John Buchan

CONTENT:

     I. A Man on Kirkcaple Beach.
    II. In Search of Fortune.
   III. Blaauwildebeestefontein.
    IV. My Journey to the Winter Pasture.
     V. Mr. Wardlaw Predicts Coming Disasters.
    VI. The Drum at Sunset.
   VII. Captain Arcoll Tells His Story. VIII
  . I See His Excellency John Laputa Again.
    IX. The Trading Post at Umvelos.
     X. I Go in Search of Treasure.
    XI. Rooirand Cave.
   XII. A Message from Captain Arcoll.
  XIII. Letaba Ford.
   XIV. I Have the Necklace of Presbyter John.
    XV. A Morning in the Mountains.
   XVI. Inanda Kraal.
  XVII. A Barter and Its Consequences.
 XVIII. How a Man Must Put His Entire Trust
        in a Horse.
   XIX. The “Shepherding” of Arcoll.
    XX. I See His Excellency John Laputa for the Last Time.
   XXI. I Climb the Rocks Once More.
  XXII. A Great Danger Happily Avoided.
 XXIII. My uncle’s gift is multiplying.

I.

MAN ON KIRKCAPLE BEACH.

I remember my first encounter with him as clearly as if it had happened yesterday. I could not have imagined then how fateful that moment would be, or how often that face I had seen in the dim moonlight would haunt me at night and disturb my peace during the day. But I still remember the paralyzing fear it produced, more intense than is really appropriate for boys who spend their time and play and disturb the peace of Sunday.

The town of Kirkcaple, where, as in the adjoining parish of Portincross, my father was vicar, stands on a hill on the shore of the little bay of Caple, with a view straight out to the North Sea. Around the headlands which enclose the bay, the coast forms a sort of breastwork of bare red rocks, where only small mountain streams make their way to the water’s edge. Below is a beach of the finest white sand, where we schoolboys of the town used to wade through all the warm seasons. But on long holidays we were wont to venture farther up the cliffs, for there were many deep hollows and pools of water, where you could catch valuable fish and search for hidden treasures at the cost of your knees and your trouser buttons. Many a Saturday I have spent in a cleft of the rock, burning a bonfire made of driftwood, and pretending to be a smuggler or a Jacobite just landed in France. There were always a few of us Kirkcaple boys together, all my age, among them Archie Leslie, the son of my father’s clerk, and Tam Dyke, the mayor’s nephew. We had sworn a blood oath to keep quiet about all our exploits, and each of us had a name that had belonged to some famous pirate or seafarer. I was Paul Jones, Tam was Captain Kidd, and Archie—it goes without saying—was Morgan! Our meeting place was a cave through which the mountain stream called Dyve Burn had cut its way into the rock on its way to the sea. There we would gather on summer evenings, and sometimes on Saturday evenings in winter, and tell great stories of our bravery, which greatly swelled our spirits. The simple truth, however, was that our exploits were of a very modest nature: a few fish and a handful of apples were our spoils, and a fight with the men of Dyve’s tannery was our greatest feat.

The spring break regularly fell on the last Sunday in April, and on that particular Sunday in question the day was unusually warm and sunny for the season. I had had enough of Thursday and Saturday services, and now there were two more on Sunday—too much for a twelve-year-old who could hardly sit still as the spring sun streamed through the windows into the gallery. There was still evening service, and it threatened to be doubly boring, for His Excellency Mr. Murdoch of Kilchristie, known for his long sermons, had taken my father’s turn to preach. No wonder I was ripe for Archie Leslie’s suggestion, which he made as we were going home for tea, that by developing a little cunning we might get out of all that. During communion, we did not sit in our own pews as usual, but each parishioner took a seat wherever he pleased. The vicar’s pew was full of Mr. Murdoch’s Kirkcaple relatives, whom my mother had invited to hear His Grace, and it was easy for me to get permission to sit in the gallery with Archie and Tam Dyke. But when the bells had stopped ringing, and we could tell by the sound of footsteps that the congregation had settled in the church, we crept down the gallery steps and slipped out by a side door. In a moment we were across the churchyard, and then we were running towards Dyve Burn as fast as we could.

All the “good” boys in Kirkcaple wore the so-called Eton dress, which consisted of long trousers, a short little coat and a top hat. I had been one of the first victims, and I shall never forget the first time I ran home from Sunday school dressed in it, with all the street boys in the town throwing snowballs at my top hat. Archie later suffered the same fate, for his parents faithfully followed suit. We were now dressed in these awkward outfits, and our first concern was to hide the hats in some easily remembered place under the juniper bushes on the hills. Tam had escaped the changes of fashion, so he wore a plain suit and breeches. He now took out his hitherto hidden treasure, which was to light our way on the journey, namely, a very powerfully smoking secret lantern.

Tam belonged to the Free Church, where confession fell on a different day from ours, and so he would not have been obliged to go to church now, which had been a burden to Archie and me. But strange events had happened that day in his church too. A black man, the Right Reverend John Jonkunminen, had preached. Tam was quite filled with this unheard-of incident. “A Negro,” he said, “a big black man, as tall as your father, Archie.” He was said to have beaten the pulpit with great success, and it was a wonder that Tam had stayed awake the whole time. The man had spoken of the heathens of Africa and said that in the sight of God a black man was as good as a white man, and he had predicted in vague terms the day when the English would learn one thing or another about civilization from the despised Negroes. Such had been the course of the discourse, at least according to Tam, who otherwise did not seem to really approve of the speaker’s opinions.

“That was pure nonsense, Davie. The Bible says the children of Ham shall be our servants. If I were a minister, I wouldn’t let a nigger in the pulpit. I’d draw the line at Sunday school.”

It was getting dark when we reached the heather-covered clearings on the ridge, and before we had reached the gently sloping headland that separates Kirkcaple Bay from the cliffs it was as dark as it could possibly be on an April night with a full moon. Tam would have liked it to be darker still. He took out his lantern, and at last, by a terrible waste of matches, succeeded in lighting a small stub of candle, after which he closed the lantern and pressed on cheerfully. We did not need any lighting until we reached Dyve Burn, where the path began to descend steeply along a cleft in the rock.

It was here that we first noticed that someone had gone before us. Archie was indulging in Indian books at this time, and never missed an opportunity to practice his art of scenting. He always kept his eyes on the ground, which often led to his finding coins, and once he found a small ornament that the mayoress had dropped. At the bend of the path is a small patch of ground covered with a thick layer of gravel thrown up by the waves. Archie was on all fours in the blink of an eye. “Boys,” he exclaimed, “this is a clear track,” and after a short examination, “a big, tall, and stilt-legged man has come down here, and he has been here only a short time, for the tracks are in the damp gravel, and the water has not yet completely filled them.”

We dared not doubt Archie’s keen observations, and our thoughts were occupied with who the visitor might be. In the summer you might meet people on a pleasure trip here who had found the firm white sand suitable for their purposes, but at this time of year and day no one, whoever they were, should have had any reason to trespass on our territory. The fishermen never came this way, for the lobsters were to be had on the east side, and the steep, bare headland at Red Neb made the road along the shore difficult to navigate. The boys from the tannery would occasionally come this way to bathe, but the tanner’s boy did not swim on a chilly April evening.

Yet there was no doubt where the stranger had headed. His steps led to the shore. The tracks, illuminated by Tam’s lantern, were clearly visible as leading down a slippery path. “Perhaps he has found our cave. It is best to proceed with caution.”

The secret lantern was closed and with the best smuggler’s gestures we crept down the cleft of the rock. The whole thing seemed a little mean, and I think we were all a little afraid at the bottom. But Tamilia had her lantern, and it would never occur to her not to complete an adventure, which was evidently of just the right kind. Halfway down, as we went, there was a small grove of stunted alders and hawthorns, the trees forming a sort of arch over the path. I know I felt a sense of relief in our hearts when we had passed this place without any major mishap, except that Tam stumbled a little, when the door of the lantern opened and the candle went out. We did not stop to light it, but continued on our way until we came to the long, smooth, reddish rocks that border the shore. We could no longer see any tracks, so we stopped sniffing and instead carefully climbed over a large cairn of boulders and descended further into the rock recess we called our cave.

There was no one in the cave. We lit a lantern and began to examine our gear. A couple of shabby fishing rods, some fishing line, a couple of wooden boxes, a pile of driftwood for a fire, and a few pieces of quartz in which we thought we saw gold,—that was all our modest equipment. Or perhaps I should also mention the cracked clay pipes filled with a horrible mixture that we sometimes smoked to be real people of the time. When all the brothers-in-arms were now assembled, a watch was sent out. Tam was ordered to go around the corner of the cliff where the shore could be seen, and to see if the coast was clear.

Three minutes later he came back, and in the light of the lantern we saw a look of dismay in his eyes. “There is a fire burning on the shore,” he said, “and there is a man standing by it.”

That was the news. Without wasting time in talking we rushed out. Archie first and Tam, who had closed his lantern, last. We crawled to the edge of the cliff and peered over it, and sure enough, there on the tide-washed and polished sand we saw a point of light and a dark creature moving about it.

The moon was just rising, and besides, there was that strange glow from the sea which is often seen in the spring. The fire was about a hundred yards away, a tiny flame which I would have put out with my hat. The fire was kept up, judging from the crackling and the smoke, with dry seaweed and unbranched branches taken from the woods. The figure of a man was visible beside the fire, and just as we stared at it, he began to circle the fire, first moving away and then coming closer again.

This sight was so unexpected, so completely different from anything we had ever seen before, that we were almost frozen with astonishment. What could this strange creature have done with fire at half-past eight on a Sunday evening in April on the shore by Dyve Burn? We discussed the matter in whispers behind a large boulder, but no one could solve the riddle. “Perhaps he has come ashore in a boat,” suggested Archie; “he may be a foreigner.” But I reminded Archie of the footprints he had made himself, which showed that the man had come from the landward side over the rocks down to the shore. Tam was convinced that he was a madman, and voted that we should set out at once.

But as if bewitched, we remained stuck in this silent world of sea, beach, and moonlight. I remember looking back at the black, solemn cliffs, and feeling inexplicably one with that unknown. What chance had brought this irrelevant creature to our territory? Strangely enough, I was more curious than afraid. I hoped to penetrate the depths of this mystery and find out what that creature could have to do with its fire.

Archie must have had the same thought, for he threw himself down and began to crawl quietly towards the shore. I followed behind, and Tam came last, uttering one or two objections. Between the rocks and the fire was first a strip of cobbles and slate about 200 feet wide, higher than the high tide mark, except perhaps during the strongest spring tide. Further on was a line of seagrass beds, and then came the hard beach sand. There were many good hiding places behind the large rocks, and in addition to the distance and the poor lighting, there was no danger of our being noticed, also because the man was too absorbed in his work to take special care of the observation point on land. He had chosen his spot well, for he could hardly have been noticed from anywhere but the sea. The rocks are grooved from below so that from above you can hardly see the sandy beach except from the very edge.

Archie, however, as an experienced skulker, was about to reveal us. His knee slipped on the seagrass, and he rolled down the boulder, the pebbles crunching along with him. We were as quiet as mice, afraid that the man had heard the commotion and would now go to investigate. But when, after a moment, I carefully raised my head, I saw that he was not at all disturbed. The fire was still burning, and he was circling it as before.

Right by the springs was a large red sandstone boulder with many cracks. Here we could take up excellent positions and all three of us crawled behind it so that only our eyes remained above its edge. The man was now barely twenty yards from us and we could clearly distinguish his body. He was large and rough-built, or so it seemed in the semi-darkness. He had nothing on but a shirt and trousers, and from the sound of his footsteps on the sand I could hear that he was walking barefoot.

Suddenly Tam Dyke let out a suppressed cry. “By God, that’s our black priest,” he said.

We saw now, as the moon came out of the clouds, that there was indeed a negro by the fire. His head was bowed, and he walked round the fire with measured, regular steps. After long intervals he stopped, raised both his hands towards the sky, and bowed towards the moon. But he did not speak a word.

“That’s magic,” said Archie. “He’s calling the devil right now. We’ll have to wait and see how this goes, because if we run any further now he’ll catch us. The moon’s too high.”

The man continued on his way as if he had heard a faint music. I had felt no fear when we were in the cave, but now that the adventure had come so close upon us, my courage weakened. There was something dreadful about that big negro, who had thrown off his priestly robes and was now practicing some kind of witchcraft alone on the seashore.

I was sure it was witchcraft, for there seemed to be something mysterious, unlawful in the air. But it was not long before he stopped in his rounds and threw something into the fire. A thick smoke rose from it, the aromatic scent of which we could smell, and when the smoke had cleared, the flame burned with a bluish silver glow reminiscent of moonlight.

There was no sound, but now he took something from his belt and began to draw some strange signs in the sand between the fire and the innermost circle. When he turned, the moonlight fell on the weapon, and we saw that it was a large knife.

We were now really beginning to get scared. Here we were, three boys, late at night, in a completely deserted place, only a few yards from a large wild man with his big knives. The adventure seemed to me anything but attractive, and even brave Archie was scared, judging by his pursed lips. As for Tam, his teeth chattered like a threshing machine.

Suddenly I felt something soft and warm on the stone under my right hand. I felt closer and noticed that it contained the stranger’s clothes, socks and shoes, a priest’s robe and hat.

This made matters worse, for by staying there until he finished his religious rites we could not avoid exposure. On the other hand, retreating over the boulders in the clear was equally daring. I whispered this to Archie, but he was willing to stay. “Maybe something will happen,” he said. That was what he always said.

I don’t know what might have happened, for we had no time to wait for it. Tam Dyke’s nerves gave way quite unexpectedly. When the man down there once turned towards us with his bows and crouching, Tam sprang up suddenly and shouted at him in one of the schoolboy’s slurs then in fashion in Kirkcaple: “Who called you chalk-faced, my thunder!” and, clutching his lantern, Tam fled at top speed, Archie and I following close behind. As we were leaving, I glanced behind me and caught a glimpse of a large creature, high and mighty, scuttling after us.

Although I saw his face only for a moment, I could never forget it afterwards. It was black as ebony, but not of the ordinary negro type. The lips were not thick, nor the nostrils wide. No, if I could believe my eyes, he had a boldly curved nose, and the features of his mouth were strict and precise. But his face at that moment expressed such astonishment, horror, and diabolical rage that my heart seemed to stop.

As I have said, we had a head start of about twenty or thirty yards. The rocky ground was to our advantage, for the boy can jump where a timekeeper would have to feel. Archie was the best of us at keeping his composure. “Run straight for the stream,” he shouted in a low voice, “he can’t follow us up the hill.”

We sidestepped the boulders, sped over red rock and sea-weed, and reached a little channel branching off the Dyve, which, having left its course, flowed over the flints. Here I looked behind me, but could see nothing. I stopped against my will, but this was nearly my undoing, for our pursuer had reached the stream before us, though some distance below, and was now coming up the hill to cut off our path.

I am generally a very rash person, and at that time I was even more so, owing to my lively imagination. But I think now that I have done a very brave thing, though more by instinct than by reason. Archie was the first, and had already waded across the flowing water. Tam followed him, and had just got over the stream when I saw the black man so near that he had only to stretch out his hand. In the next moment Tam would have been in his clutches, had I not let out a cry of warning, and run straight for the bank: Tam fell into the water—I could hear his grunt—but he got over, for I heard Archie calling after him, and then they both disappeared into the dense thicket that grows on the left bank of the stream. When our pursuer saw me on his side of the canal, he left the pursuit of the others, and now a race was started between us.

I was terribly afraid, but I was not hopeless, for all the crevices and hiding places on the right side of the riverbed were well known to me from our many expeditions. My feet were light and well trained,—I was considered the best long-distance runner in Kirkcaple. If only I could keep my head until I reached some familiar turn, I would be saved, for at such a point it was possible to turn off into a by-road behind a waterfall in the stream and reach one of our secret paths in the bushes. I literally flew up the steep mountain slopes without daring to turn, but at the top, where the rocks begin, I caught a glimpse of my enemy. The man could run, though he was heavily built. I had only five or six yards ahead of me, and I could already distinguish the flashing whites of his eyes and the red gums. I noticed something else—a shiny object in his hand.

Fear gave me wings, — like a seagull I flew up the rocks, climbed and leaped, striving towards that familiar turn. Instinctively I felt that my pursuer was growing weary, and for a moment I stopped again to glance behind me. But for the second time this movement was to be my last.

A large stone whizzed through the air and met the rock face within an inch of my head, so that the fragments of stone blinded my eyes. But now I was furious. I crawled lower, crept under a ledge, until I had reached a convenient spot, from which I saw my enemy climbing the same way I had come, with a terrible crashing of stones. I caught a loose stone in my hand and threw it at him with all my strength. It broke before it could reach him, but to my great joy he got a good chunk of it in his face. But then terror got the better of me. I crept around the waterfall into the woods and began to make my way towards the summit.

This last journey seemed the most difficult, for my strength was beginning to fail me, and I still thought I heard the pursuing footsteps at my heels. My heart had leapt into my throat as I pushed through the thicket of hawthorn, heedless of the ruin of my best clothes. At length I found the path, and to my great relief met Archie and Tam, who had slackened their pace, much concerned for my fate. We now joined forces, and soon reached the top of the cliffs.

Now we dared to look behind us. Our pursuer was tired, and far below we heard the sound of footsteps heading towards the shore.

“You’re in your blood, Davie. Did he get close enough to hit you?” Archie asked.

“He threw a stone, the pieces of which hit me. But I gave him back the same amount. He’ll remember this evening because of his nose, if nothing else.”

We did not dare to go over the hills, but went straight to the nearest human habitation, a country manor a short distance inland, and when we got there, we threw ourselves down beside a meadow gate to rest.

“I’ve lost my lantern,” Tam said, “You worthless black beast.
Wait until I get up to talk about your business at home.”

“It won’t come to anything,” said Archie confidently. “As it is, he knows nothing about us, and can’t take revenge on us in any way. But if he somehow knows who we are, he’ll certainly murder us.”

Archie required us to take a vow of secrecy, which we were very happy to do, for we thought he was quite right. Then we found the country road and headed for Kirkcaple, the fear of homecoming gradually dispelling our fear of the unknown black man. In our excited state of mind, Archie and I completely forgot that our hats were resting under a bush on the hills.

Fate had decreed that our prank should not go unnoticed. It was our bad luck that Mr. Murdoch should have a bad stomachache immediately after the second hymn, and the congregation had quickly dispersed. My mother had been waiting for me at the exit, and when I was not heard from, she had gone to fetch me from the gallery. Thus the truth came out, and even if I had only taken a quiet walk to the rocks my unauthorized absence would have been punished. When, in addition, I arrived home with scratches on my face, no hat, and many tears in my best trousers, one can easily understand mother’s feelings. I received a few substantial slaps, and then I was put to bed and promised a truly magnificent punishment as soon as father came home.

The next day before breakfast my father was home and I got a good spanking. Then I went to school with the usual Monday gloom in my mind, reinforced by the gentle, compelling members. At the corner of the lower street I met Archie watching some vehicles coming down the street. In the carriage were two men, namely the Free Church minister—he had married richly and could keep a horse—who was driving the black preacher from yesterday. Archie and I quickly turned around behind a fence, from where we could take a last look at our enemy in complete safety. He was dressed in a priest’s uniform, with some thick furs on his head and a brand-new yellow leather bag by his side. He spoke loudly as the vehicles drove past us and the Free Church minister listened attentively. I heard him say something in his deep voice about “the influence of the Spirit of God in this place.” But what I particularly noticed—and this observation alone made me forget my compelling antics—was that one of his eyes was badly scarred and there were two strips of plaster crossed on the other cheek.

II.

GOOD LUCK IN YOUR SEARCH.

In this modest narrative, there are more than enough remarkable events to occur before the end, for me to be permitted to digress into quite ordinary matters. I will briefly relate what happened after I had seen “The Man on Kirkcaple Beach” until it was decided that I should go to Africa.

I remained at school for three more years, where my progress was more evident in sports than in mathematics. One after another I saw my peers leave their boyhood and enter the profession of a trade. Tam Dyke twice accompanied a Dutch schooner that used to load coal in our harbour without permission, and finally his father gave in to the boy’s will, when Tam was allowed to join the merchant navy. Archie Leslie, who was a year older than me, showed a tendency to law, and was therefore sent to a solicitor’s office in Edinburgh, where he was also to attend lectures at the college. But I remained at school, until at last I sat there alone with myself in the highest class, feeling myself utterly abandoned. I was a very solid young man, and my excellence at rugby football was known not only in Kirkcaple and Portincross. To my father, I was somewhat of a miscalculation, as he had hoped that his son would develop the same quiet, bookish nature that he himself had.

One thing I had firmly resolved in my mind: I would choose the career of a reader, however little I was inclined to study. My rapid progress depended solely on my fear of possibly having to sit in some office or other such position, which fate had already befallen several of my companions. And so I decided to study for the priesthood, not from any attraction to this holy calling, but simply because my father was a priest. This resulted in me being sent, when I was sixteen, to Edinburgh College for a year’s further courses, and the following year my studies at the university began.

If fate had been kinder to me, I might have ended up a learned man after all. I had begun to immerse myself in the study of philosophy and dead languages ​​with a lively interest, but then my father unexpectedly suffered a stroke and died, and I had to start earning my own bread.

My mother had not much to live on, for my father’s income had not been sufficient for savings. When everything was arranged, it was found that my mother would receive only about fifty pounds a year. With the slightest demands, this would not have been enough to support the household, let alone my studies. Just when we had gotten this far in our affairs, an older relative of ours, a wealthy old bachelor, proposed to my mother that she should come and manage his household. As for me, he promised to get me a position in some larger firm, for he had many connections in the business world. What could we do but thank him and accept the offer. We sold our furniture and household goods, and moved into his rather gloomy apartment on Dundas Street. A couple of days later he announced at the dinner table that he had now found me a position that would be a good start.

“You know, Davie,” he said, “that you don’t understand the simplest business principles. There isn’t a shop in the whole country that will take you into anything but a cheap job, and your income will probably never rise above £100 a year. No, the only thing you can do now is to travel somewhere where a white man is valued. By permission, I met my old friend Thomas Mackenzie yesterday, who was with his solicitor on a farm deal. He is the manager of one of the largest trading and shipping firms in the world—Mackenzie, Mure & Oldmeadoros—perhaps you have heard the name. Among many other things, he owns at least half of all the small shops in South Africa, where everything imaginable is sold, from Bibles to fishhooks.

Now it seems they would rather have their own people from home to run those shops, and — to get to the point — when I mentioned you to him, he promised you a place. Today I received a telegram confirming the offer. You will be assistant store manager (here my uncle took some paper from his pocket and then read it) at Blaauwildebeestefontein. Well, the name is enough for you, I suppose.»

In this everyday way, I first heard talk about the place where such strange things were to happen to me.

“This is excellent for you,” my uncle continued. “You will be an assistant at first, but as soon as you get the hang of things you will have your own shop to run. Mackenzie’s shop will pay you £300 a year and when you get your own shop you will get a fixed percentage of the sales. You will have complete freedom to open new branches among the natives. I have heard that Blaauw… whatever it was again is up in the northern Transvaal and you can see from the map that it is a wild, mountainous country. Perhaps you will find gold and diamonds up there, and then when you get home you will buy the whole of Portincross.” My uncle rubbed his hands and smiled contentedly.

To tell the truth, I was both happy and sad. When I had to interrupt my reading, I preferred a shop table in the Transvaal to an office chair in Edinburgh. If I had not felt so deeply the loss of my father, I should have rejoiced only in seeing new lands and peoples. In this respect I felt somewhat exiled. That evening I took a long walk over the Braid Hills, and when I saw the Fife coast in the bright spring sunshine, and remembered Kirkcaple and my boyhood, I might have sat down and wept.

Fourteen days later I set out. My mother bid me a mournful farewell, and my uncle, who had bought me a suitable suit and paid for my fare, gave me a present of twenty sovereigns. “You wouldn’t be your mother’s son, Davie,” he said, “unless you brought home a thousand times as much.” I remember thinking at that moment that I would give more than £20,000 to stay on the windswept shores of the Forth.

I had chosen a ship that went direct from Southampton, and to be economical I travelled on the middle deck. Fortunately, all my homesickness soon gave way to another illness. It was almost a storm before we had even got out of the Channel, and at Ushaut there was such a gale that I never wanted to be in again. I lay dying in my cabin, unable even to think of food, and too weak to lift my head. I wished I had never left my home, but I was so ill that if I had had to choose between a trip home and a quick landing, I would have chosen the latter.

It was not until we got into calmer waters off Madeira that I had improved enough to sit up and observe my fellow-passengers. There were about fifty of us on the middle deck, chiefly women and children, who were travelling to visit relatives, and besides a few emigrant artisans and farmers. I soon became acquainted with a slight man with a yellow beard and spectacles. He came up to me and spoke to me in a Scotch dialect that was distinct from the weather. He was Mr. Wardlaw, from Aberdeen, who was travelling south to take up some school-teaching post. He was a well-bred man, having taken some university degree, and had served for some years as a sub-teacher in his native town. But the biting east wind was not good for his lungs, and he had gratefully accepted an invitation to a poorly paid country school in South Africa. When I asked him more specifically where he was going, I was greatly surprised to receive the answer: “To Blaauwildebeestefontein.”

Mr Wardlaw was a fine little man, sharp-tongued and cheerful. He spent his days studying the Dutch and Kaffir alphabets, but after dinner we used to walk about on the quarterdeck and talk about the future. He knew no more about the country we were going to than I did, but he was insatiably curious, and he piqued my interest. “This place, Blauwildebeestefontein,” he used to say, “is high up in the Zoutpansberg mountains, and as far as I can tell, not ninety miles from the railway. According to the map, there should be plenty of water there. The shipping company’s general manager told me the climate was healthy, and I wouldn’t have taken the place otherwise. We are coming among aboriginal tribes; I have a whole list of the chiefs here; ‘Mpefu, Sikitolu, Majinje, Magata’; and to the east of us there are no whites at all, on account of the fever, you see. The name means “spring of the blue wild beast,” and what a monstrous creature that wildebeest must be! This sounds like quite an adventure, Mr. Crawfurd. You can go into the pockets of the blacks, and I’ll see what I can possibly do to their souls.”

There was another passenger on the middle deck, to whom I paid attention because he seemed so repulsive to me. He was also a small man, named Henriques, and by appearance the biggest scoundrel who ever wore a pair of shoes. His face was the color of French mustard—dirty green—and he had bloodshot, round eyes, the whites of which were yellow with fever. His moustache was waxed, and as he walked he glanced about him furtively and curiously. We generally paid little attention to our appearance on the middle deck, but he always wore gleaming white underwear and pointed yellow shoes that matched his complexion. He spoke to no one, but smoked large cigars all day long in the stern of the ship and studied his greasy notebook. Once I bumped into him in the dark and he turned to me, cursing and growling viciously. I responded quite stiffly and he looked like he wanted to stick a knife in me.

“I’ll bet that thing was a slave trader sometime in his life,” I said to Mr. Wardlaw, who replied, “Then may the Lord have mercy on his slaves.”

And now I must relate an incident which made the remainder of the voyage seem far too short to me, and which foreshadowed the strange events to come. It happened the day after we had passed the equator, and the first-class passengers were amused themselves with all sorts of games on deck. A tug-of-war had been arranged among all three classes of passengers, and half a dozen of the strongest men on the middle deck, myself among them, had been invited to take part in the contest. The day was scorching hot, but the promenade deck had a sunshade and a fresh breeze was blowing. The first-class easily defeated the second-class, and, after a fierce struggle, the middle deck as well. We were then offered ice-cold drinks and cigars in honor of our victory.

I was at the extreme end of the spectators when my eye fell upon a person who did not seem to be paying any attention to the sport. A large man, in a priest’s habit, was sitting on a deck chair, reading. There was nothing else remarkable about him, and I do not understand what whim made me want to see his face. I took a few steps closer and then noticed that the man was black. As I approached a few steps closer he suddenly looked up from his book. And before me was the very face that had nearly scared the life out of me a year ago on the shores of Kirkcaple.

I spent the rest of the day in a state of apathy. It was clear that this scene was predestined. Here sat the man as if he were at least a well-to-do first-class passenger, and all outward signs pointed to a respected social position. I alone had seen him sacrifice to foreign gods in the moonlight. I alone knew the wickedness of his heart, and that one day this knowledge would be of use to me, I was sure.

I was a friend of another engineer, and I asked him to look up the name of my old acquaintance in the passenger list. His name was marked “The Right Honourable John Laputa,” with Durban as his destination.

The next day was Sunday, and who else would have been chosen to preach to us passengers on the middle deck if not a Negro priest! The captain himself, a man of great piety, introduced him, and spoke at the same time of the work which this brother of his had done among the heathen. Some were offended, and did not wish to be subjected to the eloquence of the black man. Mr. Henriques, in particular, whose complexion, from a distance, spoke of a kinship with Mr. Laputa, made objections peppered with curses against the insult. Finally, he sat down on a pile of rope and spat contemptuously in the presence of the preacher.

As for myself, I was very curious and also a little fascinated. The man’s face commanded as much respect as his body, and his voice was the most wonderful that ever came from a human mouth. It was deep and clear, gentle as a lovely organ note. He had none of the usual features of a negro, but instead an Arabian with a hawk nose, dark flashing eyes, and a cruel, determined mouth. He was as black as my hat, but in other respects he was a type of Crusader. I have no idea how he preached, though I heard from others that the sermon had been excellent. All the time I watched him and said to myself: “You chased me at Dyve Burn, but I gave you a memory.” Even I fancied I saw a thin scar on his cheek.

The next night I had a toothache, which kept me from sleeping. It was so warm that I could hardly breathe under the roof. So I got up, lit my pipe, and went to the quarterdeck to get away from the trouble. It was perfectly quiet,—only the sound of the waves against the regular thud of the propellers and engines was heard. A large yellow moon and a flock of pale stars looked down upon me.

The moonlight made me think again of the old story from Dyve Burn, and as usual I began to think of the Right Reverend John Laputa. I enjoyed the idea of ​​being on the trail of some secret to which no one else had the key. I promised myself to find out about the priest’s business when we got to Durban, for I had a relative there who might be supposed to know him. Then, as I went down the gangway to the lower deck, I heard voices, and looking over the rail I saw two men sitting in the shade just beyond the hatch.

At first I thought it was two sailors cooling off, but something about the other seemed familiar to me, so I looked again. And in the same instant I had crept over the quarterdeck to a spot just above them. For those two were the black priest and the ugly yellow scoundrel Henriques.

I had no scruples about listening, but I did not gain much from their conversation. They spoke in low voices, and in some language which might have been Kaffir or Portuguese—in either case equally strange to me. I lay curled up and restless for many minutes, and was already tired of the whole thing, when a very familiar name struck my ear. Henriques said something, in which I distinguished the word “Blaauwildebeestefontein.” I listened attentively, and there could be no mistake. The priest repeated the name, and for the next two minutes it occurred frequently in their conversation. I crept back to my cabin, and thought so hard that my aching tooth was forgotten. I knew, first, that Laputa and Henriques were allies, and, second, that the place to which I was going had something to do with their plans.

I said nothing to Mr Wardlaw, but devoted the next week to the relentless work of an amateur detective. I procured maps and books from a friend of mine who was a mechanic, and read everything I could lay my hands on concerning Blaauwildebeestefontein. Not that I found much of that, but I remember feeling a strange thrill when one day I noticed from the charts that we were on the same latitude as the above-mentioned place. I could not, however, find out anything about His Excellency John Laputa. The Portuguese was still puffing his cigarette on the quarterdeck, fingering his greasy notebook, the priest was sitting in his deck chair, reading thick volumes from the ship’s library. No matter how hard I tried to keep an eye on them, I never saw them together again.

At Cape Town Henriques left the ship and never returned. The priest did not move from the ship during the three days we were in port, and I think he was in his cabin the whole time. In any case, I did not see his tall figure on deck until we were rocking in the roaring sea off Cape Agulhas. I was again seized with seasickness, and, except for our brief stops at Port Elizabeth and East London, I lay miserable in my cabin the whole time until we came in sight of the steep rocky coast off Durban.

Here I had to change ships, for reasons of economy I had to continue by sea to Delagoa Bay, and then take the cheap railway to the Transvaal. I first sought out a relative of mine who lived in a fine house near Berea, and found there a comfortable resting-place for the three days I remained in the town. I tried to question Mr. Laputa, but could get no information. There was no native priest of that name, said my cousin, who was an expert in these parts. I described the man’s appearance, but that was no help either. No one knew him—”probably,” said my cousin, “he is one of those American-Ethiopian rascals.”

I also found the manager of our company in Durban. His name was Mr. Colles, a big, stocky man, who received me in his shirt sleeves, a cigar in his mouth. He was very kind to me and took me home for dinner.

“Mr. Mackenzie has written about you,” he said. “I will speak to you quite frankly now, Mr. Crawfurd. The company is not at all pleased with the way our affairs have been conducted of late at Blaauwildebeestefontein. The country itself up there is no worse, and there are great opportunities there for a man who knows how to make the most of them. Japp, who is there now, is old and getting bored, but he has been in our service so long that we would not wish to offend him. In any case, he must go very soon, and then you will have every chance of getting a place, if you will only prove yourself a good man.”

He told me one thing and another about Blaauwildebeestefontein, mainly details about the business. In passing he mentioned that Mr. Japp had changed his assistants quite frequently in recent years. When I asked him the reason for this, he hesitated to answer.

“Yes, it’s very lonely there and they haven’t been happy. There aren’t any white people around and they would have liked some company. They complained and got a transfer. But their stock didn’t rise in the eyes of the company.

I told him that I had been dating a new school teacher on the ship.

“That’s right,” he said thoughtfully, “the school has been empty quite often lately. What kind of man is this Wardlaw? Do you think he’ll stay where he is?”

“From everything I’ve heard,” I said, “
Blaauwildebeestefontein doesn’t seem like a very popular place.”

“No, that’s true. That’s why we brought you there. No one born in the colonies can be comfortable in such surroundings. He wants a lot of company, and he doesn’t like the natives being so close to him. There are only natives up there and a few Dutch farmers, and some of them are mixed. But you young men from home are better off in such a demanding life, or you wouldn’t come here.”

Something in Mr. Colles’s voice made me ask one more question.

“What’s the matter with that place, then? There must be something more than loneliness, I think, to see how everyone has left so suddenly. I’m sure I’ve decided to stay here, and I’m going to stick to my decision, so you don’t have to be afraid to tell me everything.”

The chief looked at me sternly. “I like that kind of talk. You seem to have a stiff back, and I think I can talk straight. There ‘s something crazy there. Something that makes the average man nervous. What it is, I don’t know, and even those who come out of there don’t know. Now I want you to get everything straight. You would do the company an unspeakable service if you could find out. Maybe the “something” is in the natives, or maybe it’s the “burden,” or something else. Only old Japp seems to be able to stand it, and he’s too old and bored to move away. Just try to keep your eyes open now and write to me privately if you need any help. I see you haven’t come here for health reasons, and now you have a chance to put your foot on the step.”

“Remember that you have a friend in me,” he said later, as we parted at the garden gate. “Take my advice, and don’t be in too much of a hurry. Speak as little as possible, don’t touch the strong, learn as much of the language as possible, but act as if you don’t understand a word. You will surely get somewhere. Goodbye, my boy,” and he waved his fat hand at me.

That same evening I boarded a cargo ship that was touring the coast to Delagoa Bay. The world is not a big place—at least not for us wandering Scots, for who else would I have met on board but my old friend Tam Dyke, who was second mate on board! We shook hands, and I answered his questions about Kirkcaple as best I could. I had supper with him in the cabin, and then climbed on deck to see the ship being pulled off the beach.

Suddenly there was a commotion on the quay, and a large man was seen making his way to the gangway with his handbag. The men who were just untying the ropes tried to stop him, but he pushed forward, explaining that he had to see the captain. Tam went forward and politely asked the newcomer if he had booked a trip in advance. The newcomer admitted that he had not, but said he would check with the captain in two minutes. For some reason, best known to himself, His Excellency John Laputa left Durban in greater haste than he had arrived.

What he said to the captain I don’t know, but he got on board, and on top of that Tam had to move his cabin to make room for him. And this particularly annoyed my friend.

“That black animal must be made of money, for he paid extra, I’m sure of it. The old man doesn’t love his black brothers any more than I do. Things are bad if we start loading up on niggers now…”

I had all too little time to enjoy Tam’s company, for the next evening we reached Lorenzo Marques. This was now my final landing-place in Africa, and I remember how eagerly I looked out over the flat green shores and the shrubby slopes of the mainland. We were put ashore in small boats, and Tam came with me to spend the evening with me. By this time my homesickness was completely cured. I had a task before me that promised to be more interesting than my studies in Edinburgh, and I was as eager to reach my destination as I had been to leave England. My head full of secrets, I watched every Portuguese beggar and dock-boy as a spy, and when I had drunk a bottle of Collares liqueur with my coffee with Tam, I felt as if I had finally come into the world.

Tam took me with him to a friend of his, a Scotchman named Aitken, who was the agent of a large mining company at Thea Rand. He was from Fife and greeted me heartily, for he had heard my father preach in his youth. Aitken was a strong, broad-shouldered man, who had served in Gordon’s regiment, and had then been on various secret missions at Delagoa during the war. He was also a hunter and had traded all along the coast of Mozambique, and knew every Kaffir dialect. He asked me where I was going, and when he got my answer he had the same look in his eyes as he had seen in the section chief at Durban.

“It’s a tricky place you’re coming to, Mr. Crawfurd,” he said.

“Yes, I have heard it said so. Do you know anything about it?—You are not the first to have seemed mysterious at the sound of that name.”

“I have never been there,” he said, “although I have been very near it on the Portuguese side. That is the peculiar thing about Blaauwildebeestefontein, that everyone has heard of it, but no one has been there.”

“Wouldn’t you like to tell me what you’ve heard?”

“Yes, I know that the natives are a little strange up there. There is some sacred place there that every Kaffir from Algoa Bay to the Zambezi and beyond knows. In my hunting trips I have sometimes met Kaffir herds from the most remote regions, and they have all been either going to Blaauwildebeestefontein or coming from there. It is like Mecca to the Mohammedans, a place of pilgrimage. I have also heard of an old man up there who is supposed to be 200 years old. Yes, there must be some kind of witch doctor or magician up there in the mountains.”

Aitken smoked in the silence for a moment, then said: “There is one more thing I want to say. I also think there is a diamond mine there. I have often intended to travel there and investigate the conditions.”

Tam and I asked him to explain in more detail, which he did in his usual way.

“Have you ever heard of the LTK—the Illegal Diamond Hand?” he asked. “You see, it is a well-known fact that the Kaffirs often run away from the diamond fields with a great many precious stones, which they then sell to Jewish and Portuguese buyers. It is illegal to trade with them, and when I was in the Secret Police here we had a great deal of trouble about this illegal trade. But I did make one observation, namely, that nearly all the stones I got my hands on came from the same locality—nearer or farther from Blaauwildebeestefontein, and there is no reason to suppose that they were all stolen from Kimberley or The Premier. Moreover, some of the stones that passed through my hands were quite different from those I had previously seen in South Africa. I should not be at all surprised if the Kaffirs in the Zoutpansberg had found a rich vein, and they are wise enough to keep quiet. “One fine day I will travel up there to greet you and at the same time I will clarify the matter.”

The conversation then turned to other topics until Tam, thinking about the injustice he had suffered, asked something of his own accord.

“Have you ever met a big, tall native priest named Laputa? He came on board by force when we left Durban, and I was allowed to give him my cabin.” Tam described the man thoroughly and vindictively, adding: “Surely he couldn’t have had good intentions.”

Aitken shook his head. “No, I don’t know who he might be. You said he landed here. Well, I’ll keep an eye on him. You don’t see big native priests everywhere.”

Then I asked him about Henriques, of whom Tam had not yet heard anything. I described his appearance, his clothes, and his manners. Aitken laughed out loud.

“Most of His Majesty the King of Portugal’s subjects would fit those characteristics. If he is as you think he is a villain, you may be assured that he is with the LTK, and if my assumptions about Blaauwildebeestefontein are correct, you will hear from him sooner or later. Write me a line or two if he should happen to surface, and I will find out his record.”

