THE HOLY ISLE
When the door had closed behind him, I turned to Issicore and asked him
straight out if he had any plan to suggest. He shook his noble-looking
head and answered, “None,” as it was impossible to resist both the
will of the people and the law of the priests.
“Then what is the use of your having brought me all this way?” I
inquired with indignation. “Cannot you think of some scheme? For
instance, would it not be possible for you and this lady to fly with us
down the river and escape to a land which is not full of demons?”
“It would not be possible,” he answered in a melancholy voice.
“Day and night we are watched and should be seized before we had
travelled a mile. Moreover, could she leave her father, and could I
leave all my relations to be murdered in payment for our sacrilege?”
“Have you no thought in your mind at all?” I asked again. “Is
there nothing that would save the Lady Sabeela?”
“Nothing, Lord, except the end of Heu-Heu and his priests. It is to
you, great Lord, that we look to find a way to destroy them, as the
prophecy declares will be done by the White Deliverer from the South.”
“Oh, dash the prophecy! I never knew prophecies to help anybody
yet,” I ejaculated in English, as I contemplated that beautiful but
helpless pair. Then I added in Arabic, “I am tired and am going to bed.
I hope that I shall find more wisdom in my dreams then I do in you,
Issicore,” I added, staring at the man in whom I seemed to detect some
subtle change, some access of fatalistic helplessness, even of despair.
Now Sabeela, seeing that I was angry, broke in,
“O Lord, be not wrath, for we are but flies in the spider’s web,
and the threads of that web are the priests of Heu-Heu, and the posts
to which it is fixed are the beliefs of my people, and Heu-Heu himself
is the spider, and in my breast his claws are fixed.”
Now, listening to her allegory, I thought to myself that a better one
might have been drawn from a snake and a bird, for really, like the
rest of them, this poor girl seemed to be mesmerized with terror and to
have made up her mind to sit still waiting to be struck by the poisoned
fangs.
“Lord,” she went on, “we have done all we could. Did not
Issicore make a great journey to find you? Yes, did he not even dare
the curse which falls upon the heads of those who try to leave our
country, and travel south to seek the counsel of the Great Wizard, who
once sent messengers here to obtain the leaves of the tree that grows
in Heu-Heu’s garden, the tree that makes men drunk and gives them
visions?”
“Yes,” I answered, “he did that, Lady, and might I say to you
that his health seems none the worse. Those curses of which you speak
have not hurt him.”
“It is true they have not hurt his body—yet,” she said in a
musing voice, as though a new thought had struck her.
“Well, if that is true, Sabeela, may it not be true also that all this
talk about the power of Heu-Heu is nonsense? Tell me, have you ever
spoken with or seen Heu-Heu?”
“No, Lord, no, though unless you can save me I shall soon see him.”
“Well, and has any one else?”
“No, Lord, no one has ever spoken with him, except, of course, his
priests, such as my distant cousin, Dacha, who is the head of them, but
whom I used to know before he was chosen by Heu-Heu to be of their
company.”
“Oh! So no one has seen him? Then he must be a very secret kind of god
who does not take exercise, but lives, I understand, in a cave with
priests.”
“I did not say that no one had ever seen Heu-Heu, Lord. Many say that
they have seen him, as Issicore has done, when he came out of the cave
on a Night of Offering, but of what they saw it is death to speak. Ask
me and Issicore no more of Heu-Heu, Lord I pray you, lest the curse
should fall. It is not lawful that we should tell you of him, whose
secrets are sacred even to his priests,” she added with agitation.
Then in despair I gave up asking questions about Heu-Heu and inquired
how many priests he had.
“About twenty, I believe, Lord,” she answered, ceasing from
evasions, “not counting their wives and families, and it is said that
they do not live with Heu-Heu in the cave, but in houses outside of
it.”
“And what do they do when they are not worshipping Heu-Heu,
Sabeela?”
“Oh, they cultivate the land and they rule the Wild People of the
Woods, who, it is believed, are all Heu-Heu’s children. Also they come
here and spy on us.”
“Do they indeed?” I remarked. “And is it true that they hope
to rule over you Walloos also?”
“Yes, I believe that it is true. At least, should my father die and I
die, it is said that Dacha means to make war upon the Walloos and take
the chieftainship, setting aside or killing my cousin and betrothed
Issicore. For Dacha was always one who desired to be first.”
“So you used to know Dacha pretty well, Lady?”
“Yes, Lord, when I was quite young before he became a priest.
