty years before in my arms, but perhaps that was fancy. At anyrate, there he sat, a sad memento of the fate that so often overtakesthose who would penetrate into the unknown; and there doubtless he willstill sit, crowned with the dread majesty of death, for centuries yetunborn, to startle the eyes of wanderers like ourselves, if ever anysuch should come again to invade his loneliness. The thing overpoweredus, already almost perished as we were with cold and hunger.
"Let us go," said Sir Henry in a low voice; "stay, we will give him acompanion," and lifting up the dead body of the Hottentot Ventvoegel, heplaced it near to that of the old Dom. Then he stooped, and with a jerkbroke the rotten string of the crucifix which hung round da Silvestra'sneck, for his fingers were too cold to attempt to unfasten it. Ibelieve that he has it still. I took the bone pen, and it is before meas I write--sometimes I use it to sign my name.
Then leaving these two, the proud white man of a past age, and the poorHottentot, to keep their eternal vigil in the midst of the eternalsnows, we crept out of the cave into the welcome sunshine and resumedour path, wondering in our hearts how many hours it would be before wewere even as they are.
When we had walked about half a mile we came to the edge of theplateau, for the nipple of the mountain does not rise out of its exactcentre, though from the desert side it had seemed to do so. What laybelow us we could not see, for the landscape was wreathed in billows ofmorning fog. Presently, however, the higher layers of mist cleared alittle, and revealed, at the end of a long slope of snow, a patch ofgreen grass, some five hundred yards beneath us, through which a streamwas running. Nor was this all. By the stream, basking in the brightsun, stood and lay a group of from ten to fifteen _large antelopes_--atthat distance we could not see of what species.
The sight filled us with an unreasoning joy. If only we could get it,there was food in plenty. But the question was how to do so. The beastswere fully six hundred yards off, a very long shot, and one not to bedepended on when our lives hung on the results.
Rapidly we discussed the advisability of trying to stalk the game, butin the end dismissed it reluctantly. To begin with, the wind was notfavourable, and further, we must certainly be perceived, howevercareful we were, against the blinding background of snow, which weshould be obliged to traverse.
"Well, we must have a try from where we are," said Sir Henry. "Whichshall it be, Quatermain, the repeating rifles or the expresses?"
Here again was a question. The Winchester repeaters--of which we hadtwo, Umbopa carrying poor Ventvoegel's as well as his own--were sightedup to a thousand yards, whereas the expresses were only sighted tothree hundred and fifty, beyond which distance shooting with them wasmore or less guess-work. On the other hand, if they did hit, theexpress bullets, being "expanding," were much more likely to bring thegame down. It was a knotty point, but I made up my mind that we mustrisk it and use the expresses.
"Let each of us take the buck opposite to him. Aim well at the point ofthe shoulder and high up," said I; "and Umbopa, do you give the word,so that we may all fire together."
Then came a pause, each of us aiming his level best, as indeed a man islikely to do when he knows that life itself depends upon the shot.
"Fire," said Umbopa in Zulu, and at almost the same instant the threerifles rang out loudly; three clouds of smoke hung for a moment beforeus, and a hundred echoes went flying over the silent snow. Presentlythe smoke cleared, and revealed--oh, joy!--a great buck lying on itsback and kicking furiously in its death agony. We gave a yell oftriumph--we were saved--we should not starve. Weak as we were, werushed down the intervening slope of snow, and in ten minutes from thetime of shooting, that animal's heart and liver were lying before us.But now a new difficulty arose, we had no fuel, and therefore couldmake no fire to cook them. We gazed at each other in dismay.
"Starving men should not be fanciful," said Good; "we must eat rawmeat."
There was no other way out of the dilemma, and our gnawing hunger madethe proposition less distasteful than it would otherwise have been. Sowe took the heart and liver and buried them for a few minutes in apatch of snow to cool them. Then we washed them in the ice-cold waterof the stream, and lastly ate them greedily. It sounds horrible enough,but honestly, I never tasted anything so good as that raw meat. In aquarter of an hour we were changed men. Our life and vigour came backto us, our feeble pulses grew strong again, and the blood went coursingthrough our veins. But mindful of the results of over-feeding onstarved stomachs, we were careful not to eat too much, stopping whilstwe were still hungry.
