“If she wills. In this country the women do what they please. We
worship them, and give them their way, because without them the
world could not go on; they are the source of life.”
“Ah,” I said, the matter never having struck me quite in that
light before.
“We worship them,” he went on, “up to a point, till at last they
get unbearable, which,” he added, “they do about every second
generation.”
“And then what do you do?” I asked, with curiosity.
“Then,” he answered, with a faint smile, “we rise, and kill the
old ones as an example to the young ones, and to show them that
we are the strongest. My poor wife was killed in that way three
years ago. It was very sad, but to tell thee the truth, my son,
life has been happier since, for my age protects me from the
young ones.”
“In short,” I replied, quoting the saying of a great man whose
wisdom has not yet lightened the darkness of the Amahagger, “thou
hast found thy position one of greater freedom and less
responsibility.”
This phrase puzzled him a little at first from its vagueness,
though I think my translation hit off its sense very well, but at
last he saw it, and appreciated it.
“Yes, yes, my Baboon,” he said, “I see it now, but all the
‘responsibilities’ are killed, at least some of them are, and
that is why there are so few old women about just now. Well, they
brought it on themselves. As for this girl,” he went on, in a
graver tone, “I know not what to say. She is a brave girl, and
she loves the Lion (Leo); thou sawest how she clung to him, and
saved his life. Also, she is, according to our custom, wed to
him, and has a right to go where he goes, unless,” he added
significantly, “_She_ would say her no, for her word overrides
all rights.”
“And if _She_ bade her leave him, and the girl refused? What
then?”
“If,” he said, with a shrug, “the hurricane bids the tree to
bend, and it will not; what happens?”
And then, without waiting for an answer, he turned and walked to
his litter, and in ten minutes from that time we were all well
under way.
It took us an hour and more to cross the cup of the volcanic
plain, and another half-hour or so to climb the edge on the
farther side. Once there, however, the view was a very fine one.
Before us was a long steep slope of grassy plain, broken here and
there by clumps of trees mostly of the thorn tribe. At the bottom
of this gentle slope, some nine or ten miles away, we could make
out a dim sea of marsh, over which the foul vapours hung like
smoke about a city. It was easy going for the bearers down the
slopes, and by midday we had reached the borders of the dismal
swamp. Here we halted to eat our midday meal, and then, following
a winding and devious path, plunged into the morass. Presently
the path, at any rate to our unaccustomed eyes, grew so faint as
to be almost indistinguishable from those made by the aquatic
beasts and birds, and it is to this day a mystery to me how our
bearers found their way across the marshes. Ahead of the
cavalcade marched two men with long poles, which they now and
again plunged into the ground before them, the reason of this
being that the nature of the soil frequently changed from causes
with which I am not acquainted, so that places which might be
safe enough to cross one month would certainly swallow the
wayfarer the next. Never did I see a more dreary and depressing
scene. Miles on miles of quagmire, varied only by bright green
strips of comparatively solid ground, and by deep and sullen
pools fringed with tall rushes, in which the bitterns boomed and
the frogs croaked incessantly: miles on miles of it without a
break, unless the fever fog can be called a break. The only life
in this great morass was that of the aquatic birds, and the
animals that fed on them, of both of which there were vast
numbers. Geese, cranes, ducks, teal, coot, snipe, and plover
swarmed all around us, many being of varieties that were quite
new to me, and all so tame that one could almost have knocked
them over with a stick. Among these birds I especially noticed a
very beautiful variety of painted snipe, almost the size of a
woodcock, and with a flight more resembling that bird’s than an
English snipe’s. In the pools, too, was a species of small
alligator or enormous iguana, I do not know which, that fed,
Billali told me, upon the waterfowl, also large quantities of a
hideous black water-snake, of which the bite is very dangerous,
though not, I gathered, so deadly as a cobra’s or a puff adder’s.
The bull-frogs were also very large, and with voices
proportionate to their size; and as for the mosquitoes—the
“musqueteers,” as Job called them—they were, if possible, even
worse than they had been on the river, and tormented us greatly.
Undoubtedly, however, the worst feature of the swamp was the
awful smell of rotting vegetation that hung about it, which was
at times positively overpowering, and the malarious exhalations
that accompanied it, which we were of course obliged to breathe.
On we went through it all, till at last the sun sank in sullen
splendour just as we reached a spot of rising ground about two
acres in extent—a little oasis of dry in the midst of the miry
wilderness—where Billali announced that we were to camp. The
camping, however, turned out to be a very simple process, and
consisted, in fact, in sitting down on the ground round a scanty
fire made of dry reeds and some wood that had been brought with
us. However, we made the best we could of it, and smoked and ate
with such appetite as the smell of damp, stifling heat would
allow, for it was very hot on this low land, and yet, oddly
enough, chilly at times. But, however hot it was, we were glad
enough to keep near the fire, because we found that the
mosquitoes did not like the smoke. Presently we rolled ourselves
up in our blankets and tried to go to sleep, but so far as I was
concerned the bull-frogs, and the extraordinary roaring and
alarming sound produced by hundreds of snipe hovering high in the
air, made sleep an impossibility, to say nothing of our other
discomforts. I turned and looked at Leo, who was next me; he was
dozing, but his face had a flushed appearance that I did not
like, and by the flickering fire-light I saw Ustane, who was
lying on the other side of him, raise herself from time to time
upon her elbow, and look at him anxiously enough.
However, I could do nothing for him, for we had all already taken
a good dose of quinine, which was the only preventive we had; so
I lay and watched the stars come out by thousands, till all the
immense arch of heaven was strewn with glittering points, and
every point a world! Here was a glorious sight by which man might
well measure his own insignificance! Soon I gave up thinking
about it, for the mind wearies easily when it strives to grapple
with the Infinite, and to trace the footsteps of the Almighty as
he strides from sphere to sphere, or deduce His purpose from His
works. Such things are not for us to know. Knowledge is to the
strong, and we are weak. Too much wisdom would perchance blind
our imperfect sight, and too much strength would make us drunk,
and over-weight our feeble reason till it fell and we were
drowned in the depths of our own vanity. For what is the first
result of man’s increased knowledge interpreted from Nature’s
book by the persistent effort of his purblind observation? Is it
not but too often to make him question the existence of his
Maker, or indeed of any intelligent purpose beyond his own? The
truth is veiled, because we could no more look upon her glory
than we can upon the sun. It would destroy us. Full knowledge is
not for man as man is here, for his capacities, which he is apt
to think so great, are indeed but small. The vessel is soon
filled, and, were one-thousandth part of the unutterable and
silent wisdom that directs the rolling of those shining spheres,
and the Force which makes them roll, pressed into it, it would be
shattered into fragments. Perhaps in some other place and time it
may be otherwise, who can tell? Here the lot of man born of the
flesh is but to endure midst toil and tribulation, to catch at
the bubbles blown by Fate, which he calls pleasure, thankful if
before they burst they rest a moment in his hand, and when the
tragedy is played out, and his hour comes to perish, to pass
humbly whither he knows not.
Above me, as I lay, shone the eternal stars, and there at my feet
the impish marsh-born balls of fire rolled this way and that,
vapour-tossed and earth-desiring, and methought that in the two I
saw a type and image of what man is, and what perchance man may
one day be, if the living Force who ordained him and them should
so ordain this also. Oh, that it might be ours to rest year by
year upon that high level of the heart to which at times we
momentarily attain! Oh, that we could shake loose the prisoned
pinions of the soul and soar to that superior point, whence, like
to some traveller looking out through space from Darien’s
giddiest peak, we might gaze with spiritual eyes deep into
Infinity!