Also,” she added, colouring, “I have seen him since he became a
priest.”
“And what did he say to you?”
“He said that if I would take him for a husband perhaps I should escape
from Heu-Heu.”
“And what did you answer, Lady?”
“Lord, I answered that I would rather go to Heu-Heu.”
“Why?”
“Because Dacha, it is reported, has many wives already. Also I hate
him. Also from Heu-Heu at the last I can always escape.”
“How?”
“By death, Lord. We have swift poison in this country, and I carry some
of it hidden in my hair,” she added with emphasis.
“Quite so. I understand. But, Lady Sabeela, as you have been so good as
to ask my advice about these matters, I will give you some. It is that
you should not taste that poison till all else has failed and there is
no escape. While we breathe there is hope, and all that seems lost
still may be won, but the dead do not live again, Lady Sabeela.”
“I hear and will obey you, Lord,” she answered, weeping. “Yet
sleep is better than Dacha or Heu-Heu.”
“And life is better than all three of them put together,” I
replied, “especially life with love.”
Then I bowed myself off to bed, followed by Hans, also bowing—like a
monkey for pennies on a barrel-organ. At the door I looked back, and
saw these two poor people in each other’s arms, thinking, doubtless,
that we were already out of sight of them. Yes, her head was upon
Issicore’s shoulder, and from the convulsive motions of her form I
guessed that she was sobbing, while he tried to console her in the
ancient, world-wide fashion. I only hope that she got more comfort from
Issicore than I did. To me now he seemed to be but a singularly
unresourceful member of a played-out race, though it is true that he
had courage, since otherwise he would not have attempted the journey to
Zululand. Also, as I have said, quite suddenly he had changed in some
subtle fashion.
When we were in our own room with the door bolted (it had no windows,
light and ventilation being provided by holes in the roof) I gave Hans
some tobacco and bade him sit down on the other side of the lamp, where
he squatted upon the floor like a toad.
“Now, Hans,” I said, “tell me all the truth of this business
and what we are to do to help this pretty lady and the old chief, her
father.”
Hans looked at the roof and looked at the wall; then he spat upon the
floor, for which I reproved him.
“Baas,” he said at length, “I think the best thing we can do
is to find out where those bright stones are, fill our pockets with
them, and escape from this country which is full of fools and devils. I
am sure that Beautiful One would be better off with the priest called
Dacha, or even with Heu-Heu, than with Issicore, who now has become but
a carved and painted lump of wood made to look like a man.”
“Possibly, Hans, but the tastes of women are curious, and she likes
this lump of wood, who, after all, is brave, except where ghosts and
spirits are concerned. Otherwise he would not have journeyed so far for
her sake. Moreover, we have a bargain to keep. What should we say to
the Opener-of-Roads if we returned, having run away and without his
medicine? No, Hans, we must play out this game.”
“Yes, Baas, I thought that the Baas would say that because of his
foolishness. Had I been alone, by now, or a little later, I should have
been in that canoe going down-stream. However, the Baas has settled
that we must save the lady and give her to the Lump of Wood for a wife.
So now I think I will go to sleep, and to-morrow or the next day the
Baas can save her. I don’t think very much of the beer in this country,
Baas—it is too sweet; and all these handsome fools who talk about
devils and priests weary me. Also, it is a bad climate and very damp. I
think it is going to rain again, Baas.”
Having nothing else at hand, I threw my tobacco-pouch at Hans’s head.
He caught it deftly, and, in an absent-minded fashion, put it into his
own pocket.
“If the Baas really wishes to know what I think,” he said, yawning,
“it is that the medicine man named Dacha wants the pretty lady for
himself; also to rule alone over all these dull people. As for Heu-Heu,
I don’t know anything about him, but perhaps he is one of those Hairy
Men who came here at the beginning of the world. I think that the best
thing we can do, Baas, would be to take a boat to-morrow morning and go
to that island, where we can find out the truth for ourselves. Perhaps
the Lump of Wood and some of his men can row us there. And now I have
nothing more to say, so, if the Baas does not mind, I will go to sleep.
Keep your pistol ready, Baas, in case any of the Hairy People wish to
call upon us—just to talk about the one I shot.”
Then he retired to a corner, rolling himself up in a skin rug, and
presently was snoring, though, as I knew well enough, with one eye open
all the time. No Hairy Man, or any one else, would have come near that
place without Hans hearing him, for his sleep was like to that of a dog
who watches his master.