I followed Tam to the ship with a light heart. I was content with the state of affairs as it was. I was on my way to a place that held some secret which I was determined to reveal. The natives around Blaauwildebeestefontein were very suspicious and it was possible that there were diamond fields in the area. The Henriques had something to do with the place and so did John Laputa, of whom I knew a strange thing. Tam knew it too, of course, but he had not known his former tormentor and I had not said anything. I knew two people, Colles in Durban and Aitken in Lorenzo Marques, who were ready to help me if I got into trouble. On the whole, it all seemed to be shaping up to be an interesting adventure.

The conversation with Aitken had given Tami a hint of my musings. She said goodbye to me, urging me to let her know if anything happened.

“I understand you are getting into some trouble.
Let me know if anything happens, I will come to you immediately,
even if I have to give up my place on the ship. Send a letter to the agent
in Durban if we happen to be in port. You haven’t forgotten Dyve
Burn, have you, Davie?”

III.

BLAAUWILDEBEESTEFONTEIN.

“Christian’s Journey” was the title of one of my childhood Sunday readings, and when I first saw Blaauwildebeestefontein, a passage from it clearly came to my mind. It was the passage where it is said that after many dangers Christian and Hopeful finally reached the Sweet Mountains, from where they could see Cana.

After many dusty miles on the railway, and a weary journey in the Cape Carts through dry plains and barren, rocky passes, I had suddenly arrived at a sweet, verdant harbour. The “Blue Wild Beast Spring” was a clear, roaring little rapid, flowing over blue rocks into deep lakes bordered by ferns. All around was a high plateau, on which grew lush grass, where marigolds and lilies flourished instead of the native beauties and dandelions. Dense, tall-tree jungles dotted the hillsides and meadows, as if the whole landscape had been arranged by a gardener. Farther on the valley dropped steeply to a plain that receded towards the horizon like a thick mist. To the north and south I noted the formation of the mountains: sometimes it rose up as a sharp peak, sometimes it spread out like a horizontal bluish rampart. At the extreme edge of the plateau, where the road just began to descend, were the huts that formed Blaauwildebeestefontein. The fresh mountain air had completely intoxicated me, and now the lovely floral scents of the evening added to my intoxication. Whatever snake appeared here, I had certainly come to Eden.

There were only two buildings in Blaauwildebeestefontein that looked civilized; a general store on the left bank of the river, and opposite it on the other side of the road a schoolhouse. Otherwise there were about twenty native huts, all higher up on the slopes. They were of the kind the Dutch call rondavels. The schoolhouse was surrounded by a beautiful garden, but the general store stood in a bare, dusty spot, with only a few outhouses and shelters around it. In front of the door were a couple of old ploughs and empty barrels, and under a solitary gum tree was a wooden bench with roughly carved tables. Small native children were playing in the sand, and an old Kaffir was sitting by the wall.

My meager travelling baggage was soon lifted from the cart and I went straight to the shop. It was the usual pattern: in one corner was a counter with regiments of bottles, and on the wall shelves a number of tins and all sorts of small merchandise. The room was empty and the air on the sugar box was black with flies.

There were two doors at the back of the room. I opened the right-hand door at a sharp turn and found myself in a sort of kitchen, with a bed in one corner and a bunch of dirty plates on the table. A man was lying on the bed, snoring heavily. I went closer and saw that he was an old, bald man, dressed only in a shirt and trousers. His face was red and puffy and he was breathing irregularly. The room smelled of bad whisky. I realised that this was Mr Peter Japp, my boss, and I immediately knew why business was going badly in Blaauwildebeestefontein: the manager was a drunkard.

I returned to the shop-room and tried the other door. It led into a small bedroom, which was clean and attractive. A little native girl—Zeeta, they called her—was tidying up the room, and looked pretty as I entered. “This is your room, baas,” she said in good English when I inquired. She must have been very intelligent, for there was a large pot of flowering nerium on the cupboard, and the bedclothes were immaculately white. She brought me some washing-water, and then a cup of strong tea, while I carried in my things and paid the driver. When I had cleared myself of the dust of my journey, I lit my pipe and went across the road in search of Mr. Wardlaw.

I met a schoolmaster under his own fig tree, examining one of his many kaffir monkeys. Having come direct by rail from Cape Town, he had already been there a week and was now the second oldest white resident of the place.

“You’ve got a fine boss, Davie,” were his first words. “He’s been as full as the Baltic Sea for the last three days.”

I cannot say that Mr. Japp’s vice has caused me any deeper sorrow. One man’s death is another man’s bread, and if he should prove impossible, it would only be to my advantage. But the schoolmaster took the matter from another side as well. “He is the only white man in the whole town, except us,” he said, “and it seems as if he would make no more special addition to society.”

The school was a farce. It had five white children from Dutch farming families in the mountains. The second section was better equipped, but the missionary schools in these parts attracted more natives. Mr. Wardlaw’s educational zeal was burning high. He planned to set up a workshop and teach carpentry and horse shoeing, neither of which he himself knew the slightest thing about. He praised the intelligence of his pupils and bitterly complained of his lack of knowledge of their language. “Davie,” he said, “we must both take a firm hold of language studies, for it will be to our advantage. Dutch is not difficult, it is a sort of kitchen language that you can learn in a week or two. But the native languages ​​are a tough nut to crack. The main language here is Sesotho, and I have heard that once you know that, it is easy to learn Zulu. Then we must learn this thing the Shanquans speak—I think it’s called baronga. I’ve caught up with a baptized Kaffir in the huts up there who comes every morning and talks to me for an hour. It’s best if you come along.

I promised and then went back across the road to the shop. Japp was still sleeping, so I let Zeeta bring a cup of porridge into the room, and then I went to bed.

The next morning Japp was sober and made me some sort of apology. He explained that he had a constant backache, for which a glass of wine now and then was the best medicine. Then he began to acquaint me with my duties in an exaggeratedly friendly tone. “I liked you from the first moment I saw you,” he said, “and I think we’ll make good friends, Crawfurd. You’re a good boy who won’t stand any nonsense, I can see that. The Dutch here are a nasty bunch and the Kaffirs are even worse. Trust no one, that’s my motto. That’s what our name says, and I’ve had their confidence for forty years.”

For a day or two all went well. No doubt the business, if properly managed, could easily flourish at Blaauwildebeestefontein. The natives were as thick inland as ants, and large groups often came from the Shanquan region on their way to the mining fields of The Rand. Besides, there was good business to be had with the Dutch farmers, especially in tobacco, which I thought could make a good export if only work were put into it. Money was also to be found in plenty, and we sold almost exclusively in cash, although credit was often asked for. I set to work with great enthusiasm, and within a week or two I had visited all the farms and dwellings. At first Japp praised my energy, because it gave him a good opportunity to sit inside and have a drink. But his praise soon subsided, for he began to fear that I might take his place. He was very curious to know whether I had met Colles in Durban, and what he had said. “I have a letter from Mackenzie himself,” he told me countless times, “in which he praises me to the very top. Without old Peter Japp the trading house wouldn’t do, you see.” As I had no desire to argue with the old rascal, I just listened in silence to his talk. But that did not allay his fears, and he soon became so jealous that I began to feel very uncomfortable. He had been born in the colonies, and he never failed to press it. He was pleased with my incompetence in business matters, and if I ever made a mistake he would nag me about it for hours. “Well, Mr. Crawfurd, that’s no use at all; you English young men think yourselves very clever, but after all, we old men from the South are sometimes a little better. “In fifty years you may have learned a little, but we know everything before we start.” He roared with laughter when he saw me tie the roll, and he had a great deal of fun at my expense (and not without reason) when he saw me try to take care of the horse. I kept my composure very well, though sometimes I felt like completely softening Mr. Japp.

In fact, he was a dirty old rascal, — you could tell best from the way he treated Zeeta. The poor child worked all day in the house and probably did the work of two servants. He was fatherless and motherless, came here from some mission station. In Japp’s opinion he was a creature without human rights. He couldn’t speak to the girl without cursing at the same time, and he often hit and shoved her so that my blood boiled. And then one day he went too far. Zeeta had accidentally spilled half a glass of whiskey on Japp while cleaning. The latter got hold of some kind of whip, with which he began to beat Zeeta mercilessly, until the girl’s screams called me to the spot. I snatched the whip from the old man’s hand, grabbed him by the collar and threw him into a corner on the potato sacks, where he remained on his outing, fuming with rage and venting his worst curses on me. Then I in turn gave him my opinion on the matter. I told him that if such a thing happened again I would immediately inform Colles in Durban, adding that before that he would receive a beating which he would never forget. After a while he apologized, but I could easily see that he had begun to hate me darkly.

There was another thing I had observed about Japp. He boasted of his ability to treat the natives, but in my opinion his methods were unworthy of a white man. Zeeta was cursed and beaten, but there were other Kaffirs whom he received with a grovelling kindness. One large black rascal in particular often strolled into the shop and was received by Japp as if he were a long-lost brother. They would talk for hours afterwards, and though I understood nothing at first, I could see that the white man was groveling before the black. Once when Japp was away from home, the black creature came into the shop as if it were his own,—but he got out of the yard sooner than he had come in. Afterwards Japp reproached me for my treatment. “Mwanga is a good friend of mine,” he said, “and will get us several good deals. I beg you to be polite to him from now on.” I replied dryly that I was going to throw Mwanga out, as well as anyone else who didn’t behave properly.

Japp’s association with the Kaffirs continued, and I began to suspect that he was secretly procuring liquor for them. At any rate, I had noticed a few intoxicated creatures on the road between the native lodges and Blaauwildebeestefontein, and I recognized a couple of them as friends of Japp’s. I spoke to Mr. Wardlaw about it, and he said, “I think that old rascal has some ugly secret that the blacks know, and that is why they have such power over him.” I was prepared to believe that my friend was right.

I gradually began to feel lonely, for Mr. Wardlaw was busy with his books, and I had little company from him. I therefore resolved to get myself a dog, and I bought one from a poor preacher who would have sold his soul for a drink. The dog was a large Boer hound, a mixture of mastiff and bulldog, and who knows what else. The colour was mostly red-breasted, and the hair on the back grew against the rest of the coat. Someone had told me, or perhaps I had read somewhere, that a dog with a back like this meant that it would not be frightened by anything, even a roaring lion. And it was for this reason that I took my eye on this dog. I gave him ten shillings and a pair of boots (which I got at the shop at the buy-in price), and the owner of the dog bade me farewell, warning me to beware of the dog’s nature. Colin—that was the name I gave my dog—began his stay with me by tearing my trousers and scaring Mr. Wardlaw into a tree. It took fourteen days of relentless struggle before I could get Colin to agree to me, and I still have the evidence of it on my left arm to this day. But then he became my faithful shadow, and woe to him who dared to raise his hand against Colin’s master. Japp explained that the dog was an evil spirit, and Colin returned the compliment with sincere disgust.

In Colin’s company I now began to spend some of my free time in exploring the mountain’s hiding places. I had brought a small shotgun with me, and I borrowed a Mauser rifle from the shop. I had a natural eye and a steady hand, and I soon became both a good shot with a shotgun and—I think—an unrivalled marksman with a rifle. On the slopes of the mountain range there were partridges and grouse, as well as a species of pheasant, and on the grassy plateau I met a species of bird resembling our grouse, which the Dutch called the “rorkaan.” But the best sport was still to hunt the dwarf deer in the thickets, where the hunter has very little or no advantage. Once a wounded dwarf deer threw me to the ground, and if it had not been for Colin I would have been seriously injured. Another time I brought down a beautiful leopard with one shot in a gorge near Letaba, shooting it just over Colin’s head from a ledge of rock. Its skin is now in front of the fireplace in the room where I write this. Colin’s best qualities, however, came to be known on one of the excursions I made on my holidays down to the plains. There we had nobler prey: wildebeest, hartebeest, impala, and once also noodoo, as the Dutch call them. At first I was quite useless, and I was embarrassed in front of Colin. But then I gradually learned the alertness required in the lowlands, learned to follow the tracks, judge the wind, and creep forward under the cover of the bushes. And as soon as the bullet had struck, Colin was on the thing with lightning speed. The dog had the speed of a greyhound and the strength of a bull terrier. I blessed the day on which the poor itinerant preacher had passed by.

Colin lay under my bed at night, and it is to his credit that I made an important observation. I noticed that I was being spied on incessantly. Perhaps it had been going on ever since I had arrived here, but I did not realize it until the third month after my arrival. One evening, as I went to bed, I saw the hair on the dog’s back stand up, and it kept barking restlessly at the window. I had been standing in the shade, and when I stepped out to look out, I saw a black figure disappearing behind the fence in the back yard. Perhaps this was only a small thing, but from now on I was on my guard. The next evening I tried to look again, but I saw nothing. The third evening, when I looked out, I caught a glimpse of a face, pressed right into the window pane. After this I closed the shutters of the window as it got dark, and moved my bed to another part of the room.

It was the same in the open air. As I walked along the road I suddenly felt that I was being spied on. If I was about to go into the bushes by the side of the road, I would hear a faint rustling sound, which told me that the spy had gone his way. Wherever I went—on the road, in the meadows of the plateau, or on the barren slopes of the mountains—everywhere it was the same. I had silent companions, who occasionally revealed themselves by the rustling of branches, and eyes that I could not see were constantly staring at me. It was only when I sank down on the plain that the spying ceased. This state of affairs irritated Colin to the utmost, and my walks with the dog were nothing but growls from him. In spite of my efforts to restrain him, he once ran into the bushes, from which I immediately heard a cry of pain. He had caught hold of someone’s leg, and when I went to the spot I saw blood in the grass.

Since I had come to Blaauwildebeestefontein, I had forgotten all the mysteries I had resolved to investigate, because of the excitement of my new life and the unpleasant quarrels I had with Japp. But this constant lurking brought them back to my mind. I was guarded because someone or some people considered me dangerous. My first suspicion was directed at Japp, but I immediately abandoned it. My presence in the shop might have been less agreeable to him, but not my wanderings in the neighborhood. I might have thought that he had arranged the spying in order to make me leave my place out of sheer annoyance, but I flattered myself that Japp must know me too well to hope that such a procedure would succeed.

What annoyed me was that I could not get my spies out. I had been to all the camps in the vicinity, and was on fairly good terms with all the chiefs. First, there was Mpefu, a dirty old rascal who had spent a good part of his life before the war in a Boer prison. He had a mission station in his district, and his people seemed clean and prosperous. Majinje was a female chief, a little girl whom no one was allowed to see. His village was a miserable place, and his tribe was getting smaller every year. Then there was Magata, up in the mountains further north. He was no enemy to me either, for he used to offer me some refreshment when I was hunting there,—once he had called together about a hundred of his men, and I saw a great fight with wild dogs. Sikitola, the most prominent of all the chiefs, lived a little further away on the plains. I knew him and his men less, but if the spies were his men, they must have spent most of their time quite far from their kraal. At Blaauwildebeestefontein itself, almost all the Kaffirs were Christians, quiet, clean people who tended their little gardens and certainly liked me better than Japp. One day I was about to go to Pietersdorp to consult with the natives’ representative there, but then I heard that the old man who knew the area was gone and his successor was a young man from Rhodesia who knew nothing. Otherwise the natives around Blaauwildebeestefontein were known for their peace and quiet, which is why they very rarely received official visits. Now and then we saw a couple of Zulu policemen riding past in pursuit of some minor criminal and the tax collector also came to collect the taxes on the huts, but otherwise we did not give the government much to do and they did not have to worry about us.

As I have already mentioned, I began to think again about everything that had happened before I came here, and the more I thought, the more agitated I became. I had a habit of amusing myself by remembering everything I knew.

First, of course, was His Excellency John Laputa, his appearance on Kirkcaple Beach, his conversation with Henriques about Blaauwildebeestefontein, and his strange behavior in Durban. Then came all that Colles had said, that this place was somehow “stale” and that no one wanted to stay here, either in the shop or in the school. Then came my conversation with Aitken at Lorenzo Marques, and his story of the great medicine man in these parts, to whom all the Kaffirs made a pilgrimage, and his suspicions of the discovery of diamonds here. Last and foremost in my meditations was this constant lurking about me. It was obvious that there was some secret here, and I suspected old Japp would know it. One day I was foolish enough to ask him about diamonds. He laughed contemptuously. “That’s the sign of an ignorant Englishman,” he said. “If you had ever been to Kimberley, you would know what the diamond country looks like. You might as well find ocean pearls here as diamonds. But go and search for me, you will find some garnets.”

I made careful inquiries of Aitken’s medicine man—this was done with the help of Mr. Wardlaw, who was now a master of the Kaffir language—but we learned nothing. The only thing he could gather was that the people of Sikitola knew some medicine for fever, and that Majinje, if he wanted to, could procure rain.

Finally, after much consideration, I wrote to Mr. Colles, and gave the letter, just in case, to a missionary who was going to Pietersdorp. In the letter I told him frankly what Aitken had said, and also spoke of the ambush. I said nothing about old Japp, for, as unworthy as he was, I did not want a man of that age to be out of place.

IV.

MY JOURNEY TO THE WINTER PASTURE.

A letter came from Colles, but addressed to Japp and not to me. As far as I could gather, the old man had once suggested setting up a side shop at a place on the plain called Umvelos, and the firm was now willing to carry out this plan. Japp was exceedingly pleased and let me read the letter. It contained not a word of the matter I had written about, but only a series of detailed instructions for the organisation of the side shop. I was to take a couple of masons with me, load two wagons with bricks and timber, and travel to Umvelos to be present when the shop was built. The fitting out of the shop and the appointment of a manager would have to be left for later. Japp was delighted, for, apart from getting me out of the way for a few weeks, it was evident that his superiors valued his advice. He boasted again that the firm could not do without him, and towards me he became somewhat more impudent, in his new overestimation of himself. But then he took a deep breath of joy.

I must confess that I was offended that the letter did not mention anything of real importance. But I soon realized that if Colles usually wrote about such things, he would write to me directly, and so I eagerly waited for the post. No letter, however, arrived, and I soon became so busy with my preparations for the journey that I forgot to think about the whole matter. From Pietersdorp I got bricks and other building materials, and two Dutch masons who took on the work. The place chosen was not far from the Sikitola kraal, so that I could easily get native labor. When I was thinking about business, it occurred to me to kill two birds with one stone. Among those farmers who stick to the old ways and customs, it is customary to drive the cattle from the highlands to the plains — which they call winter pasture — for winter feed. At this time of the year there is no need to fear floods, and the grass is thicker and more abundant in the lowlands than in the highlands. I learned that some large herds of cattle were to pass by on a certain day, and that their owners and their families would follow in wagons. I therefore had a sort of mobile trading post arranged, and with my two wagons I joined the caravan. I hoped to do good business by selling one good and two beautiful to the farmers both on the way and at Umvelos.

It was a bright morning when we set out from the mountains to the plain. I had a full day’s work at first to get the heavy carts down the terrible precipice that served as a road. We tied the wheels with chains and hung heavy weights behind them as brakes. Fortunately my drivers knew their trade, but one of the Boer carts slipped over the edge and it took ten men to pull it back.

Further on the road improved as it began to follow the edge of a gently rising ravine. I rode alongside my carts, and the weather was so divine that I was content with my mere existence. The sky was a bright blue, the air warm, yet faintly tinged with the freshness of winter, and a thousand fragrant breaths from the forests penetrated my nostrils. Variegated birds, called the Kaffir Queen, fluttered above the road. Below, the Little Labongo roared and roared, with its small rapids and falls. Its water was no longer that clear, transparent “spring of the Blue Wild Beast,” but became increasingly turbid the nearer it came to the fat lowlands.

The ox-carts travel slowly, and when we camped in the evening we still had half a day’s journey to Umvelos. A little before sunset I spent lounging and smoking with the Dutch. In the early days they had generally shunned me as a newcomer and were taciturn, but now I could speak their language fluently, and we soon became good friends. I remember we had an argument about a dark object in a tree about 500 yards away. I thought it was a vulture, but one of the Dutch insisted it was a baboon, whereupon the oldest in the party, a man named Coetzee, took his rifle and fired without even aiming. Something fell from a branch, and sure enough, when we went to the spot we found the baboon’s head pierced through. The old man now asked me: “Whose side are you going to take in the next war?” — to which I replied, laughing, “Your side.”

After supper, the spices of which were chiefly from my own store, we sat smoking and talking round the fire, while the women and children were well and peacefully in the covered wagons. The Boers were all gentle, sociable men, and when I had finally mixed up some Scotch punch as an antidote to the evening’s gloom, we became very good friends. They asked me how I was getting on with Japp. Old Coetzee saved me the trouble of answering, for he managed to say: “Skellum, Skellum!” (= rascal). I asked him what he had against Japp, but all I got out of him was that Japp was too good a friend to the natives. Japp must have given the old man a bad name at some time.

We talked about hunting, and I heard many adventures—of Limpopo, Meshonaland, Sabie, and Lebombo. Then we passed into politics, and I heard some fierce attacks on the new land tax. All these men were old residents of the place, and I began to suspect that through them I might learn something of importance. So I related to them, in a low voice, a story I had heard in Durban about a great medicine man, and asked them if they knew anything about it. But they shook their heads. The natives had given up magic and sorcery, and are more afraid of the missionary and the police than of a witch. Then they began to talk about the old days. But Coetzee, who was hard of hearing, interrupted the others and asked me to repeat my question.

“Yes,” he said, “I know, there is an evil spirit living in Rooirand.”

I gained nothing more from him than the fact that there must be a devil there. His grandfather and father had seen it, and he himself had heard it roar when he had been there hunting as a boy. He would say no more, but went to rest.

The next morning, when we were quite near the Sikitola kraal, I parted company with the Dutch, having first informed them that my wagon shop would be at least three weeks at Umvelos, if they needed to renew their supplies. We then continued our journey further north towards our destination. As soon as I was left alone, I looked for a map and tried to find on it the place of which old Coetzee had spoken. The map was not good, for no surveyor had yet visited the east side of the mountains, and the names of the places had been given only by guesswork. But I found the name Rooirand, and it had been given to mark the continuation of the northern range to the east. It had probably been marked according to information given by some hunter. It is probably best that I explain the terrain of this region at once, for these regions play an important part in my story. The mountains extend north and south, and from them arise most of the rivers that water the plain. The names of the rivers are, from the south, the Olifants, the Great Letaba, the Letsitela, the Little Letaba, and the Little Labonas, on the head of which is Blaauwildebeestefontein. But the greatest river of the plain, into which all the others finally join, is the Great Labongo, which flows entirely independently, having its origin in some subterranean spring near a place called Umvelos. To the north of Blaauwildebeestefontein a range of mountains runs for about twenty miles, but then it makes a sharp turn eastward, and is called, according to my map, the Rooirand. I pondered these matters, feeling a special attraction towards the Great Labongo. It seemed incredible to me that any spring in the jungle could be the source of so vast a stream, and I concluded to myself that the headwaters must be somewhere high in the mountains to the north. According to my conjecture, the nearest part of the Rooirand must be about fifty miles distant. Old Coetzee had said that an evil spirit lived there, but I thought that if you went looking for it, the first thing you would find would be water.

At noon we reached Umvelos and began to organize our three weeks’ work. The Dutch were allowed to unload and clear the place for digging the foundation, while I went to Sikitola to get workmen. I got about a dozen sturdy blacks, and soon our camp was ready and the work was progressing briskly. The building itself was undertaken as simply as possible. All we wanted was a two-room shop and a barn to store our supplies. I was the architect, supervising the laying of the foundation and also the raising of a couple of feet of the walls. The people of Sikitola were decent, so that I could put the building work into their hands myself, the Dutch acting as carpenters. The bricks did not last long, so we had to start making new ones on the banks of the Labongo and finish the walls with greenish bricks, which all gave our building a curiously motley appearance. I was not a skilled builder myself, and since there were enough men without me, I had quite a lot of free time. At first I managed the trade from the wagons, but what little I had with me soon sold out. I was just about to go home to get more supplies, when it occurred to me to use some of my free time to explore Rooirand. To the north I could clearly see the ridge of the mountain, perhaps a day’s ride away. One morning I therefore took food with me for a day or two, tied a sleeping bag to my saddle, and set out on my exploration, having first given the task of an elderly Dutchman to act as the leader of the work during my absence.

It was quite a struggle to get ahead along the path used by the natives, which was bordered on both sides by impenetrable green jungles. Fortunately, I could not lose my way, for Rooirand was always visible straight ahead, and as I advanced I could distinguish more and more details in the rocks. When I had reached about halfway it was time for breakfast, and so I threw myself down with my Zeiss binoculars—a farewell gift from my mother—and began to inspect some hollow in the mountains. But there was nothing of the kind to be seen. The rock wall, shimmering purple and looking like porphyry, was quite continuous. There were ravines and cracks, but none so large as to allow a river to pass through. At the top were steep walls, then followed looser layers, arranged in rows like a grandstand, and even lower down was a dense forest. I searched the whole mountain with my binoculars for some way through, but found none. “That looks bad,” I thought, “because if there’s no water, how can I spend the night here?”

I retired for the night to a sheltered hollow at the foot of the cliffs, but both I and my horse were allowed to rest without being given anything to drink. My breakfast consisted of a few raisins and a few rusks, for I dared not increase my thirst. I had found a high bank of broken stones and decayed trees at the foot of the cliffs, and a dense forest covered the rest of the slope. The grass looked remarkably fresh, but there was no sign of water. Not even a dry riverbed from which it could have been obtained by digging.

In the morning I had a serious problem to solve. If I could not find water, I must ride home. I still had time to get home without getting any worse from thirst, but in that case I would have to interrupt my exploration. However, I had firmly decided not to do that. The more I looked at the red rocks, the more I wanted to get to the bottom of their secret. Water had to be found somewhere, otherwise how could the luxuriance of the vegetation be explained?

My horse was a Boer pony. I let him loose to see which way he would go, and he immediately started to all fours towards Umvelos. This was a bad sign, for it meant that the animal could not smell water elsewhere. If there was a river here, it must be up there, and I was allowed to practice a little bit of snoring.

Now I gathered all my courage and made a decisive decision. I led my pony home and gave it a little push. I knew it would be home in at least five hours and so during the day it was out of danger from predators. I tied my sleeping bag to the saddle and took only a little food with me. I had also attached a letter to my Dutch officer to the saddle, asking him to send a native with an extra horse to meet me in the evening. And then I set off to find a way up.

In my boyhood at Kirkcaple I had learned to be a good mountaineer, and the Rooirand porphyry proved excellent for the purpose. But I had many tiring steps to make before I found a suitable starting-point. At first it proved difficult to penetrate through the thicket to the lower part of the slope. Every possible thorny plant awaited me, creepers entangled me in their tendrils, tall trees shut out the light from me, and every moment I feared that some black “mamba” would appear before me from the jungle. It was also rather hot, and I was dying of thirst.

The first crack I tried to climb ended abruptly, and I had to make a dangerous return trip. The second crack was deep, but so full of sharp rocks that, having already crushed my head, I had to abandon this attempt. Continuing my journey eastward, I came across a sloping boulder that helped me onto a raised ledge. From it began a narrow crack, with a small tree growing above it. My binoculars showed that the crack above the tree widened into a considerable cavity, continuing towards the mountain peak. If only I could get to that tree, I thought, I would be in clear waters.

The crack was not many inches wide, but it was wide enough to fit an arm and a leg, and it rose perpendicularly up the rock face. I don’t think I realized how difficult it was to climb it until it was too late to turn. But then my foot got caught in the crack and I was allowed to rest my already numb hands and feet for a moment. I remember looking westward, and through the drops of sweat that were running down my face, I saw that about half a mile away, a rock that had looked perfectly smooth from below had made a crease to the right. When the crease looked dark, I realized that it was a deep, narrow chute. I didn’t have time to think about it, though, because I was in the middle of the damned crack. With great difficulty I got hold of a lump above me and freed my foot. Then the pain continued a few elbows further, more easily, but after a while I got caught again.

The crack was narrowing, or rather, it was becoming less deep, and at the same time the rock above me was still sinking. I had almost given up all hope when I saw that the tree was only about three feet above me. If I could reach it and lay hold of it, I might be able to hoist myself up to the ledge on which it grew. This required all my courage, for the tree might be so weakly held that it would not support my weight, in which case I should plunge four hundred feet with it. But this was my only chance in any case, and so I gritted my teeth, swung my body a few inches upwards, and caught hold of the tree. Thank God it held, and with a strong effort I raised myself to the ledge of the rock—and breathed more freely.

My difficulties were by no means over, but the worst was overcome. The remaining part of the crevasse required very simple climbing skills, and after a while there was a very tired and worn-out creature lying on the ground on the summit of the mountain. It was several minutes before I could breathe calmly again, and before I had mastered the fatigue that immediately overcame me when the effort was over.

When I got back on my feet and looked around, I was greeted by a wondrous sight.

I was on a plateau covered only with ferns and small bushes, mostly resembling hazel bushes. Three or four miles away the land rose again and a small valley appeared. But in the foreground, only about half a mile away, was a lake, sparkling in the sunshine.

I could hardly believe my eyes as I hurried towards it, for I feared it was a mirage. But it was no illusion, but a real lake, perhaps three miles in circumference. Ferns grew on the banks, white flints were visible at the bottom, and the water in the lake was clear, a deep blue. I quenched my thirst, and then took off my clothes and threw myself into the sweet cool embrace of the lake. After that I ate a little breakfast and basked in the sun on a few flat stones. “I have found the source of the Labongo,” I said to myself. “When I write to the Royal Geographical Society now, I will get a medal.”

I circled the lake to find its outlet. To the north a small, beautiful stream flowed into it from the mountains above, and to the south, just to the right, a considerable river flowed out of the lake. My curiosity was redoubled, and I followed its course, quite excited with anticipation.

The stream was lovely, crystal clear, and quite different from the thick, tropical Labongo at Umvelos. Suddenly, about half an hour from the lake, it seemed as if the earth had swallowed the river, and with a dizzying, roaring roar it plunged into a gigantic cauldron. I walked a few steps further and heard the most terrible roar and noise from the silos under my feet. Now I understood where old Coetzee had gotten his devil, who roared and howled in Rooirand.

If only I had continued my journey to the edge of the cliff, I should have learned a secret that would have been of great help to me later. But I began to feel uneasy about my descent, and so I retraced my steps back to the mouth of the crevice from which I had climbed. Nothing would have made me return by that dreadful road, and so I pressed on to find some place to land. I succeeded in finding a cleft in the rock, which, though far from easy, was not particularly dangerous, except for the precarious ground, which was full of loose stones. When I finally reached the bottom, the sun was already setting. I went to the place where I had ordered my servant to wait for me, but, as I had feared, there was no sign of him. I had therefore to resign myself to my fate, and spent a cold night in a cave formed by the boulders, having previously eaten a little and smoked a pipe.

At daybreak I rose stiff from the cold, and ate a few raisins for breakfast. There was still no sign of the horse, so to pass the time I decided to go and examine the rock which I had seen yesterday from my terrible crevice, and which concealed a strange fold. My task was difficult, for in order to see the rock from the side I had to crawl once more through the thickets growing on the slope, and a little higher up. At last I found a fixed point and fixed my position by means of a couple of tall trees in the jungle. Then I dismounted and set off towards the west.

Quite unexpectedly, as I drew nearer, I heard the most wonderful sound from the rocks. It was a rumbling noise, so fantastic and supernatural that I felt a shiver run through my body. Then I remembered my river of yesterday. It must have been at this very point that it disappeared into the mountain, and in this quiet morning hour the sound was particularly powerful. No wonder Coetzee had been afraid of evil spirits.

As I stood there listening, still trembling a little, I saw a creature moving towards the rocks. I was well hidden, so that he could not have seen me. He was a very old man, tall, but already stoop-shouldered, and he walked slowly with his head bowed. He was not thirty cubits from me, so I could see him distinctly. He was a native, but of a type I did not know. His long white beard fell to his chest, and about his shoulders he wore a handsome leopard-skin cloak. His face was wrinkled and deeply furrowed, so that he seemed as old as Time itself.

Very carefully I crept after him and suddenly found myself opposite the rock I was looking for. A path, trodden by many feet, led there through the jungle. I followed it over rotten trees until it ended behind a fold of rock at a crack. I was in a deep gorge, but before me was a smooth, steep slab. Higher up the crack seemed deeper and darker, but how could one get over that rock mass. I also looked from the side, but there too there were only steep walls without any cracks.

If I had been wiser, I would have gone back and seen where the tracks ended. But now everything seemed incomprehensible to me, I was hungry, and my enterprise was at a standstill. Besides, the heavy moan of the imprisoned stream echoed in my ears without ceasing. I am ashamed to say, but I ran away from the ravine, as if the prince of darkness with all his angels were at my heels. And I did not slacken my pace until I had left those bleak rocks a good mile away. And then I started for home. If the horses would not come to me, I might as well go to them.

I must have walked for three or four miles in the worst possible mood, cursing my Dutch, the natives, and all people. The reason was simply that I was frightened, but my pride would not allow me to admit it to myself. The day was getting warmer, the heat was already stifling me, the mopane trees were tiring me with their dark green, the Kaffir queens, jays, and all the other birds were flying around me as if to tease me. Halfway home I met a boy with two horses and gave him quite a confession. Pony had come home just in time, and the boy had been sent to meet me. He had come to this place the night before, and there he had stopped. With a little trouble I found out from him that he had been ridiculous with fear and had not dared to come near Rooirand. That place is bewitched, he said. Devils lived there and only witches went there. I admitted to myself that I had no right to blame the boy. But in any case, I now had something to hold on to among all the mysteries of this land, and all the way home I wondered to myself whether I had enough nature to continue on the path I had started.

V.

MR WARDLAW PREDICTS FUTURE ACCIDENTS.

A week later the building was finished. I closed my new shop, put the key in my pocket, and set out with my people for home. I had entrusted Sikitola with the supervision of the place, for I knew him well enough to know that he would not allow his people to do any mischief. I let the empty wagons follow behind as slowly as they pleased, and I rode ahead myself, with the result that I arrived at Blaauwildebeestefontein two days before I was expected.

I stabled my horse and went round the house to greet Colin, who had not been allowed to come with me, for fear of his fighting with the native dogs. I found my friend in good health, for Zeeta had looked after him. A sudden whim led me to go through the window into my own room, which I found neat and orderly, thanks to Zeeta. The door to the shop-room was ajar, and hearing a conversation from there, I peeped in.

Japp was at the sales counter, talking animatedly but in a low voice to a large native—the same Mwanga whom I had kicked out without much ceremony the other day. I noticed that the front door of the shop was carefully closed, which was unusual at this time of day. Japp had a few very small objects in his hand, and from their conversation I understood that some price was being discussed. As my intention was not to eavesdrop, I was about to open the door, but something in Japp’s expression made me stop. He must have had evil in mind, and so I lingered a moment longer.

They continued their conversation in the Kaffir language, and then I saw Japp holding one of those little objects between his thumb and forefinger. It was a small, round stone, perhaps about the size of a bean, and it gave off a faint glow around itself.

In the blink of an eye I pushed the door open and stepped in. Both men started as if they had been shot, and Japp turned as pale as his unhealthy complexion would allow. “What, what…” he gasped, dropping the object in his hand.

I picked it up and put it on the counter. “Look at the gems, Mr. Japp,” I said.
“I think you’ve found the mine I was looking for. Congratulations.”

My words gave the old rascal a clue. “Exactly,” he said. “So I have found, or rather this friend of mine, Mwanga. He has just told me about it.”

The Kaffir seemed to be in a bad mood. He lifted one foot and then the other and glanced longingly at the closed door.

“I think I’ll go,” he said. “We can continue later.” I told him that I thought it was time for him to go, and I opened the door for him. Then I closed it again and turned to Mr. Japp.

“Oh, so this was your little joke,” I said. “I already thought you had some strange business, but I had no idea you belonged to the LTK.”

He looked as if he wanted to murder me. For five minutes he conjured and bewitched me with such variety and inventiveness that I could not have believed such a thing from someone like him. It was not a question of any LTK, he assured me, but of a real discovery that Mwanga had made.

“In this country,” I said, repeating his own words, “you might as well find ocean pearls as diamonds. But please go and search for me, perhaps you will find some garnets.”

He tried to overcome his anger and now gave in to another way. “How much do you want to keep your mouths shut? I will make you a rich man if you will keep one with me.” And after that he made me offers that showed how extraordinarily he had earned by this business.

I couldn’t help but grab him by the collar. “You old lost scoundrel,” I roared at him, “if you dare to say anything like that to me again, I’ll tie you up like an ox and send you to Pietersdorp.”

Now he could no longer keep his impudent face, but began to weep with fear, so that he looked evil. He said that he was an old man, who had always led an honorable life, and that if his reputation were now tarnished in his old age, it would break his heart. As he sat there with his hands over his eyes and rocking his body to and fro, I could see his watchful eyes fixed on me, to see what effect his words would have.

“Now listen, Mr. Japp,” I said. “I am not a policeman, and it is not my duty to report you. If you will do as I tell you, you need not go to prison. But my first condition is that you will resign from here. You will write a letter to Mr. Colles at once, as I dictate, and say that the work here is becoming too much for you. My second condition is that the diamond business will be completely stopped while you are still here. If I see Mwanga or any of his men in this shop again and find that you have anything to do with it, you will be arrested. I do not want to ruin my reputation by your conduct. My third condition is that when you leave your post, you will leave here altogether. If after that I find you within twenty miles of Blaauwildebeestefontein, I will report you.”

He groaned and complained, but finally yielded to my orders. The letter was written and I myself sent it. I need not have felt any pity for the old rascal—he was by no means left exposed. No wonder the interests of the trading house had been left unattended, while Japp’s time was spent buying diamonds from the native thieves. Thus he had become dependent on every Kaffir who had sold him gems, and now I understood his creeping kindness to Mwanga.

After this incident I moved out of the shop. Mr Wardlaw had already offered me a room in the schoolhouse, and I accepted the offer. I did not want to have any more contact with Japp than was absolutely necessary, for there was no way of knowing what he was thinking. Besides, it gave me an opportunity of helping Zeeta, whom I did not want to leave unprotected with that old rascal. Japp went to the native huts and found an old witch to look after his household, after which he drank himself to death for the next three days to console himself for his troubles.

That same evening I sat talking with Mr. Wardlaw in his drawing-room, by the fire—the evenings here on the plateau are cold. I remember this occasion especially because our conversation took such a strange turn. As I have already mentioned, Mr. Wardlaw had worked like a slave to learn the Kaffir language. I myself could now speak enough Zulu to get by, and understood it when I heard it spoken, but Wardlaw had studied it scientifically and was familiar with its grammar and its different dialects. Besides, he had read a lot of Kaffir history, knew the exploits of Chaka and Mosilikatse and Mashesh and all the old kings. When he had little to do at school, he had read as much as he could. He used to borrow books from the missionaries, and used at least half his salary to buy new ones.

As he sat there smoking in his armchair, Mr. Wardlaw told a series of stories about a great emperor named Monsmotapa, whom the Portuguese had discovered in the sixteenth century. He lived in the northern Mashonaland, and he owned a whole mountain of gold. The Portuguese cared nothing for him, but they took his son with them and made him a priest.

I remarked that he must have been just an ordinary little chieftain, whose valor had been increased and exaggerated over time, as had happened among the caziques in Mexico. But this my schoolmaster did not approve.

“No, Davie, he was a mighty man indeed. You know those old ruins in Rhodesia, called Zimbabwe, which were long thought to be of Phoenician origin. I have a book here about them. But now they are certainly believed to have been built by natives. And those who could have done something like this”—he showed pictures of the ruins—”must have been something better than petty chiefs, I think.”

How I now saw what the schoolmaster really had in mind. Mr. Wardlaw thought that the natives were generally underestimated. This view was perhaps quite natural in a schoolmaster, but not in the form in which Mr. Wardlaw now expressed it. In his opinion, it was not the intelligence of the natives that was underestimated, but their capacity to harm us whites. His reasons were as follows: There were five or six of them to one white man, they were all, broadly speaking, of the same blood, the same religion; they had been a warrior people until very recently—and, what was most important, they lived all over the plateau and could, if they only united, cut off the white man’s connection with the sea. I remarked that it would only be a question of time before the connection would be restored again. “So be it,” said he, “but think what would have happened in the meantime. “Think of the many private houses and small villages — they would simply be wiped off the map. This would be even more terrible than the Indian Mutiny.”

“I do not mean to say it is probable,” he continued, “but I say it is possible. Suppose a new Chaka were to arise, capable of uniting the scattered tribes. It would be no trick to smuggle in arms. Just remember that long unguarded coast between Gaza and Tonga. If only they had a leader capable of organizing a crusade against the whites, that might then prevent a rebellion.”

