In the quadrangle, or courtyard, known as Ulundi Square, in the Royal
Hotel at Durban, two men sat talking. One we already know, the other, a
wiry, bronzed, and dark-bearded man of medium height, was known to his
acquaintance as Joe Fleetwood, and among the natives as "U' Joe," and he
was an up-country trader.
"You did the right thing, Wyvern, when you decided to come up here," the
latter was saying, "and in a few months' time"--lowering his voice--"if
we pull off this jaunt all right, we need neither of us ever take our
jackets off again for the rest of our natural lives."
"Not, eh? Didn't know you could make such a rapid fortune in the native
trade."
The other smiled drily.
"Look here, Wyvern. You only landed last night--and a most infernal
bucketing you seem to have got on that poisonous bar in doing so. So
that we've had no opportunity of having a straight, square talk. We
won't have it here--too many doors and windows about for that I propose,
therefore, that we get on a tram and run down to the back beach--we'll
have it all to ourselves there. First of all, though, we'll have these
glasses refilled. I don't believe in starting dry. Boy!"
A turbaned Indian waiter glided up, and reappeared in a moment with two
long tumblers.
"That's good," exclaimed Fleetwood, having poured down more than half of
the sparkling contents of his. "Durban is one of the thirstiest places
I've ever struck."
Not much was said as they took their way through the bustle of the
streets, bright with the gaudy clothes worn by the Indian population,
whose thin, chattering voices formed as great a contrast to the deep,
sonorous tones of the manly natives of the land as did their respective
owners in aspect and physique.
"By Jove! it brings back old times, seeing these head-ringed chaps about
again," said Wyvern, turning to look at a particularly fine specimen of
them that had just stalked past. "I wonder if I'd like to go over all
our campaigning ground again."
"Our jaunt this time will take us rather off it. I say--that time we
ran the gauntlet through to Kambula, from that infernal mountain. It
was something to remember, eh?"
Wyvern looked grave.
"One might run as narrow a shave as that again, but it's a dead cert we
couldn't run a narrower one," he said.
"Not much. I say, though. You've seen some rather different times
since then. Let on, old chap--is that _her_ portrait you've got stuck
up in Number 3 Ulundi Square? Because, if so, you're in luck's way, by
jingo you are."
"You're quite right, Fleetwood, as to both ventures. Only a third
ingredient is unfortunately needed to render the luck complete, and that
is a sufficiency of means."
"That all? Well, then, buck up, old chap, because I'd lay a very
considerable bet you'll find that difficulty got over by the time you
next set foot in hot--and particularly thirsty--Durban."
Wyvern looked up keenly. Something in the other's tone struck him as
strange.
"What card have you got up your sleeve, Joe?" he said. "You let out
something about `a few months' a little while ago. Well now, I may not
know much about the native trade, but I have a devilish shrewd idea that
a man doesn't scare up a fortune at it in that time."
"You're right there--quite right--and that's the very thing we've come
out to chat about--and sniff the ozone at the same time. It'll keep
till we get there. Here's our tram."
These two were great friends. Fleetwood, indeed, was prone to declare
that he owed his life to the other's deftness and coolness on one
occasion when they had been campaigning together; a statement, however,
which Wyvern unhesitatingly and consistently pooh-poohed. Anyhow, there
was nothing that Fleetwood would not have done for him; and having lit
upon the marvellous discovery which was behind his sanguine predictions
of immediate wealth, he had written at once to Wyvern to come up and
share it.
A fresh breeze stirred the blue of the waves, as the milky surf came
tumbling up the pebbly beach with thunderous roar. Out in the roadstead
vessels were riding to their anchors, prominent among them the
blue-white hull and red funnel of the big mail steamer which had brought
Wyvern round the day before. On the right, as they faced seaward,
beyond the white boil of surf on the bar, rose the bush-clad Bluff,
capped by its lighthouse, and behind, and stretching away on the other
hand, the line of scrub-grown sandhills, beyond which rose the wooded
slopes of the Berea.
"Now we're all right," pronounced Fleetwood, leading the way along the
beach. "We've got the whole show to ourselves and we know it. Not a
soul can get within earshot of us and we not know it, which is important
if you've got anything important to talk about."
"Yes," assented Wyvern, lighting his pipe. "Now--drive ahead. Found a
gold mine, eh?"
"That's just about what it is; only it's not a gold mine in the ordinary
sense of the word. It's buried gold."
"The deuce it is. Where?"
"That's what I'm coming to. Now listen. There exists a certain Zulu of
my acquaintance, a head-ringed man named Hlabulana. I have known him a
long while, some time before the war, in fact, and he's a wonderfully
straight and reliable man. Well, a good many years ago a strange thing
came within his experience. Off the coast of Zululand, about where the
Umfolosi river runs out at Saint Lucia Bay, there arrived a ship--a
small ship, I gathered from his account, probably a brig or schooner.
Now this in itself was an event, because there was absolutely no trade
done with Zululand by sea in those days, any more than there is now.
