THE BLACK RIVER
On the following evening, pleasantly tired after a capital day’s
shooting and a good dinner, once more the four of us—Curtis, Good,
myself (the Editor) and old Allan—were gathered round the fire in his
comfortable den at “The Grange.”
“Now then, Allan,” I said, “get on with your tale.”
“What tale?” he asked, pretending to forget, for he was always a
bad starter where his own reminiscences were concerned.
“That about the monkey-man and the fellow who looked like Apollo,”
answered Good. “I dreamt about it all night, and that I rescued the
lady—a dark girl dressed in blue—and that just as I was about to
receive a well-earned kiss of thanks, she changed her mind and turned
into stone.”
“Which is just what she would have done if she had any sense in her
head and you were concerned, Good,” said Allan severely, adding,
“Perhaps it was your dream that made you shoot more vilely than usual
to-day. I saw you miss eight cock pheasants in succession at that last
corner.”
“And I saw you kill eighteen in succession at the first,” replied
Good cheerily, “so you see the average was all right. Now then, get on
with the romance. I like romance in the evening after a dose of the
hard facts of life in the shape of impossible cock pheasants.”
“Romance!” began Allan indignantly. “Am I romantic? Pray do
not confuse me with yourself, Good.”
Here I intervened imploring him not to waste time in arguing with Good,
who was unworthy of his notice, and at last, mollified, he began.
Now I am in a hurry and want to be done with this job that dries up my
throat—who, having lived so much alone, am not used to talking like a
politician—and makes me drink more whisky and water than I ought. You
are in a hurry, too, all of you, especially Good, who wants to get to
the end of the story in order that he may argue about it and try to
show that he would have managed much better, and you, my friend,
because you have to leave to-morrow morning early and must see to your
packing before you get to bed. Therefore, I am going to skip a lot, all
about our journey, for instance, although, in fact, it was one of the
most interesting treks I ever made, and for much of the way through a
country that was quite new to me, about which one might write a book.
I will simply say, therefore, that in due course after some necessary
delay to re-pack the wagon, leaving behind all articles that were not
wanted in Zikali’s charge, we trekked from the Black Kloof. The oxen
that I had bought—on credit—from Zikali were in the yokes, and we
drove with us his two extra beasts as well as four of the best of my
old team to serve as spares.
Also I took, in addition to my own driver and voorlooper, Mavoon and
Induka, two other Zulus, Zikali’s servants, who I knew would be
faithful because they feared their terrible master, although I knew
also that they would spy upon me and, if ever they returned alive, make
report of everything to him.
Well, leaving out all the details of this remarkable trek in which we
met with no fighting, disasters, or great troubles and always had
plenty to eat, game being numerous throughout, I will take up the tale
on our arrival, safe and sound, at the first line of hills that I show
upon the map, of which Zikali had spoken as bordering the desert. Here
we were obliged to leave the wagon, for it was impossible to get it
over the hills or through the desert beyond.
This, fortunately, we were able to do at a little village of peaceable
folk who lived in a charming and well-watered situation, and, having no
near neighbours, were able to cultivate their lands unmolested. I
placed it in the charge of Mavoon and Induka, whom I could trust and
who would not run away, also the oxen, of which, by good fortune, we
had only lost three. With them, as Issicore declared that we must go on
alone, I left Zikali’s servants, knowing that they would keep an eye
upon my men, and my men on them, and promised the headman of the
village a good present if we found everything safe on our return.
He said that he would do his best, but added impressively—he was a
melancholy person—that if we were going to the country of Heu-Heu we
never should return, as it was a land of devils. In that event he asked
what was to happen to the wagon and goods. I replied that I had given
orders that if I did not reappear within a year, it was to trek back to
whence we came and announce that we were gone, but that he need not be
afraid as, being a great magician, I knew that we should be back long
before that time.
He shrugged his shoulders, looking doubtfully at Issicore, and there
the conversation ended. However, I persuaded him to lend us three of
his people to guide us across the mountains and to carry water through
the desert on the understanding that they should be allowed to return
as soon as we sighted the swamp. Nothing would induce them to go nearer
to the country of Heu-Heu.
So in due course off we started, leaving Mavoon and Induka almost in
tears, for the gloom of the headman had spread to them and they too
believed that they would see us no more. Hans, it is true, they never
would have missed, since they hated him as he hated them, but in my
case the matter was different because they loved me in their own way.
