TO WHAT END!
"The Sign of the Spider!" Laurence Stanninghame lying there, his
faculties half dazed by the shock of his fall and the pain of his wound,
hearing the words--uttered as they were in pure Zulu--almost persuaded
himself that the terrible events of that day had been a dream. But no,
it was real enough. His half-unclosed eyes took in the sea of grim, dark
faces pressing forward to gaze upon him. "The Sign of the Spider?" What
did it--what could it mean, that it should be all-powerful to stay those
devouring spears, to avert from him the grisly death of blood, whose
bitterness even then was already past? Then, as for the first time, he
suffered his glance to follow the direction of theirs. He saw a strange
thing.
The metal box had come forth, either jerked from its resting-place
during his fall, or unconsciously plucked thence by his own hand in the
last moment of his extremity, and now, still secured by the steel chain,
it lay upon his breast. And oh! marvel of marvels! Gazing thus upon it,
focussed by his half-closed eyelids and confused senses--the straggling
monogram with its quaint turns and flourishes, lying brown upon the more
shining metal, seemed to take exactly the form and aspect of a great
sprawling tarantula. "The Sign of the Spider" had been their cry! And
these were "The People of the Spider!" What magic, what mystery was
this? Lilith's last gift, Lilith's image; even her very name! It had
indeed acted as a talisman, as a "charm" to stand between him and the
most deadly of peril, as her aspiration had worded it. Verily, again had
Lilith's love availed to stand between himself and a swift, sure, and
bloody death! A marvel, and a stupendous one.
All this flashed through his mind as the Ba-gcatya crowded up around
him, the hubbub of their excited voices sinking into an awestruck murmur
as they gazed upon the man who wore "The Sign of the Spider." No wonder
this man should have come forth alive from the ring of death, they
decided,--he alone,--wearing that sign. And he alone had come forth.
All sounds of conflict had now ceased, giving way to the exultant shouts
and bass laughter of the victorious savages looting the property of the
slavers. Not a man was left alive up there, Laurence knew only too well.
He alone was spared, as the bearer of that mysterious sign; was spared,
miraculously indeed--but to what end?
Now he became conscious of a movement among the crowd, which parted
quickly, respectfully. Through the opening thus effected there advanced
two men. Both were fine, tall warriors, elderly of aspect, for their
short, crisp beards were turning gray, but apparently in the very prime
of athletic strength and vigour. In outward adornment their appearance
differed little from that of the bulk of the Ba-gcatya. Their shaven
heads were surmounted by the _isicoco_, or ring, exactly after the Zulu
fashion, and on either side of this, but fastened so as not to
interfere with it, nodded a tuft of magnificent white ostrich plumes.
Laurence, who had now raised himself to a sitting posture, felt no doubt
but that in these he beheld the two principal war-chiefs of the
Ba-gcatya army.
"Who art thou, stranger, who wearest the Sign of the Spider?" began one
of these in pure Zulu, after gazing upon him for a moment in silence.
Laurence at first thought to affect ignorance of the language, of which,
indeed, he possessed considerable knowledge. He would the more readily
get at their plans and intentions that way. But then it occurred to him
he could hardly sustain his character as one to be favoured of the
People of the Spider if professing an ignorance of their tongue, and he
intended to work that fortunate incident for all it would carry. So he
replied courteously:
"You see me, father. I alone am alive of those who fought up yonder.
Even the spear which would slay me refused its work. It was turned
aside," showing the wound in his shoulder, of which he realized he must
make light, though, as a matter of fact, it was giving him considerable
pain.
A deep murmur from the vast and increasing audience convinced the
speaker that he had scored a point in making this statement. The chief
continued:
"Rest now, while we rest, O stranger, and eat, for the way is far which
lies before us."
"And whither does that way lie, O brave ones who command the valiant?"
asked Laurence.
"Where dwelleth the Strong Wind that burns from the North." And with
this darkly enigmatical rejoinder the speaker and his brother chief
turned away, as a sign that the conference need proceed no further at
present.
