CHAPTER II. THE PICTURE IN THE CAVE
CHAPTER III. THE OPENER-OF-ROADS
CHAPTER IV. THE LEGEND OF HEU-HEU
CHAPTER V. ALLAN MAKES A PROMISE
CHAPTER VI. THE BLACK RIVER
CHAPTER VII. THE WALLOO
CHAPTER VIII. THE HOLY ISLE
CHAPTER IX. THE FEAST
CHAPTER X. THE SACRIFICE
CHAPTER XI. THE SLUICE GATE
CHAPTER XII. THE PLOT
CHAPTER XIII. THE TERRIBLE NIGHT
CHAPTER XIV. THE END OF HEU-HEU
CHAPTER XV. SABEELA’S FAREWELL
CHAPTER XVI. RACE FOR LIFE
AUTHOR’S NOTE
The author wishes to state that this tale was written in its present
form some time before the discovery in Rhodesia of the fossilized and
immeasurably ancient remains of the proto-human person who might well
have been one of the Heuheua, the “Hairy Wood-Folk,” of which it
tells through the mouth of Allan Quatermain.
Heu-Heu, or the Monster
CHAPTER I.
THE STORM
Now I, the Editor, whose duty it has been as an executor or otherwise,
to give to the world so many histories of, or connected with, the
adventures of my dear friend, the late Allan Quatermain, or Macumazahn,
Watcher-by-Night, as the natives in Africa used to call him, come to
one of the most curious of them all. Here I should say at once that he
told it to me many years ago at his house called “The Grange,” in
Yorkshire, where I was staying, but a little while before he departed
with Sir Henry Curtis and Captain Good upon his last expedition into
the heart of Africa, whence he returned no more.
At the time I made very copious notes of a history that struck me as
strange and suggestive, but the fact is that afterwards I lost them and
could never trust my memory to reproduce even their substance with the
accuracy which I knew my departed friend would have desired.
Only the other day, however, in turning out a box-room, I came upon a
hand-bag which I recognized as one that I had used in the far past when
I was practising, or trying to practise, at the Bar. With a certain
emotion such as overtakes us when, after the lapse of many years, we
are confronted by articles connected with the long-dead events of our
youth, I took it to a window and with some difficulty opened its rusted
catch. In the bag was a small collection of rubbish: papers connected
with cases on which once I had worked as “devil” for an eminent and
learned friend who afterwards became a judge, a blue pencil with a
broken point, and so forth.
I looked through the papers and studied my own marginal notes made on
points in causes which I had utterly forgotten, though doubtless these
had been important enough to me at the time, and, with a sigh, tore
them up and threw them on the floor. Then I reversed the bag to knock
out the dust. As I was doing this there slipped from an inner pocket, a
very thick notebook with a shiny black cover such as used to be bought
for sixpence. I opened that book and the first thing that my eye fell
upon was this heading:
“Summary of A. Q.’s Strange Story of the Monster-God, or Fetish,
Heu-Heu, which He and the Hottentot Hans Discovered in Central South
Africa.”
Instantly everything came back to me. I saw myself, a young man in
those days, making those shorthand notes late one night in my bedroom
at the Grange before the impression of old Allan’s story had become dim
in my mind, also continuing them in the train upon my journey south on
the morrow, and subsequently expanding them in my chambers at Elm Court
in the Temple whenever I found time to spare.
I remembered, too, my annoyance when I discovered that this notebook
was nowhere to be found, although I was aware that I had put it away in
some place that I thought particularly safe. I can still see myself
hunting for it in the little study of the house I had in a London
suburb at the time, and at last giving up the quest in despair. Then
the years went on and many things happened, so that in the end both
notes and the story they outlined were forgotten. Now they have
appeared again from the dust-heap of the past, reviving many memories,
and I set out the tale of this particular chapter of the history of the
adventurous life of my beloved friend, Allan Quatermain, who so long
ago was gathered to the Shades that await us all.
One night, after a day’s shooting, we—that is, old Allan, Sir Henry
Curtis, Captain Good, and I—were seated in the smoking room of
Quatermain’s house, the Grange, in Yorkshire, smoking and talking of
many things.
I happened to mention that I had read a paragraph, copied from an
American paper, which stated that a huge reptile of an antediluvian
kind had been seen by some hunters in a swamp of the Zambesi, and asked
Allan if he believed the story. He shook his head and answered in a
cautious fashion which suggested to me, I remember, his unwillingness
to give his views as to the continued existence of such creatures on
the earth, that Africa is a big place and it was possible that in its
recesses prehistoric animals or reptiles lingered on.
