THE CAVE OF THE ROOIRAND
I was roused by a sudden movement. The whole assembly stood up, and
each man clapped his right hand to his brow and then raised it high. A
low murmur of “Inkulu” rose above the din of the water. Laputa strode
down the hall, with Henriques limping behind him. They certainly did
not suspect my presence in the cave, nor did Laputa show any ruffling
of his calm. Only Henriques looked weary and cross. I guessed he had
had to ride my pony.
The old man whom I took to be the priest advanced towards Laputa with
his hands raised over his head. A pace before they met he halted, and
Laputa went on his knees before him. He placed his hands on his head,
and spoke some words which I could not understand. It reminded me, so
queer are the tricks of memory, of an old Sabbath-school book I used to
have which had a picture of Samuel ordaining Saul as king of Israel. I
think I had forgotten my own peril and was enthralled by the majesty of
the place—the wavering torches, the dropping wall of green water, above
all, the figures of Laputa and the Keeper of the Snake, who seemed to
have stepped out of an antique world.
Laputa stripped off his leopard skin till he stood stark, a noble form
of a man. Then the priest sprinkled some herbs on the fire, and a thin
smoke rose to the roof. The smell was that I had smelled on the
Kirkcaple shore, sweet, sharp, and strange enough to chill the marrow.
And round the fire went the priest in widening and contracting circles,
just as on that Sabbath evening in spring.
Once more we were sitting on the ground, all except Laputa and the
Keeper. Henriques was squatting in the front row, a tiny creature among
so many burly savages. Laputa stood with bent head in the centre.
Then a song began, a wild incantation in which all joined. The old
priest would speak some words, and the reply came in barbaric music.
The words meant nothing to me; they must have been in some tongue long
since dead. But the music told its own tale. It spoke of old kings and
great battles, of splendid palaces and strong battlements, of queens
white as ivory, of death and life, love and hate, joy and sorrow. It
spoke, too, of desperate things, mysteries of horror long shut to the
world. No Kaffir ever forged that ritual. It must have come straight
from Prester John or Sheba’s queen, or whoever ruled in Africa when
time was young.
I was horribly impressed. Devouring curiosity and a lurking nameless
fear filled my mind. My old dread had gone. I was not afraid now of
Kaffir guns, but of the black magic of which Laputa had the key.
The incantation died away, but still herbs were flung on the fire, till
the smoke rose in a great cloud, through which the priest loomed misty
and huge. Out of the smoke-wreaths his voice came high and strange. It
was as if some treble stop had been opened in a great organ, as against
the bass drone of the cataract.
He was asking Laputa questions, to which came answers in that rich
voice which on board the liner had preached the gospel of Christ. The
tongue I did not know, and I doubt if my neighbours were in better
case. It must have been some old sacred language—Phoenician, Sabaean, I
know not what—which had survived in the rite of the Snake.
Then came silence while the fire died down and the smoke eddied away in
wreaths towards the river. The priest’s lips moved as if in prayer: of
Laputa I saw only the back, and his head was bowed.
Suddenly a rapt cry broke from the Keeper. “God has spoken,” he cried.
“The path is clear. The Snake returns to the House of its Birth.”
An attendant led forward a black goat, which bleated feebly. With a
huge antique knife the old man slit its throat, catching the blood in a
stone ewer. Some was flung on the fire, which had burned small and low.
“Even so,” cried the priest, “will the king quench in blood the
hearth-fires of his foes.”
Then on Laputa’s forehead and bare breast he drew a bloody cross. “I
seal thee,” said the voice, “priest and king of God’s people.” The ewer
was carried round the assembly, and each dipped his finger in it and
marked his forehead. I got a dab to add to the other marks on my face.
“Priest and king of God’s people,” said the voice again, “I call thee
to the inheritance of John. Priest and king was he, king of kings, lord
of hosts, master of the earth. When he ascended on high he left to his
son the sacred Snake, the ark of his valour, to be God’s dower and
pledge to the people whom He has chosen.”
I could not make out what followed. It seemed to be a long roll of the
kings who had borne the Snake. None of them I knew, but at the end I
thought I caught the name of Tchaka the Terrible, and I remembered
Arcoll’s tale.
The Keeper held in his arms a box of curiously wrought ivory, about two
feet long and one broad. He was standing beyond the ashes, from which,
in spite of the blood, thin streams of smoke still ascended. He opened
it, and drew out something which swung from his hand like a cascade of
red fire.
“Behold the Snake,” cried the Keeper, and every man in the assembly,
excepting Laputa and including me, bowed his head to the ground and
cried “Ow.”
“Ye who have seen the Snake,” came the voice, “on you is the vow of
silence and peace. No blood shall ye shed of man or beast, no flesh
shall ye eat till the vow is taken from you. From the hour of midnight
till sunrise on the second day ye are bound to God. Whoever shall break
the vow, on him shall the curse fall. His blood shall dry in his veins,
and his flesh shrink on his bones. He shall be an outlaw and accursed,
and there shall follow him through life and death the Avengers of the
Snake. Choose ye, my people; upon you is the vow.”