“We would know about it in good time and nip it in the bud,” I said.

“I am not so sure. They are more cunning than we think, and have means of assistance of which we have no idea. Have you ever heard of native telepathy? They can communicate with each other thousands of miles away, and faster than we can with our telegraph, and there are no wires to cut. If they would only put their fingers together they could be as silent as the grave. My closest servant might be in on the plot, and I would not suspect a thing until I was murdered in my bed one morning.”

“But they can’t get a leader. If there were really an exiled prince of the Chaka family who, like Prince Charlie, would return to liberate his people, then things could get serious, but now all Their Royal Highnesses are fat old men with tall hats and long coats and extremely untidy clothes.”

Wardlaw admitted this, but said that there were other kinds of leaders. He had read much about the so-called Ethiopian doctrine, which civilized American Negroes had spread in South Africa. “Why,” said he, “could not a distorted Christian doctrine be the starting-point for a storm. The Kaffir generally loves to combine Christian fervor with heathen customs. Just look at what has happened in Haiti and some of the southern states.”

Then he lit his pipe and leaned forward with a very serious face. “I want to tell you the whole truth, Davie. I’m afraid.”

He looked so serious and uneasy as he sat there, peering at me with his nearsighted eyes, that I couldn’t help but feel the effect of his speech.

“What’s going on?” I asked. “Has something happened?” He shook his head. “Nothing at all that I can point to. But I have a feeling that something is happening in these mountains. I just feel it in myself and can’t explain it.”

In spite of myself, I became uneasy at these words. It must be remembered that I had never mentioned my suspicions to Mr. Wardlaw—I had only asked him if he had heard of any witches in these parts, and that question might have been put to him by any one. Now he had invented something mysterious of his own accord at Blaauwildebeestefontein.

I wanted to know if he had any evidence, but there wasn’t much. He just felt that there were a suspiciously large number of black people in the town these days. As far as I could tell, he hadn’t noticed that he was being spied on, but was just wondering about their inexplicable presence here.

“One more thing,” he said. “All the native children have left school. I have only three pupils now, and they are all from Dutch houses. I went to Majinje to find out what was the matter, and an old woman said the country was full of bad men. Davie, I tell you, something is going on, and it is not for our good.”

What Wardlaw had to say was not new to me, and yet I felt downright frightened after this late-night conversation by the dying fire, now for the second time since my arrival at Blaauwildebeestefontein. I had a clue myself and was prepared for secrets, but the fact that someone else could sense the mystery in the air made it all the more real to me. Of course I was joking about Wardlaw’s suspicions. It was unthinkable that he would let my plans be thwarted by a story he had made up about a native rebellion that had no valid basis.

“Have you written to anyone about this?” I asked. He replied that he had not yet informed anyone, but that he intended to do so if the state of affairs did not soon improve. “My nerves cannot stand it, Davie,” he said, “I must stop. And that is a pity, for the climate is eminently suitable to me. But I must, for I know too much, and I have not your iron nerves and your complete lack of imagination.”

I told him that it was all just a figment of his imagination, and that it was only because he read too much and exercised too little. I made him promise, however, that he would say nothing about it, either verbally or in writing, without first asking my opinion. Then I built him a rum-snorting machine and sent him to bed, at least somewhat comforted.

The first thing I did when I got into my room was to move my bed to a corner that did not face the window. As there were no shutters in the window, I took an old table-top and set it upright against the window. I also loaded my gun and laid it down beside my bed. If Wardlaw had seen all these preparations, he might have had a less lofty opinion of my nerves and, on the contrary, a higher opinion of my imagination. It was quite a relief when, after I had gone to bed, I reached out in the dark and felt Collin’s shaggy coat.

VI.

DRUM RINGING AS THE SUN SETS.

Japp was drunk for most of the next few days, so I was left to manage the business alone. I was glad of this, because it gave me more time to ponder the many inexplicable facts that the situation offered. As I have already confessed, I was really afraid, but this was more from a sense of incompetence than from fear of real danger. I was, as it were, wrapped in a fog of uncertainty. Things were happening all around me, the nature of which I could only guess, and I was powerless, unable to do anything in my defence. The fact that Wardlaw had experienced the same thing without receiving any indication from me was proof that my fear was not merely imaginary. I had not received an answer to my letter to Colles. By now Japp’s letter of resignation must have arrived in Durban, and some answer must have come. If I were Japp’s successor, Colles would surely remember what I had written to him and give me orders in consequence. Until then, it was my duty to take care of my business until I could get some help.

A change had taken place in my absence. The natives had entirely disappeared from sight. Except for the families who lived in and around Blaauwildebeestefontein, not a single native was to be seen on the roads, nor was there a single one who came to the shop. They had either shut themselves up in their huts or had gone on some long-distance business. Except for a small party, consisting of three Shangaani men, returning from The Rand, no one came to the shop. So I closed the doors at four o’clock, whistled for Colin, and went for a walk.

But though there were no natives on the road, there were more of them in the jungles. I had the same impression as Wardlaw, that the native population of the region had suddenly increased to an extraordinary extent. The forest was teeming with them. They were watching me as before, but there were so many of them now that it was more difficult for them to hide. Every now and then I caught a glimpse of a black back or a leg, and Colin, whom I was carrying on a chain, was wild with excitement. I had soon seen all I wanted to see, and I returned homeward, very thoughtful. For a long time I sat on Wardlaw’s garden bench, unable to understand what it all meant.

What surprised me most was that I had not been touched at all on my journey to Umvelos. I supposed that the secret of the region, whatever it was, was connected with Rooirand. But in that direction I had ridden and explored the surroundings for two days, without anyone bothering to spy on me. Of this I was certain, for I had become very sensitive to the detection of spies, and on the plain, where the bush is not so dense, it is more difficult to hide than on the plateau with its impenetrable jungles.

They did not care that I sought their sanctuary. Why, then, did they guard me so closely when I was in such a lowly place as a shop? I thought for a long time before I could find the answer to the question. The reason must have been that while I was on the plains I had moved away from civilized areas and had come deeper into their own country, but Blaauwildebeestefontein was near the border. Surely they had some secret plot which they feared I would discover. They wanted to find out whether I intended to travel to Pietersdorp or Wersersburg to tell what I knew, and they had probably decided to prevent my journey. I laughed at first, thinking that they had forgotten the mailbag, but then I thought that there was no way of knowing what might happen to the mailbag on any given day.

When I had reached this point in my thoughts, my first thought was to ride at once along the high road westward. If the matter had been as I had supposed, I would of course have been arrested at once. But after a moment’s consideration I found that such a course would be like playing a trump card prematurely, and therefore I decided to wait a few days.

The next day nothing happened, except that my sense of loneliness increased. I felt as if I were surrounded by savages in a kingdom of darkness, separated from my family. The only thing that helped me to maintain my courage was the necessity of appearing before Mr. Wardlaw with a perfectly calm face, for the schoolmaster’s nerves were not very commendable. I had often thought it my duty to urge him to resign and send him home safely, but I preferred to keep my only friend near me.

I had also thought of Dutch farmers in the immediate neighborhood, but they lived so scattered over the plateau, and besides, they could not have any knowledge of my suspicions.

The third day was more eventful. Japp was clear and remarkably quiet. He wished me good morning very kindly and immediately began to look into the accounts, as if he had never done anything else in his life. I was so absorbed in my thoughts that I also appeared somewhat more gentle, and the morning passed like a honeymoon until I went across the road to dinner.

Just as I was sitting down at the table, I remembered that I had forgotten my watch in the pocket of my office jacket and was going to go get it. But I stopped at the door, because I just saw two riders stop in front of the shop.

One was a native and the other a small, thin man with a sun hat on. He had just stepped from the saddle and something about him seemed familiar to me. I crept into the empty schoolroom and peered out the window across the road with all my might. Now that the stranger was handing the reins to the Kaffir I saw him better. He was my former traveling companion, Henriques. He said something to his companion and then entered the shop.

It is easy to understand that my curiosity was at its peak. First, I intended to go straight there to get my waistcoat, and third, to enter the negotiation between Japp and Henriques. Fortunately, I remembered in time that the Portuguese would certainly recognize me, since I had not grown a beard, and my appearance had not changed in any way. If he were one of the villains in the play, I would immediately become the object of his revenge if he ever noticed that I was there, while he had now completely forgotten my identity. Nor would I know anything if I went there openly now. Japp and he would certainly be careful not to talk about their secrets in my presence.

My second plan was to sneak into my old room, but how could I cross the road without being noticed? The Kaffir who kept the horses could see both sides of the road. The shophouse was also unprotected, and considering all the prying eyes nearby, I could see no way to get in through the window of my old room.

There was no other way, then, but to get my binoculars, and I aimed them at the shop. Both the door and the window were open. Farther inside I could make out Hernriques’s feet. He was standing at the sales counter, talking to Japp. Now he turned to the door, closed it, and then came to my point of view opposite the window. There he remained for about ten minutes, my impatience growing. I would have given a hundred pounds to be in my old room now, while Japp thought I was safe at school.

Suddenly he lifted his foot and his boots flashed over the counter. Evidently Japp had asked him to come into his room and now I was completely out of the game. This was more than I could bear, so I crept out the back door and hurried to the thick bushes on the hill. My intention was to cross the road a good distance further on, where there was a narrower place in the stream, then follow the stream bank up to the shop, and slip in by the back door.

As quickly as I dared, I pushed through the brushwood and reached my destination a quarter of an hour later. There I crept back to the road, but had not yet reached it when the clatter of horses’ hooves made me stop. Looking carefully, I saw that my friend and his Kaffir companion were riding at a good pace towards the plain. With difficulty and in a bad mood, I returned by the same road by which I had come to my late dinner. Whatever they may have discussed, the consultation had not taken long.

That afternoon, while I was at the shop, I mentioned to Japp in passing that I had noticed that he had had visitors at dinner time. He looked at me without showing any alarm, “Yes, Mr. Hendricks was here,” he said, adding that this man was a Portuguese merchant from Delagoa, and that he owned several coffee shops on the east side of Lebombo. When I inquired about him, I was told that Hendricks often called on Japp when he passed by.

“Well, do you always take your guests into your room and close the door after them?” I asked now.

Japp turned pale and his lips trembled. “I swear to God, Mr. Crawfurd, I have done nothing wrong. I have kept the promise I made to you as if I had made it to my mother. I see you doubt me, and perhaps you have reason to, but I am honest this time. I have had diamond deals with Hendricks before, but when he asked me about them to-day I said I had no business in those matters. He only came to my room to get a drink. He wanted it and was not in the shop.”

Overall, I couldn’t really believe what Japp said, but I was convinced that he was telling the truth.

— “Did the man know anything new?”, I asked.

“He both knew and didn’t know,” said Japp. “He’s always been a sour gentleman, and he never talks much.” But he did say one thing. He asked if I was going to go away, and when I said I was, he said I had been here a long time. I said I was quite healthy and fit, but he laughed unpleasantly. ‘That’s right, Mr. Japp, but the country isn’t very healthy.’ I wondered what he meant by that. Besides, I think he’ll be finished in a few months, he drinks so much.”

After this conversation I calmed down with Japp, who was evidently very afraid of angering me, and did not wish to return to his old sins. But otherwise I must confess that I have never felt so abandoned as I did that evening. It was now clear as day that we were threatened by some serious danger, of which I alone had a presentiment. I now had quite a body of evidence—Henriques’ visit was one more—all of which pointed to something mysterious that would soon break out. I was certain that this break out would mean blood and lamentation. And yet I knew nothing with absolute certainty. If the commander of the English detachment had stepped forward at this moment and offered his help, I could have asked him only to wait, just as I myself was waiting. The disaster, whatever it might be, was not only threatening me, though I, Wardlaw, and Japp were probably the first to befall it, but my greatest anxiety was the feeling that I was the only one who could do something to avert it—but what that something might be I could not understand. I was not only anxious about the danger itself, but also about not having the opportunity to prove myself a real man. I was alone, I knew much and yet little, and there was no hope of help under the vast expanse of the sky. I cursed my stubbornness for not having written to Aitken Lorenzo Marques weeks ago. He had promised to come, and he was a man of his word.

Late in the evening I dragged Wardlaw along for a walk. I had to put on a cheerful face in his presence, and I think it did me good. We chose a path up the mountains, through a grove of ebony and palm trees, where a dried-up riverbed had left a pleasant passage. It may have been my imagination, but I felt that the forest was quieter now, and that we were not so closely spied on. I remember that the evening was sweet, and in the clear, fragrant twilight every ridge and peak of the mountains was clearly visible, silhouetted against the dark sea of ​​bushes. When we reached the far edge of the plateau, we saw the sun setting behind two distant hills in the country of the Makapan, and to the south the mighty outline of the mountain range could be followed. I felt a desperate longing for that country where white men lived in villages and towns.

As we stood there, we suddenly heard a strange sound. It began, to our mind, far to the north—a dark hum like the crashing of waves on the sand. Gradually it grew louder and nearer—now it was a continuous rumble, from which occasionally emerged a rougher sound, resembling the rumbling of a giant cauldron. As the sound advanced southward, it grew weaker, but always grew stronger again. Sometimes its echo was heard from a high mountain wall, sometimes from the dark depths of the forest. I have never heard such an inexplicable sound. It was neither human nor natural; it seemed to come from that world which is hidden from human eyes and ears.

Mr Wardlaw grabbed my arm tightly and in the blink of an eye I realized what the sound was. It was the drums of the natives, sending some message from the far north along the mountain range, from village to village, all the way to the south, where large numbers of the native population lived.

“It means war,” cried Mr. Wardlaw.

“Not at all,” I said shortly. “It’s just their general way of spreading information. It could just as easily mean a change in the weather or an outbreak of animal disease in the livestock.”

When I came home I found Japp with a face as gray as wrapping paper.
“Did you hear the drums?” he asked.

“Yes,” I replied. “What’s so strange about that?”

“Then God have mercy on you, poor Englishman,” he almost cried. “You can hear the sound of drums anywhere, but I have only heard this kind of drumming once before in my life. It was in the Zeti Valley in 1879, and do you know what happened the next day? The Cetewayos came over the mountains, and an hour later there was not a white man left alive in the whole valley. Only two escaped, and one of them was Peter Japp.”

“Our fate is in God’s hands and we must be content with his guidance,” I said seriously.

Wardlaw and I did not sleep a wink that night. We built the best breastplate we could get, loaded our guns, and relied on Colin for everything else. Before dinner I went to fetch Japp, but the little fellow had sought help from his old friend the bottle, and was already fast asleep in his room, with both the door and window wide open.

I had already concluded to myself that certain death awaited us, but in any case I did not want to get into the right mood. In fact I felt even more courageous when I heard the drums. Now neither I nor anyone else could stop the course of events. I also thought how incredible the native rebellion seemed. Where were their weapons, where was the leader, where was the order? With these thoughts I fell asleep before dawn and woke at 8 o’clock to find that nothing had happened. The morning sun, as before, transformed Blaauewildebeestefontein into a fairyland. Zeeta came to bring the morning coffee as if this day were just like the previous ones, my pipe tasted as good as usual, and the fresh morning breeze from the mountains was as refreshing and fragrant as ever. In a rather good mood I went across the road to the shop, leaving Wardlaw eagerly reading the penitential psalms.

The mail had arrived and there was a private letter for me too. I opened it eagerly, because the envelope had the company’s stamp on it. Maybe Colles had finally deigned to answer my letter!

Inside the envelope was a sheet of company letterhead, with Colles’s signature written across it. Beneath it, someone had written in pencil these three words: “Goats change pastures.”

I found out that Japp was alive, then closed the deal and went back to my room to ponder these new mysteries.

The letter must have been from Colles in any case, for the paper was private paper from the Durban office, and Colles’s signature must also have been genuine. But those words written in pencil were in a different handwriting. From this I concluded that someone wanted to send me a message, and that someone had received the paper from Colles as some kind of lead. Therefore I could not understand the letter as any answer to my letter to Colles.

It was further clear to me that if the unknown person thought it necessary to send me a message, it would not be merely a warning. Colles must have told me that I was on my guard, and since I had once been at Blaauwildebeestefontein, I was, so to speak, at the focal point of events. Therefore the message must have taken the form of a watchword which I would recognise as soon as I heard it from now on.

Such was the state of affairs in my thoughts, and I did not notice a single gap in my logic. The little piece of paper had encouraged me more than I can say. The crushing feeling of isolation had vanished—I was no longer alone with my secrets. Help was certainly on the way, and the letter was the first sign of it.

But how close was this help — that was the next question, and only now did I think of looking at the postmark. I took the envelope from the wastepaper basket. The stamp was not from Durban. The stamp was from some Cape Colony and I could only make out the letters TRS. This gave me another clue, and in utter dismay I turned the envelope over. I noticed that there was no postmark on the envelope from the starting station. Letters to Blaauwildebeestefontein came via Pietersdorp and were postmarked there. I compared the envelope with others of the same kind. All had a circle and “Pietersdorp” printed on it in clear ink. There was nothing on this envelope.

I was still a novice as a detective, and it took a few minutes before it dawned on me: The letter had never been posted! The stamp had been taken from some old letter. There was only one way the letter could have come into my hands. Someone had put it in a postbox while the mail was on its way from Pietersdorp. So my unknown friend must be somewhere within 90 miles at this moment. I ran outside to get hold of the mailman, but he had left an hour ago. All I could do was wait for the stranger to arrive.

This evening I took Mr. Wardlaw out with me again. I have formed the habit of telling no one more than is absolutely necessary about anything that concerns business or the like. For months I had kept all that I had learned to myself, and had not breathed a word of it to anyone. But now I wanted to show Wardlaw the letter, that he might see that we had not been forgotten. I fear, however, that it did not particularly encourage him. The mysterious messages were to him only a proof of the danger of death which threatened us, and this opinion I could not shake in him.

We took the same road up into the mountains as yesterday, and I was convinced that the woods were now empty and the spies had disappeared. It was as desolate there as it had been in the forests of Umvelos. When, at sunset, we reached the mountaintop, we listened with anguish to the sound of the drum. It came again, even louder and more threatening than before.

Wardlaw stood there, taking my arm as the fierce roar swept over the mountains and died away far beyond the Olifants. But to me the mountains no longer marked the wall that separated us from our white brothers to the west. The message had gone beyond the wall. If the bucks are changing pastures, I suppose the hunters have already gathered their dogs and are ready to go.

VII.

CAPTAIN ARCOLL TELLS HIS STORY.

During the night there was a frost more severe than is usually the case in the mountains in winter, and when I went across the road to the shop in the morning the road was covered with hoarfrost. My former fear was as if swept away and my expectation was coated to the utmost. Four words written in pencil may seem like a very weak foundation on which to build hope, but they were enough for me, and therefore I carried out my duties in the shop with a light heart. My first task was to count our arsenal. We had five simple Mauser rifles, one Mauser pistol, one quick-action carbine, and a small nickel-plated revolver. There was also the Jap’s shotgun, and an old muzzle-loading rifle, and the gun that I had already had. The ammunition supply was very good, and in addition there were 400 quick-action cartridges listed in the inventory, which I could not find, however. I put the pistol in my pocket and also put a good sheath knife on my belt. If there was a fight, it would be best to be well equipped.

All morning I sat among the flour and sugar, and fought my impatience. There was no one or nothing to be seen on the white road to the west. The frost was melting in the sun, the flies were waking up and buzzing at the window. Japp crawled out of bed and made himself some strong coffee, on which he went to rest again. Time passed, and dinner time came. I went to Wardlaw’s, and the meal was eaten in silence. When I was back in the shop I must have fallen asleep with my pipe, for I knew nothing until I found myself at the door, sleepily squinting at the sun and listening for footsteps. In the silent silence I thought I heard a faint shuffling in the sand. I looked towards the road, and there was indeed someone coming down.

But he was just a Kaffir, and he looked like a very miserable wretch. I had hardly ever seen such a wretch. He was old, walked almost in twos, and was dressed in a shirt that was nothing but a rag, and dirty khaki trousers. He had an iron kettle with him and some of his belongings wrapped in a terrible handkerchief. He must have been the dacha’s smoker, for he coughed terribly, so that his whole body writhed in convulsions. I knew the guy, that old, worn-out native, who has no family or tribe. He goes around his roads and cooks his own meager food on small fires, until one fine day he is found dead under a bush.

The Kaffir greeted me in his own language and asked for tobacco or a handful of flour.

I asked where he came from.

“From the west, to Inkoos,” he replied, “and before that from the south. It is a hard journey for old members.”

I went to the shop to get some flour, and when I came out again he had dragged himself to the door. Before his eyes had been fixed on the ground, but now he looked straight at me, and it seemed to me that his gaze was too sharp for such a poor old man.

“The nights are cold, Inkoos,” he said, lamenting, “and my people are scattered and I have no kraal. The vultures follow me and I can hear the tramp of the goats’ feet.”

“How dare you,” I asked, startled.

“The goats are changing pastures.”

“And where are the hunters?” I asked again.

“They are here and after me,” he said now in English, as he reached for his cup of flour and quietly began to drag his way forward again.

I followed him and asked in English if he knew a
man named Colles.

“I have just come from her place, young gentleman. Where do you live? Or rather, at school. Is there a window at the back of the building to your room? See that it is open, for I shall be there soon.” And raising his voice, he wished me every blessing for my goodness in Sesotho, and then he trudged down the road, coughing like a volcano.

In a great excitement I closed the shop and went to Wardlaw. Not a single child had come to school that day, so he was quite idle, and was passing the time playing solitaire. “Close the door, and then come into my room,” I said. “It is time for explanations.”

After about twenty minutes the Kaffir crawled out from among the bushes under the window, grimaced at me, and jumped nimbly into the room. He then examined the window and drew the curtains in front of it.

“Is the front door locked?” he asked in the best English he could. “Thank you, then get me some warm water and some clothes, Mr. Crawfurd. I must look human before we begin our negotiations. We have all night to ourselves, so there is plenty of time. But see that the house is empty, so that no one will disturb me while I dress. I am very shy and particular about my appearance.”

I got him what he had asked for, and I now saw an astonishing transformation. He took a small glass bottle from his pocket and rubbed some liquid on his face, arms, and neck, until the black color disappeared. He left his body and legs as they were, except that he put on a shirt and underpants from my linen store. Then he took a shaggy fake hair from his head and revealed his head with its close-cropped, graying hair. In ten minutes the old Kaffir had changed into a lively man of about fifty, with a military bearing. Mr. Wardlaw stared at him as if he were a vision.

“It is time to introduce myself,” he said, when his worst hunger had been satisfied. “My name is Arcoll, Captain James Arcoll. I suppose I have the honour to address Mr. Crawfurd, the representative of the Mackenzie Chamber of Commerce here, and Mr. Wardlaw, the schoolmaster at Blaauwildebeestefontein. But, excuse me, where is Petter Japp? On his head, of course? Yes, that has always been his way. Otherwise we are complete without him.”

The day was now drawing to a close and I remember straining my ears to hear the sound of drums. Captain Arcoll noticed this as well as everything else.

“You sound the drums, but you shall not hear them any more. Up here their work is done. This evening they are moving in Swaziland and down on the borders of Tonga. And if we, Mr. Crawfurd and I, are not quick enough, we shall hear of them in Durban in three days.”

Only when the lamp was lit, the fireplace blazing, and the whole house was carefully closed did Captain Arcoll begin his story.

“First of all,” he said, “I want to know how much you know. Colles has told me that you are on your guard, and that you have got hold of some secret. You wrote to him about espionage, but I advised him not to interfere. Your case, Mr. Crawfurd, has been allowed to wait, in view of two more important matters. Now tell me what you think?”

I tried to answer as succinctly as possible, for I felt those bright eyes seeing right through me. “I think there is a rebellion about to break out among the natives.”

“Exactly,” he said somewhat dryly, “that is clear, and the evidence of it is the ambush and the drumming. What else?”

“I have found out that LTK is practiced a lot in the area. The natives have some kind of gem store, from which they gradually sell one stone after another, and in this way acquire funds for weapons.”

He nodded. “Do you know anyone who might be involved?”

I already had Japp’s name on my tongue, but I swallowed it, remembering my promise. “One name I can mention,” I said, “a little dirty-yellow Portuguese called Henriques or Hendricks. He drove past here the other day.”

Captain Arcoll laughed silently. “Did you notice that the Kaffir with him had a saddlebag? He was one of my people. Henriques would be paralyzed if he knew what was in those bags. They contain one of my clothes and some other small things. Henriques’s own things are in some pit somewhere else. Isn’t it nice to send your things in advance, or what? They will be waiting for me at an appointed place.” And Captain Arcoll laughed again. But then he turned serious again and continued his questions.

“So a rebellion financed by diamonds, with Henriques as the mediator. Good! But who is the leader and what is the reason for the uprising?”

“I don’t know anything more for sure than this, but I’ve guessed one thing and another.”

“Let me know what you’ve guessed,” he said, blowing fine rings of smoke from his pipe.

“I think the real protagonist is a black priest who calls himself John Laputa.”

But now Captain Arcoll was startled almost out of his chair. “How on earth could you have found that out! Tell me everything, Mr. Crawfurd, quickly, for this is the most important thing.”

From the beginning I now began to tell what had happened on the shore of Kirkcaple, how I had seen him on the ship, his conversation with Henriques at Blaauwildebeestefontein, his hasty departure from Durban, etc.

Captain Arcoll listened attentively, and when I mentioned Durban he laughed. “We have had the same hobbies, and it has been almost as if we have run into each other. I thought that night in Durban that I had my friend Laputa in my hands, but I was too sure of myself, and so he slipped right through my fingers. Do you know, Mr. Crawfurd, you have been on the right track long before I was. When did you say you saw him practicing his witchcraft? Seven years ago! In that case you are the first person who has known what His Excellency John Laputa has really been hiding under his skin. Seven years ago you knew what I only got to know last year.”

“Yes, here is my story,” I said. “I know no more about the rebellion, but I can add one thing. The Kaffirs have a sacred place, and I have found out where it is.” I gave a brief account of my adventures in Rooirand.

Captain Arcoll smoked silently for some time after I had finished. “You have the outlines of everything ready, all you have to do is fill in the blanks. And you have figured all that out yourself? Colles was right that you are not lacking in intelligence, Mr. Crawfurd.”

Now, that wasn’t exactly a compliment, but I’ve never felt so satisfied. I noticed that he wasn’t one to waste praise, and I understood that the confession coming from his mouth meant a lot.

“And now it is my turn to tell,” said Captain Arcoll. “My story is long, and I must go far back in time. It has taken me a whole year to make my inquiries, and consider that I have spent my whole life among the natives, studying their customs and conditions. I can speak all their dialects, and I know the ways of life of every tribe. I have travelled crisscrossing the whole of South Africa, mile by mile, and also Central and East Africa. I was in both the Matabele wars, and I have seen one or two other skirmishes, of which nothing has ever been reported in the newspapers. Therefore I say that you may believe all that I now tell you as gospel, for it is knowledge not acquired in a day.”

He continued to smoke and then suddenly asked: “Have you ever heard of Father John?”

“About someone who lived in Central Asia,” I asked, vaguely recalling a book I had read as a boy.

“No, no,” Wardlaw interrupted, “he means the one who was king of Abyssinia in the fifteenth century. I have read about him. He was a Christian, and the Portuguese sent expedition after expedition to find out about him, but never succeeded. Albuquerque wanted to make an alliance with him to recapture the Holy Sepulchre.”

Arcoll nodded. “That’s exactly what I mean. Not much is known about him, except through Portuguese legends. He may have been a Christian, but I think he was practically as pagan as his neighbors. In any case, it is certain that he was a great conqueror. The Ethiopian empire expanded under him and his successors so that it extended far south into Abyssinia, as far as the Great Lakes.”

“How long did their rule last?” I asked, wondering what kind of story this might be the preface to.

“No scholar has yet answered that question. In any case, the center of power gradually moved south, and the warlike tribes followed suit. By the end of the 16th century, the most powerful of the indigenous tribes had settled around the Zambezi. The Mazimba and Makaranga tribes had moved there from Lake Nyasa, and there was a powerful kingdom in the Manicamaa region. Monomatapa was located there, with whom the Portuguese had a lot to do.”

Wardlaw nodded eagerly. This was a field he was at home in.

“What we must now remember is that all these lesser kingdoms thought themselves heirs to the power of Prester John. It took me a long time to get to this, and I have sat many days in the best libraries of Europe studying these facts. They all fixed their eyes on the great ruler in the north, whom they honored by twenty different names. They had all forgotten that he had been a Christian, but not that he had been a great conqueror.

“To put it briefly, Monomatapa disappeared in time and new tribes invaded from the north and headed straight for Natal and the Cape. This explains the first appearance of the Zulus. They had the story of Priest John with them, but by this time this historical memory had developed into a religion. They worshipped a power whom they considered their ancestor and the name they preferred to use for him in Zulu was Umkulunkulu. Their religion could take fifty different forms, but the core was this: Umkulunkulu was the origin of their tribe and still their protector.

“But they had more than their creed. Somehow or other some sacred object had been left behind by Father John and kept among the Mazimba, Angoni, and Makaranga tribes. What it was, I do not know, but it has always been with the tribe that has been the most powerful at any given time. The great civil wars that are told in Portuguese history were not about territorial conquests, but about leadership, and above all, about the possession of that magic object. As far as we know, the Zulus took it with them south.

They call it Udhlondlelo, which means “Great Serpent.” I don’t think it was a snake, though. The snake is their symbol, and it is only natural that they would want to name their most precious possession after it.

“And now I will tell you something that few people know. You have heard of Chaka. I may say that he was a sort of black Napoleon, and he made the Zulu people the greatest in South Africa, though he took the lives of about two million people to achieve this end. He had that magic weapon, whatever it was, and it was generally believed that he owed his success to it. Mosilikatse tried to steal it and had to flee to Matabeleland. But it was lost with Chaka. Dingaan never had it, and Atewayo never got it, though he searched every corner of the country to find it. It was lost, and with it the hope of a Kaffir Empire.”

Captain Arcoll got up to light his pipe, and I noticed how serious he looked. He wasn’t telling all this just for fun.

“That is all that concerns Priest John and the magic wand. And now I come to the other side of this story. In spite of rebellions here and there, and in spite of occasional atrocities, the Kaffirs have remained silent for half a century. But it is not thanks to us. They have had much to complain of, and we understand them no better than our ancestors. But they have scattered and broken up. In the midst of their habitations we have built our vast white settlements, and we have taken away their arms. But there are still six times as many of them as we do, and they have a good memory, so that we may well ask how long peace will last. I have often asked myself this question, and until very recently I have answered: Forever, for they have no leader of sufficient authority, and they have no common cause to fight for. But a year or two ago my opinion began to change.

“My job is to be a colonial spy among the natives. Well, one day a strange creature appeared to me. He was a Christian priest named Laputa, and he visited all the tribes from Durban to the Zambezi as a kind of itinerant evangelist. I noticed that he attracted unusual attention, but at the same time everyone was very afraid to say anything about him. I soon discovered that he spoke more than just the gospel. His watchword was “Africa for the Africans,” and his main premise was that the natives had had a great empire in ancient times, and could once again found one. He used to tell the story of Father John, embellished with several random additions. Father John suited him perfectly, because he had been both a Christian and a great chief.

There has been a similar talk among the Christian Kaffirs in South Africa for many years past. It is something called Ethiopianism, and the foremost apostles of the doctrine are the American Negroes. For my part, I have considered the whole thing perfectly harmless. If the Christianity of the natives differs somewhat from that of the mother Church of England, and bears some fanciful names, what does it matter! The more freedom they have in their religious life, the less they think about politics. But I soon discovered that Laputa was no ordinary “civilized” American Negro, and therefore I began to keep an eye on him.

“I first met him personally at a revival meeting in London, where he had extraordinary success. He came up to me and began to speak about my soul, but broke off when I changed the language to Zulu. The next time I met him was in Lower Limpopo, and I had the honor of trying to shoot him from a ship.”

Captain Arcoll took his pipe from his mouth and laughed as he recalled the incident.

“I had indeed got on the trail of a certain LTK association, and to my surprise I found that the preacher of the gospel was also involved in the matter. But His Excellency John was more cunning than I. He jumped overboard, not caring about the crocodiles, and managed to swim under the water to reach the reeds. However, I had made a valuable observation, for it gave me a clue. Then I met him again at my missionary conference in Cape Town, and afterwards at the Geographical Society Meeting in London, and then I had a long conversation with him. My reputation had not preceded me to my homeland, and he thought me an English newspaperman with a special interest in missionary matters. You will understand that I had no evidence of his involvement with the LTK, and besides, I was firmly convinced that his real aim was higher. That is why I waited.

“I did my best to find out about him, but it was not easy. I did learn something, however. He had been brought up in the United States, and a very good one at that, for the man is truly learned and very well-read, and, on top of all that, he is the most eloquent speaker I have ever heard. He belongs to the Zulu people, but to what family I have not been able to find out. However, judging by his appearance, he is a member of some good family.

“I soon found it useless to follow his travels in the civilized world. There he was an ordinary educated Kaffir, the pampered darling of the missionary society, and a beloved speaker at spiritual meetings. His statements are printed in various Blue Books on native matters, and among his correspondents are several members of parliament. I let this aspect of his activities pass, and resolved to stalk him on his proselytizing tours here among the natives.

“For six months I hung on him like a leech. I am very hard to recognize, if I may say so. He never guessed who the wretched old Kaffir was who sat in the dust at the outermost part of the crowd during his speech, or the half-breed who drove his cart and called him sir. I was involved in several rare adventures,—but they do not belong here. The result of all this was that after six months, during which time my hair was turning grey, I got a hint of what he had in mind. He did talk about conversion to the lower people in the kraals, but to the indunos (chiefs) he talked something else.”

Captain Arcoll paused for a moment and took a sip from his glass. “You may guess what he said, Mr. Crawfurd. During the full moon, when the black cock was slaughtered, His Highness forgot that he was a Christian. He lived then four centuries back in time, having accompanied Mazimba on his expedition to the Zambesi. He told them that he was Umkulunkulu, the new incarnation of Father John. He told them that he had come to lead the peoples of Africa to conquest and victory. Yes, he told them something more: that he possessed the chains of the Great Serpent himself, Father John.”

Neither of us said a word, for we were too intent on fitting this new link into the chain of our knowledge.

Captain Arcoll continued: “Now that I had learned his purpose, it was time to begin to investigate the preparations. It was not long before I discovered that a great agitation was going on from the Zambezi to the Cape. All the great tribes were deeply involved in the conspiracy, and all the smaller sects were drawn into it. I have been in the councils and sworn blood oaths with them, and I have used secret codes to obtain more information in their many hiding places. It was a dangerous game, and as I have said, I have exposed much, but I have come out happily,—by the means of my knowledge.

“I discovered at the very beginning that there were great riches among the tribes. Sometimes they were diamonds, which the workmen stole from the mines and gave to the chiefs to hide. Almost every tribe had its own cache, and our friend Laputa had full access to them. The greatest difficulty was, of course, in converting the gems into money, and he therefore obtained permission to engage in LTK on a large scale. His most prominent agent was your acquaintance Henriques, but there are several in Mozambique and Johannesburg, even in London, all of whom are on my lists. The money was used to buy rifles and ammunition, and it seems that at one time the trade was very flourishing. The trade has been mainly overland across the Portuguese borders, but there have also been consignments to Johannesburg, the contents of which have not been in accordance with the bill. You will of course ask how the government has allowed this to continue. They have all slept soundly. They have never imagined any danger from the natives, and besides, guarding the Portuguese border has been difficult. Laputa knows our weakness, and he has pinned his hopes on it.

“My first plan was to have Laputa captured, but no government would accept my communications as evidence. The man has strong public support at home in England, and the South African government has made arbitrary arrests a couple of times too often. Then I also tried to get hold of him through the LTK, but I got my evidence against him too late. I was close to catching him in Durban, but he got away from me and he has not given me a second chance. Now for the last five months he and Henriques have kept quiet while their plans have matured. I have followed them through Zululand and Gazaland, and I am now certain that the mine has been laid and only the detonator is missing. I have been on his trail for a month, and if his mine is ready, then so is mine.”

Arcolli’s lively, playful face had taken on a hard, determined expression, and his eyes glowed steel blue. The mere sight of him was enough to calm me, despite everything he had said.

“But what can he really hope to achieve?” I asked. “Even if he raised a riverine Kaffir in South Africa, he would eventually be beaten. You said he had been brought up. In that case, he should understand that he has no chance in the long run.”

“I said that he has been educated, but that he is still fundamentally a Kaffir. He may see the first stage of development before him, and even the second, but not beyond that. Such is the perception of the natives. If that were not the case, our position would be much worse.”

“You said their plans are mature,” I said, “I would like to know how mature?”

Arcoll glanced at his watch. “In half an hour Laputa will be at Mpefu’s, staying there for the night. Early in the morning he will go to Umvelos to meet Henriques, and tomorrow evening the meeting will begin.”

“Just one more question,” I said. “How great a man is Laputa?”

“The greatest that the Kaffir clan has ever produced. I will only say that in my opinion he is a great genius. If he had been a white man he might have been another Napoleon. He is born to lead men at will, and he is as brave as a lion. There is no villainy he would not be ready to do if necessary, but I would hesitate to call him a villain. Yes, I understand your astonishment, you infidel Scots, but I have lived with him, so to speak, for months, and I know that there is refinement and nobility in him. He is a formidable but just enemy. He has the heart of a poet and a king at the same time, and it is the curse of God that he was born among the children of Ham. I hope to shoot him like a dog some fine day, but I will gladly testify to his greatness.”

“If the climb starts tomorrow,” I said, “it would be good to know something about their plans.”

Captain Arcoll took out a map and opened it. “The first assembly point is near Sikitola. After that they will press southwards, taking with them all the troops that come their way, and the main force will finally assemble on the plateau near Amsterdam, which is close to both the Zulus and the Swazis. What will happen then is unknown to me, but naturally they will continue to gather troops along the mountains from Mashonaland to Basutoland.

“But look at this. To get to Amsterdam they must cross the railway at Delagoa Bay. Well, they can’t get across. If they get that far, we’ll disperse them here. As I said, I have a mine ready. We have a police force spread all over the mountainside. All the roads from the native settlements are guarded, and all the farmers along the border have been called to arms. We have patrols at Delagoa Bay and on the Natal lines, and the field telegraph is arranged, so that we can have reinforcements at any time. All the preparations have been made in perfect silence, and yet we ourselves are wandering as if in the dark. The newspaper-reading public knows nothing of the threat of rebellion, but in two days there will be a complete panic in every white family in South Africa. Don’t be misled, Mr. Crawfurd, this is a bad thing. We will crush Laputa and his army, but it will be a hard fight and a lot of innocent blood will be shed. And besides, it will stop the development of this continent for half a century. If only I could have put a bullet through his skull in cold blood. But I couldn’t—it would have been too much like murder; and now I may never have the chance to do it again.

“There’s one thing I still don’t understand,” I said. “Why is Laputa the first to come up here? And why isn’t he going to Zululand?”

“Lord knows why, he must have some reason, for he does nothing without cause. Perhaps tomorrow we will find out.”

But while Captain Arcoll was still speaking, I saw, as if in a flash, the real reason: Laputa must have the Great Serpent, the necklace of Priest John, before he can appear with full authority. He probably doesn’t have it yet, or Arcoll would have known it. He must start here, because the magic item is somewhere here. I was convinced that I guessed right, but I didn’t express my thoughts.

“Yes, tomorrow Laputa and Henriques will meet in Umvelos, presumably in your new shop, Mr. Crawfurd. And then the dancing will begin.”

I had suddenly made up my mind. “I think,” I said, “that I will be present at the meeting as a representative of the company.”

Captain Arcoll looked at me with a laugh. “I had thought of being present at the scene myself,” he said.

“Then you would be walking straight to your death, no matter how well disguised you are. You cannot meet them in our shop as naturally as I do. I have my usual duties there, and they have no reason to suspect me. If we want to know anything, I am the one to get the information.”

He looked at me long and seriously. “I really think that’s not a bad idea. I would be more useful in the mountains at the moment, and, as I said, I wouldn’t be able to catch much. You’re a brave boy, Mr. Crawfurd. I suppose you realize what danger you’re exposing yourself to?”

“I understand that, but once you’ve started this laundry, you’ll have to see it through to the end. Besides, we have some old fishing debts to settle with Laputa.”