But where this craft undertook to anchor was off one of the most rotten,
swampy and uninhabited parts of the whole coast. A boat put off from
her and came ashore, and in it were four men. They landed, and no
sooner had they done so than the vessel, which appears to have been
lying a good way out, was seen suddenly to disappear. She had, in fact,
gone to the bottom."
"One minute, Fleetwood," interrupted Wyvern. "When was this--have you
any sort of idea?"
"Yes, I have as it happens. It can't have been many months before the
big fight between Cetywayo and Umbulazi for the succession. Now that
came off at the end of 1856, which locates this earlier in the same
year. Good while back, isn't it? Close upon thirty years."
"Right. Go on."
"Well, then, they took some packages out of the boat; not very large
ones, but still, it seems, about as much as they could manage. They hid
the boat under bushes and started inland. All this, of course, was
seen, because although that part of the country is poorly populated,
still there were, and are, people there, and such an unusual occurrence
was not likely to go unspotted. But the Zulus didn't show themselves.
They kept out of sight, and shadowed the four."
"What sort of fellows were the said four?" asked Wyvern. "Nationality,
for instance. English?"
"I don't think so. From the account they were dark-skinned,
black-bearded chaps, and wore large rings in their ears. I should say--
though I've no personal experience of either--Italians or Spaniards--or,
maybe, Portuguese."
"Ah! very likely. The latter most probably."
"Well, they held along, inland, keeping the course of the Umfolosi river
not far on their left--that is, travelling north-west. They seemed to
have their own stores, for they avoided the kraals, and now and then
shot game; for they were well armed. When they came to where the Black
Umfolosi forks more northward they didn't hesitate but struck up it,
which showed that at least one among them had some previous knowledge of
the country, and this, in fact, was the case."
"How is it they weren't all captured and marched off to the king?"
"Yes. That's one of the very first questions that occurred to me.
Wyvern, and I put it at once. Mpande was king then. The answer was
that the country was in such a disturbed state just then, and the people
so unsettled, that the few living in those parts were extremely
unwilling to go to Nodwengu, for fear they should be obliged to take
sides in the row brewing between Cetywayo and his brother. You see, the
coast-dwelling Zulus are by no meant the flower of the nation, and these
didn't want to be drawn into any fighting at all. They preferred to sit
tight at home. They knew, too, that there was little chance of them
being hauled over the coals for it, because things were so excessively
sultry at and around the seat of government of the Zulu nation, that the
high authorities had no time to bother their heads about anything
further afield.
"Well, things went on so for a time, and their march progressed. The
people inhabiting the coast country took for granted these chaps had
been shipwrecked, and were making their way to the nearest settlements
of other whites, and it was not till they got in among the passes of the
Lebombo range that they were in any way interfered with, and then not
until they had reached the western side.
"This is where Hlabulana comes into the story. He was a young 'un
then--an _umfane_. Two of them surprised him while stealthily watching
the other two, and he says he has been no nearer death, even in the
thickest part of the late war, than he was on that occasion. One of
them could talk some Zulu, and they only spared him on condition he
should go with them and help carry the loads; and this he agreed to do,
partly out of scare and partly out of curiosity. Then the time came
when they quarrelled among themselves, the upshot of which was that two
of them knifed the other two in their sleep.
"Now came a deadlock. The two who were left were unable to carry all
the plunder, besides they were a good deal weakened and exhausted by
their long tramp. They had to hide most of their stuff, presumably
intending to return for it at some future time. They buried it
accordingly in a cave on the western side of the Lebombo, but Hlabulana
wasn't allowed to see the exact spot."
"Then how does he know that they buried it?" asked Wyvern. "They may
have just shoved it into some cleft."
"There was earth on their knives, moist earth such as you'd get in a
damp cool place where the sun never struck. But he can take us to the
spot; there are several holes and caves around, but I don't think we'll
find much difficulty in hitting off the right one."
"And then? What makes you think there'll be anything worth finding if
we do, for I suppose the two jokers never came back to dig it up again?"
"They didn't, because to cut a long yarn short, the Zulu-speaking chap
knifed his mate directly after--and he himself was killed by a sort of
outlaw tribe that hung out on the Swazi border. So there the stuff is,
waiting for us to dig out, and it'll mean a tidy fortune apiece."
"Yes, but what of the stuff being worth finding?" urged Wyvern, again.
He was beginning to feel less sanguine than at first.
"It is--for these reasons. First of all, the comparatively small
compass of the loads, points to proportionate value. Then that ruffian
murdered his remaining pal so as to get the benefit of the whole lot--
but, more important still, Hlabulana more than once caught sight of
shining stones, some white, some red and green, in fact, he thinks there
were other colours. He remembers it perfectly because once he saw them
sorting these into different bags I believe, too, one of the boxes
contained bar gold, for he says it was as heavy as a stone of the same
size. After the third chap had been knifed Hlabulana thought it about
time to make himself scarce and he accordingly did."
"You believe his yarn then, absolutely?"
"Absolutely."
