 CHAPTER VII. The Rush of the Slaves. Well, we did all that we could in the way of making ready. After we had strengthened the thorn fence of Arboma as much as possible, and lit several large fires outside of it to give us light, I allotted his place to each of the hunters, and saw that their rifles were in order, and that they had plenty of ammunition. Then I made a Stephen lie down to sleep, telling him that I would wake him to watch later on. This, however, I had no intention of doing, as I wanted him to rise fresh, and with a steady nerve on the occasion of his first fight. As soon as I saw that his eyes were shut I sat down on a box to think. To tell the truth I was not altogether happy in my mind. To begin with I did not know how the twenty bearers would behave under fire. They might be seized with panic and rush about, in which case I determined to let them out of the Boma to take their chance, for panic is a catching thing. A worse matter was our rather awkward position. There were a good many trees round the camp among which an attacking force could take cover, but what I feared are much more than this, or even than the reedy banks of the stream along which they could creep out of reach of our bullets, was a sloping stretch of land behind us covered with thick grass and scrub, and rising to a crest about two hundred yards away. Now if the Arabs got round to this crest they would fire straight into our Boma and make it untenable. Also if the wind were in their favour they might burn us out or attack under the clouds of smoke. As a matter of fact by the special mercy of Providence none of these things happened for a reason which I will explain presently. In the case of a knight or rather a dawn attack I have always found that hour before the sky begins to lighten, very trying indeed. As a rule everything that can be done is done so that one must sit idle. Also it is then that both the physical and the moral qualities are at their lowest ebb, as is the mercury and the thermometer. The knight is dying, the day is not yet born, all nature feels the influence of that hour. Then bad dreams come, then infants wake and call, then memories of those who are lost to us arise, then the hesitating soul often takes its plunge into the depths of the unknown. It is not wonderful. Therefore that on this occasion the wheels of time drove heavily for me. I knew that the morning was at hand by many signs. The sleeping bearers turned and muttered in their sleep. A distant lion ceased its roaring and departed to its own place. An alert-minded cock crewed somewhere and our donkeys rose and began to pull at their tether-ropes. As yet, however, it was quite dark. Hans crept up to me. I saw his wrinkled yellow face in the light of the watch-fire. I smelled the dawn, he said, and vanished again. Movovo appeared, his massive frame silhouetted against the blackness. Watcher by night, the night is done, he said. If they come at all the enemies should soon be here. Saluting, he too passed away into the dark, and presently I heard the sounds of spear-blades striking together and of rifles being cocked. I went to Stephen and woke him. He sat up yawning, muttered something about greenhouses, then remembering said, Are there Arabs coming? We are in for a fight at last. Jolly old fellow, isn't it? You are a jolly old fool, I answered inconsequently, and marched off in a rage. My mind was uneasy about this inexperienced young man. If anything should happen to him, what should I say to his father? Well, in that event it was probable that something would happen to me, too. Very possibly we should both be dead in an hour. Certainly I had no intention of allowing myself to be taken alive by those slaving devils, as Sans' remarks about fires and and heaps and the sun were too vividly impressed upon my memory. In another five minutes everybody was up, though it required kicks to rouse most of the bearers from their slumbers. They, poor men, were accustomed to the presence of death and did not suffer him to disturb their sleep. Still I noted that they muttered together and seemed alarmed. If they show signs of treachery you must kill them, I said to Movovo, who nodded in his grave silent fashion. Only we left the rescued slave woman and her child plunged in the stupor of exhaustion in a corner of the camp. What was the use of disturbing her? Sammy, who seemed far from comfortable, brought two panikans of coffee to Stephen and myself. This is a momentous occasion messes Quortemaine and Summers, he said, as he gave us the coffee, and I noted that his hand shook and his teeth chattered. The cold is extreme. He went on in his copybook English by way of explaining these physical symptoms, which he saw I had observed. Mr. Quortemaine, it is all very well for you to pour the ground and smell the battle from afar, as it is written in the Book of Job, but I was not brought up to the trade and take it otherwise. Indeed, I wish I was back at the Cape, yes, even within the whitewashed walls of the place of detention. So do I, I muttered, keeping my right foot on the ground, with difficulty. But Stephen laughed outright and asked, What will you do, Sammy, when the fighting begins? Mr. Summers, he answered, I have employed some wakeful hours in making a hole behind that pretrunk, through which I hope bullets will not pass. There, being a man of peace, I shall pray for our success. And if the Arabs get in, Sammy, then, sir, under heaven, I shall trust to the fleetness of my legs. I could stand it no longer. My right foot flew up and caught Sammy in the place at which I had aimed. He vanished, casting a reproachful look behind him. Just then a terrible clamour arose in the slaver's camp, which hitherto had been very silent. And just then also the first light of dawn glinted on the barrels of our guns. Look out! I cried as I gulped down the last of my coffee. There's something going on there. The clamour grew louder and louder till it seemed to fill the skies with a concentrated noise of curses and shrieking. Distinct from it, as it were, I heard shouts of alarm and rage, and then came the sounds of gunshots, yells of agony, and the thud of many running feet. By now the light was growing fast as it does when once it comes in these latitudes. Three more minutes, and through the grey mist of the dawn, we saw dozens of black figures struggling up the slope towards us. Some seemed to have logs of wood tied behind them, others crawled along on all fours, others dragged children by the hand, and all yelled at the top of their voices. The slaves are attacking us, said Stephen, lifting his rifle. Don't shoot, I cried. I think they have broken loose and are taking refuge with us. I was right. These unfortunates had used the two knives which our men smuggled to them to good purpose. Having cut their bonds during the night, they were running to seek the protection of the Englishman and their flag. On they surged a hideous mob. The slaves stick still fast to the necks of many of them, for they had not found time or opportunity to loose them all, while behind came the Arabs firing. The position was clearly very serious, for if they burst into our camp we should be overwhelmed by their rush and full victim to the bullets of their captors. Hans, I cried, take the men who were with you last night and try to lead those slaves round behind us. Quick! Quick now before we are stamped flat. Hans darted away and presently I saw him and the two other men running towards the approaching crowd, hands waving a shirt or some other white object to attract their attention. At the time the foremost of them had halted and were screaming, Mercy English, save us, English, having caught sight of the muzzles of our guns. This was a fortunate occurrence indeed, for otherwise Hans and his companions could never have stopped them. The next thing I saw was the white shirt bearing away to the left on a line which led past the fence of Arboma into the scrub and high grass behind the camp. After it struggled and scrambled the crowd of slaves like a flock of sheep after the bell-weather, to them Hans's shirt was a kind of white helmet of Navar. So that danger passed by. Some of the slaves had been struck by the Arab bullets or trodden down in the rush or collapsed from weakness, and at those of them who still lived the pursuers were firing. One woman who had fallen under the weight of the great slave-stick, which was fastened about her throat, was crawling forward on her hands and knees. An Arab fired at her and the bullet struck the ground under her stomach, but without hurting her, for she wiggled forward more quickly. I was sure that he would shoot again and watched. Presently for by now the light was good I saw him, a tall fellow and a white robe stepped from behind the shelter of a banana tree about a hundred and fifty yards away and take careful aim at the woman. But I too took aim, and while I am not bad at this kind of snap-shooting when I try, that Arab's gun never went off, only he went up two feet or more into the air and fell backwards, shot through the head which was the part of his person that I had covered. The hunters uttered a low woo of approval while Stephen in a sort of ecstasy exclaimed, Oh, what a heavenly shot! Not bad, but I shouldn't have fired it, I answered, for they haven't attacked us yet. It is a kind of declaration of war, and, I added, as Stephen's son Helmut leapt up from his head, there's the answer, down all of you and fire through the loopholes. Then the fight began. Except for its grand finale it wasn't really much of a fight when compared with one or two we had afterwards on this expedition. But, on the other hand, its character was extremely awkward for us. The Arabs made one rush at the beginning, shouting on Allah as they came. But though they were plucky villains, they did not repeat that experiment. Either by good luck or good management, Stephen knocked over two of them with his double-barreled rifle, and I also emptied my large bore breech loader, the first I ever owned among them, not without results, while the hunters made a hit or two. After this the Arabs took cover, getting behind trees, and, as I had feared, hiding in the reeds on the banks of the stream. Thence they harassed us a great deal, for amongst them were some very decent shots. Indeed, had we not taken the precaution of lining the thorn fence with a thick bank of earth and sods, we should have fared badly. As it was, one of the hunters was killed, the bullet passing through the loophole and striking him in the throat as he was about to fire. While the unfortunate bearers who were on rather higher ground suffered a good deal, two of them being dispatched outright and four wounded. After this I made the rest of them lie flat on the ground close against the fence, in such a fashion that we could fire over their bodies. Soon it became evident that there were more of these Arabs than we had thought, for quite fifty of them were firing from different places. Moreover, by slow degrees they were advancing with the evident object of outflanking us, and gaining the high ground behind. Some of them, of course, we stopped as they rushed from cover to cover, but this kind of shooting was as difficult as that at bolting rabbits across a woodland ride, and, to be honest, I must say that I alone was much good at the game, for here my quick eye and long practice told. Within an hour the position had grown very serious, indeed, so much so that we found it necessary to consider what should be done. I pointed out that with our small number a charge against the scattered riflemen who were gradually surrounding us would be worse than useless, while it was almost hopeless to expect to hold the Boma till nightfall. Once the Arabs got behind us they could rake us from the higher ground. Indeed, for the last half hour we had directed all our efforts to preventing them from passing this Boma, which fortunately the stream on the one side and a stretch of quite open land on the other made it very difficult for them to do without more loss than they cared to face. I fear there's only one thing for it, I said at length, during a pause in the attack while the Arabs were either taking counsel or waiting for more ammunition, to abandon the camp and everything and bolt at the hill, as those fellows must be tired and we are all good runners, we may save our lives in that way. How about the wounded, asked Stephen, and the slave woman and child? I don't know, I answered looking down. Of course I did know very well, that here in an acute form arose the ancient question, were we to perish for the sake of certain individuals in whom we had no great interest, and whom we could not save by remaining with them? If we stayed where we were our end seemed fairly certain, whereas if we ran for it we had a good chance of escape, but this involved the desertion of several injured bearers and a woman and child whom we had picked up starving, all of whom would certainly be massacred, save perhaps the woman and child. As these reflections flitted through my brain I remembered that a drunken Frenchman named Leblanc, whom I had known in my youth, and who had been a friend of Napoleon or so he said, told me that the great emperor when he was besieging Acre in the Holy Land was forced to retreat. Being unable to carry off his wounded men he left them in a monastery on Mount Carmel, each with a dose of poison by his side. Apparently they did not take the poison for according to Leblanc who said he was present there. Not as a wounded man, the Turks came and butchered them, so Napoleon chose to save his own life and that of his army at the expense of his wounded. But after all I reflected he was