“Then the matter is clear,” said Captain Arcoll. “Pull your chairs closer here so I can explain how my people are stationed. I must also tell you that I have reliable men in my service in almost every tribe, so I can easily get reliable information. Their telepathic ability is matched only by our field telegraph, but that is no worse, and perhaps a little more reliable.”

Until midnight we sat hunched over our charts, the captain impressing certain particulars upon my mind. Then we retired and slept soundly, Wardlaw alone. It is strange how all anxiety vanished from our little community as soon as we knew what we had to fear, and had a man fit for battle on our side.

VIII.

I WILL SEE HIS EXCELLENCY JOHN LAPUTAN AGAIN.

When I was a boy I had hoped to be a soldier, and I always thought then that I would gradually rise to the rank of general. Now that I have learned to know myself better, I no longer think that I would be particularly well suited to that position, for solitude and responsibility would frighten me. On the contrary, I think that the position of a subordinate commander would suit me well, for carrying out orders has been my whole life, and there is something attractive in the very feeling of obedience. Three days ago I had been as nervous as a kitten because of my solitude, and because it depended on me to take the next step. Now, on the contrary, when I was only one cog in one of the cogs of a great defensive machine, my nervousness had been blown away. Naturally I was aware that the undertaking to which I was now committing myself was fraught with danger, but I felt no fear. Rather, my state of mind was that of a boy who sets out on a great expedition on a Saturday evening without homework. I missed only one, Tam Dyke, who would not be able to share in all the fun that awaited me. Remembering this faithful comrade, who was currently swinging on the waves somewhere, I felt a sudden longing for his company. As I shaved my beard, it occurred to me that perhaps this ceremony would now take place for the last time, but the thought caused me no pain. Apparently no excitement could be too strong for my calm mind.

My task was to travel to Umvelos as if on ordinary business, and then, if possible, to capture some information about the enemy’s plans for the evening. Now the only question was how I could deliver messages to Arcolli, if anything happened to be reported? At first we could not think of any way, but then I thought of Colin. I had accustomed the dog to run home at my command, for on my hunting trips it often happened that I wanted to visit some native village, where a dog would have been nothing but a nuisance. So I decided to take Colin with me and, if necessary, send him home to bring some message.

I also asked Captain Arcoll if Laputa knew anything about our preparations. Arcoll, on the other hand, was inclined to believe that he suspected nothing. The commanding and other mobilization of the police force had been carried out in the greatest secrecy, and the troops were moving on the high plateau outside the tribal area. Besides, the natives are poor interpreters of the actions and projects of the whites, for they do not understand what we mean. On the other hand, Arcoll’s native spies had obtained for him very good and accurate information about the movements of the Kaffirs. He thought that the whole jungle on the lower plateau was well guarded, and that no one would get through without a pass. Possibly an exception would be made for me, the merchant, because my presence could not arouse anyone’s suspicions. Arcoll’s last words to me were that I should hurry back as soon as I saw that the game was lost, or at any rate as soon as I had learned something. “If you are still there when the campaign begins, they will surely cut your throats.” I knew the police posts in the mountains well, so I knew where to head if I couldn’t get back to Blaauwildebeestefontein.

I bid farewell to Arcolli and Wardlaw with a light heart, though the schoolmaster lost his temper altogether, and swore at me to abandon my journey. Just as I was driving down the mountain pass, I heard the clatter of horses’ hooves, and turning round, I saw white horsemen approaching the village. So I left the country well guarded behind me.

It was a bright midwinter morning, and I was in good spirits as I rode my pony down the steep mountain path, Colin running beside me. A month before I had made the same journey, but not then suspecting what the future held. I thought of my Dutch companions, who were now far away in the lowlands with their herds, and wondered if they had any inkling of the danger that was threatening them. I saw not a single human being on the whole of the hollow road. The tokkims snorted in the jungle, a couple of ravens circled in the air, and the sound of the stream was my constant companion. Once I got off my horse to drink, and as I stood there in the green valley filled with flowers and ferns, a sense of human folly pierced my heart. We poor human beings are here, stalking each other’s lives and property, desecrating and corrupting God’s beautiful world…

I thought of taking a shortcut. To Umvelos to avoid Sikitola’s kraal, so when the river parted from the hollow I rode across it and then straight into the bush. I hadn’t gone far when I noticed that something was going on. It was just like a week ago up there. Instinct told me that there were a group of people hiding in the bushes, and I even caught a glimpse of them sometimes. At first I thought they were going to cut me off, but then I saw that they had enough of their own business to worry about me. In a way they did look out for me, but I soon realized that they weren’t here for my sake.

At first I paid no more attention to it, but as time went on and the mysterious commotion continued around me, I became spiteful. Those weeks at Blaauwildebeestefontein, with their ambushes, had made me nervous. These people probably meant me no harm, and they didn’t seem to have much time for me, but it was still unpleasant to move among them without seeing them. It was almost like walking along the edge of a cliff in pitch darkness. I felt my shoulders twitching in just the places where an arrow shot from behind might penetrate. The sky was blue and the sun was shining, but it felt as dark as night to me. I could see the path before me quite clear, but nevertheless I was like a night hike, threatened by dangers on every side. I wished with all my heart that I had never set out.

I had my dinner at a place called Tagui. It was an open grassy spot in the forest, where a small spring bubbled up from under a large boulder, then disappeared into the sand. I sat and smoked there for half an hour, wondering what was going on here. The air was calm, but I could hear rustling and secret movements from those nearby. I regretted now that I had not gone past Sikitola to see what the kraals were like. They must have been completely empty, for all the young men had been sent away. I was so nervous that I took out my notebook and wrote a few little greetings to my mother, and an exhortation to take my body to the harvest, whoever might find it. But then I started a little, ashamed of my childishness, and jumped on my horse.

At three o’clock in the afternoon I rode over a low ridge and then the roof of a shop came into view and a glimpse of the water of the Labongo. This refreshed me, for in any case this marked the end of my arduous ride. Just here the scrub forest changed to taller trees and beyond the ridge the road sank into deep shadow. I had forgotten for a moment the creatures lurking in the jungle and when suddenly a man stepped out of the jungle in front of me, I stopped my horse with a sudden jerk.

He was a tall, stately native. He looked at me, and then began to walk beside me. His dress was unusual, for he had a kind of linen cloak and a short leopard-skin skirt hanging from his waist. He did not have the usual ring-kopia, but his hair was loose, not like the wool of a Kaffir, but long and curly like that of a famous artist. I had prepared myself for his appearance, but still a chill ran through my being. For I recognized the curved nose, the deep, sparkling eyes, and the cruel mouth, all of which belonged to my enemy from Kirkcaple Beach.

Colin was very suspicious and followed him on his heels, growling, but he did not turn his head.

“It’s a hot day, Father,” I said in Kaffir, “do we still have a long way to go, Father?”

He slowed his pace, so that he was right at my arm. “Just a little way, baas,” he replied in English. “I’m heading for that shop.”

“That’s a good thing, then,” I said, “for I am the head of the shop. You won’t find much there, for it has only just been founded, and is not yet quite ready. I am on my way to see it.”

He turned to me: “That was bad news, because I had hoped to get something to eat there. I have come a long way and on cold nights I would like a roof over my head. Can the boss give me permission to sleep in the store’s outer shelter for the night?”

I had now collected my thoughts and was ready to act the part I had begun. “By all means,” I said, “you may sleep in the storeroom if you like. There are sacks and other things there to lie on, and it is a good place, at least if the night is cold.”

He thanked me with dignity. As I gazed upon his handsome form I almost forgot all else about his personality. In his priestly garb he had looked heavy, but now I saw how fine his features were. He must have been over six and a half feet tall, and yet I had not thought of his height, for so high was his chest and broad his shoulders. He laid his hand on my saddle, and I remember noting how narrow and delicate it was, more like the hand of a noblewoman than a man. Strangely enough, he inspired in me a certain confidence. “I suppose you will not stab me to death,” I thought. “Your game is too high to stoop to base murder.”

The shop in Umvelos was just as I had left it. There was my whip on the window ledge, which I had forgotten there. The heavy smell of fresh oil paint wafted in from the door. Inside were only chairs and benches, and in the corner the pots and pans that I had left here for next time. I opened the cupboard and took out some things, then opened the bedroom window and went back outside, where I found Laputa impatiently waiting for me in the sunshine.

I showed him the storage room where I had promised him a place to sleep. It was the largest room in the building, but it was completely unfurnished. There were a few barrels and packing crates in one corner, and enough empty sacks to make a bed.

“I’m just in the mood for some tea,” I said to Laputa. “If you’ve had a long journey, maybe a cup of tea would be nice, wouldn’t you?”

He thanked me, and I made a fire and put a kettle of water to boil. Then I laid out some rusks, sardines, and jam. My job was now to play the fool, and I think I succeeded in it exceedingly well. I blush to this day when I remember all the naughty things I said. First I sat him down across the table from me, a thing to which no white man in the whole country would have stooped. Then I spoke to him almost gently that I was quite charmed with the natives, for their honesty, and because they were a much better people than the white scum of the country. I told him that I had just come from England, and that I believed that the colored people needed the same rights as the white people. I think, God forbid, I even said something to the effect that I hoped I would live to see the day when Africa would once again belong to its original masters.

He listened to me with unwavering calm; and his serious eyes studied me from expression to expression. I may add that he ate heartily and drank three cups of strong tea which I had made. I also gave him a cigar which I had received from a Dutch farmer who was experimenting with cigar-making. And all the while I chattered on about myself and my opinions. I said I would only stay the night at the shop, and that I would be travelling back to Blaauwildebeestefontein and then to Pietersdorp to get a new supply. At last I noticed that he no longer cared to listen to what I said. He had discovered that I was a complete fool. Instead he looked at Colin, who was pretending to be asleep at the door, although one eye was firmly fixed on the stranger.

“You have a beautiful dog,” he said.

“Yes, yes,” I agreed with a last effort of strength — “it’s beautiful to look at, but it lacks all substance. Any little thing will make it wag its tail. And then the animal is so stupid that it can’t even find its way home by itself. I’ve already decided to get rid of it.”

Laputa stood up and his gaze fell on the dog’s back. I saw that he was paying attention to the opposite growth of the hair on his back and I noticed that he did not agree with my criticism.

“The food did me good, baas,” he said. “If you will listen to me, I can reward your hospitality with good advice. You are a stranger here. Troubled times are coming, and if you will follow my advice, return to the mountains.”

“I don’t understand what you mean,” I said, managing to put on a happy, stupid expression. “But I’ll be back in the mountains first thing tomorrow. I don’t like it here on the plains.”

“It would be wiser if you left tonight,” he said, a hint of threat in his voice.

“No, I can’t do that,” I said, and began to sing a song:

“It’s good to be home, hey, but you can’t go home at night, no!”

Laputa shrugged, climbed over Colin, who was squirming, and went outside. Two minutes later, when I looked out the window, he had already disappeared.

IX.

A STORE IN UMVELOS.

I sat down on a chair and thought about the situation. Laputa was gone, but would return sooner or later with Henriques. If I wanted to live to see the next day, I must be able to convince them both of my safety. Laputa probably had no doubts about it, but Henriques would certainly know his former companion, and I had no desire to let that yellow scoundrel examine my character. There was only one way—I would have to pretend to be drunk as a pig. There was not a drop of liquor in the whole house, but I finally found an empty whisky bottle, half full of denatured spirits, and with it I managed to fill the room with the smell of bad whisky. For the rest, I had to rely on my modest acting skills.

Provided I avoided their suspicions, I had to find a suitable place to listen to their consultation, which was to take place in the storeroom. But that was not easy. There was only one window in the roof of the room, and they would of course close the door carefully. I could, of course, hide behind the barrels in the room, but, besides the fact that they would certainly search every corner of the room before their consultation, it was quite certain that they would want to be sure of my presence at the other end of the house.

Then I suddenly remembered the cellar under the shop itself. You could get there through a lift-up hatch behind the shop counter, and there was another similar hatch in the storeroom. I had forgotten where the latter was, but I hoped it would be right under the empty barrels. I closed the front door, lifted the hatch, and jumped down into the cellar, which had been temporarily paved with green bricks. Lighting the way with a match, I crept to the other hatch and tried to lift it. It didn’t move, which made me think there were barrels or other stuff on it. So I went into the storeroom and noticed that a heavy crate was on the other half of the hatch. I pushed it aside and lifted the hatch a little so that I could listen through it, and then I arranged all sorts of junk on top of the hatch so that no one would even suspect its existence. When I thought the allies should have some kind of seat, I pushed a couple of boxes a little to the front so they wouldn’t start rummaging around the room too much.

When everything was clear, I returned to the shop and started getting dressed again. I had already gotten quite dirty in the basement and now I was making my face even more dirty. My hair was quite long and when I ran my fingers through it it looked like cockscomb. Then I distributed the alcohol around the room so that you could definitely smell it. I burned some of it, poured some on the shop table, rinsed my hands in it and soaked my clothes in it. In five minutes I had made the room smell worse than the worst village pub. I also took off my collar, and when I looked in the mirror, I saw a relaxed old man there, which would have been perfect for decorating a pub on a Saturday night.

The sun had already set, but I didn’t bother to turn on the light. It was the time of the full moon — Laputa had probably chosen this night for that very reason — and in an hour it would illuminate the world with its enchanted glow. Minute after minute I sat at the sales table and waited. I admit that the waiting time tested my courage to a certain extent. My earlier chores had taken away my nervousness, but inactivity made me afraid again. Laputa must still have enough to do tonight to stay so long.

My pony was in a little shed we had built opposite the shop. I could hear it clattering and snorting, louder than the frogs could croak on the banks of the Labongo. But now another sound penetrated my ears—the clatter of hooves and the clatter of reins. For a moment it ceased, but then I heard talking. The riders had tied their horses to a tree and were now walking closer.

I held out an empty whiskey bottle to the counter in one hand, my eyes fixed on the crack in the door, through which a dark blue twilight seeped in. The crack darkened as two men peered in. Colin growled under the counter, but I held him tightly by the neck.

“Hello,” I said, “isn’t my black friend there? I’m sorry, but the whiskey’s gone. Empty, as you can see, no matter how much I choke,” and laughing foolishly I turned the bottle upside down.

Laputa said something I didn’t understand. Henriques laughed wickedly.

“It is best that we silence him,” he said. They seemed to argue, and Laputa emerged victorious. The door closed, and the key I had left in the door was turned.

I waited five minutes to give them time to go into the storeroom to begin the negotiation. Then I opened the hatch, carefully lowered myself into the cellar, and crawled to the other end. A faint streak of light could be seen through the cracked hatch. I arranged a platform for myself from the bricks left on the basement floor, so that I could see straight through the crack into the room. I could see that both men were sitting on the very boxes I had reserved for them. Between them was a lantern, and Henriques had a bottle from which he occasionally took sips.

He now took out something and showed it to the other person.

“From the spoils of war,” he said. “I have let the people of Sikitola open fire. They needed it to get excited. Now they are as passionate as the Umboons.”

Laputa asked a question.

“They were just Dutchmen who were at Kovdov’s with their herds. You mustn’t be soft-hearted. Do you really think those self-righteous fools would agree to a compromise? If this hadn’t happened, they would be on the other side of the mountains with their horses, watching out for anyone they met. Besides, I said the people of Sikitola needed a stir. I stabbed Coetzee, that old pig, myself. He once set his dogs on me, and I’ll never forget an insult.”

Laputa must not have approved of this because Henriques raised his voice.

“Well, then, do as you please,” he shouted, “but don’t blame me if the whole thing turns out to be a mess. Damn it, man, do you really think you can start a fire with a rag? If everything went my way now, we’d go and stab that drunkard in the next room right away.”

“He is no danger,” Laputa replied. “I gave him a chance to save his life, but he laughed at me. He will not get far on his journey home.”

All this was very interesting to hear, but I had no time to think about myself. I was wild with rage against that murderous yellow rascal. I felt no hatred for Laputa, for he was an honest enemy who played a fair game. My fingers itched to get at the Portuguese—that traitor to his double race—the neck. When I thought of my good old friends, who now lay slaughtered in the jungle with their men, burning tears welled up in my eyes. “Love casts out fear,” says the Bible, but—with all due respect—so does hatred. I would not have given up the game for any price. I only asked one thing: that God, in his goodness, would allow me to settle my score with Henriques.

I fear some of the conversation escaped my ears, for I was so overcome with rage. When I began to listen again, they were deep in their plans. There were maps before them, and Laputa was pointing the way with his graceful finger. I strained my ears, but could make out only a couple of names. It was evident that they intended to linger on the plain until they had passed over Little Labongo and Letaba. I thought I heard the name of the last-mentioned crossing. It was something like Dupree Drift. Later their conversation became easier to understand, for Laputa explained the position. All the forces would leave the plain at the same time, march into the mountains along the Great Letaba Valley, and the first halt would be at a place called Inanda Kraali, where a promontory on the upper plateau juts out between a pair of peaks called Wolkberg and Molnberg (Cloud Mountains). All of this was very clear and the names were etched in my mind like a stamp on wax.

“In the meantime,” said Laputa, “we will assemble at Ntabakaikonjwa. It is a good three hours’ ride there.”

“Where in the world could Ntabakaikonjwa have been? It was certainly the name given to Rooirand by the natives, for it was unlikely that Laputa would use a Dutch name for his sacred place.”

“Nothing has been forgotten. The men are allowed to gather below the rocks, only the leader and the great chiefs are allowed to come to the Serpent’s Place. The gate is well guarded, and no one can enter without the password, which is ‘Immanuel,’ that is, ‘God with us.'”

“Well, when we’re there, what happens, what kind of witchcraft will we be shown?” Henriques asked, laughing.

There was a great contrast between the mocking voice of the Portuguese and the earnest voice that answered: “The Serpent Guardian shall open the sacred chamber and bring forth the Isetembiso Sami (= a very sacred object). As leader of my people, I will wear the Umkulunkulu necklace in the name of God and our great ancestors.”

“But you’re not going to lead the march with a ruby ​​necklace around your neck, are you?” asked
Henriques, suddenly excited.

Again Laputa answered seriously and, so to speak, impersonally.
I heard a voice whose owner’s soul was filled with distant dreams.

“When I am proclaimed king, I will return the Serpent to its Keeper and swear not to take it until I have led my people to victory.”

“I understand,” Henriques said. “But what about the purification you spoke of?”

I had never heard of this before, which is why I listened eagerly.

“The vows we make in the Holy Place bind us until we are cleansed and released from them in the Kraal of Inanda. Until that time no blood may be shed nor any flesh eaten. Such was the custom of our ancestors.”

“Yes, I just want to say that it sounds very reckless and dangerous,” Henriques said. “You intend to march a hundred miles, and you are not allowed to strike a single blow. That would be like putting yourself at the mercy of the first police patrol.”

“No patrols will come our way,” Laputa replied. “Our march will be as secret and as swift as death. I have made all the preparations.”

“But suppose we meet resistance,” said the Portuguese, “is the promise binding in any case?”

“If anyone tries to obstruct our journey, we will bind him hand and foot and carry him with us. His fate will be harsher than if he met his death in battle.”

“I understand,” said Henriques, whistling through his teeth. “Well, but before we start on that swearing business, I’m going to go and finish off that merchant.”

Laputa shook his head. “Stay calm and listen to what I say. We don’t have time to murder harmless fools. Before we leave here, you must give me all the numbers and information about the troops in the south. There is nothing else left.”

These numbers would have been quite interesting, no doubt, but I never got to hear them. I had had some kind of cramp in my legs while standing on the bricks, and now my leg moved against my will. The bricks shattered with a clatter, and I grabbed the hatch, but it didn’t hold, and fell after me with a loud noise.

The situation was unpleasant for the eavesdropper. I crept as unobtrusively as possible to the other hatch and went up to the shop, hearing Laputa and Henriques begin to investigate the cause of the noise. I caught Colin by the scruff of the neck and stopped him from barking, but I couldn’t get the damned hatch to close. Something had gotten in the way, so that it was left about half a foot open.

Now I heard them approaching the door, and I did the only thing I could do. I pulled Colin right up to the hatch, threw myself on top of the dog, and began to snore as if I were in a heavy drunken sleep.

The key was turned and the light from the lantern fell on the wall, turning up and down as the lantern swung.

“He’s not here,” I heard Henriques say. “He overheard our conversation and then went away, that dog!”

“He hasn’t been gone long,” said Laputa, “for he is snoring in a chair behind the counter.”

The moments were not exactly pleasant for me. I held Colin tightly, but even then I could not prevent a growl from escaping, which, however, was fortunately mixed with my snoring. I felt the light of the lantern on my face and I realized that both men were looking at me, not knowing what was under me. I think that moment was the worst of all, for, as I have already said, my courage was maintained during the action, but the idle waiting dissipated it as if by a blow.

“He’s perfectly calm,” Laputa said after a blink of an eye that seemed like an eternity to me. “The only noise was from the rats among the empty boxes.”

I thanked my God that they hadn’t noticed the other basement hatch.

“In any case, I would like to make him even calmer,”
Henriques said.

Laputa must have taken him by the arm. “Let’s go on. I’ve already said I don’t want any more murders, and you do as I say, Mr. Henriques.”

I heard no answer, but they both went out and closed the door. I stroked the injured Colin and rose with a forced gait. I had no time to lose, for soon the two would be leaving, and I had to get up before them.

By the light of the moonlight coming through the window, I wrote a note to Arcoll on a piece of paper. I told him what I had heard, especially dwelling on Dupree Drift and Letaba. I added that I myself was going to Rooirand to find out the secret of the cave, and finally asked Arcoll to read the law to the Portuguese, which I myself had no time for now. I then carefully tied the piece of paper under the dog’s collar.

As quietly as I could, I then went into the adjoining bedroom—the room furthest from the storeroom. Moonlight streamed in through the window, which was open as I had left it earlier. I lifted Colin noiselessly over the sill and swung myself after him. In my haste, I left my coat and pistol inside.

But now came the first obstacle. My horse was in a shelter near the storeroom. If I went to get it, Laputa and Henriques would hear it at once. I thought for a moment that I would have to change my plan. Perhaps I would have to sneak back and try to shoot them both when they came out. But before I could get rid of both, the other would surely shoot me. Besides, I felt a pang of conscience at the thought of killing Laputa. Now I understood why Arcoll had so often restrained himself, and I began to recover his idea of ​​our chief enemy.

Suddenly I remembered both horses. I could easily take one of them. I walked along the grass to the edge of the forest, where the horses were tied to a merula tree. Both were the most beautiful horses I had ever seen in Africa. I chose the better one, an African blue stallion, renowned for his speed and endurance. I untied the reins from the branch and led the horse a short distance into the forest in the direction of Rooirand. Then I turned to Colin. “Home!” I said to him, “home, as if my life were at stake!”

Colin seemed dismayed. “Home!” I said again, pointing west toward the mountains. “Home, my boy.”

And now he understood. He barked softly and cast a scolding glance at me and the dog. Then he turned and, pressing his muzzle to the ground, set off with long strides back the same way we had come in the morning.

A moment later I was sitting in the saddle and riding north as the kimo’s tails left.

X.

I’M GOING TO LOOK FOR TREASURE.

For about a mile I remained in the forest, which was here sparse and open for riding, and then I turned onto the path. The moon was high and the whole landscape was dark green, but the path shone before me like old ivory. I had looked at my watch when I started and found that it was a little after eight. My horse was strong and the distance was about fifty miles. I should be there about midnight. I would be allowed in by a password and then wait for Laputa and Henriques to come. If luck favoured me, I would be able to see all the stages of the secret proceedings that had so astonished me on the shores of Kirkcaple. No doubt I would then be treated very rudely, would be taken prisoner, and would be made to follow with the troops bound when they started out. But as far as Inanda Kraal my life would not be in danger, and before that there was the crossing of Letaba. Colin would take my letter to Arcolli, and Laputa and his men would experience changes in fortune at the fishmonger’s.

When I now long afterwards recall this train of thought, it seems sheer madness to have counted on such chances of escape. There were a great number of circumstances, any one of which was sufficient to nullify my calculations. The watchword might have been wrong, or I might have met someone who did not know it. Those in the cave might have stabbed me to death immediately without further ado, and Laputa might have explained my action as one that would free him from even the most solemn lights. Colin might have lost his way on his journey, Laputa might have changed his plan of march, or Arcolli’s men might have lost the battle at the calabash. So many dangers have I avoided, and so great has been the goodness of God towards me, that recently, when I remembered all this at Portincross, I was so moved that I resolved to build a new large hall in the parish church, as a token of my gratitude.

Fortunately for the human race, in an active life the mind is more occupied with the present than with what may happen in the future. As I rode along the moonlit road northward I felt no fear. In truth I was almost happy. The trump cards were mine. I knew more about Laputa than any mortal except Henriques, and I had the key to the nest of the rebellion. There were hidden treasures before me—a great chain of rubies, Henriques had said. There must be more, I thought. The cave at Rooirand was the headquarters of the whole movement, and there must also be their treasure trove—the diamonds and the gold for which they had been exchanged. I think that deep down in every man there is a desire to find treasure, a passion that can often lead a timid coward to unpredictable feats. Now I had acquired this desire for treasures and gems. I had been high-minded before, and thought of my duty to my country, but during this night-time ride I fear I thought only of my duty to David Crawfurd, that he might become rich. Yes, there was one thing besides that that was in my mind. My mind was full of rage against Henriques. I think, in fact, that was the chief influence, for even before I had heard Laputa speak of the oath and the cleansing, I had in my mind the thought of going to the cave at any cost. I am generally a calm man, but I think I would rather have my nails stuck in the throat of a Portuguese than in the chain of Father John alone.

But deep down, the dominant thought was that Providence had given me my opportunity right now, and therefore I must make the most of it. The Calvinism in which I had been brought up had, without my knowing it, taken firm root in my soul. I thought that what was predestined must also happen, and that man was but a plaything in the hands of the Creator. I regarded the events of the last few months as a direct path shown to me, which I alone could follow. I had by no means been given the keys to all that was to come. It was predestined that I should go to Umvelos alone, and in my own weak-hearted desires I saw only the decision of the Almighty. So self-satisfied are we mortals, and yet I think that without such self-satisfaction we humans would all too often be content to sit bored at home by the stove.

I had now passed the place where I had last met the boy with the horses, and I knew that half the journey was already over. I had often listened for a sound behind me, but there was nothing. The gentleman who had got my pony must have noticed that it was a little slow in its movements, and it was painful to think of the poor animal in the hands of an irritated rider. At last a wall of purple gleaming rose gradually before me in the far distance. I felt Rooirand and gave the kimo more speed. In an hour I should be there.

I had trusted that knowing the password would ensure my safety, but then it also showed that I had my life to thank for the horse. There was still about a mile to the cliffs when I suddenly encountered the vanguard of the rebels. The forest was bustling with men, and I saw horses in corrals and a large number of Cape carts and light wagons. The scene resembled a religious gathering of giants in some Dutch village, except that here every man was black. I saw, although I did not think I saw, that everyone had a rifle, and many also had a spear and shield. At first they intended to stop me. The rifles were already flying against my shoulder and the barrels were pointing at me. I thought that the boldest game was the safest, so I quickened my pace and shouted to them to disperse. “Make way,” I shouted in their own language. “I have messages from the Inkul. (This is the name the natives use for their chief leader.) “Out of the way, dogs!”

They recognized the horse and respectfully stepped aside. I did not know it then, but that horse was familiar from the Zambezi to the Cape. I rode their king’s warhorse, and who would have dared to oppose such a mandate? I heard the news of my arrival spread, and from that time on I was greeted respectfully all along the way. I thanked my lucky stars that I had come first, for I would not have gotten far second.

At the foot of the cliffs I met a double line of warriors, evidently the royal bodyguard, for they were all dressed in leopard skins and were all tall, handsome men. The barrels of their guns gleamed in the moonlight, and the sight of them sent a cold shiver down my spine. Higher up in the grove and higher still I saw innumerable rows of equally gleaming rifles. The Serpent’s Place was heavily guarded that night.

I leaped from my mount and called to a man to hold my horse. Two bodyguards stepped forward silently and took the reins. The way to the cave was clear before me, and with my back straight but my heart beating darkly, I marched through the ranks.

The path was lined with these silent and motionless black warriors like statues. As I walked towards the cave, I had a nasty feeling that my appearance was not quite suitable for a royal courier, in riding breeches, hatless, dirty, ragged as I trotted past the worthy warriors. My inner being corresponded to my outer one, for having come this far my courage seemed to have been blown away. If there had been a chance of escape, I would have left, but now there was no other choice, for I had burned all my ships. I cursed my arrogance, unable to comprehend my recent daring thoughts. I was now on my way into a mysterious, unknown darkness, filled with thousands of my black and cruel enemies. My knees were shaking, and I thought that hardly anyone had ever been in such an unpleasant situation.

At the beginning of the narrow pass the guard chain ended, and I continued my journey alone. The moonlight could not penetrate here and I could only grope my way forward. It went very slowly and every moment I waited for my madness to get the end it deserved. The heat from riding had evaporated and my shirt felt wet and cold on my shoulders.

Suddenly I felt a hand on my chest and a voice asked: “Password?”

“Immanuel,” I said hoarsely.

Then invisible hands grabbed my arms and led me deeper into the darkness. For a moment, my hope was aroused. The password had proven reliable in any case, and I would get to the cave in any case.

I could see nothing, but I guessed that we had stopped at the smooth rock wall that, as I remembered well, filled the right side of the mountain hollow. My guide groped for something to the right, and then I felt myself being dragged into some kind of passage. It was so narrow that two people could not walk abreast, and so low that the creepers from above caught my hair. Something creaked behind me, like the cross-gate in front of the entrance to the exhibition.

Then we began to climb the steps, still in pitch darkness, and at last we heard a faint noise. It must have been a stream disappearing into the mountain, and I wondered why I had not heard it before. Suddenly a ray of moonlight shone in, and I saw that we were now in a mountain pass, high above a flat cliff. We walked along the left side of a narrow embankment until we could go no further. Then we did something terrible. A stone slab had been laid across the chasm, which was at its narrowest at this point. Deep, deep below I saw a mass of water bubbling in the moonlight. The stone was our bridge, and although I have a head, I confess that I felt dizzy when we turned to cross it. Perhaps it was wider than it seemed to me, but in any case my companions were not at all frightened, and they went along it as if it were a highway, while I followed with my heart in my throat. On the other side of the chasm, I was greeted by new guards who led me to a corridor that led straight into the heart of the mountain.

The sound of the stream grew louder and clearer as the road turned. Soon I saw a glimmer of light, which certainly did not come from the moon. It grew larger until suddenly the ceiling rose and I found myself in an enormous room. So high was it that I could not make out the ceiling, although the hall was lit by torches set in the walls all around and by a large bonfire burning in the farthest part of the room. But the most astonishing thing was on the left side, where the floor broke off into a deep chasm, and the left wall of the cave was formed by a waterfall that plunged from some height into the bottomless abyss below us. The torches and fire made the wide stream of water shine and shine like the gate of the City of Heaven. I have never seen a more wonderful and impressive sight in my life, it took my breath away.

Two hundred men, or perhaps more, had gathered in the hall, but it was so large that they seemed only a small company. They sat in a circle on the ground, their eyes fixed on the fire and on some creature in their midst. The glow of the fire illuminated the same old man whom he had seen that morning a month ago, just as he was going to the cave. He stood as if in a kind of ecstasy, straight as a spear, and his arms folded at his side. A shining white mantle fell from his shoulders, which was fastened at the waist with a wide gold band. His hair was shaved off, and a gold plate with some engravings was fastened to his forehead.

“Who is coming?” he asked as I entered the hall.

“The Inkulu’s spokesman,” I answered boldly. “He himself will soon follow, accompanied by Henriques, the white man.”

Then I sat down in the farthest part of the circle and waited for the further development of events. I noticed that my neighbor was Mwanga, the same man I had kicked out of the shop. Fortunately, I was so dirty that he could hardly recognize me, but I turned my face away from him anyway. The light and the heat, the sound of the water, the silence of the people, and my own physical and mental excitement—these together had such an effect on me that I became drowsy and was about to fall asleep.

XI.

ROOIRAND CAVE.

I was startled by a sudden movement. The whole company rose to their feet, each raising his right hand to his forehead and then raising it in the air. Over the noise of the water, the name “Inkulu” was murmured. Laputa entered the hall, Henriques following his movements. Apparently they could not suspect my presence in the cave, and Laputa was, as always, unshakably calm. But Henriques looked tired and irritated. He must have been the one who had been given the chance to ride my pony.

An old man, whom I assumed to be the high priest, approached Laputa with his hands raised above his head. As he got closer he stopped and Laputa knelt before him. The priest laid his hands on his head and spoke a few words that I could not understand. It all reminded me of a picture in my Sunday school book of Samuel crowning Saul king of Israel. I had completely forgotten my own danger and was spellbound by the majestic beauty of the place and the moment—the flickering torches, the shimmering wall of green water, and in the center of the hall the tall figures of Laputa and the Serpent Keeper, who seemed to have risen from some ancient world.

Laputa took off his leopard skin and now stood completely naked in his noble manhood. The priest threw some herbs into the fire, from which a thin smoke rose towards the ceiling. I could smell the scents from Kirkcaple beach, a strange mixed smell of sweet and bitter that penetrated through bones and marrow. And the priest now walked around the fire in circles that widened and contracted again, just as Laputa had done that spring Sunday evening.

We sat down again, all except Laputa and the priest. Henriques was crouched among the foremost, small and frail beside the stout savages. In the middle of the circle stood Laputa, bent over.

Then they began to sing a wild hymn, which gradually everyone joined in. The old priest spoke something, and the answer came in cruel music. I could not understand the words, for they must have been some language long since extinct.

But the song spoke its own language. It told of ancient kings and fierce battles, of stately palaces and solid fortifications, of queens as white as ivory, of death and life, of hate and love, of joy and sorrow. It also told of terrible things, of secret terrors that had long been unknown to the world. No Kaffir had ever invented those ceremonies. They had surely been passed down from generation to generation, ever since Priest John and the Queen of Sheba, or from her who had reigned in Africa at the beginning of time.

I felt a sense of utter terror. An all-consuming curiosity and an unnamed horror overcame me. My former fear had vanished. Now I was no longer afraid of the Kaffirs’ rifles, but of the magic for which Laputa had the passwords.

The song gradually died away, but herbs were still thrown into the fire, until the smoke rose in a great cloud, through which the old priest loomed dimly but awe-inspiringly. His voice came through the swirls of smoke in strange contrast to the roar of the waterfall, just as an organ opens a high register in the midst of low notes.

He asked Laputa questions, which were answered in the same beautiful, resonant voice with which I had heard the gospel of Christ preached on the ship. I did not understand the language, and I do not think my neighbors understood it either. It was some ancient sacred language—Phoenician or Sabean, whichever—that has been preserved in the religious rites of the Serpent.

Then there was silence, during which the fire died down and the smoke escaped in swirls towards the falls. The priest’s lips moved as if in prayer; I saw only Laputa’s back and his bare head.

Suddenly the Serpent Guardian’s ecstatic cry was heard: “God has spoken,” he said. “The way is prepared. The Serpent returns to its birthplace.”

A servant led out a black, lowing goat. The old priest cut its neck with a large, old-fashioned knife and collected the blood in a jug. Some of it was then poured into the fire, which now burned weakly and shallowly.

“In the same way,” the priest cried, “the king will come with blood to quench the fires of his enemies.”

He drew a bloody cross on Laputa’s forehead and his bare face.

“Thus I give you a seal,” he said, “you are a priest and king of the people of God.”

The jug was carried around the hall and all those gathered dipped their fingers in the blood and made a mark on their foreheads. Thus I too received a new stain on my forehead in addition to the old ones.

“Priest and King of the people of God,” thus spoke the voice again, “I call you to receive the legacy of Priest John. He was Priest and King, King of kings, Ruler of rulers, Lord of the whole world. When he ascended to the heights, he left the Holy Serpent to his son, to be a gift from God and a sign of the covenant of the chosen people.”

I did not understand the rest. I think it contained a long line of names of kings who had borne the Serpent. I did not know any of them, but at the end I thought I heard the name Chaka the Terrible, and then I remembered Arcolli’s story.

The Serpent Guardian now had in his arms an ivory box about two feet long and one foot wide, with strange carvings. He stood behind the ashes of the smoke offering, from which, despite the blood poured into it, thin columns of smoke still rose. He opened the box and took out something that swung in his hand like a sparkling flame.

“Look at the Serpent,” and everyone present — except Laputa but including me — bowed their faces to the ground and shouted: “Olv!”

“You who have looked upon the Serpent,” the voice came again; “upon you rests the promise of silence and peace. No blood shall you shed, neither of man nor beast, no flesh shall you eat until you are released from this promise. From this midnight hour until the sunrise of the next day you are bound in the name of God. He who breaks the oath, upon him shall fall a curse. The blood shall dry up in his veins, and the flesh shall dry up about his bones. He shall be restless and accursed, to life and blood the Vengeances of the Serpent shall pursue him. Choose, my people, the promise binds you.”

All this time we had all been on our faces, and now there was a loud cry of approval. I raised my head a little to see what was going to happen.

The priest raised a large chain so high that it shone above his head like a blood-red halo. I have never seen such an ornament, and I think it is unlikely that such a thing has ever existed. Later I got it in my hands and was able to examine it fully, now I only caught a glimpse of it. It contained fifty rubies, the largest of which was the size of a pigeon’s egg, the smallest the size of the tip of a thumb. They were oval in shape, cut on both sides, and all had some letters engraved on them. Perhaps this diminished their value as precious stones, but even if these marks had been taken off and the stones had been cut into facets, these rubies would still have been the most precious in the world. I was no jeweler, and I did not know their monetary value, but I understood this much that it must be higher than has generally been guessed at up to now. At each end of the chain was a large pearl and a gold clasp. I forgot my dangerous situation entirely, and the ornament took possession of me. That I, David Crawfurd, a nineteen-year-old assistant shopkeeper in an African village, should see a treasure that no Portuguese adventurer had ever managed to reach, seemed inconceivable to me. There, floating as if in a wisp of smoke, was a diadem that might once have adorned the forehead of the Queen of Sheba herself.

As the priest raised the rosary, a great emotion seized the company. Foreheads rose from the ashes, and eyes were raised in humble reverence, and the worshippers were shaken with sobs. At that moment I understood something of the secret of Africa, of the empire of Priest John, and of the victories of Chaka.

“In the name of God,” came the voice, “I surrender John’s
Serpent to John’s heir.”

Laputa took the necklace and wrapped it twice around his neck, so that the clasp hung down over his chest. The situation had changed. The priest now knelt before him and took his hand on his head. I felt clearly at that moment that God, despite all equality, had ordained some of mankind to be kings and others to serve. There stood Laputa as he had come into the world. The rubies darkened against his glowing skin, but still shone with a subdued light. Above the blood-red chain rose his face, self-consciously proud as a Roman emperor. Only his large eyes gleamed with burning fire as he looked at his subjects.

“As the heir of John,” he said, “I stand before you as a priest and a king. My kingdom will come tomorrow. Today I am a priest, a mediator between God and my people.”

He prayed—prayed in a way I had never heard before—and to the God of Israel. He did not address his prayers to any pagan idol, but to the same God to whom he had so often turned in the Christian churches. I knew passages from Isaiah, the Psalter, and the Gospels, and especially from the last two chapters of the Book of Revelation. He asked that God would forgive the sins of his people and renew the covenant he had made with Zion. I listened in amazement as the leader initiated these savages into the gentle doctrine of Christ. In the moment of ecstasy it is easy to deceive oneself, and I did not doubt his sincerity. I felt his inner being, which was full of unbridled savage paganism. I knew that his purpose was to drown this country in blood. But I also knew that the task was sacred to him, and that he believed that all the hosts of heaven were with him in the battle.

“To the weak You have been strength,” the voice said, “a refuge in the storm, a comfort in the pain.”

I listened as if spellbound to his prayer. The old familiar words from my school days at Kirkcaple echoed in my ears again. Sometimes the weight of his voice was exactly like my father’s, and when I closed my eyes I could have imagined myself a child again. He had learned so much about his priestly calling. What would all those good people who had been his admiring listeners in churches and halls back home have thought if they had seen him on this occasion? But there was more in his prayer than a request to God. There ran, as it were, an undercurrent of arrogant pride, the pride of a man before whom the Almighty is only another and greater Ruler of rulers. He prayed more as an ally than as a subject. I felt a strange emotion, half fear, half sympathy. I sensed clearly again that some men are born kings.