Our baggage was light: rifles (I took a double-barrelled Express), as
much ammunition as we could manage, some medicines, blankets, etc., a
few spare clothes and boots for myself, a couple of revolvers and as
many vessels of one sort or another as possible to carry water,
including two paraffin tins slung at either end of a piece of wood
after the fashion of a milkman’s yoke. Also we had tobacco, a good
supply of matches, candles, and a bundle of dried biltong to eat in
case we found no game. It doesn’t sound much, but before we got across
that desert I felt inclined to throw away half of it; indeed, I don’t
think we could have got the stuff over the mountain pass, which proved
to be precipitous, without the assistance of the three water-bearers.
It took us twelve hours to reach and cross that mountain’s crest, just
beneath which we camped, and another six to descend the other side next
day. At its foot was thin, tussocky grass with occasional thorn trees
growing in a barren veldt that by degrees merged into desert. By the
last water we camped for the second night; then, having filled up all
our vessels, started out into the arid, sandy wilderness.
Now, you fellows know what an African desert is, for we went through a
worse one than this on our journey to Solomon’s Mines. Still, the
particular specimen I am speaking of was pretty bad. To begin with, the
heat was tremendous. Then, in parts, it consisted of rolling slopes or
waves of sand, up which we must scramble and down which we must slide—a
most exhausting process. Further, there grew in it a variety of
thick-leaved plant with sharp spines that, if touched, caused a painful
soreness, which abominable and useless growths made it impossible to
travel at night, or even if the light were low, when they could not be
seen and avoided.
We spent three days crossing that wretched desert, that had another
peculiarity. Here and there in its waste, columns of stones, polished
by the blowing sand, stood up like obelisks, sometimes in one piece,
monoliths, and sometimes in several, piled on each other. I suppose
that they were the remains of strata: hard cores that had resisted the
action of wind and water, which in the course of thousands or millions
of years had worn away the softer rock, grinding it to dust.
Those obelisk-like columns gave a very strange appearance to that
wilderness, suggesting the idea of monuments; also, incidentally, they
were useful, since it was by them that our water-bearing guides, who
were accustomed to haunt the place to kill ostriches or to steal their
eggs, steered their path. Of these ostriches we saw a good number,
which showed that the desert could not be so very wide, since in it
there seemed to be nothing for them to live on, unless they ate the
prickly plants. There was no other life in the place.
Fortunately, by dint of economy and self-denial, our water held out,
until on the afternoon of the third day, as we trudged along parched
and weary, from the crest of one of the sand waves we saw far off a
patch of dense green that marked the end, or, rather, the beginning, of
the swamp. Now our agreement with the guides was that when they came in
sight of this swamp they should return, for which purpose we had saved
some of the water for them to drink on their homeward journey.
After a brief consultation, however, they determined to come on with
us, and when I asked why, wheeled round and pointed to dense clouds
that were gathering in the heavens behind us. These clouds, they
explained, foretold a sand tempest in which no man could live in the
desert. Therefore they urged us forward at all speed; indeed, exhausted
as we were, we covered the last three miles between us and the edge of
the swamp at a run. As we reached the reeds the storm burst, but still
we plunged forward through them, till we came to a spot where they grew
densely and where, by digging pits in the mud with our hands, we could
get water which, thick as it was, we drank greedily. Here we crouched
for hours while the storm raged.
It was a terrific sight, for now the face of the desert behind was
hidden by clouds of driven sand, which even among the reeds fell upon
us thickly, so that occasionally we had to rise to shake its weight off
us. Had we still been in the desert, we should have been buried alive.
As it was we escaped, though half choked and with our skins fretted by
the wear of the particles of sand.
So we squatted all night till before dawn the storm ceased and the sun
rose in a perfectly clear sky. Having drunk more water, of which we
seemed to need enormous quantities, we struggled back to the edge of
the swamp and from the crest of a sand wave looked about us. Issicore
stretched out his arm towards the north and touched me on the shoulder.
I looked, and far away, staining the delicate blue of the heavens,
perceived a dark, mushroom-shaped patch of vapour.
“It is a cloud,” I said. “Let us go back to the reeds; the
storm is returning.”
“No, Lord,” he answered, “it is the smoke from the Fire
Mountain of my country.”
I studied it and said nothing, reflecting, however, that in this
particular, at any rate, Zikali had not lied. If so, was it not
possible that he had spoken truth about other matters also? If there
existed a volcano as yet unreported by any explorer, might there not
also be a buried city filled with petrified people, and even a Heu-Heu?
No, in Heu-Heu I could not believe.
Here, after they had filled themselves and their gourds with water, the
three natives from the village left us, saying that they would go no
farther and that they could now depart safely as the sandstorm would
not return for some weeks. They added that our magic must be very
strong, since had we delayed even for a few hours we should certainly
all have been killed.
