JANA
No breakfast was brought to us that morning, probably for the reason
that there was none to bring. This did not matter, however, seeing that
plenty of food accumulated from supper and other meals stood in a
corner of the house practically untouched. So we ate what we could and
then paid our usual visit to the hut in which the camelmen had been
confined. I say had been, for now it was quite empty, the last poor
fellow having vanished away like his companions.
The sight of this vacuum filled me with a kind of fury.
“They have all been murdered!” I said to Marût.
“No,” he replied with gentle accuracy. “They have been sacrificed to
Jana. What we have seen on the market-place at night was the rite of
their sacrifice. Now it will be our turn, Lord Macumazana.”
“Well,” I exclaimed, “I hope these devils are satisfied with Jana’s
answer to their accursed offerings, and if they try their fiendish
pranks on us——”
“Doubtless there will be another answer. But, Lord, the question is,
will that help us?”
Dumb with impotent rage I returned to the house, where presently the
remains of the reed gate opened. Through it appeared Simba the King,
the diviner with the injured foot walking upon crutches, and others of
whom the most were more or less wounded, presumably by the hailstones.
Then it was that in my wrath I put off the pretence of not
understanding their language and went for them before they could utter
a single word.
“Where are our servants, you murderers?” I asked, shaking my fist at
them. “Have you sacrificed them to your devil-god? If so, behold the
fruits of sacrifice!” and I swept my arm towards the country beyond.
“Where are your crops?” I went on. “Tell me on what you will live this
winter?” (At these words they quailed. In their imagination already
they saw famine stalking towards them.) “Why do you keep us here? Is it
that you wait for a worse thing to befall you? Why do you visit us here
now?” and I paused, gasping with indignation.
“We came to look whether you had brought back to life that doctor whom
you killed with your magic, white man,” answered the king heavily.
I stepped to the corner of the court-yard and, drawing aside a mat that
I had thrown there, showed them what lay beneath.
“Look then,” I said, “and be sure that if you do not let us go, as
yonder thing is, so shall all of you be before another moon has been
born and died. Such is the life we shall give to evil men like you.”
Now they grew positively terrified.
“Lord,” said Simba, for the first time addressing me by a title of
respect, “your magic is too strong for us. Great misfortune has fallen
upon our land. Hundreds of people are dead, killed by the ice-stones
that you have called down. Our harvest is ruined, and there is but
little corn left in the storepits now when we looked to gather the new
grain. Messengers come in from the outlying land telling us that nearly
all the sheep and goats and very many of the cattle are slain. Soon we
shall starve.”
“As you deserve to starve,” I answered. “Now—will you let us go?”
Simba stared at me doubtfully, then began to whisper into the ear of
the lamed diviner. I could not catch what they said, so I watched their
faces. That of the diviner whose head I was glad to see had been cut by
a hailstone so that both ends of him were now injured, told me a good
deal. His mask had been ugly, but now that it was off the countenance
beneath was far uglier. Of a negroid type, pendulous-lipped, sensuous
and loose-eyed, he was indeed a hideous fellow, yet very cunning and
cruel-looking, as men of his class are apt to be. Humbled as he was for
the moment, I felt sure that he was still plotting evil against us,
somewhat against the will of his master. The issue showed that I was
right. At length Simba spoke, saying:
“We had intended, Lord, to keep you and the priest of the Child here as
hostages against mischief that might be worked on us by the followers
of the Child, who have always been our bitter enemies and done us much
undeserved wrong, although on our part we have faithfully kept the pact
concluded in the days of our grandfathers. It seems, however, that
fate, or your magic, is too strong for us, and therefore I have
determined to let you go. To-night at sundown we will set you on the
road which leads to the ford of the River Tava, which divides our
territory from that of the White Kendah, and you may depart where you
will, since our wish is that never again may we see your ill-omened
faces.”
At this intelligence my heart leapt in joy that was altogether
premature. But, preserving my indignant air, I exclaimed:
“To-night! Why to-night? Why not at once? It is hard for us to cross
unknown rivers in the dark.”