no shining example to Christian men, and I hadn't time to find any poison. In a few words I explained the situation to Movovo, leaving out the story of Napoleon, and asked his advice. We must run, he answered, although I do not like running life is more than stores, and he who lives may one day pay his debts. But the wounded Movovo, we cannot carry them. I will see to them, M'Kouma Zahan, it is the fortune of war, or if they prefer it we can leave them to be nursed by the Arabs, which of course was just Napoleon and his poison over again. I confess that I was about to assent, not wishing that I and Stephen, especially Stephen, should be potted in an obscure engagement with some miserable slave-traders when something happened. It will be remembered that shortly after dawn, Hans, using a shirt for a flag, had led the fugitive slaves past the camp up to the hill behind. There he and they had vanished, and from that moment to this we had seen nothing of him or them. Now, of a sudden, he reappeared, still waving the shirt. After him rushed a great mob of naked men, two hundred of them perhaps, brandishing slave-sticks, stones, and the boughs of trees. When they had almost reached the Boma whence we watched them amazed, they split into two bodies, half of them passing to our left, apparently under the command of the Mozito who had accompanied Hans to the slave camp, and the other half to the right, following the old hotent hot himself. I stared at Movovo for I was too thunderstruck to speak. Ah, said Movovo, that's what it's nick of yours, he referred to Hans, is great in his own way, for he has been able to put courage into the hearts of slaves. Do you not understand, my father, that they are about to attack those Arabs, yes, and to pull them down as wild dogs do a buffalo-cuff? It was true, this was the hotentot superb design. Moreover, it succeeded. Up on the hillside he had watched the progress of the fight and seen how it must end. Then, through the interpreter who was with them, he harangued those slaves, pointing out to them that we, their white friends, were about to be overwhelmed, and that they must either strike for themselves or return to the yoke. Among them were some who had been warriors in their own tribes, and through these he stirred the others. They seized the slave-sticks from which they had been freed, pieces of rock, anything that came to their hands, and at a given signal charged, leaving only the women and children behind them. Seeing them come, the scattered Arabs began to fire at them, killing some, and thereby revealing their own hiding places. At these the slaves rushed. They hurled themselves upon the Arabs. They tore them. They dashed out their brains in such fashion that within another five minutes quite two-thirds of them were dead, and the rest, of whom we took some toll with our rifles as they bolted from cover, were in full flight. It was a terrible vengeance. Never did I witness a more savage scene than that of these outraged men reeking their wrongs upon their tormentors. I remember that when most of the Arabs had been killed and a few were escaped, the slaves found one. I think it was the captain of the gang who had hidden himself in a little patch of dead reeds washed up by the stream. Somehow they managed to fire these. I expected harnes who had remained discreetly in the background after the fighting began, emerged when it was over and gave them a match. In due course out came the wretched Arab. Then they flung themselves on him as marching ants do upon a caterpillar, and despite his cries for mercy, tore him to fragments, literally to fragments. Being what they were, it was hard to blame them. If we had seen our parents shot, our infants pitilessly butchered, our homes destroyed and our women and children marched off in the slave-sticks to be sold into bondage, should we not have done the same? I think so, although we are not ignorant savages. Thus our lives were saved by those whom we had tried to save, and for once justice was done even in those dark parts of Africa, for in that time they were dark indeed. Had it not been for hands and the courage which he managed to inspire into the hearts of these crushed blacks, I have little doubt but that before nightfall we should have been dead, for I do not think that any attempt at retreat would have proved successful, and if it had, what would have happened to us in that wild country surrounded by enemies, and with only a few rounds of ammunition that we could have carried in our flight? Ah, bus! said the hot and hot a little while later, squinting at me with his bead-like eyes. After all you did well to listen to my prayer and bring me with you. Old Hans is a drunkard, yes, or at least he used to be, and Old Hans gambles, yes, and perhaps Old Hans will go to hell. But meanwhile Old Hans can think, as he thought one day before the attack at Marisfontaine, as he thought one day on the hill of slaughter by Dingan's crowd, and as he thought this morning up there among the bushes. Oh, he knew how it must end. He saw that those dogs of Arabs were cutting down a tree to make a bridge across that deep stream, and get round to the high ground at the back of you, once they would have shot you all in five minutes. And now, bus, my stomach feels very queer. There was no breakfast on the hillside, and the sun was very hot. I think that just one thought of Brandy. Oh, I know, I promise not to drink, but if you give it to me, the sin is yours, not mine. Well, I gave him the tart, a stiff one which he drank quite neat, although it was against my principles and locked up the bottle afterwards. Also, I shook the old fellow's hand and thanked him, which seemed to please him very much, for he muttered something to the effect that it was nothing, since if I had died he would have died too, and therefore he was thinking of himself, not of me. Also, two big tears trickled down his snub nose, that these may have been produced by the Brandy. Well, we were the victors and elated as may be imagined, for we knew that the few slavers who had escaped would not attack us again. Our first thought was for food, for it was now past midday, and we were starving. But dinner presupposed a cook which reminded us of Sammy, Stephen, who is in such a state of jubilation that he danced rather than walked. The helmet with a bullet hole through it stuck ludicrously upon the back of his head, started to look for him, and presently called to me in an alarmed voice. I went to the back of the camp, and staring into a hole like a small grave, that had been hollowed behind a solitary thorn-tree, at the bottom of which lay a huddled heap, I found him. It was Sammy to all appearance. We got hold of him, and up he came, limp, senseless, but still holding in his hand a large, thick Bible bound in boards. Moreover, in the exact center of this Bible was a bullet hole, or rather a bullet which had passed through the stout cover and buried itself in the paper behind. I remember that the point of it reached to the first book of Samuel. As for Sammy himself he seemed to be quite uninjured, and indeed after we had poured some water on him he was never fond of water. He revived quickly enough. Then we found out what had happened. The gentleman, he said, I was seated in my place of refuge, being as I have told you a man of peace and enjoying the consolation of religion. He was very pious in times of trouble. I'd linked the firings, lackened, and I ventured to peep out, thinking that perhaps the fool had fled, holding the book in front of my face in case of accidents. After that I remember no more. No, said Stephen, for the bullet hit the Bible, and the Bible hit your head, and not to you silly. Ah, said Sammy, how true is what I was taught that the book shall be a shield of defence to the righteous. Now I understand why I was moved to bring the thick old Bible that belonged to my mother in heaven, and not the little thin one given to me by the Sunday school teacher through which the ball of the enemy would have passed. Then he went off to cook the dinner. Certainly it was a wonderful escape, though whether this was a direct reward of his piety, as he thought, is another matter. As soon as we had eaten we set to work to consider our position of which the crux was what to do with the slaves. There they sat in groups outside the fence, many of them showing traces of the recent conflict, and stared at us stupidly. Then of a sudden, as though with one voice they began to clamour for food. How are we to feed several hundred people? asked Stephen. The slavers must have done it somehow, I answered. Let's go and search their camp. So we went, followed by our hungry clients, and in addition to many more things, to our delight found a great store of rice, meelies, and other grain, some of which was ground into meal. Of this we served out an ample supply together with salt, and soon the cooking pots were full of porridge. My word! How those poor creatures did eat! Nor, although it was necessary to be careful, could we find it in our hearts to stint them of the first full meal that had passed their lips, after weeks of starvation. When at length they were satisfied we addressed them, thanking them for their bravery, telling them that they were free, and asking them what they meant to do. Upon this point they seemed to have but one idea. They said that they would come with us, who were their protectors. Then followed a great indubber, or consultation, which really I have not time to set out. The end of it was that we agreed that so many of them as wished should accompany us till they reached country that they knew, when they would be at liberty to depart to their own homes. Meanwhile we divided up the blankets and other stores of the Arabs, such as trade goods and beads among them, and then left them to their own devices after placing a guard over the foodstuffs. For my part I hope devoutly that in the morning we should find them gone. After this we returned to Abulma just in time to assist at a sad ceremony, that of the burial of my hunter who had been shot through the head. His companions had dug a deep hole outside the fence and within a few yards of where he fell. In this they placed him in a sitting position with his face turned towards Zululand, setting by his side two gourds that belong to him, one filled with water and the other with grain. Also they gave him a blanket and his two asagais, tearing the blanket and breaking the handles of the spears to kill them, as they said. Then quietly enough they threw in the earth about him and filled the top of a hole with large stones to prevent the hyenas from digging him up. This done, one by one, they walked past the grave, each man stopping to bid him farewell by name. Movovo, who came last, made a little speech, telling the deceased to Namba Kachli, that is, go comfortably to the land of ghosts, as he added, no doubt he would do, who had died as a man should. He requested him moreover if he returned as a spirit to bring good and not ill fortune on us, since otherwise when he Movovo became a spirit in his turn he would have words to say to him on the matter. In conclusion he remarked that as his Movovo snake had foretold this event at Durban, a fact with which the deceased would now be acquainted, he, the said deceased, could never complain of not having received value for the shilling he had paid as a divining fee. Yes, exclaimed one of the hunters with a note of anxiety in his voice, but your snake mentioned six of us to you or doctor. It did, replied Movovo, drawing a pinch of snuff up in his uninjured nostril, and our brother there was the first of the six. Be not afraid, the other five will certainly join him in a due course, for my snake must speak the truth. Still, if anyone is in a hurry, and he glared round the little circle, let him stop and talk with me alone, perhaps I could arrange that his turn. Here he stopped, for they were all gone. Glad I didn't pay a shilling to have my fortune told by Movovo said Stephen when we were back at the Boma, but why did they bury his pots and spheres with him? To be used by the spirit on its journey, I answered, although they do not quite know it, these zoolos believe, like all the rest of the world, that man lives on elsewhere. I did not sleep very well that night, for now that the danger was over, I found that the long strain of it had told upon my nerves. Also there were many noises. Thus the bearers who were shot had been handed over to their companions, who disposed of them in a simple fashion, namely by throwing them into the bush where they attracted the notice of hyenas. Then the four wounded men who lay near to me groaned a good deal, or when they were not groaning, uttered loud prayers to their local gods. We had done the best we could for these unlucky fellows, indeed that kind-hearted little coward, Sammy, who at some time in his career served as a dresser in a hospital, attended their wounds, none of which were mortal, very well indeed, and from time to time rose to minister to them. But what disturbed me most was the fearful hubbub which came from the camp below. Many of the tropical African tribes are really semi-nocturnal in their habits, I suppose because there the night is cooler than the day, and on any great occasion this tendency asserts itself. Thus every one of these freed slaves seemed to be howling his loudest to an accompaniment of clashing iron pots or stones which lacking their native drums they beat with sticks. Moreover they had lit large fires about which they flitted in an ominous and unpleasant fashion, which reminded me of some medieval pictures of hell which I had seen in an old book. At last I could stand it no