"Thank Heaven!" said Sir Henry; "that brute has saved our lives. Whatis it, Quatermain?"
I rose and went to look at the antelope, for I was not certain. It wasabout the size of a donkey, with large curved horns. I had never seenone like it before; the species was new to me. It was brown in colour,with faint red stripes, and grew a thick coat. I afterwards discoveredthat the natives of that wonderful country call these bucks "_inco_."They are very rare, and only found at a great altitude where no othergame will live. This animal was fairly hit
high up in the shoulder,though whose bullet brought it down we could not, of course, discover.I believe that Good, mindful of his marvellous shot at the giraffe,secretly set it down to his own prowess, and we did not contradict him.
We had been so busy satisfying our hunger that hitherto we had notfound time to look about us. But now, having set Umbopa to cut off asmuch of the best meat as we were likely to be able to carry, we beganto inspect our surroundings. The mist had cleared away, for it waseight o'clock, and the sun had sucked it up, so we were able to take inall the country before us at a glance. I know not how to describe theglorious panorama which unfolded itself to our gaze. I have never seenanything like it before, nor shall, I suppose, again.
Behind and over us towered Sheba's snowy Breasts, and below, some fivethousand feet beneath where we stood, lay league on league of the mostlovely champaign country. Here were dense patches of lofty forest,there a great river wound its silvery way. To the left stretched a vastexpanse of rich, undulating veld or grass land, whereon we could justmake out countless herds of game or cattle, at that distance we couldnot tell which. This expanse appeared to be ringed in by a wall ofdistant mountains. To the right the country was more or lessmountainous; that is, solitary hills stood up from its level, withstretches of cultivated land between, amongst which we could see groupsof dome-shaped huts. The landscape lay before us as a map, whereinrivers flashed like silver snakes, and Alp-like peaks crowned withwildly twisted snow wreaths rose in grandeur, whilst over all was theglad sunlight and the breath of Nature's happy life.
Two curious things struck us as we gazed. First, that the countrybefore us must lie at least three thousand feet higher than the desertwe had crossed, and secondly, that all the rivers flowed from south tonorth. As we had painful reason to know, there was no water upon thesouthern side of the vast range on which we stood, but on the northernface were many streams, most of which appeared to unite with the greatriver we could see winding away farther than our eyes could follow.
We sat down for a while and gazed in silence at this wonderful view.Presently Sir Henry spoke.
"Isn't there something on the map about Solomon's Great Road?" he said.
I nodded, for I was still gazing out over the far country.
"Well, look; there it is!" and he pointed a little to our right.
Good and I looked accordingly, and there, winding away towards theplain, was what appeared to be a wide turnpike road. We had not seen itat first because, on reaching the plain, it turned behind some brokencountry. We did not say anything, at least, not much; we were beginningto lose the sense of wonder. Somehow it did not seem particularlyunnatural that we should find a sort of Roman road in this strangeland. We accepted the fact, that was all.
"Well," said Good, "it must be quite near us if we cut off to theright. Hadn't we better be making a start?"
This was sound advice, and so soon as we had washed our faces and handsin the stream we acted on it. For a mile or more we made our way overboulders and across patches of snow, till suddenly, on reaching the topof the little rise, we found the road at our feet. It was a splendidroad cut out of the solid rock, at least fifty feet wide, andapparently well kept; though the odd thing was that it seemed to beginthere. We walked down and stood on it, but one single hundred pacesbehind us, in the direction of Sheba's Breasts, it vanished, the entiresurface of the mountain being strewn with boulders interspersed withpatches of snow.
"What do you make of this, Quatermain?" asked Sir Henry.
I shook my head, I could make nothing of the thing.
"I have it!" said Good; "the road no doubt ran right over the range andacross the desert on the other side, but the sand there has covered itup, and above us it has been obliterated by some volcanic eruption ofmolten lava."