“The water is low, Lord, and the ford easy. Moreover, if you started
now you would reach it in the dark; whereas if you start at sundown,
you will reach it in the morning. Lastly, we cannot conduct you hence
until we have buried our dead.”
Then, without giving me time to answer, he turned and left the place,
followed by the others. Only at the gateway the diviner wheeled round
on his crutches and glared at us both, muttering something with his
thick lips; probably it was curses.
“At any rate they are going to set us free,” I said to Marût, not
without exultation, when they had all vanished.
“Yes, Lord,” he replied, “but _where_ are they going to set us free?
The demon Jana lives in the forests and the swamps by the banks of the
Tava River, and it is said that he ravages at night.”
I did not pursue the subject, but reflected to myself cheerfully that
this mystic rogue-elephant was a long way off and might be
circumvented, whereas that altar of sacrifice was extremely near and
very difficult to avoid.
Never did a thief with a rich booty in view, or a wooer having an
assignation with his lady, wait for sundown more eagerly than I did
that day. Hour after hour I sat upon the house-top, watching the Black
Kendah carrying off the dead killed by the hailstones and generally
trying to repair the damage done by the terrific tempest. Watching the
sun also as it climbed down the cloudless sky, and literally counting
the minutes till it should reach the horizon, although I knew well that
it would have been wiser after such a night to prepare for our journey
by lying down to sleep.
At length the great orb began to sink in majesty behind the tattered
western forest, and, punctual to the minute, Simba, with a mounted
escort of some twenty men and two led horses, appeared at our gate. As
our preparations, which consisted only of Marût stuffing such food as
was available into the breast of his robe, were already made, we walked
out of that accursed guest-house and, at a sign from the king, mounted
the horses. Riding across the empty market-place and past the spot
where the rough stone altar still stood with charred bones protruding
from the ashes of its extinguished fire—were they those of our friends
the camel-drivers? I wondered—we entered the north street of the town.
Here, standing at the doors of their houses, were many of the
inhabitants who had gathered to watch us pass. Never did I see hate
more savage than was written on those faces as they shook their fists
at us and muttered curses not loud but deep.
No wonder! for they were all ruined, poor folk, with nothing to look
forward to but starvation until long months hence the harvest came
again for those who would live to gather it. Also they were convinced
that we, the white magician and the prophet of their enemy the Child,
had brought this disaster on them. Had it not been for the escort I
believe they would have fallen on us and torn us to pieces. Considering
them I understood for the first time how disagreeable real unpopularity
_can be_. But when I saw the actual condition of the fruitful gardens
without in the waning daylight, I confess that I was moved to some
sympathy with their owners. It was appalling. Not a handful of grain
was there left to gather, for the corn had been not only “laid” but
literally cut to ribbons by the hail.
After running for some miles through the cultivated land the road
entered the forest. Here it was dark as pitch, so dark that I wondered
how our guides found their way. In that blackness dreadful
apprehensions seized me, for I became convinced that we had been
brought here to be murdered. Every minute I expected to feel a
knife-thrust in my back. I thought of digging my heels into the horse’s
sides and trying to gallop off anywhere, but abandoned the idea, first
because I could not desert Marût, of whom I had lost touch in the
gloom, and secondly because I was hemmed in by the escort. For the same
reason I did not try to slip from the horse and glide away into the
forest. There was nothing to be done save to go on and await the end.
It came at last some hours later. We were out of the forest now, and
there was the moon rising, past her full but still very bright. Her
light showed me that we were on a wild moorland, swampy, with scattered
trees growing here and there, across which what seemed to be a game
track ran down hill. That was all I could make out. Here the escort
halted, and Simba the King said in a sullen voice:
“Dismount and go your ways, evil spirits, for we travel no farther
across this place which is haunted. Follow the track and it will lead
you to a lake. Pass the lake and by morning you will come to the river
beyond which lies the country of your friends. May its waters swallow
you if you reach them. For learn, there is one who watches on this road
whom few care to meet.”