longer, and kicking hands who curled up like a dog slept at my feet, asked him what was going on. His answer caused me to regret the question. Blendy of those slaves, cannibal men-bass, think they eat the Arabs and like them very much? He said with a yawn. Then went to sleep again. I did not continue the conversation. When at length we made a start on the following morning the sun was high over us. Indeed there was a great deal to do. The guns and ammunition of the dead Arabs had to be collected. The ivory of which they carried a good store must be buried, for to take it with us was impossible and loads apportioned. To my sorrow we never saw this ivory again. A cue. Also it was necessary to make litters for the wounded and to stir up the slaves from their debauch into the nature of which I made no further inquiries was no easy task. On mustering them I found that a good number had vanished during the night, where too I do not know. Still a mob of well over two hundred people, a considerable portion of whom were women and children remained, whose one idea seemed to be to accompany us wherever we might wander. So with this miscellaneous following at length we started. To describe our adventures during the next month would be too long if not impossible. For to tell the truth after the lapse of so many years these have become somewhat entangled in my mind. Our great difficulty was to feed such a multitude, for the store of rice and grain upon which we were quite unable to keep a strict supervision they soon devoured. Fortunately the country through which we passed at this time of the year, at the end of the wet season, was full of gain, of which travelling as we did very slowly we were able to shoot a great deal. But this killing game, delightful as it may be to the sportsman, soon polled on us as a business, to say nothing of the expenditure of ammunition. It meant incessant work. Against this the Zulu hunters soon began to murmur, for as Stephen and I could rarely leave the camp the burden of it fell on them. Ultimately I hit upon this scheme. Picking out thirty or forty of the likeliest men among the slaves I served out to each of them ammunition and one of the Arab guns, in the use of which we drilled them as best we could. Then I told them that they must provide themselves and their companions with meat. Of course accidents happened. One man was accidentally shot and three others were killed by a cow elephant and a wounded buffalo. But in the end they learned to handle their rifles sufficiently well to supply the camp. Moreover, day by day little parties of the slaves disappeared. I presumed to seek their own homes, so that when at last we entered the borders of the Mezitu territory there were not more than fifty of them left, including seventeen of those whom we had taught to shoot. Then it was that our real adventures began. One evening after three days March through some difficult bush in which lions carried off a slavewoman, killed one of the donkeys, and mauled another so badly that it had to be shot, we found ourselves upon the edge of a great grassy plateau that, according to my aneroid, was one thousand six hundred forty feet above sea level. What place is this? I asked of the two Mezitu guides those same men whom we had borrowed from Hassan. The land of our people chief, they answered, which is bordered on one side by the bush and on the other by the great lake where live the pongo wizards. I looked about me at the bare uplands that already were beginning to turn brown, on which nothing was visible save vast herds of buck such as were common further south. A dreary prospect it was, for a slight rain was falling accompanied by mist and a cold wind. I do not see your people or their crawls, I said, I only see grass and wild game. Our people will come, they replied rather nervously. No doubt even now their spies watch us from among the tall grass or out of some hole. The deuce they do, I said, or something like it, and thought no more of the matter. When one is in conditions in which anything may happen, such as, so far as I am concerned, have prevailed through most of my life, one grows a little careless as to what will happen. For my part I have long been a fatalist to a certain extent. I mean I believe that the individual or rather the identity which animates him came out from the source of all life a long while ago, perhaps hundreds of thousands or millions of years ago, and when his career is finished perhaps hundreds of thousands or millions of years hence, or perhaps tomorrow, will return perfected, but still as an individual to dwell in or with that source of life. I believe also that his various existences here or elsewhere are foreknown and foreordained, though in a sense he may shape them by the action of his free will, and that nothing which he can do will lengthen or shorten one of them by a single hour. Therefore, so far as I am concerned, I have always acted upon the great injunction of our master and taken no thought for the moral. However, in this instance, as in many others of my experience, the moral took plenty of thought for itself. Indeed, before the dawn, harms who never seemed really to sleep any more than a dog does woke me up with the ominous information that he heard a sound which he thought was caused by the tramp of hundreds of marching men. Where, I asked, after listening without avail, to look was useless for the night was dark as pitch. He put his ear to the ground and said, There! I put my ear to the ground, but although my senses are fairly acute, I could hear nothing. Then I sent for the sentries, that these two could hear nothing. After this I gave the business up and went to sleep again. However, as it proved, harms was quite right. In such matters he generally was right, for his senses were as keen as those of any wild beast. At dawn I was once more awakened, this time by Movovo, who reported that we were being surrounded by a regiment or regiments. I rose and looked out through the mist. There, sure enough, in dim and solemn outline, though still far off, I perceived rank upon rank of men, armed men, for the light glimmered faintly upon their spears. What is to be done, Mokumazahan? asked Movovo. Have breakfast, I think, I answered. If we are going to be killed, it may as well be after breakfast as before. And calling the trembling Sammy, I instructed him to make coffee. Also, I awoke Stephen and explained the situation to him. Capital, he answered. No doubt these are the Mizitu, and we have found them much more easily than we expected. People generally take such a lot of hunting for in this confounded great country. That's not such a bad way of looking at things, I answered. But would you be good enough to go round the camp and make it clear that not on any account is anyone to fire without orders? Stay. Collect all the guns from those slaves, for heaven knows what they will do with them if they are frightened. Stephen nodded and sauntered off with three or four of the hunters. While he was gone in consultation with Movovo I made certain little arrangements of my own which need not be detailed. They were designed to enable us to sell our lives as dearly as possible should things come to the worst. One should always try to make an impression upon the enemy in Africa, for the sake of future travellers, if for no other reason. In due course Stephen and the hunters returned with the guns, or most of them, and reported that the slave people were in a great state of terror and showed a disposition to bolt. Let them bolt, I answered. They would be of no use to us in a row and might even complicate matters. Call in the Zulus who are watching at once. He nodded and a few minutes later I heard for the mist which hung about to the bush to the east of the camp was still too dense to allow of my singing anything, a clamour of voices, followed by the sound of scuttling feet. The slave people, including our bearers, had gone, every one of them. They even carried away the wounded. Just as the soldiers who surrounded us were completing their circle, they bolted between the two ends of it and vanished into the bush out of which we had marched on the previous evening. Often since then I have wondered what became of them, doubtless some perished, and the rest worked their way back to their homes or found new ones among other tribes. The experiences of those who escaped must be interesting to them if they still live. I can one imagine the legends in which these will be embodied to a three generations hence. Deducting the slave people and the bearers whom we had wrung out of her sand, we were now a party of seventeen, namely eleven Zulu hunters including Movovo, two white men, Hans and Sammy, and the two Mozitos who had elected to remain with us, while round us was a great circle of savages which closed in slowly. As the light grew, it was long and coming on that dull morning and the mist lifted. I examined these people without seeming to take any particular notice of them. They were tall, much taller than the average Zulu, and slighter in their build, also lighter in colour. Like the Zulus, they carried large hide shields and one very broad bladed spear. Throwing Asagai seemed to be wanting, but in place of them I saw that they were armed with short bows, which together with a quiver of arrows were slung upon their backs. The offices wore a short skin cloak or caross, and the men also had cloaks which I found out afterwards were made from the inner bark of trees. They advanced in the most perfect silence and very slowly. Nobody said anything, and if orders were given this must have been done by signs. I could not see that any of them had firearms. Now, I said to Stephen, perhaps if we shot and killed some of those fellows they might be frightened and run away, or they might not, or if they did, they might return. Whatever happened, he remarked Zagely, we should scarcely be welcome in their country afterwards, so I think we'd better do nothing unless we are obliged. I nodded, for it was obvious that we could not fight hundreds of men, and told Sammy, who was perfectly livid with fear, to bring the breakfast. No wonder he was afraid, poor fellow, for we were in great danger. These Masito had a bad name, and if they chose to attack us we should all be dead in a few minutes. The coffee and some cold bucks flesh were put upon our little camp table in front of the tent which we had pitched because of the rain and we began to eat. The Zulu hunters also ate from a bowl of mealy porridge which they had cooked on the previous night, each of them with his loaded rifle upon his knees. Our proceedings appeared to puzzle the Masito very much indeed. They drew quite near to us, two within about forty yards, and halted there in a dead circle, staring at us with their great round eyes. It was like a scene in a dream, I shall never forget it. Everything about us appeared to astonish them, our indifference, the colour of Stephen and myself. As a matter of fact, at that date Brother John was the only white man they had ever seen, our tent, and our two remaining donkeys. Indeed, when one of these beasts broke into a bray, they showed signs of fright, looking at each other and even retreating a few paces. At length the position got upon my nerves, especially as I saw that some of them were beginning to fiddle with their bows, and that their general, a tall one-eyed old fellow, was making up his mind to do something. I called to one of the two misitos, whom I forgot to say we had named Tom and Jerry, and gave him a panicon of coffee. Take that to the captain there with my good wishes, Jerry, and ask him if he will drink with us, I said. Jerry, who was a plucky fellow, obeyed. Advancing with esteeming coffee, he held it up under the captain's nose. Evidently he knew the man's name, for I heard him say, O Babimba! The white lords, Merkuma Zahan and Wazila, ask if you will share their holy drink with them. I could perfectly understand the words, for these people spoke a dialect so akin to Zulu, that by now it had no difficulty for me. Their holy drink, exclaimed the old fellow, starting back, Maan, it is hot red water! Would these white wizards poison me with Mwavi? Here I should explain the Mwavi, or Mkasa, as it is sometimes called, is the liquor distilled from the inner bark of a sort of mimosa tree, or sometimes from a root of the Strictness tribe, which is administered by the witch-doctors to persons accused of crime. If it makes them sick, they are declared innocent. If they are thrown into convulsions or stupor, they are clearly guilty and die, either from the effect of the poison, or afterwards, by other means. This is no Mwavi, or Babimba, said Jerry. It is the divine liquor that makes the white lords shoot straight with their wonderful guns, which kill at a thousand bases. See, I will swallow some of it! And he did, though it must have burnt his tongue. Thus encouraged old Babimba, sniffed at the coffee, and found it fragrant. Then he called a man who, from his peculiar dress I took to be a doctor, made him drink some, and watched the results, which were that the doctor tried to finish the Panneken. Snatching it away indignantly, Babimba drank himself, and as I had half filled the cup with sugar, found the mixture good. It is indeed a holy drink, he said, smacking his lips. Have you any more of it? The white lords have more, said Jerry. They invite you to eat with them. Babimba stuck his finger into the tin, and covering it with a sediment of sugar sucked and reflected. It's all right, I whisper to Steve. I don't think he'll kill us after drinking our coffee, and what's more, I believe he is coming to breakfast. This may be a snare, said