As I prepared to follow his example, I reflected that his remarks,
casual as they seemed, were full of wisdom. These folk were
superstition-ridden fools and useless; probably the only ones that had
wits among them became priests. But the Hairy aboriginals were an ugly
fact, as the priests knew, since apparently they had obtained rule over
them. For the rest, the only thing to do was to visit the Holy Island
and find out the truth for ourselves, as Hans had said. It would be
dangerous, no doubt, but at the least it would also be exciting.
Next morning I rose after an excellent night’s rest and found my way
into the garden, where I amused myself by examining the shrubs and
flowers, some of which were strange to me. Also I studied the sky,
which was heavy and lowering, and seemed full of rain. I could study
nothing else because the high wall cut off the view upon every side so
that little was to be seen except the top of the volcano, which rose
from the lake at a distance of several miles, for it was a large sheet
of water. Presently the door of the garden opened and Issicore
appeared, looking weary and somewhat bewildered. It occurred to me that
he had been sitting up late with Sabeela. As they were to be parted so
soon, naturally they would see as much as they could of each other. Or
for aught I knew, he might have been praying to his ancestral spirits
and trying to make up his mind what to do, no doubt a difficult process
under the circumstances. I went to the point at once.
“Issicore,” I said, “as soon as possible after breakfast,
will you have a canoe ready to take me and Hans to the island in the
lake?”
“To the island in the lake, Lord!” he exclaimed, amazed.
“Why, it is holy!”
“I daresay, but I am holy also, so that if I go there it will be
holier.”
Then he advanced all kinds of objections, and even brought out the
Walloo and his grey-heads to reinforce his arguments. Hans and Sabeela
also joined the party; the latter, I noted, looking even more beautiful
by day than she did in the lamplight. Sabeela, indeed, proved my only
ally, for presently, when the others had talked themselves hoarse, she
said,
“The White Lord has been brought hither that we, who are bewildered and
foolish, may drink of the cup of his wisdom. If his wisdom bids him
visit the Holy Isle, let him do so, my father.”
As no one seemed to be convinced, I stood silent, not knowing what more
to say. Then Hans took up his parable, speaking in his bad
coast-Arabic:
“Baas, Issicore, although he is so big and strong, and all these others
are afraid of Heu-Heu and his priests. But we, who are good Christians,
are not afraid of any devils because we know how to deal with them.
Also we can paddle, therefore let the Chief give us quite a small canoe
and show us which way to row, and we will go to the island by
ourselves.”
In sporting parlance, this shot hit the bull in the eye, and Issicore,
who, as I have said, was a brave man at bottom, fired up and answered,
“Am I a coward that I should listen to such words from your servant,
Lord Macumazahn? I and some others whom I can find will row you to the
island, though on it we will not set our foot because it is not lawful
for us to do so. Only, Lord, if you come back no more, blame me not.”
“Then that is settled,” I replied quietly, “and now, if we
may, let us eat, for I am hungry.”
About two hours later we started from the quay, taking with us all our
small possessions, down to some spare powder in flasks which we had
brought to reload fired cartridge cases, for Hans refused to leave
anything behind with no one to watch it. The canoe which was given to
us was much smaller than that in which we had come up the river,
though, like it, hollowed from a single log; and its crew consisted of
Issicore, who steered, and four other Walloos, who paddled, stout and
determined-looking fellows, all of them. The island was about five
miles away, but we made a wide circuit to the south, I suppose in the
hope of avoiding observation, and therefore it took us the best part of
two hours to reach its southern shore.
As we approached I examined the place carefully through my glasses, and
observed that it was much larger than I had thought—several miles in
circumference, indeed, for in addition to the central volcanic cone
there was a great stretch of low-lying land all round its base, which
land seemed not to rise more than a foot or two above the level of the
lake. In character, except on these flats by the lake, it was stony and
barren, being, in fact, strewn with lumps of lava ejected from the
volcano during the last eruption.
Issicore informed me, however, that the northern part of the island
where the priests lived, which had not been touched by the lava stream,
was very fertile. I should add that the crater of the volcano seemed to
bear out his statement as to the direction of the flow, since on the
south it was blown away to a great depth, whereas the northern segment
rose in a high and perfect wall of rock.
The day was very misty—a circumstance which favoured our
approach—and the sky, which, as I have said, was black and pregnant
with coming rain, seemed almost to touch the crest of the mountain.
