 CHAPTER 17 OF THE SPIRIT OF BANBATSE by H. RYDER HAGGARD This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. THE FIRST EXPERIMENT Again Benita and her father stared at each other blankly, almost with despair. They were trapped, cut off from all help, in the power of a man who was going mad. Mr Clifford said nothing, he was old and growing feeble. Over years, although he did not know it, Mayor had dominated him and never more so than in this hour of stress and bewilderment. Moreover the man had threatened to murder him and he was afraid, not so much for himself as for his daughter. If he were to die now, what would happen to her, left alone with Yakob Mayor? The knowledge of his own folly, understood too late, filled him with shame. How could he have been so wicked as to bring a girl upon such a quest in the company of an unprincipled Jew, of whose past he knew nothing except that it was murky and dubious? He had committed a great crime, led on by a love of Lucca, and the weight of it pressed upon his tongue and closed his lips. He knew not what to say. For a little while Benita was silent also, hope died in her, but she was a bull-spirited woman, and by degrees her courage reasserted itself. Indignation filled her breast and shone through her dark eyes. Suddenly she turned upon Yakob, who sat before them, smoking his pipe and enjoying their discomforture. How dare you, she asked, in a low concentrated voice. How dare you, you coward! He shrank a little beneath her scorn and anger, then seemed to recover and brace himself, as one does who feels that a great struggle is at hand upon the issue of which everything depends. Do not be angry with me, he answered, I cannot bear it, it hurts, ah, you don't know how it hurts. Well, I will tell you, and before your father, for that is more honorable, I dare, for your sake. For my sake, how can it benefit me to be cooped up in this horrible place with you? I would rather trust myself with the Macalanga, or even, she added, with bitter scorn, even with those bloody-minded Matabeely. You ran away from them very fast a little while ago, Miss Clifford. But you do not understand me, when I said for your sake, I meant for my own. See now, you tried to leave me the other day, and did not succeed. Another time you might succeed, and then, what would happen to me? I do not know, Mr. Mayor, and her eyes added, I do not care. Ah, but I know, last time it drove me nearly mad, next time I should go quite mad. Because you believe that through me you will find this treasure of which you dream day and night, Mr. Mayor. Yes, he interrupted quickly, because I believe that in you I shall find the treasure of which I dream day and night, and because that treasure has become necessary to my life. Benita turned quickly towards her father, who was puzzling over the words, but before either of them could speak, Jakob passed his hand across his brow in a bewildered way and said, What was I talking of? The treasure, yes, the uncountable treasure of pure gold, that lies hidden so deep, that it is so hard to discover and to possess, the useless buried treasure that would bring such joy and glory to us both, if only it could be come at and reckoned out, piece by piece, coin by coin, through the long, long years of life. Then he paused, then went on, Well, Miss Clifford, you are quite right, that is why I have dared to make you a prisoner, because, as the old Molymo said, the treasure is yours, and I wish to share it. Now, about this treasure it seems that it can't be found, can it, although I have worked so hard, and he looked at his delicate scarred hands. It so, Mr. Mayor, it can't be found, so you had better let us go down to the Macalanga. But there is a way, Miss Clifford, there is a way, you know where it lies, and you can show me. If I knew I would show you soon enough, Mr. Mayor, for then you could take the stuff and our partnership would be at an end. Not until it is divided, ounce by ounce, and coin by coin. But first, first you must show me, as you say you will, and as you can. How, Mr. Mayor, I am not a magician. Ah! But you are! I will tell you how, having your promise. Listen now, both of you, I have studied, I know a great many things, and I read in your face that you have the gift. Let me look in your eyes a while, Miss Clifford, and you will go to sleep, quite gently, as in in your sleep, which shall not harm you at all. You will see where that gold lies hidden, and you will tell us. What do you mean? asked Benita, bewildered. I know what he means, broke in Mr. Clifford. You mean that you want to mesmerise her as you did the Zulu chief. Benita opened her lips to speak, but Mayor said quickly, No, no, hear me first before you refuse. You have the gift, the precious gift of clairvoyance, that is so rare. How do you know that, Mr. Mayor? I have never been mesmerised in my life. It does not matter how. I do know it. I have been sure of it from the moment when we first met, that night by the gloof. Although perhaps you felt nothing said, it was that gift of yours working upon a mind in tune, my mind, which led me there in time to save you. As it was a gift of yours which warned you of the disaster about to happen to the ship. Oh, I have heard the story from your own lips. Your spirit can loose itself from the body. It can seize a past and a future. It can discover the hidden things. I do not believe it, answered Benita, but at least it shall not be loosed by you. It shall, it shall, he cried, to with passion, his eyes blazing on her as he spoke, Oh, I foresaw all this, and that is why I was determined you should come with us. So that should other means fail, we might have your power to fall back upon. Well, they have failed. I have been patient, I have said nothing, but now there is no other way. Will you be so selfish, so cruel as to deny me? You who can make us all rich in an hour and take no hurt at all, no more than if you had slept a vile. Yes, answered Benita, I refuse to deliver my will into the keeping of any living man, at least of all into yours, Mr. Mayor. He turned to her father with a gesture of despair. Cannot you persuade her, Clifford? She is your daughter, she will obey you. Not in that, said Benita. No, answered Mr. Clifford, I cannot, and I wouldn't if I could. My daughter is quite right. Moreover, I hate this supernatural kind of thing. If we can't find this gold without it, then we must let it alone, that is all. Mayor turned aside to hide his face, and presently looked up again, and spoke quite softly. I suppose that I must accept my answer, but when you talked of any living man just now, Miss Clifford, did you include your father? She shook her head. Then will you allow him to try to mesmerise you? Benita laughed. Oh yes, if he likes, she said, but I do not think that the operation will be very successful. Good, we will see tomorrow. Now, like you, I am tired. I am going to bed in my new camp, as of all, he added significantly. Why are you so dead set against this business? Asked her father when he had gone. Oh, father, she answered. Can't you see? Don't you understand? Then it is hard to have to tell you, but I must. In the beginning, Mr. Mayor only wanted the gold. Now he wants more, me as well as the gold. I hate him. You know that is why I ran away. But I have read a good deal about this mesmerism, and I have seen it once or twice, and who knows? If once I allowed his mind to master my mind, although I hate him so much, I might become his slave. I understand now, said Mr. Clifford. Oh, why did I ever bring you here? It would have been better if I had never seen your face again. On the morrow the experiment was made. Mr. Clifford attempted to mesmerise his daughter. All the morning, Yakob, who, it now appeared, had practical knowledge of this doubtful art, tried to instruct him therein. In the course of the lesson, he informed him that for a short period in the past, having great natural powers in that direction, he had made use of them professionally, only giving up the business, because he found it wrecked his health. Mr. Clifford remarked that he had never told him that before. There are lots of things in my life that I have never told you, replied Yakob, with a little secret smile. For instance, once I mesmerised you, although you did not know it, and that is why you always have to do what I want you to, except when your daughter is near you, for her influence is stronger than mine. Mr. Clifford stared at him. No wonder Benita won't let you mesmerise her, he said shortly. Then Yakob saw his mistake. You are more foolish than I thought, he said. How could I mesmerise you without you knowing it? I was only laughing at you. I didn't see the laugh, replied Mr. Clifford uneasily. They went on with the lesson. That afternoon it was put to proof, in the cave itself, where Mayer seemed to think the influence would be propitious. Benita, who found some amusement in the performance, was seated upon the stone steps underneath the crucifix, one lamp on the altar, and others on each side of her. In front stood her father, staring at her, and waving his hands mysteriously in obedience to Yakob's directions. So ridiculous did he look indeed, while thus engaged, that Benita had the greatest difficulty in preventing herself from bursting into laughter. This was the only effect which his grimaces and gesticulations produced upon her, although outwardly she kept a solemn appearance, and even from time to time shut her eyes to encourage him. Once when she opened them again, it was to perceive that he was becoming very hot and exhausted, and that Yakob was watching him with such an unpleasant intentness that she reclosed her eyes that she might not see his face. It was shortly after this that of a sudden Benita did feel something, a kind of penetrating power flowing upon her, something soft and subtle that seemed to creep into her brain like the sound of her mother's lullaby in the dim years ago. She began to think that she was a lost traveller among alpine snows, wrapped round by snow, falling, falling in ten myriad flakes, every one of them with a little heart of fire. Then it came to her that she had heard this snow sleep was dangerous, the last of all sleeps, and that its victims must rouse themselves or die. Benita roused herself just in time, only just, for now she was being born over the