Babimba, who now began to lick the sugar out of the Panneken. No, answered Jerry, with creditable resource. Though they could easily kill you all, the white lords do not hurt those who have partaken of the holy drink. That is unless anyone tries to harm them. Can't you bring more of the holy drink here? He asked, giving a final polish to the Panneken with his tongue. No, said Jerry. If you want it, you must go there. Fear nothing. Would I, one of your own people, betray you? True, exclaimed Babimba. By your talk and your face, you are a mezito. How came you? Well, we will speak of that afterwards. I am very thirsty, I will come. Soldiers sit down and watch, and if any harm happens to me, avenge it and report it to the king. Now, while all this was going on, I had made Hans and Sammy open one of the boxes and extract therefrom a good-sized mirror in a wooden frame, with the support at the back so that it could be stood anywhere. Fortunately, it was unbroken. Indeed, our packing had been so careful that none of the looking glasses or other fragile things were injured. To this mirror, I gave a hasty polish, then set it upright upon the table. Old Babimba came along rather suspiciously, his one eye rolling over us and everything that belonged to us. When he was quite close, it fell upon the mirror. He stopped. He stared. He retreated, then drawn by his overmastering curiosity came on again and again stood still. What is the matter? called his second in command from the ranks. The matter is, he answered, that here is great magic. Here I see myself walking towards myself. There can be no mistake for one eye has gone in my other self. Advance, O Babimba! cried the doctor who had tried to drink all the coffee and see what happens. Keep your spear ready and if your witch self attempts to harm you, kill it. Thus encouraged, Babimba lifted his spear and dropped it again in a great hurry. That one do do fool of a doctor, he shouted back. My other self lifts a spear also and what is more all of you who should be behind are in front of me. The holy drink has made me drunk. I am bewitched. Save me. Now I saw that the joke had gone too far for the soldiers were beginning to string their bows in confusion. Luckily at this moment the sun at length came out almost opposite to us. O Babimba! I said in a solemn voice. It is true that this magic shield which we have brought as a gift to you gives you another self. Henceforth your labours will be halved and your pleasures doubled. For when you look into this shield you will not be one but two. Also it has other properties, see? And lifting the mirror I used it as a heliograph flashing the reflected sunlight into the eyes of the long half circle of men in front of us. My word didn't they run? Wonderful! exclaimed old Babimba. And can I learn to do that also, white lord? Certainly I answered come and try. Now hold it so while I say the spell and I muttered some hocus pocus then directed it towards certain of the Mozita who were gathering again. There! Look! Look! You have hit them in the eye. You are a master of magic. They run! They run! And run they did indeed. Is there anyone yonder whom you dislike? Yes, plenty! answered Babimba with emphasis, especially that witch doctor who drank nearly all the holy drink. Very well. By and by I will show you how you can burn a hole in him with this magic. No, not now, not now. For a while this mocker of the sun is dead. Look! and dipping the glass beneath the table I produced it back first. You cannot see anything, can you? Nothing except wood, replied Babimba, staring at the deal slip with which it was lined. Then I threw a dishcloth over it and, to change the subject, offered him another panic and of the holy drink and a stool to sit on. The old fellow perched himself very gingerly upon the stool which was of the folding variety, stuck the iron-tipped end of his great spear in the ground between his knees and took hold of the panicon, or rather he took hold of a panicon and not the right one. So ridiculous was his appearance that the light-minded Stephen, who, forgetting the perils of the situation, had for the last minute or two been struggling with inward laughter, clapping down his coffee on the table and retired into the tent, while I heard him gurgling in an unseemly merriment. It was this coffee that in the confusion of the moment Sammy gave to old Babimba. Presently Stephen reappeared and, to cover his confusion, seized the panicon meant for Babimba and drank it, or most of it. Then Sammy, seeing his mistake, said, Mr. Summoners, I regret that there is an error. You are drinking from the cup which that linking savage has just licked clean. The effect was dreadful and instantaneous, for then and there Stephen was violently sick. Why does the White Lord do that? Asked Babimba. Now I see that you are truly deceiving me and that what you are giving me to swallow is nothing but hot muavi, which in the innocent causes vomiting, but that in those who mean evil death. Stop that foolery you idiot. I muttered to Stephen, kicking him on the shins, or you'll get our throats cut. Then, collecting myself with an effort, I said, Oh, not at all, General, this White Lord is the priest of the Holy Drink, and what you see is a religious rite. Is it so? said Babimba. Then I hope that the rite is not catching. Never, I replied, proffering him a biscuit. And now, General Babimba, tell me, why do you come against us with about five hundred armed men to kill you White Lords? Oh, how hot is this Holy Drink yet pleasant? You said that it was not catching, did you not? For I feel, eat the cake, I answered. And why do you wish to kill us? Be so good as to tell me the truth now, or I shall read it in the magic shield, which portrays the inside as well as the out. And lifting the cloth, I stared at the glass. If you can read my thoughts, White Lord, why trouble me to tell them? Asked Babimba sensibly enough, his mouth full of biscuit. Still, as that bright thing may lie, I will set them out. Bausi, king of our people, has sent me to kill you, because news has reached him that you are great slave-dealers who come hither with guns to capture the mazitos and take them away to the Black Water to be sold and sent across it in big canoes that move of themselves. Of this he has been warned by messages from the Arab men. Moreover, we know that it is true, for last night you had with you many slaves, who seeing our spears ran away not an hour ago. Now I stared hard at the looking glass and answered coolly. This magic shield tells a somewhat different story. It says that your king, Bausi, for whom, by the way, we have many things as presents, told you to lead us to him with honour that we might talk over matters with him. The shot was a good one. Babimba grew confused. It is true, he stammered, that I mean the king left it to my judgment. I will consult the witch doctor. If he left it to your judgment, the matter is settled, I said, since certainly being so great a noble, you would never try to murder those of whose holy drink you have just partaken. Indeed, if you did so, I added in a cold voice, you would not live long yourself. One secret word and that drink would turn to umwavi of the worst sort inside of you. Oh yes, white lord, it is settled, exclaimed Babimba, it is settled. Do not trouble the secret word. I will lead you to the king and you shall talk with him. By my head and my father's spirit, you are safe from me. Still with your leave, I will call the great Dr. Imboswe and ratify the agreement in his presence and also show him the magic shield. So Imboswe was sent for, Jerry taking the message. Presently he arrived. He was a villainous looking person of uncertain age. Hump back like the picture of punch, wizened and a squint eyed. His costume was of the ordinary witch doctor type being set off with snakeskins, fishbladders, baboons teeth and little bags of medicine. To add to his charms, a broad strip of pigment, red ochre probably, ran down his forehead and the nose beneath, across the lips and chin, ending in a red mark the size of a penny where the throat joins the chest. His woolly hair also, in which was twisted a small ring of black gum, was soaked with grease and powdered blue. It was arranged in a kind of horn, coming to a sharp point about five inches above the top of his skull. All together he looked extremely like the devil. What was more, he was a devil in a bad temper. For the first words he said embodied a reproach to us for not having asked him to partake of our holy drink with Bambemba. We offered to make him some more, but he refused, saying that we should poison him. Then Bambemba set the matter out rather nervously, I thought, for evidently he was afraid of his old wizard, who listened in complete silence. When Bambemba explained that without the king's direct order it would be foolish and unjustifiable to put to death such magicians as we were, in Boswe spoke for the first time, asking why he called us magicians. Bambemba instanced the wonder of the shining shield that showed pictures. Poo! said in Boswe. Does not calm water or polished iron show pictures? But this shield will make fire! said Bambemba. The white lord say it can burn a man up. Then let it burn me up! replied in Boswe with ineffable contempt, and I will believe that these white men are magicians, worthy to be kept alive and not common slave traders such as we have often heard of. Burn him, white lords, and show him that I am right! exclaimed the exasperated Bambemba, after which they fell to wrangling. Evidently they were rivals, and by this time both of them had lost their tempers. The sun was now very hot, quite sufficiently so to enable us to give Mr. in Boswe a taste of our magic, which I determined he should have. Not being certain whether an ordinary mirror would really reflect enough heat to scorch, I drew from my pocket a very powerful burning glass which I sometimes used for the lighting of fires in order to save matches. And holding the mirror in one hand and the burning glass in the other, I worked myself into a suitable position for the experiment. The Bambemba and the witch-doctor were arguing so fiercely that neither of them seemed to notice what I was doing. Getting the focus right, I directed the concentrated spark straight onto Mboswe's greased topknot, where I knew he would feel nothing, my plan being to char a hole in it. But as it happened, this topknot was built up around something of a highly inflammable nature, read or camphor would I expect. At any rate, about thirty seconds later, the topknot was burning like a beautiful torch. Oh, said the cafes who were watching. My aunt, exclaimed Stephen. Look, look, shouted Bambemba, in tones of delight. Now will you believe, or blown out of bladder of a man, that there are greater magicians than yourself in the world. What is the matter, son of a dog, that you mock of me, screeched the infuriated Mboswe, who alone was unaware of anything unusual? As he spoke, some suspicion rose in his mind, which caused him to put his hand to his topknot, and withdraw it with a howl. Then he sprang up and began to dance about, which of course only fanned the fire that had now got hold of the grease and gum. The Zulus applauded. The Bamba clapped his hands. Stephen burst into one of his idiotic fits of laughter. For my part, I grew frightened. Near at hand stood a large wooden pot, such as the cafe's make, from which the coffee kettle had been filled. That fortunately was still half full of water. I seized it and ran to him. Save me, white lord, he howled. You are the greatest magicians, and I am your slave! Here I cut him short by clapping the pot-bottom upwards on his burning head, into which it vanished, as a candle does into an extinguisher. Smoke and a bad smell issued from beneath the pot. The water from which ran all over Mboswe, who stood quite still. When I was sure the fire was out, I lifted the pot and revealed the discomforted wizard, but without his elaborate headdress. Beyond a little scorching he was not in the least hurt, for I had acted in time. Only he was bald, for when touched, the charred hair fell out at the roots. It is gone? He said in an amazed voice, after feeling at his scalp. Yes, I answered quite. The magic shield worked very well, did it not? Can you put it back again, white lord? He asked. That will depend on how you behave, I replied. Then without another word, he turned and walked back to the soldiers who received him with shouts of laughter. Evidently Mboswe was not a popular character, and his discomforture delighted them. Babemba was also delighted. Indeed he could not praise our magic enough, and at once began to make arrangements to escort us to the king at his head-town, which was called Beza, vowing that we need fear only harm at his hands or those of his soldiers. In fact, the only person who did not appreciate our black arts was Mboswe himself. I caught a look in his eye as he marched off, which told me that he hated us bitterly, and reflected to myself that perhaps I had been foolish to use that burning glass, though in truth I had not intended to set his head on fire. My father, said Movovo to me afterwards, it would have been better to let that snake burn to death, for then you would have killed his poison. I am something of a doctor myself, and I tell you there is nothing our brotherhood hates so much as being laughed at. You have made a fool of him before all his people, and he will not forget it, M'komozaan. About midday we made a start for Beza town where King Bowsi lived, which we understood we ought to reach on the following evening. For some hours the regiment marched in front, all rather round us, but as we complained to Bebemba