The prayer ended with a blessing. Then he put on the leopard’s skin and took the shield in his hand. Now he was more king than priest, more barbarian than Christian. And now he began to speak as a king.

I had heard him speak, and I thought his voice the most wonderful I had ever heard. But in this high-arched hall its magic power was doubled. He affected the souls of his listeners exactly as he wished. He aroused in them as easily feelings of pride and joy as of anger and rage. Sometimes the listeners sat silently, holding their breath, sometimes the hall echoed with their wild applause. I remember once noticing that my neighbor Mwanga’s face was completely wet with tears.

Laputa spoke of the greatness of Priest John and of many other kings whom I did not know. He described a heroic age when every member of his tribe was a warrior and a hero, when there were rich kraals in the region which the white man had then disgraced, and when cattle roamed the hills in thousands. Then he told of the white man’s rebellions, of the land which had been taken from its owners, of the unjust laws which forced the Ethiopians into the despised condition of slaves, of the scornful pointing fingers and the mocking words.

If a speaker’s job is usually to arouse the passions of his listeners, then Laputa was probably the most accomplished speaker the earth has ever seen.

“What good has the white man done you?” he cried. “A wretched civilization he has given you. A civilization that has sucked out of you all the sap. A false religion that would force you into the bonds of slavery. You, the former masters of the land, are now the servants of the oppressors. And yet the oppressors are few, and in their hearts they fear you. They live in abundance in their cities, but their eyes are restlessly fixed on the door, lest the enemy should surprise them.”

But I will not attempt to reproduce in prose the wondrous eloquence. The phrases which the hearers knew from the missionary meetings appeared in the speech, but not in the form of white doctrines, but as God’s messages to his own people. Laputa had the key to the secrets and he spoke clearly. He ended his speech by describing the overthrow of the oppressors and the golden age which would then follow for the formerly oppressed. A new Ethiopian empire was to be born, so great that the white man everywhere would tremble at its name, so just that under its protection everyone would live in peace and happiness.

Actually, my blood should have boiled at hearing such treasonous talk. I am ashamed to admit that this was not the case. I was completely under the spell of that wonderful man. When the others shouted their approval, I shouted along. I was a proselyte, if you can call it that, only when excited emotions spoke, while my brain and reason were completely asleep. Inside me was a mad hope to belong to Laputa. Or rather, I wanted a leader who could control his subordinates as well as this man. I think I have said once before that I would certainly make a good soldier.

When Laputa had finished his speech, a profound silence fell. The listeners sat as if exhausted from sleep, their eyes fixed on their king. Nerves were tense to the utmost, and imaginations were aglow. I myself had to struggle against the spell that had seized me as much as the simplest native. I forced myself to look at the faces of the others, at the waterfall, at the torches. At last, as my eyes fell on Henriques, the spell vanished. He was the one at least who had not been affected by the speech. I saw his devouring, lustful gaze fixed on the rubies. The thought flashed through my mind that Laputa had an enemy in his own camp, a seeker after that precious sacred object, whose admiration had nothing to do with piety.

After this I remember that there was a movement in the front ranks. The chiefs were ready to take the oath of allegiance. Laputa took the chain from his neck and called upon God to witness that he would not put it around his neck until he had led his people to victory. Then the chiefs came forward one after the other and swore allegiance on the ivory paste. Such a collection of races had probably never been seen before. There were burly Zulus and Szvaz with hair rings and flowing feathers. There were men from the north with heavy bronze chains around their necks and calves; men with wing feathers stuck through their ears and noses; men whose heads were shaved and others whose hair was in strange braids: some of the bodies were completely or almost completely naked and others whose bodies were adorned with hides and neckbands. Some were of a lighter complexion, while others were pitch-black, some had flat negro faces, and others narrow Arab faces with protruding nostrils. But all were possessed by the same wild religious fervor. They had sworn not to shed blood for the first day or two, but it was evident from their eyes and eager hands that they intended to make amends later.

I had been living in a dreamland for a couple of hours, but now I was suddenly brought back to reality, for I saw that it would soon be my turn to take the oath. I was in the last row and very close to the entrance, so that my turn would probably come last. The decisive moment was approaching, and I knew that I would be exposed, for there was no way I could escape the oath.

I think now for the first time I have become clear what danger threatened me. Previously the strange ceremonies had so absorbed my mind that I had forgotten everything else. Now the reaction followed, and I shuddered in anticipation of the approaching vengeance. At that moment I felt the most terrible terror of my life. I still had much to endure, but then my senses had become numb. Now, on the contrary, my senses were wide open from all I had seen and heard, and my feelings were excited to their most sensitive. All my limbs trembled as Mwanga stepped forward. The cave swayed before my eyes, I saw all the heads multiplied, and I only dimly perceived that my neighbor was returning from the oath.

If I had not feared Laputa less than my neighbors, nothing would have brought me forth. They might have torn me to pieces, but to him the oath was irrevocable and inviolable. Unsteadily I rose and staggered forward. My gaze was fixed on the ivory casket, which danced before my eyes, and finally it disappeared.

Suddenly I heard a voice—Henriques’s voice—crying, “For God’s sake, spy.” Someone grabbed me by the throat, but I didn’t resist—I had already crossed that threshold.

My neck was released and my hands were tied behind my back. I had been able to stand there, as in other worlds, with a fool’s smile on my lips, while the unleashed demons raged around me. I felt as if I had heard Laputa’s voice say: “That’s our merchant.” Laputa’s face was all I could see, and it was imperturbably calm. It might have been that a hint of a mirthful smile hovered over his lips.

Millions of hands seemed to grab me and crush me, but above the noise, strict words of command echoed in my ears.

Then I went into a stupor.

XII.

MESSAGE FROM CAPTAIN ARCOLL.

I have read once of a man who was crushed to pieces by the constant touch of thousands of hands. His murderers were not hard-handed, but their relentlessness finally brought death to the victim. I do not think that I was directly beaten in the cave. I was certainly bound and carried out and left in the care of the guards. But still, when I awoke from my unconsciousness, I felt as if I had been cruelly beaten and beaten everywhere. The tight leather straps chafed my wrists, ankles, and shoulders, and yet this was only part of my suffering. I might as well have been torn to pieces by a wild beast as by a band of Kaffirs. They themselves are very insensible to all pain—I myself once saw a Zulu stand on a red-hot iron without noticing it until he smelled the burning of his skin. In any case, having been bound by the hands of Kaffirs and carried on their shoulders, I felt as if I had taken part in a fight with wild bulls.

I lay very still and looked at the moon. I had been taken to the edge of a wood, and all around me were troops bustling about, preparing to march. Surely everyone knows how a native hums and speaks in jumbles when he is engaged in the smallest business. That all this happened in a profound silence was but a sure proof of the iron-strong government of Laputa. I heard only the clatter of horses’ feet and the clank of carts as they moved along the road, sometimes a hurried whisper, and now and then a sharper word of command.

If any of you reading this think there is nothing particularly unpleasant about being tied to the ground, let him try it for himself. Let him be left alone without the opportunity to move an arm or a leg, and in half an hour he will be crying out for help. The feeling of helplessness was suffocating me, and I felt as if I were lying buried, instead of the sky arching above me and the night wind blowing in my face. I tried to scream, but all I could get out of my mouth was a faint wheezing sound. My brain began to spin, and when I looked at the moon, I found that it too was following in rhythm. I was exhausted with anxiety. My condition was very bad.

Actually, it was Mwanga who saved me from going mad. He had been put to watch over me and he began his service by hitting me hard on the chest. I rolled around on the grassy slope a few times. The black animal then sat down next to me and stabbed me with the barrel of a gun.

“Hello, baas,” he said in broken English. “Once you chased me out of your shop and treated me like a dog. Now it’s Mwanga’s turn. Now you are Mwanga’s dog and soon he will beat you to death.”

My fading senses returned. I saw in his bloodshot eyes what was in store for me. The lovable savage continued his description of how my beating would be. He would beat me until the flesh separated, and the rest he would throw to the jackals.

This was common Kaffir boasting and it angered me. But I thought it wiser not to pretend to care about it.

“If you intend to make me your slave, it is foolish to beat me so badly. After that I could no longer work for you.”

Mwanga grinned wickedly. “You will remain my slave for only one day and one night. Then we will kill you—slowly. You will be burned until your bones fall to the ground, and then you will be cut into very small pieces with a knife.”

Thank God, I felt my courage and composure begin to return.

“What is done to me tomorrow,” I said, “is Inkulu’s business, not yours. I am his prisoner. But if you raise your hand against me today, and I shed a drop of blood, Inkulu will give you a swift and swift sentence. The oath binds you, and you know very well what will happen if you break it.” And I repeated, succeeding very well in imitating the priest’s voice, the terrible curse I had heard in the cave.

It was worth the trouble to see the terror that now appeared on the poor man’s face. I had guessed that he was a timid wretch, when he had once been a boaster, and now I knew it. He trembled and held his hands over his eyes.

“But, baas,” he croaked, “it was just a joke. Nothing bad will happen to you today. But tomorrow…” — and he became a little happier.

“We’ll see how it goes tomorrow,” I said with stoic calm, as the sound of drums suddenly filled the camp.

It was the signal for departure, for a pale golden glow was already visible in the east over the trees. The bonds that bound my hands and feet were untied, and I was thrown onto the horse. Then my legs were tied together again under the horse’s belly. The reins of my horse were connected to Mwanga’s, so that I had no chance of escape, even if my legs had been free.

My thoughts were gloomy. Everything had gone according to my calculations, but my coolness was as if blown away, and I had no longer any confidence in my salvation at Letaba’s. As for Inanda Kraal, I thought of it with undisguised horror. The night before I had already caught a glimpse of the darkness that terrified me. What part could I play in the coming purification feast? Surely the part of a well-known scapegoat. My physical pains, however, were perhaps even heavier to bear at the moment than my mental depression. I felt utterly broken with fatigue, and my head was pressing terribly. We had not yet gone far when I thought I would break. My horse ran at an uneven trot, to put it mildly, — it felt as if I had been in a torture chair. I remembered that prisoners were transported in this way in the days of the French Convention, and I understood how they must have felt. When I hear of someone who has done a brave deed, I always want to know to what extent the person in question is physically strong at that moment. For this fact, in my opinion, has a great influence on the courage of the mind, and only those who, under physical suffering, plan and perform heroic deeds, can I respect as brave men. I myself had no more courage at that moment than a chicken, as I dragged myself along beside Mwanga. I almost hoped that he would begin to insult me ​​again in some way, so that I could have some time to pass, but he stubbornly remained completely silent. He was stern, and I think he was a little afraid of me.

As the sun rose I could better observe the troops around me. I do not claim to guess right, but I think there could not have been less than twenty thousand. Every man was in the prime of life, and every man was equipped with a good rifle and sword. There were none of the old-fashioned elephant guns, such as I have seen in the Kaffir kraals, but all were fine Mauser rifles, and the men carried them in a manner that showed they knew the art. Many months of practice had certainly preceded all this, and I wondered again with admiration at the man who had been able to accomplish all this. I saw no guns, and the only wagon that was with it was for provisions. They did not advance in straight lines after the old fashion. About a third of the troops were on horseback, and this formed the centre. On both sides the infantry was spread out quite widely, but in all the disorder there seemed to be order, for in the dense forest closely closed ranks would have been impossible. In any case the troops held together excellently, and as we began to ascend a slope the whole army seemed to move at once. I found myself in the rear of the centre, but sometimes, when we had reached some higher ground, I could clearly see the front troops. I could not see Laputa, who was riding, as I supposed, at the very head, but right in the midst of the troops I perceived the old priest, the Serpent Guardian, with his treasure, which he carried, surrounded by a solid guard, on a sort of stretcher, which the Portuguese call a machila. Beside the priest rode a white man, Henriques. I could not understand how Laputa could trust that man. I had not forgotten the expression on his face when he saw the rubies. Perhaps, however, I could gain an ally from the Portuguese because of his villainous motives.

Judging by the position of the sun, it was ten o’clock when we passed Umvelos and continued along the left bank of the Labongo. There was not much looting in the shop, but still the Kaffirs fell upon it and pulled out all the wood for firewood. I had a very strange feeling as I saw the remains of the meal I had offered Laputa now flowing into the mouths of the Kaffirs. I thought of the long sunny days I had sat in my travelling shop, and the visits of the Dutch farmers on their shopping trips. Now they were all dead and I myself was on my way to the same fate.

Soon the pregnant range of mountains came into view to the west, and I could see the slopes of Little Labongo looming. I wondered if Arcoll and his men were really there, waiting for us. At this moment I felt so miserable that I stopped thinking about the future. I had last eaten seventeen hours ago, and I was faint from lack of sleep. My limbs were strained so severely that I might have cried out in pain like a child. All this, combined with the overexertion of my nerves, meant that I could not stand it any longer, and if the stop sign had not just been given I would have fallen into a stupor again. But at dinnertime, after we had crossed the road from Blaauwildebeestefontein over the Portuguese border, we reached a wide but shallow quagmire at Little Labongo. It is the custom of the Kaffirs to rest here, and now we camped on the bank of the river.

I can still smell the hot earth and fresh water as my horse rose up the bank. Then the smoke of the fires that had been lit filled my nostrils. It seemed like an eternity before the ropes were untied from around my legs and I was allowed to lie down on the ground. I lay like a log and was asleep in ten seconds.

Two hours later I woke up refreshed, but with a burning hunger. My knees and ankles were bound again, but the worst of the stiffness had disappeared during my sleep. All the natives were sitting in groups around the fires, but no one approached me. This solitude, however, offered no opportunity for escape. Of this I became convinced, as I struggled in vain with my bandages. When I wanted something to eat anyway, I called out for Mwanga, but he was neither seen nor heard. All I could do was to curl up in the shade of a bush out of the worst of the sun.

A Kaffir was on the other side of the bush, and seemed to be grimacing at me. Slowly he moved to my side, and now stood looking at me with evident interest.

“For God’s sake, get me some food,” I said. “Yes, baas,” came the reply, after which he disappeared, returning shortly with a wooden bowl filled with hot porridge and a container of water.

When I couldn’t use my hands, the Kaffir fed me with the blade of his knife. Such unsalted porridge without milk is no delicacy, but I would have eaten a whole vat of it in my immense hunger.

Gradually I realized that the Kaffir had something to say to me.
As he fed me, he began to speak to me quietly in English.

“Baas,” he said, “I come from Ratitswani and I have a message for you from him.”

I understood that Ratitswa must be the native name
for Arcolli. No one else could have sent me the message.

“Ratitswan says,” he continued, “that you must be on your guard at Dupree’s camp. I will stay close by you and break your bonds, and then when Ratitswan starts shooting, you must swim across.”

This news lifted a burden from my shoulders. Thus Colin had arrived, and my friends were ready to set me free. So easily is one comforted at the age of nineteen, that my mind now turned from the blackest despair to the joyous exuberance of hope. I already considered my salvation quite certain, and the whole rebellion to be in vain. In my thoughts I saw the treasures in my hands, and already felt my foot on Henriques’ neck.

“I don’t know your name,” I said to the Kaffir, “but you are a good man. When all this is over, I will not forget you.”

“I have a written message for the Baasha,” he replied. “It is written in some strange language. Turn your heads towards the bush and see, I am holding the paper inside the bowl so that you can read it.”

I did as I was told, and saw a dirty piece of paper, half a sheet in size, with the marks of a Kaffir’s thumb. On it were written some words in Wardlaw’s handwriting, and—to be fair to the man—in Latin, which was not so much a cipher as a secret language. I read the following: “Henricus de Letaba transeunda apud Duprei vada jam nos certiores fecit.” (= Henriques has already told us of the crossing at Dupre’s mill).

I had guessed correctly, then. Henriques was a traitor to the native cause. Arcoll’s message had given me new courage, but Wardlaw’s information gave me a very valuable additional illumination. I regretted that I had not always done the schoolmaster full justice. He was not from Aberdeen in vain.

I asked the Kaffir how far it was to Dupree’s hide, and was told that it was a three-hour march. We should be there by dark. He had been ordered to ride beside me from Mwanga’s position, who was not willing to do so. How he had arranged this I do not know, but the Arcolli men have a way of getting their way. He promised to release me as soon as the first shot was fired. Until then he had to keep a little distance to avoid suspicion.

There is a story about one of King Arthur’s knights—Sir Percival, I remember—that he once, riding through the forest, met a lion in combat with a serpent. He drew his sword and helped the lion, because the serpent was the more hateful of the two. Laputa now seemed to me the lion, and Henriques the serpent, and, not particularly fond of either, I was nevertheless anxious to get the serpent out of the game. He had entered the game solely for the rubies, he had never wanted anything else. Now he had somehow got wind of Arcolli’s plans, and had immediately sent him a warning, hoping to be lost in the general confusion at Letaba, in case Laputa’s forces were dispersed. If he could get hold of the ruby ​​chain and escape over Lebombo to Mozambique, the rebellion would be of no consequence to him. Without further thought, I decided on the spot that he should not succeed in this—though I did not yet know what I should do. If I had only had a pistol I would have shot him, but I had no weapon. It was impossible for me to warn Laputa, for even if I were believed it would only confirm my fate. Laputa had to get to Dupree’s fishmonger’s, that was my only chance of salvation, but I had just as surely to find some way of exposing the Portuguese.

A shadow fell on the path and as I looked up, I saw the very man I thought was standing in front of me. Henriques had a cigarette hanging from the corner of his mouth and his hands in his pants pockets. He was looking at me with a strange smile.

“Well, Mr. Merchant,” he said, “we have met before, though under more amusing circumstances.

I didn’t answer, because I had enough other things to think about.

“If I’m not mistaken, we were fellow travelers on the ship,” he continued. “I think you’d be more comfortable lying in a lounge chair on the quarterdeck smoking a cigarette than in this scorching heat.”

I remained silent. If his intention was to make fun of me, David Crawfurd would not deign to exchange a single word with him.

“You don’t have to be so sour. I haven’t done anything too much to you. Between you and me,” he lowered his voice, “I tried to help you, but you had seen too much to let you escape. What evil spirit drove you to steal a horse and ride into a cave? I’m not saying you listened, but if you had had a gnat’s sense you would have gone to the mountains with the news. But on another note, how did you do your spying? I guess you were well hidden in the cellar. Our good Laputa was a fool not to look more closely, but I must say you played quite magnificently.”

A nineteen-year-old’s vanity can easily be exploited.
I got hooked.

“I know what precautions you thought necessary,” I muttered.

“Is that right, you hear? Yes, I admit that I like to go all the way when I start something.”

“Like on the Koodoo Plain, for example,” I said.

He sat down beside me and laughed softly. “Oh, yes, you heard my story. You are a good boy, Mr. Merchant, but not good enough. Don’t you think I can play my part as well as you can yours?” And then he bent his yellow face very close to me.

Naturally, I understood what he meant. And I didn’t believe him for a moment, but I knew how to make the most of the time.

“Do you really want to convince me that you did not murder the Dutch and that you did not intend to kill me?”

“I want to make you believe that I’m not a fool,” he replied, lighting another cigarette.

“You see, Mr. Merchant, I am white and the interests of whites are my interests. Why do you think I am here? Simply because I am the only man in all Africa who had the courage to find out about this matter. I am here to nip Laputa in the bud, and that is what I will do, I promise.”

I was not prepared for such incredible audacity. I knew every word he said was a lie, but the man shocked me, and I wanted to hear more.

“I suppose you know what you are going to do,” he continued, tapping the ash from his cigarette. “To-morrow at Inanda Kraal, when the time for the oath is over, you will get a taste of the ways of the Kaffirs. Not death, my dear friend, that would be too simple—no, but a slow, drawn-out torture. You have entered their sanctuary and you are being sacrificed to the god of Laputa. I have seen the tortures of the natives before, and I assure you that your own mother would turn away from you in disgust after you have been through them.”

I remained silent, even though a shiver of terror ran through me.

“Well,” Henriques began again, “your situation is very bad, but perhaps I can help you. What do you say, Mr. Merchant, if I save your life? You are like a bird in a cage here, unable to do anything. I am the only one who can save you. And I am willing to do it too—on certain conditions.”

I had no desire to listen to those terms, for I could very easily imagine what they were. Hatred for that man rose to my throat. In his cunning eyes and cruel mouth I read murder and treachery. I would not make an alliance with that villain even to save myself from the most horrible death.

“Listen, Mr. Portuguese,” I shouted. “You tell me straight out that you are a spy. What if I now shout this matter to the whole camp? Then Laputa will not have any quarrels with you.”

He laughed out loud. “You are a bigger ass than I thought. Who would believe you, my friend? Not Laputa at least. And not a single man in the whole camp. As a reward for your trouble, you would only get a slightly stronger rope around your legs.”

Now I had cast aside all thought of diplomatic procedure. “So be it, and hear my answer, you yellow devil. Even if I am boiled alive, I will not remain indebted to you for my freedom. I know that you are a traitor to the white cause, a filthy swindler of the LTK, a scoundrel whose name no honest man dares to mention. Now you yourself confess that you also intend to betray this senseless rebellion. You have murdered the Dutch and God knows how many others, and you would have killed me too. I pray to Heaven that those whose cause you have already betrayed and those whose cause you intend to betray will unite to trample the life out of you and send your soul to hell. I know what you want from me, and I will throw your offer back in your face. But one thing I will tell you—you are doomed. The whites are ready and you will never get over Lebombo. Both black and white will soon do you justice, and your body will be left to rot in the forest. And now get out of my sight, you scoundrel.

At this moment my anger grew so great that I forgot all about my bonds and my threatening position. I was inspired like an old prophet, and I had a sense of impending vengeance. Henriques listened to me in silence, but his smile changed to an irritated grimace, and a blush rose to his yellow cheeks.

“As the Lord wills,” he said, spitting in my face. Then he shouted in the Kaffir language that I had insulted him, and asked that I be tied up more tightly and a stick put in my mouth.

The messenger of Arcoli came and complied with his request. That excellent man fell upon me, as it seemed, in a rage. He did his best to bind me again with brand new ropes, but the knots were very loose, and the whole thing was a mere farce. For a gag he took what looked like a piece of wood, but was in reality a dried-up piece of banana. And all the while Henriques was within earshot he poured a magnificent flood of curses upon me.

The drums sounded the march, I was thrown back on the horse, and the Kaffir of Arcoli tied my reins to his. A Kaffir does not blink, but this escort of mine had a way of squinting his eyes which produced the same effect, and as the ride went on my Kaffir would occasionally make that strange face at me.

Henriques wanted my help to get the rubies, that was certainly his suggestion he intended to make to me. But I had decided to die rather than see the rubies in the hands of a Portuguese. He hoped that the native army would flee in disarray when Arcolli appeared on the river crossing, and then in the confusion he intended to seize the ruby ​​box for himself. My plan now was to get as close as possible to the old priest before we approached the crossing, and I told my guard what I wanted. He nodded, and then we gradually managed to get closer and closer. Various circumstances helped us. As I have already mentioned, the lines were not dense, and as the ground was uneven, one could get closest to the marchers. Once we went straight across a pond, which the others thought it necessary to go around. After a few hours we were so close to our goal that I could have, for example, with a stone reached the head of Henriques, who was riding near the priest carrying the treasure.

The winter day was rapidly becoming dusk. The distant hills took on a variegated hue as the sun set, and the shadows stretched long in the forest. We strove ever nearer to the priest, and soon we were only about twenty yards from the stretcher. Far ahead I saw the vast, shimmering surface of the water with its high, wooded slopes.

“Dupree’s cabbage factory,” my escort whispered. “Courage, Inkoos, (= great nobleman), in an hour you will be free.”

XIII.

LETABA FORD.

The darkness increased rapidly as we approached the river. A thin white mist rose from the calm waters above, as well as from those below, but the long shallows in the river itself were clearly visible. My heart began to beat violently, but I controlled myself and prayed for patience. My courage weakened as I stared into the darkness. In my childhood I had thought I would see my friends at once, or at least a glimpse of them on the other bank, but all was empty and silent.

The Kaalamo River makes a sharp bend. I did not know this, and was therefore surprised to see the vanguard turn, as it seemed, towards the upper reaches. Laputa’s strong voice was heard giving orders, which were repeated row by row, and then both flanks pressed together on the narrow road that led down to the stream. We had to stop when the vanguard began to cross.

I trembled with excitement and strained my eyes to see into the darkness. Water retains the twilight light the longest, and I could clearly distinguish what was happening. The leading horsemen rode with Laputa into the river. The ford is not so easy, and they had to look carefully ahead, but in five or ten minutes they had crossed. Then the footmen followed from the side. They waded across, the water rising to their waists, but they held their rifles raised above their heads. The water around them roared with a foreboding of disaster, but not a single sound escaped their lips. I shall never know how Laputa had managed to keep the most talkative and noisy people in the world so quiet. Several thousand footmen must have followed the cavalry across the river by now and disappeared into the forest, but not a single shot had yet been heard from the steep banks of the river opposite.

My courage waned as time passed. Arcoll had probably failed, and in that case there would be no resistance to the native army at the ford. So the horrors of Inanda Kraal awaited me. However, I resolved to fight for my freedom before I surrendered, and was about to ask Arcoll’s man to cut my ties, when a thought struck me.

Henriques wanted to get his hands on the rubies, and it was in his interest to get Laputa to cross the river before he did. Arcolli’s intention was to scatter the enemy forces and, above all, to take the leader prisoner. Henriques had probably told him this, and now probably believed himself that Laputa would be riding somewhere in the middle of the troops. Thus, nothing would happen until the old priest and his rubies were taken across the river in turn.

So it was good that the bonds had not yet been broken. Then Henriques came riding towards me, furious and murderous in appearance. He reined in his horse and asked if I was in safe custody. My caffer showed me my tightly bound arms and legs, and even tugged at the rope himself to demonstrate its strength.

“Guard him well,” said Henriques, “remember that you must answer for him before Inkulu. I will now travel with him and see that he comes across the river.” With that he turned and rode back.

Seemingly obeying orders, my guard led me out of the line and then into the woods to the right. Here we soon came to the stretcher, perhaps twenty yards to the west of it. The water shimmered between the trees a few paces away. I could see a large body of infantry gathered at the fording place, and hear what seemed to be the rush of rapids as the troops crossed.

Suddenly a command was given from the other shore. It was the loud and shrill voice of Laputa, such as the Kaffirs use when they want to make their voices heard over a long distance. Henriques repeated his words and the infantry stopped. The cavalry in front of the stretcher now began to charge into the water.

We were supposed to follow it, but instead we retreated with our horses into the darkness of the forest. It seemed as if something was happening around the priest’s stretcher, Henriques had left it and was now riding so close to me that I could have touched him. A shot rang out somewhere between the trees.

As if in response to a signal, the high shoreline opposite turned into a single wall of fire. “Wall of fire” sounds a bit strange in modern warfare. I understood that our men were using shotguns and firing black powder at the troops below in the water. It was humane and at the same time wise, for the flares in the gray twilight gave the impression of an artillery battery in action.

Again I heard Henriques’ voice. He turned the column to march to the right. He shouted, urging us to seek shelter and cross the river a little higher. I also thought I heard the voice of Laputa in the distance.

The moments were precious. We had put off untying my bonds far too long. In the dark I had to fumble for knots and my Kaffir knife was incredibly dull. Leather straps are always tough and the ones that had bound me had to be literally sawed off. My arms were the quickest to free themselves and I immediately began to yank knots in other places. The hardest part was getting rid of the ties that had tied my ankles together under the horse’s belly. The Kaffir pulled and sawed, hurting the horse from time to time, so that it jumped. I was completely suffocated by my impatience, and I tried to calm myself by saying prayers to myself.

The men on the other side of the river had now begun to fire more heavily. Through a gap in the trees I could see into the middle of the river, which was full of struggling men and horses. I wondered that not a shot had been fired in return. But then I remembered the oath, and wondered even more at its power over the savage hordes.

The troops were now marching past me to the right, in obedience to Henriques’s orders, but in great disorder. Bullets whined through the trees, and a horseman, who had been struck in the shoulder, fell with a thud from his horse. This added to the confusion, for now most of them dismounted and tried to lead their horses into the shelter of the forest. The infantry joined them from the flanks, and now there was a direct struggle between the trampled animals and men amidst the rose and mopane bushes. And still my Kaffir continued to untie my ankles as fast as my restless horse would allow.

At last it was all clear, and I fell like a log on the ground, on my stomach, writhing in agony, and when I finally managed to get up I staggered like a drunkard. I did something stupid again. I should have left my horse with the Kaffir and asked him to follow me. But I was too excited to think of caution. I let the horse go, told the Kaffir to wait for me, and then ran towards the ruby ​​stretcher.

Henriques had calculated wisely. The guard had left the priest alone, and there were only two bearers at the stretcher. And at the very moment I saw them, one of them fell, shot in the chest. In a frenzy of terror, the other turned his head in every direction, but when the bullet whizzed past his head, it was too much for him, and he ran away, howling.

As I stood there, having come through the bushes, I examined carefully from which direction the shots had been fired. In no case were they from my friends’ guns on the other side of the river, I could swear to that. The bullets had come closer and I knew for sure who had fired them. But I could see no one. The nearest part of the road was empty and the actual skirmish took place down in the water. I saw a big man jump from his horse into the river on his way back to this bank. He must have been Laputa, who had arrived to quell the panic of the retreat.

But my business was not with Laputa, but with Henriques. The old priest, who had been asleep, now began to stir, and looked about him in confusion, but saw nothing. He did not look long, for soon a third bullet came from the forest, only about ten yards away, and pierced the old priest in the forehead. He fell backward to the ground, dead, and the ivory casket fell from his knees.

I had no weapon, and I felt no desire to have a fourth bullet in my own skin. There was no playing with Henriques as a marksman. So I stood calmly in the shade until the Portuguese came out of the forest. I saw him hurry out with a rifle in his hand. There was a whinny that told me that his horse was tied up nearby. It was dark, but I thought I saw lust blazing in the villain’s eyes as he rushed to the stretcher.

I crept up behind him silently. He lifted the lid of the box and pulled out the jeweled chain. For a moment he held it in his hand, but only for a moment. Engrossed in his work, he did not notice me, although I was already standing right in front of him. Moreover, he raised his head, thus giving me an excellent opportunity. I was a very skilled boxer, and now all my fury was concentrated on the next blow. It met him on the jaw and his neck snapped like the cock of a rifle. He fell senseless to the ground and the jeweled chain fell from his hand.

I picked it up and put it in my trouser pocket.

Then I took his revolver from his belt. It was a six-barrelled one and there were still many bullets in it. I remember feeling unusually calm and cool-headed, but still I must have had some screw loose at that moment, otherwise I would not have acted as I did.

The only right way—and what was more, according to Arcoli’s orders—was to go to the river and swim across to my friends. But down there on the bank Laputa had just returned, and above all I feared running into him. To my agitated mind it seemed as if Laputa were present everywhere. I imagined that he controlled the whole bank of the river, but naturally it would have been easy for me to cross the river a little lower down and then climb up the bank to my friends. It was obvious that Laputa was trying to avoid the patrol firing from behind the river, without attempting resistance, which would have put me in good stead there. The most correct thing for me would have been to try to find Arcoli’s kaffir again, who was barely twenty yards away, take a horse and ride it through the forest. Before morning I could reach the mountains for safety. And besides, if I wanted a horse, Henriques’ horse was a few steps away.

But instead of all this, I did the craziest thing you can think of. With the jewels in one pocket and the Portuguese’s revolver in the other, I started running back the way we had come.

XIV.

I HAVE PRIEST JOHN’S NECKLACE.

I ran for breath only because I imagined I would suffocate unless I somehow got some very strong exercise. The events of the last few minutes had completely come back to my mind. For the first time in my life I had seen people die violently—brutally killed. I had gathered all my strength and willpower into the blow I had dealt Henriques, and I was still hot with pride at my success. And to top it all off, I had the talisman of the entire black world in my pocket, the lucky charm, I had captured their Ark of the Covenant, and I knew for sure that Laputa would soon be behind me. Fear, pride, and blind excitement had shaken my whole being. I must have run three miles before I came to my senses again.

I pressed my ears to the ground, but could hear nothing that might indicate pursuit. If I understood, Laputa must still have a full job of getting the troops over. Perhaps he was trying to surround and capture the patrol, perhaps he was trying to get rid of it—in any case, his oath prevented him from engaging in battle. I finally inclined to assume that he would leave the patrol alone and instead try to get to Inanda Kraal as quickly as possible. All this would take time, and everything related to the old priest’s death would have to wait its turn. Henriques, when he came to his senses, would no doubt put together a pretty story, and then they would start following my trail. I wished in my heart that I had shot the Portuguese once I had gotten going. It could not have been called murder, but only the execution of a just sentence.

I had now to turn off the road in any case. It is true that the whole army had just marched along it, so that my tracks would not be easily discovered. But it was still wise to leave the road which my pursuers would easily guess I had taken, for Laputa certainly understood that I had directed my journey back to Blaauwildebeestefontein. Therefore I turned off straight into the forest, which in these places was very thin and sparse.

My purpose was to get to the mountains. Once I could get to the highlands, I would be in white territory. Here in the lowlands, I was in enemy territory. Arcolli’s purpose was to fight in the highlands, if it really came to that. The black man could rage as he pleased in his valleys below, but our duty was to guard the gates of the mountains. So I had to get over the border before dawn, or there would be one more dead man to add to the old ones, who probably wouldn’t tell anything.

I think, in fact, that even now, at the very beginning of my efforts, I felt the impossibility of my task. About thirty miles of jungle and lakes still separated me from the foot of the mountain range. In addition, there was climbing, for opposite the place where I was now, the mountain range does not descend steeply to the lowlands, but divides into several smaller plateaus around the Little Letaba and Letsitelo valleys. From the point where these rivers begin to flow into the lowlands to the top of the plateau is at least ten miles. I had perhaps an hour’s head start, but before dawn I would have to cover about forty miles of unknown and difficult terrain. And behind me would be harassed by the best guerrillas in Africa, who, moreover, know every inch of the terrain in these countries. This was a gamble, but my only chance and hope. So far I was still calm and brave. Henriques’ revolver in my pocket was a good consolation, and I still had the satisfaction of having landed a healthy blow on the gun’s owner’s jaw.

I now tucked the rubies inside my shirt. I went over my appearance in my mind and had to laugh. The heel of one of my shoes was almost completely worn out, my shirt and trousers were already old and thoroughly worn. All my clothing would have been well paid for with five shillings and, let us say, six and seven pence, including the belt. In addition there was a Portuguese revolver, worth perhaps a guinea, and finally inside the shirt was Father John’s necklace, worth various millions.

But worse than my poor clothes were my poor strength. My limbs were still tender from the bandages and the uneven jolting of the accursed horse, but the exercise had already softened them. About five hours ago I had eaten a nourishing, if less powerful, meal, and I felt that I should be able to make it by morning. But I owed much to sleep, and yet I could not steal a minute of rest until I had reached the mountains. This was a race against time itself, and I made myself a promise not to relent until the last of my strength was exhausted.

The moon was still an hour or two away from rising, and countless stars twinkled in the sky. Now I understood what was meant by starlight , for the landscape was sufficiently illuminated to enable me to find my way easily. I aimed for the Southern Cross, for I knew that the mountain range ran from north to south, and by holding it with my left hand I must sooner or later reach it. The forest wrapped itself around me with its mysterious dark green shadows, and the trees, which in the daylight were thin and delicate, now looked like mighty trunks. It really seemed eerie to me, a solitary human being, to move thus in this great silent wilderness, with the starry vault above me like some celestial spectator, following my every step with its thousands of eyes. Otherwise the stars refreshed me greatly. In my blind passion, my fear, and my feverish haste, they spoke to me of the eternity and permanence of the human race. I felt less lonely when I turned my gaze towards those lights, which illuminated this enchanted forest as well as the everyday streets of Kirkcaple.

The silence did not last long. First came the long, drawn-out howl of the wolf, which was answered from all four directions. This serenade lasted for a moment without interruption, but then the jackals joined in with their disgusting barking. Sometimes before, on my hunting trips, darkness had suddenly surprised me in the mountains, and I was not at all afraid of wild animals. It is one of those dangers that travelogues always exaggerate. Of course, it could happen that I would meet a starving lion, but the chance was still very small, and besides, I had my revolver. Once, indeed, a large animal jumped across the road right in front of me. At first I thought it was a lion, but on closer inspection I came to the conclusion that it was an unusually large wild cat.

Now I had already left the densest forest and was walking along a kind of clearing, which grew tall grass, which the Kaffirs had later burned. The moon was just rising, and its first pale rays silvered the tops of the mimosa trees. All around me the animal kingdom was beginning to wake up. A couple of times a large buck—cloud or noodoo—rushed out of the protective jungle to flee down the slope at the sight of me. And several times I saw large herds of smaller game—various smaller bucks, which rushed past me at full speed without even noticing me.

This was something unusual, and I began to wonder why. The mass flight of these timid animals could not have been due to anything other than that they were thoroughly frightened. And what they had been frightened of was certainly Letaba on this side. This could only mean that the Laputan army, or a large part of it, had not crossed the river at Dupree’s shack, but had followed the stream to some shack higher up. In this case I had to change course, and now continued more to the right, while taking my main course north-west.

After an hour the ground dropped sharply and I saw the sparkling surface of the river before me. I knew the map very well, partly from my own research, partly from Arcoll’s teachings. The river must certainly be the Little Letaba, and I must cross it if I wanted to reach the mountains. I remembered that Majinje’s kraal was on the right bank of the river and that Mpefa lived high up in a hollow on the mountainside. I must avoid inhabited areas at all costs. First across the river and then, keeping on the other side of the Letsitela, a tributary of the North Letaba, I would cross the mountain range at the plateau where Arcoll had announced that he would establish his headquarters.

It is easy to talk about wading across a river, but to do it is another matter. When I look at the narrow line I crossed on a map to this day, I cannot help but wonder at the terrible feelings that came over me at that time. But the truth is that I have rarely been so reluctant to do anything as I was to wade across that river. The water ran slowly, yellow, in the bright moonlight. On this side of the river was a very dense forest, but on the other side I could make out a swamp-like, high reedbed. The journey across the river was at least fifty cubits, but before that I would have swum in water a mile deep. The whole region smelled of crocodiles. The surface of the water was perfectly smooth and oily, and only then was there life in it when a tree branch slid with the current. There was something in that silence itself, in the strange reflection of the moonlight on the water, and in the musty smell of rotting plants that made the river eerie, just as one might imagine the river of death to be.

I sat and thought for a moment. The crocodile had always struck me with a greater terror than any other creature, and to face death between the jaws of such a monster in that dreadful stream seemed to me more than a horror. Yet I must get across if I wished to avoid my enemies. I remembered a war story about some fugitive who was separated from freedom by nothing but the Komati River. He did not dare to swim across, and so he fell into the hands of a Boer patrol and was taken back into captivity. Such timidity could not be blamed on me, I had decided. I would not die until I had exhausted all my possibilities. With such thoughts I strengthened my courage, and at the same time sought the most suitable spot to jump into the water.

My hunting trips and hiking had taught me one thing and another, among other things that wild animals quench their thirst at night, and that they have their designated drinking places. I imagined that crocodiles would most likely seek out these places, and I therefore decided to choose my crossing point as far away as possible from such drinking places. I walked along the bank, noting where the narrow paths descended to the water’s edge. I frightened some small goats awake, and once a sharp movement in the bushes indicated that I had disturbed some larger animal, and not a hartebeest. Continuing along the riverbank, I came to a point where the forest at the water’s edge was untouched and the water seemed deeper.

Suddenly—I fear I use this adverb too often, for everything happened suddenly that night—I saw a large animal burst through the reeds on the other side of the river. It came to the water and continued for a while, either wading or swimming, I could not tell which way. It must have seen me, for it turned round and roared back at once.

I recognized it as a large wild boar and began to wonder what this could mean. Unlike other animals, pigs drink during the day and not at night. So the animal had come to the river not to drink but to swim across. Surely it had chosen a quiet spot, for as ugly as a wild boar is, it is very wise. What it dared, I must have dared too.

In this hopeful mood I prepared to enter the water. My chief concern was the rubies, and as I did not consider my shirt a safe place for them, I hung the chain around my neck and fastened the clasp. The snake latch was not a weak piece of modern work, so I was not at all concerned that it would not hold. I held the revolver between my teeth, and remembering God in my prayers, I slipped into the murky water.

I swam wildly like a beginner who is afraid of getting a stroke. The current was weak and the water was very warm, but I felt as if I could make no progress at all and I was quite cold with fear. About the middle of the river the water became shallower and my chest hit some mud wall. My first thought was a crocodile, and in my horror I dropped my revolver, which sank immediately.

