Rensselaer Republican, Volume 22, Number 18, Rensselaer, Jasper County, 2 January 1890 — ALLAN QUATERMAIN. [ARTICLE]

ALLAN QUATERMAIN.

A Record of Remarkable Adventures and Discoveries. BY H. RIDER HAGGARD. CHAPTER Vlll.— Continued. «Oh. don't talk of it!” she said, beginning to cry hysterically; “I shall never forget his face as he went turning round and round, never—l can see it now.” * » I advised her to go to bed and get some sleep, which she did, and awoke in the morning quite recovered, so far as her strength was concerned; It struck me as an an odd thing that a girl that could find the nerve to shoot a huge black ruffian rushing to kill her with a spear should have been so affected at the thought of it afterward; but it is, after all, characteristic of the sex. Poor Flossie! J fear that her nerves will not get over that night in the Masai camp for many a long year. Z She told me afterward that it was the suspense that was so awful, having to sit there hour after hour through the livelong night utterly ignorant as to whether or no any attempt was to be made to rescue her. She said that on the . whole she did net expect it, knowing how few there were of us, and how many of the Masai—who, by the way, came continually to stare at her. most of them never having seen a white person before, and handled her arms and hair with their filthy paws. She said also that she had made up her mind that if she saw no signs of succor by the time the first rays of the rising sun reached the kraal, she would kill herself with the pistol, for the nurse had heard the Lygonani say that they were to be tortured to death as soon as the sun was up if one of the white men did not come in their place. It was an awful resolution to have to take, but site meant to act on it. and I have little doubt but what she would have done so. Although she was at an age when in England girls are in the school-room and come down to dessert, this “daughter of the wilderness” had more courage, discretion, and jjower of mind than many a woman of mature age nurtured in idleness and luxury, with minds carefully drilled and educated out of , any originality or selfresource that nature may have endowed them with. When breakfast was over we all turned in and had a good sleep, only getting up in time for dinner; after which meal we once more adjourned, together with all the available population—men, women, youths, and girls—to the scene of the morning’s slaughter, our object being to bury our own dead and get rid of the Masai by flinging them into the Tana River, which ran within fifty yards of the kraal. On reaching the spot we disturbed thousands upon thousands of vultures and a sort of brown bush eagle, which had been flocking to the feast from miles and miles away. ■Often have I watched these great and repulsive birds, and marveled at the extraordinary speed with which they arrive on a scene of slaughter. A buck falls to your rifle, and withing a minute high in the blue ether appears a Speck that gradually grows into a vulture, then another, and another. I have heard many theories advanced to account for the wonderful power of perception nature has {given these birds. My own, founded on a good deal of observation, is that the vultures, gifted as they are with powers ■of sight greater than those given by the most powerful glass, quarter out the heavens among themselves, and hanging in mid-air at a vast height—qirdbably from two to three miles above the earth—keep watch, each of them, over an enoromus stretch of country. Presently one of them spies food, and instantly begins to sink toward it. Thereon his next neighbor in the airy heights sailing leisurely through the blue gulf, at a distance perhaps of some miles, follows his ex-’ ample, knowing that food has been siguted. Down he goes and all the vultures within sight of him follow after, and so do all those in sight of them. In this way the vultures for twenty miles round can be summoned to the feast in a few minutes. We buried our dead in solemn silence, Good being selected to read the Burial Service over them (in the absence of Mr. Mackenzie, confined to bed), as he was generally allowed to possess the best voice and most impressive manner. It was melancholy in the extreme, but. as Good said, it might have been worse, for we might have had “to bury ourselves.” I pointed out that this would have been a difficult feat, but I knew what he meant. Next we set to work to load an oxwagon which bad been brought round from the Mission, with the dead bodies of the Masai, having first collected the spears, shields, and other arms. We loaded the wagon five times, about fifty bodies to the load, and emptied it into the Tana. From this it was evident that very few of the Masai could have escaped^The crocodiles must have been well fed that night. One of the last bodies we picked up was that of the sentry at the upper end. I asked Good how he managed to kill him, and he told me that he had crept up much as Umslopogaas had done, and stabbed with his sword. He groaned a good deal, but fortunately nobody beard him. As Good said, it was a horrible thing to have to do, and most unpleasantly like cold-blooded murder. And so with the last body that floated away do vn the current of the Tana ended the incident of our attack on the Maw camp. The spears and shields and other acme we took up to the Mission, where they filled an out-house. One incident, however, I must not for-