This seemed a good suggestion; at any rate, we accepted it, andproceeded down the mountain. It proved a very different businesstravelling along down hill on that magnificent pathway with fullstomachs from what it was travelling uphill over the snow quite starvedand almost frozen. Indeed, had it not been for melancholy recollectionsof poor Ventvoegel's sad fate, and of that grim cave where he keptcompany with the old Dom, we should have felt positively cheerful,notwithstanding the sense of unknown dangers before us. Every mile wewalked the atmosphere grew softer and balmier, and the country beforeus shone with a yet more luminous beauty. As for the road itself, Inever saw such an engineering work, though Sir Henry said that thegreat road over the St. Gothard in Switzerland is very similar. Nodifficulty had been too great for the Old World engineer who laid itout. At one place we came to a ravine three hundred feet broad and atleast a hundred feet deep. This vast gulf was actually filled in withhuge blocks of dressed stone, having arches pierced through them at thebottom for a waterway, over which the road went on sublimely. Atanother place it was cut in zigzags out of the side of a precipice fivehundred feet deep, and in a third it tunnelled through the base of anintervening ridge, a space of thirty yards or more.
Here we noticed that the sides of the tunnel were covered with quaintsculptures, mostly of mailed figures driving in chariots. One, whichwas exceedingly beautiful, represented a whole battle scene with aconvoy of captives being marched off in the distance.
"Well," said Sir Henry, after inspecting this ancient work of art, "itis very well to call this Solomon's Road, but my humble opinion is thatthe Egyptians had been here before Solomon's people ever set a foot onit. If this isn't Egyptian or Phoenician handiwork, I must say that itis very like it."
By midday we had advanced sufficiently down the mountain to search theregion where wood was to be met with. First we came to scattered busheswhich grew more and more frequent, till at last we found the roadwinding through a vast grove of silver trees similar to those which areto be seen on the slopes of Table Mountain at Cape Town. I had neverbefore met with them in all my wanderings, except at the Cape, andtheir appearance here astonished me greatly.
"Ah!" said Good, surveying these shining-leaved trees with evidententhusiasm, "here is lots of wood, let us stop and cook some dinner; Ihave about digested that raw heart."
Nobody objected to this, so leaving the road we made our way to astream which was babbling away not far off, and soon had a goodly fireof dry boughs blazing. Cutting off some substantial hunks from theflesh of the _inco_ which we had brought with us, we proceeded to toastthem on the end of sharp sticks, as one sees the Kafirs do, and atethem with relish. After filling ourselves, we lit our pipes and gaveourselves up to enjoyment that, compared with the hardships we hadrecently undergone, seemed almost heavenly.
The brook, of which the banks were clothed with dense masses of agigantic species of maidenhair fern interspersed with feathery tufts ofwild asparagus, sung merrily at our side, the soft air murmured throughthe leaves of the silver trees, doves cooed around, and bright-wingedbirds flashed like living gems from bough to bough. It was a Paradise.
The magic of the place combined with an overwhelming sense of dangersleft behind, and of the promised land reached at last, seemed to charmus into silence. Sir Henry and Umbopa sat conversing in a mixture ofbroken English and Kitchen Zulu in a low voice, but earnestly enough,and I lay, with my eyes half shut, upon that fragrant bed of fern andwatched them.
Presently I missed Good, and I looked to see what had become of him.Soon I observed him sitting by the bank of the stream, in which he hadbeen bathing. He had nothing on but his flannel shirt, and his naturalhabits of extreme neatness having reasserted themselves, he wasactively employed in making a most elaborate toilet. He had washed hisgutta-percha collar, had thoroughly shaken out his trousers, coat andwaistcoat, and was now folding them up neatly till he was ready to putthem on, shaking his head sadly as he scanned the numerous rents andtears in them, which naturally had resulted from our frightful journey.Then he took his boots, scrubbed them with a handful of fern, andfinally rubbed them over with a piece of fat, which he had carefullysaved from the _inco_ meat, till they looked, comparatively speaking,respectable. Having i
nspected them judiciously through his eye-glass,he put the boots on and began a fresh operation. From a little bag thathe carried he produced a pocket-comb in which was fixed a tinylooking-glass, and in this he surveyed himself. Apparently he was notsatisfied, for he proceeded to do his hair with great care. Then came apause whilst he again contemplated the effect; still it was notsatisfactory. He felt his chin, on which the accumulated scrub of a tendays' beard was flourishing.