I waded a few steps and came into deep water again, and before I knew it I was already in the reeds on the opposite bank, my feet in the mud. With feverish fervor I pushed through the reeds, over roots and stumps to solid ground. So I had happily made it across, but alas, I had lost my only weapon.

The swimming and restlessness had tired me out quite a bit, and despite the delay, I didn’t dare continue my journey with my clothes so heavy with water. So I stripped completely, emptied my shoes, and wrung the water out of my shirt and trousers. As the rubies glittered around my neck, I remembered Laputa’s appearance in the cave.

Drying my clothes did me good, and I now continued my journey in better condition. I had not yet noticed any sign of pursuit. The Letsitela was now the only remaining river, and if I remembered it running closer to the mountains, it should not pose any major obstacles to me. It was not as wide as the Little Letaba, and besides, it was a small, rushing rapid, full of rocks.

I ran until my shirt felt dry again. Then I hid the gems where I had kept them before and felt calmer now. The country began to become hillier again. The flat land was now followed by small hills on which banana trees grew. Long before I reached the shore of Letsitela, I realized that I had made the right assumptions. The river ran turbulently like a real rapid in its narrow channel through the jungle. I crossed it almost dry-footed, jumping from rock to rock above a small waterfall, and stopped only to drink and cool my forehead.

On the other side of the river the scenery changed its character again. The forest began to resemble that which covered the slopes of the mountains. Here there were tall mast trees and the ground was covered with tall grass and heather. The sight of this gave me my first feeling of security. Now I was approaching my own country. Behind me was heathenism with its black fever-filled lowlands. Before me were fresh, cool mountains, clear streams, and my own people in arms.

As I was walking along with my smooth feet, I suddenly heard a strange sound from behind. It was as if someone was following me. I stopped and listened in painful fear. Could it be that the pursuers sent by Laputa had caught up with me? But the sound was not made by human feet. It sounded as if some heavy animal was pushing through the jungle. I could hear soft pawing in the grass, always stopping.

There now was the hungry lion of my imagination, and Henriques’ revolver was deep in the bottom mud of Little Letaba. My only salvation was a tree, and I had just managed to run to one and clambered up its lowest branch when a large tawny animal appeared before me in the moonlight.

Providence had been kind to me when I had lost my revolver. In the next moment I was down on the ground with Colin leaping up to meet me, barking with joy. I threw myself on the blessed dog’s neck and buried my head in his shaggy coat, sobbing like a little child. How Colin had found me I could not fathom. That riddle could only be solved by the good and faithful Creator of dogs.

When I had Colin by my side I felt like a different person. The terrible feeling of loneliness had vanished. It was as if my friends had sent him to take me home. The animal must have understood what was at stake, for he ran beside me without looking to right or left. Any other ordinary dog ​​would, of course, have sniffed every bush. But Colin was on duty and therefore serious and conscientious, thinking only of his duty.

The moon began to set and the starry sky was now the only source of light. The thick darkness that lay over the landscape showed that the night was already far gone. Ahead of me loomed an even deeper darkness, which could well be mountains. Then followed that part of the night when extreme silence reigns, every sound falls silent and the world seems dead. It was almost difficult for us to keep up with this extraordinary silence, where not even a leaf stirred or a frog croaked.

A moment later, as we passed over a hill, I felt a cool breeze on my forehead, and at the same time the air became very chill. I knew from experience that this foretold dawn. And sure enough, as I turned, I saw a faint reflection on the edge of the sky. The black curtain melted away from the landscape and was soon replaced by the blue of the morning air. Now I could see clearly ahead and there were the mountains, the peaks still shrouded in mist.

Xenophon’s Ten Thousand could not have greeted the sea with greater joy than I now greet these outposts of the Mountains.

Once more my fatigue seemed to have been blown away. I called out to Colin, and together we sped down into the wide, deep valley at the foot of the mountains. Just then the sun rose from behind the horizon, and the dark mountain masses turned emerald and umber, the light mists began to recede from around the peaks, and the glowing green landscapes opened before my eyes. A couple of lines from Shakespeare, which I think surpass all others, came to mind:

    »Night’s candles are burned out and young day
    Walks tiptoe on the misty mountain tops.»

[The candles of the night have burned out, the day is rising over the blue mountains.]

Up there was my salvation. Like the psalmist, I lifted my eyes to those heights, from where help approached.

Hope is a powerful remedy. To be near the mountains, to smell their fresh scent, to see far beyond the valleys the mountains where white men lived and where there was civilization—all this was apt to give me new life and new strength. Colin understood my mood and now took small liberties, for example, occasionally checking a bush or a hole in the ground. Some distance away I saw a stream winding, the Machudi, which runs down into the valley through which I had first intended to go. Towards the north towards the Majinje kraal I saw patches of land ploughed by the Kaffirs and I also thought I could distinguish smoke rising from the huts of the natives. The Majinje women were probably preparing breakfast at the moment. To the south grew a dense forest, but beyond it I could feel the edge of the mountain along which the Wesselburg road runs. The fresh morning air seemed to me like a fine wine. Although I was not yet free, I was on the very threshold of freedom. If I could reach my friend’s necklace under his shirt, I would have accomplished a deed that would never be forgotten. My glorious folly would become history. Hungry and with wounded feet, I was a proud man, however, as I made my way towards the mouth of the Machud Valley.

However, my calculations had again been wrong. Colin began to get restless and began to sniff and smell something. I had still some way to go to the mouth of the valley when, as I was pushing forward through the tall grass, I noticed the dog’s behavior. In the still air, sound carries a long way and I stopped to listen. I thought I heard footsteps from the jungle. The sound came from both north and south, from the forest and from the lower reaches of the Machudi.

Seeking shelter in the trees and running with my back bent, I came to a small hillock growing over the forest. My enemy Colin was the first to see me. He stared intently at some gap between the trees and suddenly barked briefly. I saw two men running across the grass and then diving into the river. A moment later I saw several creatures moving on the edge of the forest at the mouth of the valley. My enemies had not followed me, they had been waiting for me to block my way. Crazy as I was, I had forgotten the wonderful telepathy, the remote control, of the Kaffirs. It was no trouble for Laputa to send orders to the Kaffirs here to arrest any white man who tried to reach the mountains.

And now I felt that I was very tired.

XV.

MORNING IN THE MOUNTAINS.

I was perhaps half a mile nearer the mouth of the valley, and could have got there first. And then? I could see the path winding along the stream, and then turning round a rock wall, which gave the river another direction. The road seemed difficult to ride, and would be hard work for a tired man on foot. I think I had no hope left. My cheerful mood vanished as quickly as it had arisen. I saw myself captured and taken back to Laputa, who must now be near the general assembly, Inanda Kraal. I had no weapons, while my enemies were numerous and all in the best condition. In a few minutes I would surely be in their hands.

More driven by a kind of stubborn rage born of miscalculation than by any real hope of salvation, I forced my legs to climb the slope of the valley. Ten minutes earlier I had rejoiced in the beauty of summer; the sun still shone as brightly and the colors were as glowing, but I, the beholder, no longer had an eye for the beauty of nature. At first I managed to force myself to some kind of pace, partly from fear, partly from rage. But soon I found that my physical strength was completely exhausted. I could have dragged myself forward for a while longer, but I would not have been able to run even at the risk of saving my life. Any pursuer, even the worst, would have caught me within a couple of hundred yards.

I remember that there were creepers stretching across the path, and I often had difficulty pushing through the weak ferns.

Numerous little streams ran down the mountainside, looking like silver threads in a green fabric. I soon left the river and climbed higher, where the road was hardly better than a boulder. Every step was painful to me. I could hardly drag one foot after the other, and my heart was beating like a hammer. At times I felt a sharp pain, and it took all my determination not to lie down by the side of the road to rest.

At last I was on a ledge of rock and dared to glance behind me. There was no one to be seen as far as I could see. Was it possible that I had escaped my pursuers? At first I had been in the shade of the trees, and it was possible that they had lost sight of me and concluded that I had avoided the hollow and retreated in another direction. A green bowl-shaped depression spread out before me, its walls grooved by water. In one of the grooves a waterfall gushed, white as snow against the red rocks. I must have been confused when I first thought it was snow and tried unsuccessfully to figure out how this mountain range could be so reminiscent of the Alps.

A faint ray of hope led me to that green valley. The ferns grew thick and tall, and the grass was covered with a great number of small pretty flowers. All in all, it reminded me of the native meadows of the moors, where as a boy I often gathered the eggs of waterfowl.

Now I frightened all the birds around me, even a little buck jumped right at my feet and began to gallop quickly towards some old streambed. Directly in front of me was a steep green wall, above which the blue sky shone. There was salvation in the distance, but as I directed my gaze there with eyes clouded by fatigue, I felt that I would never reach it.

Now I could see my pursuers again. Up on the left side of the cliff I saw some dark creatures. They had not followed my footsteps, but judging by my sure movements they had taken their own paths and were now cutting off my path. Seeing them moving boldly along the edge of the precipice, I felt myself a wretched wretch beside them. They were not inhabitants of the lowlands, but men of the Machudi tribe, who still lived in fragments of the old tribe in the valley. Machudi was an old cunning chief whom the Boers had long ago defeated in a native war. He must have been a fierce warrior who had put up a fierce resistance to the last, until finally the Swazis surrounded him in a hiding place in the forest and defeated him. It was said that a Boer farmer on the plateau had his skull, which was used as a drinking cup at feasts.

When I saw my persecutor again, I was filled to the brim. I threw away all hope, and now concentrated all my thinking power on one single all-consuming desire: to hide the jewels. My great patriotic feelings, which had been completely forgotten, now came to life again. No matter what happened, Laputa would not become the owner of the necklace. Even if he drove the white people out of his country, he would never be allowed to put the Serpent around his neck.

In the green valley itself I could see no hiding-place, so I turned towards a river-bed on the right. As far as I could tell, the enemy was to my left and straight ahead, but perhaps I could find a suitable hole in the river-bank to put the necklace in. With a desperate effort I broke through the thicket and got to the bed. At first I could see no suitable hiding-place. The river flowed down the slope like a mill-gutter, and its banks were rocky and bare. But I kept on, holding on to Colin’s fur, for my legs were numb with fatigue. Gradually the bed narrowed, and then I came to a level place with a long backwater. Above it was a small waterfall, and as I climbed up I found that above it were several smaller waterfalls. One of them formed a pool, over which hung a withered fern bush, and a small hollow went deep under a ledge of rock. I pushed the jewel chain as far as I could into the hollow, and dropped it there on the solid sandy bottom. Through the dark blue water I could see the strange light effects of the rubies. Now I dropped down again to the backwater and looked around to see if any of my pursuers had yet reached the riverbed. I saw no one, so I threw myself down to the ground to wait as long as I could. For a new plan suddenly occurred to me.

When I could breathe again in peace, my soul strength returned. These men had been sent to capture me, not to kill me. They had no knowledge of the disappearance of the jewels, for Laputa dared not give any information about it. Therefore, they could not suspect anything, but would only take me to Laputa at Inanda Kraal. The possibility of saving not only myself, but also my country from all the horrors of the rebellion also occurred to me. The more I thought about it, the more satisfied I became. The plan required much courage and I might naturally fail, but of late I had been in so many dangers that nothing now made me uneasy. And when the choice was between certain death and the faint hope of salvation, it was not difficult to make a decision.

I lay there, therefore, quietly, enjoying only the rest, and feeling my strength gradually returning. I was able to enjoy this peace for about half an hour, before I saw human beings in the valley. And on the opposite side I saw more, who had come from the other side. I rose, Colin grumbling beside me, and awaited their approach, as still and calm as I could.

As I had guessed, they were Machudi’s people. I recognized them by the red decoration in their hair and the copper necklace. They were tall men with long limbs and a powerful chest—born mountaineers. I admired their light, sure steps on the slippery rocks. It was completely unthinkable that these men could escape in their own territory.

Both detachments now joined together and stood silently, watching me from a few yards away. Their weapons were only clubbing sticks, and it was quite obvious that they did not belong to the Laputan army. I understood at once what they wanted.

“Stop,” I said in Kaffir, as one of them hesitantly stepped forward. “Who are you and what do you want?”

No one answered, but they all looked at me curiously. One of them moved his stick. Colin growled and would probably have pounced on him if he had not grabbed it by the collar. The careless man stepped back and everyone stood silent and indecisive again.

“Keep your hands quiet at your sides,” I said. “This dog, which is really an evil spirit, will otherwise devour you. Let one of you speak for all and tell me what your purpose is.”

For a moment the thought flashed through my mind that if they were my friends, perhaps they belonged to the Arcolli guerrillas, so that they had been sent to help me. But their first word dashed my hope.

“The Inkulu has sent us,” said the tallest of the men. “He has ordered us to bring you to him.”

“And if I refuse to go with you?”

“Then, Baas, we must take you prisoner. We are all
subject to the will of the Serpent.”

“Nonsense,” I cried. “Which do you think is the greater chief, Inkulu or Ratitswan? I tell you that even as we speak, Ratitswan is driving Inkulu away like a wind blowing dry leaves. It would be best for you, men of the Machudi tribe, to make peace with Ratitswan and take me to him in the mountains. If you do that, he will reward you and so will I, but if you obey Inkulu, you will soon be driven from your dwellings.”

They looked at each other, grimacing, and I noticed that my words had had no effect. Laputa had handled his business well.

The leader of the group shrugged his shoulders like a Kaffir.

“We mean you no harm, Baas, but we have been ordered to take you to Inkulu and we dare not defy the Serpent.”

Fatigue overcame me again, I couldn’t speak any more. I sank to the ground so suddenly that I almost fell into the water.

“Then take me to Inkulu,” I murmured, “I am not afraid of him,” and then I fell on my back, half fainting.

I must say they were a good bunch, those Machudi men. One of them had a bottle of beer with him and he let me drink from it. It was weak and not at all good, but it woke me up again. I thought of my strong need for sleep and said therefore: “The day is not far gone, and I have traveled a long way. I want to sleep for a while.”

They didn’t object and, pressing my head against Colin’s fur, I soon fell into a deep sleep.

When they woke me the sun was already higher in the sky. I calculated that it was 8 o’clock in the morning. The men had made a fire and roasted some corn cakes. They offered them to me and I ate them gratefully. I felt much better and thought that the pipe would have tasted better now.

But when I got up, I found that my strength was beyond praise. My legs were like those of a very tired horse, they refused to obey my will, and I staggered like a child who has just learned to walk.

“If you want to get me to Inkulu, you’ll have to carry me,” I said, and sank to the ground again.

The men nodded in agreement and immediately began to put together some kind of stretcher with the sticks and ropes they had with them. While they worked and talked, I sat and looked at the left side of the riverbed—the left side as you look up. That was the way some of the men had come down, and though the road seemed steep and dangerous, I could still see how they had done it. I thought about climbing up, not for the purpose of escape, but simply to keep my thoughts occupied. The best way was along the edge of the pond to a long ledge where juniper bushes grew. There was an easy climb, then you had to climb with your hands and feet, and then there was a step that made it quite easy to get to the top. I thought about all this as carefully as they say that condemned men count the number of windows in the houses they pass on their way to the scaffold.

The stretcher was soon ready, and the men gave me a sign to get into it. They carried me first along the edge of the riverbed, and then up the banks of the Machudi stream and along the green slopes to its mouth. I admired them more than ever before, for they carried me over this steep and uneven terrain without taking a single wrong step, and going crisscross like true mountaineers. In less than an hour we were there, the plateau before us.

It lay there so homely and pleasant—the western horizon showed soft wavy lines and here and there patches of forest. Somewhere in the distance I saw smoke rising, probably from a village I knew well. That was my own land, and my guards had every reason to be on the lookout for me. They were no beginners either, and the way they seemed to make themselves invisible even on bare rock paths was something miraculous. Arcolli would have had nothing to teach them as guerrillas. Onward they sped with incredible speed, now along a river valley, now through a forest, now over a steep hill.

Once they crouched down unexpectedly and crawled forward under the cover of the thickets. Then they bound my hands and feet and gently covered my mouth with a dirty rag. They held Colin until they had got him some kind of muzzle with a bag over his head. But this required the combined strength of the whole party. I guessed that we were now approaching the main road that leads from the high plateau down the Great Letaba Valley to the mining town of Wesselburg on the lower plateau. Mounted police must be nearby, and it was dangerous to cross the road. I certainly thought I heard a sound like a group of men riding past in great haste.

We stood in complete silence until the sent lookouts returned to report that the road was clear. Then we crossed the road and began to descend on the other side into the Letaba Valley. As we crossed the road, I noticed that it was full of horse hoof prints. So close had I been to my own people and yet so far, so far away…

Having entered the rocky valley of Letaba, so many precautions were no longer necessary. We now climbed another steep slope and reached the small plateau from which the Cloud Mountains rise. But I was now so tired that I fell asleep in spite of the movements of the stretcher. We travelled upwards, always upwards, and the next time I looked around I was just passing through a mountain pass into a valley that was in the midst of the hills. Here a small clearing opened before me, a mile or two in width, around which rose dark, gloomy rock walls. This was certainly Inanda’s Kraal, an impregnable place, for all the entrances could only be defended by a couple of men. Remembering that I had remarked to Arcolli about this place, I wondered that no attempt had been made to capture it. The only way would be to bombard the Kraal from above the mountains. I remember hearing that Beyers had taken artillery to Pilvivuori during the war and that was how he captured the place. Arcolli might have had something similar in mind.

Suddenly there were loud screams and the stretcher fell to the ground.

I woke up fully conscious amidst a terrible commotion.

XVI.

THE KRAAL OF INANDA.

The oath no longer bound the natives. Instead of the silent army of yesterday, I was now surrounded by the tumult of a wild rabble. Wild war songs were sung, and to their beat spearheads were sharpened and rifles were brandished. In their bloodshot eyes I read all the primal, unbridled passions and the murderous lust that Laputa had hitherto been able to keep in check. I remembered a verse from Laputa’s prayer in the cave; it spoke of “threat-inspiring.” Machud’s men—my honest escorts—tried to remain calm as long as they could, but they were soon swept aside, and the dark waves crashed against my head.

I thought my last moment had come. And I think it would have been so if it had not been for Colin. His head was freed, and the man who had been leading him had taken the rope from his collar. The dog, wild with rage, threw himself upon my pursuers. Although they were all armed, they could not hold their own. I have often observed how the Kaffirs fear the white man’s dog as if it were death. Colin, guided by instinct, remained close to my side, and, growling like approaching thunder, kept the stretcher clear.

Of course, this couldn’t have lasted long, but I still had time to get back on my feet. I hadn’t been tied up for the rest of the way and I felt I had had enough rest. I got up, aware that my life was now hanging by a hair.

“Take me to Inkulu at once,” I cried. “You dogs and madmen, dare you disobey his orders? Show me the way to him at once, and be careful not to touch a hair on my head!”

I fear my voice broke, for God knows I was afraid, but at any rate it must have sounded commanding enough to make an impression. Machud’s men formed a sort of guard behind me, and repeated my words with lively gestures. But still I was not given way. They did not come a step nearer, but they did not retreat a whit.

Then I mustered all my courage and did the only thing left to do. I went straight into the middle of the crowd, clearly knowing the danger I was running. I have often mentioned that my courage is of such a quality that it does not tolerate inaction. I could not have sat there a minute longer with all those cruel eyes staring at me.

They retreated. Gloomily they made way, closing it again immediately behind me, so that Machudi’s men were left behind and lost in the noise. I then marched forward alone, followed by the whole howling crowd.

I did not have to go far. The Inanda Kraal consisted of a crescent-shaped group of huts, — in the middle of which was an open space where a large merula tree grew. All around were small fires, around which black warriors were lounging. Here and there the men had already finished their meals and were wandering around, feasting on their full throats. The group following me was of just that kind, and I saw several others of the same kind within the confines of the camp. But around the merula tree the chiefs seemed to have gathered, judging from the greater calmness and striving for dignity of the men who sat in rows on the ground. A few were standing, and among these I saw the tall trunk of Laputa. That was where I now directed my steps, without thinking whether the chiefs would let me pass.

My convoy had not exactly been spoiled by silence, and all eyes were immediately turned towards me. At the same moment, everyone jumped up suddenly. My only hope was that Laputa would reach me before his friends could spear me, and clinging to this hope, I focused my gaze on a distant hill and walked straight ahead, my gaze completely calm. A few spears were already being pointed at my chest.

But Laputa did not want to see me speared. A single word from him brought order to the crowd, and in a flash we were face to face, standing there with Henriques and a couple of the senior chiefs in front of the largest hut. Henriques looked terrible in the bright morning light. A white bandage was wrapped around his head under his chin, as if he had a toothache. His face was ashen, his eyes bloodshot, and when he looked at me he gritted his teeth and put his hand to his belt. But he remained silent, and only Laputa spoke. He looked me straight in the eye, even as he addressed his first words to Machud’s men.

“You have brought a prisoner here. Very good. Your merit will be rewarded. Go to
Mpefa’s camp on that hill and you will first get food.”

The men obeyed, and with them the whole group that had followed me disappeared. I remained where I was, my head completely confused, alone with Laputa and his chiefs. Everything was spinning in my eyes. Somewhere a chicken cawed, which brought to mind a strange combination of thoughts. All the time I tried to recall the plan I had put together in the valley of Machud. Like a parrot I repeated to myself: “The black troops do not know where the sacred necklace is. Laputa will never dare to tell that it is lost. He must let me live if I promise to get it back.” Three hours earlier it had all seemed good, but now, sensing the cruel face before me, I felt that my fate hung by a very thin thread.

Laputa’s gaze, a clear, searching gaze that contained a question, met mine.

He wanted something from me, something he couldn’t put into words. It wasn’t hard for me to guess what that something was when I saw him examine my shirt and empty pockets.

“Your treachery has availed you little,” he said. “Foolish, did you think you could escape me? I would have brought you back from the ends of the earth.”

“There is no question of treachery,” I replied. “Can one wonder at a prisoner who is trying to gain his freedom? When the shooting began, I found myself alone and immediately fled. Ask Machudi’s men and they will assure me that I followed without resistance as soon as I saw that the game was lost.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “What you did or didn’t do matters little, but now you are here. — Bind him and take him to my lodge,” he then said to his bodyguards. “I have something to talk to him about before he dies.”

As the guards grabbed me, I saw a gleeful grimace
on Henriques’ lips.

“Wait a minute,” I said. “You are talking about a traitor, Mr. Laputa. The blackest of all traitors is right next to you. That man informed Arcolli of the crossing at Dupree’s. When we left yesterday he came to me and offered me freedom if I would help him. He confessed that he was a spy, but I refused his offer. He has just shot the Serpent’s Keeper down there on the river, and he would have stolen the Serpent if I had not knocked him to the ground. You call me a traitor and you let that wretch live, even though he has murdered your high priest and betrayed your plans. Kill me if you will, but kill him first in the name of God.”

I don’t know what the others looked like when I spoke, because I just stared at the Portuguese. He took a step towards me and his hand moved like a vein.

“You lie,” he cried, in a broken, strange voice, which comes from a high fever. “You, you English dog, have just killed the Serpent Keeper and struck me when I tried to save him. Anyone who tries to hurt me is destined for death.”

And he snatched a pistol from his belt.

A good marksman does not miss a shot at two yards. I have never been nearer death than in that split second when he raised his gun at me. But that was a long time enough for Colin. The dog had stood by me the whole time Laputa spoke. The animal must have been as tired as I was. When the guards seized me, Colin growled menacingly, but when he heard my voice again, he calmed down. Henriques’ voice seemed to have alarmed him again, for just as the Portuguese raised his gun, the dog jumped. The bullet missed me, and in the next moment man and dog were rolling on the ground, fighting fiercely.

A dozen hands clung to me to prevent me from helping Colin, but, strangely enough, no one rose to help Henriques. The rascal kept his composure, and though the dog’s teeth were on his shoulders, he managed to free one of his hands. I knew what he was going to do, and I roared horribly. The yellow wrist bent and the muzzle of the pistol was pressed against the dog’s head. The gun went off three times before Colin’s grip loosened and it sank heavily to the ground with bits of his shirt between his jaws. The Portuguese rose slowly, holding his head in his hand, blood running down his shoulder.

When I saw the eyes of my faithful friend grow rigid, and knew that I had lost my friend, the best of all my comrades, a terrible rage seized me. The whole crowd, who had been watching the battle with their eyes behind their backs, scattered around me like a pile of leaves, and I rushed upon the Portuguese, firmly resolved to avenge the death of my friend, unarmed as I was.

I was quite sturdy for my age, but I had hardly reached my full strength, and certainly could not have survived the whole army of Laputa. Soon I was being thrown back and forth like a ball. They thought it was a funny game, and I could hear their grotesque laughter. As for me, the game could be called blindfolded, for I was really blind with rage. I struck in all directions, often even in the air, but sometimes I managed to give some good blows to some black back. I myself was beaten to a pulp and received several scratches from the spearheads as I was thrown. But then I unexpectedly saw Laputa before me again, and I threw myself resolutely against him. Someone gave me a hard blow on the head and I fainted.

When I came to my senses again, I was lying on straw in a dark room.
My head was pounding, I was being overpowered, and I couldn’t even lift my hand.

As I moved, a voice came from the darkness, speaking English.

“Are you awake, Mr. Merchant?”

The voice was Laputa’s, but I couldn’t see him. The room was pitch dark except for a ray of sunlight falling across the floor.

“I am awake,” I said. “What do you want with me?”

Someone stepped out of the darkness and sat down near me. In the sunlight I saw a black bare foot.

“For God’s sake, bring me something to drink,” I muttered.

The creature rose and brought me a pitcher of water. I could hear the sloshing of the water. A hand placed the container to my lips and I drank the water, which had been mixed with quite a bit of alcohol. This only made the nausea worse and I lay there helplessly until the episode finally passed.

Now I heard a voice speaking again, this time right next to me.

“Now you will atone for your foolishness, Mr. Merchant. You are too young to die, but youth is the most foolish time in our time. In an hour you will regret that you did not follow the good advice I gave you in Umvelos.”

I tried with all my might to understand what he was saying to me. Death in an hour! Yes, if death was to come quickly and decisively, I did not much care. The plan I had made had completely disappeared from my memory. So great was my physical misery that I hoped for nothing better than death. At that moment my head was completely empty.

“Kill me if you want,” I whispered. “I know you’ll pay dearly for it one day. But go now, in God’s name, and leave me alone.”

Laputa laughed, which sounded evil in the dark.

“You are very brave, Mr. Merchant, but I have seen the courage of many a brave man quickly evaporate before the death I have planned for you. Perhaps you would like to hear what preparations have been made?”

In a soft and quiet voice he now began to initiate me into the mysteries of the most cruel horrors. At first I could scarcely hear him, but gradually my soul awoke from its slumber. I listened, and the blood stood still in my veins. The most terrible writers of imagination have not yet invented such a death, and against my will a cry of terror escaped my lips.

“Ah, you seem to find it interesting,” said Laputa. “I could tell you much more, but you must have something left for your own imagination, and it must be very lively,” and he took my trembling hand and felt for a vein.

“Henriques will see to it that the reality does not lag behind my description,” he continued. “I have chosen Henriques to be your executioner.”

That name completely cleared my mind.

“Kill me,” I said, “but in the name of justice, kill
Henriques too. If you were just, you would let me go
and roast that Portuguese alive. If it weren’t for me,
the Snake would be on the other side of Lebombo, in Henriques’ pocket.”

“But now it is not that, my friend. Now it has been stolen instead by a merchant who will very soon wish he had died before he was born.”

My plan began to take shape in my mind again. “If you place any value on Father John’s necklace, you would be wise to spare my life. What will your whole enterprise be without the Serpent? Do you really think they would follow you if they suspected the Serpent had been stolen?”

“Oh, you threaten,” Laputa said quite gently. But in a fit of anger he roared after a moment: “They will follow me even to hell for my own sake. Fool, do you think my power is built solely on that toy? When your bones rot in the grave, I will rule my kingdom, the mightiest on earth!”

He jumped up and pulled open a hatch in the wall, so that light suddenly flooded in. Now I saw that he had in his hands the ivory casket in which the ornament had been.

“I carry this box in battle,” he cried, “and if I wish it never to be opened, who can say anything against it? You are a misguided fool, to think that your miserable theft could in any way affect my fate!”

Now he was a boastful savage, and I felt as if he had succeeded best in this part. All that he said might have been true, but I should have been sorely mistaken if there had not been a bitter note in his voice and a distinct uneasiness in his manner. He was a fanatic, and like all such, also superstitious.

“Yes,” I replied, “but when you ascend the throne of that great kingdom, it would be a sin if those jewels were not seen around your necks, at least in view of all that you swore in the cave.”

For a moment I thought he was going to strangle me, as he now bent over me with murderous intent in his eyes. Then he threw the magazine to the floor with such force that it shattered into pieces.

“Give me back Ndhlondhlo!” he cried in the voice of a spoiled child. “Give me back the necklace!”

This is exactly what I had been waiting for. “Listen now, Mr. Laputa,” I said. “Let us speak sensibly. Before you started this rebellion, you were a well-bred, civilized man. Now, try to remember your upbringing for a moment and then think sensibly about this matter. I am not like the Portuguese. I do not want to steal your rubies. Henriques murdered the priest and would have run away with the jewels if I had not struck him. I swear by God that I am telling the truth. I ran away because I knew I was going to be killed today, and I took the necklace to save it from Henriques. I could never have shot an old man to death, I swear to you. Well, what then? Your men took me prisoner and I had no choice but to surrender. Before they reached me, I hid the necklace in a place known only to me. Now I am going to make you a very businesslike proposition. It may be that you can do without the necklace, but I can see very well that you want it back. I am in a very bad state, and there is nothing dear to me but my life. Let us make a bargain now. Give me my life, and in return I will take you to the hiding place and give you the jewels. Otherwise you can kill me, but then you will never see Father John’s necklace again.

This was a very bold offer for a man in my position, but it had its effect. Laputa stopped being a barbarian ruler and responded like a civilized person at least.

“As you say, this is a business proposition. But suppose I do not agree to it? Suppose I take steps—here in the kraal—to make you talk, and then send for the jewels?”

“There are difficulties,” I said, almost cheerfully, for I felt that my business was beginning to slip. “One of them is that it is impossible for me to describe the hiding place to any mortal. I know where the chain is, but I do not think I can tell anyone else. Another difficulty is that the region between this place and the Machudi settlement is very unhealthy for your people. Arcolli’s men roam everywhere, and I think it is unlikely that your men could escape their notice for long. But the main caveat is that if you send anyone to search for the jewels, you will admit that they are lost. No, Mr. Laputa, if you really want them back, you must go alone, and I must go with you.”

For a moment he stood silent, his brow furrowed in thought. Then he opened the door and went out, to learn from his spies—as I had suspected—how dangerous the region between Inanda Kraal and the Machud Valley was. Hope had taken hold of me again, and as I sat there I began to think about how things would turn out in the end. If Laputa promised something, he would keep his word. If I were only once free up there, I would be at the outposts of Arcolli in an hour or two. Of course, I had not been able to deliver anything so far. The message I could have carried had already been nullified by Henriques’ treachery, and I had usurped the Serpent only to leave it behind. But if I could only save my life, I would find work in that Armageddon which I saw approaching. But would I save my life then? Who was to prevent Laputa from sending his men after me and capturing me before I could reach a place of refuge? My hope was that Arcoll would be on the move and that he would have enough men to prevent the Laputan Kaffirs from breaking through. But in that case Laputa and I would be arrested at the same time and then Laputa would kill me without hesitation. I both hoped and did not hope that Arcoll would have occupied all the escape routes. As I thought this, my hope gradually began to fade again. The chances were not very great.

Laputa came back in the middle of my thoughts and closed the door behind him.

“I will settle the matter on my own terms. I will give you my life, and you will take me to the place where you have hidden the necklace, and place it in my hands. I will ride, and you will run beside me, tied to the pommel of the saddle. If we are in any danger from the whites, I will shoot you on the spot. Will you consent to this?”

“I agree,” I said, struggling to my feet with difficulty and feeling a sharp pain in my legs. “However, if you want to get me to the Machudi territory, you will have to ride slowly, for there is not much left of me.”

Now Laputa took out the Bible and he made me swear that I would do as I had promised.

“Now swear in your turn,” I said, “that you will indeed let me live if I give you back the jewels.”

He swore while kissing the Bible. I had completely forgotten that the man called himself a Christian.

“One more thing,” I said. “My dog ​​must be given a proper burial.”

“It has already happened,” he replied. “It was a brave animal, and my people admire bravery.”

XVII.

OTHER BARTER TRADE AND ITS CONSEQUENCES.

A bandage was placed over my eyes—a very light one—and a leather thong was tied around my right wrist, which was fastened to the pommel of Laputa’s saddle. My head was exposed to the blazing afternoon sun, and I kept hurting my shins against logs and stones, but that was all the joy I had from the outside world.

Judging by the pace, Laputa rode at a gallop, and if anyone thinks it is easy to run blindfolded alongside a horse, I can only advise him to try. In my darkness it was impossible for me to guess the speed at any given time, and therefore it happened occasionally that when I ran the horse went slowly and I dragged myself backwards—if I went slowly again, I was in danger of dislocating my arm when the horse increased its speed.

For more than an hour I had to endure this less than gentle treatment. The road rose steadily. Now and then the noise of the rapids could be heard, and once we waded across the stream. Laputa did not want to expose himself to unnecessary danger. His whole attention was focused on ensuring that I could not possibly get free, for he did not really hope that I would be able to show Arcolli the way to his camp.

But my thoughts, as I walked with my eyes closed over the rocky paths, tied to my horse, did not concern Laputa and his plans. My whole soul was filled with sorrow for Colin’s death and rage against his murderer. When my first wild fit of rage was over, I had not thought of my friend. He was dead, but in a couple of hours I would be too, and then I would have no reason to hope for him to live. Now, on the contrary, when hope, however faint, shone in me again, sorrow also claimed its share. When they put the bandage over my eyes, my only hope was that I might see Colin’s grave. As I followed Laputa now, I said to myself that if I were free, I would return to Inanda Kraal after the war, dig up the grave, and erect a stone in memory of the dog that had saved my life. On that stone it would also be inscribed that the man who shot the animal was killed by its master on that very day, on that very spot. I could not understand how Laputa did not notice the Portuguese’s treachery and let me fight him. What weapons they were, it did not concern me – knives, guns or fists – I only knew for sure that I would kill him, and then the Kaffirs would be free to do with me what they wanted. Tears of grief and sorrow completely soaked the bandage on my eyes, and the sobs that I could not restrain were not due solely to fatigue.

At last we stopped. Laputa dismounted and removed the bandage from my eyes. I saw that we were in one of those valleys on the plateau near the Cloud Mountains. The daylight was blinding me, and I could make out little except the marigolds growing at my feet. Then I caught a glimpse of the Great Letaba far below us, and the Lebombo hills far to the east. Laputa let me sit down to catch my breath and rest for a moment. “This has been quite tiring,” he said. “Now you can take it easy, for I have no desire to carry you.” He patted his rump, and the beautiful animal turned its gentle eyes on us both. I wondered to myself if it could recognize me, its rider of two days before.

I had seen Laputa as a Christian priest, a priest and king in a cave, an army commander at Dupree’s fishmonger’s, a savage who had thrown away all self-control, and most recently in a kraal. Now I saw this remarkable man in a new role. He now appeared as a lovable and sociable man of the world. He let his horse walk quietly and talked to me as if we were old friends on a little pleasure trip. I suppose he talked in this way to Arcolli, the “mongrel,” who had been his driver in the Cape cart.

The forested rock formation above Machudi was visible in the distance. He told me about the Machudi war, which I already knew, but he told it like a fairy tale. The war plot had been used: one of the Boer leaders—I think his name was Grobelaar—had smuggled some of his men into the enemy camp by hiding them in a captured wagon.

“Trojan horse,” I said, even against my will.

“Yes,” replied my companion, “the same old trick,” and to my astonishment he recited several verses from Virgil.

“Do you understand Latin?” he asked. I replied that I had at least some knowledge of the language, having studied it at the University of Edinburgh. Laputa nodded. He mentioned the name of a professor and said something about his scientific achievements.

“But tell me,” I exclaimed, “what exactly are you doing down here? With your education and your knowledge of the world, how can you possibly try to turn the machinery of development back? You want to undo the achievements of a thousand years of culture and turn us all into savages again. You certainly wouldn’t expect such a thing from a man like you.”

“You misunderstand me,” he replied calmly. “It is precisely because I have sucked all the juice from civilization that I have also tasted its bitterest taste. I want to create a better and simpler world, and I want to create that world for my own people. I am a Christian, and you dare not tell me that your culture follows the teachings of Christ very closely. You say that you are a friend of your country! Why don’t you let me be one too?”

“If you are a Christian, how can you say that it is Christian to immerse the earth in blood?”

“That is the best Christian doctrine,” he said. “The house must be swept and garnished before the Lord can take up his abode in it. You have read history. The Church has had to go through many such fires of purification, and the world has then been awakened to a new hope. It is so in all religions. Temples fall and must be cleansed, and let me remind you that the chosen have always come from the wilderness.”

I couldn’t answer anything because I was still too tired to think clearly. But I caught his word about patriotism.

“Where are your patriots then? All your followers are bloodthirsty Kaffirs, whose only desire is to murder and plunder. Even if you were Oliver Cromwell, you could accomplish nothing with such allies.”

“They are my people,” he replied simply.

By this time we had passed over the Great Letaba Kalamo and were now clearing our way through the jungles to the high plateau. I had noticed that Laputa tried to move by side roads as much as possible, and always preferred thickets and forests to flat, open country. As he spoke, his sharp eyes were constantly looking in all directions. I felt an inner joy that my friends were not far away.

Once Laputa gave me a sign to be quiet, just as I was about to say something, and then we passed silently across a streambed. After that we passed through the forest, so that he did not need to sharpen his attention any further.

“If you are fighting for a great cause,” I said, “how can you allow a villain like Henriques to be your assistant? You should understand that the man’s only purpose in everything is to get his hands on the prey. I warn you that if you do not break the snake’s back in time, it will sting you.”

Laputa looked at me thoughtfully and a little suspiciously.

“Now you misunderstand again, Mr. Merchant. The Portuguese is a bad white man, and his surest refuge is with us. I have had enough experience to know that one—even an enemy—who has blatant wrongs to avenge on my enemies is a good ally. You are doing Henriques an injustice. You and your friends have treated him like a Kaffir, and he is a Kaffir in everything except his virtues. Why are you anxious that Henriques will betray me?”

“I am not a ‘bad white man,'” I said, “and I will tell you the truth. As God lives, I will see you overthrown, but I will have it done by brave men, and not by such a yellow devil as murdered my dog, my friend. Sooner or later you will find that I am right, and if he escapes your hands then, he will not escape mine, as true as there is justice in heaven.”

“Big words,” Laputa said with a laugh, but the next moment he was sitting quite stiff in his saddle. We had crossed a meadow and were now riding into a forest, behind which ran a large highway. I almost think he had miscalculated and did not know that the road was so close. In any case, after a while he heard the clatter of horses’ hooves, and so did I. The forest was sparse, and no shelter was visible, but to ride back to the meadow would have been the same as to be completely exposed. Laputa jumped off the horse, incredibly quickly untied the halter, incredibly quickly put it in my mouth as a muzzle, at the same time wrapping the reins around me.

I could not utter a word, when my right hand was already fastened to the pommel of the saddle. I was utterly helpless in his strong grip, and in a shorter time than I can express it, I was rendered immobile as a lamppost, while Laputa, holding his left arm over both of mine, and with his right hand covering the eyes of the beast, sharpened his hearing like an antelope at the sound of danger.

There is probably no more brutal gagging. The rope almost crushed my nose and squeezed my lips between my teeth, and somehow it was pulled so tightly over my throat that I could hardly breathe. The pain was so intense that I would probably have fainted if Laputa had not held me. Fortunately, I managed to get my teeth apart a little, and a bend of the rope slipped between them, thus relieving the terrible pressure on my jaws to some extent. But still, my condition was so difficult that in my rage I bit and tore at the rope, and I am sure that my sharp front teeth would have snapped it in a moment. All this prevented me from seeing what was happening. As I have already said, the forest was sparse, and through the foliage I could vaguely make out an endless procession of men and horses. There could not have been more than twenty of them, but the minutes pass slowly with the rope strangling your throat. When Laputa finally untied the rope, I had another seizure and leaned helplessly against a tree.