These conditions, until we were quite close, prevented us from seeing
that a stream of glowing lava, not very broad, was pouring down the
mountain-side. When they discovered this, the Walloos grew much
alarmed, and Issicore told me that such a thing had not been known “for
a hundred years,” and that he thought it portended something unusual,
as the mountain was supposed to be “asleep.”
“It is awake enough to smoke, anyway,” I answered, and continued my
examination.
Among the stones, and sometimes half-buried by them, I saw what
appeared to be the remains of those buildings of which I have spoken.
These, Issicore said, had once been part of the city of his
forefathers, adding that, as he had been told, in some of them the said
forefathers were still to be seen turned into stone, which, you will
remember, exactly bore out Zikali’s story.
Anything more desolate and depressing than the aspect of this place
seen on that grey day and beneath the brooding sky cannot be imagined.
Still I burned to examine it, for this tale of fossilized people
excited me, who have always loved the remains of antiquity and strange
sights.
Forgetting all about Heu-Heu and his priests for the moment, I told the
Walloos to paddle to the shore, and, after a moment of mute protest,
they obeyed, running into a little bay. Hans and I stepped easily on to
the rocks and, carrying our bags and rifles, started on our search.
First, however, we arranged with Issicore that he should await our
return and then row us back round the island so that we might have a
view of the priests’ settlement. With a sigh he promised to do so, and
at once paddled out to about a hundred yards from the shore, where the
canoe was anchored by means of a pierced stone tied to a cord.
Off went Hans and I towards the nearest group of ruins. As we
approached them, Hans said,
“Look out, Baas! There’s a dog between those rocks.”
I stared at the spot he indicated, and there, sure enough, saw a large
grey dog with a pointed muzzle, which seemed to be fast asleep. We drew
nearer, and as it did not stir, Hans threw a stone and hit it on the
back. Still it did not stir, so we went up and examined it.
“It is a stone dog,” I said. “The people who lived here must
have made statues,” for as yet I did not believe the stories I had
heard about petrified creatures, which, after all, must be very
legendary.
“If so, Baas, they put bones into their carvings. Look,” and he
touched one of the dog’s front paws which was broken off. There, in the
middle of it, appeared the bone fossilized. Then I understood.
The animal had been fleeing away to the shore when the poisonous gases
overcame it at the time of the eruption. After this, I suppose, some
rain of petrifying fluid had fallen on it and turned it into stone. It
was a marvellous thing, but I could not doubt the evidence of my own
eyes. All the tale was true, and I had made a great discovery.
We hurried on to the houses, which, of course, now were roofless, and
in some instances choked with lava, though the outer walls, being
strongly built of rock, still stood. On certain of these walls were the
faint remains of frescoes; one of people sitting at a feast, another of
a hunting scene, and so forth.
We passed on to a second group of buildings standing at some distance
against the flank of the mountain and more or less protected by an
overhanging ledge or shelf of stone. These appeared to have been a
palace or a temple, for they were large, with stone columns that had
supported the roofs. We went on through the great hall to the rooms
behind, and in the furthermost, which was under the ledge of rock and
probably had been used as a store chamber, we saw an extraordinary
sight.
There, huddled together, and in some instances clasping each other,
were a number of people, twenty or thirty of them—men, women, and
children—all turned to stone. Doubtless the petrifying fluid had flowed
into the chamber through cracks in the rock above and done its office
on them. They were naked, every one, which suggested that their
clothing had either been burnt off them or had rotted away before the
process was complete. The former hypothesis seemed to be borne out by
the fact that none of them had any hair left upon their heads. The
features were not easy to distinguish, but the general type of the
bodies was certainly very similar to that of the Walloos.
Speechless with amazement, we emerged from that death chamber and
wandered about the place. Here and there we found the bodies of others
who had perished in the great catastrophe and once came across an arm
projecting from a mass of lava, which seemed to show that many more
were buried underneath. Also we found a number of fossilized goats in a
kraal. What a place to dig in! I thought to myself. Given some spades,
picks, and blasting-powder, what might one not find in these ruins?
All the relics of a past civilization, perhaps—its inscriptions, its
jewellery, the statues of its gods; even, perhaps, its domestic
furniture buried beneath the lava and the dust, though probably this
had rotted. Here, certainly, was another Pompeii, and perhaps beneath
that another Herculaneum.
Whilst I mused thus over glories passed away and wondered when they had
passed, Hans dug me in the ribs and, in his horrible Boer Dutch,
ejaculated a single word, “_Kek!_” which, as perhaps you know,
means “Look!” at the same time nodding towards the lake.