What would it be to cast off this earthy robe, to have done for
ever with these earthy thoughts and miserable desires; no longer,
like those corpse candles, to be tossed this way and that, by
forces beyond our control; or which, if we can theoretically
control them, we are at times driven by the exigencies of our
nature to obey! Yes, to cast them off, to have done with the foul
and thorny places of the world; and, like to those glittering
points above me, to rest on high wrapped for ever in the
brightness of our better selves, that even now shines in us as
fire faintly shines within those lurid balls, and lay down our
littleness in that wide glory of our dreams, that invisible but
surrounding Good, from which all truth and beauty comes!
These and many such thoughts passed through my mind that night.
They come to torment us all at times. I say to torment, for,
alas! thinking can only serve to measure out the helplessness of
thought. What is the purpose of our feeble crying in the awful
silences of space? Can our dim intelligence read the secrets of
that star-strewn sky? Does any answer come out of it? Never any
at all, nothing but echoes and fantastic visions! And yet we
believe that there is an answer, and that upon a time a new Dawn
will come blushing down the ways of our enduring night. We
believe it, for its reflected beauty even now shines up
continually in our hearts from beneath the horizon of the grave,
and we call it Hope. Without Hope we should suffer moral death,
and by the help of Hope we yet may climb to Heaven, or at the
worst, if she also prove but a kindly mockery given to hold us
from despair, be gently lowered into the abysses of eternal
sleep.
Then I fell to reflecting upon the undertaking on which we were
bent, and what a wild one it was, and yet how strangely the story
seemed to fit in with what had been written centuries ago upon
the sherd. Who was this extraordinary woman, Queen over a people
apparently as extraordinary as herself, and reigning amidst the
vestiges of a lost civilisation? And what was the meaning of this
story of the Fire that gave unending life? Could it be possible
that any fluid or essence should exist which might so fortify
these fleshy walls that they should from age to age resist the
mines and batterings of decay? It was possible, though not
probable. The infinite continuation of life would not, as poor
Vincey said, be so marvellous a thing as the production of life
and its temporary endurance. And if it were true, what then? The
person who found it could no doubt rule the world. He could
accumulate all the wealth in the world, and all the power, and
all the wisdom that is power. He might give a lifetime to the
study of each art or science. Well, if that were so, and this
_She_ were practically immortal, which I did not for one moment
believe, how was it that, with all these things at her feet, she
preferred to remain in a cave amongst a society of cannibals?
This surely settled the question. The whole story was monstrous,
and only worthy of the superstitious days in which it was
written. At any rate I was very sure that _I_ would not attempt
to attain unending life. I had had far too many worries and
disappointments and secret bitternesses during my forty odd years
of existence to wish that this state of affairs should be
continued indefinitely. And yet I suppose that my life has been,
comparatively speaking, a happy one.
And then, reflecting that at the present moment there was far
more likelihood of our earthly careers being cut exceedingly
short than of their being unduly prolonged, I at last managed to
get to sleep, a fact for which anybody who reads this narrative,
if anybody ever does, may very probably be thankful.
When I woke again it was just dawning, and the guard and bearers
were moving about like ghosts through the dense morning mists,
getting ready for our start. The fire had died quite down, and I
rose and stretched myself, shivering in every limb from the damp
cold of the dawn. Then I looked at Leo. He was sitting up,
holding his hands to his head, and I saw that his face was
flushed and his eye bright, and yet yellow round the pupil.
“Well, Leo,” I said, “how do you feel?”
“I feel as though I were going to die,” he answered hoarsely. “My
head is splitting, my body is trembling, and I am as sick as a
cat.”
I whistled, or if I did not whistle I felt inclined to—Leo had
got a sharp attack of fever. I went to Job, and asked him for the
quinine, of which fortunately we had still a good supply, only to
find that Job himself was not much better. He complained of pains
across the back, and dizziness, and was almost incapable of
helping himself. Then I did the only thing it was possible to do
under the circumstances—gave them both about ten grains of
quinine, and took a slightly smaller dose myself as a matter of
precaution. After that I found Billali, and explained to him how
matters stood, asking at the same time what he thought had best
be done. He came with me, and looked at Leo and Job (whom, by the
way, he had named the Pig on account of his fatness, round face,
and small eyes).
“Ah,” he said, when we were out of earshot, “the fever! I thought
so. The Lion has it badly, but he is young, and he may live. As
for the Pig, his attack is not so bad; it is the ‘little fever’
which he has; that always begins with pains across the back, it
will spend itself upon his fat.”
“Can they go on, my father?” I asked.
“Nay, my son, they must go on. If they stop here they will
certainly die; also, they will be better in the litters than on
the ground. By to-night, if all goes well, we shall be across the
marsh and in good air. Come, let us lift them into the litters
and start, for it is very bad to stand still in this morning fog.
We can eat our meal as we go.”
This we accordingly did, and with a heavy heart I once more set
out upon our strange journey. For the first three hours all went
as well as could be expected, and then an accident happened that
nearly lost us the pleasure of the company of our venerable
friend Billali, whose litter was leading the cavalcade. We were
going through a particularly dangerous stretch of quagmire, in
which the bearers sometimes sank up to their knees. Indeed, it
was a mystery to me how they contrived to carry the heavy litters
at all over such ground as that which we were traversing, though
the two spare hands, as well as the four regular ones, had of
course to put their shoulders to the pole.
Presently, as we blundered and floundered along, there was a
sharp cry, then a storm of exclamations, and, last of all, a most
tremendous splash, and the whole caravan halted.
I jumped out of my litter and ran forward. About twenty yards
ahead was the edge of one of those sullen peaty pools of which I
have spoken, the path we were following running along the top of
its bank, that, as it happened, was a steep one. Looking towards
this pool, to my horror I saw that Billali’s litter was floating
on it, and as for Billali himself, he was nowhere to be seen. To
make matters clear I may as well explain at once what had
happened. One of Billali’s bearers had unfortunately trodden on a
basking snake, which had bitten him in the leg, whereon he had,
not unnaturally, let go of the pole, and then, finding that he
was tumbling down the bank, grasped at the litter to save
himself. The result of this was what might have been expected.
The litter was pulled over the edge of the bank, the bearers let
go, and the whole thing, including Billali and the man who had
been bitten, rolled into the slimy pool. When I got to the edge
of the water neither of them were to be seen; indeed, the
unfortunate bearer never was seen again. Either he struck his
head against something, or got wedged in the mud, or possibly the
snake-bite paralyzed him. At any rate he vanished. But though
Billali was not to be seen, his whereabouts was clear enough from
the agitation of the floating litter, in the bearing cloth and
curtains of which he was entangled.
“He is there! Our father is there!” said one of the men, but he
did not stir a finger to help him, nor did any of the others.
They simply stood and stared at the water.
“Out of the way, you brutes!” I shouted in English, and throwing
off my hat I took a run and sprang well out into the horrid
slimy-looking pool. A couple of strokes took me to where Billali
was struggling beneath the cloth.