edge of her precipice upon the wings of swans, and beneath her was darkness, wearing dim figures walked with lamps where their hearts should be. Oh, how heavy were her eyelids! Surely a weight hung to each of them, a golden weight. There, there, they were open and she saw. Her father had ceased his efforts. He was rubbing his brow with a red pocket handkerchief, but behind him, with rigid arms outstretched, his glowing eyes fastened on her face, stood Jakob Meir. By an effort she sprang to her feet, shaking her head as a dog does. Have done with this nonsense, she said. It tires me, and snatching one of the lamps she ran swiftly down the place. Benita expected that Jakob Meir would be very angry with her, embraced herself for a scene, but nothing of the sort happened. A while afterward she saw the two of them approaching, engaged apparently in amicable talk. Mr. Meir says that I am no mesmerist love, said her father, and I can quite believe him. But for all that, it is a weary job. I am as tired as I was after our escape from the Matabele. She laughed and answered, To judge by results, I agree with you. The occult is not in your line, father. You had better give it up. Did you then feel nothing? asked Meir. Nothing at all, she answered, looking him in the eyes. No, that's wrong. I felt extremely bored and sorry to see my father making himself ridiculous. Grey hairs and nonsense of that sort don't go well together. No, he answered, I agree with you, not of that sort. And the subject dropped. For the next few days, to her intense relief, Benita heard no more of mesmerism. To begin with, there was something else to occupy their minds. The Matabele, tired of marching round the fortress and singing endless war songs, had determined upon an assault. From their point of vantage on the topmost wall, the three could watch the preparations which they made. Trees were cut down and brought in from a great distance, that rude ladders might be fashioned out of them. Also spies wandered around, reconnoitering for a weak place in the defences. When they came too near, the Makalanga fired on them, killing some, so that they retreated to the camp, which they had made in a fold of ground at a little distance. Suddenly it occurred to Meir, that although here the Matabele were safe from the Makalanga bullets, it was commanded from the greater eminence, and by way of recreation, he set himself to harass them. His rifle was a sporting martini, and he had an ample supply of ammunition. Moreover, he was a beautiful marksman, with sights like that of a hawk. A few trial shots gave him the range, it was a shade under 700 yards, and then he began operations. Lying on the top of the wall, and resting his rifle upon a stone, he waited until the man who was superintending the manufacture of the ladders came out into the open, when aiming carefully he fired. The soldier, a white-bearded savage, sprang into the air, and fell backwards, while his companion stared upwards, wondering whence the bullet had come. But it was not it, said Meir to Benita, who was watching through a pair of field glasses. I dare say, she answered, but I do not want to see any more, and giving the glasses to her father, she climbed down the wall. But Meir stayed there, and from time to time she heard the report of his rifle. In the evening he told her that he had killed six men, and wounded ten more, adding that it was the best day's shooting, which he could remember. What is the use when there are so many? she asked. Not much, he answered, but it annoys them, and amuses me. Also it was part of our bargain that we should help the Macalanga, if they were attacked. I believe that you like killing people, she said. I don't mind it, Miss Clifford, especially as they tried to kill you. End of Chapter 17 Chapter 18 of The Spirit of Bambatze by H. Rider Haggard This Librivox recording is in the public domain. The other Benita At irregular times when he had nothing else to do, Jacob went on with his man-shooting, in which Mr Clifford joined him, though with less effect. Soon it became evident that the Matabele were very much annoyed by the fatal accuracy of this fire. Loss of life they did not mind in the abstract, but when none of them knew, but that their own turn might come next to perish beneath these downward plunging bullets. The Matam wore a different face to them. To leave their camp was not easy, since they had made a thorn-bomber around it to protect them in case the Macalanga should make a night sally. Also, they could find no other convenient spot. The upshot of it all was to hurry their assault, which they delivered before they had prepared sufficient ladders to make it effective. At the first break of dawn on the third day, after Mr Clifford's attempt at mesmerism, Benita was awakened by the sounds of shots and firing. Having dressed herself hastily, she hurried in the growing light towards that part of the wall from below which the noise seemed to come, and climbing it found her father and Jacob already seated there, their rifles in hand. The fools are attacking the small gate through which she went out riding, Ms Clifford, the very worst place that they could have chosen, or those of all looks weak there, said the latter. If those Macalanga have any pluck, they ought to teach them a lesson. Then the sun rose, and they saw companies of Matabele, who carried ladders in their hands, rushing onward through the morning mist, till their sight of them was obstructed by the swell of the hill. On these companies the two white men opened fire, with what results they could not see in that light. Presently a great shout announced that the enemy had gained the force and were setting up the ladders. Up to this time the Macalanga appeared to have done nothing, but now they began to fire rapidly from the ancient bastions, which commanded the entrance the impie was driving to storm, and soon through the thinning fog they perceived wounded Matabele, staggering and crawling back towards their camp. Of these the light now being better, Jacob did not neglect to take his toll. Meanwhile the ancients fortress rang with the hideous tumult of the attack. It was evident that again and again as their fierce washouts proclaimed, the Matabele were striving to scale the wall, and again and again were beaten back by the raking rifle fire. Once a triumphant yell seemed to announce their success. The fire slackened and Benita grew pale with fear. The Macalanga cowards are bolting, muttered Mr Clifford, listening with terrible anxiety. But if so, their courage came back to them, for presently the guns cracked louder and more incessant than before, and the savage cries of kill, kill, kill dwindled and died away. Another five minutes and the Matabele were in full retreat, bearing with them many dead and wounded men upon their backs, or stretched out on the ladders. Our Macalanga friends should be grateful to us for those hundred rifles, said Jacob, as he loaded and fired rapidly, sending his bullets wherever the clusters were thickest. Had it not been for them, their throats would have been cut by now, he added, for they could never have stopped those savages with the spear. Yes, and I was too before nightfall, said Benita, with a shudder, for the sight of this desperate fray and fear of how it might end had sickened her. Thank heaven it is over, perhaps they would give up the siege and go away. But not withstanding their costly defeat, for they had lost over a hundred men, the Matabele, who were afraid to return to Bulaueo except as victors, did nothing of the sort. They only cut down a quantity of reeds and scrub, and moved their camp nearly to the banks of the river, placing it in such a position that it could no longer be searched by the fire of the two white men. Here they sat themselves down sullenly, hoping to starve out the garrison or to find some other way of entering the fortress. Now may as shooting have income to an end for lack of men to shoot at, since the enemy exposed themselves no more, he was again able to give his full attention to the matter of the treasure hunt. As nothing could be found in the cave, he devoted himself to the outside enclosure, which, it's maybe remembered, was grown over with grass and trees and crowded with ruins. In the most important of these ruins, they began to dig somewhat aimlessly, and were rewarded by finding a certain amount of gold in the shape of beads and ornaments, and a few more skeletons of ancients. But of the Portuguese horde there was no sign. Thus it came about that they grew gloomy a day by day, till at last they scarcely spoke to each other. Jacob's angry disappointment was written on his face, and Benita was filled with despair, since to escape from their jailer above, and the matter beely below seemed impossible. Moreover she had another cause for anxiety. The ill health which had been threatening her father for a long while, now fell upon him in earnest, so there's other sudden he became a very old man. His strength and energy left him, and his mind was so filled with remorse for what he held to be his crime in bringing his daughter to this awful place, and with terror for the fate that threatened her, that he could think of nothing else. In vain did she try to comfort him. He would only wring his hands and groan, praying that God and she would forgive him. Now too may his mastery over him became continually more evident. Mr Clifford implored the man, almost with tears to unblock the wall, and allow them to go down to the Macalanga. He even tried to bribe him with the offer of all his share of the treasure, if it were found, and when that failed, of his property in the Transvaal. But Jacob only told him roughly not to be a fool, as they had to see the thing through together. Then he would go away and brood by himself, and Benita noticed that he always took his rifle or a pistol with him. Evidently he feared lest her father should catch him unprepared and take the law into his own hands by means of a sudden bullet. One comfort she had however, although he watched her closely, the Jew never tried to molest her in any way, not even with more of his enigmatic and amorous speeches. By degrees indeed, she came to believe that all this was gone from his mind, or that he had abandoned his advances as hopeless. A week passed since the Matabile attack, and nothing had