Some of those who had heard now beckoned Laurence forward, and, as he
moved among that terrible host, many and strange were the glances which
were cast at him. He, for his part, was not unmoved. This was an
experience clean outside any he had ever known. The might and stature of
these formidable warriors, lingering around in immense groups, many of
them bleeding from ghastly wounds, yet devouring the dried food they
carried, the while comrades were treating their hurts after a fashion
which would have caused the civilized being to shriek aloud with agony;
the ferocious volubility wherewith they discussed and fought the battle
over again; and away beyond their lines, the earth black with corpses of
the slain; while up yonder, though this he could not see, the rock
circle was literally piled with those who had been his friends or
followers for many a long day. All this impressed him to an extent which
he had hardly deemed possible, though of any outward evidence thereof he
gave no sign.
"Are all dead up yonder?" he asked some of the Ba-gcatya, as he joined
them in their frugal fare.
A laugh, derisive but not discourteous to himself, greeted the question.
"_Au!_ The bite of The Spider does not need repeating twice," was the
reply. "None who have once felt it live."
The Ba-gcatya, heavy as had been their losses, were in high good-humour
over their victory. After all, it was a victory, and a hard-fought one.
They only lived for such. Losses were nothing to them. The spoils of the
slavers' caravan--arms, ammunition, goods of all sorts, were distributed
for transport among the younger regiments of the _impi_, which, its
allotted period of rest over, at a mandate from its chiefs prepared for
departure. And now the solitary white man in its midst--captive or
guest, he himself was hardly certain which--had an opportunity of
admiring the stern and iron discipline of this splendid army of savages.
That of the Zulu troops under the rule of Cetywayo, or even under that
of Tshaka, might have equalled it, but could not possibly have surpassed
it. Each company fell into rank with machine-like precision and
celerity. The dead were left as they fell; those who were too grievously
wounded to move received death from the swift, sure spear-stroke of a
comrade; then, marching in five columns, the great army set forth on its
return, striking a course to the northward.
Laurence Stanninghame's feelings were passing strange as he found
himself thus carried captive, he knew not whither, by this mighty nation
which had hitherto been to him but a name, as to whose very existence he
had been until quite recently more than half sceptical. Hazon had not
exaggerated its strength or prowess; no, not one whit. Of that he had
had abundant testimony. And Hazon himself? That strange individual, with
his marked-out personality, his cold-blooded ruthlessness and dauntless
courage? Well, his career was done. He lay in yonder circle, buried
beneath the slain, fighting to the last with fierce and consistent
valour. And Holmes? Even Laurence's hardened nature felt soft as he
thought of the comrade with whom he had been so closely linked during
these years of lawless and perilous enterprise. Well, they were gone,
and he was spared, but--to what end?
Then the spirit of the true adventurer reasserted itself. What lay
before him? What were the chances opening out to him in the dim, unknown
land whither they were speeding? "You will return wealthy, or--you will
not return at all," had been Hazon's words; and now their utterer would
utter no more words of any kind--but he, Laurence, would he return at
all? Would he?
And now, as they gained the edge of the great plain, the whole _impi_
raised a mighty battle-song, improvised to celebrate their triumph. Its
fierce strophes rolled like thunder along the ranks to the tread of
marching feet, and the multitude of hide shields dappled the plain far
and near, and the wavy lines of spear-points flashed and sparkled in the
sunlight.
And already over the wizard ring of the rock circle, piled with its
slain, immense clouds of vultures were wheeling beneath the blue vault
or swooping down upon their abundant feast. And the sun, flaming down
upon the torrid earth, seemed to shed a pitiless, brassy glare upon this
awful hecatomb, whose annals should ever remain unrecorded, swallowed up
in the grim and gloomy mysteries of that region of cruelty and of blood.
For many days thus they journeyed--making rapid, but not forced marches.