So they departed, and we camped by the reeds, hoping to rest after our
exhausting journey. In this, however, we were disappointed, for as soon
as the sun went down we became aware that this vast area of swampy land
was the haunt of countless game that came thither, I suppose, from all
the country round in order to drink and to fill themselves with its
succulent growths.
By the light of the moon I saw great herds of elephants appearing out
of the shadows and marching majestically towards the water. Also there
were troops of buffalo, some of which broke out of the reeds showing
that they had hidden there during the day, and almost every kind of
antelope in plenty, while in the morass itself we could hear sea cows
wallowing and grunting, and great splashes which I suppose were caused
by frightened crocodiles leaping into pools.
Nor was this all, since so much animal life upon which they could prey
attracted many lions that coughed and roared and slew according to
their nature. Whenever one of them sprang on to some helpless buck, a
stampede of all the game in the neighbourhood would follow. The noise
they made crashing through the reeds was terrific, so much so that
sleep was impossible. Moreover, there was always a possibility that the
lions might be tempted to try a change of diet and eat us, especially
as we had no bushes with which to form a _boma_, or fence. So we made a
big fire of dry, last year’s reeds, of which, fortunately, there were
many standing near, and kept watch.
Once or twice I saw the long shape of a lion pass us, but I did not
fire for fear lest I should wound the beast only and perhaps cause it
to charge. In short, the place was a veritable sportsman’s paradise,
and yet quite useless from a hunter’s point of view, since, if he
killed elephants, it would be impossible to carry the ivory across the
desert, and only a boy desires to slaughter game in order to leave it
to rot. At dawn, it is true, I did shoot a reed-buck for food, which
was the only shot I fired.
As amidst all this hubbub the idea of sleep must be abandoned, I took
the opportunity to question Issicore about his country and what lay
before us there. During our journey I had not talked much to him on the
matter, since he seemed very silent and reserved, all his energies
being concentrated upon pushing forward as quickly as possible; also,
there was no object in doing so while we were still far away. Now,
however, I thought that the time had come for a talk.
In answer to my queries, he said that if we travelled hard, by marching
round the narrow western end of the swamp, in three days we should
arrive at the mouth of the gorge down which the river ran that flowed
through the mountains surrounding his country. These mountains, I
should add, we had sighted as a black line in the distance almost as
soon as we entered the desert, which showed that they were high. Here,
if we reached it without accident, he hoped to find a boat waiting in
which we could be paddled to his town, though why anybody should be
expecting us I could not elicit from him.
Leaving that question unsolved, I asked him about this town and its
inhabitants. He replied that it was large and contained a great number
of people, though not so many as it used to do in bygone generations.
The race was dwindling, partly from intermarriage and partly because of
the terror in which they lived, that made the women unwilling to bear
children lest these should be snatched away by the Hairy Folk who dwelt
in the surrounding forest, or perhaps sacrificed to the god himself. I
inquired whether he really believed that there was such a god, and he
replied with earnestness that certainly he did, as once he had seen
him, though from some way off, and he was so awful that description was
impossible. I must judge of him for myself when we met—an occasion that
I began to wish might be avoided.
I cross-examined him persistently about this god, but with small
result, for the subject seemed to be one on which he did not care to
dwell. I gathered, however, that he, Issicore, had been in a canoe when
he saw Heu-Heu on a rock at dawn, surrounded by women, upon the
occasion of some sacrifice, and that he had not looked much at him
because he was afraid to do so. He noted, however, that he was taller
than a man and walked stiffly. He added that Heu-Heu never came to the
mainland, though his priests did.
Then, dropping the subject of Heu-Heu, he went on to tell me of the
system of government amongst the Walloos, which, it appeared, was an
hereditary chieftainship that could be held either by men or women. The
present chief, an old man, like the people was named Walloo, as indeed
were all the chiefs of the tribe in succession, for “Walloo” was
really a title which he thought had come with them from whatever land
they inhabited in the dark, forgotten ages. He had but one child
living, a daughter, the lady Sabeela, of whom he had spoken to me at
the hut of the Opener-of-Roads, she who was doomed to sacrifice. He,
Issicore, was her second cousin, being descended from the brother of
her grandfather, and therefore of the pure Walloo blood.
“Then if this lady died, I suppose you would be the chief,
Issicore?” I said.
“Yes, Lord, by descent,” he answered; “yet perhaps not so.
There is another power in the land greater than that of the kings or
chiefs—the power of the priests of Heu-Heu. It is their purpose, Lord,
should Sabeela die, to seize the chieftainship for themselves. A
certain Dacha, who is also of the pure Walloo blood, is the chief
priest, and he has sons to follow him.”