happened. The Macalanga took no notice of them, and so far as she was aware, the old mollimo never attempted to climb the blocked wall or otherwise to communicate with them. A thing so strange that, knowing his affection for her, Benita came to the conclusion that he must be dead, killed perhaps in the attack. Even Jakob Mayer had abandoned his digging and sat about all day, doing nothing but think. Their meal that night was a miserable affair, since in the first place, provisions were running short and there was little to eat, and in the second no one spoke a word. Benita could swallow no food. She was weary of that sun-dried trecox, but since Mayer had blocked the wall, they had little else. But by good fortune there remained plenty of coffee, and of this she drank two cups, which Jakob prepared and handed to her with much politeness. It tasted very bitter to her, but this Benita reflected, was because they lacked milk and sugar. Supper ended. Mayer rose and bowed to her, muttering that he was going to bed, and a few minutes later Mr Clifford followed his example. She went with her father to the hut beneath the tree, and having helped him to remove his coat, which now he seemed to find difficulty in doing for himself, bade him good night and returned to the fire. It was very lonely there in the silence, but no sound came from either the Matabele or the Macalanga camps, and the bright moonlight seemed to people the place with fantastic shadows that looked alive. Benita cried a little now that her father could not see her, and then also sought refuge in bed. Evidently the end, whatever it might be, was near, and of it she could not bear to think. Moreover her eyes were strangely heavy, so much so that before she had finished saying her prayers, sleep fell upon her, and she knew no more. Had she remained as wakeful as it was often her fate to be during those fearful days, towards midnight she might have heard some light-footed creature creeping to her tent, and seen that the moon rays which flowed through the gaping and enclosed flap were cut off by the figure of a man with glowing eyes, whose projected arms waved over her mysteriously. But Benita neither heard nor saw. In her drugged rest she did not know that her sleep turned gradually to a magic swoon. She had no knowledge of her rising, or of how she threw her thick cloak about her, lit her lamp, and in obedience to that beckoning finger glided from the tent. She never heard her father stumble from his hut, disturbed by the sound of footsteps, or the words that passed between him and Jacob Mayer, while lamp in hand she stood near them like a strengthless ghost. If you dare to wake her, hissed Jacob, I tell you that she will die, and afterwards you shall die, and he fingered the pistol at his belt. No harm shall come to her, I swear it, follow and see. Man, man, be silent, all our fortunes hang on it. Then overcome also by the strange fierceness of that voice and gaze, Clifford followed. On they go to the winding neck of the cavern, first Jacob walking backwards, like the herald of majesty. Then majesty itself in the shape of this long-haired, death-like woman, cloaked and bearing in her hand the light, and last behind the old white bearded man, like time following beauty to the grave. Now they were in the great cavern, and now, avoiding the open tombs, the well-mouth and the altar, they stood beneath the crucifix. Be seated, said Mayer, and the entranced Benita sat herself down upon the steps at the foot of the cross, placing the lamp on the rock pavement before her, and bowing her head till her hair fell upon her naked feet and hid them. He held his hands above her for a while, then asked, Do you sleep? I sleep, came the strange slow answer. Is your spirit awake? It is awake. Command it to travel backwards through the ages to the beginning, and tell me what you see here. I see a rugged cave and a wild folk dwelling in it, an old man is dying yonder, as she pointed to the right, and a black woman with a babe at her breast tense him. A man, it is her husband, enters the cave. He holds a torch in one hand, and with the other drags a buck. Cease, said Mayer, how long is this ago? Thirty-three thousand two hundred and one years, came the answer, spoken without any hesitation. Pass on, he said, pass on, thirty thousand years, and tell me what you see. For a long while there was silence. Why do you not speak? he asked. Be patient, I am living through those thirty thousand years. Many a life, many an age, but none may be missed. Again there was silence for a long while till at length she spoke. They are done, all of them, and now, three thousand years ago I see this place changed and smoothly fashioned, peopled by a throng of worshippers, clad in strange garments with clasps upon them. Behind me stands the graven statue of a goddess, with a calm and cruel face. In front of the altar burns a fire, and on the altar white-robed priests are sacrificing an infant which cries aloud. Pass on, pass on, may I said hurriedly, as though the horror of that scene had leapt to his eyes. Pass on, two thousand seven hundred years, and tell me what you see. Again there was a pause, while the spirit he had evoked in the body of Benita lived through those ages. Then slowly she answered, Nothing, the place is black and desolate, only the dead sleep beneath its floor. Wait till the living come again, he commanded, then speak. They are here, she replied presently, Tonsuit monks, one of whom fastens this crucifix and their followers who bow down before the host upon the altar. They come, they go. Of whom shall I tell you? Tell me of the Portuguese, of those who were driven here to die. I see them all, she answered after a pause. Two hundred and three of them. They are ragged and way-worn and hungry. Among them is a beautiful woman, a girl. She draws near to me, she enters into me. You must ask her. This was spoken in a very faint voice. I am, I no more. Mr Clifford attempted to interrupt, but fiercely may I bade him to be silent. Speak, he commanded. The crouching figure shook her head. Speak, he said again. Whereon another voice, not that of Benita, answered, in another tongue. I hear, but I do not understand your language. Great heaven, said the mayor, it is Portuguese. And for a while the terror of the thing struck him dumb, for he was aware that Benita knew no Portuguese. He knew it, however, who had lived at Lorenzo Marquez. Who are you? he asked in that tongue. I am Benita de Ferreira. I am the daughter of the Captain de Ferreira and of his wife, the Lady Cristina, who stand by you now. Turn and you will see them. Jakob started and looked about him uneasily. What did she say? I did not catch it all, asked Mr Clifford. He translated her words. But this is black magic, exclaimed the old man. Benita knows no Portuguese, so how come she to speak it? Because she is no longer our Benita. She is another Benita, Benita de Ferreira. The molymo was right when he said that the spirit of the dead woman went with her. As it seems the name has gone, he added. Have done, said Mr Clifford, the thing is unholy. Wake her up, or I will. I had to bring about her death. Touch or disturb her, and I tell you she will die. And he pointed to Benita, who crouched before them, so white and emotionless, that indeed it seemed as though already she were dead. Be quiet, he went on. I swear to you that no hurt shall come to her. Also that I will translate everything to you. Promise that I will tell you nothing and that blood be on your head. Then Mr Clifford groaned and said, I promise. Tell me your story, Benita de Ferreira. How came you and your peoples here? The tribes of Monomotapa rose against our rule. They killed many of us in the lower land. Yes, they killed my brother, and to him who I was affianced. The rest of us fled north to this ancient fortress, hoping thence to escape by the river, the Sambisi. The Mambo, our vassal, gave us shelter here. But the tribes besieged the walls in thousands, and burnt all the boats, so that we could not fly by the water. Many times we beat them back from the wall. The ditch was full of their dead, and at last they dared to attack no more. Then we began to starve, and they won the first wall. We went on starving, and they won the second wall. The third wall they could not climb, so we died. One by one, we laid ourselves down in this cave, and died till I alone was left. For while our people had food, they gave it to me, who was the daughter of their captain. Yes, alone I knelt at the foot of this crucifix by the body of my father, praying to the blessed son of Mary, for the death that would not come, and kneeling there I swooned. When I awoke again, the Mambo and his men stood about me. For now, knowing us to be dead, the tribes had gone, and those who were in hiding across the river had returned and knew how to climb the wall. They bore me from among the dead. They gave me food, so that my strength came back. But in the night, I, who in my wickedness would not live, escaped from them, and climbed the pillar of Black Rock, so that when the sun rose, they saw me standing there. They begged of me to come down, promising to protect me. But I said no, who in the evil of my heart, only desired to die that I might join my father and my brother, and one who is dearer to me than all. They asked of me where the great treasure was hidden. At these words Jacob gasped, then rapidly translated them, while the figure before them became silent, as though it felt that for the moments the power of his will was withdrawn. Speak on, I bid you, he said, and she continued, the rich, slow voice dropping word after word from the lips of Benita, in the alien speech that this Benita never knew. I answered that it was where it was, and that if they gave it up to any, save the one appointed, then that fate which had befallen my people would befall theirs also. Yes, I gave it into their keeping, until I came again. Since, with his dying breath, my father had commanded me to reveal it to none, and I believed that I, who was about to die, should never come again. Then I made my last prayer. I kissed the golden crucifix that now hangs upon the breast, wherein I dwell. And the hand of the living Benita was lifted, and moving like the hand of a dead thing, slowly drew out the symbol from beneath the cloak, held it for a moment