 CHAPTER 6 The drums beat at sunset. Chap was drunk for the next day or two, and I had the business of the store to myself. I was glad of this, for it gave me leisure to reflect upon the various perplexities of my situation. As I have said, I was really scared, more out of a sense of impotence than from dread of actual danger. I was in a fog of uncertainty. Things were happening around me which I could only dimly guess at, and I had no power to take one step in defense. That ward-law should have felt the same without any hint from me. Was the final proof that the mystery was no figment of my nerves. I had written to Colas and got no answer. Now the letter with Chap's resignation in it had gone to Durban. Surely some notice would be taken of that. If I was given the post, Colas was bound to consider what I had said in my earlier letter, and give me some directions. Meanwhile it was my business to stick to my job till I was relieved. A change had come over the place during my absence. The natives had almost disappeared from sight, except the few families living round Blow Wildebeest Fontaine. One never saw a native on the roads, and none came into the store. They were sticking close to their locations, or else they had gone after some distant business. Except a batch of three shanghans returning from the Rand, I had nobody in the store for the whole of one day, so about four o'clock I shut it up, whistled to Colin, and went for a walk along the Burg. If there were no natives on the road, there were plenty in the bush, I had the impression of which Wardlaw has spoken, that the native population of the countryside had suddenly been hugely increased. The woods were simply hotching with them. I was being spied on as before, but now there were so many at the business that they could not all conceal their tracks. Every now and then I had a glimpse of a black shoulder or leg, and Colin, whom I kept on the leash, was half mad with excitement. I had seen all I wanted, and went home with a preoccupied mind. I sat long on Wardlaw's garden-seat, trying to puzzle out the truth of this spying. What perplexed me was that I had been left unmolested when I had gone to Oomphalos. Now as I conjectured, the secret of the neighborhood, whatever it was, was probably connected with the Roor around, but when I had written in that direction, and had spent two days in exploring, no one had troubled to watch me. I was quite certain about this, for my eye had grown quick to note espionage, and it is harder for a spy to hide in the spare bush of the flats than in the dense thickets of these uplands. The watchers then did not mind my fosicking round their sacred place. Why then was I so closely watched in the harmless neighborhood of the store? I thought for a long time before an answer occurred to me. The reason must be that, going to the plains, I was going into native country, and away from civilization. But Blauwildebiestfontein was near the frontier. There must be some dark business brewing of which they may have feared that I had an inkling. They wanted to see if I proposed to go to Petersdorf, or Wesselsburg, and tell what I knew, and they clearly were resolved that I should not. I laughed, I remember, thinking that they had forgotten the post-bag, but then I reflected that I knew nothing of what might be happening daily to the post-bag. When I had reached this conclusion, my first impulse was to test it by riding straight west on the main road. If I was right I should certainly be stopped. On second thoughts, however, this seemed to me to be flinging up the game prematurely, and I resolved to wait a day or two before acting. Last day nothing happened save that my sense of loneliness increased. I felt that I was being hemmed in by barbarism, and cut off in a ghoulish land from the sucker of my own kind. I only kept my courage up by the necessity of presenting a brave face to Mr. Wardlaw, who was by this time in a very broken condition of nerves. I had often thought that it was my duty to advise him to leave, and to see him safely off, but I shrank from severing myself from my only friend. I thought, too, of the few Dutch farmers within riding distance, and had half a mind to visit them, but they were far over the plateau, and could know little of my anxieties. The third day events moved faster, Jap was sober and wonderfully quiet. He gave me good morning quite in a friendly tone, and set to posting up the books as if he had never misbehaved in his days. I was so busy with my thoughts that I, too, must have been gentler than usual, and the morning passed like a honeymoon till I went across to dinner. I was just sitting down when I remembered that I had left my watch in my waistcoat behind the counter, and started to go back for it, but at the door I stopped short, for two horsemen had drawn up before the store. One was a native with what I took to be saddlebags. The other was a small slim man with a sun-helmet, who was slowly dismounting. Something in the cut of his jib struck me as familiar. I slipped into the empty school room and stared hard. Then as he half turned in handing his bridle to the caffer, I got a sight of his face. It was my former shipmate and reekish. He said something to his companion, and entered the store. You may imagine that my curiosity ran to fever-heat. My first impulse was to march over for my waistcoat and make a third with Jap at the interview. Happily I reflected in time that and reekish knew my face, for I had grown no beard, having a great dislike to needless hair. If he was one of the villains in the drama, he would mark me down for his vengeance once he knew I was here, whereas at present he had probably forgotten all about me. Besides, if I walked in boldly I would get no news. If Jap and he had a secret, they would not blab it in my presence. My next idea was to slip in by the back to the room I had once lived in. But how was I to cross the road? It ran white and dry, some distance each way, in full view of the caffer with the horses. Further the store stood on a bear-patch, and it would be a hard job to get in by the back, assuming as I believed that the neighborhood was thick with spies. The upshot was that I got my glasses and turned them on the store. The door was open, and so was the window. In the gloom of the interior I made out in reekish legs. He was standing by the counter, and apparently talking to Jap. He moved to shut the door, and came back inside my focus opposite the window. There he stayed for maybe ten minutes, while I hugged my impatience. I would have given a hundred pounds to be snug in my old room, with Jap thinking me out of the store. Suddenly the legs twitched up, and his boots appeared above the counter. Jap had invited him to his bedroom, and the game was now to be played beyond my ken. This was more than I could stand, so I stole out at the back door, and took to the thickest bush on the hillside. My notion was to cross the road half a mile down, where it had dropped into the defile of the stream, and then to come swiftly up the edge of the water, so as to affect a back entrance into the store. As fast as I dared, I tore through the bush, and in about a quarter of an hour had reached the point I was making for. Then I bore down to the road, and was in the scrub about ten yards off it, when the clatter of horses pulled me up again. Peeping out I saw that it was my friend and his caffer follower, who were riding at a very good pace for the planes. Toilfully and crossly I returned on my tracks to my long delayed dinner. Whatever the purport of their talk, Jap and the Portuguese had not taken long over it. In the store that afternoon I said casually to Jap that I had noticed visitors at the door during my dinner hour. The old man looked me frankly enough in the face. Yes, it was Mr. Hendrix, he said, and explained that the man was a Portuguese trader from Delagoa Way, who had a lot of cappers stores east of the Lobombo Hills. I asked his business and was told that he always gave Jap a call in when he was passing. Do you take every man that calls into your bedroom and shut the door, I asked. Jap lost color and his lip trembled. I swear to God, Mr. Crawford, I've been doing nothing wrong. I've kept the promise I gave you like an oath to my mother. I see you suspect me, and maybe you've caused, but I'll be quite honest with you. I have dealt in diamonds before this with Hendrix, but today when he asked me, I told him that that business was off. I only took him to my room to give him a drink. He likes brandy and there's no supply in the shop. I distrusted Jap wholeheartedly enough, but I was convinced that in this case he spoke the truth. Had the man any news, I asked. He had and he hadn't, said Jap. He was always a sullenbeger and never spoke much. But he said one queer thing. He asked me if I was going to retire, and when I told him yes, he said I had put it off rather long. I told him I was as healthy as I ever was, and he laughed in his dirty Portuguese way. Yes, Mr. Jap, he says, but the country is not so healthy. I wonder what the Jap meant. He'll be dead of black water before many months, to judge by his eyes. This talk satisfied me about Jap, who was clearly in desperate fear of offending me, and disinclined to return for the present to his old ways. But I think the rest of the afternoon was the most wretched time in my existence. It was as plain as daylight that we were in for some grave trouble, trouble to which I believed that I alone held any kind of clue. I had a pile of evidence. The visit of Enriquech was the last bit, which pointed to some great secret approaching its disclosure. I thought that that disclosure meant blood and ruin, but I knew nothing definite. If the commander of a British army had come to me then and there and offered help, I could have done nothing, only asked him to wait like me. The peril whatever it was, did not threaten me only. Though I and Wardlaw and Jap might be the first to suffer. But I had a terrible feeling that I alone could do something to ward it off, and just what that something was, I could not tell. I was horribly afraid, not only of unknown death, but of my impotence, to play any manly part. I was alone, knowing too much, and yet too little, and there was no chance of help under the broad sky. I cursed myself for not writing to Aitken at Lorraine-Zoomarkish weeks before. He had promised to come up, and he was the kind of man who kept his word. In the late afternoon I dragged Wardlaw out for a walk. In his presence I had to keep up a forced cheerfulness, and I believe the pretence did me good. We took a path up the berg among groves of Stinkwood and Essenwood, where a falling stream made an easy route. It may have been fancy, but it seemed to me that the wood was emptier, and that we were followed less closely. I remember it was a lovely evening, and in the clear, fragrant gloaming, every foreland of the berg stood out like a great ship above the dark green sea of the bush. When we reached the edge of the plateau, we saw the sun sinking between two far-blue pigs in Machopon's country, and away to the south the great roll of the high veld. I longed miserably for that country where white men were thronged together in dorps and cities. As we gazed a curious sound struck our ears. It seemed to begin far up in the north, a low roll like the combing of breakers on the sand. Then it grew louder and traveled nearer, a roll with sudden spasms of harsher sound in it, reminding me of the churning in one of the potholes of Kirkcapel Cliffs. Suddenly it grew softer again as the sound passed south, but new notes were always emerging. The echo came sometimes, as it were, from stark rock, and sometimes from the deep gloom of the forests. I have never heard an eerier sound, neither natural nor human it seemed, but the voice of that world between which is hid from man's sight and hearing. Mr. Wardlaw clutched my arm, and in that moment I guessed the explanation. The native drums were beating, passing some message from the far north down the line of the burg, where the locations were thickest, to the great black populations of the south. But that means war, Mr. Wardlaw cried. It means nothing of the kind, I said shortly. It's their way of sending news. It's as likely to be some change in the weather, or an outbreak of cattle disease. When we got home I found Jap with a face like grey paper. Did you hear the drums, he asked? Yes, I said shortly. What about them? God forgive you for an ignorant Britisher, he almost