I laughed, and the laugh woke up Leo.

“Hullo,” he said, “what’s the matter with me? I am all

stiff—where is the dhow? Give me some brandy, please.”

“You may be thankful that you are not stiffer, my boy,” I

answered. “The dhow is sunk, everybody on board her is drowned

with the exception of us four, and your own life was only saved

by a miracle”; and whilst Job, now that it was light enough,

searched about in a locker for the brandy for which Leo asked, I

told him the history of our night’s adventure.

“Great Heavens!” he said faintly; “and to think that we should

have been chosen to live through it!”

By this time the brandy was forthcoming, and we all had a good

pull at it, and thankful enough we were for it. Also the sun was

beginning to get strength, and warm our chilled bones, for we had

been wet through for five hours or more.

“Why,” said Leo, with a gasp as he put down the brandy bottle,

“there is the head the writing talks of, the ‘rock carven like

the head of an Ethiopian.’”

“Yes,” I said, “there it is.”

“Well, then,” he answered, “the whole thing is true.”

“I don’t see at all that that follows,” I answered. “We knew this

head was here: your father saw it. Very likely it is not the same

head that the writing talks of; or if it is, it proves nothing.”

Leo smiled at me in a superior way. “You are an unbelieving Jew,

Uncle Horace,” he said. “Those who live will see.”

“Exactly so,” I answered, “and now perhaps you will observe that

we are drifting across a sandbank into the mouth of the river.

Get hold of your oar, Job, and we will row in and see if we can

find a place to land.”

The river mouth which we were entering did not appear to be a very wide

one, though as yet the long banks of steaming mist that clung about its

shores had not lifted sufficiently to enable us to see its exact

measure. There was, as is the case with nearly every East African

river, a considerable bar at the mouth, which, no doubt, when the wind

was on shore and the tide running out, was absolutely impassable even

for a boat drawing only a few inches. But as things were it was

manageable enough, and we did not ship a cupful of water. In twenty

minutes we were well across it, with but slight assistance from

ourselves, and being carried by a strong though somewhat variable

breeze well up the harbour. By this time the mist was being sucked up

by the sun, which was getting uncomfortably hot, and we saw that the

mouth of the little estuary was here about half a mile across, and that

the banks were very marshy, and crowded with crocodiles lying about on

the mud like logs. About a mile ahead of us, however, was what appeared

to be a strip of firm land, and for this we steered. In another quarter

of an hour we were there, and making the boat fast to a beautiful tree

with broad shining leaves, and flowers of the magnolia species, only

they were rose-coloured and not white,[1] which hung over the water, we

disembarked. This done we undressed, washed ourselves, and spread our

clothes, together with the contents of the boat, in the sun to dry,

which they very quickly did. Then, taking shelter from the sun under

some trees, we made a hearty breakfast off a “Paysandu” potted tongue,

of which we had brought a good quantity with us, congratulating

ourselves loudly on our good fortune in having loaded and provisioned

the boat on the previous day before the hurricane destroyed the dhow.

By the time that we had finished our meal our clothes were quite dry,

and we hastened to get into them, feeling not a little refreshed.

Indeed, with the exception of weariness and a few bruises, none of us

were the worse for the terrifying adventure which had been fatal to all

our companions. Leo, it is true, had been half-drowned, but that is no

great matter to a vigorous young athlete of five-and-twenty.

[1] There is a known species of magnolia with pink flowers. It is

indigenous in Sikkim, and known as _Magnolia Campbellii_.—Editor.

After breakfast we started to look about us. We were on a strip

of dry land about two hundred yards broad by five hundred long,

bordered on one side by the river, and on the other three by

endless desolate swamps, that stretched as far as the eye could

reach. This strip of land was raised about twenty-five feet above

the plain of the surrounding swamps and the river level: indeed

it had every appearance of having been made by the hand of man.

“This place has been a wharf,” said Leo, dogmatically.

“Nonsense,” I answered. “Who would be stupid enough to build a

wharf in the middle of these dreadful marshes in a country

inhabited by savages—that is, if it is inhabited at all?”

“Perhaps it was not always marsh, and perhaps the people were not

always savage,” he said drily, looking down the steep bank, for

we were standing by the river. “Look there,” he went on, pointing

to a spot where the hurricane of the previous night had torn up

one of the magnolia trees by the roots, which had grown on the

extreme edge of the bank just where it sloped down to the water,

and lifted a large cake of earth with them. “Is not that

stonework? If not, it is very like it.”

“Nonsense,” I said again, but we clambered down to the spot, and

got between the upturned roots and the bank.

“Well?” he said.

But I did not answer this time. I only whistled. For there, laid

bare by the removal of the earth, was an undoubted facing of

solid stone laid in large blocks and bound together with brown

cement, so hard that I could make no impression on it with the

file in my shooting-knife. Nor was this all; seeing something

projecting through the soil at the bottom of the bared patch of

walling, I removed the loose earth with my hands, and revealed a

huge stone ring, a foot or more in diameter, and about three

inches thick. This fairly staggered me.

“Looks rather like a wharf where good-sized vessels have been

moored, does it not, Uncle Horace?” said Leo, with an excited

grin.

I tried to say “Nonsense” again, but the word stuck in my

throat—the ring spoke for itself. In some past age vessels _had_

been moored there, and this stone wall was undoubtedly the

remnant of a solidly constructed wharf. Probably the city to

which it had belonged lay buried beneath the swamp behind it.

“Begins to look as though there were something in the story after

all, Uncle Horace,” said the exultant Leo; and reflecting on the

mysterious negro’s head and the equally mysterious stonework, I

made no direct reply.

“A country like Africa,” I said, “is sure to be full of the relics of

long dead and forgotten civilisations. Nobody knows the age of the

Egyptian civilisation, and very likely it had offshoots. Then there

were the Babylonians and the Phœnicians, and the Persians, and all

manner of people, all more or less civilised, to say nothing of the

Jews whom everybody ‘wants’ nowadays. It is possible that they, or any

one of them, may have had colonies or trading stations about here.

Remember those buried Persian cities that the consul showed us at

Kilwa.”[2]

[2] Near Kilwa, on the East Coast of Africa, about 400 miles south of

Zanzibar, is a cliff which has been recently washed by the waves. On

the top of this cliff are Persian tombs known to be at least seven

centuries old by the dates still legible upon them. Beneath these

tombs is a layer of _débris_ representing a city. Farther down the

cliff is a second layer representing an older city, and farther down

still a third layer, the remains of yet another city of vast and

unknown antiquity. Beneath the bottom city were recently found some

specimens of glazed earthenware, such as are occasionally to be met

with on that coast to this day. I believe that they are now in the

possession of Sir John Kirk.—Editor.

“Quite so,” said Leo, “but that is not what you said before.”

“Well, what is to be done now?” I asked, turning the

conversation.

As no answer was forthcoming we walked to the edge of the swamp,

and looked over it. It was apparently boundless, and vast flocks

of every sort of waterfowl flew from its recesses, till it was

sometimes difficult to see the sky. Now that the sun was getting

high it drew thin sickly looking clouds of poisonous vapour from

the surface of the marsh and from the scummy pools of stagnant

water.

“Two things are clear to me,” I said, addressing my three

companions, who stared at this spectacle in dismay: “first, that

we can’t go across there” (I pointed to the swamp), “and,

secondly, that if we stop here we shall certainly die of fever.”

“That’s as clear as a haystack, sir,” said Job.

“Very well, then; there are two alternatives before us. One is to

‘bout ship, and try and run for some port in the whale-boat,

which would be a sufficiently risky proceeding, and the other to

sail or row on up the river, and see where we come to.”

“I don’t know what you are going to do,” said Leo, setting his

mouth, “but I am going up that river.”

Job turned up the whites of his eyes and groaned, and the Arab

murmured “Allah,” and groaned also. As for me, I remarked sweetly

that as we seemed to be between the devil and the deep sea, it

did not much matter where we went. But in reality I was as

anxious to proceed as Leo. The colossal negro’s head and the

stone wharf had excited my curiosity to an extent of which I was

secretly ashamed, and I was prepared to gratify it at any cost.

Accordingly, having carefully fitted the mast, restowed the boat,

and got out our rifles, we embarked. Fortunately the wind was

blowing on shore from the ocean, so we were able to hoist the

sail. Indeed, we afterwards found out that as a general rule the

wind set on shore from daybreak for some hours, and off shore

again at sunset, and the explanation that I offer of this is,

that when the earth is cooled by the dew and the night the hot

air rises, and the draught rushes in from the sea till the sun

has once more heated it through. At least that appeared to be the

rule here.

Taking advantage of this favouring wind, we sailed merrily up the

river for three or four hours. Once we came across a school of

hippopotami, which rose, and bellowed dreadfully at us within ten

or a dozen fathoms of the boat, much to Job’s alarm, and, I will

confess, to my own. These were the first hippopotami that we had

ever seen, and, to judge by their insatiable curiosity, I should

judge that we were the first white men that they had ever seen.

Upon my word, I once or twice thought that they were coming into

the boat to gratify it. Leo wanted to fire at them, but I

dissuaded him, fearing the consequences. Also, we saw hundreds of

crocodiles basking on the muddy banks, and thousands upon

thousands of water-fowl. Some of these we shot, and among them

was a wild goose, which, in addition to the sharp-curved spurs on

its wings, had a spur about three-quarters of an inch long

growing from the skull just between the eyes. We never shot

another like it, so I do not know if it was a “sport” or a

distinct species. In the latter case this incident may interest

naturalists. Job named it the Unicorn Goose.

About midday the sun grew intensely hot, and the stench drawn up

by it from the marshes which the river drains was something too

awful, and caused us instantly to swallow precautionary doses of

quinine. Shortly afterwards the breeze died away altogether, and

as rowing our heavy boat against stream in the heat was out of

the question, we were thankful enough to get under the shade of a

group of trees—a species of willow—that grew by the edge of the

river, and lie there and gasp till at length the approach of

sunset put a period to our miseries. Seeing what appeared to be

an open space of water straight ahead of us, we determined to row

there before settling what to do for the night. Just as we were

about to loosen the boat, however, a beautiful waterbuck, with

great horns curving forward, and a white stripe across the rump,

came down to the river to drink, without perceiving us hidden

away within fifty yards under the willows. Leo was the first to

catch sight of it, and, being an ardent sportsman, thirsting for

the blood of big game, about which he had been dreaming for

months, he instantly stiffened all over, and pointed like a

setter dog. Seeing what was the matter, I handed him his express

rifle, at the same time taking my own.

“Now then,” I whispered, “mind you don’t miss.”

“Miss!” he whispered back contemptuously; “I could not miss it if

I tried.”