in the lamplight, and let it fall to its place again. I put my hands before my eyes that I might not see, and I hurled myself from the pinnacle. Now the voice ceased, but from the lips came a dreadful sound, such as might be uttered by one whose bones are shattered upon rocks, followed by other sounds like those of one who chokes in water. They were so horrible to hear that Mr Clifford nearly fainted, and even Jacob Mayer staggered and turned white as the white face of Benita. Wake her, for God's sake, wake her! said her father. She is dying, as that woman died hundreds of years ago. Not till she has told us where the gold is. Be quiet, you fool. She does not feel or suffer. It is the spirit within her that lives through the past again. Once more there was silence. It seemed as though the story were all told, and the teller had departed. Benita de Ferreira said to Mayer at length, I command you, tell me, are you dead? Oh, that I were dead, as my body is dead. Well, the lips of Benita, alas! I cannot die who suffer this purgatory, and must dwell on here alone until the destined day. Yes, yes, the spirit of her who was Benita de Ferreira must haunt this place in solitude. This is her doom, to be the guardian of that accursed gold, which was wrung from the earth by cruelty, and paid for with the lives of men. Is it still safe? whispered Jacob. I will look. Then, after a pause, I have looped. It is there, every grain of it, in ox-hide bags. Only one of them has fallen and burst. That which is black and red. Where is it? he said again. I may not tell you, never, never. Is there anyone whom you may tell? Yes. Whom? Her, in whose breast I lie. Tell her, then. I have told her. She knows. And may she tell me? Let her guard the secrets as she will. Oh, my guardians, I thank you. My burden is departed. My sin of self-murder is atoned. Benita de Ferreira, are you gone? No answer. Benita Clifford, do you hear me? I hear you, said the voice of Benita, speaking in English, although Jacob, forgetting, had addressed her in Portuguese. Where is the gold? In my keeping. Tell me, I command you. But no words came, though he questioned her many times. No words came, till at last her head sank forward upon her knees. And in a faint voice she murmured, Loose me, or I die. And if this occasion passed, might never be learned. But if he hesitated, Mr Clifford did not, the knowledge of his child's danger, the sense that her life was mysteriously slipping away from her, under pressure of the ghastly spell, in which he lay enthralled, stirred him to madness. His strength and manhood came back to him. He sprang straight at Mayer's throat, gripped it with one hand, and with the other drew the knife he wore. You devil, he gasped, wake her, or you shall go with her. And he lifted the knife. Then Jacob gave in. Shaking off his assailant, he stepped to Benita, and while her father stood behind him with the lifted blade, began to make strange upward passes over her, and to mutter words of command. For a long while they took no effect. Indeed, both of them were almost sure that she was gone. Despair gripped her father, and Mayer worked at his black heart so furiously, that the sweat burst out upon his forehead, and fell in great drops to the floor. Oh, at last she stirred, her head lifted itself a little, her breast heaved. Lord in heaven, I have saved her, muttered Jacob in German, and worked on. Now the eyes of Benita opened, and now she stood up inside. But she said nothing, only like a person walking in her sleep, she began to move towards the entrance of the cave, her father going before her with the lamp. On she went, and out of it, straight to her tent, where instantly she cast herself upon her bed, and sank into deep slumber. It was as though the power of the drug-induced oblivion, which for a while was over-mastered by that other stronger power invoked by Jacob, had reasserted itself. Mayer watched her for a while, then said to Mr Clifford, Don't be afraid, and don't attempt to disturb her. She will wake naturally in the morning. I hope so for both our sakes, he answered glaring at him, for if not you or I or the two of us will never see another. Mayer took no notice of his threats. Indeed, the man seemed so exhausted that he could scarcely stand. I am done, he said. Now, as she is safe, I don't care what happens to me, I must arrest. And he staggered from the tent like a drunken man. Outside at the place where they ate, Mr Clifford heard him gulping down, roging in from the bottle. Then he heard no more. All the rest of that night, and for some hours of the early morning, did her father watch by the bed of Benita, although lightly clad as he was, the cold of dawn struck to his bones. At length, when the sun was well up, she rose in her bed, and her eyes opened. What are you doing here, father? she said. I have come to see where you were, dear. You were generally out by now. I suppose that I must have overslept myself then, she replied wearily. But it does not seem to have refreshed me very much, and my headaches. Oh, I remember, she added with a start. I have had such a horrid dream. What about? he asked as carelessly as he could. I can't recall it quite, but it had to do with Mr Mayer. And she shivered. It seemed as though I had passed into his power, as though he had taken possession of me, body and soul, and forced me to tell him all the secret things. What secret things, Benita? She shook her head. I don't know now, but we went away among dead people, and I told him there. Oh, father, I am afraid of that man, terribly afraid, protects me from him, and she began to cry a little. Of course I will protect you, dear. Something has upset your nerves. Come, dress yourself, and you'll soon forget it all. I like the fire. A quarter of an hour later, Benita joined him, looking pale and shaken, but otherwise much as usual. She was ravenously hungry, and ate of the biscuits and dried meats with eagerness. The coffee tastes quite different from that which I drank last night, she said. I think there must have been something in it which gave me those bad dreams. Where is Mr Mayer? Oh, I know, and again she put her hand to her head. He is still asleep by the wall. Who told you that? I can't say, but it is so. He will not come here till one o'clock. There, I feel much better now. What shall we do, father? Sit in the sun and rest, I think, dear. Yes, let us do that on top of the wall. We can see the Macalanga from there, and it will be a comfort to be sure that there are other human beings left in the world, besides ourselves and Jacob Mayer. So presently they went, and from the spot whence Mayer used to shoot at the Matabele camp, looked down upon the Macalanga, moving about the first enclosure far below. By the aid of the glasses, Benita even thought that she recognised Tamas, although of this it was difficult to be sure, for they were all very much alike. Still, the discovery quite excited her. I am sure it is Tamas, she said, and oh, how I wished that we were down there with him, although it is true then we should be nearer to the Matabele, but they are better than Mr. Mayer much better. Now for a while they were silent till at length, she said suddenly, Father, you are keeping something back from me, and things begin to come back. Tell me, did I go anywhere last night with Mr. Mayer? You and he and I together. He hesitated and looked guilty. Mr. Clifford was not a good actor. I see that we did, I am sure that we did. Father, tell me, I must know, I will know. Then he gave way. I didn't want to speak, dear, but perhaps it is best. It is a very strange story. Will you promise not to be upset? I will promise not to be more upset than I am at present, she answered with a sad little laugh. Go on. You remember that Jacob Mayer wanted to mesmerise you. I am not likely to forget it. She answered, Well, last night he did mesmerise you. What, she said, What? Oh, how dreadful! Now I understand it all, but when? When you were sound asleep, I suppose. At least the first I knew of it was that some noise woke me, and I came out of the hut to see you following him like a dead woman with a lamp in her hand. Then he told her all the story while she listened aghast. How dared he, she gasped, when her father had finished the long tale. I hate him. I almost wish that you had killed him. And she clenched her little hands and shook them in the air. That is not very Christian of you, Miss Clifford, said a voice behind her. But it is one o'clock past, and as I am still alive, I have come to tell you that it is time for luncheon. Benita wheeled round upon the stone on which she sat, there, standing amidst the bushes a little way from the foot of the wall, was Yakob Mayer. Their eyes met, hers were full of defiance, and his of conscious power. I do not want any luncheon, Mr. Mayer, she said, But I am sure that you do. Please come down and have some. Please come down. The words were spoken humbly, almost pleadingly. Yet to Benita they seemed as a command, at any rate, with slow reluctance she climbed down the shattered wall followed by her father, and without speaking they went back to their camping place, all three of them, Yakob leading the way. When they had eaten or made pretence to eat, he spoke. I see that your father has told you everything, Miss Clifford, and of that I am glad. As for me it would have been awkward, who must ask your forgiveness for so much. But what could I do? I knew, as I have always known, that it was only possible to find this treasure by your help. So I gave you something to make you sleep, and then in your sleep I hypnotised you, and you know the rest. I have great experience in this art, but I have never seen or heard of anything like what happened, and I hope I never shall again. Here the two Benita had sat silent, but now her burning indignation and curiosity overcame her shame and hatred. Mr. Mayor, she said, you have done a shameful and a wicked thing, and I tell you at once that I can never forgive you. Don't say that, please don't say that. He interrupted in tones of real grief, make allowances for me. I had to learn, and there was no other way. You are a born clairvoyant, one among ten thousand. My art told me so, and you know all that is at stake. By which you mean so many ounces of gold, Mr. Mayor? By which I mean the greatness that gold can give, Miss