shouted. You may hear drums any night, but a drumming like that, I only once heard before. It was in 79 in the Zeti Valley. Do you know what happened next day? Setawayo's impies came over the hills, and in an hour there wasn't a living white soul in the glen. Two men escaped, and one of them was called Peter Jap. We are in God's hands, then, and must wait on his will, I said solemnly. There was no more sleep for Wardlaw and myself that night. We made the best barricade we could of the windows, loaded all our weapons, and trusted to Colin to give us early news. Before supper I went over to get Jap to join us, but found that that worthy had sought help from his old protector, the bottle, and was already sound to sleep with both door and window open. I had made up my mind that death was certain, and yet my heart belied my conviction, and I could not feel the appropriate mood. If anything, I was more cheerful since I had heard the drums. It was clearly now beyond the power of me or any man to stop the march of events. My thoughts ran on a native rising, and I kept telling myself how little that was probable. Where were the arms? The leader, the discipline, at any rate such arguments put me to sleep before dawn, and I wakened at eight to find that nothing had happened. The clear morning sunlight, as of old, made Blau Wilderbeest Fontaine the place of a dream. Zeta brought in my cup of coffee as if this day were just like all others. My pipe tasted as sweet. The fresh air from the burg blew as fragrantly on my brow. I went over to the store in reasonably good spirits, leaving ward-law, busy on the penitential psalms. The post-runner had brought the mail as usual, and there was one private letter for me. I opened it with great excitement, for the envelope bore the stamp of the firm. At last Kallus had deigned to answer. It was a sheet of the firm's note-paper, with the signature of Kallus across the top, but someone had penciled these five words. The bless-box are changing ground. I looked to see that Japp had not suffocated himself, then shut up the store, and went back to my room to think out this new mystification. The thing had come from Kallus, for it was the private note-paper of the Durban office, and there was Kallus' signature, but the penciling was in a different hand. My deduction from this was that someone wished to send me a message, and that Kallus had given that someone a sheet of signed paper to serve as a kind of introduction. I might take it, therefore, that this dribble was Kallus' reply to my letter. Now, my argument continued, if the unknown person saw fit to send me a message, it could not be merely one of warning. This must have told him that I was awake to some danger, and, as I was in Blau Wildebeest's fontane, I must be nearer the heart of things than anyone else. The message must, therefore, be in the nature of some password, which I was to remember when I heard it again. I reasoned the whole thing out very clearly, and I saw no gap in my logic. I cannot describe how that scribble had heartened me. I felt no more the crushing isolation of yesterday. There were others beside me in the secret. Help must be on the way, and the letter was the first tidings. But how nearer, that was the question. And it occurred to me for the first time to look at the postmark. I went back to the store and got the envelope out of the waste-paper basket. The postmark was certainly not Durban. The stamp was a caped colony one, and of the mark I could only read three letters, T-R-S. This was no sort of clue. And I turned the thing over, completely baffled. Then I noticed that there was no mark of the posttown of delivery. Our letters to Blau Wildebeest's fontane came through Petersdorp, and bore that mark. I compared the envelope with others. They all had a circle, and Petersdorp in broad black letters. But this envelope had nothing except the stamp. I was still slow at detective work. And it was some minutes before the explanation flashed on me. The letter had never been posted at all. The stamp was a fake, and had been borrowed from an old envelope. There was only one way in which it could have come. It must have been put in the letter bag while the postman was on his way from Petersdorp. My unknown friend must therefore be somewhere within eighty miles of me. I hurried off to look for the post-runner. But he had started back an hour before. There was nothing for it but to wait on the coming of the unknown. That afternoon I again took Mr. Wardlaw for a walk. It is an ingrained habit of mine that I never tell anyone more of a business than is practically necessary. For months I had kept all my knowledge to myself, and breathed not a word to a soul. But I thought it my duty to tell Wardlaw about the letter, to let him see that we were not forgotten. I am afraid it did not encourage his mind. Occult messages seemed to him only the last proof of a deadly danger encompassing us, and I could not shake his opinion. We took the same road to the crown of the Burg, and I was confirmed in my suspicion that the woods were empty and the watcher's gone. The place was as deserted as the bush at Umbulos. When we reached the summit about sunset we waited anxiously for the sound of drums. It came, as we expected, louder and more menacing than before. Wardlaw stood pinching my arm as the great tattoos swept down the escarpment and died away in the far mountains beyond the all offense. Yet it no longer seemed to be a wall of sound, shutting us out from our kindred in the west. A message had pierced the wall. If the bliss-box were changing ground, I believed, the hunters were calling out their hounds and getting ready for the chase. CHAPTER 7 Captain Archole tells a tale. It froze in the night, harder than was common on the Burg, even in winter, and as I crossed the road next morning it was covered with rhyme. All my fears had gone, and my mind was strung high with expectation. Five penciled words may seem a small thing to build hope on, but it was enough for me, and I went about my work in the store with a reasonably light heart. One of the first things I did was to take stock of our armory. There were five sporting-mousers of a cheap make, one-mouser pistol, a Lee Speed carbine, and a little nickel-plated revolver. There was also Jap's shotgun, an old hammered breech-loader, as well as the gun I had brought out with me. There was a good supply of cartridges, including a stock for a .400 express, which could not be found. I pocketed the pistol and searched till I discovered a good sheath-knife. If fighting was in prospect, I might as well look to my arms. All the morning I sat among flour and sugar, possessing my soul in as much patience as I could command. Then came down the white road from the west. The sun melted the rhyme. The flies came out and buzzed in the window. Jap got himself out of bed, and brewed strong coffee, and went back to his slumbers. Presently it was dinner time, and I went over to a silent meal with ward-law. When I returned I must have fallen asleep over a pipe. For the next thing I knew I was blinking drowsily at the patch of sun in the door and glistening for footsteps. In the dead stillness of the afternoon I thought I could discern a shuffling in the dust. I got up and looked out, and there, sure enough, was someone coming down the road. But it was only a caffer and a miserable looking object at that. I had never seen such an anatomy. It was a very old man, bent almost double, and clad in a ragged shirt and a pair of foul khaki trousers. He carried an iron pot and a few belongings were tied up in a dirty handkerchief. He must have been a Dhaka smoker, for he coughed hideously, twisting his body with the paroxysms. I had seen the type before, the old broken-down native who had no kin to support him and no tribe to shelter him. They wander about the roads, cooking their wretched meals by their little fires. Till one morning they are found stiff under a bush. The native gave me good day in caffer, then begged for tobacco or a handful of mealy-meal. I asked him where he came from, from the west in Kuz, he said, and before that from the south it is a sore road for old bones. I went into the store to fetch some meal, and when I came out he had shuffled close to the door. He had kept his eyes on the ground, but now he looked up at me, and I thought he had very bright eyes for such an old wreck. The nights are cold in Kuz, he wailed. And my folk are scattered, and I have no crawl. The Osvogels follow me, and I can hear the Blazbok. What about the Blazbok? I asked for the start. The Blazbok are changing ground, he said, and looked me straight in the face. And where are the hunters, I asked. They are here, and behind me, he said in English, holding out his pot for my meal, while he began to edge into the middle of the road. I followed, and speaking English asked him if he knew of a man called Kallus. I come from him, young boss. Where is your house? Ah, the school. There will be a way in by the back window? See that it is open, for I'll be there shortly. Then lifting up his voice he called down in Susuto all manner of blessings on me for my kindness, and went shuffling down the sunlit road, coughing like a volcano. In high excitement I locked up the store and went over to Mr. Warthlaw. No children had come to school that day, and he was sitting idle, playing patience. Locked the door, I said, and come into my room. They were on the brink of explanations. In about twenty minutes the bush below the back window parted and the caffer slipped out. He grinned at me, and after a glance round hopped very nimbly over the sill. Then he examined the window and pulled the curtains. Is the outer door shut, he asked in excellent English? Well, get me some hot water, and any spare clothes you may possess, Mr. Crawford. I must get comfortable before we begin our endaba. Take the night before us, so there's plenty of time, but get the house clear and see that nobody disturbs me at my toilet. I am a modest man, and sensitive about my looks. I brought him what he wanted, and looked on at an amazing transformation, taking a vial from his bundle. He rubbed some liquid on his face and neck and hands, and got rid of the black coloring. His body and legs he left untouched, save that he covered them, with shirt and trousers from my wardrobe. Then he pulled off a scaly wig, and showed beneath it a head of close-cropped, grizzled hair. In ten minutes the old caffer had been transformed into an active soldierly-looking man of maybe fifty years. Mr. Warglaw stared as if he had seen a resurrection. I had better introduce myself, he said, when he had taken the edge off his thirst and hunger. My name is Arkall, Captain James Arkall. I am speaking to Mr. Crawford, the storekeeper, and Mr. Warglaw, the schoolmaster of Blau Wilde of Beast Fontaine. Where, by the way, is Mr. Peter Japp, drunk? Ah, yes, it was always his failing. The quorum, however, is complete without him. By this time it was about sunset, and I remember I cocked my ear to hear the drums beat. Captain Arkall noticed the movement as he noticed all else. You're listening for the drums, but you won't hear them. That business is over here. Tonight they beat in Swaziland, and down into the Tonga border. Three days more, unless you and I, Mr. Crawford, are extra smart, and they'll be hearing them in Durban. It was not till the lamp was lit, the fire burning well, and the house locked and shuttered that Captain Arkall began his tale. First he said, Let me hear what you know. Collis told me that you were a keen fellow, and had wind of some mystery here. You wrote him about the way you were spied on, but I told him to take no notice. Your affair, Mr. Crawford, had to wait on more urgent matters. Now what do you think is happening? I spoke very shortly, weighing my words, or I felt I was on trial before these bright eyes. I think that some kind of native rising is about to commence. I, he said, dryly, you would, and your evidence would be the spying and drumming. Anything more? I have come on the tracks of a lot of IDB work in the neighborhood. I have some supply of diamonds, which they sell bit by bit, and I don't doubt that they have been getting guns with the proceeds. He nodded. Have you any notion who has been engaged in the job? I had it on my tongue to mention Jap, but for bore, remembering my promise. I can name one, I said, a little yellow Portuguese who calls himself Enriquech or Hendrix. He passed by here the day before yesterday. Captain Arkel suddenly was