of the noise and dust, with a confidence that was quite touching, he sent it on ahead. First, however, he asked us to pass our word by our mothers, which was the most sacred of oaths among many African peoples, that we would not attempt to escape. I confess that I hesitated before giving an answer, not being entirely enamoured of the Mozito and of our prospects among them, especially as I had discovered through Jerry that the discomforted Imbalsui had departed from the soldiers on some business of his own. Had the matter been left to me, indeed, I should have tried to slip back into the bush over the border, and there put in a few months shooting during the dry season, while working my way southwards. This, too, was the wish of the Zulu hunters, of harnes, and I need not add, Sammy. But when I mentioned the matter to Stephen, he implored me to abandon the idea. Look here, court-main, he said, I have come to this God-forsaken country to get that great sip of idiom, and get it I will, or die in the attempt. Still, he added, after surveying our rather blank faces, I have no right to play with your lives, so if you think the thing too dangerous, I will go on alone with this old boy, Bebemba, putting everything else aside, I think that one of us ought to visit Bowsie's crowd, in case the gentleman who you call Brother John should turn up there. In short, I have made up my mind, so it's no use talking. I lit my pipe, and for quite a time contemplated this obstinate young man while considering the matter from every point of view. Finally, I came to the conclusion that he was right, and I was wrong. It was true that by bribing Bebemba, or otherwise, there was still an excellent prospect of affecting a masterly retreat, and of avoiding many perils. On the other hand, we had not come to this wild place in order to retreat. Further, at whose expense had we come here? At that of Stephen Summers, who wished to proceed. Lastly, to say nothing of the chance meeting of Brother John, to whom I felt no obligation since he'd given us the slip at Durban, I did not like the idea of being beaten. We had started out to visit some mysterious savages who worshiped a monkey and a flower, and we might as well go on till circumstances were too much for us. After all, dangers are everywhere. Those who turn back because of dangers will never succeed in any life that we can imagine. Movovo, I said presently, pointing to Stephen with my pipe. The Nguzi Vazela does not wish to try to escape. He wishes to go on to the country of the Pongo people if we can get there, and Movovo remember that he has paid for everything. We are his hired servants. Also that he says that if we run back, he will walk forward alone with these Mozitos. Still, if any of you hunters desire to slip off, he will not look your way, nor shall I. What say you? Ngaizemako Mazahan, the though young Vazela is a chief with a great heart, and that where you and he go, I shall go also, as I think will the rest of us. I do not like these Mozitos, for if their fathers was Zulu's, their mothers were low people. They are bastards. And of the Pongo I hear nothing but what is evil. Still, no good ox ever turns in the yoke because of a mud-hole. Let us go on, for if we sink in the swamp, what does it matter? Moreover, my sneak tells me that we shall not sink, at least not all of us. So it was arranged that no effort should be made to return. Sammy, it is true, wished to do so. But when it came to the point, and he was offered one of the remaining donkeys, and as much food and ammunition as he could carry, he changed his mind. I think it better, Mr. Quotemain, he said, to meet my end in the company of high-born, lofty souls, than to pursue a lunic career towards the inevitable in unknown circumstances. Very well put, Sammy, I answered, so while waiting for the inevitable, please go and cook the dinner. Having laid aside our doubts, we proceeded on the journey comfortably enough, being well provided with bearers to take the place of those who had run away. The Bemba, accompanied by a single orderly, travelled with us, and from him we collected much information. It seemed that the Mizitu were a large people who could muster from five to seven thousand spears. Their tradition was that they came from the south, and were of the same stock as the Zulus, of whom they had heard vaguely. Indeed, many of their customs, to say nothing of their language, resembled those of that country. Their military organisation, however, was not Sathara, and in other ways they struck me as a lower race. In one particular it is true, that of the houses, they were more advanced. For these, as we saw in the many crawls that we passed, were better built, with doorways through which one could walk upright, instead of the cafe or bee-holes. We slept in one of these houses on our march, and should have found it very comfortable, had it not been for the innumerable fleas, which at length drove us out into the courtyard. For the rest, these mozitos much resembled the Zulus. They had crawls, and were breeders of cattle. They were ruled by headmen, under the command of a supreme chief or king. They believed in witchcraft, and offered sacrifice to the spirits of their ancestors. Also, in some kind of a vague and mighty god, who dominated the affairs of the world, and declared his will through the doctors. Lastly, they were, and I dare say still are, a race of fighting men who loved war, and raided the neighbouring peoples upon any and every pretext, killing their men and stealing their women and cattle. They had their virtues, too, being kindly and hospitable by nature, though cruel enough to their enemies. Moreover, they detested dealing in slaves, and those who practised it, saying that it was better to kill a man than to deprive him of his freedom. Also, they had a horror of cannibalism, which is so common in the dark reaches of Africa, and for this reason more than any other, loathed the Pongo folk, who were supposed to be eaters of men. On the evening of the second day of our march, during which we had passed through a beautiful and fertile upland country, very well watered, and except in the valleys free from bush, we arrived at Biza. This town was situated on a wide plain, surrounded by low hills, and encircled by a belt of cultivated land, made beautiful by the crops of maize and other cereals, which were then ripe to harvest. It was fortified in a way. That is, a tall, unclimable palisade of timber surrounded the entire town, which fence was strengthened by prickly pears and cacti planted on its either side. Within this palisade, the town was divided into quarters, more or less devoted to various trades. Thus, one part of it was called the Iron Smiths Quarter, another the Soldiers Quarter, another the Quarter of the Land-Tillers, another that of the skin-dressers, and so on. The king's dwelling and those of his women and dependents were near the North Gate, and in front of these, surrounded by a semi-circle of huts, was a wide space into which cattle could be driven if necessary. This, however, at the time of our visit, was used as a market and a drilling-ground. We entered the town that must in all have contained a great number of inhabitants by the South Gate, a strong log structure facing a wooded slope through which ran a road. Just as the sun was setting, we marched to the guest huts up a central street, lined with the population of the place who had gathered to stare at us. These huts were situated in the Soldiers Quarter, not far from the king's house, and surrounded by an inner fence to keep them private. None of the people spoke as we passed them, for the Mizitu are polite by nature. Also, it seemed to me that they regarded us with awe-tempered by curiosity. They only stared, and occasionally those of them who were soldiers saluted us by lifting their spears. The huts into which we were introduced by Babemba, with whom we had grown very friendly, were good and clean. Here all our belongings, including the guns which we had collected just before the slaves ran away, were placed in one of the huts over which a Mizitu mounted guard, the donkeys being tied to the fence at a little distance. Outside this fence stood another armed Mizitu, also on guard. Are we prisoners here? I asked of Babemba. The king watches over his guests, he answered enigmatically, have the white lords any message for the king who I am summoned to see this night? Yes, I answered. Tell the king that we are the brethren of him whom more than a year ago cut a swelling from his body, whom we have arranged to meet here. I mean the white lord with a long beard, who among you black people is called Dogita. Babemba started. You are the brethren of Dogita? How comes it then that you never mentioned his name before? And when is he going to meet you here? Nor that Dogita is a great man among us, for with him alone of all men, the king has made blood brotherhood. As the king is, so is Dogita among the Mizitu. We never mentioned him, because we do not talk about everything at once, Babemba. As to when Dogita will meet us, I am not sure. I am only sure that he is coming. Yes, Lord Makumazahan, but when, when? That is what the king will want to know, and that is what you must tell him. Lord, he added, dropping his voice, you are in danger here where you have many enemies, since it is not lawful for white men to enter this land. If you would save your lives, be advised by me, and be ready to tell the king tomorrow when Dogita, whom he loves, will appear here to vouch for you, and see that he does appear very soon, and by the day you name. Since otherwise when he comes, if he does, he may not find you able to talk to him. Now I, your friend, have spoken, and the rest is with you. Then without another word he rose, slipped through the door of the hut, and out by the gateway of the fence, from which the sentry moved aside to let him pass. I too rose from the stool on which I sat, and danced about the hut in a perfect fury. Do you understand why that infernal? I am afraid I used a stronger word. Old fool told me, I exclaimed to Stephen, he says that we must be prepared to state exactly when that other old infernal fool, Brother John, will turn up at Beezer Town, and that if we don't we shall have our throats cut, as indeed has already been arranged. Rather awkward, replied Stephen, there are no express trains to Beezer, and if there were we couldn't be sure that Brother John would take one of them. I suppose there is a Brother John, he added reflectively. To me he seems to be intimately connected with Mrs. Harris. Oh, there is, or there was, I explained. Why couldn't the confounded ass wait quietly for us in Durban, instead of fooling off butterfly hunting to the north of Zulu land, and breaking his leg or his neck there, if he has done anything of the sort? Don't know, I'm sure. It's hard enough to understand one's own motives, let alone Brother John's. Then we sat down on our stools and stared at each other. At this moment Hans crept into the hut and squatted down in front of us. He might have walked in there as a doorway, but he preferred to creep on his hands and knees. I don't know why. What is it, you ugly little toad? I asked viciously, for that was just what he looked like. Even the skin under his jaw moved like a toad's. The boss is in trouble, remarked Hans. I should think he was, I answered, and so will you be presently when you are wriggling on the point of a mozito spear. They are broadsbears that will make a big hole, remarked Hans again, whereupon I rose to kick him out, for his ideas were, as usual, unpleasant. Boss, he went on. I have been listening. There is a very good hole in this hut for listening, if one lies against the wall and pretends to be asleep. I have heard all, and understood most of your talk with that one-eyed savage and the boss's Steven. Well, you little sneak, what of it? Only, boss, that if we do not want to be killed in this place from which there is no escape, it is necessary that you should find out exactly on what day and at what hour Doggita is going to arrive. Look here, you yellow idiot, I exclaimed. If you are beginning that game too often, then I stopped, reflecting that my temper was getting the better of me, and that I had better hear what Hans had to say before I vented it on him. Boss, Movovo is a great doctor. It is said that his snake is the straightest and the strongest in all Zululand, save that of his master Zikali, the old slave. He told you that Doggita was laid up somewhere with a hurt leg, and that he was coming to meet you here. No doubt, therefore, he can tell you also when he is coming. I would ask him, but he won't set his snake to work for me, so you must ask him, boss, and perhaps he will forget that you laughed at his magic, and that he swore you would never see it again. Oh, blind one, I answered. How do I know that Movovo's story about Doggita was not all nonsense? Hans stared at me, amazed. Movovo's story nonsense? Movovo's snake a liar? Oh, boss, that is what comes of being too much a Christian. Now, thanks to your father the predicate, I am a Christian too, but not so much that I have forgotten how to know good magic from bad. But Movovo's snake a liar, and after he whom we buried yonder was the first of the hunters whom the feathers named to him at Turban? And he began to chuckle in intense amusement, then added, boss, there it is. You must either ask Movovo, and very nicely, or we shall all be killed. I don't mind much, for I should rather like to begin again a little younger somewhere else, but just think what a noise Sammy will make. And turning he crept out as he had crept in. Here's a nice physician I groaned to Stephen when