Somehow, I do not quite know how, I managed to push it free of
him, and his venerable head all covered with green slime, like
that of a yellowish Bacchus with ivy leaves, emerged upon the
surface of the water. The rest was easy, for Billali was an
eminently practical individual, and had the common sense not to
grasp hold of me as drowning people often do, so I got him by the
arm, and towed him to the bank, through the mud of which we were
with difficulty dragged. Such a filthy spectacle as we presented
I have never seen before or since, and it will perhaps give some
idea of the almost superhuman dignity of Billali’s appearance
when I say that, coughing, half-drowned, and covered with mud and
green slime as he was, with his beautiful beard coming to a
dripping point, like a Chinaman’s freshly-oiled pig-tail, he
still looked venerable and imposing.
“Ye dogs,” he said, addressing the bearers, as soon as he had
sufficiently recovered to speak, “ye left me, your father, to
drown. Had it not been for this stranger, my son the Baboon,
assuredly I should have drowned. Well, I will remember it,” and
he fixed them with his gleaming though slightly watery eye, in a
way I saw that they did not like, though they tried to appear
sulkily indifferent.
“As for thee, my son,” the old man went on, turning towards me
and grasping my hand, “rest assured that I am thy friend through
good and evil. Thou hast saved my life: perchance a day may come
when I shall save thine.”
After that we cleaned ourselves as best we could, fished out the
litter, and went on, _minus_ the man who had been drowned. I do
not know if it was owing to his being an unpopular character, or
from native indifference and selfishness of temperament, but I am
bound to say that nobody seemed to grieve much over his sudden
and final disappearance, unless, perhaps, it was the men who had
to do his share of the work.
XI.
THE PLAIN OF KÔR
About an hour before sundown we at last, to my unbounded
gratitude, emerged from the great belt of marsh on to land that
swelled upwards in a succession of rolling waves. Just on the
hither side of the crest of the first wave we halted for the
night. My first act was to examine Leo’s condition. It was, if
anything, worse than in the morning, and a new and very
distressing feature, vomiting, set in, and continued till dawn.
Not one wink of sleep did I get that night, for I passed it in
assisting Ustane, who was one of the most gentle and
indefatigable nurses I ever saw, to wait upon Leo and Job.
However, the air here was warm and genial without being too hot,
and there were no mosquitoes to speak of. Also we were above the
level of the marsh mist, which lay stretched beneath us like the
dim smoke-pall over a city, lit up here and there by the
wandering globes of fen fire. Thus it will be seen that we were,
speaking comparatively, in clover.
By dawn on the following morning Leo was quite light-headed, and
fancied that he was divided into halves. I was dreadfully
distressed, and began to wonder with a sort of sick fear what the
end of the attack would be. Alas! I had heard but too much of how
these attacks generally terminate. As I was wondering Billali
came up and said that we must be getting on, more especially as,
in his opinion, if Leo did not reach some spot where he could be
quiet, and have proper nursing, within the next twelve hours, his
life would only be a matter of a day or two. I could not but
agree with him, so we got Leo into the litter, and started on,
Ustane walking by his side to keep the flies off him, and see
that he did not throw himself out on to the ground.
Within half an hour of sunrise we had reached the top of the rise
of which I have spoken, and a most beautiful view broke upon our
gaze. Beneath us was a rich stretch of country, verdant with
grass and lovely with foliage and flowers. In the background, at
a distance, so far as I could judge, of some eighteen miles from
where we then stood, a huge and extraordinary mountain rose
abruptly from the plain. The base of this great mountain appeared
to consist of a grassy slope, but rising from this, I should say,
from subsequent observation, at a height of about five hundred
feet above the level of the plain, was a most tremendous and
absolutely precipitous wall of bare rock, quite twelve or fifteen
hundred feet in height. The shape of the mountain, which was
undoubtedly of volcanic origin, was round, and of course, as only
a segment of its circle was visible, it was difficult to estimate
its exact size, which was enormous. I afterwards discovered that
it could not cover less than fifty square miles of ground.
Anything more grand and imposing than the sight presented by this
great natural castle, starting in solitary grandeur from the
level of the plain, I never saw, and I suppose I never shall. Its
very solitude added to its majesty, and its towering cliffs
seemed to kiss the sky. Indeed, generally speaking, they were
clothed in clouds that lay in fleecy masses upon their broad and
level battlements.
I sat up in my hammock and gazed out across the plain at this
thrilling and majestic sight, and I suppose that Billali noticed
it, for he brought his litter alongside.
“Behold the house of ‘_She-who-must-be-obeyed_!’” he said. “Had
ever a queen such a throne before?”
“It is wonderful, my father,” I answered. “But how do we enter?
Those cliffs look hard to climb.”
“Thou shalt see, my Baboon. Look now at the path below us. What
thinkest thou that it is? Thou art a wise man. Come, tell me.”
I looked, and saw what appeared to be the line of roadway running
straight towards the base of the mountain, though it was covered
with turf. There were high banks on each side of it, broken here
and there, but fairly continuous on the whole, the meaning of
which I did not understand. It seemed so very odd that anybody
should embank a roadway.
“Well, my father,” I answered, “I suppose that it is a road,
otherwise I should have been inclined to say that it was the bed
of a river, or rather,” I added, observing the extraordinary
directness of the cutting, “of a canal.”
Billali—who, by the way, was none the worse for his immersion of
the day before—nodded his head sagely as he replied—
“Thou art right, my son. It is a channel cut out by those who
were before us in this place to carry away water. Of this I am
sure: within the rocky circle of the mountain whither we journey
was once a great lake. But those who were before us, by wonderful
arts of which I know naught, hewed a path for the water through
the solid rock of the mountain, piercing even to the bed of the
lake. But first they cut the channel that thou seest across the
plain. Then, when at last the water burst out, it rushed down the
channel that had been made to receive it, and crossed this plain
till it reached the low land behind the rise, and there,
perchance, it made the swamp through which we have come. Then
when the lake was drained dry, the people whereof I speak built a
mighty city on its bed, whereof naught but ruins and the name of
Kôr yet remaineth, and from age to age hewed the caves and
passages that thou wilt see.”
“It may be,” I answered; “but if so, how is it that the lake does
not fill up again with the rains and the water of the springs?”
“Nay, my son, the people were a wise people, and they left a
drain to keep it clear. Seest thou the river to the right?” and
he pointed to a fair-sized stream that wound away across the
plain, some four miles from us. “That is the drain, and it comes
out through the mountain wall where this cutting goes in. At
first, perhaps, the water ran down this canal, but afterwards the
people turned it, and used the cutting for a road.”
“And is there then no other place where one may enter into the
great mountain,” I asked, “except through that drain?”
“There is a place,” he answered, “where cattle and men on foot
may cross with much labour, but it is secret. A year mightest
thou search and shouldst never find it. It is only used once a
year, when the herds of cattle that have been fatting on the
slopes of the mountain, and on this plain, are driven into the
space within.”
“And does _She_ live there always?” I asked, “or does she come at
times without the mountain?”
“Nay, my son, where she is, there she is.”