By this time we were all flat on our faces, and a great cry of assent
went up. I lifted my head as much as I dared to see what would happen
next.
The priest raised the necklace till it shone above his head like a halo
of blood. I have never seen such a jewel, and I think there has never
been another such on earth. Later I was to have the handling of it, and
could examine it closely, though now I had only a glimpse. There were
fifty-five rubies in it, the largest as big as a pigeon’s egg, and the
least not smaller than my thumbnail. In shape they were oval, cut on
both sides en cabochon, and on each certain characters were engraved.
No doubt this detracted from their value as gems, yet the characters
might have been removed and the stones cut in facets, and these rubies
would still have been the noblest in the world. I was no jewel merchant
to guess their value, but I knew enough to see that here was wealth
beyond human computation. At each end of the string was a great pearl
and a golden clasp. The sight absorbed me to the exclusion of all fear.
I, David Crawfurd, nineteen years of age, an assistant-storekeeper in a
back-veld dorp, was privileged to see a sight to which no Portuguese
adventurer had ever attained. There, floating on the smoke-wreaths, was
the jewel which may once have burned in Sheba’s hair. As the priest
held the collar aloft, the assembly rocked with a strange passion.
Foreheads were rubbed in the dust, and then adoring eyes would be
raised, while a kind of sobbing shook the worshippers. In that moment I
learned something of the secret of Africa, of Prester John’s empire and
Tchaka’s victories.
“In the name of God,” came the voice, “I deliver to the heir of John
the Snake of John.”
Laputa took the necklet and twined it in two loops round his neck till
the clasp hung down over his breast. The position changed. The priest
knelt before him, and received his hands on his head. Then I knew that,
to the confusion of all talk about equality, God has ordained some men
to be kings and others to serve. Laputa stood naked as when he was
born. The rubies were dulled against the background of his skin, but
they still shone with a dusky fire. Above the blood-red collar his face
had the passive pride of a Roman emperor. Only his great eyes gloomed
and burned as he looked on his followers.
“Heir of John,” he said, “I stand before you as priest and king. My
kingship is for the morrow. Now I am the priest to make intercession
for my people.”
He prayed—prayed as I never heard man pray before—and to the God of
Israel! It was no heathen fetich he was invoking, but the God of whom
he had often preached in Christian kirks. I recognized texts from
Isaiah and the Psalms and the Gospels, and very especially from the two
last chapters of Revelation. He pled with God to forget the sins of his
people, to recall the bondage of Zion. It was amazing to hear these
bloodthirsty savages consecrated by their leader to the meek service of
Christ. An enthusiast may deceive himself, and I did not question his
sincerity. I knew his heart, black with all the lusts of paganism. I
knew that his purpose was to deluge the land with blood. But I knew
also that in his eyes his mission was divine, and that he felt behind
him all the armies of Heaven.
_“Thou hast been a strength to the poor,” said the voice, “a refuge
from the storm, a shadow from the heat, when the blast of the Terrible
Ones is as a storm against a wall._
_“Thou shalt bring down the noise of strangers, as the heat in a dry
place; the branch of the Terrible Ones shall be brought low._
_“And in this mountain shall the Lord of Hosts make unto all people a
feast of fat things, a feast of wines on the lees, of fat things full
of marrow._
_“And He will destroy in this mountain the face of the covering cast
over all people, and the vail that is brought over all nations._
_“And the rebuke of His people shall He take away from off all the
earth; for the Lord hath spoken it.”_
I listened spellbound as he prayed. I heard the phrases familiar to me
in my schooldays at Kirkcaple. He had some of the tones of my father’s
voice, and when I shut my eyes I could have believed myself a child
again. So much he had got from his apprenticeship to the ministry. I
wondered vaguely what the good folks who had listened to him in
churches and halls at home would think of him now. But there was in the
prayer more than the supplications of the quondam preacher. There was a
tone of arrogant pride, the pride of the man to whom the Almighty is
only another and greater Lord of Hosts. He prayed less as a suppliant
than as an ally. A strange emotion tingled in my blood, half awe, half
sympathy. As I have said, I understood that there are men born to
kingship.
He ceased with a benediction. Then he put on his leopard-skin cloak and
kilt, and received from the kneeling chief a spear and shield. Now he
was more king than priest, more barbarian than Christian. It was as a
king that he now spoke.
I had heard him on board the liner, and had thought his voice the most
wonderful I had ever met with. But now in that great resonant hall the
magic of it was doubled. He played upon the souls of his hearers as on
a musical instrument. At will he struck the chords of pride, fury,
hate, and mad joy. Now they would be hushed in breathless quiet, and
now the place would echo with savage assent. I remember noticing that
the face of my neighbour, ’Mwanga, was running with tears.