He lifted the rifle, and the roan-coloured buck, having drunk his

fill, raised his head and looked out across the river. He was

standing right against the sunset sky on a little eminence, or

ridge of ground, which ran across the swamp, evidently a

favourite path for game, and there was something very beautiful

about him. Indeed, I do not think that if I live to a hundred I

shall ever forget that desolate and yet most fascinating scene;

it is stamped upon my memory. To the right and left were wide

stretches of lonely death-breeding swamp, unbroken and unrelieved

so far as the eye could reach, except here and there by ponds of

black and peaty water that, mirror-like, flashed up the red rays

of the setting sun. Behind us and before stretched the vista of

the sluggish river, ending in glimpses of a reed-fringed lagoon,

on the surface of which the long lights of the evening played as

the faint breeze stirred the shadows. To the west loomed the huge

red ball of the sinking sun, now vanishing down the vapoury

horizon, and filling the great heaven, high across whose arch the

cranes and wildfowl streamed in line, square, and triangle, with

flashes of flying gold and the lurid stain of blood. And then

ourselves—three modern Englishmen in a modern English

boat—seeming to jar upon and look out of tone with that

measureless desolation; and in front of us the noble buck limned

out upon a background of ruddy sky.

_Bang!_ Away he goes with a mighty bound. Leo has missed him.

_Bang!_ right under him again. Now for a shot. I must have one,

though he is going like an arrow, and a hundred yards away and

more. By Jove! over and over and over! “Well, I think I’ve wiped

your eye there, Master Leo,” I say, struggling against the

ungenerous exultation that in such a supreme moment of one’s

existence will rise in the best-mannered sportsman’s breast.

“Confound you, yes,” growled Leo; and then, with that quick smile

that is one of his charms lighting up his handsome face like a

ray of light, “I beg your pardon, old fellow. I congratulate you;

it was a lovely shot, and mine were vile.”

We got out of the boat and ran to the buck, which was shot

through the spine and stone dead. It took us a quarter of an hour

or more to clean it and cut off as much of the best meat as we

could carry, and, having packed this away, we had barely light

enough to row up into the lagoon-like space, into which, there

being a hollow in the swamp, the river here expanded. Just as the

light vanished we cast anchor about thirty fathoms from the edge

of the lake. We did not dare to go ashore, not knowing if we

should find dry ground to camp on, and greatly fearing the

poisonous exhalations from the marsh, from which we thought we

should be freer on the water. So we lighted a lantern, and made

our evening meal off another potted tongue in the best fashion

that we could, and then prepared to go to sleep, only, however,

to find that sleep was impossible. For, whether they were

attracted by the lantern, or by the unaccustomed smell of a white

man for which they had been waiting for the last thousand years

or so, I know not; but certainly we were presently attacked by

tens of thousands of the most blood-thirsty, pertinacious, and

huge mosquitoes that I ever saw or read of. In clouds they came,

and pinged and buzzed and bit till we were nearly mad. Tobacco

smoke only seemed to stir them into a merrier and more active

life, till at length we were driven to covering ourselves with

blankets, head and all, and sitting to slowly stew and

continually scratch and swear beneath them. And as we sat,

suddenly rolling out like thunder through the silence came the

deep roar of a lion, and then of a second lion, moving among the

reeds within sixty yards of us.

“I say,” said Leo, sticking his head out from under his blanket,

“lucky we ain’t on the bank, eh, Avuncular?” (Leo sometimes

addressed me in this disrespectful way.) “Curse it! a mosquito

has bitten me on the nose,” and the head vanished again.

Shortly after this the moon came up, and notwithstanding every

variety of roar that echoed over the water to us from the lions

on the banks, we began, thinking ourselves perfectly secure, to

gradually doze off.

I do not quite know what it was that made me poke my head out of

the friendly shelter of the blanket, perhaps because I found that

the mosquitoes were biting right through it. Anyhow, as I did so

I heard Job whisper, in a frightened voice—

“Oh, my stars, look there!”

Instantly we all of us looked, and this was what we saw in the

moonlight. Near the shore were two wide and ever-widening circles

of concentric rings rippling away across the surface of the

water, and in the heart and centre of the circles were two dark

moving objects.

“What is it?” asked I.

“It is those damned lions, sir,” answered Job, in a tone which

was an odd mixture of a sense of personal injury, habitual

respect, and acknowledged fear, “and they are swimming here to

_heat_ us,” he added, nervously picking up an “h” in his

agitation.

I looked again: there was no doubt about it; I could catch the

glare of their ferocious eyes. Attracted either by the smell of

the newly killed waterbuck meat or of ourselves, the hungry

beasts were actually storming our position.

Leo already had his rifle in his hand. I called to him to wait

till they were nearer, and meanwhile grabbed my own. Some fifteen

feet from us the water shallowed on a bank to the depth of about

fifteen inches, and presently the first of them—it was the

lioness—got on to it, shook herself, and roared. At that moment

Leo fired, the bullet went right down her open mouth and out at

the back of her neck, and down she dropped, with a splash, dead.

The other lion—a full-grown male—was some two paces behind her.

At this second he got his forepaws on to the bank, when a strange

thing happened. There was a rush and disturbance of the water,

such as one sees in a pond in England when a pike takes a little

fish, only a thousand times fiercer and larger, and suddenly the

lion gave a most terrific snarling roar and sprang forward on to

the bank, dragging something black with him.

“Allah!” shouted Mahomed, “a crocodile has got him by the leg!”

and sure enough he had. We could see the long snout with its

gleaming lines of teeth and the reptile body behind it.

And then followed an extraordinary scene indeed. The lion managed

to get well on to the bank, the crocodile half standing and half

swimming, still nipping his hind leg. He roared till the air

quivered with the sound, and then, with a savage, shrieking

snarl, turned round and clawed hold of the crocodile’s head. The

crocodile shifted his grip, having, as we afterwards discovered,

had one of his eyes torn out, and slightly turned over; instantly

the lion got him by the throat and held on, and then over and

over they rolled upon the bank struggling hideously. It was

impossible to follow their movements, but when next we got a

clear view the tables had turned, for the crocodile, whose head

seemed to be a mass of gore, had got the lion’s body in his iron

jaws just above the hips, and was squeezing him and shaking him

to and fro. For his part, the tortured brute, roaring in agony,

was clawing and biting madly at his enemy’s scaly head, and

fixing his great hind claws in the crocodile’s, comparatively

speaking, soft throat, ripping it open as one would rip a glove.

Then, all of a sudden, the end came. The lion’s head fell forward

on the crocodile’s back, and with an awful groan he died, and the

crocodile, after standing for a minute motionless, slowly rolled

over on to his side, his jaws still fixed across the carcase of

the lion, which, we afterwards found, he had bitten almost in

halves.

This duel to the death was a wonderful and a shocking sight, and

one that I suppose few men have seen—and thus it ended.

When it was all over, leaving Mahomed to keep a look out, we

managed to spend the rest of the night as quietly as the

mosquitoes would allow.

VI.

AN EARLY CHRISTIAN CEREMONY

Next morning, at the earliest light of dawn, we rose, performed

such ablutions as circumstances would allow, and generally made

ready to start. I am bound to say that when there was sufficient

light to enable us to see each other’s faces I, for one, burst

out into a roar of laughter. Job’s fat and comfortable

countenance was swollen out to nearly twice its natural size from

mosquito bites, and Leo’s condition was not much better. Indeed,

of the three I had come off much the best, probably owing to the

toughness of my dark skin, and to the fact that a good deal of it

was covered by hair, for since we had started from England I had

allowed my naturally luxuriant beard to grow at its own sweet

will. But the other two were, comparatively speaking, clean

shaved, which of course gave the enemy a larger extent of open

country to operate on, though in Mahomed’s case the mosquitoes,

recognising the taste of a true believer, would not touch him at

any price. How often, I wonder, during the next week or so did we

wish that we were flavoured like an Arab!

By the time that we had done laughing as heartily as our swollen

lips would allow, it was daylight, and the morning breeze was

coming up from the sea, cutting lanes through the dense marsh

mists, and here and there rolling them before it in great balls

of fleecy vapour. So we set our sail, and having first taken a

look at the two dead lions and the alligator, which we were of

course unable to skin, being destitute of means of curing the

pelts, we started, and, sailing through the lagoon, followed the

course of the river on the farther side. At midday, when the

breeze dropped, we were fortunate enough to find a convenient

piece of dry land on which to camp and light a fire, and here we

cooked two wild-ducks and some of the waterbuck’s flesh—not in a

very appetising way, it is true, but still sufficiently. The rest

of the buck’s flesh we cut into strips and hung in the sun to dry

into “biltong,” as, I believe, the South African Dutch call flesh

thus prepared. On this welcome patch of dry land we stopped till

the following dawn, and, as before, spent the night in warfare

with the mosquitoes, but without other troubles. The next day or

two passed in similar fashion, and without noticeable adventures,

except that we shot a specimen of a peculiarly graceful hornless

buck, and saw many varieties of water-lily in full bloom, some of

them blue and of exquisite beauty, though few of the flowers were

perfect, owing to the prevalence of a white water-maggot with a

green head that fed upon them.

It was on the fifth day of our journey, when we had travelled, so

far as we could reckon, about one hundred and thirty-five to a

hundred and forty miles westwards from the coast, that the first

event of any real importance occurred. On that morning the usual

wind failed us about eleven o’clock, and after pulling a little

way we were forced to halt, more or less exhausted, at what

appeared to be the junction of our stream with another of a

uniform width of about fifty feet. Some trees grew near at

hand—the only trees in all this country were along the banks of

the river, and under these we rested, and then, the land being

fairly dry just here, walked a little way along the edge of the

river to prospect, and shoot a few waterfowl for food. Before we

had gone fifty yards we perceived that all hopes of getting

further up the stream in the whale-boat were at an end, for not

two hundred yards above where we had stopped were a succession of

shallows and mudbanks, with not six inches of water over them. It

was a watery _cul de sac_.

Turning back, we walked some way along the banks of the other

river, and soon came to the conclusion, from various indications,

that it was not a river at all, but an ancient canal, like the

one which is to be seen above Mombasa, on the Zanzibar coast,

connecting the Tana River with the Ozy, in such a way as to

enable the shipping coming down the Tana to cross to the Ozy, and

reach the sea by it, and thus avoid the very dangerous bar that

blocks the mouth of the Tana. The canal before us had evidently

been dug out by man at some remote period of the world’s history,

and the results of his digging still remained in the shape of the

raised banks that had no doubt once formed towing-paths. Except

here and there, where they had been hollowed out by the water or

fallen in, these banks of stiff binding clay were at a uniform

distance from each other, and the depth of the stream also

appeared to be uniform. Current there was little or none, and, as

a consequence, the surface of the canal was choked with vegetable

growth, intersected by little paths of clear water, made, I

suppose, by the constant passage of waterfowl, iguanas, and other

vermin. Now, as it was evident that we could not proceed up the

river, it became equally evident that we must either try the

canal or else return to the sea. We could not stop where we were,

to be baked by the sun and eaten up by the mosquitoes, till we

died of fever in that dreary marsh.