By now we were well on to the great plain, and I was examining
with delight the varied beauty of its semi-tropical flowers and
trees, the latter of which grew singly, or at most in clumps of
three or four, much of the timber being of large size, and
belonging apparently to a variety of evergreen oak. There were
also many palms, some of them more than one hundred feet high,
and the largest and most beautiful tree ferns that I ever saw,
about which hung clouds of jewelled honeysuckers and great-winged
butterflies. Wandering about among the trees or crouching in the
long and feathered grass were all varieties of game, from
rhinoceroses down. I saw a rhinoceros, buffalo (a large herd),
eland, quagga, and sable antelope, the most beautiful of all the
bucks, not to mention many smaller varieties of game, and three
ostriches which scudded away at our approach like white drift
before a gale. So plentiful was the game that at last I could
stand it no longer. I had a single barrel sporting Martini with
me in the litter, the “Express” being too cumbersome, and espying
a beautiful fat eland rubbing himself under one of the oak-like
trees, I jumped out of the litter, and proceeded to creep as near
to him as I could. He let me come within eighty yards, and then
turned his head, and stared at me, preparatory to running away. I
lifted the rifle, and taking him about midway down the shoulder,
for he was side on to me, fired. I never made a cleaner shot or a
better kill in all my small experience, for the great buck sprang
right up into the air and fell dead. The bearers, who had all
halted to see the performance, gave a murmur of surprise, an
unwonted compliment from these sullen people, who never appear to
be surprised at anything, and a party of the guard at once ran
off to cut the animal up. As for myself, though I was longing to
have a look at him, I sauntered back to my litter as though I had
been in the habit of killing eland all my life, feeling that I
had gone up several degrees in the estimation of the Amahagger,
who looked on the whole thing as a very high-class manifestation
of witchcraft. As a matter of fact, however, I had never seen an
eland in a wild state before. Billali received me with
enthusiasm.
“It is wonderful, my son the Baboon,” he cried; “wonderful! Thou
art a very great man, though so ugly. Had I not seen, surely I
would never have believed. And thou sayest that thou wilt teach
me to slay in this fashion?”
“Certainly, my father,” I said airily; “it is nothing.”
But all the same I firmly made up my mind that when “my father”
Billali began to fire I would without fail lie down or take
refuge behind a tree.
After this little incident nothing happened of any note till
about an hour and a half before sundown, when we arrived beneath
the shadow of the towering volcanic mass that I have already
described. It is quite impossible for me to describe its grim
grandeur as it appeared to me while my patient bearers toiled
along the bed of the ancient watercourse towards the spot where
the rich brown-hued cliff shot up from precipice to precipice
till its crown lost itself in a cloud. All I can say is that it
almost awed me by the intensity of its lonesome and most solemn
greatness. On we went up the bright and sunny slope, till at last
the creeping shadows from above swallowed up its brightness, and
presently we began to pass through a cutting hewn in the living
rock. Deeper and deeper grew this marvellous work, which must, I
should say, have employed thousands of men for many years.
Indeed, how it was ever executed at all without the aid of
blasting-powder or dynamite I cannot to this day imagine. It is
and must remain one of the mysteries of that wild land. I can
only suppose that these cuttings and the vast caves that had been
hollowed out of the rocks they pierced were the State
undertakings of the people of Kôr, who lived here in the dim lost
ages of the world, and, as in the case of the Egyptian monuments,
were executed by the forced labour of tens of thousands of
captives, carried on through an indefinite number of centuries.
But who were the people?
At last we reached the face of the precipice itself, and found
ourselves looking into the mouth of a dark tunnel that forcibly
reminded me of those undertaken by our nineteenth-century
engineers in the construction of railway lines. Out of this
tunnel flowed a considerable stream of water. Indeed, though I do
not think that I have mentioned it, we had followed this stream,
which ultimately developed into the river I have already
described as winding away to the right, from the spot where the
cutting in the solid rock commenced. Half of this cutting formed
a channel for the stream, and half, which was placed on a
slightly higher level—eight feet perhaps—was devoted to the
purposes of a roadway. At the termination of the cutting,
however, the stream turned off across the plain and followed a
channel of its own. At the mouth of the cave the cavalcade was
halted, and, while the men employed themselves in lighting some
earthenware lamps they had brought with them, Billali, descending
from his litter, informed me politely but firmly that the orders
of _She_ were that we were now to be blindfolded, so that we
should not learn the secret of the paths through the bowels of
the mountains. To this I, of course, assented cheerfully enough,
but Job, who was now very much better, notwithstanding the
journey, did not like it at all, fancying, I believe, that it was
but a preliminary step to being hot-potted. He was, however, a
little consoled when I pointed out to him that there were no hot
pots at hand, and, so far as I knew, no fire to heat them in. As
for poor Leo, after turning restlessly for hours, he had, to my
deep thankfulness, at last dropped off into a sleep or stupor, I
do not know which, so there was no need to blindfold him. The
blindfolding was performed by binding a piece of the yellowish
linen whereof those of the Amahagger who condescended to wear
anything in particular made their dresses, tightly round the
eyes. This linen I afterwards discovered was taken from the
tombs, and was not, as I had at first supposed, of native
manufacture. The bandage was then knotted at the back of the
head, and finally brought down again and the ends bound under the
chin to prevent its slipping. Ustane was, by the way, also
blindfolded, I do not know why, unless it was from fear that she
should impart the secrets of the route to us.
This operation performed we started on once more, and soon, by
the echoing sound of the footsteps of the bearers and the
increased noise of the water caused by reverberation in a
confined space, I knew that we were entering into the bowels of
the great mountain. It was an eerie sensation, being borne along
into the dead heart of the rock we knew not whither, but I was
getting used to eerie sensations by this time, and by now was
pretty well prepared for anything. So I lay still, and listened
to the tramp, tramp of the bearers and the rushing of the water,
and tried to believe that I was enjoying myself. Presently the
men set up the melancholy little chant that I had heard on the
first night when we were captured in the whaleboat, and the
effect produced by their voices was very curious, and quite
indescribable. After a while the air began to get exceedingly
thick and heavy, so much so, indeed, that I felt as though I were
going to choke, till at length the litter took a sharp turn, then
another and another, and the sound of the running water ceased.
After this the air was fresher again, but the turns were
continuous, and to me, blindfolded as I was, most bewildering. I
tried to keep a map of them in my mind in case it might ever be
necessary for us to try and escape by this route, but, needless
to say, failed utterly. Another half-hour or so passed, and then
suddenly I became aware that we were once more in the open air. I
could see the light through my bandage and feel its freshness on
my face. A few more minutes and the caravan halted, and I heard
Billali order Ustane to remove her bandage and undo ours. Without
waiting for her attentions I got the knot of mine loose, and
looked out.
As I anticipated, we had passed right through the precipice, and
were now on the farther side, and immediately beneath its
beetling face. The first thing I noticed was that the cliff is
not nearly so high here, not so high I should say by five hundred
feet, which proved that the bed of the lake, or rather of the
vast ancient crater in which we stood, was much above the level
of the surrounding plain. For the rest, we found ourselves in a
huge rock-surrounded cup, not unlike that of the first place
where we had sojourned, only ten times the size. Indeed, I could
only just make out the frowning line of the opposite cliffs. A
great portion of the plain thus enclosed by nature was
cultivated, and fenced in with walls of stone placed there to
keep the cattle and goats, of which there were large herds about,
from breaking into the gardens. Here and there rose great grass
mounds, and some miles away towards the centre I thought that I
could see the outline of colossal ruins. I had no time to observe
anything more at the moment, for we were instantly surrounded by
crowds of Amahagger, similar in every particular to those with
whom we were already familiar, who, though they spoke little,
pressed round us so closely as to obscure the view to a person
lying in a hammock. Then all of a sudden a number of armed men
arranged in companies, and marshalled by officers who held ivory
wands in their hands, came running swiftly towards us, having, so
far as I could make out, emerged from the face of the precipice
like ants from their burrows. These men as well as their officers
were all robed in addition to the usual leopard skin, and, as I
gathered, formed the bodyguard of _She_ herself.