“Then it is to this Dacha’s interest that Sabeela should
die?”
“It is to his interest, Lord, that she should die and I also, or,
better still, both of us together, for then his path would be clear.”
“But what of her father, the Walloo? He cannot desire the death of his
only child.”
“Nay, Lord, he loves her much and desires that she should marry me.
But, as I have said, he is an old man and terror-haunted. He fears the
god, who already has taken one of his daughters; he fears the priests,
who are the oracles of the god, and, it is said, murdered his son as
they have striven to murder me. Therefore, being frozen by fear, he is
powerless, and without his leadership none can act, since all must be
done in the name of the Walloo and by his authority. Yet it was he who
sent me to seek for help from the great wizard of the South with whom
he and his fathers have had dealings in bygone years. Yes, because of
the ancient prophecy that the god could only be overthrown and the
tyranny of the priests be broken by a white man from the South, he sent
me, who am the betrothed of his daughter, secretly and without the
knowledge of Dacha, and because of Sabeela I dared the curse and went,
for which deed perchance I must pay dearly. He it is also who watches
for my return.”
“And if he exists, which you have not proved to me, how am I to kill
this god, Issicore? By shooting him?”
“I do not know, Lord. It is believed that he cannot be harmed by
weapons, over whom only fire and water have power, since legend tells
that he came out of the fire and certainly he lives surrounded by
water. The prophecy does not say how he will be killed by the stranger
from the South.”
Now, listening to this weird talk in that wild-beast-peopled wilderness
from the mouth of a man who evidently was very frightened, and wearied
as I was, I confess that I grew frightened also, and wished most
heartily that I had never been beguiled into this adventure. Probably
the terrible god, of whom I could learn no details, question as I
would, was nothing but an invention of the priests, or perhaps one of
their number disguised. But, however this might be, no doubt I was
travelling to a fetish-ridden land in which witchcraft and murder were
rampant; in short, one of Satan’s peculiar possessions. Yes, I, Allan
Quatermain, was brought here to play the part of a modern Hercules and
clean out this Augean stable of bloodshed and superstitions, to say
nothing of fighting the lion in the shape of Heu-Heu, always supposing
that there was a Heu-Heu, a creature taller than a man that “walked
stiffly,” whom Issicore believed he had once seen from a distance at
dawn.
However, I was in for it, and to show fear would be as useless as it
was undignified, since, unless I turned and ran back into the desert,
which my pride would never suffer me to do, I could see no escape.
Having put my hand to the plough I must finish the furrow. So I sat
silent, making no comment upon Issicore’s rather nebulous information.
Only after a while I asked him casually when this sacrifice was to take
place, to which he replied with evident agitation,
“On the night of the full harvest moon, which is this moon, fourteen
days from now; wherefore we must hurry, since at best it will take us
five days to reach the town of Walloo, three in travelling round the
swamp and two upon the river. Do not delay, Lord, I pray you do not
delay, lest we should be too late and find Sabeela gone.”
“No,” I answered, “I shall not be late, and I can assure you,
my friend Issicore, that the sooner I am through with this business one
way or another, the better I shall be pleased. And now that all those
beasts in the swamp seem to have grown a little quieter I will try to
go to sleep.”
Happily I was successful in this effort and obtained several hours’
sound rest, which I needed sorely, before the sun appeared and Hans
woke me. I rose, and, taking my rifle, shot a fat reed-buck, which I
selected out of a number which stood quite close by, a young female off
which we breakfasted, for, as you know, if the meat of antelopes is
cooked before it grows cold it is often as tender as though it had been
hung for a week. The odd thing was that the sound of the shot did not
seem to disturb the other beasts at all; evidently they had never heard
anything of the sort before, and thought that their companion was just
lying down.
An hour later we started on our long tramp round the edge of that
swamp. I did not like to march before for fear lest we should get into
complications with the herds of elephants and other animals that were
trekking out of it in all directions with the light, though where they
went to feed I am sure I do not know. In all my life I never saw such
quantities of game as had collected in this place, which probably
furnished the only water for many miles round.
However, as I have said, it was of no use to us, and therefore our
object was to keep as clear of it as possible. Even then we stumbled
right on to a sleeping white rhinoceros with the longest horn that ever
I saw. It must have measured nearly six feet, and anywhere else would
have been a great prize. Fortunately the wind was blowing from it to
us, so it did not smell us and charged off in another direction, for,
as you know, the rhinoceros is almost blind.