“Well, I suppose that we must try it,” I said; and the others

assented in their various ways—Leo, as though it were the best

joke in the world; Job, in respectful disgust; and Mahomed, with

an invocation to the Prophet, and a comprehensive curse upon all

unbelievers and their ways of thought and travel.

Accordingly, as soon as the sun got low, having little or nothing

more to hope for from our friendly wind, we started. For the

first hour or so we managed to row the boat, though with great

labour; but after that the weeds got too thick to allow of it,

and we were obliged to resort to the primitive and most

exhausting resource of towing her. For two hours we laboured,

Mahomed, Job, and I, who was supposed to be strong enough to pull

against the two of them, on the bank, while Leo sat in the bow of

the boat, and brushed away the weeds which collected round the

cutwater with Mahomed’s sword. At dark we halted for some hours

to rest and enjoy the mosquitoes, but about midnight we went on

again, taking advantage of the comparative cool of the night. At

dawn we rested for three hours, and then started once more, and

laboured on till about ten o’clock, when a thunderstorm,

accompanied by a deluge of rain, overtook us, and we spent the

next six hours practically under water.

I do not know that there is any necessity for me to describe the

next four days of our voyage in detail, further than to say that

they were, on the whole, the most miserable that I ever spent in

my life, forming one monotonous record of heavy labour, heat,

misery, and mosquitoes. All that dreary way we passed through a

region of almost endless swamp, and I can only attribute our

escape from fever and death to the constant doses of quinine and

purgatives which we took, and the unceasing toil which we were

forced to undergo. On the third day of our journey up the canal

we had sighted a round hill that loomed dimly through the vapours

of the marsh, and on the evening of the fourth night, when we

camped, this hill seemed to be within five-and-twenty or thirty

miles of us. We were by now utterly exhausted, and felt as though

our blistered hands could not pull the boat a yard farther, and

that the best thing that we could do would be to lie down and die

in that dreadful wilderness of swamp. It was an awful position,

and one in which I trust no other white man will ever be placed;

and as I threw myself down in the boat to sleep the sleep of

utter exhaustion, I bitterly cursed my folly in ever having been

a party to such a mad undertaking, which could, I saw, only end

in our death in this ghastly land. I thought, I remember, as I

slowly sank into a doze, of what the appearance of the boat and

her unhappy crew would be in two or three months’ time from that

night. There she would lie, with gaping seams and half filled

with fœtid water, which, when the mist-laden wind stirred her,

would wash backwards and forwards through our mouldering bones,

and that would be the end of her, and of those in her who would

follow after myths and seek out the secrets of Nature.

Already I seemed to hear the water rippling against the

desiccated bones and rattling them together, rolling my skull

against Mahomed’s, and his against mine, till at last Mahomed’s

stood straight up upon its vertebræ, and glared at me through its

empty eyeholes, and cursed me with its grinning jaws, because I,

a dog of a Christian, disturbed the last sleep of a true

believer. I opened my eyes, and shuddered at the horrid dream,

and then shuddered again at something that was not a dream, for

two great eyes were gleaming down at me through the misty

darkness. I struggled up, and in my terror and confusion

shrieked, and shrieked again, so that the others sprang up too,

reeling, and drunken with sleep and fear. And then all of a

sudden there was a flash of cold steel, and a great spear was

held against my throat, and behind it other spears gleamed

cruelly.

“Peace,” said a voice, speaking in Arabic, or rather in some

dialect into which Arabic entered very largely; “who are ye who

come hither swimming on the water? Speak or ye die,” and the

steel pressed sharply against my throat, sending a cold chill

through me.

“We are travellers, and have come hither by chance,” I answered

in my best Arabic, which appeared to be understood, for the man

turned his head, and, addressing a tall form that towered up in

the background, said, “Father, shall we slay?”

“What is the colour of the men?” said a deep voice in answer.

“White is their colour.”

“Slay not,” was the reply. “Four suns since was the word brought

to me from ‘_She-who-must-be-obeyed_,’ ‘White men come; if white

men come, slay them not.’ Let them be brought to the house of

‘_She-who-must-be-obeyed_.’ Bring forth the men, and let that

which they have with them be brought forth also.”

“Come,” said the man, half leading and half dragging me from the

boat, and as he did so I perceived other men doing the same kind

office to my companions.

On the bank were gathered a company of some fifty men. In that

light all I could make out was that they were armed with huge

spears, were very tall, and strongly built, comparatively light

in colour, and nude, save for a leopard skin tied round the

middle.

Presently Leo and Job were bundled out and placed beside me.

“What on earth is up?” said Leo, rubbing his eyes.

“Oh, Lord! sir, here’s a rum go,” ejaculated Job; and just at

that moment a disturbance ensued, and Mahomed came tumbling

between us, followed by a shadowy form with an uplifted spear.

“Allah! Allah!” howled Mahomed, feeling that he had little to

hope from man, “protect me! protect me!”

“Father, it is a black one,” said a voice. “What said

‘_She-who-must-be-obeyed_’ about the black one?”

“She said naught; but slay him not. Come hither, my son.”

The man advanced, and the tall shadowy form bent forward and

whispered something.

“Yes, yes,” said the other, and chuckled in a rather

blood-curdling tone.

“Are the three white men there?” asked the form.

“Yes, they are there.”

“Then bring up that which is made ready for them, and let the men

take all that can be brought from the thing which floats.”

Hardly had he spoken when men came running up, carrying on their

shoulders neither more nor less than palanquins—four bearers and

two spare men to a palanquin—and in these it was promptly

indicated we were expected to stow ourselves.

“Well!” said Leo, “it is a blessing to find anybody to carry us

after having to carry ourselves so long.”

Leo always takes a cheerful view of things.

There being no help for it, after seeing the others into theirs I

tumbled into my own litter, and very comfortable I found it. It

appeared to be manufactured of cloth woven from grass-fibre,

which stretched and yielded to every motion of the body, and,

being bound top and bottom to the bearing pole, gave a grateful

support to the head and neck.

Scarcely had I settled myself when, accompanying their steps with

a monotonous song, the bearers started at a swinging trot. For

half an hour or so I lay still, reflecting on the very remarkable

experiences that we were going through, and wondering if any of

my eminently respectable fossil friends down at Cambridge would

believe me if I were to be miraculously set at the familiar

dinner-table for the purpose of relating them. I do not want to

convey any disrespectful notion or slight when I call those good

and learned men fossils, but my experience is that people are apt

to fossilise even at a University if they follow the same paths

too persistently. I was getting fossilised myself, but of late my

stock of ideas has been very much enlarged. Well, I lay and

reflected, and wondered what on earth would be the end of it all,

till at last I ceased to wonder, and went to sleep.

I suppose I must have slept for seven or eight hours, getting the

first real rest that I had had since the night before the loss of

the dhow, for when I woke the sun was high in the heavens. We

were still journeying on at a pace of about four miles an hour.

Peeping out through the mist-like curtains of the litter, which

were ingeniously fixed to the bearing pole, I perceived to my

infinite relief that we had passed out of the region of eternal

swamp, and were now travelling over swelling grassy plains

towards a cup-shaped hill. Whether or not it was the same hill

that we had seen from the canal I do not know, and have never

since been able to discover, for, as we afterwards found out,

these people will give little information upon such points. Next

I glanced at the men who were bearing me. They were of a

magnificent build, few of them being under six feet in height,

and yellowish in colour. Generally their appearance had a good

deal in common with that of the East African Somali, only their

hair was not frizzed up, but hung in thick black locks upon their

shoulders. Their features were aquiline, and in many cases

exceedingly handsome, the teeth being especially regular and

beautiful. But notwithstanding their beauty, it struck me that,

on the whole, I had never seen a more evil-looking set of faces.

There was an aspect of cold and sullen cruelty stamped upon them

that revolted me, and which in some cases was almost uncanny in

its intensity.

Another thing that struck me about them was that they never

seemed to smile. Sometimes they sang the monotonous song of which

I have spoken, but when they were not singing they remained

almost perfectly silent, and the light of a laugh never came to

brighten their sombre and evil countenances. Of what race could

these people be? Their language was a bastard Arabic, and yet

they were not Arabs; I was quite sure of that. For one thing they

were too dark, or rather yellow. I could not say why, but I know

that their appearance filled me with a sick fear of which I felt

ashamed. While I was still wondering another litter came up

alongside of mine. In it—for the curtains were drawn—sat an old

man, clothed in a whitish robe, made apparently from coarse

linen, that hung loosely about him, who, I at once jumped to the

conclusion, was the shadowy figure that had stood on the bank and

been addressed as “Father.” He was a wonderful-looking old man,

with a snowy beard, so long that the ends of it hung over the

sides of the litter, and he had a hooked nose, above which

flashed out a pair of eyes as keen as a snake’s, while his whole

countenance was instinct with a look of wise and sardonic humour

impossible to describe on paper.

“Art thou awake, stranger?” he said in a deep and low voice.

“Surely, my father,” I answered courteously, feeling certain that

I should do well to conciliate this ancient Mammon of

Unrighteousness.

He stroked his beautiful white beard, and smiled faintly.

“From whatever country thou camest,” he said, “and by the way it

must be from one where somewhat of our language is known, they

teach their children courtesy there, my stranger son. And now

wherefore comest thou unto this land, which scarce an alien foot

has pressed from the time that man knoweth? Art thou and those

with thee weary of life?”

“We came to find new things,” I answered boldly. “We are tired of

the old things; we have come up out of the sea to know that which

is unknown. We are of a brave race who fear not death, my very

much respected father—that is, if we can get a little information

before we die.”

“Humph!” said the old gentleman, “that may be true; it is rash to

contradict, otherwise I should say that thou wast lying, my son.

However, I dare to say that ‘_She-who-must-be-obeyed_’ will meet

thy wishes in the matter.”

“Who is ‘_She-who-must-be-obeyed_’?” I asked, curiously.

The old man glanced at the bearers, and then answered, with a

little smile that somehow sent my blood to my heart—

“Surely, my stranger son, thou wilt learn soon enough, if it be

her pleasure to see thee at all in the flesh.”

“In the flesh?” I answered. “What may my father wish to convey?”

But the old man only laughed a dreadful laugh, and made no reply.

“What is the name of my father’s people?” I asked.

“The name of my people is Amahagger” (the People of the Rocks).

“And if a son might ask, what is the name of my father?”

“My name is Billali.”

“And whither go we, my father?”

“That shalt thou see,” and at a sign from him his bearers started

forward at a run till they reached the litter in which Job was

reposing (with one leg hanging over the side). Apparently,

however, he could not make much out of Job, for presently I saw

his bearers trot forward to Leo’s litter.

And after that, as nothing fresh occurred, I yielded to the

pleasant swaying motion of the litter, and went to sleep again. I

was dreadfully tired. When I woke I found that we were passing

through a rocky defile of a lava formation with precipitous

sides, in which grew many beautiful trees and flowering shrubs.