Their leader advanced to Billali, saluted him by placing his
ivory wand transversely across his forehead, and then asked some
question which I could not catch, and Billali having answered him
the whole regiment turned and marched along the side of the
cliff, our cavalcade of litters following in their track. After
going thus for about half a mile we halted once more in front of
the mouth of a tremendous cave, measuring about sixty feet in
height by eighty wide, and here Billali descended finally, and
requested Job and myself to do the same. Leo, of course, was far
too ill to do anything of the sort. I did so, and we entered the
great cave, into which the light of the setting sun penetrated
for some distance, while beyond the reach of the daylight it was
faintly illuminated with lamps which seemed to me to stretch away
for an almost immeasurable distance, like the gas lights of an
empty London street. The first thing I noticed was that the walls
were covered with sculptures in bas-relief, of a sort,
pictorially speaking, similar to those that I have described upon
the vases;—love-scenes principally, then hunting pictures,
pictures of executions, and the torture of criminals by the
placing of a, presumably, red-hot pot upon the head, showing
whence our hosts had derived this pleasant practice. There were
very few battle-pieces, though many of duels, and men running and
wrestling, and from this fact I am led to believe that this
people were not much subject to attack by exterior foes, either
on account of the isolation of their position or because of their
great strength. Between the pictures were columns of stone
characters of a formation absolutely new to me; at any rate, they
were neither Greek nor Egyptian, nor Hebrew, nor Assyrian—that I
am sure of. They looked more like Chinese writings than any other
that I am acquainted with. Near to the entrance of the cave both
pictures and writings were worn away, but further in they were in
many cases absolutely fresh and perfect as the day on which the
sculptor had ceased work on them.
The regiment of guards did not come further than the entrance to
the cave, where they formed up to let us pass through. On
entering the place itself we were, however, met by a man robed in
white, who bowed humbly, but said nothing, which, as it
afterwards appeared that he was a deaf mute, was not very
wonderful.
Running at right angles to the great cave, at a distance of some
twenty feet from the entrance, was a smaller cave or wide
gallery, that was pierced into the rock both to the right and to
the left of the main cavern. In front of the gallery to our left
stood two guards, from which circumstance I argued that it was
the entrance to the apartments of _She_ herself. The mouth of the
right-hand gallery was unguarded, and along it the mute indicated
that we were to go. Walking a few yards down this passage, which
was lighted with lamps, we came to the entrance of a chamber
having a curtain made of some grass material, not unlike a
Zanzibar mat in appearance, hung over the doorway. This the mute
drew back with another profound obeisance, and led the way into a
good-sized apartment, hewn, of course, out of the solid rock, but
to my great relief lighted by means of a shaft pierced in the
face of the precipice. In this room was a stone bedstead, pots
full of water for washing, and beautifully tanned leopard skins
to serve as blankets.
Here we left Leo, who was still sleeping heavily, and with him
stopped Ustane. I noticed that the mute gave her a very sharp
look, as much as to say, “Who are you, and by whose order do you
come here?” Then he conducted us to another similar room which
Job took, and then to two more that were respectively occupied by
Billali and myself.
XII.
“SHE”
The first care of Job and myself, after seeing to Leo, was to
wash ourselves and put on clean clothing, for what we were
wearing had not been changed since the loss of the dhow.
Fortunately, as I think that I have said, by far the greater part
of our personal baggage had been packed into the whaleboat, and
was therefore saved—and brought hither by the bearers—although
all the stores laid in by us for barter and presents to the
natives were lost. Nearly all our clothing was made of a
well-shrunk and very strong grey flannel, and excellent I found
it for travelling in these places, because though a Norfolk
jacket, shirt, and pair of trousers of it only weighed about four
pounds, a great consideration in a tropical country, where every
extra ounce tells on the wearer, it was warm, and offered a good
resistance to the rays of the sun, and best of all to chills,
which are so apt to result from sudden changes of temperature.
Never shall I forget the comfort of the “wash and brush-up,” and
of those clean flannels. The only thing that was wanting to
complete my joy was a cake of soap, of which we had none.
Afterwards I discovered that the Amahagger, who do not reckon
dirt among their many disagreeable qualities, use a kind of burnt
earth for washing purposes, which, though unpleasant to the touch
till one gets accustomed to it, forms a very fair substitute for
soap.
By the time that I was dressed, and had combed and trimmed my
black beard, the previous condition of which was certainly
sufficiently unkempt to give weight to Billali’s appellation for
me of “Baboon,” I began to feel most uncommonly hungry. Therefore
I was by no means sorry when, without the slightest preparatory
sound or warning, the curtain over the entrance to my cave was
flung aside, and another mute, a young girl this time, announced
to me by signs that I could not misunderstand—that is, by opening
her mouth and pointing down it—that there was something ready to
eat. Accordingly I followed her into the next chamber, which we
had not yet entered, where I found Job, who had also, to his
great embarrassment, been conducted thither by a fair mute. Job
never got over the advances the former lady had made towards him,
and suspected every girl who came near to him of similar designs.
“These young parties have a way of looking at one, sir,” he would
say apologetically, “which I don’t call respectable.”
This chamber was twice the size of the sleeping caves, and I saw
at once that it had originally served as a refectory, and also
probably as an embalming room for the Priests of the Dead; for I
may as well say at once that these hollowed-out caves were
nothing more nor less than vast catacombs, in which for tens of
ages the mortal remains of the great extinct race whose monuments
surrounded us had been first preserved, with an art and a
completeness that has never since been equalled, and then hidden
away for all time. On each side of this particular rock-chamber
was a long and solid stone table, about three feet wide by three
feet six in height, hewn out of the living rock, of which it had
formed part, and was still attached to at the base. These tables
were slightly hollowed out or curved inward, to give room for the
knees of any one sitting on the stone ledge that had been cut for
a bench along the side of the cave at a distance of about two
feet from them. Each of them, also, was so arranged that it ended
right under a shaft pierced in the rock for the admission of
light and air. On examining them carefully, however, I saw that
there was a difference between them that had at first escaped my
attention, viz. that one of the tables, that to the left as we
entered the cave, had evidently been used, not to eat upon, but
for the purposes of embalming. That this was beyond all question
the case was clear from five shallow depressions in the stone of
the table, all shaped like a human form, with a separate place
for the head to lie in, and a little bridge to support the neck,
each depression being of a different size, so as to fit bodies
varying in stature from a full-grown man’s to a small child’s,
and with little holes bored at intervals to carry off fluid. And,
indeed, if any further confirmation was required, we had but to
look at the wall of the cave above to find it. For there,
sculptured all round the apartment, and looking nearly as fresh
as the day it was done, was the pictorial representation of the
death, embalming, and burial of an old man with a long beard,
probably an ancient king or grandee of this country.