“I know that this is the case with snakes,” he continued hurriedly
as though to avoid the larger topic, “for once I came across one as
large as the biggest Anaconda that is told of in South America, where
occasionally they are said to reach a length of sixty feet or even
more. Indeed, we killed it—or rather my Hottentot servant, Hans,
did—after it had crushed and swallowed one of our party. This snake was
worshipped as a kind of god, and might have given rise to the tale of
enormous reptiles. Also, to omit other experiences of which I prefer
not to speak, I have seen an elephant so much above the ordinary in
size that it might have belonged to a prehistoric age. This elephant
had been known for centuries and was named Jana.”
“Did you kill it?” inquired Good, peering at him through his
eyeglass in his quick, inquisitive way. Allan coloured beneath his tan
and wrinkles, and said, rather sharply for him, who was so gentle and
hard to irritate,
“Have you not learned, Good, that you should never ask a hunter, and
above all a professional hunter, whether he did or did not kill a
particular head of game unless he volunteers the information. However,
if you want to know, I did not kill that elephant; it was Hans who
killed it and thereby saved my life. I missed it with both barrels at a
distance of a few yards.”
“Oh, I say, Quatermain!” ejaculated the irrepressible Good.
“Do you mean to tell us that _you_ missed a particularly big
elephant that was only a few yards off? You must have been in a pretty
fright to do that.”
“Have I not said that I missed it, Good? For the rest, perhaps you are
right, and I was frightened, for as you know, I never set myself up as
a person remarkable for courage. In the circumstances of the encounter
with this beast, Jana, any one might have been frightened; indeed, even
you yourself, Good. Or, if you choose to be charitable, you may
conclude that there were other reasons for that disgraceful—yes,
disgraceful exhibition of which I cannot bear to think and much less to
talk, seeing that in the end it brought about the death of old
Hans—whom I loved.”
Now Good was about to answer again, for argument was as the breath of
his nostrils, but I saw Sir Henry stretch out his long leg and kick him
on the shin, after which he was silent.
“To return,” said Allan hastily, as one does who desires to escape
from an unpleasant subject, “in the course of my life I did once meet,
not with a prehistoric reptile, but with a people who worshipped a
Monster-god, or fetish, of which perhaps the origin may have been a
survival from the ancient world.”
He stopped with the air of one who meant to say no more, and I asked
eagerly: “What was it, Allan?”
“To answer that would involve a long story, my friend,” he replied,
“and one that, if I told it, Good, I am sure, would not believe; also,
it is getting late and might bore you. Indeed, I could not finish it
to-night.”
“There are whisky, soda, and tobacco, and whatever Curtis and Good may
do, here, fortified by these, I remain between you and the door until
you tell me that tale, Allan. You know it is rude to go to bed before
your guests, so please get on with it at once,” I added, laughing.
The old boy hummed and hawed and looked cross, but as we all sat round
him in an irritating silence which seemed to get upon his nerves, he
began at last:
Well, if you will have it, many years ago, when by comparison I was a
young man, I camped one day well up among the slopes of the
Drakensberg. I was going up Pretoria way with a load of trade goods
which I hoped to dispose of amongst the natives beyond, and when I had
done so to put in a month or two game-shooting towards the north. As it
happened, when we were in an open space of ground between two of the
foothills of the Berg, we got caught in a most awful thunderstorm, one
of the worst that ever I experienced. If I remember right, it was about
mid-January and you, my friend [this was addressed to me], know what
Natal thunderstorms can be at that hot time of the year. It seemed to
come upon us from two quarters of the sky, the fact being that it was a
twin storm of which the component parts were travelling towards each
other.
The air grew thick and dense; then came the usual moaning, icy wind
followed by something like darkness, although it was early in the
afternoon. On the peaks of the mountains around us lightnings were
already playing, but as yet I heard no thunder, and there was no rain.
In addition to the driver and voorlooper of the wagon I had with me
Hans, of whom I was speaking just now, a little wrinkled Hottentot who,
from my boyhood, had been the companion of my journeys and adventures.
It was he who came with me as my after-rider when as a very young man I
accompanied Piet Retief on that fatal embassy to Dingaan, the Zulu
king, of whom practically all except Hans and myself were massacred.
He was a curious, witty little fellow of uncertain age and of his sort
one of the cleverest men in Africa. I never knew his equal in resource
or in following a spoor, but, like all Hottentots, he had his faults;
thus, whenever he got the chance, he would drink like a fish and become
a useless nuisance. He had his virtues, also, since he was faithful as
a dog and—well, he loved me as a dog loves the master that has reared
it from a blind puppy. For me he would do anything—lie or steal or
commit murder, and think it no wrong, but rather a holy duty. Yes, and
any day he was prepared to die for me, as in the end he did.