As he finished speaking men sprang at us and, pulling us from the
horses, thrust us out of their company. Then they turned and in another
minute were lost in the darkness, leaving us alone.
“What now, friend Marût?” I asked.
“Now, Lord, all we can do is to go forward, for if we stay here Simba
and his people will return and kill us at the daylight. One of them
said so to me.”
“Then, ‘come on, Macduff,’” I exclaimed, stepping out briskly, and
though he had never read Shakespeare, Marût understood and followed.
“What did Simba mean about ‘one on the road whom few care to meet’?” I
asked over my shoulder when we had done half a mile or so.
“I think he meant the elephant Jana,” replied Marût with a groan.
“Then I hope Jana isn’t at home. Cheer up, Marût. The chances are that
we shall never meet a single elephant in this big place.”
“Yet many elephants have been here, Lord,” and he pointed to the
ground. “It is said that they come to die by the waters of the lake and
this is one of the roads they follow on their death journey, a road
that no other living thing dare travel.”
“Oh!” I exclaimed. “Then after all that was a true dream I had in the
house in England.”
“Yes, Lord, because my brother Harût once lost his way out hunting when
he was young and saw what his mind showed you in the dream, and what we
shall see presently, if we live to come so far.”
I made no reply, both because what he said was either true or false,
which I should ascertain presently, and because I was engaged in
searching the ground with my eyes. He was right; many elephants had
travelled this path—one quite recently. I, a hunter of those brutes,
could not be deceived on this point. Once or twice also I thought that
I caught sight of the outline of some tall creature moving silently
through the scattered thorns a couple of hundred yards or so to our
right. It might have been an elephant or a giraffe, or perhaps nothing
but a shadow, so I said nothing. As I heard no noise I was inclined to
believe the latter explanation. In any case, what was the good of
speaking? Unarmed and solitary amidst unknown dangers, our position was
desperate, and as Marût’s nerve was already giving out, to emphasize
its horrors to him would be mere foolishness.
On we trudged for another two hours, during which time the only living
thing that I saw was a large owl which sailed round our heads as though
to look at us, and then flew away ahead.
This owl, Marût informed me, was one of “Jana’s spies” that kept him
advised of all that was passing in his territory. I muttered “Bosh” and
tramped on. Still I was glad that we saw no more of the owl, for in
certain circumstances such dark fears are catching.
We reached the top of a rise, and there beneath us lay the most
desolate scene that ever I have seen. At least it would have been the
most desolate if I did not chance to have looked on it before, in the
drawing-room of Ragnall Castle! There was no doubt about it. Below was
the black, melancholy lake, a large sheet of water surrounded by reeds.
Around, but at a considerable distance, appeared the tropical forest.
To the east of the lake stretched a stony plain. At the time I could
make out no more because of the uncertain light and the distance, for
we had still over a mile to go before we reached the edge of the lake.
The aspect of the place filled me with tremblings, both because of its
utter uncanniness and because of the inexplicable truth that I had seen
it before. Most people will have experienced this kind of moral shock
when on going to some new land they recognize a locality as being quite
familiar to them in all its details. Or it may be the rooms of a house
hitherto unvisited by them. Or it may be a conversation of which, when
it begins, they already foreknow the sequence and the end, because in
some dim state, when or how who can say, they have taken part in that
talk with those same speakers. If this be so even in cheerful
surroundings and among our friends or acquaintances, it is easy to
imagine how much greater was the shock to me, a traveller on such a
journey and in such a night.
I shrank from approaching the shores of this lake, remembering that as
yet all the vision was not unrolled. I looked about me. If we went to
the left we should either strike the water, or if we followed its edge,
still bearing to the left, must ultimately reach the forest, where
probably we should be lost. I looked to the right. The ground was
strewn with boulders, among which grew thorns and rank grass,
impracticable for men on foot at night. I looked behind me, meditating
retreat, and there, some hundreds of yards away behind low, scrubby
mimosas mixed with aloe-like plants, I saw something brown toss up and
disappear again that might very well have been the trunk of an
elephant. Then, animated by the courage of despair and a desire to know
the worst, I began to descend the elephant track towards the lake
almost at a run.