Presently this defile took a turn, and a lovely sight unfolded

itself to my eyes. Before us was a vast cup of green from four to

six miles in extent, in the shape of a Roman amphitheatre. The

sides of this great cup were rocky, and clothed with bush, but

the centre was of the richest meadow land, studded with single

trees of magnificent growth, and watered by meandering brooks. On

this rich plain grazed herds of goats and cattle, but I saw no

sheep. At first I could not imagine what this strange spot could

be, but presently it flashed upon me that it must represent the

crater of some long-extinct volcano which had afterwards been a

lake, and was ultimately drained in some unexplained way. And

here I may state that from my subsequent experience of this and a

much larger, but otherwise similar spot, which I shall have

occasion to describe by-and-by, I have every reason to believe

that this conclusion was correct. What puzzled me, however, was,

that although there were people moving about herding the goats

and cattle, I saw no signs of any human habitation. Where did

they all live? I wondered. My curiosity was soon destined to be

gratified. Turning to the left the string of litters followed the

cliffy sides of the crater for a distance of about half a mile,

or perhaps a little less, and then halted. Seeing the old

gentleman, my adopted “father,” Billali, emerge from his litter,

I did the same, and so did Leo and Job. The first thing I saw was

our wretched Arab companion, Mahomed, lying exhausted on the

ground. It appeared that he had not been provided with a litter,

but had been forced to run the entire distance, and, as he was

already quite worn out when we started, his condition now was one

of great prostration.

On looking round we discovered that the place where we had halted

was a platform in front of the mouth of a great cave, and piled

upon this platform were the entire contents of the whale-boat,

even down to the oars and sail. Round the cave stood groups of

the men who had escorted us, and other men of a similar stamp.

They were all tall and all handsome, though they varied in their

degree of darkness of skin, some being as dark as Mahomed, and

some as yellow as a Chinese. They were naked, except for the

leopard-skin round the waist, and each of them carried a huge

spear.

There were also some women among them, who, instead of the

leopard-skin, wore a tanned hide of a small red buck, something

like that of the oribé, only rather darker in colour. These women

were, as a class, exceedingly good-looking, with large, dark

eyes, well-cut features, and a thick bush of curling hair—not

crisped like a negro’s—ranging from black to chestnut in hue,

with all shades of intermediate colour. Some, but very few of

them, wore a yellowish linen garment, such as I have described as

worn by Billali, but this, as we afterwards discovered, was a

mark of rank, rather than an attempt at clothing. For the rest,

their appearance was not quite so terrifying as that of the men,

and they sometimes, though rarely, smiled. As soon as we had

alighted they gathered round us and examined us with curiosity,

but without excitement. Leo’s tall, athletic form and clear-cut

Grecian face, however, evidently excited their attention, and

when he politely lifted his hat to them, and showed his curling

yellow hair, there was a slight murmur of admiration. Nor did it

stop there; for, after regarding him critically from head to

foot, the handsomest of the young women—one wearing a robe, and

with hair of a shade between brown and chestnut—deliberately

advanced to him, and, in a way that would have been winning had

it not been so determined, quietly put her arm round his neck,

bent forward, and kissed him on the lips.

I gave a gasp, expecting to see Leo instantly speared; and Job

ejaculated, “The hussy—well, I never!” As for Leo, he looked

slightly astonished; and then, remarking that we had clearly got

into a country where they followed the customs of the early

Christians, deliberately returned the embrace.

Again I gasped, thinking that something would happen; but, to my

surprise, though some of the young women showed traces of

vexation, the older ones and the men only smiled slightly. When

we came to understand the customs of this extraordinary people

the mystery was explained. It then appeared that, in direct

opposition to the habits of almost every other savage race in the

world, women among the Amahagger are not only upon terms of

perfect equality with the men, but are not held to them by any

binding ties. Descent is traced only through the line of the

mother, and while individuals are as proud of a long and superior

female ancestry as we are of our families in Europe, they never

pay attention to, or even acknowledge, any man as their father,

even when their male parentage is perfectly well known. There is

but one titular male parent of each tribe, or, as they call it,

“Household,” and he is its elected and immediate ruler, with the

title of “Father.” For instance, the man Billali was the father

of this “household,” which consisted of about seven thousand

individuals all told, and no other man was ever called by that

name. When a woman took a fancy to a man she signified her

preference by advancing and embracing him publicly, in the same

way that this handsome and exceedingly prompt young lady, who was

called Ustane, had embraced Leo. If he kissed her back it was a

token that he accepted her, and the arrangement continued until

one of them wearied of it. I am bound, however, to say that the

change of husbands was not nearly so frequent as might have been

expected. Nor did quarrels arise out of it, at least among the

men, who, when their wives deserted them in favour of a rival,

accepted the whole thing much as we accept the income-tax or our

marriage laws, as something not to be disputed, and as tending to

the good of the community, however disagreeable they may in

particular instances prove to the individual.

It is very curious to observe how the customs of mankind on this

matter vary in different countries, making morality an affair of

latitude, and what is right and proper in one place wrong and

improper in another. It must, however, be understood that, since

all civilised nations appear to accept it as an axiom that

ceremony is the touchstone of morality, there is, even according

to our canons, nothing immoral about this Amahagger custom,

seeing that the interchange of the embrace answers to our

ceremony of marriage, which, as we know, justifies most things.

VII.

USTANE SINGS

When the kissing operation was finished—by the way, none of the

young ladies offered to pet me in this fashion, though I saw one

hovering round Job, to that respectable individual’s evident

alarm—the old man Billali advanced, and graciously waved us into

the cave, whither we went, followed by Ustane, who did not seem

inclined to take the hints I gave her that we liked privacy.

Before we had gone five paces it struck me that the cave that we

were entering was none of Nature’s handiwork, but, on the

contrary, had been hollowed by the hand of man. So far as we

could judge it appeared to be about one hundred feet in length by

fifty wide, and very lofty, resembling a cathedral aisle more

than anything else. From this main aisle opened passages at a

distance of every twelve or fifteen feet, leading, I supposed, to

smaller chambers. About fifty feet from the entrance of the cave,

just where the light began to get dim, a fire was burning, which

threw huge shadows upon the gloomy walls around. Here Billali

halted, and asked us to be seated, saying that the people would

bring us food, and accordingly we squatted ourselves down upon

the rugs of skins which were spread for us, and waited. Presently

the food, consisting of goat’s flesh boiled, fresh milk in an

earthenware pot, and boiled cobs of Indian corn, was brought by

young girls. We were almost starving, and I do not think that I

ever in my life before ate with such satisfaction. Indeed, before

we had finished we literally ate up everything that was set

before us.

When we had done, our somewhat saturnine host, Billali, who had

been watching us in perfect silence, rose and addressed us. He

said that it was a wonderful thing that had happened. No man had

ever known or heard of white strangers arriving in the country of

the People of the Rocks. Sometimes, though rarely, black men had

come here, and from them they had heard of the existence of men

much whiter than themselves, who sailed on the sea in ships, but

for the arrival of such there was no precedent. We had, however,

been seen dragging the boat up the canal, and he told us frankly

that he had at once given orders for our destruction, seeing that

it was unlawful for any stranger to enter here, when a message

had come from “_She-who-must-be-obeyed_,” saying that our lives

were to be spared, and that we were to be brought hither.

“Pardon me, my father,” I interrupted at this point; “but if, as

I understand, ‘_She-who-must-be-obeyed_’ lives yet farther off,

how could she have known of our approach?”

Billali turned, and seeing that we were alone—for the young lady,

Ustane, had withdrawn when he had begun to speak—said, with a

curious little laugh—

“Are there none in your land who can see without eyes and hear

without ears? Ask no questions; _She_ knew.”

I shrugged my shoulders at this, and he proceeded to say that no

further instructions had been received on the subject of our

disposal, and this being so he was about to start to interview

“_She-who-must-be-obeyed_,” generally spoken of, for the sake of

brevity, as “Hiya” or _She_ simply, who he gave us to understand

was the Queen of the Amahagger, and learn her wishes.

I asked him how long he proposed to be away, and he said that by

travelling hard he might be back on the fifth day, but there were

many miles of marsh to cross before he came to where _She_ was.

He then said that every arrangement would be made for our comfort

during his absence, and that, as he personally had taken a fancy

to us, he sincerely trusted that the answer he should bring from

_She_ would be one favourable to the continuation of our

existence, but at the same time he did not wish to conceal from

us that he thought this doubtful, as every stranger who had ever

come into the country during his grandmother’s life, his mother’s

life, and his own life, had been put to death without mercy, and

in a way he would not harrow our feelings by describing; and this

had been done by the order of _She_ herself, at least he supposed

that it was by her order. At any rate, she never interfered to

save them.

“Why,” I said, “but how can that be? You are an old man, and the

time you talk of must reach back three men’s lives. How therefore

could _She_ have ordered the death of anybody at the beginning of

the life of your grandmother, seeing that herself she would not

have been born?”

Again he smiled—that same faint, peculiar smile, and with a deep

bow departed, without making any answer; nor did we see him again

for five days.

When he had gone we discussed the situation, which filled me with

alarm. I did not at all like the accounts of this mysterious

Queen, “_She-who-must-be-obeyed_,” or more shortly _She_, who

apparently ordered the execution of any unfortunate stranger in a

fashion so unmerciful. Leo, too, was depressed about it, but

consoled himself by triumphantly pointing out that this _She_ was

undoubtedly the person referred to in the writing on the potsherd

and in his father’s letter, in proof of which he advanced

Billali’s allusions to her age and power. I was by this time too

overwhelmed with the whole course of events that I had not even

the heart left to dispute a proposition so absurd, so I suggested

that we should try to go out and get a bath, of which we all

stood sadly in need.

Accordingly, having indicated our wish to a middle-aged individual of

an unusually saturnine cast of countenance, even among this saturnine

people, who appeared to be deputed to look after us now that the Father

of the hamlet had departed, we started in a body—having first lit our

pipes. Outside the cave we found quite a crowd of people evidently

watching for our appearance, but when they saw us come out smoking they

vanished this way and that, calling out that we were great magicians.

Indeed, nothing about us created so great a sensation as our tobacco

smoke—not even our firearms.[1] After this we succeeded in reaching a

stream that had its source in a strong ground spring, and taking our

bath in peace, though some of the women, not excepting Ustane, showed a

decided inclination to follow us even there.

[1] We found tobacco growing in this country as it does in every other

part of Africa, and, although they were so absolutely ignorant of its

other blessed qualities, the Amahagger use it habitually in the form

of snuff and also for medicinal purposes.—L. H. H.