"Surely," thought I, "he is not going to try to shave." But so it was.Taking the piece of fat with which he had greased his boots, Goodwashed it thoroughly in the stream. Then diving again into the bag hebrought out a little pocket razor with a guard to it, such as arebought by people who are afraid of cutting themselves, or by thoseabout to undertake a sea voyage. Then he rubbed his face and chinvigorously with the fat and began. Evidently it proved a painfulprocess, for he groaned very much over it, and I was convulsed withinward laughter as I watched him struggling with that stubbly beard. Itseemed so very odd that a man should take the trouble to shave himselfwith a piece of fat in such a place and in our circumstances. At lasthe succeeded in getting the hair off the right side of his face andchin, when suddenly I, who was watching, became conscious of a flash oflight that passed just by his head.
Good sprang up with a profane exclamation (if it had not been a safetyrazor he would certainly have cut his throat), and so did I, withoutthe exclamation, and this was what I saw. Standing not more than twentypaces from where I was, and ten from Good, were a group of men. Theywere very tall and copper-coloured, and some of them wore great plumesof black feathers and short cloaks of leopard skins; this was all Inoticed at the moment. In front of them stood a youth of aboutseventeen, his hand still raised and his body bent forward in theattitude of a Grecian statue of a spear-thrower. Evidently the flash oflight had been caused by a weapon which he had hurled.
As I looked an old soldier-like man stepped forward out of the group,and catching the youth by the arm said something to him. Then theyadvanced upon us.
Sir Henry, Good, and Umbopa by this time had seized their rifles andlifted them threateningly. The party of natives still came on. Itstruck me that they could not know what rifles were, or they would nothave treated them with such contempt.
"Put down your guns!" I halloed to the others, seeing that our onlychance of safety lay in conciliation. They obeyed, and walking to thefront I addressed the elderly man who had checked the youth.
"Greeting," I said in Zulu, not knowing what language to use. To mysurprise I was understood.
"Greeting," answered the old man, not, indeed, in the same tongue, butin a dialect so closely allied to it that neither Umbopa nor myself hadany difficulty in understanding him. Indeed, as we afterwards foundout, the language spoken by this people is an old-fashioned form of theZulu tongue, bearing about the same relationship to it that the Englishof Chaucer does to the English of the nineteenth century.
"Whence come you?" he went on, "who are you? and why are the faces ofthree of you white, and the face of the fourth as the face of ourmother's sons?" and he pointed to Umbopa. I looked at Umbopa as he saidit, and it flashed across me that he was right. The face of Umbopa waslike the faces of the men before me, and so was his great form liketheir forms. But I had not time to reflect on this coincidence.
"We are strangers, and come in peace," I answered, speaking veryslowly, so that he might understand me, "and this man is our servant."
"You lie," he answered; "no strangers can cross the mountains where allthings perish. But what do your lies matter?--if ye are strangers thenye must die, for no strangers may live in the land of the Kukuanas. Itis the king's law. Prepare then to die, O strangers!"
I was slightly staggered at this, more especially as I saw the hands ofsome of the men steal down to their sides, where hung on each whatlooked to me like a large and heavy knife.
"What does that beggar say?" asked Good.
"He says we are going to be killed," I answered grimly.
"Oh, Lord!" groaned Good; and, as was his way when perplexed, he puthis hand to his false teeth, dragging the top set down and allowingthem to fly back to his jaw with a snap. It was a most fortunate move,for next second the dignified crowd of Kukuanas uttered a simultaneousyell of horror, and bolted back some yards.
"What's up?" said I.
"It's his teeth," whispered Sir Henry excitedly. "He moved them. Takethem out, Good, take them out!"
He obeyed, slipping the set into the sleeve of his flannel shirt.
In another second curiosity had overcome fear, and the men advancedslowly. Apparently they had now forgotten their amiable intention ofkilling us.