Clifford. Such greatness, Mr. Mayor, as a week of fever, or a matter bealy spear, or God's will can rob you of. But the thing is done, and soon or late the sin must be paid for. Now I want to ask you a question. You believe in nothing, you have told me so several times. You say that there is no such thing as a spirit, that when we die we die, and there's an end. Do you not? Yes, I do. Then tell me, what was it that spoke out of my lips last night, and how came it that I, who know no Portuguese, talked you in that tongue? He shrugged his shoulders. You have put a difficult question, but one I think that can be answered. There is no such thing as a spirit, an identity that survives death. But there is such a thing as the subconscious self, which is part of the animating principle of the universe. And if only its knowledge can be unsealed, knows all that has passed, and all that is passing in that universe. One day perhaps you will read the works of my compatriot, Hegel, and there you will find it spoken of. You explain nothing. I am about to explain, Miss Clifford. Last night I gave to your subconscious self, that which knows all, the strength of liberty, so that it saw the past as it had happened in this place. Already you knew the story of the dead girl, Benita da Ferrera, and that story you reenacted, talking the tongue she used as you would have talked Greek or any other tongue had it been hers. It was not her spirit that animated you, but your own buried knowledge, tricked out and furnished by the efforts of your human imagination. That her name, Benita, should have been yours also, is no doubt a strange coincidence, but no more. Also, they have no proof that it was so, only what you said in your trance. Perhaps, said Benita, who is in no mood for philosophical argument, perhaps also one day you will see a spirit, Mr Mayor, and think otherwise. Then I see a spirit, and know that it is a spirit, then doubtless I shall believe in spirits. But what is the good of talking of such things? I do not seek spirits, I seek the Portuguese gold. Now I am sure you can tell where that gold lies. You would have told us last night, had not your nervous strength failed you, who are unaccustomed to the state of trance. Speaking as Benita da Ferrera, you said that you saw it and described its condition. Then you could, or would, say no more, and it became necessary to awaken you. Miss Clifford, you must let me mesmerise you once again, for a few minutes only, for then we will waste no time on past histories, and we shall find the gold. Unless indeed he added by an afterthought, and looking at her sharply, you know already where it is, in which case I need not trouble you. I do not know, Mr Mayor, I remember nothing about the gold. Which proves my theory, what purported to be the spirit of Benita da Ferrera, said that it had passed the secret on to you, but in your waking state you do not know that secret. In fact, she did not pass it on, because she has no existence, but in your subconscious state you will know. Therefore I must mesmerise you again, not at once, but in a few days' time, when you have quite recovered. Let us say, next Wednesday, three days hence, you shall never mesmerise me again, Mr Mayor. No, not while I live, broke in her father, who had been listening to this discussion in silence. Jakob bowed his head meekly. You think so now, but I think otherwise. But I did last night, I did against your will, and that I can do again, only much more easily. But I had the rather do it with your will, who work not for my own sake only, but for the sake of all of us. And now, let us talk no more of the matter, lest we should grow angry. Then he rose and went away. The next three days were passed by Benita in a state of constant dread. She knew in herself that Jakob Mayor had acquired a certain command over her, that a horrible intimacy had sprung up between them. She was acquainted with his thoughts, thus before he asked for it, she would find herself passing him some article at table or elsewhere, or answering a question that he was only about to ask. Moreover, he could bring her to him from a little distance. Thus, on two or three occasions, when she was wondering about their prison enclosure, as she was want to do for the sake of exercise, she found her feet drawn to some spot, now one place and now another. And when she reached it, there before her was Jakob Mayor. Forgive me for bringing you here, he would say, smiling after his crooked fashion, and lifting his hat politely. But I wish to ask you if you have not changed your mind as to being mesmerized. Then for a while he would hold her with his eyes, so that her feet seemed rooted to the ground, till at length it was as though he cut a rope by some action of his will, and set her free, and choked with wrath and blind with tears, Benita would turn and run from him, as from a wild beast. But if her days were evil, oh, what were her nights? She who lived in constant terror, lest he should again drug her food or drink, and while she slept, throw his magic spell upon her. To protect herself from the first danger, she would swallow nothing that had been near him. Now also she slept in the hut with her father, who lay near its door, a loaded rifle at his side, but he had told Jakob outright that if he caught him at his practices, he would shoot him, a threat at which the younger man laughed aloud, for he had no fear of Mr Clifford. Throughout the long hours of darkness, they kept watch alternately, one of them lying down to rest while the other peered and listened. Nor did Benita always listen in vain, for twice at least she heard stealthy footsteps creeping about the hut, and felt that soft and dreadful influence flowing in upon her. Then she would wake her father, whispering, He's there! I can feel that he is there! But by the time that the old man had painfully dragged himself to his feet, for now he was becoming very feeble, and acute rheumatism or some such illness had got hold of him, and crept from the hut, there was no one to be seen. Only through the darkness, he would hear the sound of a retreating step, and of low mocking laughter. Thus those miserable days went by, and the third morning came, that dreaded Wednesday. Before it was dawn, Benita and her father, neither of whom had closed their eyes that night, talked over there straight, long and earnestly, for they knew that its crisis was approaching. I think that I had better try to kill him, Benita! He said, I am growing dreadfully weak, and if I put it off I may find no strength, and you will be at his mercy. I can easily shoot him when his back is turned, although I hate the thought of such a deed. Surely I shall be forgiven, or if not, I cannot help it. I must think of my duty to you, not of myself. No, no, she answered, I will not have it. It would be murder, although he has threatened you. After all, father, I believe that the man is half mad, and not responsible. We must take our chance, and trust to God to save us. If he does not, she added, at the worst, I can always save myself. She touched the pistol, which now she wore day and night. So be it, said Mr Clifford with a groan, let us pray for deliverance from this hell, and keep our hands clean of blood. End of chapter 19 Chapter 20 Of the Spirit of Bambatse by H. Ryder Haggard This Librivox recording is in the public domain. Jacob Mayer sees a spirit. For a while they were silent, then Benita said, Father, is it not possible that we might escape after all? Perhaps that stare on the rampart is not so completely blocked that we could not climb over it. Mr Clifford, thinking of his stiff limbs and aching back, shook his head and answered, I don't know. Mayer has never let me near enough to see. Well, why do you not go and look? You know he sleeps so late now because he is up all night. Take the glasses and examine the top of the wall from inside that old house nearby. He will not see or hear you, but if I came near he would know and wake up. If you like, love, I can try, but what are you going to do while I am away? I shall climb the pillar. You don't mean? And he stopped. Don't know nothing of that sort. I shall not follow the example of Benita de Ferreira, unless I am driven to it. I want to look, that is all. One can see far from that place, if there is anything to see. Perhaps the Mattabile are gone now. We have heard nothing of them lately. So they dressed themselves, and as soon as the lights were sufficiently strong, came out of the hut and parted. Mr Clifford, rifle in hand, limping off towards the wall, and Benita going towards the great cone. She climbed it easily enough and stood in the little cup-like depression on its dizzy peak, waiting for the sun to rise and disperse the mists which hung over the river and its banks. Now, whatever may have been the exact ceremonial use to which the ancients put this pinnacle, without doubt it had something to do with sun worship. This indeed was proved by the fact that, at any rate at this season of the year, the first rays of the risen orb struck full upon its point. Thus it came about that as she stood there waiting, Benita of a sudden found herself suffused in light, so vivid and intense, that, loathed as she was in a dress which had once been white, it must have caused her to shine like a silver image. For several minutes, indeed, this golden spear of fire blinded her, so that she could see nothing, but stood quite still, afraid to move, and waiting until, as the sun grew higher, its level rays passed over her. This they did presently, and plunging into the valley began to drive away the fog. Now she looked down along the line of the river. The Matabele camp was invisible, for it lay in a hollow almost at the foot of the fortress. Beyond it, however, was a rising swell of ground. It may have been half a mile from where she stood, and on the crest of it, she perceived what looked like a wagon tent, with figures moving round it. They were shouting also, for through the silence of the African morn, the sound of their voices floated up to her. As the mist cleared off, Benita saw that without doubt it was a wagon, for there stood the long row of oxen. Also, it had just been captured by the Matabele, for these were about it in numbers. At the moment, however, they appeared to be otherwise occupied, for they were pointing with their