He spoke of the great days of Prester John, and a hundred names I had
never heard of. He pictured the heroic age of his nation, when every
man was a warrior and hunter, and rich kraals stood in the spots now
desecrated by the white man, and cattle wandered on a thousand hills.
Then he told tales of white infamy, lands snatched from their rightful
possessors, unjust laws which forced the Ethiopian to the bondage of a
despised caste, the finger of scorn everywhere, and the mocking word.
If it be the part of an orator to rouse the passion of his hearers,
Laputa was the greatest on earth. “What have ye gained from the white
man?” he cried. “A bastard civilization which has sapped your manhood;
a false religion which would rivet on you the chains of the slave. Ye,
the old masters of the land, are now the servants of the oppressor. And
yet the oppressors are few, and the fear of you is in their hearts.
They feast in their great cities, but they see the writing on the wall,
and their eyes are anxiously turning lest the enemy be at their gates.”
I cannot hope in my prosaic words to reproduce that amazing discourse.
Phrases which the hearers had heard at mission schools now suddenly
appeared, not as the white man’s learning, but as God’s message to His
own. Laputa fitted the key to the cipher, and the meaning was clear. He
concluded, I remember, with a picture of the overthrow of the alien,
and the golden age which would dawn for the oppressed. Another
Ethiopian empire would arise, so majestic that the white man everywhere
would dread its name, so righteous that all men under it would live in
ease and peace.
By rights, I suppose, my blood should have been boiling at this
treason. I am ashamed to confess that it did nothing of the sort. My
mind was mesmerized by this amazing man. I could not refrain from
shouting with the rest. Indeed I was a convert, if there can be
conversion when the emotions are dominant and there is no assent from
the brain. I had a mad desire to be of Laputa’s party. Or rather, I
longed for a leader who should master me and make my soul his own, as
this man mastered his followers. I have already said that I might have
made a good subaltern soldier, and the proof is that I longed for such
a general.
As the voice ceased there was a deep silence. The hearers were in a
sort of trance, their eyes fixed glassily on Laputa’s face. It was the
quiet of tense nerves and imagination at white-heat. I had to struggle
with a spell which gripped me equally with the wildest savage. I forced
myself to look round at the strained faces, the wall of the cascade,
the line of torches. It was the sight of Henriques that broke the
charm. Here was one who had no part in the emotion. I caught his eye
fixed on the rubies, and in it I read only a devouring greed. It
flashed through my mind that Laputa had a foe in his own camp, and the
Prester’s collar a votary whose passion was not that of worship.
The next thing I remember was a movement among the first ranks. The
chiefs were swearing fealty. Laputa took off the collar and called God
to witness that it should never again encircle his neck till he had led
his people to victory. Then one by one the great chiefs and indunas
advanced, and swore allegiance with their foreheads on the ivory box.
Such a collection of races has never been seen. There were tall Zulus
and Swazis with _ringkops_ and feather head-dresses. There were men
from the north with heavy brass collars and anklets; men with quills in
their ears, and earrings and nose-rings; shaven heads, and heads with
wonderfully twisted hair; bodies naked or all but naked, and bodies
adorned with skins and necklets. Some were light in colour, and some
were black as coal; some had squat negro features, and some thin,
high-boned Arab faces. But in all there was the air of mad enthusiasm.
For a day they were forsworn from blood, but their wild eyes and
twitching hands told their future purpose.
For an hour or two I had been living in a dream-world. Suddenly my
absorption was shattered, for I saw that my time to swear was coming. I
sat in the extreme back row at the end nearest the entrance, and
therefore I should naturally be the last to go forward. The crisis was
near when I should be discovered, for there was no question of my
shirking the oath.
Then for the first time since I entered the cave I realized the
frightful danger in which I stood. My mind had been strung so high by
the ritual that I had forgotten all else. Now came the rebound, and
with shaky nerves I had to face discovery and certain punishment. In
that moment I suffered the worst terror of my life. There was much to
come later, but by that time my senses were dulled. Now they had been
sharpened by what I had seen and heard, my nerves were already
quivering and my fancy on fire. I felt every limb shaking as ’Mwanga
went forward. The cave swam before my eyes, heads were multiplied
giddily, and I was only dimly conscious when he rose to return.
Nothing would have made me advance, had I not feared Laputa less than
my neighbours. They might rend me to pieces, but to him the oath was
inviolable. I staggered crazily to my feet, and shambled forwards. My
eye was fixed on the ivory box, and it seemed to dance before me and
retreat.
Suddenly I heard a voice—the voice of Henriques—cry, “By God, a spy!” I
felt my throat caught, but I was beyond resisting.
It was released, and I was pinned by the arms. I must have stood
vacantly, with a foolish smile, while unchained fury raged round me. I
seemed to hear Laputa’s voice saying, “It is the storekeeper.” His face
was all that I could see, and it was unperturbed. There was a mocking
ghost of a smile about his lips.
Myriad hands seemed to grip me and crush my breath, but above the
clamour I heard a fierce word of command. After that I fainted.