The aspect of the country, too, varied,--open, wavy plains, where
giraffe and buffalo were plentiful, and were hunted in great numbers for
the supply of the _impi_--then gloomy forest tracts, which seemed to
depress the Ba-gcatya, who hurried through them with all possible speed.
Broad rivers, too, swarming with crocodiles and hippopotami,--and these
the warriors would dash through in a mass, making the most hideous
yelling and splashing. But even the ground seemed gradually to ascend,
and certain white peaks, for some time visible on the far sky line, were
drawing nearer, growing larger with every march.
It may seem strange how readily Laurence Stanninghame adapted himself to
this new turn in the tide of his affairs--and indeed now and again he
would faintly wonder at it himself. He had fought against these
formidable savages in the most determined and bloody hand-to-hand
conflict that had ever befallen his lot, or, in all probability, ever
would again. They had overwhelmed and massacred his comrades and whole
following; sparing himself alone, and that by a miracle. And now not
only was he subjected to no ill-treatment or indignity, but moved freely
among them, and was even suffered to retain his arms. Yet there was a
sort of stand-offishness about most of them, in which he thought to
descry a mingling of awe and repulsion.
Now and again, however, a thought would occur to him,--a thought
productive of a cold shiver. To what end was he thus spared? Was it to
be sacrificed in some hideous and gruesome rite? The thought was not a
pleasant one, and it would intrude more and more. The hot African glow,
the adventurous life, replete with every phase of weird and depressing
incident, had strangely affected this man's temperament. With all his
coolness in emergencies--his readiness of resource--in times of rest he
would grow moody and high-strung. A sort of surcharged, mesmeric
property seemed to hold him at such times, and he would wonder whether
the hideous experiences and iron self-repression which he had passed
through of late had not begun, unknown to himself, actually to affect
his brain.
Now during the heat of the midday halt, he would withdraw and sit alone
by the hour, contemplating the metal box, and at times its contents.
More and more, since his wonderful escape, was it assuming in his eyes
the properties of an amulet, or charm. It would reassure him, too, what
time unpleasant thoughts would weigh upon him as to the end to which he
had been reserved. Twice had Lilith's love stood between him and death.
Would it not again? In truth the metal box was a possession beyond
price.
All unconsciously his frequent and rapt contemplation of this object was
standing him in valuable stead. The Ba-gcatya, furtively beholding him
thus engaged,--for he was never beyond their watchful gaze,--were
strengthened in their belief that he was a magician of the Spider, and
feared him the more. He was thus, unconsciously, keeping up his
character as such.
Yet, vivid as recollection was, as conjured up by the metal box, in
other respects the old life seemed far away as a dream; misty, shadowy,
vanishing. All its old conventionalities, its abstract notions of right
and wrong, what were they? Dust. Even now, whither was he wending? Would
he ever again behold a white face? It might be never.
"Have no white people ever visited your country, Silawayo?" he said one
day while he and the two war-chiefs were talking together during the
march.
"One only," was the reply, given with a shade of hesitation.
"And what became of him?"
"_Au!_ He went to---- Well, he went----" answered the chief, with a
curious look.
The reply smote upon Laurence with a cold fear. What grim and gruesome
form of mysterious doom did it not point to? "One only," Silawayo had
said. He himself was the second. It seemed ominous. But it would never
do to manifest curiosity, let alone apprehension, on his own account, so
he forebore further query as to the mystery, whatever it might be. Yet
he thought it no harm to say:
"And what was this white man, Silawayo?"
"He was _Umfundisi_" (a preacher), answered the other chief, Ngumunye.
"The king loves not such."
Well, the king need have no objections to himself on that score, at any
rate, thought Laurence, with a dash of grim humour. But he only said:
"The king? Tell me about your king, _Izinduna_. How does he look? What
is his name?"
"_Hau!_ Is it possible, O stranger, that you have never heard the name
of the king?" said Ngumunye, turning upon Laurence a blankly astonished
face.