spears to the pillar on Bambakse. Then it occurred to Benita that, placed as she was in that fierce light, with only the sky for background, she must be perfectly visible from the plane below, and that it might be her figure, perched like an eagle between heaven and earth, which excited their interest. Yes, and not theirs only, for now a white man appeared, who lifted what might have been a gun, or a telescope towards her. She was short from the red flannel shirt on the broad hat which he wore, that he must be a white man, and oh, how her heart yearned towards him, whoever he might be. The sight of an angel from heaven, could scarcely have been more welcome to Benita in her wretchedness. Yet, surely, she must be dreaming, what should a white man and a wagon be doing in that place, and why had not the Matabele killed him at once? She could not tell, yet they appear to have no murderous intentions, since they continue to gesticulate and talk, whilst he stared upwards with the telescope, if it was a telescope. So things went on for a long time, for meanwhile the oxen were outspanned, until, indeed, more Matabele arrived, who led off the white man, apparently against his will towards their camp, where he disappeared. Then, as there was nothing more to be seen, Benita descended the column. At its foot she met her father, who had come back to seek her. What's the matter? he asked, noting her excited face. Oh, she said, or rather sobbed, there is a wagon with a white man below. I saw them at a bealey, capture him. Then I am sorry for the poor devil, answered the father, but he is dead by now. But what could a white man have been doing here, some hunter, I suppose, who has walked into a trap? The face of Benita fell. I hoped, she said, that he might help us. As well might he hope that we could help him. He is gone, and there is an end. Well, peace be to his soul, and we have our own troubles to think of. I have been to look at that wall, and it is useless to think of climbing it. If he had been a professional mason, mayor could not have built it up better. No wonder that we have seen nothing more of the mollimo, for only a bird could reach us. Where was Mr. Mayor? asked Benita. A sleep in a blanket, under a little shelter of bows by the stair. At least I thought so, though it was rather difficult to make him out in the shadow. At any rate, I saw his rifle set against a tree. Come, let us go to breakfast. No doubt he will turn up soon enough. So they went, and for the first time since the Sunday, Benita ate a hearty meal of biscuits soaked in coffee. Although her father was so sure that by now he must have perished on the Matabele Spears, the sight of the white man and his wagon had put new life into her, bringing her into touch with the world again. After all, might it not chance that he had escaped? All this while there had been no sign of Jacob Mayor. This, however, did not surprise them, but now he ate his meals alone, taking his food from a little general store, and cooking it over his own fire. When they had finished their breakfast, Mr Clifford remarked that they had no more drinking water left, and Benita said that she would go to fetch a pailful from the well in the cave. Her father suggested that he should accompany her, but she answered that it was not necessary, as she was quite able to wind the chain by herself. So she went, carrying the bucket in one hand and a lamp in the other. As she walked down the last of the zigzags leading to the cave, Benita stopped a moment, thinking that she saw a light, and then went on, since on turning the corner, there was nothing but darkness before her. Evidently she had been mistaken. She reached the well and hung the pail onto the great copper hook, wondering as she did so, how many folk had done likewise in the far, far past. For the massive metal of that hook was worn quite thin with use. Then she let the roller run and the sound of the travelling chain clanked dismally in that vaulted empty place. At length the pail struck the water, and she began to wind it up again, pausing at times to rest, for the distance was long and the chain heavy. The bucket appeared. Benita drew it to the side of the well and lifted it from the hook, then took up her lamp to be gone. Feeling or seeing something, which she was not sure, she held the lamp above her head, and by its light perceived a figure standing between her and the entrance to the cave. Who are you? she asked. Where on, a soft voice answered out of the darkness, the voice of Jakob Mayer. Do you mind standing still for a few minutes, Miss Clifford? I have some paper here, and I wish to make a sketch. You do not know how beautiful you look with that light above your head, illuminating the shadows and the thorn-crowned face on the crucifix beyond. You know, whatever paths fortune may have led me into, by nature I am an artist, and never in my life have I seen such a picture, for on day it will make me famous. How statue-like I see these stand, the agate lamp within thy hand. That's what I should put under it. You know the lines, don't you? Yes, Mr. Mayer, but I'm afraid you will have to paint your picture from memory, as I cannot hold up this lamp any longer. My arm is aching already. I do not know how you came here, as you have followed me. Perhaps you will be so kind as to carry this water. I did not follow you, Miss Clifford, although you never saw me. I answered the cave before you to make some measurements. How can you make measurements in the dark? I was not in the dark. I put out my light when I caught sight of you, knowing that otherwise you were done on the way, and fate stood me in good stead. You came on, as I will that you should do. Now let us talk. Miss Clifford, have you changed your mind? You know the time is up. I shall never change my mind. Let me pass you, Mr. Mayer. No, no, not until you have listened. You are very cruel to me, very cruel indeed. You do not understand that rather than do you the slightest harm, I would die a hundred times. I do not ask you to die. I only ask you to leave me alone, a much easier matter. But how can I leave you alone when you are a part of me? Then I love you. There, the truth is out, and now say what you will. Benita lifted the bucket of water. His weight seemed to steady her. Then she put it down again. Since escape was impracticable, she must face the situation. I have nothing to say, Mr. Mayer, except that I do not love you or any living man, and I never shall. I thank you for the compliment you have paid me, and there is an end. Any living man, he repeated after her. That means you love a dead man, Seymour, he who was drowned. No wonder that I hated him when first my eyes fell on him years ago, long before you had come into our lives. Prescience, the subconscious self again. Well, what is the use of loving the dead, those who have no longer any existence, who have gone back into the clay out of which they were formed, and are not, no evermore shall be. You have but one life. Turn, turn to the living, and make it fruitful and happy. I do not agree with you, Mr. Mayer. To me the dead are still living. One day I shall find them. Now, let me go. I will not let you go. I will plead and wrestle with you, as in the old fable, my namesake of my own race, wrestled with the angel, until at length you bless me. You despise me because I am a Jew, because I have had many adventures and not succeeded, because you think me mad, but I tell you that there is a seed of greatness in me. Give yourself to me, and I will make you great, for now I know that it was you whom I needed to supply what is lacking in my nature. We will win their wealth, and together we will rule. Until a few days hence we starve, or the mater bealy make an end of us. No, Mr. Mayer, no. And she tried to push past him. He stretched out his arms and stopped her. Listen, he said, I have pleaded with you as man with woman. Now, as you refuse me, and as you alone stand between me and a madness, I will take another course. I am your master. Your will is servant to my will. I bid you obey me. Bending forward he fixed his eyes upon hers, and Benita felt her strength begin to fail. Ah, he said, you are my servant now, and to show it I shall kiss you on the lips, and then I shall throw the sleep upon you, and you will tell me what I want to know. Afterwards we can be wed when it pleases me, or do not think that your father will defend you, for if he interferes I shall kill that foolish old man, whom until now I have only spared for your sake. But remember that if you make me angry, I shall certainly kill him, and your own father's blood will be on your head. Now I am going to kiss you. Benita lifted her hand to find the pistol at her waist. It fell back again. She had no strength. It was as though she were paralysed, as a bird is paralysed by a snake, so that it cannot open its wings and fly away, but sits there awaiting death. She was given over into the hands of this man whom she hated. Could God allow such a thing, she wondered dimly, and all the while his lips drew nearer to her face. They touched her own, and then, why or wherefore Benita never understood? The spell broke. All his power was gone. She was, as she had been, her free woman, mistress of herself. Contemptuously she thrust the man aside, and not even troubling to run, lifted her pale of water and walked away, leaving him there, standing and staring after her. Soon she saw the light again, and joyfully extinguished her lamp. Indeed, the breast of Benita, which should have been so troubled after the scene through which she had passed, strangely enough, was filled with happiness and peace. As that glorious sunlight had broken on her eyes, so had another light of freedom arisen in her soul. She was no longer afraid of Yakob Mayer. That coward kiss of his had struck off the shackles which bound her to him. Her mind had been subject to his mind, but now that his physical nature was brought into the play, his mental parts had lost its hold upon her, and Benita knew that he would never be able to mesmerise her again. No, not even in her sleep, when her will was in abeyance. Therefore, she was joyous as a bird, new escaped from its cage. As she approached the hut, she saw her father seated on a stone outside it, since the poor old man was now so weak and so full of pain that he could not stand