Laputa lingered, listening, until the sound of the hooves faded away. Then we crept silently across the road, where the denser brushwood began. He rode so fiercely up the steep slope that I was forced to run until we could see the green meadows of the plateau above us. Laputa’s face had again taken on a grim, hostile expression. He was now in enemy territory, and from the position of a hunter he was now a beast himself. When I stopped, he looked at me displeasedly, and once, when I lingered, exhausted by fatigue, he raised his hand threateningly. If it had been a whip, it would have fallen on my back.

If Laputa was nervous, so was I. The mere feeling that I was outside the Kaffir region and in my own country was already a kind of foretaste of freedom. Providence, I thought, might at any moment intervene in my favor. It was true that our terms of agreement stipulated that Laputa would shoot me if we were attacked, but how easily a shot could go astray. As much as my tired brain would allow, I began to think about the future. As soon as he had the jewels in his hands, my part in the matter was clear. He had promised me my life, but not a word had been said about my freedom, and I understood that Laputa would never allow me, who had seen so much, to come to Arcolli knowingly. But on no account would I allow myself to be taken back to that loathsome kraal. He was armed and I unarmed, he was strong and I weak as a child, he was on horseback, I on foot—I had little chance of escape. A police patrol would be of little help, for if we were harassed I would get a bullet in the head, while Laputa would escape on his gallop. I had no choice but to wait and see what time would bring. And if the worst should happen, an honest bullet in a battle on the highlands would surely be better than life in the unknown cruelties of the kraal. I prayed earnestly that God would show me His mercy, for I, if anyone, had been tortured by the heathen.

To my surprise, Laputa was not at all cautious on the green slope. He looked towards Pilvuori and raised his hand. It must have been some kind of sign, and when I looked back the way we had come, I thought I saw some creatures about a mile away, near the Letaba cliff. Laputa wanted to be sure of my presence on the way back as well.

It must have been four o’clock in the afternoon, and the weather was the most delightful imaginable. The meadows were awash with sweet-smelling flowers. The little ponds and rapids were as transparently clear as the trout streams in Lothian. We rode briskly on, but I was no longer tired. I prepared myself for the decision, and in me the soul affects the body so directly that my fatigue increases or decreases in competition with hope. I knew that my strength might easily fail again, but I also knew that as long as there was a chance I would have the strength to make good on it. Before I knew it we had ridden round the hill and now saw before us the bowl-shaped valley of Machud. Somewhere far away in the tree-line I saw a cloud of smoke. The Kaffirs—or perhaps the men of Arcolli—had set fire to the forest. The smoke drifted, driven by a light west wind, over the distant lowlands, which shone opalescent.

Laputa now asked me to take the lead. I could see quite clearly the red hollow on the other side of the riverbed where the necklace was hidden. We could have come there by riding straight into the valley, but the gentle guidance of Providence led me to choose the road that led along the upper edge of the valley until we had come to the upper mouth of the riverbed. This was the road that some of Machud’s men had used, and without thinking twice I followed it. A twenty-minute ride brought us there, and still I had no escape plan in hand. I had abandoned myself to my Creator, and, like the men of the Old Testament, I waited for the sign.

Laputa stepped from the saddle and looked down into the riverbed.

“There is no way down from here,” I said. “We must first get to the bottom of the valley and then follow the riverbed up. It is best if you leave your horses here.”

He took a few steps down the cliff, which from above looks like a sheer drop, but then he seemed to accept my opinion, took the rope from the horse’s neck and tied it to the horse’s leg. At this moment I had an idea.

Holding the strap attached to me in his hand, he walked ahead of me down the steep slope until we reached the bottom of the valley. There I showed the way to the riverbed. Just as we were leaving, I looked back and saw some dark creatures on the other side of the valley—certainly the people of Laputa. What I intended to do had to be done quickly.

We climbed the riverbed past small falls until we reached the still water where Machudi’s men had taken me prisoner this morning. The ashes of their campfire were still clearly visible on the rocks. From here we had to climb past another fall to reach the little cove under the rock where I had hidden the rubies.

“You must take this strap off me,” I said, “or I cannot climb here. Don’t worry, keep your pistol pointed at me, I am in your sight all the time anyway.”

Laputa unbuckled his belt, then took out his pistol, cocked it, and placed it in his left hand. I had often seen skilled marksmen do this, but it gave me a sudden hope that perhaps he would not be so sure of his shot now.

It didn’t take me long to find the hiding place, right under the fern bushes. I dipped my hand into the water and pulled the gems out from the cool sandy bottom. They shone like blazing fires and a shiver ran through me.

Surely they were no ordinary jewels, these, which enclosed within them, so to speak, the innermost heart of hell. Holding them tightly, I stepped towards Laputa.

Seeing the Great Serpent again, Laputa exclaimed with delight. He snatched the chain from me, held it outstretched before him, and kissed it, his face shining with passionate joy. He raised the precious thing to heaven, and then knelt before it. Again he was a perfect savage, forgetting everything before his idol. Then he turned towards me with glowing eyes.

“On your knees,” he cried, “fall down and worship Ndhlondhlo. On your knees, faithless dog, and beg pardon for your sacrilege.”

“No,” I replied, “I will not kneel before any pagan idol.”

He held the gun pointed at my head.

“In the blink of an eye it will explode. Fall to the ground, madman, or die.”

“You have promised to preserve my life,” I replied stubbornly, though heaven knows why I did so.

He threw the pistol away and sprang upon me. In his arms I was as helpless as a cradled child. He forced me face down to the ground, then he snatched me up with equal force and threw me backward, so that I almost fell into the water. I managed to avoid falling, and instead I retreated backwards, so that I came to stand right under the lowest ledge of rock.

This morning, while Machudi’s men were preparing their breakfast, I had been thinking about climbing the cliff. This advance preparation was now my anchor of salvation. Laputa had thrown the pistol to the ground and sunk into a new state of ecstasy in front of the necklace. Now had come my moment if ever. I had to get to the lowest ledge and then climb on as if the fire were after me.

I pretended to be confused and frightened: “You promised I would be able to hold my breath,” I complained.

“Your life,” he said. “Yes, you may keep it, but soon you will be begging to die.”

“But I saved your necklace,” I continued. “Henriques would have stolen it. I must have put it in its place, and now you have it back.”

All the while, I was unnoticeably dragging myself up onto the ledge and with one hand I unhooked a boulder that could easily be rolled into the water.

“You have received your reward,” he said cruelly. “You will not die.”

“But life has no meaning to me without freedom,” I said, fiddling with the stone until I got it into the right position.

He did not answer, for he was so eager to examine whether the chain had suffered any damage.

“There are no scratches on the jewels,” I said. “Henriques stepped on the chain when I caught him.”

Laputa looked at the chain like a mother looking at her child who has hurt himself.

But now my moment had come. With a good push I rolled the stone over the edge of the cliff into the water. It made an extraordinary splash and the water washed away Laputa and her ruby ​​necklace. Protected by the surprise I had achieved, I ducked onto the ledge and grabbed hold of the juniper bushes.

A shot rang out and the bullet hit the rock above me. By now I had already caught the branches and continued climbing up the crack.

Laputa did not shoot again. Perhaps he doubted his skill, or had found a better way. He plunged into the water and jumped onto the ledge like a buck. I felt rather than saw what was happening behind me, and with my heart in my throat I gathered all my remaining strength for the last struggle.

Sometimes it happens that in a dream one thinks one is being chased and, although one is almost sick with terror, one cannot make one’s legs obey one’s will, but feels that they hang beneath one as heavy as lead. This is what I experienced now, while awake, in the thicket. I had actually already gone beyond the limits of my endurance. The night before I had walked fifty miles and all day I had experienced the most terrible nervous tension. I had been tied up, beaten and abused until I was completely numb. And above all, I had hardly had anything to eat and from lack of sleep I was completely confused. My legs were numb and my hands could hardly function anymore. How I managed to keep from falling into the water, I do not understand, for everything was spinning around me and I was on the verge of suffocation. Every moment I thought Laputa’s hands would catch hold of me.

And indeed I had reason to fear. He was up to the crack long before I had got out of it, and his speed was twice my own. When I finally crawled out on the uppermost ledge he was scarcely a cubit behind me. But just here a jutting out rock stopped his huge being and gave me some head start. I needed it, for my last steps up were more like those of an old man than of a youth. Only my firm purpose and my terrible fear made me put one foot in front of the other. Half-swamped, I reached the top of the precipice and saw a skunk before me, peacefully chewing grass in the sunshine.

I forced myself into a sort of unsteady running march. As I half turned, I could see Laputa’s shoulders rising to the edge of the precipice, and to my horror I discovered that the horse was tied up and I had no knife with which to cut the halter.

But then a miracle happened. When the rope had been used as a muzzle, my teeth had almost bitten the halter off at one point, and Laputa had not noticed this when he tied the horse up. When I climbed into the saddle, the horse started and jerked its head violently, causing the rope to break. I could not find any stirrups, but when I pressed my heel against the horse’s flanks, it started to gallop at a good pace.

Just then Laputa began to fire. It was unwise, for if he had run he would have overtaken us, for I had neither spurs nor whip, and the loose piece of rope in the horse’s legs hindered its running. In any case, if he had wanted to shoot, he should have aimed at the buck and not at me, for he seemed to be a very bad shot. But I suppose he wanted to spare the horse. The bullet whizzed past my ear,—it almost helped me just as much as was needed. It whizzed over my shoulder as I leaned against the horse’s neck, and grazed the animal’s ear. It became quite frantic with pain, and in spite of the dragging piece of rope it increased its speed. A couple of the natives—probably those who had been following us—tried to stop us, and I think a spear flew over us. But we were over in a flash, and their shouts soon faded from earshot. I found the reins, put my feet in the stirrups, and then rode four straight toward the sunset and freedom.

XVIII.

HOW A MAN MUST QUIT TO PUT HIS TRUST IN A HORSE.

My strength had long since been completely exhausted. Only a fierce tension, fear, and a wildly blazing hope had sustained me for so long, and now that the danger was over, a decline followed. It is inexplicable how I remained on horseback. It was my good fortune that the horse was good and the terrain easy, for I could not have guided the animal. I simply sat on it, half-consciously content, and rode quietly towards the setting sun, which I saw glittering above the Iron Crown mountain. I was as happy as a child. After three days of constant danger of death, it was enchanting to know that I was free. It seemed too wonderful to be true to ride through meadows of flowers as tall as men in a world that seemed to be nothing but scent, color, and light. It must be remembered that I was still hardly more than a boy, and that of late death had been so often before my eyes that it must have already come to my mind a little. Surrendering to the power of hope again affected me like opium. As weak and tired as I was, my soul swam in a sea of ​​bliss.

But this mood could not last long. When the kimo stumbled while wading across a stream, I was brought back to reality. I noticed that it was getting dark and fear took hold of me again. Behind me I thought I heard voices; but when I turned, I saw only dark hills.

In vain I tried to recall what Arcoll had said about the location of his headquarters—my memory was as if wiped out. It was certainly somewhere near the main road, but where the main road ran I could not make out. And besides, he was near the enemy, and I wanted to get far away, to the towns, as far from the battle lines as possible. Perhaps I could find some villages where I could hide. I know these thoughts were worthless, but let my completely shattered nerves be my excuse. When a man has just escaped great danger, it may happen that he does not immediately control himself.

As for me, I suddenly felt ashamed. God had saved me from danger, but not because I would crawl into hiding. My mission was as clear as Laputa’s. Only now did it dawn on me how insignificant a circumstance my salvation rested. That broken rune was like the finger of God. I had certainly been saved for some special mission, and if I did not fulfill it, I would certainly be doomed again. I had always been a believer in fate, and now I was quite a mystic, besides.

My terrified fear now vanished, my memory began to return, and a manly calm took its place. I turned my steps to the left. Now I remembered where the highway ran, and now I remembered something more. For it suddenly became clear to me that Laputa was now in my power. Without the slightest precalculation or purpose, I had this time got the trump cards into my hands. His way to his people was cut off, he had no horse, and he was on the wrong side of the road on which the Arcolli patrols moved. And without Laputa the rebellion was doomed to failure. Yes, there might be battles, perhaps fierce ones, but our enemy would be without a leader. If he could only be forced further north, his game would be lost and we could take care of what was left in peace and quiet.

I was now as anxious to get into the midst of danger as I had been to get to safety. I must inform Arcolli at once, or Laputa might reach Inanda’s Kraal under cover of darkness. Minutes were a question, and on these minutes depended the lives of thousands. It was also a question of my strength, which was weakening as it weakened, for now that my reason had cleared, I felt best how weak I really was. If only I could reach the road, find Arcolli or his men, I would have done my countrymen a greater service than anyone could do at that moment in Africa. But my head was buzzing and buzzing, I was swaying in the saddle, and my fingers were quite powerless. I could only lie numb on the horse’s back and hold on to its mane limply. I remember that a verse from the Psalter was running through my mind that a man should not put his trust in horses. I prayed that this horse would make an exception, for it carried more than Caesar and his fortune.

It is impossible for me to remember anything about those last few minutes. It was barely an hour since I had come out on the road, but that hour seems like many long, terrible years to me. I vaguely remember riding over a ditch and then coming out onto a ghostly white road. Kimo turned right, and then all I know is that someone grabbed my reins and spoke to me.

At first I thought it was Laputa and screamed in horror. I must have been staggering in the saddle, for I felt an arm wrap itself around my waist. The rider pulled the cork from the bottle with his teeth and poured some liquor into my mouth. I swallowed it and then opened my eyes. In front of me was a mounted policeman, staring at me in amazement. I recognized him as a policeman by his green suspenders.

“Arcoll,” I managed to blurt out. “For God’s sake, take me
to Arcoll.”

The man whistled with his fingers, and another rider rode up.

I recognized his face, but I couldn’t remember the man’s name.

“But there’s Crawfurd boy,” I heard someone say. “Crawfurd, boy, don’t you remember me from Lorenzo Marques? Aitken?”

The Scottish dialect seemed to disenchant me. It clarified my concepts and restored my connection to my former life. So I had finally reached my own people.

“I must see Arcoll. I have information for him—important information. Take me to Arcoll, and don’t ask me anything. Where is he? Where is he?”

“It so happens that he is hardly two hundred yards from here,” said Aitken. “That light that is visible comes from his camp.”

The rest of the way the men rode on either side of me and carried me by the arms, otherwise I would not have reached my destination. Everything I had to say to Arcolli was spinning in my head as I tried to put my thoughts into words, for I was terribly afraid that at the decisive moment I would be left speechless. And then I was in such a terrible hurry. Every passing minute increased Laputa’s chances of getting back to his camp. After all, he had men on the way, and certainly as skilled as Arcolli’s guerrillas. If Arcolli had not had enough men and the best horses, it would all have been in vain. Often in later life I have wondered back at my feelings at that time. There I stood, barely free from the clutches of hideous death, and yet I did not think for a moment of my freedom. The anxiety that Laputa would escape was greater than the anxiety that David Crawfurd would perish.

In the midst of it all I felt as if at least a thousand hands were helping me down from the saddle. And then it became very bright, as if a great moon had shone, and I just stood there blinking my eyes. I was put to bed and given a cup of hot tea, which refreshed me more than the liquor had ever done. And then I gradually became aware that someone was holding both my hands and speaking softly but very clearly.

“Davie,” the voice said, “you are with your friends again, my son. Tell me where you have been.”

“I want to see Arcolli,” I simply complained. “Where is Ratitswan?” And tears of fatigue rolled down my cheeks.

“Arcoll is here,” said the voice, “he is the one who holds you by the hand, Davie. Try to calm down, my son. Your troubles are over now.”

I tried to gather my strength and finally found the eyes that belonged to the speaker, and then I said:

“Now listen. I took Priest John’s necklace at Dupree’s coal-yard. I was captured in the mountains and taken to a kraal—I don’t remember the name of it—but I had hidden the rubies.”

“Yes,” said the voice, “you hid the rubies, but how then?”

“Inkulu wanted them back, so I made a trade with him. I showed him the way to the Machudi territory and gave him the chain, but he shot me, and I climbed and climbed, and finally got on the horse,” I finished childishly.

I heard a voice say “so?” in a questioning tone, but my thoughts were now flying in another direction.

“Beyers took the cannons to Pilvivuor,” I shouted shrilly. “We can do that too, damn it! We have the whole army of Kaffirs in a small box.”

Thus smiling faces before me. “Good boy. Colles said he had no lack of understanding. Well, if we have done what you say, Davie!”

But I did not listen to him. I tried with all my might to remember what I had to say, and it was nothing about Beyers and his artillery. Those moments were terrible for me. I felt like a speaker who has forgotten the red thread of his speech, or a soldier who has forgotten the watchword with a bayonet in his throat. And to top off the misfortune, I felt how fatigue was increasingly penetrating my veins and that my head was beginning to sink. My powerlessness was almost tempting the breath out of me.

Arcoll still held my hands and brought himself closer, so that his bright eyes dominated me.

“Look at me, Davie,” he said. “You have something important to tell me, don’t you? It must be something about Laputa, right? Now think carefully. You took him to Machudi and gave him the chain. Then he must have gone back with it to Inanda Kraal. Well, my guns will keep him there.”

I shook my head. “No, that won’t work. You can break up the army, but you can’t stop Laputa. He’ll be over Olifants before we can fire a shot.”

“We’ll get there before him. Otherwise we can catch him on the railroad.”

“But then hurry up, in God’s name,” I cried. “In an hour he will have crossed over and got back to the kraal.”

“But the river is far away,”

“The river,” I repeated uncertainly. “What river? I don’t mean Letaba. I mean the road.”

Arcoll grabbed my wrists tightly.

“You left Laputa at Machudi’s and rode here without stopping. It took about an hour. Did Laputa have a horse?”

“It was, but I took it,” I managed to mumble. “You can see it somewhere behind me.”

Arcoll let me go and stood up excitedly.

“Then Laputa will be in our power,” he said, turning to the others.
A man hurried out of the tent.

Then I remembered what I had to say. I tried to stand up and put my hands on his shoulders.

“Laputa is on our side of the road. Cut him off from his people and drive him northward—northward—as far as Rooirand. Don’t worry about the Cloud Mountains and the guns—they can wait. I tell you, Laputa is a total mutiny, and he has a chain. When he is cleared, do with the Kaffirs as you please. Send out every man you have along the road, for he must either get across or perish. Oh, hurry, hurry, don’t worry about me. All will be well if we can get there before him. Hurry, or I must do it myself.”

The tent emptied and I lay down, feeling vaguely that my duty was now fulfilled, and I could therefore rest. Stronger hands than mine had taken care of the matter. I was so tired that I could not lift my legs onto the bed, but lay with my legs dangling over the side.

Too much fatigue drives away sleep. I had a fever and could not sleep. At midnight I imagined that the whole world was full of men and horses. I heard voices and the clatter of hooves, the rumble and creak, and above everything else I thought I heard the march of troops. The whole world must be full of war. Before my soul’s eyes there was a straight and long road like a white ribbon, running through the meadows of the plateau, then winding like a corkscrew down into the Letaba Valley, further through the plain and the moonlit forests, until it ended at the Wesselburg barracks. But then it seemed as if it were not a road, but rather a rampart, a rampart built of marble, the Great Wall of Africa. I saw Laputa step out of the shadows and try to clamber over the rampart, and there were constant clicks like the cocking of a rifle, a demand for surrender and flight. The story began to get interesting. Down in the forest, among the bushes, were my countrymen—cavalry, infantry, and artillery—our entire defense.

What a general Arcoll was, and what a great fire David
Crawfurd had kindled!

Someone came in—a doctor, I suppose. He took off my shoes and socks, and had to cut them off my bleeding feet, but I felt no pain. He felt my veins and listened to my heart. Then he washed me and gave me warm milk. There must have been some medicine in the milk, for I had hardly swallowed it when a whole wave of sleep came over me. The white wall disappeared and I slept.

XIX.

ARCOLL’S “SHEPHERD”.

While I was sleeping in my feverish sleep, strange things happened. What I am now relating is not something I myself had any part in, but something I heard later in conversations with Arcoll and Aitken. Besides, the rebellion has also had its own special historian. In the room where I now sit and write I see on the shelf before me two handsome blue-bound volumes containing Mr. Alexander Upton’s (the Times correspondent) account of the War between the Plain and the Mountains, told for the edification of future generations. In his description the hero on the Kaffir side is Umbooni, a half-mad ugly boy whom we afterwards captured and hanged. He mentions Laputa only in a marginal note as an apostate from Christianity who had something to do with the seething discontent. “Inkulu,” which he had often heard, he says is the Zulus’ name for God. Mr. Upton is a very sharp historian, but he has had no idea of ​​the most romantic incident in the war, namely, how Arcoll and his irregulars “shepherded” the heir of Prester John and his lordship one midnight.

At Bruderstrom, where I was now, there were stationed 200 policemen, 63 Basuto guerrillas under a man named Stephen, who was half native by birth and whole in manners, and three farm companies, each about 40 strong. These companies were really companies of the Northern Transvaal Volunteers, and had retained the old name and also something of the less strict form of those forces. There were also two batteries of volunteer artillery here, each with four guns, but they were on the western edge of the Cloudy Mountains, following Beyers’ historical example. A couple of regiments of regular troops were coming from Pietersdorp, but they would not arrive until the following morning, when they would continue straight to the Cloudy Mountains to join the artillery there. Police detachments with native partisans were stationed at strategic points along the mountain range, and a fairly strong force with two field guns was stationed at Blaauwildebeestefontein, for fear that another Kaffir army might march that way to Inanda Kraal. There was a strong police patrol on the plain at Wesselburg, and a complete system of small patrols along the road, with a good many Basotho partisans. But as well guarded as the road was, it was not completely closed, for Arcolli’s troops were only part of his colonial and spy police. My own experience showed how easy it was to get past the police guards.

Laputa did not have much time and would probably try to cross the road as close as possible. The most important thing for Arcolli was to guard the line between the Letaba Pass and Bruderstroom. A detachment of the best mounted policemen directed their journey at a rapid pace towards the pass and the others dispersed along the road after them. The farm cars guarded a section perpendicular to the main road to prevent escape attempts on the left side. Basutos were sent into the forests as outposts to bring information if anything suspicious appeared. Finally, a police patrol, accompanied by native spies, took control of the part of the road at Letaba where there is a crossing. It is called the Main Drift and can be found on the map. The first task of the natives was to find Laputa’s whereabouts and then prevent him from getting south, through the triangle of hills and forests between the road and Letaba into the Machudi Valley. If he failed there, he would have to try to cross Letaba below the Kalamo and then try to cross the road between Kalamo and Wesselburg. As Arcoll did not have enough men to guard the whole line, if Laputa were ever driven below the ford, he could move his men further south. It was naturally of the utmost importance to determine Laputa’s whereabouts, and native spies were sent out for this purpose. There were chances of catching Laputa, but Arcoll knew too well his wonderful sense of smell, his local knowledge, and his great physical strength to be at all certain of it.

We were not moving a minute too soon. The vanguard of the police rode straight at a Kaffir, whom Laputa had already sent to see if the road was clear. Two minutes later Laputa would have been on the other side of the road and out of our hands, for in the wooded regions of Letaba there was no way of reaching him. When the Kaffir saw us he dived back into the grass on the north side of the road, which showed that Laputa was still there.

After this nothing happened for a while. The police reached the ford and the whole road east of it was placed under close guard. The companies which were guarding the side formed a chain with the police detachment on the north side and then slowly stretched it towards the fort in the mountains. They met no one and Arcoll could conclude from this that Laputa had gone down from the mountains into the forest.

If the Basutos had been more experienced foresters we would have had better information. But as they live in bare mountain regions they are somewhat at a loss in the forest. The best of them were the ‘over-jumpers’ from Mpefu, and these now sent word — in a way known only to Arcoll — that five Kaffirs were in the forest a mile north of the Main Drift. It was now ten o’clock and the moon was rising. The five then moved away from each other, and the reports became somewhat unclear. But then we came upon Laputa, the longest of the five, on the shore of Great Letaba about two miles south of the Main Drift.

Now the question was how he intended to get across the river. Arcoll took it for granted that he would swim across the river and then aim for the road between Main Drift and Wesselburg. But in this assumption he did not do full justice to the cunning of his opponent. Laputa was perfectly aware that it was impossible for us to guard the whole of the land, but he also knew that the river offered an opportunity to split the country in two and concentrate his forces on one side or the other. This was the reason why he did not go across Letaba at all, but undertook a long detour back into the mountains. One of his Kaffirs swam across the river and when Arcoll learned of this, he began to move outposts to the lower road. But just at this moment Mpefu’s men got wind of Laputa’s feint and turn to the left. Arcoll now gave a counter-order in great haste and remained waiting anxiously at Main Drift.

The whole plan was saved by the farmers up in the mountains. They lit fires and made Laputa believe that there was a whole army there. He did not dare to go to the valley of Machud or to Letsitela, but retreated northwards to the valley of Little Letaba. The speed with which he made the journey was astonishing, but he had the empire at stake. He had a sturdy body, hardened by long journeys. When I now compare on the map the journey that I made with immense difficulty from Dupree’s ford to Machud with the journeys that Laputa’s feet took that night, my admiration for that man is boundless.

By midnight he must have gone over Letsitela, but here he made a serious mistake. If he had tried to climb one of the nearest peaks, he would have reached the plateau and reached Inanda Kraal before dawn. But now he gave too much importance to the farm companies and headed north, where he thought the guard would be weaker. About one o’clock Arcoll, tired of inaction and realizing that he had been mistaken about Laputa’s tactics, decided to make a bold move. He sent half his police force into the mountains to reinforce the farm companies and ordered them to link up with the guard at Blaauwildebeestefontein.

Shortly after two o’clock the first report came. Henriques had succeeded in crossing the road three miles east of Main Drift. He had probably left the kraal earlier in the night and had tried to cross the road further west, but had been overtaken by patrols. On the east side of Main Drift, where the police guards were less numerous, he succeeded, but did not get far, for the Basutos soon caught up with him. They reported the matter to Arcolli, who at once understood who the wanderer was. He did not dare to send away any white men, but he let a party of guerrillas follow Henriques’ tracks. They followed him as far as Dupree’s hide, where he crossed the river and lay down to sleep by the roadside, the guerrillas keeping watch over him without his knowledge. He was a polished scoundrel, this Henriques, to be able to lie down to sleep on the very spot where he had committed a murder a short time before.

Early in the morning Laputa was on the high bank of the Little Letaba valley, near the Mpefu kraal. He procured something to eat at a dwelling and at once continued his journey along the forested ridge which juts out from the plateau. He must have been tired, for otherwise he would not have climbed quite straight to a farmer’s guard post. He narrowly escaped capture, but he managed to escape by retreating quickly from the fort. According to reports, he had then retreated southwards into denser forest and there turned northwards again from Blaauwildebeestefontein. His movements after that are not entirely clear. He was seen near Little Labongo, but after noticing the guard chain at Blaauwildebeestefontein he must have become convinced that not even a wild fowl could get through that road. The next report we received stated that he had met Henriques.

At daybreak Arcoll, who knew the general outline of Laputa’s expeditions through reports, decided to attack. The farmers, who had received reinforcements from Pietersdorp to the extent of three companies, remained in their places on the plateau, but the police force now occupied the Great Letaba area. Arcoll’s plan was to guard this river and the long strip of land between it and Labongo. He was now receiving frequent reinforcements, and the mounted patrols could hardly prevent any escape attempts on the eastern flank of Wesselburg.

It was thus that, while Laputa was still drifting eastward from the mountains, Henriques was going northward, and so their paths met. I would have liked to have witnessed their encounter. Now, if ever, Laputa had to understand what was going on in Henriques’s mind. I imagine Henriques was on his way to the Rooirand cave. As for Laputa, his intention was to reach Portuguese territory, make a wide detour there, and then join his troops somewhere between the camp and Amsterdam.

At dinnertime both were seen on the road between Blaauwildebeestefontein and Lebombo. There they were stopped by Arcoll’s new chain of guards, which was between Letaba and Labongo. This forced them north again and they had to swim across the latter river. Far to the east of thence to Rooirand, where the Portuguese border runs, the country is open, rolling hills, with only a few forests growing in the hollows. Such terrain offered little shelter to fugitives, as they were to experience. For now Arcoll had converted his forces into flying squadrons. They guarded not only the lines, but the whole region. Now again Laputa had only his matchless scent and his powerful body to help him avoid being captured within half an hour. They retraced their previous tracks, swam again across the Labongo, and sank into the dense forest north of the Blaauwildebeestefontein road. The Basutos, excellent as they were in the open country, now lost their trail again. Laputa and Henriques deceived them, so that while the pursuers pressed westward, thinking the fugitives were going to Majinje’s kraal, they had actually passed over Labongo and were now directing their steps towards Umvelos.

All this I learned afterwards, for when it happened I lay in a deep unconsciousness in the tent at Arcolli. My enemies were pursued like partridges, and I reaped the fruits of four days’ toil and terror. The hunters had been hunted, the wheel had turned, and David Crawfurd’s sufferings were amply compensated.

I slept until one o’clock the next day, until dinnertime. When I woke up the tent felt as hot as an oven in the bright noonday sun. I feel better now, but my limbs are stiff and tender, and I am unbearably thirsty. There was a water-skin and a tin cup near me; I drank several times in succession. After that I lay down again, for I was still very tired.

But my second dream was not like the first. I had wild, delirious images all the time. I had hardly closed my eyes when I found myself in another world and began to live and act in it. The whole plain with its thickets was before me, and I looked at it as if I were up in the clouds. It was midday and the sand was sparkling with heat. I saw cautious movements in the thickets, a buck poked its head out, a sable animal walked solemnly in the grass, a crocodile crawled along the mudbank to the river. And then I clearly saw Laputa moving towards the east.

In my dream I did not think at all about Arcolli’s actions. Only Laputa was in my thoughts. He walked as if he were tired, but still at a good pace and he turned his head constantly like a wild animal that smells danger with the wind. I also vaguely thought I saw some dark shadow near him. His neck was bare, but I knew what was hidden in his bag.

He stopped, turned west, and then I saw him no more. The world down there seemed quite still, and I paid as close attention to it as if I were a pilot looking for a landing place. For a long time I saw nothing, but then I noticed some movement in a bush near the river: a guinea fowl flew away from it first as if frightened, and then a buck darted out. From that I concluded that Laputa was there.

Then, as I looked at the river, I saw a head in the water—no, I saw two heads, one a little behind the other. The first of the swimmers came ashore on the other bank, and I recognized him as Laputa; the other was shorter and smaller, and I knew he was Henriques.

I remember being glad that the two had met. Now Henriques would not escape. Either Laputa would find out the truth and kill him, or I would catch him myself and have my revenge. In any case, he was now outside the Kaffir cairns and going about his own business.

I followed them closely until they stopped near a demolished building. It must have been the shop I had built in Umvelos. This observation made me suspect that Laputa and Henriques were on their way to Rooirand!

I woke up suddenly, my forehead sweating and still feverish, for my teeth were chattering. In my mind I was perfectly clear that Laputa and Henriques would soon be in the cave.

There were two possibilities: either Henriques would kill Laputa, take possession of the rubies, and soon be in Mozambique before I could reach him—or he would defeat Laputa in battle and decide for himself the fate of the gold and diamond treasures that had been gathered in the cave. If he had any reason to fear defeat, I knew he would sink the gems to the bottom of the Labongo, and all my efforts would have been in vain. I had forgotten all patriotism now. At that moment the fate of the country seemed to me of no consequence, and the thought of Laputa being cut off from his army did not satisfy me. My only thought was that the treasure would be lost, the treasure for which I had risked my life.

There is a kind of courage that comes from grief and miscalculation. I had thought my enterprise was at an end, but now I found that my past sufferings had not been able to stifle my new passion. My restlessness was so great that it gave me no peace for a moment. I got up, and, holding on to the bed, staggered to the tent chair. I was weak, yes, but not so weak that I could not make a last effort. The feeling that I had already done so much and yet failed drove me completely crazy.

On one of the tent poles hung a small piece of mirror that Arcoll used for shaving. I caught a glimpse of my face in it. It was white and lined, with blue bags under my eyes. The doctor had washed me the night before, but he had not succeeded in removing all the traces of my travels. I particularly noticed a bloodstain on my left temple. I remember getting it from a jug filled with goat’s blood that night in the cave.

I think that bloodstain was what settled the matter. Whether I wanted it or not, I was branded with the same mark as the men of Laputa. My choice was: either play the game to the end or never know peace in the world. The last four days had made me age very quickly.

I found a pair of Arcoll boots, large and worn, but I put them on my sore feet. Then I crawled to the door and called for a boy to bring my horse. A Basuto came out and, startled by my appearance, hurried to get a horse. It was already well into the evening. It was about the same time as the day before when I escaped from Machudi. The Bruderstroom camp was completely empty, except for the sentries posted at the entrances. I called to the only white man I saw and asked him about Arcoll. He replied that no new information had arrived, but that patrols were still guarding the road as far as Wesselburg, and from this I could conclude that Arcoll had been allowed to spread his pursuit far into the woods. I did not want to meet him just now, and even less did I want him to meet Laputa. I was now riding out on my own private business, and I did not want any helpers.

Someone offered me a cup of strong coffee, which I couldn’t swallow, and then helped me into the saddle. Kimo had rested and was immediately picking up speed as I set off on a short four-wheel drive along the dusty road. The whole world lay silent and golden in the afternoon sun.

XX.

I SEE HIS EXCELLENCY JOHN LAPUTAN FOR THE LAST TIME.

Darkness fell before I reached the Letaba Pass. I had encountered several patrols, but few of them spoke to me, and none tried to stop me. A few perhaps knew who I was, but I think they were more likely to be silenced by my appearance. I might have been as pale as death, with my hair flying and my eyes shining feverishly. And then there was that bloodstain on my left temple.

At Main Drift I met a considerable force of police guarding the fishmonger’s. I drove straight to the water, and on the other side of the river I stopped at a campfire of sentries. A man began to speak to me, and said that now Arcoll had caught his prey. “They say he is dead. He was shot on a hill on the way to Limpopo.” But I knew that this was not true. It was written in fire on my soul that Laputa lived, yes, was still waiting for me, and that it was God’s will that we should meet in the cave.

A moment later I came to a path, hardened by the march of the Kaffir army, which now resembled a broad road in the bush, and I followed it, for it led to Dupree Drift. All the while I was galloping as fast as I could. All fear had left me. Neither nature nor man could make me restless. At Dupree Drift I rode over without thinking of crocodiles. With utter indifference I looked at the spot where Henriques had murdered the Serpent Keeper, and where I had taken the rubies. There was no longer any interest or imagination in my dulled brain, and my nerves had suddenly become as insensible as if they were of iron. Every place I passed I merely marked in my mind as a step nearer to my goal. Even at Umvelos I allowed myself no more time than was required to look at the house I had built. I had almost forgotten that night when I lay in the cellar listening to the plans of Laputa. All that I had undertaken during these last days had completely vanished from my memory. Only one thing was clear to me: two men, one tall, the other thin and yellow, slowly approaching Rooirand, and I myself, a mosquito on horseback, pursuing them through the bushes. This picture was before me all the time, as clearly as if I had been sitting in a theatre and watching it, only with the addition that the three beings seemed to be gradually coming closer and closer to each other.

I was not at all excited about my intention. I hardly think I had hoped for much, but something inside me seemed to have grown cold and stiff, and to have killed the youth in me. I told myself that God would condemn all treasure-hunting, and that I would certainly die. That Laputa and Henriques would die, I knew. Probably all three of us would lie dead, our bones would glow white amidst the diamonds, and before long Father John’s necklace would shine alone in the ash heap. Of all this I was already quite certain in my mind, and yet I had to get there. It meant nothing at all, as long as I could meet Laputa and Henriques and make my deal with them clear. That was the only thing in the world that meant anything to me, for that was my fate.

I had no way of determining how long I rode, but at any rate it was past midnight when I reached Umvelos, and before I reached Rooirand the first signs of dawn were visible. I had, as I supposed, ridden east of the Arcolli men who had extended their pursuit towards Majinje. I had ridden against the night, but I did not feel so tired as I might have thought. My horse stumbled now and then, but my own limbs were not troubled by fatigue this time. Of course I was stiff and stiff as wood, but I had been that way when I left Bruderstroom. I felt that I could have continued riding to the other side of the world.

When I reached the edge of the wood I dismounted and untied the horse. I had no reins with me, but left the animal free to eat grass and rest. It was light enough to see the purple-glowing rock. The stars still twinkled faintly, but the moon had long since set, and the eastern horizon was beginning to turn red. I walked along the path leading to the cave, quite different from the fearful creature who had gone there three nights ago. Then I had expected all the horrors; now I had conquered my fear and looked danger straight in the eye. I was a century older than I had been then.

But there was something by the side of the road that made me stop. There was a dead body with its head turned away. I didn’t need to see a face to know who it was. All I saw were two men, and one of them was immortal.

I stopped and turned the dead man over. There was no joy in my heart, no satisfied vengeance or entertained hatred. I had forgotten both Colin’s murder and all the other mischiefs of the Henriques. I looked at the dead man’s face with only a certain curiosity, a face that was swollen and looked horrible in the early morning light.

The man had been strangled. His neck had been cut, as we say in Scotland, and therefore he was on his back, although his face was almost to the ground. He had certainly been dead before midnight. When I examined the body more closely, I noticed that there was blood on his shirt and hands, but no wound was visible. The blood had therefore come from somewhere else. A few steps further on the path was a pistol, both barrels of which were empty.

It wasn’t hard to understand what had happened. At the entrance to the cave, Henriques had tried to shoot Laputa in order to then seize the chain and the treasures in the cave.

Laputa must have been wounded—seriously, judging by the loss of blood—but the Portuguese’s speed and shooting habit had not been able to save him from the other’s iron grip. After two shots, Laputa had caught him and wrung the life out of him as easily as someone else wrings the neck out of a partridge. And then Laputa had gone into the cave.

I saw bloody tracks on the ground and hastened my steps. Laputa had already managed to stay in the cave for several hours and had probably already planned to destroy the treasures, wounded and furious as he was, of course. I guessed he had come to Rooirand to rest in the silence of the sanctuary for a day or two, but now, if Henriques’ bullet had found its target, he would perhaps find an even safer refuge and a much longer rest in the cave. For the third time in my life I hurried through a crevice in the rock between the high, smooth mountain walls and heard from deep within the fettered roar of a stream.

The light in the gorge was very dim, but sufficient to show me that the way into the cave was clear. The secret swing gate was ajar—I entered it and closed it without further thought. It slammed shut with a sound that told me it was firmly shut, and since I did not know the secret of its opening—how was I to get out?

This thought, however, did not worry me so much as the fact that I had no light now. To get up the rocky steps I had to crawl on my knees, and I felt that the steps were wet and slippery. It could not be anything other than Laputa’s blood.

Soon I came to the rock balcony. The sky above me was lightened with the dawn, and below in the depths a babbling stream shimmered. A light and refreshing wind blew from the mountains and penetrated down in gusts through the gorge. I saw that my hands were completely bloody from crawling up the stairs and tried to get the blood off by rubbing my hands on the side of the rock. Without a muscle twitching, I then crossed the boulder that served as a bridge over the abyss, and plunged further into the dark passage that led to the innermost chamber of the cave.

As before, I saw a light ahead of me, but this time there were no flickering torches, only a single point of light. I cautiously groped my way along the walls, although I was not really afraid of anything. When these side walls ended, I knew that I was in a cave, where the point of light could be seen. The moving wall of water shone with a greenish flicker to the left, ghostly, and I noticed that it was illuminated from above, directly from the mouth of the gullet. I took a few steps forward and noticed that the point of light was a lantern.

My eyes had now adjusted to the semi-darkness and I saw what was next to the lantern. Laputa was kneeling in the ashes, exactly where the Serpent Guardian had burned the sacred fire three days earlier. He was kneeling by a simple stone altar, half leaning against it. The lantern was on the ground beside him, and in its light I saw something I was not prepared for. Blood was dripping from his side, dripping into a puddle that had already formed beside the ashes.

I felt no fear, only great sympathy, compassion for the wasted romance, the wasted effort, the fruitless valor.

“Greetings, Inkulu,” I said in Kaffir, as if I were one of his own men.