I did look, and saw our canoe paddling for all it was worth, going
“hell for leather,” as my old father used to say, towards the
Walloo shore.
“Now why is it doing that?” I asked.
“I expect because something is behind it, Baas,” he replied with
resignation, then sat down on a rock, pulled out his pipe, filled it,
and lit a match.
As usual, Hans was right, for presently from round the curve of the
island there appeared two other canoes, very large canoes, rowing after
ours with great energy and determination, and, as I guessed, with
malignant intent.
“I think those priests have seen our boat and mean to catch it, if they
can,” remarked Hans, spitting reflectively, “though as Issicore has
got a long start, perhaps they won’t. And now, Baas, what are we to do?
We can’t live here with dead men, and stone goat is not good to
eat.”
I considered the situation, and my heart sank into my boots, for the
position seemed desperate. A moment before I had been filled with
enthusiasm over this ruined city and its fossilized remains. Now I
hated the very thought of them, and wished that they were at the bottom
of the lake. Thus do circumstances alter cases and our poor variable
human moods. Then an idea came to me, and I said boldly,
“Do! Why, there is only one thing to do. We must go to call on Heu-Heu,
or his priests.”
“Yes, Baas. But the Baas remembers the picture in the cave on the Berg.
If it is a true picture, Heu-Heu knows how to twist off men’s
heads!”
“I don’t believe there is a Heu-Heu,” I said stoutly.
“You will have noticed, Hans, that we have heard all sorts of stories
about Heu-Heu, but that no one seems to have seen him clearly enough to
give us an accurate description of what he is like or what he does—not
even Zikali. He showed us a picture of the beast on his fire, but after
all it was only what we had seen on the wall of the cave, and I think
that he got it out of our own minds. At any rate, it is just as well to
die quickly without a head, as slowly with an empty stomach, since I am
sure those Walloos will never come back to look for us.”
“Yes, Baas, I think so, too. Issicore used to have courage, but he
seems to have changed, as though something had happened to him since he
got back into his own country. And now, if the Baas is ready, I think
we had better be trekking, unless, indeed, he would like to look at a
few more stone men first. It is beginning to rain, Baas, and we have
been much longer here than the Baas thinks, since it is a slow business
crawling about these old houses. Therefore, if we are to get to the
other side of the island before nightfall, it is time to go.”
So off we went, keeping to the western side of the volcano, since there
it did not seem to project so far into the flat lands. A while later we
turned round and looked at the lake. There in the far distance our
canoe appeared a mere speck, with two other specks, those of the
pursuers, close upon its heels. As we watched, out of the mists on the
Walloo shore came yet other specks, which were doubtless Walloo boats
paddling to the rescue, for the priests’ canoes gave up the chase and
turned homewards.
“Issicore will have a very nice story to tell to the Lady Sabeela,”
said Hans; “but perhaps she will not kiss him after she has heard
it.”
“He was quite wise to go. What good could he have done by staying?”
I answered, as we trudged on, adding, “Still, you are right, Hans;
Issicore has changed.”
It was a hard walk over that rough ground, at least at first, for so
soon as we got round the shoulder of the volcano the character of the
country altered and we found ourselves in fertile, cultivated land that
appeared to be irrigated.
“These fields must lie very low, Baas,” said Hans, “since
otherwise how do they get the lake water on to them?”
“I don’t know,” I replied crossly, for I was thinking of the
sky water, which was beginning to descend in a steady drizzle upon
ourselves. But all the same, the remark stuck in my mind and was useful
afterwards. On we marched, till at length we entered a grove of palm
trees that was traversed by a road.
Presently we came to the end of the road and found ourselves in a
village of well-built stone houses, with one very large house in the
middle of it, of which the back was set almost against the foot of the
mountain. As there was nothing else to be done, we walked on into the
village, at first without being observed, for everybody was under cover
because of the rain. Soon, however, dogs began to bark, and a woman,
looking out of the doorway of one of the houses, caught sight of us and
screamed. A minute later men with shaven heads and wearing white,
priestly-looking robes, appeared and ran towards us flourishing big
spears.
“Hans,” I said, “keep your rifle ready, but don’t shoot
unless you are obliged. In this case, words may serve us better than
bullets.”
“Yes, Baas, though I don’t believe that either will serve us
much.”
Then he sat down on the trunk of a fallen tree that lay by the
roadside, and waited, and I followed his example, taking the
opportunity to light my pipe.