Now I am not going to give all the details of that interminable trudge
through sand, for in the mud of the swamp we could not walk at all.
During the day we were scorched by the heat and at night we were
tormented by mosquitoes and disturbed by the noise of the game and the
roaring of lions, which fortunately, being so full fed, never molested
us. By the third night, bearing always to the right, we had come quite
close to the mountain range, which, although it was not so very lofty,
seemed to be absolutely precipitous, faced, indeed, by sheer cliffs
that rose to a height of from five to eight hundred feet. To what
extraordinary geological conditions these black cliffs and the desert
by which they were surrounded owe their origin, I am sure I do not know
but there they were, and no doubt are.
Before sunset on this third day, by Issicore’s direction, we collected
a huge pile of dried reeds, which we set upon the crest of a sand
mound, and after dark fired them, so that for a quarter of an hour or
so they burned in a bright column of flame. Issicore gave no
explanation of this proceeding, but as Hans remarked, doubtless it was
a signal to his friends. Next morning, at his request, we started on
before the dawn, taking our chance of meeting with elephants or
buffaloes, and at sunrise found ourselves right under the cliffs.
An hour later, following a little bay in them where there was no swamp,
because here the ground rose of a sudden we turned a corner and
perceived a tall, white-robed man with a big spear standing upon a
rock, evidently keeping a look-out. As soon as he saw us he leapt down
from his rock with the agility of a _klip-springer_ and came towards
us.
After one curious glance at me he went straight to Issicore, knelt down
and, taking his hand, pressed it to his forehead, which showed me that
our guide was a venerated person. Then they conversed together in low
tones, after which Issicore came to me and said that so far all was
well, as our fire had been seen and a big canoe awaited us. We went on,
guided by the sentry, and after one turn suddenly came on quite a large
river, which had been hidden by the reeds. To the left appeared this
deep, slow-flowing river; to the right, within a hundred paces, indeed,
it changed into swamp or morass, of which the pools were fringed with
very tall and beautiful papyrus plants, such open water as there was
being almost covered by every kind of wild fowl that rose in flocks
with a deafening clamour. This stream, the Black River, as the Walloos
called it, was bordered on either side by precipices through which I
suppose it had cut its way in the course of millenniums, so high and
impending that they seemed almost to meet above, leaving the surface of
the water nearly dark. It was a stream gloomy as the Roman Styx, and,
glancing at it, I half expected to see Charon and his boat approaching
to row us to the Infernal fields. Indeed, into my mind there floated a
memory of the poet’s lines, which I hope I quote correctly:
In Kubla Khan a river ran
Through caverns measureless to man,
Down to a sunless sea.
I confess honestly that the aspect of the place filled me with fear: it
was forbidding—indeed, unholy—and I marvelled what kind of a
sunless sea lay beyond this hell gate. Had I been alone, or with Hans
only, I admit that I should have turned tail and marched back round
that swamp, upon which, at any rate, the sun shone, and, if I could,
across the desert beyond to where I had left the wagon. But in the
presence of the stately Issicore and his myrmidon, this I could not do
because of my white man’s pride. No, I must go on to the end, whatever
it might be.
If I was frightened, Hans was much more so, for his teeth began to
chatter with terror.
“Oh, Baas,” he said, “if this is the door, what will the
house beyond be like?”
“That we shall learn in due course,” I answered, “so there is
no good in thinking about it.”
“Follow me, Lord,” said Issicore, after some further talk with his
companion.
I did so, accompanied by Hans, who stuck to me as closely as possible.
We advanced round the rock and discovered a little indent in the bank
of the river where a great canoe, hollowed apparently from a single
huge tree, or rather its prow, was drawn up on the sandy shore. In this
canoe sat sixteen rowers or paddle-men—I remember there were sixteen of
them because at the time Hans remarked that the number was the same as
that of a wagon team and subsequently called these paddlers “water
oxen.”
As we approached they lifted their paddles in salute, apparently of
Issicore, since of me and my companion, except by swift, surreptitious
glances, they took no notice.
With a kind of silent, unobtrusive haste Issicore caused our small
baggage, which consisted chiefly of cartridge bags, to be stowed away
in the prow of the canoe that for a few feet was hollowed out in such a
fashion that it made a kind of cupboard roofed with solid wood, and
showed us where to sit. Next he entered it himself, while the lookout
man ran down the canoe and took hold of the steering oar.
Then at a word all the paddlers back-watered and the craft slid off the
sandy beach into the river which was full to the banks, almost in flood
indeed. It seemed that here the rain had been nearly incessant for some
months and the lowering sky showed that ere long there was much more to
come.