He turned and rose with remarkable difficulty. Now it was clear that the place was lit from above; it was getting lighter and lighter. The water was like a curtain of diamonds, transparent brilliants at the top, shining emeralds below. There was also a dim light in the farthest recess of the cave. The tall trunk of the Laputa rose, staggering, over the white pile of ash, as a hand pressed against its side.

“Who’s there?” he asked, examining me with eyes that saw nothing.

“A merchant from Umvelos,” I replied.

“The merchant of Umvelos,” he repeated. “God often uses the weak in the world to destroy the strong. A king dies because some trinket merchant stood in his way. What is your name? It is worth remembering.”

I answered him quietly: “David Crawfurd.”

“Crawfurd,” he repeated, “you were the little scoundrel on whom the beautiful ship was wrecked. You took the chain and isolated me from my people, and then, when I was tired, the Portuguese killed me.”

“No,” I cried. “It wasn’t me. You trusted the Portuguese too much, and you put your hands on his throat too late. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

“You warned me and I will reward you. I will make you rich, Crawfurd. You are a merchant and you need money. I am a king and I need a kingdom. But I am dying and after me there will never be a king in Africa.”

The talk of riches gave me a thrill of joy and was what I had expected, but the last words instead gave me a feeling of almost pain. That man had me completely hypnotized me. Seeing him go was like seeing a mighty mountain collapse.

He stretched out and drew in a heavy breath, and in the increased light I could see how broken he was. His cheeks were sunken and his dark eyes were deep in their sockets. He resembled a worn-out old man as he stood there with blood dripping from his side to the ground. He was no longer the king of the Kaffirs, nor a Christian priest, nor any of his former appearances. Death stripped him of all pretense, and the man Laputa rose above and beyond all his former forms, strangely moving, grandiose, and terrifying.

“We met three days ago,” he said, “and you are the last one to see Inkulu.”

“Our first meeting was not at Umvelos,” I remarked. “Do you remember one Sunday, eight years ago, when you preached in the Kirkcaple Free Church? The boy you chased from the beach and threw a stone at your eye was me. Besides, I travelled from England at the same time as you and Henriques, and I was also on the ship that took you from Durban to Delagoa Bay. We have known each other for a long time, Mr. Laputa.”

“So it is the hand of God,” he said solemnly. “Your fate is intertwined with mine, and now you too will die with me.”

What he meant by this talk of death I did not understand. I was not mortally wounded, and I do not think Laputa would have enough strength to kill me even if he wanted to. But I was so indifferent that I hardly paid any attention to his words.

“I will make you rich,” he cried. “Crawfurd, the merchant, will be the richest man in Africa. We are scattered, and our treasures belong to another. He shall have the gold and the jewels—all except the Chain, for it will follow me.”

He staggered into one of the dark recesses of the cave, of which there were several, and I followed him. There were a number of containers, magazines, cartridge boxes, and an old-fashioned Portuguese money chest with brass fittings. Laputa took some keys from his belt and opened the chests with his fingers that trembled with fatigue. I stooped down and saw in the boxes gold coins and small bags containing precious stones.

“Jewels and money,” he cried. “Once intended as the treasure of the king, now they become the working capital of a trinket merchant. No, in the name of the Eternal, no! The place of the Kamasamsa is with the Terrible.” His arm rose and he seized my shoulders fiercely.

“You stole my horse. I am dying for it. If it hadn’t been for you, I would have gone over the Olifants with my army by now. I will kill you, Crawfurd,” and his fingers tightened around my shoulders.

But I stood quite still. “No, you will not
do that, you cannot. You have tried and failed. So did
Henriques, and now he lies dead outside. I am
in God’s care, and I will not die until my time has come.”

Whether he heard me, I do not know, but in any case the scene passed. His hands fell, and the tall creature staggered back into the cavernous hall. He stepped toward the falls, but turned and went into the same passage I had come in through. I heard him stumble down the passage, and then there was a minute of silence.

Suddenly I heard a creaking sound and soon after the thud that occurs when a heavy stone falls into a deep well. My first thought was that Laputa himself had fallen into the abyss, but when I arrived at the spot, he was just coming back to meet me. Then I realized what he had done. With the last remnants of his giant strength, he had thrown down the boulder that had been a bridge into the abyss and thus cut off my way back.

I can truthfully say that I didn’t care at all. Even if I had had a bridge, I couldn’t possibly have gotten through the turnstile. I had completely forgotten what the fear of death was.

Instead, I offered my arm in support of the man who wanted to destroy me.

“I have laid up treasures for you in heaven,” he said. “Your earthly treasures are in those chests, but soon you will be seeking imperishable treasures deep, deep. Down there it is cool and quiet and you will forget hunger and pain.”

He was now near the end. The despair of madness took hold of him again, and he threw himself into the ashes.

“We die together, Crawfurd,” he said. “God has bound our lives together, and one blow will break them. Tell me how my troops fare.”

“Arcoll has taken cannons to Pilvivuor,” I replied. “The troops must either surrender or be destroyed.”

“I have several armies. But no, they are no good. They can only wander here and there, make mistakes and end up being defeated. There is no leader. And I am about to die.”

There was no longer any doubt that death was approaching. I asked him if he wanted water, but he said no. His gaze became vague, I could almost put myself in his place and feel how bitter his longing must be. I was completely indifferent to my own fate, I felt no joy, still less fear. I stood silent, a half-repentant spectator of the collapse.

“I would have taught the world wisdom,” Laputa now spoke in English, and in a strangely loud, unreal voice. “And no king since Charlemagne would have been like me.” Now he changed his speech to Latin. I later discovered that what he said was Charlemagne’s epitaph, modified to suit his own circumstances.

»Sub hoc conditorio», he massed, »situm est Corpus Joannis, Magni et ortodozi Imperatoris, qui Imperium Africanum nobiliter ampliavit, et multos per annos mundum feliciter rexit».

(Under this stone lies John, the great and righteous emperor, who magnificently expanded his African empire and for many years happily ruled the world.)

For a few moments he rested with his head sunk into his arms, his chest heaving with labored breathing.

“There is none who can follow me. My race is condemned, and soon they will forget my name. I alone could have saved them. Now they walk the same path as the others, and John’s warriors will become slaves.”

His throat was tight, he was breathing heavily, and he fell on his face. I thought he was dead. But he tried to get up again. I rushed forward, and with all my strength I managed to help him up.

“Undress, Eros,” he cried. “The long day’s work is done.” With the extraordinary strength of a dying man he stripped off his leopard skin and belt, and stood naked as on the night of his coronation in the cave. From his bag he took a necklace. Then he staggered to the edge of the abyss, before him a wall of greenish water that continued down into the dark depths.

As if bewitched, I saw how, with hands as weak as a child’s, he put the chain around his neck and fastened the lock at the nape of his neck. Then, struggling to the last, he stood erect in the daylight that came from above through the same opening as the water. The light refracted on the great rubies and made them blaze like fire.

Once more he let his voice echo in its former grandeur through the cave, so that it was clearly heard over the roar of the falls. His words were the same as those of the Serpent Guardian three nights before. With his hands raised and the Chain shining around his neck, he cried:

“The snake returns to its birthplace.”

“Come,” he then shouted to me, “John’s heir is returning home.”

And he jumped into the deep. No sound was heard, for so harsh was the roar of the water. The fall must have thrown him down where the stone slab had once been a bridge, and the underground stream then drew him with it to where the Labongo flows fifty leagues in unknown depths. Far from all human struggle, Laputa rests its last sleep, and there too, clinging in a bleached vertebra on some wave-washed cliff edge, are the jewels that once shone in the hair of the Queen of Sheba.

XXI.

I’M CLIMBING THE ROCKS AGAIN.

I remember looking over the edge into the churning abyss in a state of shock and sorrow. I would have liked to sit down and cry—why? I don’t know—I just felt that something terrible had happened. My position was pretty clear. I was shut in here, with no way of escape or food. In a very short time I would starve to death, or perhaps go mad and throw myself into the abyss after Laputa. But right now I didn’t care about any of that; my nerves had been tested too much during the past week. I was impervious to both hope and fear.

For a long time I sat quietly, watching the play of colors in the water wall, wondering where Laputa’s body might have drifted. A shiver ran through me, and I hoped he had not left me alone, for it would soon be dark and I had no light. Gradually I grew tired of the inactivity and began to grope for the money chests. Two of them were full of money, British sovereigns, Krueger sovereigns, Napoleons, Spanish and Portuguese gold coins, and much older money, from the Middle Ages and even further back. In one collection was a Dutch ducat, and in the next a coin from the reign of Antonius Pius. The treasure had been collected over many years and in many different places, the chieftains had added to it from their ancient treasure hoards, and the LTK Union had assisted it with both pure money and precious stones. I opened a few of the small diamond bags and poured the contents into my hand. Most of the stones were small, such as workmen hide in their clothes. The larger ones—some were very large—were regularly somewhat defective. But a couple of bags contained large stones that, even to my untrained eye alone, appeared to be of the purest kind, and I thought, when I saw them, that some new discovery had certainly been made, for they could not possibly have been stolen from any known mine.

Then I sat down again and looked at the water. It had a calming effect on me, dispelling all my restlessness. With complete calm I awaited death, for death was but an empty word to me. My anger and rage had vanished, and as before, the excitement was followed by a complete indifference.

It must have been noon outside, for the sinkhole above the waterfall was brightly lit by the sun, and the gloomy cave also reflected that light. As I sat there I saw a small bird flying rapidly downwards, almost touching the water. It made its way into the cave and flew around in its dim recesses in confusion. I heard its wings beating against the ceiling as it desperately sought a way out. Again it touched the roaring waterfall and drifted back into the cave. For about twenty minutes it flew back and forth, until at last it found the same way it had come in. Like an arrow it soared up the chasm into light and freedom.

When I began to watch the bird I was completely bored, but at last I was in the greatest excitement. The veil fell from my eyes. I felt again a longing for freedom, a love of life for its own sake. It suddenly became clear to me that behind this bleak cave of rock there was a bright, wonderful world, and I began to dig for it now. Yes, I wanted to live. My memory awakened, and I thought of all that had happened in the last few days. I had played a very prominent part in the great drama and had succeeded. Laputa was dead, the treasure was mine, and Arcoll had put down the rebellion. If only I could get free, I would become both famous and rich. Hope had returned, but with it also fear. What if I did not succeed in saving myself now? In that case I would have to die slowly and miserably, shut up in the heart of the mountain, — no matter how my friends sought me. My former indifferent, boring state was now succeeded by a feverish restlessness.

My first concern was to examine the way by which I had entered the cave. I hurried along the passage to the ravine over which a stone slab had formed a bridge. My hunch was correct, for it was gone. Laputa truly resembled Titan, who, at the moment of his death, had managed to roll away a bridge that would certainly have given three other men at least an hour’s work. The ravine was about seven cubits wide, so I dared not leap over it, and the rock wall fell steeply and smoothly with the current for 200 feet. There was no way to get around the ravine. Besides, human hands had helped to make the sanctuary inaccessible.

I did think that sooner or later Arcoll would follow Laputa’s tracks here. He would find bloody tracks outside, but he would never be able to solve the secret of the closed turnstile, and he had not a single Kaffir with him who knew the secret. And yet, if Arcoll ever knew that I was inside, he would certainly clear a way to me, even if he were forced to blow up the whole mountain. I tried to scream, but my voice was drowned in the roar of the waterfall, it was only a weak additional sound in a wild orchestra, and I completely abandoned such attempts.

Gloomily I returned to the cave. Now I would share the fate of all treasure hunters: precious stones would shine around me, but I would not have the slightest food to sustain my life. No, I could not accept such a miserable fate. I was too stubborn and reluctant for that. “Ek sal’n plan maak,” I said like an old Dutchman. I had happily avoided worse dangers, and I had to find a way out. I did not want to starve in the cave, — no, I would rather follow Laputa into the depths after struggling for my manly freedom.

Against my will, I felt refreshed by my stubbornness and sensitivity. What had become of that young, reckless fool who had just sat here moaning? Instead, I was as resilient and ready for adventure as I had been on the day I rode from Blaauwildebeestefontein to Umvelos. I felt like a runner preparing for his last effort. For four days I had lived in an atmosphere of terror and darkness, now daylight, day, and youth beckoned me to a new world.

There were only two ways out of the cave—the way I had come, and the way the water came from. The former was closed, the latter was the most impossible to think of. I had examined every nook and cranny of the cave, and there was no sign of an exit. I sat down and looked again at the wall of water. As I have already mentioned, it fell like a dense curtain, and thus formed one of the walls of the cave. I could not follow its path higher than the level of the roof of the cave; all I could see was that the sun was shining on it. From the edge of the floor of the cave to the water was about three cubits, but it seemed to me that higher up, at the edge of the roof, the distance was reduced to about a foot.

I could not see the walls of the cave clearly, but they seemed smooth, and therefore difficult to climb. Although I supposed that I could contrive to reach the height of the roof, the question remained, how could I get beyond the edge of the cliff? From my many climbs as a boy I knew how formidable such an obstacle was.

As I sat and watched, however, I noticed something I had not noticed before. On the left hand, the water was rushing down as if from a sluice to the extreme edge of the cave, so that the water almost washed the floor. But on the right hand, the force of the fall was evidently not so great, and a little way below the roof of the cave I could see the ledge of rock that broke the fierceness of the water flow. The ledge was indeed under water, but very little, for the water broke into a multicolored spray there. If one could get to that ledge and gain a foothold without being carried away by the water, then there was a chance, at least a glimmer of a chance, that something might be done on the mountain wall above the cave. Not that I had any idea of ​​the quality of the wall, but according to my guess it must have been smooth as a polished board of wood.

My thoughts ended with my deciding to try climbing up the right-hand cave wall to the very edge of the waterfall. But first I went around the inner parts of the cave to find something useful. In one corner there was a kind of cupboard containing a few stone and metal containers. There were also the few belongings of the Serpent Guardian, and some locked chests that I could not open. There were also treasure chests, but they contained nothing but treasures, gold, and precious stones, which were of no use to me at the moment. I also found some small items—a spear, some ropes, and an axe. I took that in case I needed to break something.

But then, behind a chest, my hand touched something that made me feel very hot. It was a rope, old, but perfectly reliable, and about forty or fifty feet long. I pulled it out and untied the knots. It might be of incalculable use to me if I could manage to get to the roof level.

I began the climb barefoot. It was very difficult at first. There was no place to put my foot or hand except at the very edge of the depth. It is possible that the water during the floods has beaten into the cave, so that the inside has been smoothed, but the outside has retained its natural roughness. At one point I got my other hand into a tiny crack, while I was scraping a hole with an axe to get my right foot in. But about twelve feet above the ground I came across an iron peg, and then several more.

To this day I have not succeeded in getting to the point where those pegs were in the rock. They were square and certainly centuries old. They could not have been driven there for climbing, for those who have been in the cave have certainly never attempted to get out this way. Perhaps they had been used in times past to fasten some kind of curtain in religious ceremonies. They were rusty and worn, and one of them fell out of my hand when I took hold of it, but in any case they greatly facilitated my climbing.

I had climbed slowly, stubbornly, and cautiously, with my whole attention fixed on my task, and before I knew it my head was stuck right in the roof of the cave. It was now necessary to crawl closer to the falls, but this task seemed impossible. I could see no other hold than two wretched pegs, and the joint between the wall and the roof was too smooth to cling to. Just at the roof—perhaps two feet away—I saw the ledge of rock I had noticed earlier. The water broke for it, the water being no more than an inch above the point. If I could only get a foothold on it, I should be sure to stand, and reach the wall of the chasm above the cave.

But how to get there? Delay was dangerous, for my poor supports might give way at any moment. In any case, I had the rope as a moral support, and so I threw it to a peg quite close to the ceiling, which, moreover, was bent slightly upwards so that it almost formed a hook. One end of the rope was around my waist, the other loose in my hand, so that I could loosen it as I moved. Moral support is worth something in any case. With incredible caution, I then crawled like a fly along the wall, my fingers sometimes catching on some slight bump, sometimes groping for a fastener in a crack that barely left room for my claws. The whole thing was the greatest madness, but it worked. The rope and the proximity of the ceiling increased my confidence and balance.

A couple of yards from the water, towards the cave, the pegs ran out. The edge of the cliff was almost visible below me, and I had no choice but to jump. I unhooked the rope, tightened the loose end around me, and—jumped.

My jump was like throwing myself against a line of spears. The powerful mass of water threw me back and down, but as I fell I caught hold of the tip of the cliff with both hands. And there I hung, the water pulling my legs out with force. The water dripping on my head tormented me, but I kept my composure and managed to get my head on the other side of the waterfall, so that I could breathe again.

To leap from this vertical, hanging position to the edge of the cliff, with the torrent of water dragging me in the other direction, was the greatest effort I could think of. It had to be done with the utmost care, for a moment’s carelessness might plunge me into the abyss. If I allowed my arms or legs to come an inch nearer that terrible, seething wall, my hands would be torn from their support. I gradually dragged my legs as far as I could from the drop, close to the ledge, and then I had to try to clamber up.

It was impossible. If I thrust my feet onto the rock, the rest of my body would move in the same proportion too close to the water, and that would be disastrous. This became clear to me in the blink of an eye as my wrist cracked with tension. If instead I had a wall behind me, I could reach back with one hand and get support. The wall was there, I knew, but how close it was, I did not know. The incessant noise of the fall confused and intoxicated me.

The blink was terrible, but there was nothing else to complain about. If the wall were too far from me I would fall, I knew that, for I was forced to put all my weight on my hand as it reached the grip. Delay would have been of no avail, and with silent prayers I stretched my right hand back, while my left held convulsively on the edge of the cliff.

The wall was—it was only a foot or two away from me. With a strong effort I gained a foothold on the ledge and turned so that I had both hands against the opposite rock wall. There I was now, across the roaring mass of water, and I saw the cave below in the darkness and the axe I had thrown away beside a dark stain that was Laputa’s blood.

I was dizzy, and I feared I should fall if I did not proceed at once. The rock face was not quite perpendicular, but rose at an angle of about sixty degrees. It was very rough, but there was no ledge in sight to offer a foothold. Once more I took hold of the rope, and managed to throw a loop over a point of rock, which at best might support me if I began to slide downwards. Then I bravely started upwards with my hands, dragging myself along a small ledge until I was at right angles to the fall. Here the water was fortunately shallower and less violent, and with my feet half covered with foam I ducked into a nook. At last I had reached the rock above the cave. By the most wonderful of fortunes I had succeeded in making one of the most difficult attempts at mountain climbing. I had come from the cave to the cliff above it.

My difficulties were not over, however, for I found the climb up the mountain wall anything but easy. The roar of the fall intoxicated me, the splash of water made the rock slippery, and the face of the mountain became steeper the further I went. At one prominent ledge my shoulders were almost submerged again. But I climbed on stoutly, with terror keeping watch over my soul, and hope shining only palely behind it. I did not trust my body at all, for I knew that fatigue might return at any moment. The fever caused by three days of excitement and danger is hardly cured by a single night’s rest.

By this time I was high enough to see that the river branched off into its subterranean channel about fifty feet above me, and perhaps ten feet away from where I stood. Above the hollow where the stream burst forth was a slope of mixed slate and gravel. It looked precarious, but that was where I now moved, for my rock face was becoming more and more impossible.

I set off, but from the first steps I took the whole place began to slide. A boulder started to move and sank with a deafening roar into the depths. I threw myself forward, desperately clinging to every conceivable piece of rolling earth, and only when I was at the very edge did I get a firm grip on a boulder that stopped me from sliding downwards. All this aroused a terrible fear in me, but it was still that stubborn, reluctant fear that had possessed me since I left Brudestroom, when I thought that the treasure might be lost to me. I could not bear the thought of being destroyed now that I had come this far.

After this shocking event, I continued my journey, not step by step, but inch by inch. My position was now almost more precarious and dizzy than when I was hanging in a crevice at the water’s edge, for I had now no reliable support for hand or foot. It seemed to me as if weeks had passed before I had finally managed to make the journey in question out of the subterranean chasm.

I did not dare to look down at all, but fixed my gaze on the bank in front of me, in order to find some possible firm ground. Once I reached a large juniper bush, and it helped me a good distance up. A moment later, however, I again stepped on a layer of cobblestones, which rolled down with me to the right, and through this I lost everything I had gained. My whole being melted into the dominant hope that I would get up from this misery and everything that goes with it.

And then, not quite suddenly as in novels, but after the hardest work and the faintest hope, I finally stood on a few serious protruding ledges of rock. Three steps more from that, and then I was finally on the plateau. I started to run, but I couldn’t go far, my strength failed me. I looked back and saw the deep black abyss — from which I had climbed! It hadn’t looked quite so dark down there, but from up here in the bright sunlight the abyss, pitch-black with its gaps, seemed to lead straight to the horn. For the first and only time in my life I began to feel dizzy. The fear of falling back into the abyss was fought by an insane desire to throw myself down there, so that I felt outright pain, but I managed to drag myself a few steps forward in the soft moss and then fell to the ground on my stomach.

When I raised my head again, I was surprised to find that it was early morning. The dew was still on the grass and the sun was not high. I had thought that many hours had passed since I had arrived at the cave, my stay there, and my laborious escape from it, but in reality I could not have stayed more than two hours. It was still morning, fresh, sweet, somehow only on the high plateau. There was a flat valley, growing with fragrant grass and ferns, there I could see the stream winding glisteningly, and there below was the lake, still shadowed by the surrounding mountain peaks.

What a wonderful country, a country where one would want to build and live, where one would want to see comfortable homes, happy children and fruitful orchards. And suddenly it dawned on me that now, only now, had I been saved from the hands of the savages.

The burden of the past days fell from my shoulders. I was young again, strong and happy. Behind me was the black night and its dark secrets, before me was my own country, for this fell lake and those ferns might as well have belonged to Scotland. My blood sang with joy as I saw the beauty of the morning before me. I remembered again that I had not yet reached my twenty years of age.

My first task was to kneel in the fresh grass and thank the Creator, who had truly shown me “his goodness in the land of the living.”

After a while I went to the edge of the plateau. Down there, where the road emerged from the woods, lay Henriques’ body on the sand, and two men who had just dismounted stood looking at it with thoughtful expressions. I cried out loudly, for I knew the men. They were Aitken and Schoolmaster Wardlaw.

XXII.

A GREAT DANGER THAT WE LUCKILY AVOIDED.

I must now pick up a few threads which I have left unfinished. As I have said, it has not been my intention to write a history of the great rebellion. Men better than I have done that, those who led the whole, and who had both theoretical and practical knowledge—I was only an inexperienced boy, whom fate had favored so that he could follow the matter from its very beginning. If I could, I would gladly compose an epic poem about the Plain and the Mountains, singing how the plain met the mountains fully awake, how intelligence triumphed over numbers, and how the great cannons immediately began to sound wherever the native troops tried to break through. But I think that would be a poem without heroes. After Laputa there was no leader. The guerrilla war continued for months, and then there were reprisals, when one chief after another was forced to surrender and brought to justice. Then came a general amnesty and a new leaf was turned. The whites of Africa breathed freely again and had time to make some serious observations.

In fact, I am very glad that it is not my duty to write any history. Romance died with the “Heir of John” and the crusade turned into an everyday rebellion. Laputa would have handled everything so completely differently if he had lived: I can imagine how ingenious and unimaginable plans he tried to implement and how he would have led the battles from the valleys and thickets to the plateaus to the villages and towns. Had Inkulu lived, we might have had an unequal battle, but with Inkulu dead, the scales tipped heavily in our favor. I leave the description of the marches and warfare to others and hasten to fill in the gaps in the history of my own destinies.

Arcoll had received my message from Umvelos with Colin, or rather the note was received by Wardlaw and forwarded to the mountain fort where Arcoll had gone. Soon afterwards he received Henriques’ message, brought by one of his Shangaani. It must have been sent before the Portuguese came to Rooirand, which shows that he had hidden his men near the shop, and that it was fortunate that I escaped from Umvelos. If Henriques’ message had come alone, Arcoll would certainly have thought it a trap, but its agreement with my information astonished and impressed him. He began to understand the Portuguese’s treachery, but as for the message, he had no desire to act on it, as it was contrary to his own intentions. He knew that Laputa would sooner or later make for the Mountains, and he had thought it wiser to wait for the enemy there. Of course, there was also the question of my life. There was every reason to suspect that I was in the greatest danger, and Arcoll felt a kind of responsibility for my fate. But with the few men he had at his disposal at that time, he could not possibly hope to defeat the whole Kaffir army, but there was a chance of saving me by a daring stratagem. Henriques had told of the oath, and said that Laputa would ride in the centre of his forces. Now a small but advantageously placed force near Dupree Drift might cause a ruckus among the Kaffir forces, and under the cover of rifle fire I could swim across the river and join my friends. And trusting in the durability of the oath, these skilled horsemen could easily escape without being captured. For this purpose Arcoll gathered his volunteers and sent one of his Kaffirs to inform me of what was happening. He himself took the lead in the enterprise, and the reader already knows how it was accomplished, but notwithstanding the confusion created in Laputa’s forces, which resulted in the rearguard being forced to leave by the road leading to the north bank of Letaba, no trace of me could be found. Arcoll explored the banks of the river and came to the place where the old Serpent Guardian lay dead. He could not believe anything but that I had been killed before the march began, and that the Kaffir, who could have given correct information, had gone up the river with the disorganized army. Therefore Arcoll and his men rode back to the mountains as quickly as possible over the Main Drift and reached Bruderstroom before Laputa had managed to cross the high road.

Arcoll’s next maneuver was also decided on the basis of my communications through Colin, namely what I had said about Inanda Kraal. As I remembered Beyers’ appearance, he also decided to do the same. He did not hope to capture Laputa, but he believed that he could swamp the main forces of the Kaffirs and therefore he placed cannons on the ridges around the kraal. He had already called for artillery and the first of the dispatches came to Bruderstroom about the time that Machud’s men captured me in the cave of the mountain. The oath and the cleansing festivities caused Laputa to not take enough care of the lookout, and the result was that the artillery was quietly transported to the northwestern ridge. Just then Beyers had chosen and actually lived in charge of the company one of Beyers’ former subordinates. The work took all day while Laputa traveled most of the time with me to Machud. Then came the evening when I arrived at the camp with the news. Arcoll, who knew best how indispensable Laputa was to the success of the rebellion, immediately decided to put everything else to rest and devoted himself entirely to the task of isolating the leader of the blacks from his ranks. How this was accomplished and what became of Laputa, the reader already knows.

When I had climbed down from the rocks, Aitken and Wardlaw took me straight to Blaauwildebeestefontein. I looked as if I had just recovered from a long illness, I was well, but weak and childish, and it was not easy for me to ride behind Aitken to Umvelos on horseback. Here we met a police messenger who had just caught a kimo, as it was walking alone along the roadside. My wise animal, as soon as I had left it alone at the mouth of the cave, had set off to press back the same way it had come. Aitken left us at Umvelos, and with Wardlaw I rode up the Little Labongo Valley the next day, and by afternoon I had reached my old home. The business was left to its own devices, for Japp had travelled to Pietersdorp a couple of days before, but Zeeta was at home, washing the floor, as if there had never been any question of rebellion. I slept there for the night and the next morning I was so refreshed that I could go straight away to meet Arcolli. I had a lot to talk to him about, especially about the treasure in the cave.

The road to Bruderstroom was easy, over the meadows of the plateau. The commanding officers of the farmers had now been recalled, but the ashes of their campfires still glowed pale grey among the ferns. I met a police patrol, who took me to a place on the high Letaba, to the left of the camp, where we found Arcolli, who was enjoying his late breakfast. I had decided to trust him with everything, and so I told him exactly what had happened during the night. He scolded me for my careless riding, but became gentler before I had finished my story.

As I told it, everything was so vivid before me that I trembled as I thought of the cave with the daylight refracted against its watery wall, and of Laputa at the moment of her death. Arcoll sat for a long time in silence.

“So he is dead,” he said at last, almost in a whisper. “Yes, he was a king and died a king. Now our task is easy, for there is not a single one of his race left in all Africa.”

Then I told him about the treasure.

“It’s yours, Davie,” he said, “and we must see that you get it. This war will last a long time, but if you live through it, you will be a rich man.”

But in the meantime I asked: “But suppose the Kaffirs would have the nerve to go into the cave and build a new bridge over the chasm? From what I know, they could be busy with that right now.”

“I’ll put the guards there,” Arcoll exclaimed, jumping up. “This may not be a military mission, but you have saved this country, Davie, and it is not my fault that you should not be rewarded.”

Now I am coming to visit Arcolli with me at Inanda Kraal. I need not really say anything about it, for Mr. Upton has devoted two whole chapters to the subject. He makes a couple of mistakes, for he spells my name with an o, and he says, moreover, that we left camp on our dangerous expedition “faces white and silent as crusaders.” This is not true, for, in the first place, no one saw us go to make any judgment about our appearance, and besides, we were smoking our cigarettes and feeling perfectly calm. The matter was made a great deal of noise at home, and the newspapers generally demanded that we should be given the Victoria Cross, but in fact the danger was not so terrible, and in no way comparable to the dangers to which I had been exposed during the previous week.

I can at least say this much to my credit, that I took the initiative in the attempt. The army in the kraal was actually in our hands at this time: as Laputa had not returned, they had not been able to make any plans. The original intention had been that the army would march towards Olifants the very next day, and consequently the troops were very small in their food supplies. Besides, there was a quarrel and strife between Umboon and a couple of other chiefs from the north, and I really believe that if we had kept them shut up in the kraal for a week they would have made an end of each other with their party quarrels. In any case, the troops would soon have become wild and tried to attack out of both the northern and southern passes. Then we would have had two choices: either to let the guns ring, which would have meant mass slaughter, or to let them go and do their dirty work somewhere else. Arcoll was a humane man without the slightest desire to kill, and besides, he was a statesman and as such he had his own ideas about the best of the country after the war. But his absolute duty was to isolate the Laputa army and prevent it from joining up with the forces gathered in the south at any cost.

Under these circumstances I suggested to him that we should do as Rhodes had once done at Matoppos: go to them and talk. I thought that Laputa’s influence over his troops was now considerably weakened, and the glow of the ceremonies in the cave had already half died out. Their stores were small and they had no leader. The black soldier has never been generally very passionate, and the chiefs should already be quite disposed to negotiate. Blood had not yet been shed, but if this were to happen, bloodlust would certainly seize them. We had better seize the opportunity while the Kaffirs were still confused and undecided.

Arcoll arranged everything. He sent messages to the chiefs, inviting them to a conference, and we soon received a reply that an indaba would be called for noon the following day. That same evening we heard that Umboonin, with about twenty men, had succeeded in getting through our guerrilla lines and escaping by the road leading south. This was only to our advantage, as the approaching indaba was thus relieved of one of the most quarrelsome of the chiefs.

The Indaba was not so easily reached. Arcoll and I left our party in a dry riverbed, and then walked to the kraal by the same road as I had left it. It was a bright and hot winter day, and, as much as I could smell, I could not believe in any danger. I think it is in this state of mind that most feats are accomplished: the person in question is quite insensible to fear, and his mind is filled with some thought which distracts all others. The first guards received us, indeed, quite rudely, and closed their ranks behind us, as they had done when I came to the camp with Machudi’s men. It was then a little dismal to have to pass through a few green glades, feeling that thousands of eyes were fixed on us. Then we came to a merulap tree opposite the tents, and there we found the chiefs sitting in a circle with loaded rifles on their knees.

We were armed with pistols, and Arcolli’s first task was to hand them to one of the Indunos.

“We come to offer peace,” he said. “We leave our lives in your hands.”

Then the indaba began with a speech by Arcolli. He spoke well; it was the best speech I ever heard. He asked them to tell what wrongs they had suffered; he described to them the power of the white man, and promised that all wrongs would be redressed if they would only speak honestly and with peaceful intentions; he touched upon their old legends and songs, and demanded for the King of England the power which their former sovereign had had. The speech was impressive, and yet I found that it failed to convince them. They listened with a murmur, though attentively, and after the speech there was a fatal silence.

Arcoll turned to me. “For God’s sake, Davie,” he said, “tell them about Laputa. That’s the only way we’ll survive.”

I had never tried to give a speech before, and although I had learned their language, I did not know it nearly as well as Arcoll. But knowing how much was at stake, I did my best.

I began by saying that Inkulu had been my friend, and that he had saved my life in Umvelos before the rebellion began. As soon as I mentioned his name, I saw their eyes begin to shine, and before I had finished they were listening with bated breath.

I told about Henriques and his treachery. I spoke openly and honestly about everything that had happened at Dupree Drift, and I made no secret of my part.

“I fought for my life,” I said. “Any real man among you would have done the same.”

Then I described to them my last ride, and the vision I had seen at the foot of Rooirand. I tried to give them a picture of Henriques lying dead with his neck bent, and of Inkulus, mortally wounded, crawling in the cave.

In a moment of high excitement, every man becomes an orator. I discovered in myself gifts of which I had never dreamed. Arcoll told me afterwards that I was ecstatic, and it is certain that I had found the key to the hearts of the chiefs. I described to them the last scene in the cave, when Laputa had thrown the stone bridge down into the abyss and then uttered his last words: that he was the last king of Africa and that with him the rebellion would be crushed. Then I described to them his death leap into the river, and then deep sighs could be heard from the rows of people sitting around.

“You see me here,” I said, “only by the grace of God. I found a way out of the cave through the falls and rocks, a way that no one before me has trodden, nor will trodden after me. Your king is dead. He was a great king, I who stand here before you can testify, and you will never see his equal. His last words were that the rebellion is now at an end. Remember these words, my brothers. We have come here to bring not war but peace, to offer you forgiveness and reparation for the wrongs you have suffered. If you wish to continue the fight, you will do so knowing that you will lose, and against the expressed will of your king. I have come here in spite of the imminent danger to announce his command to you. His spirit will surely approve of what I do. Think carefully before you defy the Serpent’s command and bring upon yourselves a terrible vengeance.”

I felt that we had won. The chiefs conferred together in silence, often glancing at me with wondering eyes. Finally, the most senior of them came forward and laid his rifle at my feet.

“We will believe the brave man’s words,” he said. “We will fulfill the Serpent’s wishes.”

Arcoll now took command. He made a complete disarmament, and had the men of the different companies march in order from Inanda Kraal to their appointed places on the plateau, where our troops received their arms, and were supplied with provisions. In so far as the reader desires a more detailed account of these events, I refer him to Mr. Upton’s work. It took us several days to do all this, and was a considerable trouble, but in about a week the whole Laputa army was distributed in different places, unarmed, well guarded, and awaiting permission to return to their native lands.

After this Arcoll went south to the war which was to be carried on on the Swazi and Zulu borders for several months, while he entrusted the work of settlement to me and Aitken. The troops at our disposal were insufficient, and if the esteem in which we were held had not been so great, and the memory of Laputa so vivid, there might have been frequent annoyances. Our work was long, for the greater part of the troops were from the north, and it was difficult to procure provisions for the troops in winter, when the greatest interests of the country were to be guarded in the south, where the war was raging. But I for my part am grateful for the demands made upon me, for during these times I developed from a thoughtless boy into a sensible man. I learned to understand the duty and duties of the white man. He must always bear responsibility, he must not in the least regard his life or property, and he must be content with the reward which is involved in the performance of the work itself. That is the difference between the white man and the black man; the sense of responsibility, the ability to lead, and as long as we know these principles and live by them, we will rule, not only in Africa but wherever there is a black race, a race that lives only for the day and thinks only of its physical needs. My work also made me understand the natives and share their fate. I learned a lot about the injustices that prevail among them. Before we had got the parts of the Laputa army settled peacefully in their kraals, provided with enough food to get them through the spring, we, Aitken and I, had indeed acquired healthier political views than are common in the cities, where people sit in offices and watch life through piles of newspapers and documents.

XXIII.

UNCLE’S GIFT WILL EXPAND MANY TIMES.

We succeeded in getting at the treasure by blowing up the turnstile. We had some difficulty in finding the right spot in the rock face, but the secret of opening the gate defied the most careful investigation. We therefore resorted to dynamite, after which the stone steps soon appeared and we were able to follow them to the stone balcony. Planks were laid across the chasm, and Arcolli and I were the first to cross. The cave was as I had left it. The bloodstains on the floor had darkened, but the ashes of the sacred fire still remained to remind me of the drama in which I had played such a large part. As I looked up the road I had climbed in my escape, the mere thought made me dizzy, and I know that all the gold in the world would not induce me to undertake such a venture again. As for Arcolli, he could not understand how I had been able to accomplish that deed.

“No one but a madman would do such a thing,” he said, squinting at the green eddy. “Yes, Davie, I think you were about as mad as you could be for four days. Very fortunate, by the way, because your madness saved the country.”

With considerable difficulty we carried the treasure to the road and on to Pietersdorp, under a strong guard. The authorities had much to do to put everything in order after the war, and it was several weeks before our case was settled. At first things seemed to go badly for me. The Attorney General insisted that the whole treasure should be considered as spoils of war, because it was — according to his statement — the enemy’s war fund. I do not know how much legality there was in this argument, but my lawyers said it was poorly founded. Public opinion was again entirely on my side — I had become a kind of hero in the eyes of the people by my appearance during the war, and especially at Inanda Kraal, and the authorities saw fit to think more in my favor. Arcolli’s influence was also great, and the account which he privately left with some members of the government made them more favorable to me. The end result was that it was decided to treat the cave treasure as an ordinary discovery, half of which would go to the finder and half to the state.

All was thus in order with regard to the gold found, but there was another difficulty with regard to the diamonds: a large part of them had undoubtedly been stolen from the mines by the workmen, and the companies were demanding them back as stolen goods. I was advised not to object to this, and then a special meeting was called, with the experts of the various mining companies present, to sort out all the stones. This, however, proved easier said than done, for the experts quarrelled terribly among themselves. Finally they came to a sort of agreement, the division was made, after which the mining companies showed me the kindness of handing over to me a considerable sum in gratitude for what I had done to recover their property. My share of the gold, that sum, and the ownerless diamonds which remained to me, formed a handsome fortune. I sold all the precious stones to De Beers, for if I had put them on the market they would have destabilised the price of diamonds. When I finally got around to checking my accounts, I found myself the owner of more than a quarter of a million pounds.

Wealth did not dazzle me, it rather put me in a festive mood. I had no desire to squander the smallest part of it on foolish whims. I had acquired my fortune in a fabulous way, it had been bought with blood that could easily have been my own. Now I wanted to be left alone to think for myself, for my life had been full of shocking situations of late, and one can get enough of activity as well as of laziness. Above all, I wanted to travel home. The residents gave me a magnificent farewell party, songs were sung, and cheerful comrades squeezed my hand until their fingers were straining. The newspapers were very busy about me, they arranged great gala dinners, during which speeches were made to me. But I myself could not enjoy all this honor as I should have, for I felt as if I had been removed from everything to which I was attached.

It was not until I was on the train approaching Cape Town that I regained my balance. The burden of the past fell as suddenly as it had on the morning I had climbed out of the cave. My whole life was still before me, and yet I had already had such a journey. I thought of my return to my country, of my first glimpse of the dark shores of Fife, of my visit to Kirkcaple, and of seeing my mother again. I was a rich man now, free to choose any career I wanted, and my mother would never again be in want. My money was very dear to me, for while others acquired their wealth by their gifts or their industry, I had acquired my fortune in my own way, in a rough way, for I had gambled with it—my life as a stake. As I sat alone in the compartment, I could not help but weep with joy and gratitude, and the tears did me good, for after them I was myself again.

My last memory of Africa was Tam Dyke. I caught sight of him on a street in Cape Town and ran after him. When I grabbed his shoulder, he stared at me like a ghost.

“Is it really you, Davie,” he cried. “I never thought I’d see you again, though I can’t open a newspaper without seeing something about you. Why didn’t you send for me? Here I’ve been roaring on the seas while you’ve become famous. And you must be a millionaire, too, aren’t you?”

I asked Tami to have dinner with me at the hotel and later, as we sat and smoked on the restaurant balcony, watching the winged ants work on the aloe bushes, I told her my whole story, as it is presented here.

“Davie, old chap,” he said at last, “you have made the most of your time. You have scarcely been away from home for half a year when you return with a fortune. What are you going to do now?”

I said that my original intention was to continue my studies at the University of Edinburgh. Tam burst out laughing.

“That’s a bit too tame, Davie! I should have the money in your position, for I have a much greater imagination. But you were always prose personified before.”

“Perhaps so,” I said, “but I am certain of one thing. If it were not prose personified, I would not be sitting here tonight.”

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