Ten minutes or so more brought us to the eastern head of the lake,
where the reeds whispered in the breath of the night wind like things
alive. As I expected, it proved to be a bare, open space where nothing
seemed to grow. Yes, and all about me were the decaying remains of
elephants, hundreds of them, some with their bones covered in moss,
that may have lain here for generations, and others more newly dead.
They were all old beasts as I could tell by the tusks, whether male or
female. Indeed about me within a radius of a quarter of a mile lay
enough ivory to make a man very rich for life, since although
discoloured, much of it seemed to have kept quite sound, like human
teeth in a mummy case. The sight gave me a new zest for life. If only I
could manage to survive and carry off that ivory! I would. In this way
or in that I swore that I would! Who could possibly die with so much
ivory to be had for the taking? Not that old hunter, Allan Quatermain.
Then I forgot about the ivory, for there in front of me, just where it
should be, just as I had seen it in the dream-picture, was the bull
elephant dying, a thin and ancient brute that had lived its long life
to the last hour. It searched about as though to find a convenient
resting-place, and when this was discovered, stood over it, swaying to
and fro for a full minute. Then it lifted its trunk and trumpeted
shrilly thrice, singing its swan-song, after which it sank slowly to
its knees, its trunk outstretched and the points of its worn tusks
resting on the ground. Evidently it was dead.
I let my eyes travel on, and behold! about fifty yards beyond the dead
bull was a mound of hard rock. I watched it with gasping expectation
and—yes, on the top of the mound something slowly materialized.
Although I knew what it must be well enough, for a while I could not
see quite clearly because there were certain little clouds about and
one of them had floated over the face of the moon. It passed, and
before me, perhaps a hundred and forty paces away, outlined clearly
against the sky, I perceived the devilish elephant of my vision.
Oh! what a brute was that! In bulk and height it appeared to be half as
big again as any of its tribe which I had known in all my life’s
experience. It was enormous, unearthly; a survivor perhaps of some
ancient species that lived before the Flood, or at least a very giant
of its kind. Its grey-black sides were scarred as though with fighting.
One of its huge tusks, much worn at the end, for evidently it was very
old, gleamed white in the moonlight. The other was broken off about
halfway down its length. When perfect it had been malformed, for it
curved downwards and not upwards, also rather out to the right.
There stood this mammoth, this leviathan, this _monstrum horrendum,
informe, ingens_, as I remember my old father used to call a certain
gigantic and misshapen bull that we had on the Station, flapping a pair
of ears that looked like the sides of a Kafir hut, and waving a trunk
as big as a weaver’s beam—whatever a weaver’s beam may be—an appalling
and a petrifying sight.
I squatted behind the skeleton of an elephant which happened to be
handy and well covered with moss and ferns and watched the beast,
fascinated, wishing that I had a large-bore rifle in my hand. What
became of Marût I do not exactly know, but I think that he lay down on
the ground.
During the minute or so that followed I reflected a good deal, as we do
in times of emergency, often after a useless sort of a fashion. For
instance, I wondered why the brute appeared thus upon yonder mound, and
the thought suggested itself to me that it was summoned thither from
some neighbouring lair by the trumpet call of the dying elephant. It
occurred to me even that it was a kind of king of the elephants, to
which they felt bound to report themselves, as it were, in the hour of
their decease. Certainly what followed gave some credence to my
fantastical notion which, if there were anything in it, might account
for this great graveyard at that particular spot.
After standing for a while in the attitude that I have described,
testing the air with its trunk, Jana, for I will call him so, lumbered
down the mound and advanced straight to where the elephant that I had
thought to be dead was kneeling. As a matter of fact it was not quite
dead, for when Jana arrived it lifted its trunk and curled it round
that of Jana as though in affectionate greeting, then let it fall to
the ground again. Thereon Jana did what I had seen it do in my dream or
vision at Ragnall, namely, attacked it, knocking it over on to its
side, where it lay motionless; quite dead this time.