consumed with quiet laughter. Did you notice the caffer who rode with him and carried his saddlebags? Well, he's one of my men. Enriquech would have a fit if he knew what was in those saddlebags. They contain my change of clothes and other odds and ends. Enriquech owns stuff is in a hole in the sproot. A handy way of getting one's luggage sent on, eh? The bags are waiting for me at a place I appointed. And again Captain Arkel indulged his sense of humor. Then he became grave and returned to his examination, a rising with diamonds as the sinews of war, and Enriquech as the chief agent. Well and good, but who is to lead, and what are the natives going to rise about? I know nothing further, but I have made some guesses. Let's hear your guesses, he said, blowing smoke rings from his pipe. I think the main mover is a great black minister who calls himself John Laputa. Captain Arkel nearly sprang out of his chair. Now how on earth did you find that out? Quick, Mr. Crawford, tell me all you know, for this is desperately important. I began at the beginning, and told him the story of what happened on the Kirkcapel shore. Then I spoke of my sight of him on board ship, his talk with Enriquech about Blauwildebist Fontaine, and his hurried departure from Durban. Captain Arkel listened intently, and at the mention of Durban he laughed. You and I seemed to have been running on lines which nearly touched. I thought I had grabbed my friend Laputa that night in Durban. But I was too cock sure, and he slipped off. Do you know, Mr. Crawford, you have been on the right trail long before me. When did you say you first saw him at his devil worship? Seven years ago? Then you were the first man alive to know the Reverend John in his true colors. You knew, seven years ago, what I only found out last year. Well that's my story, I said. I don't know what the rising is about, but there's one other thing I can tell you. There is some kind of sacred place for the Caffers, and I found out where it is. I gave him a short account of my adventures in the Rurerrand. He smoked silently for a bit after I had finished. You've got the skeleton of the whole thing right, and you only want the filling up, and you found out everything for yourself. Collis was right. You're not wanting an intelligence, Mr. Crawford. It was not much of a compliment, but I have never been more pleased in my life. This slim grizzled band with his wrinkled face and bright eyes was clearly not lavish in his praise. I felt it was no small thing to have earned a word of commendation. And now I will tell you my story, said Captain Arkel. It is a long story, and I must begin far back. It has taken me years to decipher it, and remember, I've been all my life at this native business. I can talk every dialect, and I have the customs of every tribe by heart. I've traveled over every mile of South Africa, and Central and East Africa, too. I was in both the Matabele Wars, and I've seen a heap of other fighting which never got into the papers. So what I tell you, you can take as gospel, for it is knowledge that was not learned in a day. He puffed away and then asked suddenly, did you ever hear of Pristar John? The man that lived in Central Asia, I asked, with a reminiscence of a storybook I had as a boy. No, no, said Mr. Wardlaw. He means the king of Abyssinia in the 15th century. I've been reading all about him. He was a Christian, and the Portuguese sent expedition after expedition to find him. But they never got there. Albuqueca wanted to make an alliance with him and capture the holy sepulcher. Arkel nodded. That's the one I mean. There's not very much known about him, except Portuguese legends. He was a sort of Christian, but I expect that his practices were as pagan as his neighbors. There is no doubt that he was a great conqueror. Under him and his successors the Empire of Ethiopia extended far south of Abyssinia, away down to the Great Lakes. How long did this power last, I asked, wondering to what tale this was prologue. That's a mystery no scholar has ever been able to fathom. Anyhow the center of authority began to shift southward, and the warrior tribes moved in that direction. At the end of the 16th century the chief native power was round about the Zambezi. The Mzimba and the Makaranga had come down from the Lake Nyasa quarter, and there was a strong kingdom in Manicaland. That was the Monomatapa that the Portuguese thought so much of. Wardlaw nodded eagerly. The story was getting into ground that he knew about. The thing to remember is that all these little empires thought themselves the successors of Prostrjan. It took me a long time to find this out, and I've spent days in the best libraries in Europe over it. They all looked back to a great king in the north, whom they called by about twenty different names. They had forgotten all about his Christianity, but they remembered that he was a conqueror. Well to make a long story short, Monomatapa disappeared in time, and fresh tribes came down from the north, and pushed right down to Natal and the Cape. That is how the Zulus first appeared. They brought with them the story of Prostrjan, but by this time it had ceased to be a historical memory, and had become a religious cult. They worshipped a great power who had been their ancestor, and the favorite Zulu word for him was umkulunkulu. The belief was perverted into fifty different forms, but this was the central creed. That umkulunkulu had been the father of the tribe, and was alive as a spirit to watch over them. They brought more than a creed with them. Somehow or other some fetish had descended from Prostrjan by way of the Mazimba, and Angoni, and Makaranga. What it is I do not know, but it was always in the hands of the tribe which for the moment held the leadership. The great native wars of the sixteenth century, which you can read about in the Portuguese historians, were not for territory, but for leadership, and mainly for the possession of this fetish. Anyhow we know that the Zulus brought it down with them. They called it umdlondlo, which means the Great Snake. But I don't suppose that it was any kind of snake. The snake was their totem, and they would naturally call their most sacred possession after it. Now I will tell you a thing that few know. You have heard of Shaka. He was a sort of black Napoleon early in the last century, and he made the Zulus the paramount power in South Africa, slaughtering about two million souls to accomplish it. Well he had the fetish, whatever it was, and it was believed that he owed his conquests to it. Mozilakatsa tried to steal it, and that was why he had to fly to Matabele land. But with Shaka it disappeared. Din Gan did not have it, nor Panda, and Setawayo never got it, though he searched the length and breadth of the country for it. It had gone out of existence, and with it the chance of a capper empire. When Arkol got up to light his pipe, and I noticed that his face was grave, he was not telling us this yarn for our amusement. So much for Prestor John and his charm, he said. Now I have to take up the history at a different point. In spite of risings here and there, and occasional rows, the cappers have been quiet for the better part of half a century. It is no credit to us. They have had plenty of grievances, and we are no nearer understanding them than our fathers were. But they are scattered and divided. We have driven great wedges of white settlements into their territory, and we have taken away their arms. Still they are six times as many as we are, and they have long memories, and a thoughtful man may wonder how long the peace will last. I have often asked myself that question, and till lately I used to reply, forever, because they cannot find a leader with the proper authority, and they have no common cause to fight for. But a year or two ago I began to change my mind. It is my business to act as Chief Intelligence Officer among the natives. While one day I came on the tracks of a curious person. He was a Christian minister called Laputa, and he was going among the tribes from Durban to the Zambezi as a roving evangelist. I found that he made an enormous impression, and yet the people I spoke to were cherry of saying much about him. Presently I found that he preached more than the Gospel. His word was Africa for the Africans, and his chief point was that the natives had had a great empire in the past, and might have a great empire again. He used to tell the story of Pristar John, with all kinds of embroidery of his own. You see, Pristar John was a good argument for him, for he had been a Christian as well as a great potentate. For years there has been plenty of this talk in South Africa, chiefly among Christian kafers. It is what they call Ethiopianism, and American Negroes are the chief apostles. For myself I always thought the thing perfectly harmless. I don't care a fig whether the native missions break away from the parent churches in England and call themselves by fancy names. The more freedom they have in their religious life, the less they are likely to think about politics. But I soon found out that Laputa was none of your flabby educated Negroes from America, and I began to watch him. I first came across him at a revival meeting in London, where he was a great success. He came and spoke to me about my soul, but he gave up when I dropped into Zulu. The next time I met him was on the Lower Limpopo, when I had the honor of trying to shoot him from a boat. Captain Arkel took his pipe from his mouth and laughed at the recollection. I had got on to an IDB gang, and to my amazement found the evangelist among them. But the Reverend John was too much for me. He went overboard in spite of the crocodiles, and managed to swim below water to the reed bed at the side. However, that was a valuable experience for me, for it gave me a clue. I next saw him at a missionary conference in Cape Town, and after that at a meeting of the Geographical Society in London, where I had a long talk with him. My reputation does not follow me home, and he thought I was an English publisher with an interest in missions. You see, I had no evidence to connect him with IDB, and besides I fancied that his real game was something bigger than that, so I just bided my time and watched. I did my best to get on to his dossier, but it was no easy job. However, I found out a few things. He had been educated in the States, and well educated too, for the man is a good scholar and a great reader, besides the finest natural orator I have ever heard. There was no doubt that he was of Zulu blood, but I could get no traces of his family. He must come of high stock, for he is a fine figure of a man. Very soon I found it was no good following him in his excursions into civilization. There he was merely the educated caffer, a great pet of missionary societies, and a favorite speaker at church meetings. I will find evidence given by him in blue books on native affairs, and he counted many members of parliament at home among his correspondence. I let that side go, and resolved to dog him when on his evangelizing tours in the backfield. For six months I stuck to him like a leech. I am pretty good at disguises, and he never knew who was the broken-down old caffer who splotted in the dirt at the edge of the crowd when he spoke, or the half-caste who called him sir and drove his cape-cart. I had some queer adventures. But these can wait. The gist of the thing is that after six months, which turned my hair gray, I got a glimmering of what he was after. He talked Christianity to the mobs and the crawls, but to the endunas he told a different story. Captain Arkall helped himself to a drink. You can guess what that story was, Mr. Crawford. At full moon, when the black cock was blooded, the Reverend John forgot his Christianity. He was back four centuries among the Mzimba, sweeping down on the Zambezi. He told them, and they believed him, that he was the Omkulan Kulu, the incarnated spirit of Pruster John. He told them that he was there to lead the African race to conquest and empire. I, and he told them more, for he has, or says he has, the great snake itself, the necklace of Pruster John. Neither of us spoke. We were too occupied with fitting this news into our chain of knowledge. Captain Arkall went on. Now that I knew his purpose, I set myself to find out his preparations. It was not long before I found a mighty organization at work from the Zambezi to the Cape. The great tribes were up to their necks in the conspiracy, and all manner of little sects