By the time that we had finished this most refreshing bath the

sun was setting; indeed, when we got back to the big cave it had

already set. The cave itself was full of people gathered round

fires—for several more had now been lighted—and eating their

evening meal by their lurid light, and by that of various lamps

which were set about or hung upon the walls. These lamps were of

a rude manufacture of baked earthenware, and of all shapes, some

of them graceful enough. The larger ones were formed of big red

earthenware pots, filled with clarified melted fat, and having a

reed wick stuck through a wooden disk which filled the top of the

pot. This sort of lamp required the most constant attention to

prevent its going out whenever the wick burnt down, as there were

no means of turning it up. The smaller hand lamps, however, which

were also made of baked clay, were fitted with wicks manufactured

from the pith of a palm-tree, or sometimes from the stem of a

very handsome variety of fern. This kind of wick was passed

through a round hole at the end of the lamp, to which a sharp

piece of hard wood was attached wherewith to pierce and draw it

up whenever it showed signs of burning low.

For a while we sat down and watched this grim people eating their

evening meal in silence as grim as themselves, till at length,

getting tired of contemplating them and the huge moving shadows

on the rocky walls, I suggested to our new keeper that we should

like to go to bed.

Without a word he rose, and, taking me politely by the hand,

advanced with a lamp to one of the small passages that I had

noticed opening out of the central cave. This we followed for

about five paces, when it suddenly widened out into a small

chamber, about eight feet square, and hewn out of the living

rock. On one side of this chamber was a stone slab, about three

feet from the ground, and running its entire length like a bunk

in a cabin, and on this slab he intimated that I was to sleep.

There was no window or air-hole to the chamber, and no furniture;

and, on looking at it more closely, I came to the disturbing

conclusion (in which, as I afterwards discovered, I was quite

right) that it had originally served for a sepulchre for the dead

rather than a sleeping-place for the living, the slab being

designed to receive the corpse of the departed. The thought made

me shudder in spite of myself; but, seeing that I must sleep

somewhere, I got over the feeling as best I might, and returned

to the cavern to get my blanket, which had been brought up from

the boat with the other things. There I met Job, who, having been

inducted to a similar apartment, had flatly declined to stop in

it, saying that the look of the place gave him the horrors, and

that he might as well be dead and buried in his grandfather’s

brick grave at once, and expressed his determination of sleeping

with me if I would allow him. This, of course, I was only too

glad to do.

The night passed very comfortably on the whole. I say on the

whole, for personally I went through a most horrible nightmare of

being buried alive, induced, no doubt, by the sepulchral nature

of my surroundings. At dawn we were aroused by a loud trumpeting

sound, produced, as we afterwards discovered, by a young

Amahagger blowing through a hole bored in its side into a

hollowed elephant tusk, which was kept for the purpose.

Taking the hint, we got up and went down to the stream to wash,

after which the morning meal was served. At breakfast one of the

women, no longer quite young, advanced and publicly kissed Job. I

think it was in its way the most delightful thing (putting its

impropriety aside for a moment) that I ever saw. Never shall I

forget the respectable Job’s abject terror and disgust. Job, like

myself, is a bit of a misogynist—I fancy chiefly owing to the

fact of his having been one of a family of seventeen—and the

feelings expressed upon his countenance when he realised that he

was not only being embraced publicly, and without authorisation

on his own part, but also in the presence of his masters, were

too mixed and painful to admit of accurate description. He sprang

to his feet, and pushed the woman, a buxom person of about

thirty, from him.

“Well, I never!” he gasped, whereupon probably thinking that he

was only coy, she embraced him again.

“Be off with you! Get away, you minx!” he shouted, waving the

wooden spoon, with which he was eating his breakfast, up and down

before the lady’s face. “Beg your pardon, gentlemen, I am sure I

haven’t encouraged her. Oh, Lord! she’s coming for me again. Hold

her, Mr. Holly! please hold her! I can’t stand it; I can’t,

indeed. This has never happened to me before, gentlemen, never.

There’s nothing against my character,” and here he broke off, and

ran as hard as he could go down the cave, and for once I saw the

Amahagger laugh. As for the woman, however, she did not laugh. On

the contrary, she seemed to bristle with fury, which the mockery

of the other women about only served to intensify. She stood

there literally snarling and shaking with indignation, and,

seeing her, I wished Job’s scruples had been at Jericho, forming

a shrewd guess that his admirable behaviour had endangered our

throats. Nor, as the sequel shows, was I wrong.

The lady having retreated, Job returned in a great state of

nervousness, and keeping his weather eye fixed upon every woman

who came near him. I took an opportunity to explain to our hosts

that Job was a married man, and had had very unhappy experiences

in his domestic relations, which accounted for his presence here

and his terror at the sight of women, but my remarks were

received in grim silence, it being evident that our retainer’s

behaviour was considered as a slight to the “household” at large,

although the women, after the manner of some of their most

civilised sisters, made merry at the rebuff of their companion.

After breakfast we took a walk and inspected the Amahagger herds,

and also their cultivated lands. They have two breeds of cattle,

one large and angular, with no horns, but yielding beautiful

milk; and the other, a red breed, very small and fat, excellent

for meat, but of no value for milking purposes. This last breed

closely resembles the Norfolk red-pole strain, only it has horns

which generally curve forward over the head, sometimes to such an

extent that they have to be cut to prevent them from growing into

the bones of the skull. The goats are long-haired, and are used

for eating only, at least I never saw them milked. As for the

Amahagger cultivation, it is primitive in the extreme, being all

done by means of a spade made of iron, for these people smelt and

work iron. This spade is shaped more like a big spear-head than

anything else, and has no shoulder to it on which the foot can be

set. As a consequence, the labour of digging is very great. It

is, however, all done by the men, the women, contrary to the

habits of most savage races, being entirely exempt from manual

toil. But then, as I think I have said elsewhere, among the

Amahagger the weaker sex has established its rights.

At first we were much puzzled as to the origin and constitution

of this extraordinary race, points upon which they were

singularly uncommunicative. As the time went on—for the next four

days passed without any striking event—we learnt something from

Leo’s lady friend Ustane, who, by the way, stuck to that young

gentleman like his own shadow. As to origin, they had none, at

least, so far as she was aware. There were, however, she informed

us, mounds of masonry and many pillars, near the place where

_She_ lived, which was called Kôr, and which the wise said had

once been houses wherein men lived, and it was suggested that

they were descended from these men. No one, however, dared go

near these great ruins, because they were haunted: they only

looked on them from a distance. Other similar ruins were to be

seen, she had heard, in various parts of the country, that is,

wherever one of the mountains rose above the level of the swamp.

Also the caves in which they lived had been hollowed out of the

rocks by men, perhaps the same who built the cities. They

themselves had no written laws, only custom, which was, however,

quite as binding as law. If any man offended against the custom,

he was put to death by order of the Father of the “Household.” I

asked how he was put to death, and she only smiled and said that

I might see one day soon.

They had a Queen, however. _She_ was their Queen, but she was

very rarely seen, perhaps once in two or three years, when she

came forth to pass sentence on some offenders, and when seen was

muffled up in a big cloak, so that nobody could look upon her

face. Those who waited upon her were deaf and dumb, and therefore

could tell no tales, but it was reported that she was lovely as

no other woman was lovely, or ever had been. It was rumoured also

that she was immortal, and had power over all things, but she,

Ustane, could say nothing of all that. What she believed was that

the Queen chose a husband from time to time, and as soon as a

female child was born, this husband, who was never again seen,

was put to death. Then the female child grew up and took the

place of the Queen when its mother died, and had been buried in

the great caves. But of these matters none could speak with

certainty. Only _She_ was obeyed throughout the length and

breadth of the land, and to question her command was instant

death. She kept a guard, but had no regular army, and to disobey

her was to die.

I asked what size the land was, and how many people lived in it.

She answered that there were ten “Households,” like this that she

knew of, including the big “Household,” where the Queen was, that

all the “Households” lived in caves, in places resembling this

stretch of raised country, dotted about in a vast extent of

swamp, which was only to be threaded by secret paths. Often the

“Households” made war on each other until _She_ sent word that it

was to stop, and then they instantly ceased. That and the fever

which they caught in crossing the swamps prevented their numbers

from increasing too much. They had no connection with any other

race, indeed none lived near them, or were able to thread the

vast swamps. Once an army from the direction of the great river

(presumably the Zambesi) had attempted to attack them, but they

got lost in the marshes, and at night, seeing the great balls of

fire that move about there, tried to come to them, thinking that

they marked the enemy camp, and half of them were drowned. As for

the rest, they soon died of fever and starvation, not a blow

being struck at them. The marshes, she told us, were absolutely

impassable except to those who knew the paths, adding, what I

could well believe, that we should never have reached this place

where we then were had we not been brought thither.

These and many other things we learnt from Ustane during the four

days’ pause before our real adventures began, and, as may be

imagined, they gave us considerable cause for thought. The whole

thing was exceedingly remarkable, almost incredibly so, indeed,

and the oddest part of it was that so far it did more or less

correspond to the ancient writing on the sherd. And now it

appeared that there was a mysterious Queen clothed by rumour with

dread and wonderful attributes, and commonly known by the

impersonal, but, to my mind, rather awesome title of _She_.

Altogether, I could not make it out, nor could Leo, though of

course he was exceedingly triumphant over me because I had

persistently mocked at the whole thing. As for Job, he had long

since abandoned any attempt to call his reason his own, and left

it to drift upon the sea of circumstance. Mahomed, the Arab, who

was, by the way, treated civilly indeed, but with chilling

contempt, by the Amahagger, was, I discovered, in a great fright,

though I could not quite make out what he was frightened about.

He would sit crouched up in a corner of the cave all day long,

calling upon Allah and the Prophet to protect him. When I pressed

him about it, he said that he was afraid because these people

were not men or women at all, but devils, and that this was an

enchanted land; and, upon my word, once or twice since then I

have been inclined to agree with him. And so the time went on,

till the night of the fourth day after Billali had left, when

something happened.

We three and Ustane were sitting round a fire in the cave just

before bedtime, when suddenly the woman, who had been brooding in

silence, rose, and laid her hand upon Leo’s golden curls, and

addressed him. Even now, when I shut my eyes, I can see her

proud, imperial form, clothed alternately in dense shadow and the

red flickering of the fire, as she stood, the wild centre of as

weird a scene as I ever witnessed, and delivered herself of the

burden of her thoughts and forebodings in a kind of rhythmical

speech that ran something as follows:—

Thou art my chosen—I have waited for thee from the beginning!

Thou art very beautiful. Who hath hair like unto thee, or skin so

white?

Who hath so strong an arm, who is so much a man?

Thine eyes are the sky, and the light in them is the stars.

Thou art perfect and of a happy face, and my heart turned itself

towards thee.

Ay, when mine eyes fell upon thee I did desire thee,—

Then did I take thee to me—oh, thou Beloved,

And hold thee fast, lest harm should come unto thee.

Ay, I did cover thine head with mine hair, lest the sun should strike

it;

And altogether was I thine, and thou wast altogether mine.

And so it went for a little space, till Time was in labour with an evil

Day;

And then what befell on that day? Alas! my Beloved, I know not!