"How is it, O strangers," asked the old man solemnly, "that this fatman (pointing to Good, who was clad in nothing but boots and a flannelshirt, and had only half finished his shaving), whose body is clothed,and whose legs are bare, who grows hair on one side of his sickly faceand not on the other, and who wears one shining and transparenteye--how is it, I ask, that he has teeth which move of themselves,coming away from the jaws and returning of their own will?"
"Open your mouth," I said to Good, who promptly curled up his lips andgrinned at the old gentleman like an angry dog, revealing to hisastonished gaze two thin red lines of gum as utterly innocent ofivories as a new-born elephant. The audience gasped.
"Where are his teeth?" they shouted; "with our eyes we saw them."
Turning his head slowly and with a gesture of ineffable contempt, Goodswept his hand across his mouth. Then he grinned again, and lo, therewere two rows of lovely teeth.
Now the young man who had flung the knife threw himself down on thegrass and gave vent to a prolonged howl of terror; and as for the oldgentleman, his knees knocked together with fear.
"I see that ye are spirits," he said falteringly; "did ever man born ofwoman have hair on one side of his face and not on the other, or around and transparent eye, or teeth which moved and melted away andgrew again? Pardon us, O my lords."
Here was luck indeed, and, needless to say, I jumped at the chance.
"It is granted," I said with an imperial smile. "Nay, ye shall know thetruth. We come from another world, though we are men such as ye; wecome," I went on, "from the biggest star that shines at night."
"Oh! oh!" groaned the chorus of astonished aborigines.
"Yes," I went on, "we do, indeed"; and again I smiled benignly, as Iuttered that amazing lie. "We come to stay with you a little while, andto bless you by our sojourn. Ye will see, O friends, that I haveprepared myself for this visit by the learning of your language."
"It is so, it is so," said the chorus.
"Only, my lord," put in the old gentleman, "thou hast learnt it verybadly."
I cast an indignant glance at him, and he quailed.
"Now friends," I continued, "ye might think that after so long ajourney we should find it in our hearts to avenge such a reception,mayhap to strike cold in death the imperious hand that--that, inshort--threw a knife at the head of him whose teeth come and go."
"Spare him, my lords," said the old man in supplication; "he is theking's son, and I am his uncle. If anything befalls him his blood willbe required at my hands."
"Yes, that is certainly so," put in the young man with great emphasis.
"Ye may perhaps doubt our power to avenge," I went on, heedless of thisby-play. "Stay, I will show you. Here, thou dog and slave (addressingUmbopa in a savage tone), give me the magic tube that speaks"; and Itipped a wink towards my express rifle.
Umbopa rose to the occasion, and with something as nearly resembling agrin as I have ever seen on his dignified face he handed me the gun.
"It is here, O Lord of Lords," he said with a deep obeisance.
Now just before I had asked for the rifle I had perceived a little_klipspringer_ antelope standing on a mass of rock about seventy yardsaway, and determined to risk the shot.
"Ye see that buck," I said, pointing the animal out to the party beforeme. "Tell me, is it possible for m
an born of woman to kill it from herewith a noise?"
"It is not possible, my lord," answered the old man.
"Yet shall I kill it," I said quietly.
The old man smiled. "That my lord cannot do," he answered.
I raised the rifle and covered the buck. It was a small animal, and onewhich a man might well be excused for missing, but I knew that it wouldnot do to miss.
I drew a deep breath, and slowly pressed on the trigger. The buck stoodstill as a stone.
"Bang! thud!" The antelope sprang into the air and fell on the rockdead as a door nail.
A groan of simultaneous terror burst from the group before us.
"If you want meat," I remarked coolly, "go fetch that buck."
The old man made a sign, and one of his followers departed, andpresently returned bearing the _klipspringer_. I noticed withsatisfaction that I had hit it fairly behind the shoulder. Theygathered round the poor creature's body, gazing at the bullet-hole inconsternation.
"Ye see," I said, "I do not speak empty words."
There was no answer.
"If ye yet doubt our power," I went on, "let one of you go stand uponthat rock that I may make him as this buck."