"Well, but--" went on Wyvern, "why didn't he prospect for the stuff
himself, and get all the benefit of it?"
"The untrousered savage is a queer devil, Wyvern; at least as he is
represented in this country. The fact is Hlabulana is afraid to meddle
with this himself--Zulus are a superstitious crowd you know. As he puts
it--white people can do anything, no matter how `_tagati_.' Wherefore
we are to unearth the stuff and give him a share of the plunder
according to its value."
"Confiding of him, very. Do you find them often that way?"
"Oftener than you'd think. When a Zulu has made up his mind you're to
be trusted, he'll trust you almost to an unlimited extent."
"Well now, Fleetwood, where is this Golconda?"
"In one of the wildest and most remote tracts of the Zulu country, the
Lumisana forest. I've been into it once, but never explored it.
There's no trade there to speak of, or anything to take a white man into
it. This find, however, is to be made in a sort of amphitheatre, or
hollow, known to the Zulus as Ukohlo. Now, listen, Wyvern. We haven't
got to talk about this even between ourselves, unless we're out like
this. You never know who the deuce may be within earshot."
"That's so. I'm all safe. I may be a damn fool at money making, or
rather, money losing, but I do know how to keep my head shut. But look
here, Joe. Have you got any theory of your own with regard to this
yarn; for I take it those four beauties didn't come up out of the sea
and lug a few bags of valuable stones up to a remote corner of the Zulu
country and plant them there for the future emolument of you and me?"
"Rather. I have a theory. I believe the whole thing spells a big
robbery in some other part of the world, what of or who from is a
mystery and always will be, for you bet these jokers didn't leave any
clue with the stuff they planted. The fact that the one of them, who
for convenience sake we'll call the leading rip, could talk some Zulu
points to the fact that he at any rate had been there before, that the
Zululand coast was their deliberate objective, and they couldn't well
have struck a better one. Whether they stole the ship as well is
another question, or whether there were more on board her, and these
four managed to scuttle her so as to destroy all trace and then clear
out with the only boat, is a mystery too. But obviously they reckoned
on getting through into Transvaal territory and that way to Europe, thus
completely hiding their trail, which was an ingenious idea."
Wyvern puffed at his pipe for a minute or two. Then seriously:
"What about this, Joe? This stuff--if it is the proceeds of a robbery--
what right have we to benefit by it?"
Fleetwood started, stared, then threw back his head and roared.
"Good Lord, Wyvern, you ought to have been a parson. I wouldn't do a
shot on anyone unfairly, as you know. Man alive, but I was only giving
you one of my theories--I may have others. Here's one. You know from
time to time yarns crop up in the papers about buried treasure in the
West Indies and all sorts of those old piratical romps. Well, this may
be a case in point, and these oily-looking, cut-throat scoundrels may
have struck upon just one of these finds. To save awkward questions,
and the possibility of awkward claims as to `treasure trove,' and all
that, they may have hit upon the dodge of bringing it across the sea
right out of the ordinary course. Well, now, that theory is just as
good as the other. It may be hundreds of years since the swag had a
lawful owner or owners. Eh?"
"Yes, that's all right too."
"Very well then. We are just as much entitled to the use of it as
anyone else. We want money. I do, and judging from that portrait we
were talking about just now, why, you poor old chap, you want it a
darned sight more. Is that sound reasoning?"
"Perfectly." His last sight of Lalante came before Wyvern's mental
gaze; the bitterness and desolation of their parting. Oh, anything that
should bring her to him, should secure her to him, provided it was not
downright dishonest--and what would he not go through!
"Mind you," went on Fleetwood, "we haven't got the stuff yet, and it'll
be a job carrying plenty of risk with it before we do. The Zulu country
is a simmering volcano just now over the restoration of Cetywayo. The
Usutu faction--that is the King's faction--and the other side bossed by
John Dunn, Sibepu, Hamu and the rest, are glaring at each other all
ready to jump at each other's throats, and when they do it'll be all
hell let loose. Our war'll be a fleabite to it. We'll go in, of
course, ostensibly as traders, and then be guided by events."
Wyvern nodded. The prospect of adventure fired his blood. In it he
would at any rate partially lose that sense of desolation which was upon
him day and night.
"So you see, old chap," went on Fleetwood, "I didn't lug you up here to
make your fortune out of trading beads, and butcher knives, and yards of
Salampore cloth; and, I hope before this time next year to come and do
best man at your wedding. Eh?"
"That you shall if it comes off--which of course will depend on our
success. By the way, where is this Hlabulana now?"
"He's at a kraal on the Umvoti, near Stanger, keeping in touch with me.
Success? Of course we'll meet success. Now we've had our say we'll go
back and drink to it. After all Durban's an infernally thirsty place.
Success! I should think so."
Yet at that moment Bully Rawson, unscrupulous ruffian and general
cut-throat, was repeating over and over again Warren's emphatic, if
laconic, instructions, "Take care of him. Do you hear? _Take care of
him_," and was promising himself that he would.