for very long, and seeing, remembered Mayer's threats against him. Had the thought, all her newfound happiness departed, she might be safe. She felt sure that she was safe. But how about her father? If Mayer could not get his way, probably he would be as good as his word and kill him. She shivered at the thought. Then, recovering herself, walked forward steadily with her buckets of water. You have been a long while gone, my love, said Mr Clifford. Yes, father, Mr Mayer was in the cave and kept me. How did he get there, and what did he want? I don't know how he got there, crept in when we were not looking, I suppose, but as for what he wanted, listen, dear, and word for word she told him what had passed. Before she had finished, her father was almost choking with wrath. The dirty Jew, the villain, he gasped. I never dreamed that he would dare to attempt such an outrage. Well, thank heaven I can still hold a rifle, and when he comes out, father, she said gently, that man is mad. He is not responsible for his actions. And therefore, except in self-defense, you must not think of such a thing. As for what he said about you, I believe it was only empty threats, and for me, you need have no fear. His power over me is gone. It went like a flash when his lips touched me. And she rubbed her own as though to wipe away some stain. I am afraid of nothing more. I believe, yes, I believe that the old Molymo was right, and that all will end well. As she was speaking, Benita heard a shuffling sound behind her, and turned to learn its course. Then she saw a strange sight. Jacob Mayer was staggering towards them, dragging one foot after the other through the grass and stones. His face was ghastly pale, his jaw had dropped like that of a dead man, and his eyes were set wide open and full of horror. On he came towards them, as though to seek their company and protection, till he stood still in front of them trembling, the perspiration running from him. What is the matter with you, man? asked Mr Clifford. I have seen a ghost, he whispered. You did not come back in the cave, did you? He added, pointing at Benita, who shook her head. What ghost? asked Mr Clifford. I don't know, but my lamp went out, and then a light began to shine behind me. I turned and on the steps of that crucifix, I saw a woman kneeling. Her arms clasped the feet of the figure. Her forehead rested upon the feet. Her long black hair flowed down. She was dressed in white, as a light came from her body and her head. Very slowly she turned and looked at me, and oh heaven, that face! And he put his hand before his eyes and groaned. It was beautiful, yes, yes, but fearful to see, like an avenging angel. I fled, and the lights, only the lights, came with me down the cave. Even at the mouth of it there was a little. I have seen a spirit, I who do not believe in spirits. I have seen a spirit, and I tell you, that not for all the gold in the world, that I enter that place again. Then, before they could answer, suddenly, as though his fear had got some fresh hold on him, Jacob sprang forward and fled away, crashing through the bushes and leaping from rock to rock, like a frightened buck. End of Chapter 20 Chapter 21 Of the Spirit of Bambatse by H. Ryder Haggard This Librivox recording is in the public domain. The message from the dead. Mayer always said that he did not believe in spirits, remarked Mr. Clifford reflectively. Will he believe in them now? answered Benita, with a little laugh. But, father, the poor man is mad. That is the fact of it, and we must pay no attention to what he says. The old Molymo and some of his people, Tamas, for instance, declare that they have seen the ghost of Benita de Ferreira. Are they mad also, Benita? I don't know, father, who can say? All these things are a mystery. All I do know is that I have never seen a ghost, and I doubt if I ever shall. No, but when you are in that trance, something that was not you spoke out of your mouth, which something said that it was your namesake, the other Benita. Well, as you say, we can't fathom these things, especially in a haunted kind of place like this. But the upshot of it is that I don't think we have much more to fear from Jacob. I'm not so sure, father. Mad people change their moods very suddenly. As it happened, Benita was quite right. Towards supper time, Jacob Mayer reappeared, looking pale and shaken, but otherwise much as usual. I had a kind of fit this morning, he explained, the result of an hallucination which seized me when my light went out in that cave. I remember that I thought I had seen a ghost, whereas I know very well that no such thing exists. I was the victim of disappointment, anxieties, and other still strongly motions, and he looked at Benita. Therefore, please forget anything that I said or did, and would you give me some supper? Benita did so, and he ate in silence, with some heart in us. When he had finished his food and swallowed two or three tops of square face, he spoke again, I have come here, where I know I am not welcome, of own business, he said, in a calm, matter-of-fact voice. I am tired of this place, and I think it is time that we attained the object of our journey here, namely to find the hidden gold. That, as we all know, can only be done in a certain way, through the clairvoyant powers of one of us, and the hypnotic powers of another. Miss Clifford, I request that you allow me to throw you into a state of trance. You have told us everything else, but you have not yet told us where the treasure is hidden, and this it is necessary that we should know. And if I refuse, Mr. Mayor, then I am sorry, but I must take means to compel your obedience. Under those circumstances, much against my will, I shall be obliged, here his eyes blazed out wildly, to execute your father, whose obstinacy and influence stand between us and splendid fortunes. No, Clifford, he added, don't stretch out your hand towards that rifle, but I am already covering you with a pistol in my pocket. At the moment your hand touches it, I shall fire. You poor old man, do you imagine for a single second that sick as you are, and with your stiff limbs, you can hope to match yourself against my agility, intellect and strength? Why, I can kill you in a dozen ways before you could lift a finger against me, and by that God I do not believe in, unless your daughter is more compliant, kill you I will. That remains to be seen, my friend, said Mr. Clifford with a laugh, for he was a brave old man. I am not certain that the God whom you do not believe in will not kill you first. Now Bonita, who had been taking counsel with herself, looked up and said suddenly, Very well, Mr. Mayor, I consent, because I must. Tomorrow morning you shall try to mesmerise me, if you can, in the same place, before the crucifix in the cave. No, he answered quickly. It was not there, it was here, and here it shall be again. The spot you mention is unpropitious to me, the attempt would fail. It is the spot that I have chosen, answered Bonita stubbornly, and this is the spot that I have chosen, Miss Clifford, and my will must prevail over yours. Because you who do not believe in spirits are afraid to re-enter the cave, Mr. Mayor, lest you should chance. Never mind what I am, or am not afraid of, he replied with fury, make your choice between doing my will and your father's life. Tomorrow morning I shall come for your answer, and if you are still obstinate, within half an hour he will be dead, leaving you and me alone together. Oh, you may call me wicked and a villain, but it is you who are wicked, you, you, you who force me to this deed of justice. Then, without another word, he sprang up and walked away from them backwards, as he went, covering Mr. Clifford with the pistol which he had drawn from his pocket. The last that they saw of him were his eyes, which glowered at them through the darkness, like those of a lion. Father, said Bonita, when she was sure that he had gone, that madman really means to murder you, there is no doubt of it. None whatever, dear, if I am alive, tomorrow night I shall be lucky, unless I can kill him first or get out of his way. Well, she said hurriedly, I think you can, I have an idea. He is afraid to go into that cave, I am sure. Let us hide ourselves there, we can take food and shall have plenty of water, whereas unless rain falls, he can get nothing to drink. But what then, Bonita, we can't stop in the dark forever. No, but we can wait there until something happens, something must and will happen. His disease won't stand still, he may go raving mad and kill himself, or he may attempt to attack us, though that is not likely, and then we must do what we can in self-defense, or help may reach us from somewhere. At the worst, we shall only die as we should have died outside. Come, let us be quick, lest he should change his mind and creep back upon us. So Mr Clifford gave way, knowing that even if he could steal himself to the deed of attempting to kill Jacob, he would have little chance against that strong and agile man. Such a struggle would only end in his own death, and Bonita must then be left alone with Mayer and his insane passions. Hurriedly they carried their few belongings into the cave. First they took most of the little store of food that remained, the three handlamps and all the paraffin. There was but one tin, then returning they fetched the bucket, the ammunition and their clothes. Afterwards, as there was still no sign of Mayer, they even dared to drag in the wagon tent to make a shelter for Bonita, and all the wood that they had collected for firing. This proved a wearisome business, for the logs were heavy, and in his crippled state Mr Clifford could carry no great burden. Indeed, towards the end Bonita was forced to complete the task alone, while he limped beside her with his rifle, lest Jacob should surprise them. When at length everything was done, it was long past midnight, and so exhausted were they that notwithstanding their danger, they flung themselves down upon the canvas tent, which lay in a heap at the end of the cave near the crucifix, and fell asleep. When Bonita woke, the lamp had gone out, and it was pitch dark. Fortunately, however, she remembered where she had put the matches, and the lantern with a candle in it. She lit the candle and looked at her watch. It was nearly six o'clock. The dawn must be