I GO TREASURE-HUNTING
For a mile or so I kept the bush, which was open and easy to ride
through, and then turned into the path. The moon was high, and the
world was all a dim dark green, with the track a golden ivory band
before me. I had looked at my watch before I started, and seen that it
was just after eight o’clock. I had a great horse under me, and less
than thirty miles to cover. Midnight should see me at the cave. With
the password I would gain admittance, and there would wait for Laputa
and Henriques. Then, if my luck held, I should see the inner workings
of the mystery which had puzzled me ever since the Kirkcaple shore. No
doubt I should be roughly treated, tied up prisoner, and carried with
the army when the march began. But till Inanda’s Kraal my life was
safe, and before that came the ford of the Letaba. Colin would carry my
message to Arcoll, and at the Drift the tables would be turned on
Laputa’s men.
Looking back in cold blood, it seems the craziest chain of accidents to
count on for preservation. A dozen possibilities might have shattered
any link of it. The password might be wrong, or I might never get the
length of those who knew it. The men in the cave might butcher me out
of hand, or Laputa might think my behaviour a sufficient warrant for
the breach of the solemnest vow. Colin might never get to
Blaauwildebeestefontein, Laputa might change his route of march, or
Arcoll’s men might fail to hold the Drift. Indeed, the other day at
Portincross I was so overcome by the recollection of the perils I had
dared and God’s goodness towards me that I built a new hall for the
parish kirk as a token of gratitude.
Fortunately for mankind the brain in a life of action turns more to the
matter in hand than to conjuring up the chances of the future.
Certainly it was in no discomfort of mind that I swung along the
moonlit path to the north. Truth to tell, I was almost happy. The first
honours in the game had fallen to me. I knew more about Laputa than any
man living save Henriques; I had my finger on the central pulse of the
rebellion. There was hid treasure ahead of me—a great necklace of
rubies, Henriques had said. Nay, there must be more, I argued. This
cave of the Rooirand was the headquarters of the rising, and there must
be stored their funds—diamonds, and the gold they had been bartered
for. I believe that every man has deep in his soul a passion for
treasure-hunting, which will often drive a coward into prodigies of
valour. I lusted for that treasure of jewels and gold. Once I had been
high-minded, and thought of my duty to my country, but in that night
ride I fear that what I thought of was my duty to enrich David
Crawfurd. One other purpose simmered in my head. I was devoured with
wrath against Henriques. Indeed, I think that was the strongest motive
for my escapade, for even before I heard Laputa tell of the vows and
the purification, I had it in my mind to go at all costs to the cave. I
am a peaceable man at most times, but I think I would rather have had
the Portugoose’s throat in my hands than the collar of Prester John.
But behind my thoughts was one master-feeling, that Providence had
given me my chance and I must make the most of it. Perhaps the
Calvinism of my father’s preaching had unconsciously taken grip of my
soul. At any rate I was a fatalist in creed, believing that what was
willed would happen, and that man was but a puppet in the hands of his
Maker. I looked on the last months as a clear course which had been
mapped out for me. Not for nothing had I been given a clue to the
strange events which were coming. It was foreordained that I should go
alone to Umvelos’, and in the promptings of my own fallible heart I
believed I saw the workings of Omnipotence. Such is our moral
arrogance, and yet without such a belief I think that mankind would
have ever been content to bide sluggishly at home.
I passed the spot where on my former journey I had met the horses, and
knew that I had covered more than half the road. My ear had been alert
for the sound of pursuit, but the bush was quiet as the grave. The man
who rode my pony would find him a slow traveller, and I pitied the poor
beast bucketed along by an angry rider. Gradually a hazy wall of purple
began to shimmer before me, apparently very far off. I knew the
ramparts of the Rooirand, and let my _schimmel_ feel my knees in his
ribs. Within an hour I should be at the cliff’s foot.
I had trusted for safety to the password, but as it turned out I owed
my life mainly to my horse. For, a mile or so from the cliffs, I came
to the fringes of a great army. The bush was teeming with men, and I
saw horses picketed in bunches, and a multitude of Cape-carts and light
wagons. It was like a colossal gathering for _naachtmaal_[1] at a Dutch
dorp, but every man was black. I saw through a corner of my eye that
they were armed with guns, though many carried in addition their spears
and shields. Their first impulse was to stop me. I saw guns fly to
shoulders, and a rush towards the path. The boldest game was the
safest, so I dug my heels into the _schimmel_ and shouted for a
passage. “Make way!” I cried in Kaffir. “I bear a message from the
Inkulu.[2] Clear out, you dogs!”
They recognized the horse, and fell back with a salute. Had I but known
it, the beast was famed from the Zambesi to the Cape. It was their
king’s own charger I rode, and who dared question such a warrant? I
heard the word pass through the bush, and all down the road I got the
salute. In that moment I fervently thanked my stars that I had got away
first, for there would have been no coming second for me.