Now I remembered that the vision was not accurate after all, since in
it I had seen Jana destroy a woman and a child, who on the present
occasion were wanting. Since then I have thought that this was because
Harût, clairvoyantly or telepathically, had conveyed to me, as indeed
Marût declared, a scene which he had witnessed similar to that which I
was witnessing, but not identical in its incidents. Thus it happened,
perhaps, that while the act of the woman and the child was omitted, in
our case there was another act of the play to follow of which I had
received no inkling in my Ragnall experience. Indeed, if I had received
it, I should not have been there that night, for no inducement on earth
would have brought me to Kendahland.
This was the act. Jana, having prodded his dead brother to his
satisfaction, whether from viciousness or to put it out of pain, I
cannot say, stood over the carcass in an attitude of grief or pious
meditation. At this time, I should mention, the wind, which had been
rustling the hail-stripped reeds at the lake border, had died away
almost, but not completely; that is to say, only a very faint gust blew
now and again, which, with a hunter’s instinct, I observed with
satisfaction drew _from_ the direction of Jana towards ourselves. This
I knew, because it struck on my forehead, which was wet with
perspiration, and cooled the skin.
Presently, however, by a cursed spite of fate, one of these gusts—a
very little one—came from some quarter behind us, for I felt it in my
back hair, that was as damp as the rest of me. Just then I was glancing
to my right, where it seemed to me that out of the corner of my eye I
had caught sight of something passing among the stones at a distance of
a hundred yards or so, possibly the shadow of a cloud or another
elephant. At the time I did not ascertain which it was, since a faint
rattle from Jana’s trunk reconcentrated all my faculties on him in a
painfully vivid fashion.
I looked to see that all the contemplation had departed from his
attitude, now as alert as that of a fox-terrier which imagines he has
seen a rat. His vast ears were cocked, his huge bulk trembled, his
enormous trunk sniffed the air.
“Great Heavens!” thought I to myself, “he has winded us!” Then I took
such consolation as I could from the fact that the next gust once more
struck upon my forehead, for I hoped he would conclude that he had made
a mistake.
Not a bit of it! Jana was far too old a bird—or beast—to make any
mistake. He grunted, got himself going like a luggage train, and with
great deliberation walked towards us, smelling at the ground, smelling
at the air, smelling to the right, to the left, and even towards heaven
above, as though he expected that thence might fall upon him vengeance
for his many sins. A dozen times as he came did I cover him with an
imaginary rifle, marking the exact spots where I might have hoped to
send a bullet to his vitals, in a kind of automatic fashion, for all my
real brain was contemplating my own approaching end.
I wondered how it would happen. Would he drive that great tusk through
me, would he throw me into the air, or would he kneel upon my poor
little body, and avenge the deaths of his kin that had fallen at my
hands? Marût was speaking in a rattling whisper:
“His priests have told Jana to kill us; we are about to die,” he said.
“Before I die I want to say that the lady, the wife of the lord——”
“Silence!” I hissed. “He will hear you,” for at that instant I took not
the slightest interest in any lady on the earth. Fiercely I glared at
Marût and noted even then how pitiful was his countenance. There was no
smile there now. All its jovial roundness had vanished. It had sunk in;
it was blue and ghastly with large, protruding eyes, like to that of a
man who had been three days dead.
I was right—Jana _had_ heard. Low as the whisper was, through that
intense silence it had penetrated to his almost preternatural senses.
Forward he came at a run for twenty paces or more with his trunk held
straight out in front of him. Then he halted again, perhaps the length
of a cricket pitch away, and smelt as before.
The sight was too much for Marût. He sprang up and ran for his life
towards the lake, purposing, I suppose, to take refuge in the water.
Oh! how he ran. After him went Jana like a railway engine—express this
time—trumpeting as he charged. Marût reached the lake, which was quite
close, about ten yards ahead, and plunging into it with a bound, began
to swim.
Now, I thought, he may get away if the crocodiles don’t have him, for
that devil will scarcely take to the water. But this was just where I
made a mistake, for with a mighty splash in went Jana too. Also he was
the better swimmer. Marût soon saw this and swung round to the shore,
by which manoeuvre he gained a little as he could turn quicker than
Jana.