had been taken in. I have sat at tribal councils and been sworn a blood-brother, and I have used the secret password to get knowledge in odd places. It was a dangerous game, and as I have said, I had my adventures. But I came safe out of it, with my knowledge. The first thing I found out was that there was a great deal of wealth somewhere among the tribes. Much of it was in diamonds which the laborers stole from the mines and the chiefs impounded. Luckily every tribe had its secret chest, and our friend Laputa had the use of them all. Of course the difficulty was changing the diamonds into coin, and he had to start IDB on a big scale. York Powell and Rikish was the chief agent for this, but he had others at Mozambique and Johannesburg, I and in London, who might have on my list. With the money, guns and ammunition were bought, and it seems that a pretty flourishing trade has been going on for some time. It came in mostly overland, through Portuguese territory, though there have been cases of consignments to Johannesburg houses, the contents of which did not correspond with the invoice. You ask what the governments were doing to let this go on. Yes, and you may well ask. They were all asleep. They never dreamed of danger from the natives, and in any case it was difficult to police the Portuguese side. Laputa knew our weakness, and he staked everything on it. My first scheme was to lay Laputa by the heels, but no government would act on my information. The man was strongly buttressed by public support at home, and South Africa has burned her fingers before this with arbitrary arrests. Then I tried to fasten IDB on him, but I could not get my proofs till too late. I nearly had him in Durban, but he got away. And he never gave me a second chance. For five months he and Rikish had been lying low, because their scheme was getting very ripe. I had been following them through Zulu land and Ghazaland, and I have discovered that the train is ready, and only wants the match. For a month I have never been more than five hours behind him on the trail, and if he has laid his train, I have laid mine also. Arkel's whimsical humorous face had hardened into grimness, and in his clear eyes there was the light of a fierce purpose. The sight of him comforted me, in spite of his tale. But what can he hope to do, I asked. Though he roused every caffer in South Africa, he would be beaten. You say he is an educated man. He must know that he has no chance in the long run. I said he was an educated man, but he is also a caffer. He can see the first stage of a thing, and maybe the second, but no more. That is the native mind. If it was not like that, our chance would be the worse. You say the scheme is ripe, I said. How ripe! Arkel looked at the clock. In half an hour's time Laputa will be with Empethu. There he will stay the night. Tomorrow morning he goes to Umphalos to meet Enrikish. Tomorrow evening the gathering begins. One question I said. How big a man is Laputa? The biggest thing the caffers have ever produced. I tell you in my opinion he is a great genius. If he had been white he might have been a second Napoleon. He is a born leader of men, and as brave as a lion, there is no villainy he would not do if necessary, and yet I should hesitate to call him a Blackard. I, you may look surprised at me, you two pragmatical Scotsmen, but I have so to speak lived with the man for months, and there's fineness and nobility in him. He would be a terrible enemy, but a just one. He has the heart of a poet and a king, and it is God's curse that he has been born among the children of Ham. I hope to shoot him like a dog in a day or two, but I am glad to bear testimony to his greatness. If the rising starts tomorrow, I ask, have you any of his plans? He picked up a map from the table and opened it. The first rendezvous is somewhere near Cicatolas. Then they move south picking up contingents, and the final concentration is to be on the high belt near Amsterdam, which is convenient for the Swazis and the Zulus. After that I know nothing, but of course there are local concentrations along the whole line of the Berg from Machonaland to Basutaland. Now look here. To get to Amsterdam they must cross the Delagoa Bay Railway. Well they won't be allowed to. If they get as far they will be scattered there. As I told you, I too have laid my train. We have the police ready all along the scarf of the Berg. Every exit from native territory is watched. And the frontier farmers are out on commando. We have regulars on the Delagoa Bay and Natal lines, and a system of field telegraphs laid which can summon further troops to any point. It has all been kept secret because we are still in the dark ourselves. The newspaper public knows nothing about any rising, but in two days every white household in South Africa will be in a panic. Make no mistake, Mr. Crawford. This is a grim business. We will smash Laputa and his men, but it will be a fierce fight, and there will be much good blood shed. Besides it will throw the country back another half-century. Would to God I had been man enough to put a bullet through his head in cold blood. But I could not do it. It was too like murder, and maybe I shall never have the chance now. There's one thing puzzles me, I said. What makes Laputa come up here to start with? Why didn't he begin with Zulu land? God knows there sure to be sense in it, for he does nothing without reason. We may know to-morrow. But as Captain Arkol spoke, a real reason suddenly flashed into my mind. Laputa had to get the great snake, the necklace of Prestor John, to give his leadership prestige. Apparently he had not yet got it, or Arkol would have known. He started from this neighborhood because the fetish was somewhere hereabouts. I was convinced that my guess was right, but I kept my own counsel. Tomorrow Laputa and Enriquech meet at Umvoloz, probably at your new store, Mr. Crawford. And so the ball commences. My resolution was suddenly taken. I think I said I had better be present at the meeting, as representing the firm. Captain Arkol stared at me and laughed. I had thought of going myself, he said. Then you go to certain death, disguise yourself as you please. You cannot meet them in the store as I can. I'm there on my ordinary business, and they will never suspect. If you're to get any news, I'm the man to go. He looked at me steadily for a minute or so. I'm not sure that's such a bad idea of yours. I would be better employed myself on the burg, and as you say, I would have little chance of hearing anything. You're a plucky fellow, Mr. Crawford. I suppose you understand that the risk is pretty considerable. I suppose I do, but since I'm in this thing I may as well see it out. Besides I have an old quarrel with our friend Laputa. Good and well, said Captain Arkol. Draw in your chair to the table, then, and I'll explain to you the disposition of my men. I should tell you that I have loyal natives in my pay in most tribes, and can count on early intelligence. We can't match their telepathy, but the new type of field telegraph is not so bad, and may be a trifle more reliable. Till midnight we poured over maps, and certain details were burned on my memory. Then we went to bed and slept soundly, even Mr. Wardlaw. It was strange how fear had gone from the establishment, now that we knew the worst, and had a fighting man by our side. Chapter 8 I fall in again with the reverend John Laputa. Once as a boy I had earnestly desired to go into the army, and had hopes of rising to be a great general. Now that I know myself better, I do not think I would have been much good at a general's work. I would have shirked the loneliness of it. The isolation of responsibility. But I think I would have done well in a subaltern command, or I had a great notion of carrying out orders, and a certain zest in the mere act of obedience. Three days before I had been as nervous as a kitten, because I was alone, and it was up to me, as Americans say, to decide on the next step. But now that I was only one wheel in a great machine of defense, my nervousness seemed to have fled. I was well aware that the mission I was bound on was full of risk, but to my surprise I felt no fear. Indeed I had much the same feeling as a boy on a Saturday's holiday who has planned a great expedition. One thing only I regretted. That Tam Dyke was not with me to see the fun. The thought of that faithful soul, now beating somewhere on the seas, made me long for his comradeship. As I shaved, I remembered wondering if I would ever shave again, and the thought gave me no tremors. For once in my sober life I was strung up to the gambler's pitch of adventure. My job was to go to Umbulos, as if on my ordinary business, and if possible find out something of the evening's plan of march. The question was how to send back a message to Archall, assuming I had any difficulty in getting away. At first this puzzled us both, and then I thought of Colin. I had trained the dog to go home at my bidding. For often, when I used to go hunting, I would have occasion to visit a crawl where he would have been a nuisance. Accordingly I resolved to take Colin with me, and if I got into trouble to send word by him. I asked about the pudas' knowledge of our preparations. Archall was inclined to think that he suspected little. The police and the commandos had been kept very secret, and besides, they were moving on the high veldt and out of the can of the tribes. Natives, he told me, were not good scouts so far as white man's work was concerned. For they did not understand the meaning of what we did. On the other hand, his native scouts brought him pretty accurate tidings of any calf or movements. He thought that all the bush country of the plain would be closely watched, and that no one would get through without some kind of pass. But he thought also that the storekeeper might be an exception, for his presence would give rise to no suspicions. Almost his last words to me were to come back hell for leather if I saw the game was hopeless, and in any case to leave as soon as I got any news. If you're there when the march begins, he said, they'll cut your throat for a certainty. I had all the various police posts on the burg clear in my mind, so that I would know where to make for if the road to Blau Wildebeest Fontaine should be closed. I said good-bye to Archle and Wardlaw with a light heart, though the schoolmaster broke down and implored me to think better of it. As I turned down into the gorge, I heard the sound of horses' feet far behind, and turning back, saw white riders dismounting at the door. At any rate I was leaving the country well guarded in my rear. It was a fine morning in mid-winter, and I was in very good spirits as I jogged on my pony down the steep hill-road, with Colin running beside me, a month before I had taken the same journey, with no suspicion in my head of what the future was to bring. I thought about my Dutch companions, now with their cattle far out on the plains. Did they know of the great danger, I wondered? All the way down the glen I saw no sign of human presence. The game-birds mocked me from the thicket. A brace of white burghawn circled far up in the blue, and I had for pleasant comrade the brawling river. I dismounted wants to drink, and in that green haven of flowers and ferns I was struck sharply with a sense of folly. Here were we wretched creatures of men, making for each other's throats, and outraging the good earth which God had made so fair a habitation. I had resolved on a shortcut to Umphalos, avoiding the neighborhood of Cicatola's crawl. So when the river emerged from the glen, I crossed it and struck into the bush. I had not gone far before I realized that something strange was going on. It was like the woods on the burg a week before. I had the impression of many people moving in the bush, and now and then I caught a glimpse of them. My first thought was that I should be stopped. But soon it appeared that these folk had business of their own, which did not concern me. I was conscious of being watched, yet it was clear that the bushfolk were not there for the purpose of watching me. For a little I kept my spirits. But as the hours passed with the same uncanny hurrying to and fro all about me, my nerves began to suffer. Wax of espionage at Blau Wildebeest Fontaine had made me jumpy. These people apparently meant me no ill, and had no time to spare on me. But the sensation of moving through them was like walking on a black dark night with precipices all around. I