he had gone. I, a white man, who in spite of some coincidences with which I am acquainted, know that all this kafia magic is bosh, and to bake a savage to tell me something of which he must be ignorant. That is unless we educated people have got hold of the wrong end of the stick altogether. It is humiliating. It isn't Christian, and I'm hanged if I'll do it. I dare say you will be hanged, I mean, whether you do it or whether you don't, replied Stephen, with his sweet smile. But say, old fellow, how do you know it is all bosh? We are told about lots of miracles which weren't bosh, and if miracles ever existed, why can't they exist now? But there, I know what you mean, and it is no use arguing. Still, if you're proud, I ain't. I'll try to soften the stony heart of Movovo, we are rather pals, you know, and get him to unroll the book of his occult wisdom. And he went. A few minutes later, I was called out to receive a sheep, which, with milk, native beer, some corn, and other things, including green forage for the donkeys, Bowsey had sent for us to eat. Here I may remark that while we were among the Mozita, we lived like fighting cocks. There was none of that starvation which is, or was so common in East Africa, where the traveller often cannot get food for love or money, generally because there is none. When this business was settled by my sending a message of thanks to the king, with an intonation that we hoped to wait upon him on the morrow with a few presents, I went to seek Sammy in order to tell him to kill and cook the sheep. After some search, I found, or rather heard him, beyond a reed fence, which divided two of the huts. He was acting as interpreter between Stephen Summers and Movovo. This Zuluman declares Mr. Summers, he said, that he quite understands everything you have been explaining, and that it is probable that we shall all be butchered by this savage Bowsey, if we cannot tell him when the white man Doggita whom he loves will arrive here. He says also that he thinks that by his magic he could learn when this will happen, if it is to happen at all, which of course Mr. Summers, for your private information only, is a mighty lie of the ignorant even. He adds however that he does not care one brass farthing, his actual expression Mr. Summers is, one grain of corn on a mealy cob, about his or anybody else's life, which from all I have heard of his proceedings I can well believe to be true. He says in his vulgar language that there is no difference between the belly of a mazito land hyena and that of any other hyena, and that the earth of the mazito land is as welcome to his bones as any other earth. Since the earth is the wickedest of all hyenas, in that he has observed that soon or late it devours everlastingly everything which once it bore. You must forgive me for reproducing his empty and childish talk, Mr. Summers, but you bade me to render the words of this savage with exactitude. In fact, Mr. Summers, this reckless person intimates in short that some power with which he is not acquainted, he calls it the strength that makes the sun to shine and brood is the blanket of the night with stars. Forgive me for repeating his silly words. Cause him to be born into this world and at an hour already appointed will draw him from this world back into its dark eternal bosom, there to be rocked in sleep or nursed to life again according to its unknown will. I translate exactly, Mr. Summers, although I do not know what it all means and that he does not care a curse when this happens. Still, he says that whereas he is growing old and has known many sorrows, he alludes here I gather to some nigger wives of his whom another savage knocked on the head, also to a child to whom he appears to have been attached. You are young with all your days and he he hopes joy is before you. Therefore, he would gladly do anything in his power to save your life. Because although you are white and he is black, he has conceived an affection for you and looks on you as his child. Yes, Mr. Summers, although I blushed to repeat it, this black fellow says he looks upon you as his child. He adds indeed that if the opportunity arises, he will gladly give his life to save your life, and that it cuts his heart in two to refuse you anything. Still, he must refuse this request of yours that he will ask the creature he calls his snake. What he means by that I do not know, Mr. Summers, to declare when the white man named Ogita will arrive in his place. For this reason, that he told Mr. Quartermaine when he laughed at him about his divinations, that he would make no more magic for him or any of you, and that he will die rather than break his word. That's all, Mr. Summers, and I daresay you will think quite enough too. I understand, replied Stephen. Tell the chief, Movovo. I observed he laid an emphasis on the word chief, that I quite understand, and that I thank him very much for explaining things to me so fully. Then ask him whether, as the matter is so important, there is no way out of this trouble? Sammy translated into Zulu, which he spoke perfectly, as I noted without interpolations or additions. Only one way, answered Movovo in the intervals of Taking Snuff, it is that Mokuma Zahan himself shall ask me to do this thing. Mokuma Zahan is my old chief and friend, and for his sake I will forget what in the case of others I should always remember. If he will come and ask me, without mockery, to exercise my skill on behalf of all of us, I will try to exercise it, though I know very well that he believes it to be but as an idle little whirlwind that stirs the dust, that erases the dust and lets it fall again without purpose or meaning, forgetting as the wise white men forget, that even the wind which blows the dust is the same that breathes in our nostrils and that to it we also are as is the dust. Now I, the listener, thought for a moment or two, the words of this fighting savage Movovo, even those of them of which I had heard only the translation, garbled and be slavoured by the mean comments of the unutterable Sammy, stirred my imagination. Who was I that I should dare to judge of him and his wild unknown gifts? Who was I that I should mock at him and by my mockery intimate that I believed him to be a fraud? Stepping through the gateway of the fence I confronted him. Movovo, I said, I have overheard your talk. I am sorry if I laughed at you in Durban. I do not understand what you call your magic. It is beyond me and may be true or may be false. Still, I shall be grateful to you if you will use your power to discover if you can, where the doggita is coming, and if so, when. Now, do as it may please you, I have spoken. And I have heard Mokuma Zahan my father. Tonight I will call upon my snake, whether it will answer or what it will answer I cannot say. Well, he did call upon his snake with due and potentious ceremony, and, according to Stephen, who was present, which I declined to be, that mystic reptile declared that doggita, alias Brother John, would arrive in Beesartown precisely at sunset on the third day from that night. Now, as he had divined on Friday, according to our almanac, this meant that we might hope to see him—hope exactly described my state of mind on the matter—on the Monday evening in time for supper. All right, I said briefly. Please do not talk to me any more about this impious rubbish, for I want to go to sleep. Next morning early we unpacked our boxes and made a handsome selection of gifts for the King Bowsy, hoping us to soften his royal heart. It included a bale of calico, several knives, a musical box, a cheap American revolver, and a bunch of toothpicks, also several pounds of the best and most fashionable beads for his wives. This truly noble present we sent to the King by our two Mozzito servants, Tom and Jerry, who were marched off in the charge of several centuries, for I hoped that these men would talk to their compatriots and tell them what good fellows we were. Indeed, I instructed them to do so. Imagine our horror, therefore, when about an hour later, just as we were tidying ourselves up after breakfast, they appeared through the gate, not Tom and Jerry, for they had vanished, but a long line of Mozzito soldiers, each of whom carried one of the articles that we had sent. Indeed, the last of them held the bundle of toothpicks on his fuzzy head, as though it were a huge faggot of wood. One by one they set them down upon the line flooring of the veranda of the largest hut, then their captain said solemnly, Bowsy, the great black one, has no need of the white men's gifts. Indeed, I replied, for my dander was up, and he won't get another chance at them. The men turned away without more words, and presently the memba turned up with a company of about fifty soldiers. The King is waiting to see you, white lords! He said in a voice of very forced jollity, and I have come to conduct you to him. Why would he not accept our presence? I asked, pointing to a row of them. Oh, that is because of him Bowsy's story of the magic shield. He said he wanted no gifts to burn his hair off. But come, come! He will explain for himself. If the elephant is kept waiting, he grows angry and trumpets. Does he, I said, and how many of us are to come? All, all, white lord, he wishes to see every one of you. Not me, I suppose, said Sammy, who was standing close by. I must stop to make ready the food. Yes, you too, replied Babamba, the King would look on the mixer of the holy drink. Well, there was no way out of it, so off we marched, as well armed as I need not say, and were instantly surrounded by the soldiers. To give an unusual note to the proceedings, I made Hans walk first, carrying on his head the rejected musical box from which flowed the touching melody of Home Sweet Home. Then came Stephen bearing the Union Jack on a pole. Then I, in the midst of the hunters, and accompanied by Babamba, and then the reluctant Sammy, and last of all the two donkeys led by Mozitos, for it seemed that the King had especially ordered that these be brought also. It was a truly striking cavalcade, the sight of which under any other circumstances would have made me laugh. Nor did it fail in its effect, for even the silent Mozito people from whom we wended our way were moved to something like enthusiasm. Home Sweet Home they evidently thought heavenly, though perhaps the two donkeys attracted the most, especially when they braided. Where are Tom and Jerry, I asked of Babamba. They don't know, he answered. I think they have been given leave to go to see their friends. And Bozi is suppressing evidence in our favour, I thought to myself, and said no more. Presently we reached the gate of the royal enclosure. Here, to my dismay, the soldiers insisted on disarming us, taking away our rifles, our revolvers, even our sheath knives. In vain did I remonstrate, saying that we were not accustomed to part with these weapons. The answer was that it was not lawful for any man to appear before the King armed even with so much as a dancing stick. Movovo and the Zulu showed signs of resisting, and for a minute I thought there was going to be a row, which of course would have ended in our massacre. For although the Mozitos feared guns very much, what could we have done against hundreds of them? I ordered him to give way, but for once he was on the point of disobeying me. Then by a happy thought I reminded him that, according to his snake, Dogita was coming, and that therefore all would be well. So he submitted with an ill grace, and we saw our precious guns born off we knew not wear. Then the Mozitos soldiers piled their spears and bows at the gate of the Krall, and we proceeded with only the Union Jack and the musical box, which was now discoursing Britannia rules the ways. Across the open space we marched, to where several broad-leaved trees grew in front of a large native house. Not far from the door of this house, a fat middle-aged and angry-looking man was seated on a stool, naked except for a mookah of catskins about his loins, and a string of large blue beads around his neck. Bausi the king, whispered Babamba. At his side squatted a little hunchbacked figure, in whom I had no difficulty in recognising him in Bausi, although he had painted his scorched scalp white with vermilion spots, and adorned his snum-nose with a purple tip, his dress of ceremony, I presume. Round and behind there were a number of silent counsellors, at some signal or on reaching a given spot, all the soldiers, including all Babamba, fell upon their hands and knees and began to crawl. They wanted us to do the same, but here I drew the line, feeling that if once we crawled we must always crawl. So at my word we advanced upright, but with slow steps, in the midst of all this wriggling humanity, and at length found ourselves in the august presence of Bausi, the beautiful black one, king of the Mozito. End of Chapter 9 Chapter 10 of Alan and the Holy Flower This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. Alan and the Holy Flower by H. Ryder Haggard Chapter 10 The Sentence We stared at Bausi, and Bausi stared at us. I am thy black elephant Bausi, he exclaimed at last, worn out by our solid silence, and I trump it. I trump it. I trump it. It appeared that this was the ancient and hallowed formula, with which a Mozuti king was wont to open conversation with strangers. After a suitable pause, I replied in a cold voice, We are the white lions, Nakuma Zahan and Dozeila, and we roar, we roar, we roar. I, Gantorampo, said Bausi, and we can bite, I said haughtily, though how we were to bite or do anything else effectual with nothing but a union jack, I did not in the least know. What is that thing? asked Bausi, pointing at the flag. That which