We were in Mariannakookaland. We had been there a month travelling
on, ever on, over the parching wastes, under the scorching African sun
which all but burnt us in our _treks_. Our _Veldt_ slippers were worn
out, and our pace was consequently reduced to the merest _Kraal_. At
rare intervals during our adventurous march, we had seen Stars and
heard of Echoes, but now not a single _Kopje_ was left, and we were
trudging along mournfully with our blistered _tongas_ protruding from
our mouths.
Suddenly Sir HENRY spoke--"SMALLUN, my old friend," he said, "do you
see anything in the distance?"
I looked intently in the direction indicated, but could see nothing
but the horizon. "Look again," said Sir HENRY. I swept the distance
with my glance. It was a sandy, arid distance, and, naturally enough,
a small cloud of dust appeared. Then a strange thing happened. The
cloud grew and grew. It came rolling towards us with an unearthly
noise. Then it seemed to be cleft in two, as by lightning,
and from its centre came marching towards us a mighty army of
Amazonian warriors, in battle-array, chanting the war-song of the
Mariannakookas. I must confess that my first instinct was to fly, my
second to run, my third, and best, to remain rooted to the spot. When
the army came within ten yards of us, it stopped, as if by magic,
and a stout Amazon, of forbidding aspect, who seemed to be the
Commander-in-Chief, advanced to the front. On her head she wore an
immense native jelibag, tricked out with feathers; her breast was
encased in a huge silver _tureene_. Her waist was encircled with
a broad girdle, in which were stuck all manner of deadly arms,
_stuhpans, sorspans, spîhts_, and _deeshecloutz_. In her left hand she
carried a deadly-looking _kaster_, while in her right she brandished a
massive _rolinpin_, a frightful weapon, which produces internal wounds
of the most awful kind. Her regiments were similarly armed, save that,
in their case, the breast-covering was made of inferior metal, and
they wore no feathers in their head-dress. The Commander held up her
hand. Instantly the war-song ceased. Then the Commander addressed
us, and her voice sounded like the song of them that address the
_butchaboys_ in the morning. And this was the _torque_ she hurled at
us,--