felt odd quiverings between my shoulder blades, where a spear might be expected to lodge. Overhead was a great blue sky and a blazing sun, and I could see the path running clear before me between the walls of scrub. But it was like midnight to me, a midnight of suspicion and unknown perils. I began to wish heartily I had never come. I stopped for my midday meal at a place called Taki, a grassy glade in the bush, where a tiny spring of water crept out from below a big stone, only to disappear in the sand. Here I sat and smoked for half an hour, wondering what was going to become of me. The air was very still, but I could hear the rustle of movement somewhere within a hundred yards. The hidden folk were busy about their own ends, and I regretted that I had not taken the road by cicatolas and seen how the crawls looked. They must be empty now, for the young men were already out on some mission. So nervous I got that I took my pocketbook and wrote down certain messages to my mother, which I implored whoever should find my body to transmit. Then a little ashamed of my childishness, I pulled myself together and remounted. About three in the afternoon I came over a low ridge of bush and saw the corrugated iron roof of the store and the gleam of water from the lobongo. The sight encouraged me, for at any rate it met the end of this disquieting ride. Here the bush changed to trees of some size, and after leaving the ridge the road plunged for a little into a thick shade. I had forgotten for a moment the folk in the bush, and when a man stepped out of the thicket I pulled up my horse with a start. It was a tall native who carried himself proudly, and after a glance at me, stalked along at my side. He wore curious clothes, for he had a kind of linen tunic, and around his waist hung a kilt of leopard skin. In such a man one would have looked for a ring-cop, but instead he had a mass of hair, not like a calfor's wool, but long and curled like some popular musicians. I should have been prepared for the face, but the sight of it sent a sudden chill of fright through my veins, for there were the curved nose, the deep flashing eyes, and the cruel lips of my enemy of the Kirkcapel shore. Colin was deeply suspicious, and followed his heels growling, but he never turned his head. The day is warm, Father, I said in Caffer. Do you go far? He slackened pace till he was at my elbow. But a short way, boss, he replied in English. I go to the store yonder. Well met, then, said I, for I am the storekeeper. You will find little in it, for it is newly built and not yet stocked. I have ridden over to see to it. He turned his face to me. That is bad news. I had hoped for food and drink yonder. I have traveled far, and in the chill nights I desire a cover for my head. Will the boss allow me to sleep the night in an outhouse? By this time I had recovered my nerve, and was ready to play the part I had determined on. Willingly, I said, you may sleep in the storeroom if you care. You will find sacks for bedding, and the place is snug enough on a cold night. He thanked me with a grave dignity which I had never seen in any Caffer, as my eye fell on his splendid proportions. I forgot all else in my admiration of the man. In his minister's clothes he had looked only a heavily built native. Now in his savage dress I saw how noble a figure he made. He must have been at least six feet and a half, but his chest was so deep, and his shoulders so massive, that one did not remark his height. He put a hand on my saddle, and I remember noting how slim and fine it was, more like a hybrid woman's than a man's. Curiously enough he filled me with a certain confidence. I do not think you will cut my throat, I said to myself. Your game is too big for common murder. The store at Umbulos stood as I had left it. There was the Sambaca I had forgotten, still lying on the windowsill. I unlocked the door, and a stifling smell of new paint came out to meet me. Inside there was nothing but the chairs and benches, and in a corner the pots and pans I had left against my next visit. I unlocked the cupboard, and got out a few stores, opened the windows of the bedroom next door, and flung my carouse on the cartel which did duty as bed. Then I went out to find Laputa, standing patiently in the sunshine. I showed him the outhouse where I had said he might sleep. It was the largest room in the store, but wholly unfurnished. A pile of barrels and packing cases stood in the corner, and there was enough sacking to make a sort of bed. I am going to make tea, I said. If you have come far, you would maybe like a cup. He thanked me, and I made a fire in the grate, and put on the kettle to boil. Then I set on the table biscuits and sardines and a pot of jam. It was my business now to play the fool, and I believe I succeeded to admiration in the part. I blushed to-day to think of the stuff I talked. First I made him sit on a chair opposite me. A thing no white man in the country would have done. Then I told him affectionately that I liked natives, that they were fine fellows and better men than the dirty whites round about. I explained that I was fresh from England, and believed in equal rights for all men, white or colored. I think I said I hoped to see the day when Africa would belong once more to its rightful masters. He heard me with an impassive face, his gray eyes studying every line of me. I am bound to add that he made a hearty meal, and drank three cups of strong tea of my brewing. I gave him a cigar, one of a lot I had got from a Dutch farmer who was experimenting with their manufacture, and all the while I babbled of myself and my opinions. He must have thought me half-witted, and indeed before long. I began to be of the same opinion myself. I told him that I meant to sleep the night here, and go back in the morning to Blauwil de Biestfontein, and then to Peter's door for stores. By and by I could see that he had ceased to pay any attention to what I said. I was clearly set down in his mind as a fool. Instead he kept looking at Colin, who was lying blinking in the doorway, one wary eye cocked on the stranger. You have a fine dog, he observed. Yes, I agreed, with one final effort of mendacity. He's fine to look at, but he has no grit in him. Any mongrel from a crawl can make him turn tail. Besides he is a born fool, and can't find his way home. I'm thinking of getting rid of him. Laputa rose, and his eye fell on the dog's back. I could see that he saw the lie of the coat, and that he did not agree with me. The food was welcome, boss, he said. If you will listen to me I can repay hospitality with advice. You are a stranger here, trouble comes, and if you are wise you will go back to the burg. I don't know what you mean, I said, with an air of cheerful idiocy. But back to the burg I go, the first thing in the morning. I hate these stinking planes. It were wise to go to-night, he said, with a touch of menace in his tone. I can't, I said, and began to sing the chorus of a ridiculous music-hall song. There's no place like home, but I'm afraid to go home in the dark. Laputa shrugged his shoulders, stepped over the bristling collin, and went out. When I looked after him two minutes later, he had disappeared. CHAPTER 9 THE STORE AT UMVALOS I sat down on a chair and labored to collect my thoughts. Laputa had gone and would return sooner or later with Enrique. If I was to remain alive till morning, both of them must be convinced that I was harmless. Laputa was probably of this opinion. But Enrique would recognize me, and I had no wish to have that yellow miscreant investigating my character. There was only one way out of it. I must be incapable drunk. There was not a drop of liquor in the store, but I found an old whiskey bottle half full of methylated spirits. With this I thought I might raise an atmosphere of bad whiskey, and for the rest I must trust to my meager gifts as an actor. During I escaped suspicion, Laputa and Enrique would meet in the outhouse, and I must find some means of overhearing them. Here I was fairly baffled. There was no window in the outhouse, safe in the roof, and they were sure to shut and bolt the door. I might conceal myself among the barrels inside, but apart from the fact that they were likely to search them before beginning their conference, it was quite certain that they would satisfy themselves that I was safe in the other end of the building before going to the outhouse. Suddenly I thought of the cellar which we had built below the store. There was an entrance by a trapped door behind the counter, and another in the outhouse. I had forgotten the details, but my hope was that the second was among the barrels. I shut the outer door, prized up the trap, and dropped into the vault, which had been floored roughly with green bricks. Lighting match after match, I crawled to the other end and tried to lift the door. It would not stir, so I guessed that the barrels were on top of it. Back to the outhouse I went, and found that sure enough a heavy packing case was standing on a corner. I fixed it slightly open, so as to let me hear, and so arrange the odds and ends round about it, that no one looking from the floor of the outhouse would guess at its existence. It occurred to me that the conspirators would want seats, so I placed two cases at the edge of the heap, that they might not be tempted to forage in the interior. This done I went back to the store, and proceeded to wrink myself out for my part. The cellar had made me pretty dirty, and I added some new dobs to my face. My hair had grown longish, and I ran my hands through it, till it stood up like a cockatoo's crest. Then I cunningly disposed the methylated spirits in the places most likely to smell. I burned a little on the floor. I spilt some on the counter, and on my hands, and I let it dribble over my coat. In five minutes I had made the room stink like a chabine. I loosened the collar of my shirt, and when I looked at myself in the cover of my watch, I saw a specimen of debauchery which would have done credit to a Saturday night's police cell. By this time the sun had gone down, but I thought it better to kindle no light. It was the night of the full moon, for which reason I supposed Laputa had selected it, and in an hour or two the world would be lit with that ghostly radiance. I sat on the counter while the minutes passed, and I confessed I found the time of waiting, very trying for my courage. I had got over my worst nervousness by having something to do, but whenever I was idle my fears returned. Laputa had a big night's work before him, and must begin soon. My vigil I told myself could not be long. My pony was stalled in a rough shed we had built opposite the store. I could hear him shaking his head and stamping the ground above the croaking of the frogs by the lobongo. Presently it seemed to me that another sound came from behind the store, the sound of horses' feet and the rattle of bridles. It was hushed for a moment, and then I heard human voices. The riders had tied up their horses to a tree, and were coming nearer. I sprawled gracefully on the counter, the empty bottle in my hand, and my eyes fixed anxiously on the square of the door, which was filled with the blue glimmer of the late twilight. The square darkened, and two men peered in. Colin growled from below the counter, but with one hand I held the scruff of his neck. Hello, I said. Is that my black friend? Offly shawry old man, but I finished the whiskey, the bottle, shempty, and I waved it upside down with an imbecile giggle. Laputa said something which I did not catch, and Rikish laughed an ugly laugh. We had better make certain of him, he said. The two argued for a minute, and then Laputa seemed to prevail. The door was shut, and the key, which I had left in the lock, turned on me. I gave them five minutes to get to the outhouse and settle to business. Then I opened the trap, got into the cellar, and crawled to the other end. A ray of light was coming through the partially raised door. By a blessed chance some old bricks had been left behind, and of these I made a footstool, which enabled me to get my back level with the door and look out. My logger of barrels was intact, but through a gap I had left I could see the two men sitting on the two cases I had provided for them. A lantern was set between them, and Rikish was drinking out of a metal flask. He took something, I could not see what, out of his pocket, and held it before his companion. Spoils of war, he said. I let Cicatola's men draw first blood. They