The first picture represented his death. He was lying upon a
couch which had four short curved posts at the corners coming to
a knob at the end, in appearance something like written notes of
music, and was evidently in the very act of expiring. Gathered
round the couch were women and children weeping, the former with
their hair hanging down their backs. The next scene represented
the embalmment of the body, which lay stark upon a table with
depressions in it, similar to the one before us; probably,
indeed, it was a picture of the same table. Three men were
employed at the work—one superintending, one holding a funnel
shaped exactly like a port wine strainer, of which the narrow end
was fixed in an incision in the breast, no doubt in the great
pectoral artery; while the third, who was depicted as standing
straddle-legged over the corpse, held a kind of large jug high in
his hand, and poured from it some steaming fluid which fell
accurately into the funnel. The most curious part of this
sculpture is that both the man with the funnel and the man who
pours the fluid are drawn holding their noses, either I suppose
because of the stench arising from the body, or more probably to
keep out the aromatic fumes of the hot fluid which was being
forced into the dead man’s veins. Another curious thing which I
am unable to explain is that all three men were represented as
having a band of linen tied round the face with holes in it for
the eyes.
The third sculpture was a picture of the burial of the deceased.
There he was, stiff and cold, clothed in a linen robe, and laid
out on a stone slab such as I had slept upon at our first
sojourning-place. At his head and feet burnt lamps, and by his
side were placed several of the beautiful painted vases that I
have described, which were perhaps supposed to be full of
provisions. The little chamber was crowded with mourners, and
with musicians playing on an instrument resembling a lyre, while
near the foot of the corpse stood a man holding a sheet, with
which he was preparing to cover it from view.
These sculptures, looked at merely as works of art, were so
remarkable that I make no apology for describing them rather
fully. They struck me also as being of surpassing interest as
representing, probably with studious accuracy, the last rites of
the dead as practised among an utterly lost people, and even then
I thought how envious some antiquarian friends of my own at
Cambridge would be if ever I found an opportunity of describing
these wonderful remains to them. Probably they would say that I
was exaggerating, notwithstanding that every page of this history
must bear so much internal evidence of its truth that it would
obviously have been quite impossible for me to have invented it.
To return. As soon as I had hastily examined these sculptures,
which I think I omitted to mention were executed in relief, we
sat down to a very excellent meal of boiled goat’s-flesh, fresh
milk, and cakes made of meal, the whole being served upon clean
wooden platters.
When we had eaten we returned to see how Leo was getting on,
Billali saying that he must now wait upon _She_, and hear her
commands. On reaching Leo’s room we found the poor boy in a very
bad way. He had woke up from his torpor, and was altogether off
his head, babbling about some boat-race on the Cam, and was
inclined to be violent. Indeed, when we entered the room Ustane
was holding him down. I spoke to him, and my voice seemed to
soothe him; at any rate he grew much quieter, and was persuaded
to swallow a dose of quinine.
I had been sitting with him for an hour, perhaps—at any rate I
know that it was getting so dark that I could only just make out
his head lying like a gleam of gold upon the pillow we had
extemporised out of a bag covered with a blanket—when suddenly
Billali arrived with an air of great importance, and informed me
that _She_ herself had deigned to express a wish to see me—an
honour, he added, accorded to but very few. I think that he was a
little horrified at my cool way of taking the honour, but the
fact was that I did not feel overwhelmed with gratitude at the
prospect of seeing some savage, dusky queen, however absolute and
mysterious she might be, more especially as my mind was full of
dear Leo, for whose life I began to have great fears. However, I
rose to follow him, and as I did so I caught sight of something
bright lying on the floor, which I picked up. Perhaps the reader
will remember that with the potsherd in the casket was a
composition scarabæus marked with a round O, a goose, and another
curious hieroglyphic, the meaning of which is “Suten se Ra,” or
“Royal Son of the Sun.” The scarab, which is a very small one,
Leo had insisted upon having set in a massive gold ring, such as
is generally used for signets, and it was this very ring that I
now picked up. He had pulled it off in the paroxysm of his fever,
at least I suppose so, and flung it down upon the rock-floor.
Thinking that if I left it about it might get lost, I slipped it
on my own little finger, and then followed Billali, leaving Job
and Ustane with Leo.
We passed down the passage, crossed the great aisle-like cave,
and came to the corresponding passage on the other side, at the
mouth of which the guards stood like two statues. As we came they
bowed their heads in salutation, and then lifting their long
spears placed them transversely across their foreheads, as the
leaders of the troop that had met us had done with their ivory
wands. We stepped between them, and found ourselves in an exactly
similar gallery to that which led to our own apartments, only
this passage was, comparatively speaking, brilliantly lighted. A
few paces down it we were met by four mutes—two men and two
women—who bowed low and then arranged themselves, the women in
front and the men behind of us, and in this order we continued
our procession past several doorways hung with curtains
resembling those leading to our own quarters, and which I
afterwards found opened out into chambers occupied by the mutes
who attended on _She_. A few paces more and we came to another
doorway facing us, and not to our left like the others, which
seemed to mark the termination of the passage. Here two more
white-, or rather yellow-robed guards were standing, and they too
bowed, saluted, and let us pass through heavy curtains into a
great antechamber, quite forty feet long by as many wide, in
which some eight or ten women, most of them young and handsome,
with yellowish hair, sat on cushions working with ivory needles
at what had the appearance of being embroidery frames. These
women were also deaf and dumb. At the farther end of this great
lamp-lit apartment was another doorway closed in with heavy
Oriental-looking curtains, quite unlike those that hung before
the doors of our own rooms, and here stood two particularly
handsome girl mutes, their heads bowed upon their bosoms and
their hands crossed in an attitude of humble submission. As we
advanced they each stretched out an arm and drew back the
curtains. Thereupon Billali did a curious thing. Down he went,
that venerable-looking old gentleman—for Billali is a gentleman
at the bottom—down on to his hands and knees, and in this
undignified position, with his long white beard trailing on the
ground, he began to creep into the apartment beyond. I followed
him, standing on my feet in the usual fashion. Looking over his
shoulder he perceived it.
“Down, my son; down, my Baboon; down on to thy hands and knees.
We enter the presence of _She_, and, if thou art not humble, of a
surety she will blast thee where thou standest.”
I halted, and felt scared. Indeed, my knees began to give way of
their own mere motion; but reflection came to my aid. I was an
Englishman, and why, I asked myself, should I creep into the
presence of some savage woman as though I were a monkey in fact
as well as in name? I would not and could not do it, that is,
unless I was absolutely sure that my life or comfort depended
upon it. If once I began to creep upon my knees I should always
have to do so, and it would be a patent acknowledgment of
inferiority. So, fortified by an insular prejudice against
“kootooing,” which has, like most of our so-called prejudices, a
good deal of common sense to recommend it, I marched in boldly
after Billali. I found myself in another apartment, considerably
smaller than the anteroom, of which the walls were entirely hung
with rich-looking curtains of the same make as those over the
door, the work, as I subsequently discovered, of the mutes who
sat in the antechamber and wove them in strips, which were
afterwards sewn together. Also, here and there about the room,
were settees of a beautiful black wood of the ebony tribe, inlaid
with ivory, and all over the floor were other tapestries, or
rather rugs. At the top end of this apartment was what appeared
to be a recess, also draped with curtains, through which shone
rays of light. There was nobody in the place except ourselves.
Painfully and slowly old Billali crept up the length of the cave,
and with the most dignified stride that I could command I
followed after him. But I felt that it was more or less of a
failure. To begin with, it is not possible to look dignified when
you are following in the wake of an old man writhing along on his
stomach like a snake, and then, in order to go sufficiently
slowly, either I had to keep my leg some seconds in the air at
every step, or else to advance with a full stop between each
stride, like Mary Queen of Scots going to execution in a play.