At the cliff-foot I found a double line of warriors who had the
appearance of a royal guard, for all were tall men with leopard-skin
cloaks. Their rifle-barrels glinted in the moon-light, and the sight
sent a cold shiver down my back. Above them, among the scrub and along
the lower slopes of the kranzes, I could see further lines with the
same gleaming weapons. The Place of the Snake was in strong hands that
night.
I dismounted and called for a man to take my horse. Two of the guards
stepped forward in silence and took the bridle. This left the track to
the cave open, and with as stiff a back as I could command, but a sadly
fluttering heart, I marched through the ranks.
The path was lined with guards, all silent and rigid as graven images.
As I stumbled over the stones I felt that my appearance scarcely fitted
the dignity of a royal messenger. Among those splendid men-at-arms I
shambled along in old breeches and leggings, hatless, with a dirty
face, dishevelled hair, and a torn flannel shirt. My mind was no better
than my body, for now that I had arrived I found my courage gone. Had
it been possible I would have turned tail and fled, but the boats were
burned behind me, and I had no choice. I cursed my rash folly, and
wondered at my exhilaration of an hour ago. I was going into the black
mysterious darkness, peopled by ten thousand cruel foes. My knees
rubbed against each other, and I thought that no man had ever been in
more deadly danger.
At the entrance to the gorge the guards ceased and I went on alone.
Here there was no moonlight, and I had to feel my way by the sides. I
moved very slowly, wondering how soon I should find the end my folly
demanded. The heat of the ride had gone, and I remember feeling my
shirt hang clammily on my shoulders.
Suddenly a hand was laid on my breast, and a voice demanded, “The
word?”
“Immanuel,” I said hoarsely.
Then unseen hands took both my arms, and I was led farther into the
darkness. My hopes revived for a second. The password had proved true,
and at any rate I should enter the cave.
In the darkness I could see nothing, but I judged that we stopped
before the stone slab which, as I remembered, filled the extreme end of
the gorge. My guide did something with the right-hand wall, and I felt
myself being drawn into a kind of passage. It was so narrow that two
could not go abreast, and so low that the creepers above scraped my
hair. Something clicked behind me like the turnstile at the gate of a
show.
Then we began to ascend steps, still in utter darkness, and a great
booming fell on my ear. It was the falling river which had scared me on
my former visit, and I marvelled that I had not heard it sooner.
Presently we came out into a gleam of moonlight, and I saw that we were
inside the gorge and far above the slab. We followed a narrow shelf on
its left side (or “true right”, as mountaineers would call it) until we
could go no farther. Then we did a terrible thing. Across the gorge,
which here was at its narrowest, stretched a slab of stone. Far, far
below I caught the moonlight on a mass of hurrying waters. This was our
bridge, and though I have a good head for crags, I confess I grew dizzy
as we turned to cross it. Perhaps it was broader than it looked; at any
rate my guides seemed to have no fear, and strode across it as if it
was a highway, while I followed in a sweat of fright. Once on the other
side, I was handed over to a second pair of guides, who led me down a
high passage running into the heart of the mountain.
The boom of the river sank and rose as the passage twined. Soon I saw a
gleam of light ahead which was not the moon. It grew larger, until
suddenly the roof rose and I found myself in a gigantic chamber. So
high it was that I could not make out anything of the roof, though the
place was brightly lit with torches stuck round the wall, and a great
fire which burned at the farther end. But the wonder was on the left
side, where the floor ceased in a chasm. The left wall was one sheet of
water, where the river fell from the heights into the infinite depth,
below. The torches and the fire made the sheer stream glow and sparkle
like the battlements of the Heavenly City. I have never seen any sight
so beautiful or so strange, and for a second my breath stopped in
admiration.
There were two hundred men or more in the chamber, but so huge was the
place that they seemed only a little company. They sat on the ground in
a circle, with their eyes fixed on the fire and on a figure which stood
before it. The glow revealed the old man I had seen on that morning a
month before moving towards the cave. He stood as if in a trance,
straight as a tree, with his arms crossed on his breast. A robe of some
shining white stuff fell from his shoulders, and was clasped round his
middle by a broad circle of gold. His head was shaven, and on his
forehead was bound a disc of carved gold. I saw from his gaze that his
old eyes were blind.
“Who comes?” he asked as I entered.
“A messenger from the Inkulu,” I spoke up boldly. “He follows soon with
the white man, Henriques.”
Then I sat down in the back row of the circle to await events. I
noticed that my neighbour was the fellow ’Mwanga whom I had kicked out
of the store. Happily I was so dusty that he could scarcely recognize
me, but I kept my face turned away from him. What with the light and
the warmth, the drone of the water, the silence of the folk, and my
mental and physical stress, I grew drowsy and all but slept.
[1] The Communion Sabbath.
[2] A title applied only to the greatest chiefs.