needed it to screw up their courage. Now they are as wild as Umbunis. Laputa asked a question. It was the Dutchmen who were out on the kudu flats with their cattle. Man, it's no good being squeamish. Do you think you can talk over these surly backvelled fools? We had not done it. The best of their horses would now be over the burg to give warning. Besides, I tell you, Cicatola's men wanted blooding. I did for the old swine cutzia with my own hands, once he said his dogs at me, and I don't forget an injury. Laputa must have disapproved, for Rikish's voice grew high. Run the show the way you please, he cried, but don't blame me if you make a hash of it. God, man, do you think you are going to work a revolution on skim milk? If I had my will, I would go in and stick a knife in the drunken hog next door. He is safe enough, Laputa replied. I gave him the chance of life, and he laughed at me. He won't get far on his road home. This was pleasant hearing for me, but I scarcely thought of myself. I was consumed with a passion of fury against that murdering yellow devil. Laputa I was not angry. He was an open enemy, playing a fair game, but my fingers itched to get at the Portuguese, that double-died traitor to his race. As I thought of my kindly old friends, lying butchered with their kinfolk out in the bush, hot tears of rage came to my eyes. Perfect love casteth out fear, the Bible says, but to speak it reverently, so does perfect hate. But for safety and a king's ransom would I have drawn back from the game. I prayed for one thing only, that God in his mercy would give me the chance of settling within Rikish. I fancy I missed some of the conversation, being occupied with my own passion. At any rate, when I next listened, the two were deep in plans. Maps were spread beside them, and Laputa's delicate forefinger was tracing a route. I strained my ears but could catch only a few names. Apparently they were to keep in the plains till they had crossed the Klein Lobongo and the Latava. I thought I caught the name of the Ford of the latter. It sounded like Dupri's drift. After that the talk became plainer, for Laputa was explaining in his clear voice. The force would leave the bush, ascend the burg by the glen of the group Latava, and the first halt would be called at a place called Inanda's Crawl, where a promontory of the high veld juts out behind the peaks called the Volkberg, or Cloud Mountains. All this was very much to the point, and the names sunk into my memory, like a dye into wax. Meanwhile, said Laputa, there is the gathering at Entava Kaikonjwa. It will take us three hours' hard riding to get there. Where on earth was Entava Kaikonjwa? It must be the native name for the Rururand, for after all Laputa was not likely to use the Dutch word for his own sacred place. Nothing has been forgotten. The men are masked below the cliffs, and the chiefs and the great Endunas will enter the place of the snake. The door will be guarded, and only the password will get a man through. That word is Emanuel, which means God with us. Well when we get there what happens, and Rikish asked with a laugh, what kind of magic will you spring on us? There was a strong contrast between the flippant tone of the Portuguese, and the grave voice which answered him. The keeper of the snake will open the holy place, and bring forth the Asetambisosami. As the leader of my people, I will assume the collar of Amkulan Kulu, in the name of our God, and the spirits of the great dead. But you don't propose to lead the march in a necklace of rubies, said in Rikish, with a sudden eagerness in his voice. Again Laputa spoke gravely, and as it were abstractedly, I heard the voice of one whose mind was fixed on a far horizon. When I am acclaimed king, I restore the snake to its keeper, and swear never to clasp it on my neck till I have led my people to victory. I see, said in Rikish, what about the purification you mentioned? I had missed this before, and listened earnestly. The vows we take in the holy place bind us till we are purged of them at Inanda's Crawl. Till then no blood must be shed, and no flesh eaten. It was the fashion of our forefathers. Well, I think you've taken on a pretty risky job, and Rikish said. You propose to travel a hundred miles, binding yourself not to strike a blow. It is simply putting yourself at the mercy of any police patrol. There will be no patrol, Laputa replied. Our march will be as secret and as swift as death. I have made my preparations. But suppose you met with opposition, the Portuguese persisted. Would the rule hold? If any try to stop us, we shall tie them hand and foot and carry them with us. Their fate will be worse than if they had been slain in battle. I see, said in Rikish, whistling through his teeth. Well, before we start this vow business, I think I'll go back and settle that storekeeper. Laputa shook his head. Will you be serious and hear me? We have no time to knife harmless fools. Before we start for Entaba Kaikonjwa, I must have from you the figures of the arming in the south. That is the one thing which remains to be settled. I am certain these figures would have been most interesting, but I never heard them. My feet were getting cramped with standing on the bricks, and I inadvertently moved them. The bricks came down with a rattle, and unfortunately, in slipping, I clutched at the trap. This was too much for my frail prop, and the door slammed down with a great noise. Here was a nice business for the eavesdropper. I scurried along the passage as stealthily as I could and clambered back into the store, while I heard the sound of Laputa and Rikish ferreting among the barrels. I managed to throttle Colin and prevent him barking, but I could not get the confounded trap to close behind me. Something had jammed in it, and it remained half a foot open. I heard the two approaching the door, and I did the best thing that occurred to me. I pulled Colin over the trap, rolled on the top of him, and began to snore heavily as if in a drunken slumber. The key was turned, and the gleam of a lantern was thrown on the wall. It flew up and down as its bearer cast the light into the corners. By God he's gone, I heard in Rikish'd say. The swine was listening, and he is bolted now. He won't bolt far, Laputa said. He is here. He is snoring behind the counter. These were anxious moments for me. I had a firm grip on Colin's throat, but now and then a growl escaped, which was fortunately blended with my snores. I felt that a lantern was splashed on me, and that the two men were peering down at the heap on the half-open trap. I think that was the worst minute I ever spent, for as I have said, my courage was not so bad in action, but in a passive game it oozed out of my fingers. He is safe enough, Laputa said, after what seemed to me an eternity. The noise was only the rats among the barrels. I thanked my maker that they had not noticed the other trapped door. All the same I think I'll make him safer, said in Rikish. Laputa seemed to have caught him by the arm. Come back and get to business, he said. I've told you I'll have no more murder. You will do as I tell you, Mr. and Rikish. I did not catch the answer, but the two went out and locked the door. I padded the outraged colon and got to my feet with an aching side where the confounded lid of the trap had been pressing. There was no time to lose, for the two in the outhouse would soon be setting out, and I must be before them. With no better light than a ray of the moon through the window, I wrote a message on a leaf from my pocket-book. I told of the plans I had overheard, and especially I mentioned Dupri's drift on the Lataba. I added that I was going to the Ruraran to find the secret of the cave. And in one final sentence implored Archul to do justice on the Portuguese. That was all, for I had no time for more. I carefully tied the paper with string below the collar of the dog. Then very quietly I went into the bedroom next door, the side of the door farthest from the outhouse. The place was flooded with moonlight, and the windows stood open as I had left it in the afternoon. As softly as I could, I swung colon over the sill and clambered after him. In my haste I left my coat behind me, with my pistol in the pocket. Now came a check. My horse was stabled in the shed, and that was close to the outhouse. The sound of leading him out would most certainly bring the Laputa and Enriquech to the door. In that moment I all but changed my plans. I thought of slipping back to the outhouse and trying to shoot the two men as they came forth. But I reflected that, before I could get them both, one or other would probably shoot me. Besides I had a queer sort of compunction about killing Laputa. I understood now why Archul had stayed his hand from murder, and I was beginning to be of his opinion on our arch enemy. Then I remembered the horses tied up in the bush. One of them I could get with perfect safety. I ran around the end of the store and into the thicket, keeping on soft grass to dull my tread. There tied up to a Marula tree were two of the finest beasts I had seen in Africa. I selected the better, an African stallion of the Blau-Shimmel, or Blue Roan type, which is famous for speed and endurance. Slipping his bridle from the branch I led him a little way into the bush in the direction of the Ruerrand. Then I spoke to Colin. Home with you, I said, home, old man, as if you were running down a Cecibee the dogs seemed puzzled. Home, I said again, pointing west in the direction of the Berg. Home, you brute! And then he understood. He gave one low whine, and cast a reproachful eye on me and the Blue Roan. Then he turned, and with his head down, set off with great lopes on the track of the road I had ridden in the morning. A second later, and I was in the saddle, riding hell for leather for the north. CHAPTER X For a mile or so I kept the bush, which was open and easy to ride through, and then turned into the path. The moon was high, and the world was all a dim green, with all the track a golden ivory band before me. I had looked at my watch before I started, and seen that it was just after eight o'clock. I had a great horse under me, and less than fifty miles to cover. Midnight should see me at the cave. With the password I would gain admittance, and there would wait for Laputa and Enrique. Then if my luck held, I should see the inner workings of the mystery which had puzzled me ever since the Kirk-Cable shore. No doubt I should be roughly treated. I'd up prisoner, and carried with the army when the march began. But till Ananda's crawl, my life was safe, and before that came the fort of the Lataba. Colin would carry my message to Archul, and at the drift the tables would be turned on Laputa's men. Looking back in cold blood it seems the craziest chain of accidents to count on for preservation. A dozen possibilities might have shattered any link of it. The password might be wrong, or I might never get the length of those who knew it. The men in the cave might butcher me out of hand, or Laputa might think my behavior a sufficient warrant for a breach of the solemnest vow. Colin might never get to Blau Wilde Vistfontein. Laputa might change his route of march, or Archul's men might fail to hold the drift. Indeed the other day at Portancross I was so overcome by the recollection of the perils I had dared, and God's goodness towards me, that I built a new hall for the parish-kirk as a token of gratitude. Fortunately for mankind the brain in a life of action turns more to the matter in hand than to conjuring up the chances of the future. Certainly it was in no discomfort of mind that I swung along the moonlit path to the north. Truth to tell I was almost happy. The first honors in the game had fallen to me. I knew more about Laputa than any man living, save Enriquech. I had my finger on the central pulse of the rebellion. There was hidden treasure ahead of me. A great necklace of rubies Enriquech had said, Nay, there must be more, I argued. This cave of the Rurrand was the headquarters of the rising, and there must be stored their funds, diamonds, and the gold that they had been bartered for. I believe that every man has deepened his soul a passion for treasure-hunting, which will often drive a coward into prodigies of valor. I lusted for that treasure of jewels and gold, once I had been high-minded and thought of my duty to my country, but in that night ride I feared that what I thought of was my duty to enrich David Crawford. One other purpose simmered in my head. I