shadows the whole earth, I answered proudly, a remark that seemed to impress him, although he did not understand it, for he ordered a soldier to hold a palm leaf umbrella over him, to prevent it from shadowing him. Un that, he asked again, pointing to the music box, which is not alive and yet makes a noise. That sings the war song of our people, I said. We sent it to you as a present, and you returned it. Why do you return our presents, O Bausi? Then, of a sudden, this potentate grew furious. Why do you come here, white men, he asked, uninvited and against the law of my land, where only one white man is welcome, my brother Doggita, who cured me of sickness with a knife. I know who you are. You are dealers in men. You come here to steal my people and sell them into slavery. You had many slaves with you on the borders of my country, but you sent them away. You shall die. You shall die. You, who call yourselves lions, and the painted rag, which you say shadows the world, shall rot with your bones. As for that box which sings our war song, I will smash it. It shall not be which me as your magic shield bewitched my great Dr. Imbausi, burning off his hair. Then, springing up with wonderful agility for one so fat, he knocked the musical box from Hans's head, so that it fell to the ground, and after a little whirring, grew silent. And that is right, sweet Imbausi, tremble on their magical elephant, kill them all, black one, burn them as they burned my hair. Now things were, I felt, very serious, for already Bausi was looking about him as though to order his soldiers to make an end of this, so I said in desperation, O king, you mentioned a certain white man Doggita, a doctor of doctors, who cured you of sickness with a knife, and called him your brother. Well, he is our brother also, and it is by his invitation that we have come to visit you here, where he will meet us presently. If Doggita is your friend, then you are my friends, answered Bausi, for in this land he rules as I rule, he whose blood flows in my veins, as my blood flows in his veins. But you lie. Doggita is no brother of slave dealers, his heart is good, and yours are evil. You say that he will meet you here? When will he meet you? Tell me, and if it is soon I will hold my hand and wait to hear his report of you before I put you to death. For if he speaks well of you, you shall not die. Now I hesitated as well I might, for I felt that looking at our case from his point of view, Bausi, believing us to be slave traders, was not angry without cause. While I was racking my brains for a reply that might be acceptable to him, and would not commit us too deeply, to my astonishment Movovo stepped forward, and confronted the king. Who are you, fellow? shouted Bausi. I am a warrior, or king, as my skarshaw, and he pointed to the asagai wounds upon his breast, and to his cut nostril. I am a chief of a people from whom your people sprang, and my name is Movovo, Movovo who is ready to fight you or any man who you may name, and to kill him or you if you will. Is there anyone here who wishes to be killed? No one answered, for the mighty-chested Zulu looked very formidable. I am a doctor also, went on Movovo, one of the greatest doctors who can open the gates of distance, and read that which is hid in the womb of the future. Therefore I will answer your questions which you put to the Lord Makumazahan, the great and wise white man whom I serve, because we have fought together in many battles. Yes, I will be his mouth, I will answer. The white man Doggita, who is your blood brother, and whose word is your word among the Mazitu, will arrive here at Sunset on the second day from now. I have spoken. Bausi looked at me in question. Yes, I exclaimed, feeling that I must say something and that it did not much matter what I said. Doggita will arrive here on the second day from now within half an hour after Sunset. Something I know not what prompted me to allow that extra half hour, which in the event saved all our lives. Now Bausi consulted a while with the excruble in Bausi, and also with the old one-eyed General Babima while we watched, knowing that our fate hung upon Yeshua. At length he spoke. White man, he said, in Bausi, the head of the witchfinders here, whose hair you burnt off with your evil magic, says that it would be better to kill you at once as your hearts are bad and you are planning mischief against my people. So I think also, but Babima, my general, with whom I am angry because he did not obey my orders and put you to death on the borders of my country when he met you there with your caravan of slaves, thinks otherwise. He praised me to hold my hand, first because you have bewitched him into liking you, and secondly because of you should happen to be speaking the truth, which we do not believe, and to have come here at the invitation of my brother Doggita, he Doggita would be pained if he arrived and found you dead, nor could even he bring you to life again. This being so, since it matters little whether you die now or later, my command is that you be kept prisoners till sunset on the second day from this, and that then you will be led out and tied to stakes in the marketplace, there to wait till the approach of darkness, by when you say Doggita will be here. If he arrives and owns you as his brethren well and good, if he does not arrive or disowns you, better still, for then you shall be shot to death with arrows as awarding to all other steelers of men not to cross the borders of the Mizitu. I listened to this atrocious sentence with horror, then gasped out, we are not steelers of men, okay, we are freers of men, as Tom and Jerry of your own people could tell you. Who are Tom and Jerry, he asked indifferently, well it does not matter, for darkness they are liars like the rest of you, I have spoken. Dig them away, feed them well, and keep them safe till within an hour of sunset on the second day from this. Then without giving us any further opportunity of speaking, Baozi rose, and followed by him Baozi and his counsellors marched off into his big hut. We too were marched off, this time under a double guard commanded by someone whom I had not seen before. At the gate of the crowd we halted and asked for the arms that had been taken from us. No answer was given. Only the soldiers put their hands upon our shoulders and thrust us along. This is a nice business, I whispered to Stephen. Oh, it doesn't matter, he answered, there are lots more guns in the huts. I am told that these Mizitos are dreadfully afraid of bullets, so all we have to do is just break out and shoot our way through them, for of course they will run when we begin to fire. I looked at him, but did not answer, for to tell the truth I felt in no mood for argument. Presently we arrived at our quarters, where the soldiers left us to camp outside. Full of his warlike plans Stephen went at once to the hut in which the slaver's guns had been stored with our own spare rifles and all the ammunition. I saw him emerge looking very blank indeed and asked him what was the matter. Matter? he answered in a voice that for once really was full of dismay. The matter is that those Mizitos have stolen all the guns and all the ammunition. There's not enough powder left to make a blue devil. Well, I replied, with a kind of joke one perpetuates under such circumstances. We shall have plenty blue devils without making any more. Truly ours was a dreadful situation. Let the reader imagine it. Within a little more than forty-eight hours we were to be shot to death with arrows if an erratic old gentleman, who for ought I knew might be dead, did not turn up at what was then one of the remotest and most inaccessible spots in Central Africa. Moreover our only hope that such a thing would happen, if hope it could be called, was the prophecy of a kaffir witch doctor. To rely on this in any way was so absurd that I gave up thinking of it and set my mind to considering if there were any possible means of escape. After hours of reflection I could find none. Even Hans, with all his experience and nearly superhuman cunning, could suggest none. We were unarmed and surrounded by thousands of savages, all of whom, safe perhaps for Bemba, believed us to be slave-traders, a race that very properly they held in abhorrence, who had visited the country with the object of stealing their women and children. The king, Bauzy, a very prejudiced fellow, was dead against us. Also by a piece of foolishness which I now bitterly regret it, as indeed I regretted the whole expedition, or at any rate entering into it on the absence of Brother John, we had made an implacable enemy of the head medicine man, who to these folks was a sort of archbishop of Canterbury. Short of a miracle there was no hope for us. All that we could do was to say our prayers and prepare for the end. Movovo, it is true, remained cheerful. His faith in his snake was really touching. He offered to go through that divination process again in our presence and demonstrate that there was no mistake. I declined because I had no faith in divinations, and Stephen also declined for another reason, namely that the result might prove to be different which he held would be depressing. The other Zulus oscillated between belief and skepticism, as do the unstable who set to work to study the evidences of Christianity. But Sammy did not oscillate. He literally howled, and prepared the food which poured in upon us so badly that I had to turn on hands to do the cooking. For however little appetite we might have, it was necessary that we should keep up our strength by eating. What, Mr. Coratamen, asked Sammy between his dears, is the use of dressing vians that our systems will never have time to thoroughly assimilate? The first night passed somehow, and so did the next day and the next night which heralded our last morning. I got up quite early and watched the sunrise. Never, I think, had I realized before what a beautiful thing the sunrise is, at least not to the extent that I did now when I was saying goodbye to it for ever. Unless indeed, there should prove to be still lovelier sunrises beyond the dark of death. Then I went into our hut, and as Stephen, who had the nerves of a rhinoceros, was still sleeping like a tortoise in winter, I said my prayers earnestly enough, mourned over my sins which proved to be so many that at last I gave up the job in despair, and then tried to occupy myself by reading the Old Testament, a book to which I have always been extremely attached. As a passage that I lit on described how the prophet Samuel, for whom I could not help reading in Bowsy, hewed a gag into pieces after Bowsy, I mean sore, had relented and spared his life, I cannot say that it consoled me very much. Doubtless I reflected, these people believe that I, like a gag, had made women childless by my sword, so they remained nothing saved to follow the example of that unhappy king and walk delicately to doom. Then, as Stephen was still sleeping, how could he do it, I wondered. I said to work to make up the accounts of the expedition to date. It had already cost one thousand four hundred twenty three pounds, just fancy expending one thousand four hundred twenty three pounds, in order to be tied to a post and shop to death with arrows, and all to get a rare orchid. Oh! I reflected to myself, if by some marvel I should escape, or if I should live again in any land where these particular flowers flourish, I would never even look at them, and as a matter of fact, I never have. At length Stephen did wake up, and as criminals are reported to do in the papers before execution, made an excellent breakfast. What's the good of worrying, he said presently. I shouldn't, if it weren't for my poor old father. It must have come to this one day, and the sooner it is over, the sooner to sleep, as the song says. When one comes to think of it, there are enormous advantages in sleep, for that's the only time one is quite happy. Still, I should have liked to see that Cypropidium first. Oh, brat the Cypropidium, I exclaimed, and blundered from the hut to tell Sammy that if he didn't stop his groaning, I would punch his head. Jumps! Regular jumps! Who'd have thought it of quarter-main? I heard Stephen mutter in the intervals of lighting his pipe. The morning went like lightning that is greased, as Sammy remarked. Three o'clock came, and Movovo and his following sacrificed a kid to the spirits of their ancestors, which, as Sammy remarked again, was a horrible, even, ceremony much calculated to prejudice our cause with the powers above. When it was over to my delight, the memba appeared. He looked so pleasant that I jumped to the conclusion that he had brought the best of news with him. Perhaps the king had pardoned us, or perhaps blessed thought, that Brother John had already arrived before his time. But not a bit of it. All he had to say was that he had caused inquiries to be made along the route that ran to the coast, and that certainly for a hundred miles there was at present no sign of doggita. So as the black elephant was growing more and more enraged under the stirrings up of Imbause, it was obvious that the evening ceremony must be performed. Indeed, as it was part of his duty to superintend the erection of the post to which we were to be tied, and the digging of our graves at their bases, he had just come to count us again to be sure that he'd not made any mistakes as to the number. Also, if there were any articles that we would like buried with us, would we be so kind as to point them out, and he would be sure to see to the matter. It would be soon over and not painful, he added, as he had selected the very best archers in Beesartown who rarely missed, and