breaking outside. Within an hour or two, Jacob Mayer would find that they had gone. Suppose that his rage should overcome his fear, and that he should creep upon them, they would know nothing of it, until his face appeared in the faint ring of light, or he might even shoot her father out of the darkness. What could she do that would give them warning? A thought came to her. Taking one of the tent ropes and the lantern, for her father still slept heavily, she went down to the entrance of the cave, and at the end of the last zigzag where once a door had been, managed to make it fast to a stone hinge, about 18 inches above the floor, and on the other side to an eye opposite, that was cutting the solid rock to receive a bolt of wood or iron. Mayer she knew had no lamps or oil, only matches and perhaps a few candles. Therefore, if he tried to enter the cave, it was probable that he would trip over the rope, and thus give them warning. Then she went back, washed her face and hands with some water that they had drawn on the previous night to satisfy their thirst, and tidied herself as best she could. This done, as her father still slept, she filled the lamps, lit one of them, and looked about her, for she was loath to wake him. Truly, it was an awful place in which to dwell. There above them towered the great white crucifix. There in the corner were piled the remains of the Portuguese. A skull with long hair, still hanging to it, grinned at her. Her withered hand was thrust forward as though to clutch her. Oh, no wonder that in such a spot, Yaakov Mayer had seen ghosts. In front, too, was the yawning grave where they had found the monk. Indeed, his bones wrapped in dark robes still lay within, for Yaakov had tumbled them back again. Then beyond and all around, deep dark and utter silence. At last her father woke, and glad enough was she of his human company. They breakfasted upon some biscuits and water, and afterwards, while Mr Clifford watched her near the entrance with his rifle, Benita set to work to arrange their belongings. The tent she managed to prop up against the wall of the cave by help of some of the wood which they had carried in. Beneath it she spread their blankets, that it might serve as a sleeping place for them both, and outside placed the food and other things. While she was thus engaged, she heard a sound at the mouth of the cave. Yaakov Mayer was entering, and had fallen over her rope. Down it she ran, lantern in hand to her father, who, with his rifle raised, were shouting, If you come in here, I put a bullet through you. Then came the answer in Yaakov's voice, which rang hollow in that vaulted place. I do not want to come in. I shall wait for you to come out. You cannot live long in there. The horror of the dark will kill you. I have only to sit in the sunlight and wait. Then he laughed, and they heard the sound of his footsteps retreating down the passage. What are we to do? asked Mr Clifford despairingly. We cannot live without light, and if we have light, he will certainly creep to the entrance and shoot us. He is quite mad now. I am sure of it from his voice. Benita thought a minute. Then she answered, We must build up the passage. Look! As she pointed to the lumps of rock, that the explosion of their mine had shaken down from the roof, and the slabs of cement that they had broken from the floor with the crowbar. At once, at once, she went on. He will not come back for some hours, probably not till night. So they set to work, and never did Benita labour, as it was her lot to do that day. Such of the fragments as they could lift, they carried between them. Others they rolled along by help of the crowbar. For hour after hour they toiled at their task. Luckily for them, the passage was not more than three feet wide by six feet six high, and their material was ample. Before the evening they had blocked it completely with a wall several feet in thickness, which wall they supported on the inside with lengths of the firewood lashed across to the old hinges and bolt holes, or set a bleakly against its face. It was done, and they regarded their work with pride, although it seemed probable that they were building up their own tomb. Because of its position at an angle of the passage, they knew that Maia could not get to it with a pole to batter it down. Also there was no loose powder left, so his only chance would be to pull it to pieces with his hands, and this they thought might prove beyond his power. At least, should he attempt it, they would have ample warning. Yet that day was not to pass without another trouble. Just as they had rolled up and levered into place a long fragment of rock designed to prevent the ends of their supporting pieces of wood from slipping on the cement floor, Mr Clifford uttered an exclamation, then said, Ah, you've wrung my back badly! Help me to the tent! I must slide down!" Slowly, and with great pain, they staggered up the cave. Mr Clifford leaning on Benita and a stick, saw reaching the tent at last, he almost fell onto the blanket, and remained there practically crippled. Now began Benita's terrible time, the worst of all her life. Every hour her father became more ill. Even before they took refuge in the cave, he was completely broken down, and now, after this accident, he began to suffer very much. His rheumatism, or sciatica, or whatever it was, seemed to settle upon the hurt muscles of his back, causing him so much pain that he could scarcely sleep for 10 minutes at a stretch. Moreover, he would swallow but little of the rough food which was all Benita was able to prepare for him. Nothing, indeed, except biscuits soaked in black coffee, which he boiled over a small fire made of the wood that they had brought with them, and occasionally a little broth, tasteless stuff enough, for it was only the essence of biltong, or sun-dried flesh, flavoured with some salt. Then there were two other terrors against which she must fight, the darkness and the dread of Yakob Mayer. Perhaps the darkness was the worst of them, to live in that hideous gloom in which their single lamp, for she dared burn no more, lest the oil should give out, seemed but as one star to the whole night. Ah, who that had not endured it could know what it meant! There the sick man, yonder the grinning skeletons, around the blackness and the silence, and beyond these again a miserable death, or Yakob Mayer. But of him Benita saw nothing, though once or twice she thought that she heard his voice raving outside the wall which they had built. If so, either he did not try to pull it down, or he failed in the attempt, or perhaps he feared that should he succeed he would be greeted by a bullet. So at last she gave up thinking about him. Should he force his way into the cave, she must deal with the situation as best she could. Meanwhile her father's strength was sinking fast. Three awful days went by in this fashion, and the end drew near. Although she tried to force herself to it, Benita could not swallow enough food to keep up her strength. Now that the passage was closed, the atmosphere of this old vault, for it was nothing more, thickened by the smoke of the fire which she was obliged to burn, grew poisonous and choked her. Once of sleep exhausted her. Dread of what the morrow might bring forth crushed her strong spirit. She began to break down, knowing that the hour was near when she and her father must die together. Once as she slept a while at his side, being awakened by his groaning, Benita looked at her watch. It was midnight. She rose, and going to the embers of the little fire, warmed up some of her built-on broth, which she poured into a tin panicking. With difficulty she forced him to swallow a few mouthfuls of it. Then, feeling a sudden weakness, drank the rest herself. It gave her power to think, and her father dozed off into an uneasy sleep. Alas! Thinking was of no use, nothing could be done. There was no hope save in prayer. Restlessness seized Benita, and taking the lantern she wandered round the cave. The wall that they had built remained intact, and though, to think that beyond it flowed the free air, and shone the blessed stars. Back she came again, skirting the pits that Yakovmea had dug, at the grave of the old monk, till she reached the steps of the crucifix, and holding up her candle, looked at the thorn-crowned brow of the Christ above. It was wonderfully carved, that dying face was full of pity, would not he whom it represented pity her. She knelt down on the topmost step, and clasping the pierced feet with her arms, began to pray earnestly, not for herself, but that she might save her father. She prayed as she had never prayed before, and so praying sank into a torpor or a swoon. It seemed to Benita that this sleep of hers suddenly became alive. In it she saw many things. For instance, she saw herself seated in a state of trance upon that very step, where she now knelt, while before her stood her father and Yakovmea. Moreover, her voice spoke in her. She could not hear the voice, but she seemed to see the words written in the air before her. These were the words. Clasp the feet of the Christ, and draw them to the left. The passage beneath leads to the chamber where the gold is hid, and thence to the riverbank. That is the secret which ere I depart. I, the dead Benita, pass on to you, the living Benita, as I am commanded. In life and death, peace be to your soul. Thrice did this message appear to repeat itself in the consciousness of Benita. Then, suddenly as she had slept, she woke again, with every letter of it imprinted on her mind. Doubtless it was a dream, nothing but a dream bred by the fact that her arms were clasping the feet of the crucifix. What did it say? Draw them to the left? She did so, but nothing stirred. Again she tried, and still nothing stirred. Of course it was a dream. Why had such been sent to mock her? In a kind of mad irritation, she put out all her remaining strength, and wrestled with those stony feet. They moved a little. Then, of a sudden, without any further effort on her part, swung round as high as the knees, where drapery hung, concealing the joy in them. Yes, they swung round, revealing the head of a stair, up which blew a cold wind, that it was sweet to breathe. Benita rose gasping. Then she seized her lantern, and ran to the little tents where her father lay. End of chapter 21