was devoured with wrath against Enriquech. And indeed I think that was the strongest motive for my escapade, for even before I heard Laputa tell of the vows and the purification, I had it in my mind to go at all costs to the cave. I am a peaceable man at most times, but I think I would rather have had the Portuguese throat in my hands than the collar of Prestigeon. But behind my thoughts was one master feeling that Providence had given me my chance, and I must make the most of it. Perhaps the Calvinism of my father's preaching had unconsciously taken grip of my soul. At any rate I was a fatalist in creed, believing that what was willed would happen, and that man was but a puppet in the hands of his maker. I looked on the last months as a clear course which had been mapped out for me. Not for nothing had I been given a clue to the strange events which were coming. It was poor ordained that I should go alone to Umphalos, and in the promptings of my own fallible heart I believed I saw the workings of omnipotence, such is our mortal arrogance, and yet without such a belief I think that mankind would have ever been content to bide sluggishly at home. I passed the spot where on my former journey I had met the horses and knew that I had covered more than half the road. My ear had been alert for the sound of pursuit, but the bush was quiet as the grave. The man who rode my pony would find him a slow traveler, and I pitied the poor beast, bucketed along by an angry rider. Gradually a hazy wall of purple began to shimmer before me, apparently very far off. I knew the ramparts of the Rurrand, and let my shimmel feel my knees in his ribs. Within an hour I should be at the cliff's foot. I had trusted for safety to the password, but as it turned out I owed my life mainly to my horse. For a mile or so from the cliffs I came to the fringes of a great army. The bush was teeming with men, and I saw horses picketed in bunches and a multitude of cape carts and light wagons. It was like a colossal gathering for Noctmall at a Dutch door. But every man was black. I saw through a corner of my eye that they were armed with guns, though many carried in addition their spears and shields. Their first impulse was to stop me. I saw guns fly to shoulders and a rush towards the path. The boldest game was the safest, so I dug my heels into the shimmel and shouted for a passage. Make way, I cried in kaffir. I bear a message from the Enkulu. Clear out, you dogs. They recognized the horse, and fell back with a salute. Had I but known it. The beast was famed from the Zambezi to the Cape. It was their king's own charger, I rode, and who dared question such a warrant. I heard the word pass through the bush, and all down the road I got the salute. In that moment I fervently thanked my stars that I had got away first, for there would have been no coming second for me. At the cliff foot I found a double line of warriors who had the appearance of a royal guard. For all were tall men with leopard-skin cloaks. Their rifle-barrels glinted in the moonlight, and the sight sent a cold shiver down my back. Above them, among the scrub and along the lower slopes of the crances, I could see further lines with the same gleaming weapons. The place of the snake was in strong hands that night. I dismounted and called for a man to take my horse. Two of the guards stepped forward in silence and took the bridle. This left the track to the cave open, and with as stiff a back as I could command, but a sadly fluttering heart, I marched through the ranks. The path was lined with guards, all silent and rigid as graven images. As I stumbled over the stones I felt that my appearance scarcely fitted the dignity of a royal messenger. Among those splendid men at arms I shambled along in old breeches and leggings, hatless with a dirty face, disheveled hair, and a torn flannel shirt. My mind was no better than my body, for now that I had arrived, I found my courage gone. Had it been possible, I would have turned tail and fled, but the boats were burned behind me and I had no choice. I cursed my rash folly and wondered at my exhilaration of an hour ago. I was going into the black mysterious darkness, peopled by ten thousand cruel foes. My knees rubbed against each other, and I thought that no man had ever been in more deadly danger. At the entrance to the gorge the guards ceased, and I went on alone. Here there was no moonlight, and I had to feel my way by the sides. I moved very slowly, wondering how soon I should find the end my folly demanded. The heat of the ride had gone, and I remember feeling my shirt hang clamily on my shoulders. Suddenly a hand was laid on my breast, and a voice demanded, the word. Emanuel, I said hoarsely, then unseen hands took both my arms and I was led farther into the darkness. My hopes revived for a second. The password had proved true, and at any rate I should enter the cave. In the darkness I could see nothing, but I judged that we stopped before the stone slab which, as I remembered, filled the extreme end of the gorge. My guide did something with the right hand wall, and I felt myself being drawn into a kind of passage. It was so narrow that two could not go abreast, and so low that the creepers above scraped my hair. Something clicked behind me like the turnstile at the gate of a show. And we began to ascend steps, still in utter darkness, and a great booming fell on my ear. It was the falling river which had scared me on my former visit, and I marveled that I had not heard it sooner. Presently we came out into a gleam of moonlight, and I saw that we were inside the gorge, and far above the slab. We followed a narrow shelf on its left side, or true right as mountaineers would call it, until we could go no farther. Then we did a terrible thing. Across the gorge, which here was at its narrowest, stretched a slab of stone. Far, far below I caught the moonlight on a mass of hurrying waters. This was our bridge, and though I have a good head for crags, I confess I grew dizzy as we turned to cross it. Perhaps it was broader than it looked. At any rate my guides seemed to have no fear and strode across it as if it were a highway, while I followed in a sweat of fright. Once on the other side I was handed over to a second pair of guides, who led me down a high passage running into the heart of the mountain. The boom of the river sank and rose as the passage twined. Soon I saw a gleam of light ahead, which was not the moon. It grew larger, until suddenly the roof rose, and I found myself in a gigantic chamber. So high it was that I could not make out anything of the roof, though the place was brightly lit with torches stuck round the wall, and a great fire which burned at the farther end. But the wonder was on the left side, where the floor ceased in a chasm. The left wall was one sheet of water, where the river fell from the heights into the infinite depth below. The torches and the fire made the sheer stream glow and sparkle like the battlements of the heavenly city. I had never seen any sight so beautiful or so strange, and for a second my breath stopped in admiration. There were two hundred men or more in the chamber, but so huge was the place that they seemed only a little company. They sat on the ground in a circle, with their eyes fixed on the fire, and on a figure which stood before it. The glow revealed the old man I had seen on that morning, a month before, moving towards the cave. He stood as if in a trance, straight as a tree, with his arms crossed on his breast. A robe of some shining white stuff fell from his shoulders, and was clasped round his middle by a broad circle of gold. His head was shaven, and on his forehead was bound a disc of carved gold. I saw from his gaze that his old eyes were blind. "'Who comes?' he asked, as I entered. A messenger from the Inculu I spoke up boldly. He follows soon with the white man and Rikish. Then I sat down in the back row of the circle to await events. I noticed that my neighbor was the fellow Mwanga whom I had kicked out of the store. Happily I was so dusty that he could scarcely recognize me, but I kept my face turned away from him. What with the light and warmth, the drone of the water, the silence of the folk, and my mental and physical stress, I grew drowsy and all but slept. CHAPTER X I was roused by a sudden movement. The whole assembly stood up, and each man clapped his right hand to his brow and then raised it high. A low murmur of Inculu rose above the din of the water. The strode down the hall, with Rikish limping behind him. They certainly did not suspect my presence in the cave. Nor did Laputa show any ruffling of his calm. Only Rikish looked weary and cross. I guessed that he had had to ride my pony. The old man whom I took to be the priest advanced towards Laputa with his hands raised over his head. A pace before they met he halted, and Laputa went on his knees before him. He placed his hands on his head and spoke some words which I could not understand. It reminded me, so queer are the tricks of memory. Of an old Sabbath school book I used to have which had a picture of Samuel ordaining Saul as King of Israel, I think I had forgotten my own peril and was enthralled by the majesty of the place. The wavering torches, the dropping wall of green water. Of all the figures of Laputa and the keeper of the snake, who seemed to have stepped out of an antique world, Laputa stripped off his leopard skin till he stood stark. A noble form of a man. Then the priest sprinkled some herbs on the fire and a thin smoke rose to the roof. The smell was that I had smelled on the Kirkcapel shore. Sweet, sharp, and strange enough to chill the marrow. And round the fire went the priest in widening and contracting circles, just as on that Sabbath evening in spring. Once more we were sitting on the ground, all except Laputa and the keeper, and Rikish was squatting in the front row, a tiny creature among so many burly savages. Laputa stood with bent head in the center. Then a song began, a wild incantation in which all joined. The old priest would speak some words and the reply came in barbaric music. The words meant nothing to me. They must have been in some tongue long since dead. But the music told its own tale. It spoke of old kings and great battles, of splendid palaces and strong battlements, of queens white as ivory, of death and life, love and hate, joy and sorrow. It spoke, too, of desperate things, mysteries of horror long shut to the world. No kaffir ever forged that ritual. It must have come straight from Pristarjan, or Sheba's queen, or whoever ruled in Africa when time was young. I was horribly impressed. Devouring curiosity in a lurking nameless sphere filled my mind. My old dread had gone. I was not afraid now of kaffir guns, but of the black magic of which Laputa had the key. The incantation died away. But still herbs were flung on the fire till the smoke rose in a great cloud, through which the priest loomed misty and huge. Out of the smoke wreaths his voice came high and strange. It was as if some treble stop had been opened in a great organ, as against the base drone of the cataract. He was asking Laputa questions, to which came answers in that rich voice which, on board the liner, had preached the Gospel of Christ. The tongue I did not know, and I doubt if my neighbors were in better case. It must have been some old sacred language. Phoenician, Sabian, I know not what, which had survived in the right of the snake. Then came silence while the fire died down, and the smoke eddied away in wreaths towards the river. The priest's lips moved as if in prayer. Of Laputa I saw only the back, and his head was bared. Suddenly a wrapped cry broke from the keeper. God has spoken, he cried. The path is clear. The snake returns to the house of its birth. An attendant led forward a black goat, which bleated feebly. With a huge antique knife the old man slit its throat, catching the blood in a stone ewer. Some was flung on the fire, which had burned small and low. Even so cried the priest, with a king quenching blood, the hearthfires of his foes. Then on Laputa's forehead and bare breast he drew a bloody cross. I seal thee, said the voice, priest and king of God's people. The ewer was carried round the assembly, and each dipped his finger in it and marked his forehead. I got a dab to add to the other marks on my face. Priest and king of God's people, said the voice again. I called thee to the inheritance of John. Priest and king was he, king of kings, lord of hosts, master of the