Allan paused, ostensibly to knock out his pipe, which was unnecessary,
as he had only just filled it, but really, I think, to give himself a
chance of turning towards the fire in front of which he was standing,
and thus to hide his face. Presently he swung round upon his heel in
the light, quick fashion that was one of his characteristics, and went
on:
I was walking in front of the wagon, keeping a lookout for bad places
and stones in what in those days was by courtesy called the road,
though in fact it was nothing but a track twisting between the
mountains, and just behind, in his usual place—for he always stuck to
me like a shadow—was Hans. Presently I heard him cough in a hollow
fashion, as was his custom when he wanted to call my attention to
anything, and asked over my shoulder,
“What is it, Hans?”
“Nothing Baas,” he answered, “only that there is a big storm
coming up. Two storms, Baas, not one, and when they meet they will
begin to fight and there will be plenty of spears flying about in the
sky, and then both those clouds will weep rain or perhaps hail.”
“Yes,” I said, “there is, but as I don’t see anywhere
to shelter, there is nothing to be done.”
Hans came level with me and coughed again, twirling his dirty apology
for a hat in his skinny fingers, thereby intimating that he had a
suggestion to make.
“Many years ago, Baas,” he said, pointing with his chin towards a
mass of tumbled stones at the foot of a mountain slope about a mile to
our left, “there used to be a big cave yonder, for once when I was a
boy I sheltered in it with some Bushmen. It was after the Zulus had
cleaned out Natal and there was nothing to eat in the land, so that the
people who were left fed upon one another.”
“Then how did the Bushmen live, Hans?”
“On slugs and grasshoppers, for the most part, Baas, and buck when they
were lucky enough to kill any with their poisoned arrows. Fried
caterpillars are not bad, Baas, nor are locusts when you can get
nothing else. I remember that I, who was starving, grew fat on them.”
“You mean that we had better make for this cave of yours, Hans, if you
are sure it’s there?”
“Yes, Baas, caves can’t run away, and though it is many years ago,
I don’t forget a place where I have lived for two months.”
I looked at those advancing clouds and reflected. They were uncommonly
black and evidently there was going to be the devil of a storm.
Moreover, the situation was not pleasant for we were crossing a patch
of ironstone on which, as I knew from experience, lightning always
strikes, and a wagon and a team of oxen have an attraction for electric
flashes.
While I was reflecting a party of Kaffirs came up from behind, running
for all they were worth, no doubt to seek shelter. They were dressed in
their finery—evidently people going to or returning from a
wedding-feast, young men and girls, most of them—and as they went by
one of them shouted to me, whom evidently he knew, as did most of the
natives in those parts, “Hurry, hurry, Macumazahn!” as you know the
Zulus called me. “Hurry, this place is beloved of lightnings,” and
he pointed with his dancing stick first to the advancing tempest and
then to the ground where the ironstone cropped up.
That decided me, and running back to the wagon I told the voorlooper to
follow Hans, and the driver to flog up the oxen. Then I scrambled in
behind and off we went, turning to the left and heading for the place
at the foot of the slope where Hans said the cave was. Luckily the
ground was fairly flat and open—hard, too; moreover, although he had
not been there for so many years, Hans’s memory of the spot was
perfect. Indeed, as he said, it was one of his characteristics never to
forget any place that he had once visited.
Thus, from the driving box to which I had climbed, suddenly I saw him
direct the voorlooper to bear sharply to the right and could not
imagine why, as the surface there seemed similar to that over which we
were travelling. As we passed it, however, I perceived the reason, for
here was a ground spring which turned a large patch of an acre or more
into a swamp, where certainly we should have been bogged. It was the
same with other obstacles that I need not detail.
By now a great stillness pervaded the air and the gloom grew so thick
that the front oxen looked shadowy; also it became very cold. The
lightning continued to play upon the mountain crests, but still there
was no thunder. There was something frightening and unnatural in the
aspect of nature; even the cattle felt it, for they strained at the
yokes and went off very fast indeed, without the urgings of whip or
shouts, as though they too knew they were flying from peril. Doubtless
they did, since instinct has its voices which speak to everything that
breathes. For my part, my nerves became affected and I hoped earnestly
that we should soon reach that cave.
Presently I hoped it still more, for at length those clouds met and
from their edges as they kissed each other came an awful burst of
fire—perhaps it was a thunderbolt—that rushed down and struck the
earth with a loud detonation. At any rate, it caused the ground to
shake and me to wish that I were anywhere else, for it fell within
fifty yards of the wagon, exactly where we had been a minute or so
before. Simultaneously there was a most awful crash of thunder, showing
that the tempest now lay immediately overhead.
This was the opening of the ball; the first sudden burst of music. Then
the dance began with sheets and forks of flame for dancers and the
great sky for the floor upon which they performed.