But I, I saw thee no more—I, I was lost in the blackness.

And she who is stronger did take thee; ay, she who is fairer than

Ustane.

Yet didst thou turn and call upon me, and let thine eyes wander in the

darkness.

But, nevertheless, she prevailed by Beauty, and led thee down horrible

places,

And then, ah! then my Beloved——

Here this extraordinary woman broke off her speech, or chant,

which was so much musical gibberish to us, for all that we

understood of what she was talking about, and seemed to fix her

flashing eyes upon the deep shadow before her. Then in a moment

they acquired a vacant, terrified stare, as though they were

striving to realise some half-seen horror. She lifted her hand

from Leo’s head, and pointed into the darkness. We all looked,

and could see nothing; but she saw something, or thought she did,

and something evidently that affected even her iron nerves, for,

without another sound, down she fell senseless between us.

Leo, who was growing really attached to this remarkable young

person, was in a great state of alarm and distress, and I, to be

perfectly candid, was in a condition not far removed from

superstitious fear. The whole scene was an uncanny one.

Presently, however, she recovered, and sat up with an

extraordinary convulsive shudder.

“What didst thou mean, Ustane?” asked Leo, who, thanks to years

of tuition, spoke Arabic very prettily.

“Nay, my chosen,” she answered, with a little forced laugh. “I

did but sing unto thee after the fashion of my people. Surely, I

meant nothing. How could I speak of that which is not yet?”

“And what didst thou see, Ustane?” I asked, looking her sharply

in the face.

“Nay,” she answered again, “I saw naught. Ask me not what I saw.

Why should I fright ye?” And then, turning to Leo with a look of

the most utter tenderness that I ever saw upon the face of a

woman, civilised or savage, she took his head between her hands,

and kissed him on the forehead as a mother might.

“When I am gone from thee, my chosen,” she said; “when at night

thou stretchest out thine hand and canst not find me, then

shouldst thou think at times of me, for of a truth I love thee

well, though I be not fit to wash thy feet. And now let us love

and take that which is given us, and be happy; for in the grave

there is no love and no warmth, nor any touching of the lips.

Nothing perchance, or perchance but bitter memories of what might

have been. To-night the hours are our own, how know we to whom

they shall belong to-morrow?”

VIII.

THE FEAST, AND AFTER!

On the day following this remarkable scene—a scene calculated to

make a deep impression upon anybody who beheld it, more because

of what it suggested and seemed to foreshadow than of what it

revealed—it was announced to us that a feast would be held that

evening in our honour. I did my best to get out of it, saying

that we were modest people, and cared little for feasts, but my

remarks being received with the silence of displeasure, I thought

it wisest to hold my tongue.

Accordingly, just before sundown, I was informed that everything

was ready, and, accompanied by Job, went into the cave, where I

met Leo, who was, as usual, followed by Ustane. These two had

been out walking somewhere, and knew nothing of the projected

festivity till that moment. When Ustane heard of it I saw an

expression of horror spring up upon her handsome features.

Turning she caught a man who was passing up the cave by the arm,

and asked him something in an imperious tone. His answer seemed

to reassure her a little, for she looked relieved, though far

from satisfied. Next she appeared to attempt some remonstrance

with the man, who was a person in authority, but he spoke angrily

to her, and shook her off, and then, changing his mind, led her

by the arm, and sat her down between himself and another man in

the circle round the fire, and I perceived that for some reason

of her own she thought it best to submit.

The fire in the cave was an unusually big one that night, and in

a large circle round it were gathered about thirty-five men and

two women, Ustane and the woman to avoid whom Job had played the

_rôle_ of another Scriptural character. The men were sitting in

perfect silence, as was their custom, each with his great spear

stuck upright behind him, in a socket cut in the rock for that

purpose. Only one or two wore the yellowish linen garment of

which I have spoken, the rest had nothing on except the leopard’s

skin about the middle.

“What’s up now, sir,” said Job, doubtfully. “Bless us and save

us, there’s that woman again. Now, surely, she can’t be after me,

seeing that I have given her no encouragement. They give me the

creeps, the whole lot of them, and that’s a fact. Why look, they

have asked Mahomed to dine, too. There, that lady of mine is

talking to him in as nice and civil a way as possible. Well, I’m

glad it isn’t me, that’s all.”

We looked up, and sure enough the woman in question had risen,

and was escorting the wretched Mahomed from his corner, where,

overcome by some acute prescience of horror, he had been seated,

shivering, and calling on Allah. He appeared unwilling enough to

come, if for no other reason perhaps because it was an

unaccustomed honour, for hitherto his food had been given to him

apart. Anyway I could see that he was in a state of great terror,

for his tottering legs would scarcely support his stout, bulky

form, and I think it was rather owing to the resources of

barbarism behind him, in the shape of a huge Amahagger with a

proportionately huge spear, than to the seductions of the lady

who led him by the hand, that he consented to come at all.

“Well,” I said to the others, “I don’t at all like the look of

things, but I suppose we must face it out. Have you fellows got

your revolvers on? because, if so, you had better see that they

are loaded.”

“I have, sir,” said Job, tapping his Colt, “but Mr. Leo has only

got his hunting knife, though that is big enough, surely.”

Feeling that it would not do to wait while the missing weapon was

fetched, we advanced boldly, and seated ourselves in a line, with

our backs against the side of the cave.

As soon as we were seated, an earthenware jar was passed round

containing a fermented fluid, of by no means unpleasant taste,

though apt to turn upon the stomach, made from crushed grain—not

Indian corn, but a small brown grain that grows upon its stem in

clusters, not unlike that which in the southern part of Africa is

known by the name of Kafir corn. The vase which contained this

liquor was very curious, and as it more or less resembled many

hundreds of others in use among the Amahagger I may as well

describe it. These vases are of a very ancient manufacture, and

of all sizes. None such can have been made in the country for

hundreds, or rather thousands, of years. They are found in the

rock tombs, of which I shall give a description in their proper

place, and my own belief is that, after the fashion of the

Egyptians, with whom the former inhabitants of this country may

have had some connection, they were used to receive the viscera

of the dead. Leo, however, is of opinion that, as in the case of

Etruscan amphoræ, they were placed there for the spiritual use of

the deceased. They are mostly two-handled, and of all sizes, some

being nearly three feet in height, and running from that down to

as many inches. In shape they vary, but all are exceedingly

beautiful and graceful, being made of a very fine black ware, not

lustrous, but slightly rough. On this groundwork are inlaid

figures much more graceful and lifelike than any others that I

have seen on antique vases. Some of these inlaid pictures

represent love-scenes with a childlike simplicity and freedom of

manner which would not commend itself to the taste of the present

day. Others again give pictures of maidens dancing, and yet

others of hunting-scenes. For instance, the very vase from which

we were then drinking had on one side a most spirited drawing of

men, apparently white in colour, attacking a bull-elephant with

spears, while on the reverse was a picture, not quite so well

done, of a hunter shooting an arrow at a running antelope, I

should say from the look of it either an eland or a koodoo.

This is a digression at a critical moment, but it is not too long

for the occasion, for the occasion itself was very long. With the

exception of the periodical passing of the vase, and the movement

necessary to throw fuel on to the fire, nothing happened for the

best part of a whole hour. Nobody spoke a word. There we all sat

in perfect silence, staring at the glare and glow of the large

fire, and at the shadows thrown by the flickering earthenware

lamps (which, by the way, were not ancient). On the open space

between us and the fire lay a large wooden tray, with four short

handles to it, exactly like a butcher’s tray, only not hollowed

out. By the side of the tray was a great pair of long-handled

iron pincers, and on the other side of the fire was a similar

pair. Somehow I did not at all like the appearance of this tray

and the accompanying pincers. There I sat and stared at them and

at the silent circle of the fierce moody faces of the men, and

reflected that it was all very awful, and that we were absolutely

in the power of this alarming people, who, to me at any rate,

were all the more formidable because their true character was

still very much of a mystery to us. They might be better than I

thought them, or they might be worse. I feared that they were

worse, and I was not wrong. It was a curious sort of a feast, I

reflected, in appearance indeed, an entertainment of the

Barmecide stamp, for there was absolutely nothing to eat.

At last, just as I was beginning to feel as though I were being

mesmerised, a move was made. Without the slightest warning, a man

from the other side of the circle called out in a loud voice—

“Where is the flesh that we shall eat?”

Thereon everybody in the circle answered in a deep measured tone,

and stretching out the right arm towards the fire as he spoke—

“_The flesh will come._”

“Is it a goat?” said the same man.

“_It is a goat without horns, and more than a goat, and we shall

slay it,_” they answered with one voice, and turning half round

they one and all grasped the handles of their spears with the

right hand, and then simultaneously let them go.

“Is it an ox?” said the man again.

“_It is an ox without horns, and more than an ox, and we shall

slay it,_” was the answer, and again the spears were grasped, and

again let go.

Then came a pause, and I noticed, with horror and a rising of the hair,

that the woman next to Mahomed began to fondle him, patting his cheeks

and calling him by names of endearment while her fierce eyes played up

and down his trembling form. I do not know why the sight frightened me

so, but it did frighten us all dreadfully, especially Leo. The

caressing was so snake-like, and so evidently a part of some ghastly

formula that had to be gone through.[1] I saw Mahomed turn white under

his brown skin, sickly white with fear.

[1] We afterwards learnt that its object was to pretend to the victim

that he was the object of love and admiration, and so to sooth his

injured feelings, and cause him to expire in a happy and contented

frame of mind.—L. H. H.

“Is the meat ready to be cooked?” asked the voice, more rapidly.

“_It is ready; it is ready._”

“Is the pot hot to cook it?” it continued, in a sort of scream

that echoed painfully down the great recesses of the cave.

“_It is hot; it is hot._”

“Great heavens!” roared Leo, “remember the writing, ‘_The people

who place pots upon the heads of strangers._’”

As he said the words, before we could stir, or even take the

matter in, two great ruffians jumped up, and, seizing the long

pincers, thrust them into the heart of the fire, and the woman

who had been caressing Mahomed suddenly produced a fibre noose

from under her girdle or moocha, and, slipping it over his

shoulders, ran it tight, while the men next to him seized him by

the legs. The two men with the pincers gave a heave, and,

scattering the fire this way and that upon the rocky floor,

lifted from it a large earthenware pot, heated to a white heat.

In an instant, almost with a single movement, they had reached

the spot where Mahomed was struggling. He fought like a fiend,

shrieking in the abandonment of his despair, and notwithstanding

the noose round him, and the efforts of the men who held his

legs, the advancing wretches were for the moment unable to

accomplish their purpose, which, horrible and incredible as it

seems, was _to put the red-hot pot upon his head_.