get to mention. As we were returning from performing the obsequies of our Masai friends we passed the hollow tree where Alphonse had secreted himself in the morning. It so happened that the little man himself was with us assisting in our unpleasant task with a far better will than he had shown where live Masai were concerned. In-, deed, for each body that he handled he found an appropriate sarcasm. Alphonse throwing dead Masai into the Tana was a very different creature from Alphohse flying for dear life from the spear of live Masai. He was quite merry and gay, was this volatile child of France; he clapped his hands and snatches of French songs as the grim dead warrior went • ‘splash” into the running waters to carry a message of death and defiance to their kindred a hundred miles below. short, thinking that he wanted taking down a peg, I suggested holding a court-martial on him for his conduct in the morning. Accordingly we brought him to the tree where he had hidden, and proceeded to sit in .judgment on him Sir Henry explaining to him, in the very bpst French the un-heard-of cowardice and enormity of his conduct, more especially in letting the oiled rag out of his mouth, whereby he nearly aroused the Masai camp with teeth-chattering and brought about the failure of our plans; ending up with a request for an explanation. But if we expected to find Alphonse at a loss and put him to open shame, we were destined to be disappointed. He bowed and scraped and smiledrand acknowledged that his conduct might at first blush appear strange, but really it was not, inasmuch as his teeth were chattering not from fear—oh, dear, no! oh, certainly not! he marveled how the “messieurs” could think of such a thing—but from the chill air of the morning. As for the rag, if monsieur could have but tasted its evil flavor, being compounded indeed of a mixture of stale paraffine oil, grease, and gunpowder, monsieur himself would have spat it out. But he did nothing of the sort; he determined to keep it there till, alas! his stomach “revolted,” and the rag Was rejected in an access of involuntary sickness. “And what have you to say about getting into the hollow tree?” asked Sir Henry, keeping his countenance with difficulty. “But, monsieur, the explanation is easy; oh, most easy! It was thus: I stood there by the kraal wall, and the little gray monsieur hit me in the stomach so that my rifle exploded, and the battle began. I watched whilst recovering myself from monsieur’s cruel blow; then, messieurs, I felt the heroic blood of my grandfather boil up in my veins. The sight made me mad. 1 ground my teeth! Eire flashed from my eyes! I shouted “En avant!” and longed to slay. Before my eyes there rose a vision of my heroic grandfather! In short, I was mad! I was a warrior indeed! But then in my heart I heard a small voice: ‘Alphonse, 1 said the voice, restrain thyself, Alphonse! Give not way to this evil passion! These men, though black, are brothers! And thou wouldst slay them? Cruel Alphonse. 1 The voice was right. I knew it; I was about to perpetrate the most horrible cruelties; to wound! to massacre! to tear limb from limb! And how restrain myself? I looked round; I saw the tree, I perceived the hole. ‘Entomb myself,’said the voice, ‘and hold on tight! Thou wilt thus overcome temptation by main force! 1 It was bitter, just when the blood of my heroic grandfather boiled most fiercely; but I obeyed! I dragged my unwilling feet along; I entombed myself! Through the hole I watched the battle! I shouted curses afid defiance on the foe! I noted them full with satisfaction! Why not? I had not robbed them of their lives. Their gore was not upon my head. The blood of my heroic— 11 “Oh, get along with you, you little cur!” broke out Sir Henry, with a shout of laughter, and giving Alphonse a good kick which sent him flying off with a rueful face. In the evening I had an interview with Mr. Mackenzie, who was suffering a good deal from his wounds, which Good, who was a skillful though unqualified doctor, was treating him for. He told me that this occurence had taught him a lesson, and that if he recovered safety, he meant to hand over the Mission to a younger man, who was already on his road to join him in his work, and return to England. “You see, Quatermain,” he said, “I made up my mind to this, this very morning, when we were creeping down upon those benighted savages. If we live through this and rescue Flossie alive, I said to myself, ‘I will go home to England; I have had enough of savages. 1 Well, I did not think that we should live through it at the time; but thanks be to God and you four, we have lived through it, and I mean to stiok to my resolution, lest a worse thing befall us. Another such time would kill my poor wife. And besides, Quatermain, between you and me, I am well off; it is thirty thousand pounds I am worth to-day, and every farthing of it made by honest trade and savings in the bank at Zanzibar, for living here costs me next to nothing. So though it will be hard- to leave this place, which I have made to blossom like a rose in the wilderness, and harder still to leave the people I have taught, I shall go.” “I congratulate you on your decision,” answered I, “for two reasons. The first is, that you owe a duty to your wife and daughter, and more especially to the latter, who should receive some education and mix with girls of her own race, otherwise ohe will grow np wild, shunning her kind. The other is, that as sure as lam standing here, sooner or, later the Masai will try to avenge the slaughter