Back they came, Jana just behind Marût, striking at him with his great
trunk. They landed, Marût flew a few yards ahead doubling in and out
among the rocks like a hare and, to my horror, making for where I lay,
whether by accident or in a mad hope of obtaining protection, I do not
know.
It may be asked why I had not taken the opportunity to run also in the
opposite direction. There are several answers. The first was that there
seemed to be nowhere to run; the second, that I felt sure, if I did
run, I should trip up over the skeletons of those elephants or the
stones; the third, that I did not think of it at once; the fourth, that
Jana had not yet seen me, and I had no craving to introduce myself to
him personally; and the fifth and greatest, that I was so paralysed
with fear that I did not feel as though I could lift myself from the
ground. Everything about me seemed to be dead, except my powers of
observation, which were painfully alive.
Of a sudden Marût gave up. Less than a stone’s throw from me he wheeled
round and, facing Jana, hurled at him some fearful and concentrated
curse, of which all that I could distinguish were the words: “The
Child!”
Oddly enough it seemed to have an effect upon the furious rogue, which
halted in its rush and, putting its four feet together, slid a few
paces nearer and stood still. It was just as though the beast had
understood the words and were considering them. If so, their effect was
to rouse him to perfect madness. He screamed terribly; he lashed his
sides with his trunk; his red and wicked eyes rolled; foam flew from
the cavern of his open mouth; he danced upon his great feet, a sort of
hideous Scottish reel. Then he charged!
I shut my eyes for a moment. When I opened them again it was to see
poor Marût higher in the air than ever he flew before. I thought that
he would never come down, but he did at last with an awesome thud. Jana
went to him and very gently, now that he was dead, picked him up in his
trunk. I prayed that he might carry him away to some hiding-place and
leave me in peace. But not so. With slow and stately strides, rocking
the deceased Marût up and down in his trunk, as a nurse might rock a
baby, he marched on to the very stone where I lay, behind which I
suppose he had seen or smelt me all the time.
For quite a long while, it seemed more than a century, he stood over
me, studying me as though I interested him very much, the water of the
lake trickling in a refreshing stream from his great ears on to my
back. Had it not been for that water I think I should have fainted, but
as it was I did the next best thing—pretended to be dead. Perhaps this
monster would scorn to touch a dead man. Watching out of the corner of
my eye, I saw him lift one vast paw that was the size of an arm-chair
and hold it over me.
Now good-bye to the world, thought I. Then the foot descended as a
steam-hammer does, but also as a steam-hammer sometimes does when used
to crack nuts, stopped as it touched my back, and presently came to
earth again alongside of me, perhaps because Jana thought the foothold
dangerous. At any rate, he took another and better way. Depositing the
remains of Marût with the most tender care beside me, as though the
nurse were putting the child to bed, he unwound his yards of trunk and
began to feel me all over with its tip, commencing at the back of my
neck. Oh! the sensation of that clammy, wriggling tip upon my spinal
column!
Down it went till it reached the seat of my trousers. There it pinched,
presumably to ascertain whether or no I were malingering, a most
agonizing pinch like to that of a pair of blacksmith’s tongs. So sharp
was it that, although I did not stir, who was aware that the slightest
movement meant death, it tore a piece out of the stout cloth of my
breeches, to say nothing of a portion of the skin beneath. This seemed
to astonish the beast, for it lifted the tip of its trunk and shifted
its head, as though to examine the fragment by the light of the moon.
Now indeed all was over, for when it saw blood upon that cloth——! I put
up one short, piteous prayer to Heaven to save me from this terrible
end, and lo, it was answered!
For just as Jana, the results of the inspection being unsatisfactory,
was cocking his ears and making ready to slay me, there rang out the
short, sharp report of a rifle fired within a few yards. Glancing up at
the instant, I saw blood spurt from the monster’s left eye, where
evidently the bullet had found a home.
He felt at his eye with his trunk; then, uttering a scream of pain,
wheeled round and rushed away.