"Did not Silawayo but now say that only one white man had visited your
country--and even he had not returned?" said Laurence, in native
fashion answering one query with another.
"Ha!" cried both chiefs, whom an idea seemed to strike. Then Ngumunye
went on impressively:
"Look around, O bearer of the Sign of the Spider. For days we have seen
no man,--the remains of huts have we seen, but of people none. You too
were remarking upon it but yesterday."
"That is so," assented Laurence.
"The remains of huts, but of people none," repeated the induna, with a
wave of his hand. "Well, stranger, that is the name of the king, the
Great Great One."
"The name of the king?"
"I'Tyisandhlu!"
"I'Tyisandhlu? The Strong Wind that burns from the North?" repeated
Laurence, translating the name.
"_E-he!_" assented the chiefs emphatically. "Now say,--hath not a broad
belt around the land of the People of the Spider been burned flat?" with
a wave of the hand which took in the desolated region.
They had gained the great mountain range whose snowy summits had been
drawing nearer for days, and a noble range indeed it was apparently,
moreover, of immense altitude. Laurence Stanninghame, who was well
acquainted with the Alps, now gazed in wonder and admiration upon these
snow-capped Titans whose white heads seemed to support the blue vault of
heaven itself, to such dizzy heights did they soar. Walls of black
cliff, overhung with cornices even as with gigantic white eyebrows,
towered up from dazzling snow slope, and higher still riven crags, split
into all fantastic shapes, frowned forth as though to menace the world.
And all around, clinging about the feet of these stupendous heights,
soft, luxuriant forests, tuneful with the murmur of innumerable glacier
streams. A very Paradise of beauty and grandeur side by side, thought
Laurence--amid which the shields and spears, the marching column of the
savage host seemed strangely out of keeping.
"How are they called, those mountains, Silawayo?" he said.
"Beyond them lies the land of the People of the Spider," answered the
induna evasively. And the other understood that he must not look for
exuberant information on topographical subjects just then.
They entered the mountains by a deep, black defile which pierced the
range. For a day and night they wound through this, hardly pausing to
rest, for it had become piercingly cold. Moreover, as Silawayo
explained, even when the weather was at its highest stage of sultriness
elsewhere, in the mountains the changes were sudden and great. To be
snowed up in this pass was too serious a matter to risk.
"Was it the only gate by which the country of the Ba-gcatya was entered,
then?"
But Silawayo did not seem to hear this question. He descanted learnedly
on the suddenness of the mountain storms, and told tales of more than
one _impi_ which had set forth in all its warlike ardour, and had found
here a stiff and frozen bed whereon its people might rest for all time.
The while keenly alert to take in all the features of the route,
Laurence affected the greatest interest in the conversation of those
around him. But there was that about the dark ruggedness of this
stupendous pass that weighed heavily upon his mind--that depressed,
well-nigh appalled him. It was as though he were passing through some
black and gloomy gate which should shut him forever from the outside
world, as they wound their way now where the cliffs beetled overhead so
as to shut out the heavens, now along some dizzy ledge, with the dull
roar of the mountain stream wafted up on icy gusts from far below. He
suffered severely from the cold too, he who had breathed the moist,
torrid heat of equatorial forests for so long,--and his wound became
congealed and stiff. Yet he bore himself heroically, even as the
Ba-gcatya themselves, who, their scanty clothing notwithstanding, seemed
to feel the cold not one whit, chatting and laughing and singing while
they marched. Finally the ground descended once more, and at
length--while he was nodding in slumber at the dawn of day, during one
of their brief rests--Ngumunye touched him on the shoulder and beckoned
that he should accompany him. Laurence complied, and when they had
gained the brow of a gently rising ridge beyond, an exclamation of
wonder and admiration burst from his lips.
"Lo!" said the induna, pointing down with his knob-stick. "Lo! there
lies the land of the People of the Spider; there rests the throne of the
Strong Wind that burns from the North. Lo! his dwelling,--Imvungayo."