earth. When he ascended on high he left to his son the sacred snake, the ark of his valor, to be God's dour and pledge to the people whom he has chosen. I could not make out what followed. It seemed to be a long roll of the kings who had borne the snake. None of them I knew. But at the end I thought I caught the name of Shaka, the terrible. And I remembered Arkol's tale. The keeper held in his arms a box of curiously wrought ivory, about two feet long and one broad. He was standing beyond the ashes from which, in spite of the blood, thin streams of smoke still ascended. He opened it and drew out something which swung from his hand like a cascade of red fire. Behold, the snake cried the keeper, and every man in the assembly, accepting Laputa and including me. He put his head to the ground and cried, Oh! Ye who have seen the snake came the voice. On you is the vow of silence and peace. No blood shall ye shed, of man or beast. No flesh shall ye eat, till the vow is taken from you. From the hour of midnight, till sunrise on the second day, ye are bound to God. Whoever shall break the vow, on him shall the curse fall. His blood shall dry in his veins and his flesh shrink on his bones. He shall be an outlaw and accursed, and there shall follow him through life and death the avengers of the snake. Choose ye, my people. Upon you is the vow. By this time we were all flat on our faces, and a great cry of assent went up. I lifted my head as much as I dared to see what would happen next. The priest raised the great necklace till it shone above his head like a halo of blood. I have never seen such a jewel, and I think there has never been another such on earth. Later I was to have the handling of it, and could examine it closely, though now I had only a glimpse. There were fifty-five rubies in it, the largest as big as a pigeon's egg, and the least not smaller than my thumbnail. In shape they were oval, cut on both sides on Cabochon, and on each certain characters were engraved. No doubt this detracted from their value as gems, yet the characters might have been removed and the stone cut in facets, and these rubies would still have been the noblest in the world. I was no jewel merchant to guess their value, but I knew enough to see that here was wealth beyond human computation. At each end of the string was a great pearl and a golden clasp. The sight absorbed me to the exclusion of all fear. I, David Crawford, nineteen years of age, and assistant storekeeper in a back-velled dork, was privileged to see a sight to which no Portuguese adventurer had ever attained. There, floating on the smoke-wreaths, was the jewel which may once have burned in Sheba's hair. As the priest held the collar aloft, the assembly rocked with a strange passion. Foreheads were rubbed in the dust, and then adoring eyes would be raised, while a kind of sobbing shook the worshippers. In that moment I learned something of the secret of Africa, of Prestor John's empire and Chakka's victories. In the name of God came the voice, I delivered to the air of John, the snake of John. Laputa took the necklace and twined it in two loops, round his neck till the clasp hung down over his breast. The position changed. The priest knelt before him and received his hands on his head. Then I knew that, to the confusion of all talk about equality. God has ordained some men to be kings and others to serve. Laputa stood naked as when he was born. The rubies were dulled against the background of his skin, but they still shone with a dusky fire. Above the blood-red collar his face had the passive pride of a Roman emperor. Only his great eyes gloomed and burned as he looked on his followers. "'Aire of John,' he said, "'I stand before you as priest and king. My kingship is for the morrow. Now I am the priest to make intercession for my people.' He prayed, prayed as I never heard man pray before, and to the God of Israel. It was no heathen fetish he was invoking, but the God of whom he had often preached in Christian curks. I recognized texts from Isaiah and the Psalms and the Gospels, and very especially from the two last chapters of Revelation. He pled with God to forget the sins of his people, to recall the bondage of Zion. It was amazing to hear these blood-thirsty savages consecrated by their leader to the meek service of Christ. An enthusiast made to see himself, and I did not question his sincerity. I knew his heart, black with all the lusts of paganism. I knew that his purpose was to deluge the land with blood. But I knew also that in his eyes his mission was divine and that he felt behind him all the armies of heaven. Thou hast been a strength to the poor, said the voice, a refuge from the storm, a shadow from the heat, when the blast of the terrible ones is as a storm against a wall. Thou shalt bring down the noise of strangers, as the heat in dry places. The branch of the terrible ones shall be brought low, and in this mountain shall the Lord of hosts make unto all people a feast of fat things, a feast of wine on the leaves, a fat things full of marrow, and he will destroy in this mountain the face of the covering cast over all people, and the veil that is brought over all nations, and the rebuke of his people shall he take away from off all the earth, for the Lord hath spoken it. I listened spellbound as he prayed. I heard the phrases familiar to me in my school days at Kirk Caple. He had some of the tones of my father's voice, and when I shut my eyes I could have believed myself a child again. So much he had got from his apprenticeship to the ministry. I wondered vaguely what the good folks who had listened to him in churches and halls at home would think of him now. But there was in the prayer more than the supplications of the quantum preacher. There was a tone of arrogant pride. The pride of a man to whom the Almighty is only another and greater Lord of hosts. He prayed less as a suppliant than as an ally. A strange emotion tingled in my blood. Half awe, half sympathy. As I have said, I understood that there are men born to kingship. He ceased with a benediction. Then he put on the leopard-skinned cloak and kilt, and received from the kneeling chief a spear and shield. Now he was more king than priest, more barbarian than Christian. It was as a king that he now spoke. I had heard him on board the liner, and had thought his voice the most wonderful I had ever listened to. But now in that great resonant hall the magic of it was doubled. He played upon the souls of his hearers as on a musical instrument. At will he struck the chords of pride, fury, hate, and mad joy. Now they would be hushed in breathless quiet, and now the place would echo with savage assent. I remember noticing that the face of my neighbor, Mwanga, was running with tears. He spoke of the great days of Pristar John, and a hundred names I had never heard of. He pictured the heroic age of his nation, when every man was a warrior and hunter, and rich crawls stood in the spots now desecrated by the white man, and cattle wandered on a thousand hills. Then he told tales of white infamy, lands snatched from their rightful possessors, unjust laws which forced the Ethiopian to the bondage of a despised caste, the finger of scorn everywhere, and the mocking word. If it be the part of an orator to rouse the passion of his hearers, Laputa was the greatest on earth. What had he gained from the white man, he cried? A bastard civilization which has sapped your manhood. A false religion which would rivet on you the chains of the slave. Ye, the old masters of the land, are now the servants of the oppressor, and yet the oppressors are few, and the fear of you is in their hearts. They feast in their great cities, but they see the writing on the wall, and their eyes are anxiously turning, lest the enemy be at their gates. I cannot hope in my prosaic words to reproduce that amazing discourse. Phrases which the hearers had heard at mission schools now suddenly appeared, not as the white man's learning, but as God's message to his own. Laputa fitted the key to the cipher, and the meaning was clear. He concluded, I remember, with a picture of the overthrow of the alien, and the golden age which should dawn for the oppressed. Another Ethiopian empire should arise. So majestic that the white man everywhere would dread its name. So righteous that all men under it would live in ease and peace. By rights I suppose my blood should have been boiling at this treason. I am ashamed to confess that it did nothing of the sort. My mind was mesmerized by this amazing man. I could not refrain from shouting with the rest. Indeed I was a convert, if there can be conversion when the emotions are dominant and there is no assent from the brain. I had a mad desire to be of Laputa's party. Or rather I longed for a leader who should master me and make my soul his own as this man mastered his followers. I have already said that I might have made a good subaltern soldier, and the proof is that I longed for such a general. As the voice ceased there was a deep silence. The hearers were in a sort of trance. Their eyes fixed glassily on Laputa's face. It was the quiet of tense nerves and imagination at white heat. I had to struggle with a spell which gripped me equally with the wildest savage. I forced myself to look round at the strained faces, the wall of the cascade, the line of torches. It was the sight of Enriquech that broke the charm. Here was one who had no part in the emotion. I caught his eye fixed on the rubies, and in it I read only a devouring greed. It flashed through my mind that Laputa had a foe in his own camp, and the prestor's collar of odory whose passion was not that of worship. The next thing I remember was a movement among the first ranks. The chiefs were swearing fealty. Laputa took off the collar and called God to witness that it should never again encircle his neck, till he had led his people to victory. Then one by one the great chiefs and Indunas advanced and swore allegiance with their foreheads on the ivory box. Such a collection of races has never been seen. There were tall Zulus and Swazis with ring-cups and feather headdresses. There were men from the north with heavy brass collars and anklets. Men with quills in their ears and ear-rings and nose-rings. Men heads and heads with wonderfully twisted hair. Bodies naked or all butt-naked. And bodies adorned with skins and necklets. Some were light in color and some were black as coal. Some had squat negro features and some thin high-boned Arab faces. But in all there was the air of mad enthusiasm. For a day they were foresworn from blood, but their wild eyes and twitching hands told their future purpose. For an hour or two I had been living in a dream world. Suddenly my absorption was shattered. For I saw that my time to swear was coming. I sat in the extreme back row, at the end nearest the entrance, and therefore I should naturally be the last to go forward. The crisis was near when I should be discovered, or there was no question of my shirking the oath. Even for the first time since I entered the cave I realized the frightful danger in which I stood. My mind had been strung so high by the ritual that I had forgotten all else. Now came the rebound, and with shaky nerves I had to face discovery and certain punishment. In that moment I suffered the worst terror of my life. There was much to come later, but by that time my senses were dulled. Now they had been sharpened by what I had seen and heard. My nerves were already quivering and my fancy on fire. I felt every limb shaking as Moango went forward. The cave swam before my eyes. Heads were multiplied giddily, and I was only dimly conscious when he rose to return. Nothing would have made me advance had I not feared Laputa less than my neighbors. They might rend me to pieces, but to him the oath was inviolable. I staggered crazily to my feet and shambled forwards. My eye was fixed on the ivory box and it seemed to dance before me and retreat. Suddenly I heard a voice, the voice of Enriquech, cry, By God a spy! I felt my throat caught, but I was beyond resisting. It was released and I was pinned by the arms. I must have stood vacantly with a foolish smile, while unchained fury raged round me. I seemed to hear Laputa's voice saying, It is the storekeeper. His face was all that I could see, and it was unperturbed. There was a mocking ghost of a smile about his lips. Married hands seemed to grip me and crush my breath, but above the clamor I heard a fierce word of command. After that I fainted.