None of them seemed at all inclined to take the hint, till at last theking's son spoke.
"It is well said. Do thou, my uncle, go stand upon the rock. It is buta buck that the magic has killed. Surely it cannot kill a man."
The old gentleman did not take the suggestion in good part. Indeed, heseemed hurt.
"No! no!" he ejaculated hastily, "my old eyes have seen enough. Theseare wizards, indeed. Let us bring them to the king. Yet if any shouldwish a further proof, let _him_ stand upon the rock, that the magictube may speak with him."
There was a most general and hasty expression of dissent.
"Let not good magic be wasted on our poor bodies," said one; "we aresatisfied. All the witchcraft of our people cannot show the like ofthis."
"It is so," remarked the old gentleman, in a tone of intense relief;"without any doubt it is so. Listen, children of the Stars, children ofthe shining Eye and the movable Teeth, who roar out in thunder, andslay from afar. I am Infadoos, son of Kafa, once king of the Kukuanapeople. This youth is Scragga."
"He nearly scragged me," murmured Good.
"Scragga, son of Twala, the great king--Twala, husband of a thousandwives, chief and lord paramount of the Kukuanas, keeper of the greatRoad, terror of his enemies, student of the Black Arts, leader of ahundred thousand warriors, Twala the One-eyed, the Black, the Terrible."
"So," said I superciliously, "lead us then to Twala. We do not talkwith low people and underlings."
"It is well, my lords, we will lead you; but the way is long. We arehunting three days' journey from the place of the king. But let mylords have patience, and we will lead them."
"So be it," I said carelessly; "all time is before us, for we do notdie. We are ready, lead on. But Infadoos, and thou Scragga, beware!Play us no monkey tricks, set for us no foxes' snares, for before yourbrains of mud have thought of them we shall know and avenge. The lightof the transparent eye of him with the bare legs and the half-hairedface shall destroy you, and go through your land; his vanishing teethshall affix themselves fast in you and eat you up, you and your wivesand children; the magic tubes shall argue with you loudly, and make youas sieves. Beware!"
This magnificent address did not fail of its effect; indeed, it mightalmost have been spared, so deeply were our friends already impressedwith our powers.
The old man made a deep obeisance, and murmured the words, "_KoomKoom_," which I afterwards discovered was their royal salute,corresponding to the _Bayete_ of the Zulus, and turning, addressed hisfollowers. These at once proceeded to lay hold of all our goods andchattels, in order to bear them for us, excepting only the guns, whichthey would on no account touch. They even seized Good's clothes, that,as the reader may remember, were neatly folded up beside him.
He saw and made a dive for them, and a loud altercation ensued.
"Let not my lord of the transparent Eye and the melting Teeth touchthem," said the old man. "Surely his slave shall carry the things."
"But I want to put 'em on!" roared Good, in nervous English.
Umbopa translated.
"Nay, my lord," answered Infadoos, "would my lord cover up hisbeautiful white legs (although he is so dark Good has a singularlywhite skin) from the eyes of his servants? Have we offended my lordthat he should do such a thing?"
Here I nearly exploded with laughing; and meanwhile one of the menstarted on with the garments.
"Damn it!" roared Good, "that black villain has got my trousers."
"Look here, Good," said Sir Henry; "you have appeared in this countryin a certain character, and you must live up to it. It will never dofor you to put on trousers again. Henceforth you must exist in aflannel shirt, a pair of boots, and an eye-glass."
"Yes," I said, "and with whiskers on one side of your face and not onthe other. If you change any of these things the people will think thatwe are impostors. I am very sorry for you, but, seriously, you must. Ifonce they begin to suspect us our lives will not be worth a brassfarthing."
"Do you really think so?" said Good gloomily.
"I do, indeed. Your 'beautiful white legs' and your eye-glass are now_the_ features of our party, and as Sir Henry says, you must live up tothem. Be thankful that you have got your boots on, and that the air iswarm."
Good sighed, and said no more, but it took him a fortnight to becomeaccustomed to his new and scant attire.
King Solomon's Mines Page 9