I sprang to my feet with a yell of horror, and drawing my

revolver fired it by a sort of instinct straight at the

diabolical woman who had been caressing Mahomed, and was now

gripping him in her arms. The bullet struck her in the back and

killed her, and to this day I am glad that it did, for, as it

afterwards transpired, she had availed herself of the

anthropophagous customs of the Amahagger to organise the whole

thing in revenge of the slight put upon her by Job. She sank down

dead, and as she did so, to my terror and dismay, Mahomed, by a

superhuman effort, burst from his tormenters, and, springing high

into the air, fell dying upon her corpse. The heavy bullet from

my pistol had driven through the bodies of both, at once striking

down the murderess, and saving her victim from a death a hundred

times more horrible. It was an awful and yet a most merciful

accident.

For a moment there was a silence of astonishment. The Amahagger

had never heard the report of a firearm before, and its effects

dismayed them. But the next instant a man close to us recovered himself,

and seized his spear preparatory to making a lunge with it at

Leo, who was the nearest to him.

“Run for it!” I shouted, setting the example by starting up the

cave as hard as my legs would carry me. I would have made for the

open air if it had been possible, but there were men in the way,

and, besides, I had caught sight of the forms of a crowd of

people standing out clear against the skyline beyond the entrance

to the cave. Up the cave I went, and after me came the others,

and after them thundered the whole crowd of cannibals, mad with

fury at the death of the woman. With a bound I cleared the

prostrate form of Mahomed. As I flew over him I felt the heat

from the red-hot pot, which was lying close by, strike upon my

legs, and by its glow saw his hands—for he was not quite

dead—still feebly moving. At the top of the cave was a little

platform of rock three feet or so high by about eight deep, on

which two large lamps were placed at night. Whether this platform

had been left as a seat, or as a raised point afterwards to be

cut away when it had served its purpose as a standing place from

which to carry on the excavations, I do not know—at least, I did

not then. At any rate, we all three reached it, and, jumping on

it, prepared to sell our lives as dearly as we could. For a few

seconds the crowd that was pressing on our heels hung back when

they saw us face round upon them. Job was on one side of the rock

to the left, Leo in the centre, and I to the right. Behind us

were the lamps. Leo bent forward, and looked down the long lane

of shadows, terminating in the fire and lighted lamps, through

which the quiet forms of our would-be murderers flitted to and

fro with the faint light glinting on their spears, for even their

fury was silent as a bulldog’s. The only other thing visible was

the red-hot pot still glowing angrily in the gloom. There was a

curious light in Leo’s eyes, and his handsome face was set like a

stone. In his right hand was his heavy hunting-knife. He shifted

its thong a little up his wrist and then put his arm round me and

gave me a good hug.

“Good-bye, old fellow,” he said, “my dear friend—my more than

father. We have no chance against those scoundrels; they will

finish us in a few minutes, and eat us afterwards, I suppose.

Good-bye. I led you into this. I hope you will forgive me.

Good-bye, Job.”

“God’s will be done,” I said, setting my teeth, as I prepared for

the end. At that moment, with an exclamation, Job lifted his

revolver and fired, and hit a man—not the man he had aimed at, by

the way: anything that Job shot _at_ was perfectly safe.

On they came with a rush, and I fired too as fast as I could, and

checked them—between us, Job and I, besides the woman, killed or

mortally wounded five men with our pistols before they were

emptied. But we had no time to reload, and they still came on in

a way that was almost splendid in its recklessness, seeing that

they did not know but that we could go on firing for ever.

A great fellow bounded up upon the platform, and Leo struck him

dead with one blow of his powerful arm, sending the knife right

through him. I did the same by another, but Job missed his

stroke, and I saw a brawny Amahagger grip him by the middle and

whirl him off the rock. The knife not being secured by a thong

fell from Job’s hand as he did so, and, by a most happy accident

for him, lit upon its handle on the rock, just as the body of the

Amahagger, who was undermost, struck upon its point and was

transfixed upon it. What happened to Job after that I am sure I

do not know, but my own impression is that he lay still upon the

corpse of his deceased assailant, “playing ‘possum” as the

Americans say. As for myself, I was soon involved in a desperate

encounter with two ruffians, who, luckily for me, had left their

spears behind them; and for the first time in my life the great

physical power with which Nature has endowed me stood me in good

stead. I had hacked at the head of one man with my hunting-knife,

which was almost as big and heavy as a short sword, with such

vigour, that the sharp steel had split his skull down to the

eyes, and was held so fast by it that as he suddenly fell

sideways the knife was twisted right out of my hand.

Then it was that the two others sprang upon me. I saw them

coming, and got an arm round the waist of each, and down we all

fell upon the floor of the cave together, rolling over and over.

They were strong men, but I was mad with rage, and that awful

lust for slaughter which will creep into the hearts of the most

civilised of us when blows are flying, and life and death tremble

on the turn. My arms were round the two swarthy demons, and I

hugged them till I heard their ribs crack and crunch up beneath

my grip. They twisted and writhed like snakes, and clawed and

battered at me with their fists, but I held on. Lying on my back

there, so that their bodies might protect me from spear thrusts

from above, I slowly crushed the life out of them, and as I did

so, strange as it may seem, I thought of what the amiable Head of

my College at Cambridge (who is a member of the Peace Society)

and my brother Fellows would say if by clairvoyance they could

see me, of all men, playing such a bloody game. Soon my

assailants grew faint, and almost ceased to struggle, their

breath had failed them, and they were dying, but still I dared

not leave them, for they died very slowly. I knew that if I

relaxed my grip they would revive. The other ruffians probably

thought—for we were all three lying in the shadow of the

ledge—that we were all dead together, at any rate they did not

interfere with our little tragedy.

I turned my head, and as I lay gasping in the throes of that

awful struggle I could see that Leo was off the rock now, for the

lamplight fell full upon him. He was still on his feet, but in

the centre of a surging mass of struggling men, who were striving

to pull him down as wolves pull down a stag. Up above them

towered his beautiful pale face crowned with its bright curls

(for Leo is six feet two high), and I saw that he was fighting

with a desperate abandonment and energy that was at once splendid

and hideous to behold. He drove his knife through one man—they

were so close to and mixed up with him that they could not get at

him to kill him with their big spears, and they had no knives or

sticks. The man fell, and then somehow the knife was wrenched

from his hand, leaving him defenceless, and I thought the end had

come. But no; with a desperate effort he broke loose from them,

seized the body of the man he had just slain, and lifting it high

in the air hurled it right at the mob of his assailants, so that

the shock and weight of it swept some five or six of them to the

earth. But in a minute they were all up again, except one, whose

skull was smashed, and had once more fastened upon him. And then

slowly, and with infinite labour and struggling, the wolves bore

the lion down. Once even then he recovered himself, and felled an

Amahagger with his fist, but it was more than man could do to

hold his own for long against so many, and at last he came

crashing down upon the rock floor, falling as an oak falls, and

bearing with him to the earth all those who clung about him. They

gripped him by his arms and legs, and then cleared off his body.

“A spear,” cried a voice—“a spear to cut his throat, and a vessel

to catch his blood.”

I shut my eyes, for I saw the man coming with a spear, and

myself, I could not stir to Leo’s help, for I was growing weak,

and the two men on me were not yet dead, and a deadly sickness

overcame me.

Then suddenly there was a disturbance, and involuntarily I opened

my eyes again, and looked towards the scene of murder. The girl

Ustane had thrown herself on Leo’s prostrate form, covering his

body with her body, and fastening her arms about his neck. They

tried to drag her from him, but she twisted her legs round his,

and hung on like a bulldog, or rather like a creeper to a tree,

and they could not. Then they tried to stab him in the side

without hurting her, but somehow she shielded him, and he was

only wounded.

At last they lost patience.

“Drive the spear through the man and the woman together,” said a

voice, the same voice that had asked the questions at that

ghastly feast, “so of a verity shall they be wed.”

Then I saw the man with the weapon straighten himself for the

effort. I saw the cold steel gleam on high, and once more I shut

my eyes.

As I did so I heard the voice of a man thunder out in tones that

rang and echoed down the rocky ways—

“_Cease!_”

Then I fainted, and as I did so it flashed through my darkening

mind that I was passing down into the last oblivion of death.

IX.

A LITTLE FOOT

When I opened my eyes again I found myself lying on a skin mat

not far from the fire round which we had been gathered for that

dreadful feast. Near me lay Leo, still apparently in a swoon, and

over him was bending the tall form of the girl Ustane, who was

washing a deep spear wound in his side with cold water

preparatory to binding it up with linen. Leaning against the wall

of the cave behind her was Job, apparently uninjured, but bruised

and trembling. On the other side of the fire, tossed about this

way and that, as though they had thrown themselves down to sleep

in some moment of absolute exhaustion, were the bodies of those

whom we had killed in our frightful struggle for life. I counted

them: there were twelve besides the woman, and the corpse of poor

Mahomed, who had died by my hand, which, the fire-stained pot at

its side, was placed at the end of the irregular line. To the

left a body of men were engaged in binding the arms of the

survivors of the cannibals behind them, and then fastening them

two and two. The villains were submitting with a look of sulky

indifference upon their faces which accorded ill with the baffled

fury that gleamed in their sombre eyes. In front of these men,

directing the operations, stood no other than our friend Billali,

looking rather tired, but particularly patriarchal with his

flowing beard, and as cool and unconcerned as though he were

superintending the cutting up of an ox.

Presently he turned, and perceiving that I was sitting up

advanced to me, and with the utmost courtesy said that he trusted

that I felt better. I answered that at present I scarcely knew

how I felt, except that I ached all over.

Then he bent down and examined Leo’s wound.

“It is an evil cut,” he said, “but the spear has not pierced the

entrails. He will recover.”

“Thanks to thy arrival, my father,” I answered. “In another

minute we should all have been beyond the reach of recovery, for

those devils of thine would have slain us as they would have

slain our servant,” and I pointed towards Mahomed.

The old man ground his teeth, and I saw an extraordinary

expression of malignity light up his eyes.

“Fear not, my son,” he answered. “Vengeance shall be taken on

them such as would make the flesh twist upon the bones merely to

hear of it. To _She_ shall they go, and her vengeance shall be

worthy of her greatness. That man,” pointing to Mahomed, “I tell

thee that man would have died a merciful death to the death these

hyæna-men shall die. Tell me, I pray of thee, how it came about.”

In a few words I sketched what had happened.

“Ah, so,” he answered. “Thou seest, my son, here there is a

custom that if a stranger comes into this country he may be slain

by ‘the pot,’ and eaten.”

“It is hospitality turned upside down,” I answered feebly. “In

our country we entertain a stranger, and give him food to eat.

Here ye eat him, and are entertained.”

“It is a custom,” he answered, with a shrug. “Myself I think it

an evil one; but then,” he added by an afterthought, “I do not

like the taste of strangers, especially after they have wandered

through the swamps and lived on wild-fowl. When

_She-who-must-be-obeyed_ sent orders that ye were to be saved

alive she said naught of the black man, therefore, being hyænas,

these men lusted after his flesh, and the woman it was, whom thou

didst rightly slay, who put it into their evil hearts to hot-pot

him. Well, they will have their reward. Better for them would it

be if they had never seen the light than that they should stand

before _She_ in her terrible anger. Happy are those of them who

died by your hands.”