Billali was not good at crawling, I suppose his years stood in
the way, and our progress up that apartment was a very long
affair. I was immediately behind him, and several times I was
sorely tempted to help him on with a good kick. It is so absurd
to advance into the presence of savage royalty after the fashion
of an Irishman driving a pig to market, for that is what we
looked like, and the idea nearly made me burst out laughing then
and there. I had to work off my dangerous tendency to unseemly
merriment by blowing my nose, a proceeding which filled old
Billali with horror, for he looked over his shoulder and made a
ghastly face at me, and I heard him murmur, “Oh, my poor Baboon!”
At last we reached the curtains, and here Billali collapsed flat
on to his stomach, with his hands stretched out before him as
though he were dead, and I, not knowing what to do, began to
stare about the place. But presently I clearly felt that somebody
was looking at me from behind the curtains. I could not see the
person, but I could distinctly feel his or her gaze, and, what is
more, it produced a very odd effect upon my nerves. I was
frightened, I do not know why. The place was a strange one, it is
true, and looked lonely, notwithstanding its rich hangings and
the soft glow of the lamps—indeed, these accessories added to,
rather than detracted from its loneliness, just as a lighted
street at night has always a more solitary appearance than a dark
one. It was so silent in the place, and there lay Billali like
one dead before the heavy curtains, through which the odour of
perfume seemed to float up towards the gloom of the arched roof
above. Minute grew into minute, and still there was no sign of
life, nor did the curtain move; but I felt the gaze of the
unknown being sinking through and through me, and filling me with
a nameless terror, till the perspiration stood in beads upon my
brow.
At length the curtain began to move. Who could be behind it?—some
naked savage queen, a languishing Oriental beauty, or a
nineteenth-century young lady, drinking afternoon tea? I had not
the slightest idea, and should not have been astonished at seeing
any of the three. I was getting beyond astonishment. The curtain
agitated itself a little, then suddenly between its folds there
appeared a most beautiful white hand (white as snow), and with
long tapering fingers, ending in the pinkest nails. The hand
grasped the curtain, and drew it aside, and as it did so I heard
a voice, I think the softest and yet most silvery voice I ever
heard. It reminded me of the murmur of a brook.
“Stranger,” said the voice in Arabic, but much purer and more
classical Arabic than the Amahagger talk—“stranger, wherefore art
thou so much afraid?”
Now I flattered myself that in spite of my inward terrors I had
kept a very fair command of my countenance, and was, therefore, a
little astonished at this question. Before I had made up my mind
how to answer it, however, the curtain was drawn, and a tall
figure stood before us. I say a figure, for not only the body,
but also the face was wrapped up in soft white, gauzy material in
such a way as at first sight to remind me most forcibly of a
corpse in its grave-clothes. And yet I do not know why it should
have given me that idea, seeing that the wrappings were so thin
that one could distinctly see the gleam of the pink flesh beneath
them. I suppose it was owing to the way in which they were
arranged, either accidentally, or more probably by design.
Anyhow, I felt more frightened than ever at this ghost-like
apparition, and my hair began to rise upon my head as the feeling
crept over me that I was in the presence of something that was
not canny. I could, however, clearly distinguish that the swathed
mummy-like form before me was that of a tall and lovely woman,
instinct with beauty in every part, and also with a certain
snake-like grace which I had never seen anything to equal before.
When she moved a hand or foot her entire frame seemed to
undulate, and the neck did not bend, it curved.
“Why art thou so frightened, stranger?” asked the sweet voice
again—a voice which seemed to draw the heart out of me, like the
strains of softest music. “Is there that about me that should
affright a man? Then surely are men changed from what they used
to be!” And with a little coquettish movement she turned herself,
and held up one arm, so as to show all her loveliness and the
rich hair of raven blackness that streamed in soft ripples down
her snowy robes, almost to her sandalled feet.
“It is thy beauty that makes me fear, oh Queen,” I answered
humbly, scarcely knowing what to say, and I thought that as I did
so I heard old Billali, who was still lying prostrate on the
floor, mutter, “Good, my Baboon, good.”
“I see that men still know how to beguile us women with false
words. Ah, stranger,” she answered, with a laugh that sounded
like distant silver bells, “thou wast afraid because mine eyes
were searching out thine heart, therefore wast thou afraid. Yet
being but a woman, I forgive thee for the lie, for it was
courteously said. And now tell me how came ye hither to this land
of the dwellers among the caves—a land of swamps and evil things
and dead old shadows of the dead? What came ye for to see? How is
it that ye hold your lives so cheap as to place them in the
hollow of the hand of _Hiya_, into the hand of
‘_She-who-must-be-obeyed_’? Tell me also how come ye to know the
tongue I talk. It is an ancient tongue, that sweet child of the
old Syriac. Liveth it yet in the world? Thou seest I dwell among
the caves and the dead, and naught know I of the affairs of men,
nor have I cared to know. I have lived, O stranger, with my
memories, and my memories are in a grave that mine hands
hollowed, for truly hath it been said that the child of man
maketh his own path evil;” and her beautiful voice quivered, and
broke in a note as soft as any wood-bird’s. Suddenly her eye fell
upon the sprawling frame of Billali, and she seemed to recollect
herself.
“Ah! thou art there, old man. Tell me how it is that things have
gone wrong in thine household. Forsooth, it seems that these my
guests were set upon. Ay, and one was nigh to being slain by the
hot-pot to be eaten of those brutes, thy children, and had not
the others fought gallantly they too had been slain, and not even
I could have called back the life which had been loosed from the
body. What means it, old man? What hast thou to say that I should
not give thee over to those who execute my vengeance?”
Her voice had risen in her anger, and it rang clear and cold
against the rocky walls. Also I thought I could see her eyes
flash through the gauze that hid them. I saw poor Billali, whom I
had believed to be a very fearless person, positively quiver with
terror at her words.
“Oh ‘Hiya!’ oh _She_!” he said, without lifting his white head
from the floor. “Oh _She_, as thou art great be merciful, for I
am now as ever thy servant to obey. It was no plan or fault of
mine, oh _She_, it was those wicked ones who are called my
children. Led on by a woman whom thy guest the Pig had scorned,
they would have followed the ancient custom of the land, and
eaten the fat black stranger who came hither with these thy
guests the Baboon and the Lion who is sick, thinking that no word
had come from thee about the Black one. But when the Baboon and
the Lion saw what they would do, they slew the woman, and slew
also their servant to save him from the horror of the pot. Then
those evil ones, ay, those children of the Wicked One who lives
in the Pit, they went mad with the lust of blood, and flew at the
throats of the Lion and the Baboon and the Pig. But gallantly
they fought. Oh _Hiya_! they fought like very men, and slew many,
and held their own, and then I came and saved them, and the
evildoers have I sent on hither to Kôr to be judged of thy
greatness, oh _She_! and here they are.”
“Ay, old man, I know it, and to-morrow will I sit in the great
hall and do justice upon them, fear not. And for thee, I forgive
thee, though hardly. See that thou dost keep thine household
better. Go.”
Billali rose upon his knees with astonishing alacrity, bowed his
head thrice, and his white beard sweeping the ground, crawled
down the apartment as he had crawled up it, till he finally
vanished through the curtains, leaving me, not a little to my
alarm, alone with this terrible but most fascinating person.