could, most of them, send an arrow up to the feather into a buffalo. Then he chatted a little about other matters as to where he should find the magic shield I had given him, which he would always value as a souvenir, etc., took a pinch of snuff with Movovo and departed, saying that he would be sure to return again at the proper time. It was now four o'clock, and as Sammy was quite beyond it, Stephen made himself some tea. It was very good tea, especially as we had milk to put in it, although I did not remember what it tasted like afterwards. Now, having abandoned hope, I went into a hut alone to compose myself to meet my end like a gentleman, and seated there in silence and semi-darkness my spirit grew much calmer. After all, I reflected, why should I cling to life? In the country whither I travelled, as the reader who has followed my adventures will know, were some whom I clearly longed to see again, notably my father and mother, and two noble women who were even more to me. My boy it is true remained, he was alive then, but I knew that he would find friends, and as I was not so badly off at that time I had been able to make a proper provision for him. Perhaps it was better that I should go, seeing that if I lived on it would only mean more troubles and more partings. What was about to befall me, of course, I could not tell, but I knew then as I know now that it was not extinction, or even that sleep of which Stephen had spoken. Perhaps I was passing to some place where at length the clouds would roll away, and I should understand. Whence too I should see all the landscape of the past and future, as an eagle does, watching from the skies, and be no longer like one struggling through dense bush, wild beast, and serpent haunted, beat upon by the storms of heaven and terrified with its lightnings, nor knowing whither I hewed my path. Perhaps in that place there would be no longer what St. Paul describes as another law in my members warring against the law of my mind, and bringing me into captivity to the law of sin. Perhaps the past would be forgiven by the power which knows whereof we are made, and I should become what I have always longed to be, good in every sense, and even find open to me new and better roads of service. I take these thoughts from a note that I made in my pocket-book at the time. Thus I reflected, and then wrote a few lines of farewell in the fond and foolish hope that somehow they might find those to whom they were addressed. I have those letters still, and very oddly they read today. This done I tried to throw out my mind towards Brother John if he still lived, as indeed I had done for days past so that I might inform him of our plight, and, I am afraid, reproach him for having brought us to such an end by his insane carelessness or want of faith. Whilst I was still engaged thus, Babamba arrived with his soldiers to lead us off to execution. It was Hans who came to tell me that he was there. The poor old hotentot shook me by the hand and wiped his eyes with his ragged coat sleeve. Oh, boss, this is our last journey, he said, and you are going to be killed, boss, and it is all my fault, boss, because I ought to have found a way out of the trouble, which is what I was hired to do, but I can't, my head grows so stupid. Oh, if only I could come even with embause, I shouldn't mind, but I will, I will, if I have to return as a ghost to do it. Well, boss, you know the predicant your father told us that we don't go out like a fire but burn again for always elsewhere. I hope not, I thought to myself, and that quite easily without anything to pay for the wood. So I hope that we shall always burn together, boss, and meanwhile I have brought you a little something, and he produced what looked like a peculiarly obnoxious horsepaw. You are so well at this now and you will never feel anything. It is very good medicine that my grandfather's grandfather got from the spirit of his tribe. You will just go to sleep as nicely as though you were very drunk and wake up in the beautiful fire which burns without any wood and it never goes out forever and ever, amen. No, Hans, I said. I prefer to die with my eyes open. And so would I, boss, if I thought there were any good in keeping them open, but I don't. For I can't believe any more in the snake of that black woolmoveau. If it had been a good snake it would have told him to keep clear of Beezertown. So I will swallow one of these pills and give the other to boss Stephen. And he crammed the filthy mess into his mouth and with an effort got it down, as a young turkey does a ball of meal that is too big for its throat. Then, as I heard Stephen calling me, I left him invoking a most comprehensive and polyglot curse upon the head of Mbausie, to whom he rightly attributed all of our woes. Our friend here says it is time to start, said Stephen, rather shakily, for the situation seemed to have got a hold of him at last, and nodding towards old Babamba, who stood there with a cheerful smile, looking as though he were going to conduct us to a wedding. Yes, white lord, said Babamba, it is time. I have hurried so as not to keep you waiting. It will be a very fine show, for the black elephant himself is going to do you the honor to be present, as will all the people of Beezertown and those for many miles round. Hold your tongue, you old idiot, I said, and stop your grinning. If you had been a man and not a false friend you would have got us out of this trouble, knowing as you do very well that we are not sellers of men, but rather the enemy of those who do such things. Oh, white lord, said Babamba, in a changed voice, believe me, I only smile to make you happy up to the end. My lips smile, but I am crying inside. I know that you are good, and I have told Bausi so, but he will not believe me, who thinks that I have been bribed by you. What can I do against that evil-hearted Mbausi, the head of the witch doctors, who hates you because he thinks you have better magic than he has, and who whispers day and night into the king's ear, telling him that if he does not kill you, all our people will be slain or sold for slaves, as you are the scouts of a big army that is coming. Only last night Mbausi held a great divination in Dabba, and read this and a great deal more in the enchanted water, making the king think he saw it in pictures, whereas I, looking over his shoulder, could see nothing at all, except the ugly face of Mbausi reflected in the water. Also, he swore that his spirit told me that Daggita, the king's blood brother being dead, would never come to Beezertown again. I have done my best. Keep your heart whiter towards me, Omakuma Zahan, and do not haunt me, for I tell you I have done my best. And if ever I should get a chance against Mbausi, which I am afraid I shan't, as he will poison me first, I will pay him back. Oh, he shall not die quickly, as you will. I wish I could get a chance at him, I muttered, for even in this solemn moment I could cultivate no Christian spirit towards Mbausi. Feeling that he was honest, after all, I shook Old Babemba's hand and gave him the letters I had written, asking him to try and get them to the coast. Then we started on our last walk. The Zulu hunters were already outside the fence, seated on the ground, chatting and taking snuff. I wondered if this was because they really believed in Movovo's confounded snake, or from Bravado, inspired by the innate courage of their race. When they saw me, they sprang to their feet, and lifting their right hands gave me a loud and hearty salute of Incusi, Baba, Incusi, Mbauma Zahan. Then, at a signal from Movovo, they broke into some Zulu war chant, which they kept up till we reached the stakes. Sami too broke into a chant, but one of a quite different nature. Be quiet, I said to him. Can't you die like a man? No, indeed I cannot, Mr. Quartermain. He answered, and went on howling for pity in about twenty different languages. Stephen and I walked together. He is still carrying the Union Jack, of which no one tried to deprive him. I think the Mozito believed it was his fetish. We didn't talk much, though, once he said, Well, the love of orchids has brought many a man to a bad end. I wonder where the Governor will keep my collection or sell it. After this he relapsed into silence, and not knowing and indeed not caring what would happen to his collection, I made no answer. We had not far to go. Personally I would have preferred a longer walk. Passing with our guards down a kind of by-street, we emerged suddenly at the head of the marketplace, to find that it was packed with thousands of people gathered there to see our execution. I noticed that they were arranged in orderly companies, and that a broad open roadway was left between them, running to the sudden gate of the market, I supposed to facilitate the movements of so large a crowd. All this multitude received us in respectful silence, though Sammy's howls caused some of them to smile, while the Zulu war-chant appeared to excite their wonder or admiration. At the head of the marketplace, not far from the King's enclosure, fifteen stout posts had been planted on as many mounds. These mounds were provided so that everyone might see the show, and impart at any rate, were made of soil hollowed from fifteen deep graves dug almost at the foot of the mounds, or rather there were seventeen posts, an extra large one being set at each end of the line in order to accommodate the two donkeys, which it appeared were also to be shot to death. A greater number of soldiers kept a space clear in front of the posts. On this space were gathered Baozi, his counsellors, some of his head-wise in Baozi, more hideously painted than usual, and perhaps fifty or sixty picked archers with strung bows and an ample supply of arrows, whose part in the ceremony it was not difficult for us to guess. King Baozi, I said, as I was led past that potentate, you are a murderer, and heaven above will be avenged upon you for this crime, if our blood is shed, soon you shall die and come to meet us where we have power, and your people shall be destroyed. My words seem to frighten the man, for he answered, I am no murderer, I kill you because you are robbers of men. Moreover, it is not I who have passed sentence on you. It is in Baozi here, the chief of the doctors, who has told me all about you, and whose spirit says you must die unless my brother Dogita appears to save you. If Dogita comes, which he cannot do because he is dead, and vouchers for you, then I shall know that Baozi is a wicked liar, and as you were to die, so he shall die. Yes, yes, screeched in Baozi, if Dogita comes as that false wizard prophesies, and he pointed to Movovo, then I shall be ready to die in your place white slave dealers. Yes, yes, then you may shoot me with arrows. King, take note of these words, and people, take note of these words, that they may be fulfilled if Dogita comes, said Movovo, in a great deep voice. I take note of them, answered Baozi, and I swear by my mother on behalf of all the people that they shall be fulfilled, if Dogita comes. Good exclaimed Movovo, and stalked on to the stake which had been pointed out to him. As he went, he whispered something into Baozi's ear that seemed to frighten that limb of Satan, for I saw him start and shiver. However, he soon recovered, for in another minute he was engaged in superintending those whose business it was to lash us to the posts. This was done simply and effectively by tying our wrists with a grass-rope behind these posts, each of which was fitted with two projecting pieces of wood that passed under our arms, and practically prevented us from moving. Stephen and I were given the places of honour in the middle, the Union Jack being fixed by his own request at the top of Stephen's stake. Movovo was on my right, and the other Zulus were ranged on either side of us. Hans and Sammy occupied the end posts respectively, except those to which the poor jackasses were bound. I noted that Hans was already very sleepy, and that shortly after he was fixed up, his head dropped forward on his breast. Evidently his medicine was working, and almost I regretted that I had not taken some while I had the chance. When we were all fastened, in Baozi came round to inspect. Moreover, with a piece of white chalk he made a round mark on the breast of each of us, a kind of bullseye for the archers to aim at. Ah, wait, man, he said to me as he chalked away at my shooting-coat, you will never burn anyone's hair again with your magic shield. Never, never. But presently I should be dreading down the earth upon you in that hole, and your goods will belong to me. I did not answer for what was the use of talking to this vile brute when my time was so short. So he passed on to Stephen and began to chalk him. Stephen, however, in whom the natural man still prevailed, shouted, Take your filthy hands off me! and lifting his leg, which was unfettered, gave the painted witch doctor such an awful kick in the stomach that he vanished backwards into the grave beneath him. Oh, well done was Zila, said the Zulus. We hope that you have killed him. I hope so too, said Stephen, and the multitude of spectators gasped to see the sacred person of the head witch doctor, of whom they evidently went in much fear, treated in such a way. Only Babamba grinned, and even the King Baozi did not seem displeased. But in Baozi was not to be disposed of so easily. For presently, with the help of Sundry Mermidin's minor witch doctors, he scrambled out of the grave, cursing and covered with mud, for it was wet down there. After that I took no more heed of him or of much else, seeing that I had only half an hour to live, as may be imagined, I was otherwise engaged.