It is difficult to describe such a hellish tempest because, as you, my
friend, who have seen them, will know, they are beyond description.
Lightnings, everywhere lightnings; flash upon flash of them of all
shapes—one, I remember, looked like a crown of fire encircling the brow
of a giant cloud. Moreover, they seemed to leap upwards from the earth
as well as downwards from the heaven, to the accompaniment of one
continuous roar of thunder.
“Where the deuce is your cave?” I yelled into the ear of Hans, who
had climbed on to the driving box beside me.
He shrieked something in answer which I could not catch because of the
tumult, and pointed to the base of the mountain slope, now about two
hundred yards away.
The oxen _skrecked_ and began to gallop, causing the wagon to bump and
sway so that I thought it would overset, and the voorlooper to leave
hold of the _reim_ and run alongside of them for fear lest he should be
trodden to death, guiding them as best he could, which was not well.
Luckily, however, they ran in the right direction.
On we tore, the driver plying his whip to keep the beasts straight, and
as I could see from the motion of his lips, swearing his hardest in
Dutch and Zulu, though not a word reached my ears. At length they were
brought to a halt by the steep slope of the mountain and proceeded to
turn round and tie themselves into a kind of knot after the fashion of
frightened oxen that for any reason can no longer pull their load.
We leapt down and began to outspan them, getting the yokes off as
quickly as we could—no easy job, I can tell you, both because of the
mess in which they were and for the reason that it must be carried out
literally under fire, since the flashes were falling all about us.
Momentarily I expected that one of them would catch the wagon and make
an end of us and our story. Indeed, I was so frightened that I was
sorely tempted to leave the oxen to their fate and bolt to the cave, if
cave there were—for I could see none.
However, pride came to my aid, for if I ran away, how could I ever
expect my Kaffirs to stand again in a difficulty? Be as much afraid as
you like, but never show fear before a native; if you do, your
influence over him is gone. You are no longer the great White Chief of
higher blood and breeding; you are just a common fellow like himself;
inferior to himself, indeed, if he chances to be a brave specimen of a
people among whom most of the men are brave.
So I pretended to take no heed of the lightnings, even when one struck
a thorn tree not more than thirty paces away. I happened to be looking
in that direction and saw the thorn in the flare, every bough of it.
Next second all I saw was a column of dust; the thorn had gone and one
of its splinters hit my hat.
With the others I tugged and kicked at the oxen, getting the thongs off
the _yoke-skeis_ as best I could, till at length all were loose and
galloping away to seek shelter under overhanging rocks or where they
could in accordance with their instincts. The last two, the pole
oxen—valuable beasts—were particularly difficult to free, as they
were trying to follow their brethren and strained at the yokes so much
that in the end I had to cut the _rimpis,_ as I could not get them out
of the notches of the _yoke-skeis._ Then they tore off after the
others, but did not get far, poor brutes, for presently I saw both of
them—they were running together—go down as though they were shot
through the heart. A flash had caught them; one of them never stirred
again; the other lay on its back kicking for a few seconds and then
grew as still as its yoke-mate.
“And what did you say?” inquired Good in a reflective voice.
“What would you have said, Good?” asked Allan severely, “if
you had lost your best two oxen in such a fashion, and happened not to
have a sixpence with which to buy others? Well, we all know your
command of strong language, so I do not think I need ask you to
answer.”
“I should have said——” began Good, bracing himself to
the occasion, but Allan cut him short with a wave of his hand.
“Something about _Jupiter Tonans,_ no doubt,” he said.
Then he went on.
Well, what I said was only overheard by the recording angel, though
perhaps Hans guessed it, for he screamed at me,
“It might have been _us,_ Baas. When the sky is angry, it will have
_something;_ better the oxen than us, Baas.”
“The cave, you idiot!” I roared. “Shut your mouth and take us
to the cave, if there is one, for here comes the hail.”
Hans grinned and nodded, then hastened by a large hailstone which hit
him on the head, began to skip up the hill at a surprising rate,
beckoning to the rest of us to follow. Presently we came to a tumbled
pile of rocks through which we dodged and scrambled in the gloom that
now, when the hail had begun to fall, was denser than ever between the
flashes. At the back of the biggest of these rocks Hans dived among
some bushes, dragging me after him between two stones that formed a
kind of natural gateway to a cavity beyond.
“This is the place, Baas,” he said, wiping the blood that ran down
his forehead from a cut in the head made by the hailstone.
As he spoke, a particularly vivid flash showed me that we were in the
mouth of a cavern of unknown size. That it must be large, however, I
guessed from the echoes of the thunder that followed the flash, which
seemed to reverberate in that hollow place from unmeasured depths in
the bowels of the mountain.