XIII.
AYESHA UNVEILS
“There,” said _She_, “he has gone, the white-bearded old fool!
Ah, how little knowledge does a man acquire in his life. He
gathereth it up like water, but like water it runneth through his
fingers, and yet, if his hands be but wet as though with dew,
behold a generation of fools call out, ‘See, he is a wise man!’
Is it not so? But how call they thee? ‘Baboon,’ he says,” and she
laughed; “but that is the fashion of these savages who lack
imagination, and fly to the beasts they resemble for a name. How
do they call thee in thine own country, stranger?”
“They call me Holly, oh Queen,” I answered.
“Holly,” she answered, speaking the word with difficulty, and yet
with a most charming accent; “and what is ‘Holly’?”
“’Holly’ is a prickly tree,” I said.
“So. Well, thou hast a prickly and yet a tree-like look. Strong
art thou, and ugly, but if my wisdom be not at fault, honest at
the core, and a staff to lean on. Also one who thinks. But stay,
oh Holly, stand not there, enter with me and be seated by me. I
would not see thee crawl before me like those slaves. I am aweary
of their worship and their terror; sometimes when they vex me I
could blast them for very sport, and to see the rest turn white,
even to the heart.” And she held the curtain aside with her ivory
hand to let me pass in.
I entered, shuddering. This woman was very terrible. Within the
curtains was a recess, about twelve feet by ten, and in the
recess was a couch and a table whereon stood fruit and sparkling
water. By it, at its end, was a vessel like a font cut in carved
stone, also full of pure water. The place was softly lit with
lamps formed out of the beautiful vessels of which I have spoken,
and the air and curtains were laden with a subtle perfume.
Perfume too seemed to emanate from the glorious hair and
white-clinging vestments of _She_ herself. I entered the little
room, and there stood uncertain.
“Sit,” said _She_, pointing to the couch. “As yet thou hast no
cause to fear me. If thou hast cause, thou shalt not fear for
long, for I shall slay thee. Therefore let thy heart be light.”
I sat down on the foot of the couch near to the font-like basin
of water, and _She_ sank down softly on to the other end.
“Now, Holly,” she said, “how comest thou to speak Arabic? It is my own
dear tongue, for Arabian am I by my birth, even ‘al Arab al Ariba’ (an
Arab of the Arabs), and of the race of our father Yárab, the son of
Kâhtan, for in that fair and ancient city Ozal was I born, in the
province of Yaman the Happy. Yet dost thou not speak it as we used to
speak. Thy talk doth lack the music of the sweet tongue of the tribes
of Hamyar which I was wont to hear. Some of the words too seemed
changed, even as among these Amahagger, who have debased and defiled
its purity, so that I must speak with them in what is to me another
tongue.”[1]
[1] Yárab the son of Kâhtan, who lived some centuries before the time
of Abraham, was the father of the ancient Arabs, and gave its name
Araba to the country. In speaking of herself as “al Arab al Ariba,”
_She_ no doubt meant to convey that she was of the true Arab blood as
distinguished from the naturalised Arabs, the descendants of Ismael,
the son of Abraham and Hagar, who were known as “al Arab al
mostáraba.” The dialect of the Koreish was usually called the clear or
“perspicuous” Arabic, but the Hamaritic dialect approached nearer to
the purity of the mother Syriac.—L. H. H.
“I have studied it,” I answered, “for many years. Also the
language is spoken in Egypt and elsewhere.”
“So it is still spoken, and there is yet an Egypt? And what
Pharaoh sits upon the throne? Still one of the spawn of the
Persian Ochús, or are the Achæmenians gone, for far is it to the
days of Ochús.”
“The Persians have been gone from Egypt for nigh two thousand
years, and since then the Ptolemies, the Romans, and many others
have flourished and held sway upon the Nile, and fallen when
their time was ripe,” I said, aghast. “What canst thou know of
the Persian Artaxerxes?”
She laughed, and made no answer, and again a cold chill went
through me. “And Greece,” she said; “is there still a Greece? Ah,
I loved the Greeks. Beautiful were they as the day, and clever,
but fierce at heart and fickle, notwithstanding.”
“Yes,” I said, “there is a Greece; and, just now, it is once more
a people. Yet the Greeks of to-day are not what the Greeks of the
old time were, and Greece herself is but a mockery of the Greece
that was.”
“So! The Hebrews, are they yet at Jerusalem? And does the Temple
that the wise king built stand, and if so what God do they
worship therein? Is their Messiah come, of whom they preached so
much and prophesied so loudly, and doth He rule the earth?”
“The Jews are broken and gone, and the fragments of their people
strew the world, and Jerusalem is no more. As for the temple that
Herod built——”
“Herod!” she said. “I know not Herod. But go on.”
“The Romans burnt it, and the Roman eagles flew across its ruins,
and now Judæa is a desert.”
“So, so! They were a great people, those Romans, and went
straight to their end—ay, they sped to it like Fate, or like
their own eagles on their prey!—and left peace behind them.”
“Solitudinem faciunt, pacem appellant,” I suggested.
“Ah, thou canst speak the Latin tongue, too!” she said, in
surprise. “It hath a strange ring in my ears after all these
days, and it seems to me that thy accent does not fall as the
Romans put it. Who was it wrote that? I know not the saying, but
it is a true one of that great people. It seems that I have found
a learned man—one whose hands have held the water of the world’s
knowledge. Knowest thou Greek also?”
“Yes, oh Queen, and something of Hebrew, but not to speak them
well. They are all dead languages now.”
She clapped her hands in childish glee. “Of a truth, ugly tree
that thou art, thou growest the fruits of wisdom, oh Holly,” she
said; “but of those Jews whom I hated, for they called me
‘heathen’ when I would have taught them my philosophy—did their
Messiah come, and doth He rule the world?”
“Their Messiah came,” I answered with reverence; “but He came
poor and lowly, and they would have none of Him. They scourged
Him, and crucified Him upon a tree, but yet His words and His
works live on, for He was the Son of God, and now of a truth He
doth rule half the world, but not with an Empire of the World.”
“Ah, the fierce-hearted wolves,” she said, “the followers of
Sense and many gods—greedy of gain and faction-torn. I can see
their dark faces yet. So they crucified their Messiah? Well can I
believe it. That He was a Son of the Living Spirit would be
naught to them, if indeed He was so, and of that we will talk
afterwards. They would care naught for any God if He came not
with pomp and power. They, a chosen people, a vessel of Him they
call Jehovah, ay, and a vessel of Baal, and a vessel of Astoreth,
and a vessel of the gods of the Egyptians—a high-stomached
people, greedy of aught that brought them wealth and power. So
they crucified their Messiah because He came in lowly guise—and
now are they scattered about the earth? Why, if I remember, so
said one of their prophets that it should be. Well, let them
go—they broke my heart, those Jews, and made me look with evil
eyes across the world, ay, and drove me to this wilderness, this
place of a people that was before them. When I would have taught
them wisdom in Jerusalem they stoned me, ay, at the Gate of the
Temple those white-bearded hypocrites and Rabbis hounded the
people on to stone me! See, here is the mark of it to this day!”
and with a sudden move she pulled up the gauzy wrapping on her
rounded arm, and pointed to a little scar that showed red against
its milky beauty.