“Ah,” he went on, “it was a gallant fight that ye fought. Knowest

thou that, long-armed old baboon that thou art, thou hast crushed

in the ribs of those two who are laid out there as though they

were but as the shell on an egg? And the young one, the lion, it

was a beautiful stand that he made—one against so many—three did

he slay outright, and that one there”—and he pointed to a body

that was still moving a little—“will die anon, for his head is

cracked across, and others of those who are bound are hurt. It

was a gallant fight, and thou and he have made a friend of me by

it, for I love to see a well-fought fray. But tell me, my son,

the baboon—and now I think of it thy face, too, is hairy, and

altogether like a baboon’s—how was it that ye slew those with a

hole in them?—Ye made a noise, they say, and slew them—they fell

down on the faces at the noise?”

I explained to him as well as I could, but very shortly—for I was

terribly wearied, and only persuaded to talk at all through fear

of offending one so powerful if I refused to do so—what were the

properties of gunpowder, and he instantly suggested that I should

illustrate what I said by operating on the person of one of the

prisoners. One, he said, never would be counted, and it would not

only be very interesting to him, but would give me the

opportunity of an instalment of revenge. He was greatly astounded

when I told him that it was not our custom to avenge ourselves in

cold blood, and that we left vengeance to the law and a higher

power, of which he knew nothing. I added, however, that when I

recovered I would take him out shooting with us, and he should

kill an animal for himself, and at this he was as pleased as a

child at the promise of a new toy.

Just then Leo opened his eyes beneath the stimulus of some brandy

(of which we still had a little) that Job had poured down his

throat, and our conversation came to an end.

After this we managed to get Leo, who was in a very poor way

indeed, and only half conscious, safely off to bed, supported by

Job and that brave girl Ustane, to whom, had I not been afraid

that she might resent it, I would certainly have given a kiss for

her splendid behaviour in saving my boy’s life at the risk of her

own. But Ustane was not the sort of young person with whom one

would care to take liberties unless one were perfectly certain

that they would not be misunderstood, so I repressed my

inclinations. Then, bruised and battered, but with a sense of

safety in my breast to which I had for some days been a stranger,

I crept off to my own little sepulchre, not forgetting before I

laid down in it to thank Providence from the bottom of my heart

that it was not a sepulchre indeed, as, save for a merciful

combination of events that I can only attribute to its

protection, it would certainly have been for me that night. Few

men have been nearer their end and yet escaped it than we were on

that dreadful day.

I am a bad sleeper at the best of times, and my dreams that night

when at last I got to rest were not of the pleasantest. The awful

vision of poor Mahomed struggling to escape the red-hot pot would

haunt them, and then in the background, as it were, a veiled form

was always hovering, which, from time to time, seemed to draw the

coverings from its body, revealing now the perfect shape of a

lovely blooming woman, and now again the white bones of a

grinning skeleton, and which, as it veiled and unveiled, uttered

the mysterious and apparently meaningless sentence:—

“That which is alive and hath known death, and that which is dead

yet can never die, for in the Circle of the Spirit life is naught

and death is naught. Yea, all things live for ever, though at

times they sleep and are forgotten.”

The morning came at last, but when it came I found that I was too

stiff and sore to rise. About seven Job arrived, limping

terribly, and with his face the colour of a rotten apple, and

told me that Leo had slept fairly, but was very weak. Two hours

afterwards Billali (Job called him “Billy-goat,” to which,

indeed, his white beard gave him some resemblance, or more

familiarly, “Billy”) came too, bearing a lamp in his hand, his

towering form reaching nearly to the roof of the little chamber.

I pretended to be asleep, and through the cracks of my eyelids

watched his sardonic but handsome old face. He fixed his

hawk-like eyes upon me, and stroked his glorious white beard,

which, by the way, would have been worth a hundred a year to any

London barber as an advertisement.

“Ah!” I heard him mutter (Billali had a habit of muttering to

himself), “he is ugly—ugly as the other is beautiful—a very

Baboon, it was a good name. But I like the man. Strange now, at

my age, that I should like a man. What says the proverb—’Mistrust

all men, and slay him whom thou mistrustest overmuch; and as for

women, flee from them, for they are evil, and in the end will

destroy thee.’ It is a good proverb, especially the last part of

it: I think that it must have come down from the ancients.

Nevertheless I like this Baboon, and I wonder where they taught

him his tricks, and I trust that _She_ will not bewitch him. Poor

Baboon! he must be wearied after that fight. I will go lest I

should awake him.”

I waited till he had turned and was nearly through the entrance,

walking softly on tiptoe, and then I called after him.

“My father,” I said, “is it thou?”

“Yes, my son, it is I; but let me not disturb thee. I did but

come to see how thou didst fare, and to tell thee that those who

would have slain thee, my Baboon, are by now far on their road to

_She_. _She_ said that ye also were to come at once, but I fear

ye cannot yet.”

“Nay,” I said, “not till we have recovered a little; but have me

borne out into the daylight, I pray thee, my father. I love not

this place.”

“Ah, no,” he answered, “it hath a sad air. I remember when I was

a boy I found the body of a fair woman lying where thou liest

now, yes, on that very bench. She was so beautiful that I was

wont to creep in hither with a lamp and gaze upon her. Had it not

been for her cold hands, almost could I think that she slept and

would one day awake, so fair and peaceful was she in her robes of

white. White was she, too, and her hair was yellow and lay down

her almost to the feet. There are many such still in the tombs at

the place where _She_ is, for those who set them there had a way

I know naught of, whereby to keep their beloved out of the

crumbling hand of Decay, even when Death had slain them. Ay, day

by day I came hither, and gazed on her till at last—laugh not at

me, stranger, for I was but a silly lad—I learned to love that

dead form, that shell which once had held a life that no more is.

I would creep up to her and kiss her cold face, and wonder how

many men had lived and died since she was, and who had loved her

and embraced her in the days that long had passed away. And, my

Baboon, I think I learned wisdom from that dead one, for of a

truth it taught me of the littleness of life, and the length of

Death, and how all things that are under the sun go down one

path, and are for ever forgotten. And so I mused, and it seemed

to me that wisdom flowed into me from the dead, till one day my

mother, a watchful woman, but hasty-minded, seeing I was changed,

followed me, and saw the beautiful white one, and feared that I

was bewitched, as, indeed, I was. So half in dread, and half in

anger, she took up the lamp, and standing the dead woman up

against the wall even there, set fire to her hair, and she burnt

fiercely, even down to the feet, for those who are thus kept burn

excellently well.

“See, my son, there on the roof is yet the smoke of her burning.”

I looked up doubtfully, and there, sure enough, on the roof of

the sepulchre, was a peculiarly unctuous and sooty mark, three

feet or more across. Doubtless it had in the course of years been

rubbed off the sides of the little cave, but on the roof it

remained, and there was no mistaking its appearance.

“She burnt,” he went on in a meditative way, “even to the feet,

but the feet I came back and saved, cutting the burnt bone from

them, and hid them under the stone bench there, wrapped up in a

piece of linen. Surely, I remember it as though it were but

yesterday. Perchance they are there, if none have found them,

even to this hour. Of a truth I have not entered this chamber

from that time to this very day. Stay, I will look,” and,

kneeling down, he groped about with his long arm in the recess

under the stone bench. Presently his face brightened, and with an

exclamation he pulled something forth which was caked in dust;

which he shook on to the floor. It was covered with the remains

of a rotting rag, which he undid, and revealed to my astonished

gaze a beautifully shaped and almost white woman’s foot, looking

as fresh and firm as though it had but now been placed there.

“Thou seest, my son, the Baboon,” he said, in a sad voice, “I

spake the truth to thee, for here is yet one foot remaining. Take

it, my son, and gaze upon it.”

I took this cold fragment of mortality in my hand and looked at

it in the light of the lamp with feelings which I cannot

describe, so mixed up were they between astonishment, fear, and

fascination. It was light, much lighter I should say than it had

been in the living state, and the flesh to all appearance was

still flesh, though about it there clung a faintly aromatic

odour. For the rest it was not shrunk or shrivelled, or even

black and unsightly, like the flesh of Egyptian mummies, but

plump and fair, and, except where it had been slightly burnt,

perfect as on the day of death—a very triumph of embalming.

Poor little foot! I set it down upon the stone bench where it had

lain for so many thousand years, and wondered whose was the

beauty that it had upborne through the pomp and pageantry of a

forgotten civilisation—first as a merry child’s, then as a

blushing maid’s, and lastly as a perfect woman’s. Through what

halls of Life had its soft step echoed, and in the end, with what

courage had it trodden down the dusty ways of Death! To whose

side had it stolen in the hush of night when the black slave

slept upon the marble floor, and who had listened for its

stealing? Shapely little foot! Well might it have been set upon

the proud neck of a conqueror bent at last to woman’s beauty, and

well might the lips of nobles and of kings have been pressed upon

its jewelled whiteness.

I wrapped up this relic of the past in the remnants of the old

linen rag which had evidently formed a portion of its owner’s

grave-clothes, for it was partially burnt, and put it away in my

Gladstone bag—a strange combination, I thought. Then with

Billali’s help I staggered off to see Leo. I found him dreadfully

bruised, worse even than myself, perhaps owing to the excessive

whiteness of his skin, and faint and weak with the loss of blood

from the flesh wound in his side, but for all that cheerful as a

cricket, and asking for some breakfast. Job and Ustane got him on

to the bottom, or rather the sacking of a litter, which was

removed from its pole for that purpose, and with the aid of old

Billali carried him out into the shade at the mouth of the cave,

from which, by the way, every trace of the slaughter of the

previous night had now been removed, and there we all

breakfasted, and indeed spent that day, and most of the two

following ones.

On the third morning Job and myself were practically recovered.

Leo also was so much better that I yielded to Billali’s often

expressed entreaty, and agreed to start at once upon our journey

to Kôr, which we were told was the name of the place where the

mysterious _She_ lived, though I still feared for its effect upon

Leo, and especially lest the motion should cause his wound, which

was scarcely skinned over, to break open again. Indeed, had it

not been for Billali’s evident anxiety to get off, which led us

to suspect that some difficulty or danger might threaten us if we

did not comply with it, I would not have consented to go.

X.

SPECULATIONS

Within an hour of our finally deciding to start five litters were

brought up to the door of the cave, each accompanied by four

regular bearers and two spare hands, also a band of about fifty

armed Amahagger, who were to form the escort and carry the

baggage. Three of these litters, of course, were for us, and one

for Billali, who, I was immensely relieved to hear, was to be our

companion, while the fifth I presumed was for the use of Ustane.

“Does the lady go with us, my father?” I asked of Billali, as he

stood superintending things in general.