inflicted on them to-day. Two or three men are sure to have escaped in the confusion who will carry the story back to their people, and the result will be that a great expedition will one day be dent against you. It might be delayed for a year, but sooner or later it will come. Therefore, if only for that reason, I should go. When once they have learned that you are no longer here they may perhaps leave the place alone.” “You are quite right,” answered the clergyman. “I will turn my back upon this place in a month. But it will be a wrench, it will be a wrench.” CHAPTER IX. INTO THE UNKNOWN. A week had passed, and we all sat at supper one night in the Mission dining-room, feeling very much depressed in spirits, for the reason that we were going to say good-bye to our kind friends, the Mackenzies, and proceed upon our way at dawn on the morrow. Nothing more had been or heard of the Masai, and save for a spear or two which had been overlooked and was rusting in the grass, and a few empty cartridges where he had stood outside the wall, it would have been difficult to tell that the old csttle kraal at the foot of the slope had been the-scene of so desperate a struggle. Mackenzie was, thanks chiefly to his beingso temperate a man, rapidly recovering from his wound, and could get about on a pair of crutches; and as for the—otherwounded men, one had died of gangrene, and the rest were in a fair way to recovery. Mr. Mackenzie’s caravan of men had also returned from the coast, so that the station was now amply garrisoned.

Under these circumstances we concludedy warm and pressing as were the invitations for us to stay, that it was time to move on, first to Mount Kenia. and thence into the unknown in search of the mysterious white race which we had set our hearts on discovering. This time we were going to progress by means of the humble but useful donkey, of which we had collected no less than a dozen, to carry our goods, and chattels, and, if necessary, ourselves. We had now but two Wakwafis left for servants, and found it quite impossible to get other natives to venture with us into the unknown parts we proposed to explore—and small blame to them. After all, as Mr. Mackenzie said, it was odd that three men, each of whom possessed many of those things that are supposed to make life worth living—health, sufficient means, and position, etc, — should of their own pleasure start out upon a wild-goose chase, from which the chances were they never would return. But then that is what Englishmen are, adventurers to the backbone; and all our magnificent musterroll of colonies, each of which will in time become a great nation, testifies to the extraordinary value of the spirit of adventure which at first sight looks like a mild form of lunacy. “Adventurer”—he who goes out to meet whatever may come. Well, that is what we all do in the world one way or another, and, speaking for myself, I am proud of the title, because it implies a brave heart and a trust in Providence. Besides, when many and many a noted Croesus, at whose feet the people worship, and many and many a time-serving and w< rd -coining politician are forgotten, the names of those grand-hearted Old adventurers who have made England what she is, will be remembered and taught with love and pride to little children whose spirits yet slumber in the womb of unshaped centuries. Not that we three can expect to be numbered with such as these, yet nave we done something —enough, perhaps, to throw a garment over the nakedness of our folly. That evening, whilst we were sitting on the veranda, smoking a pipe before turning in, who should come up to us but Alphonse, and, with a magnificent bow, announce his wish for an interview. Being requested to fire away, he explained at some length that he was anxious to attach himself to our party—a statement that astonished me not a little, knowing what a coward the little man was. . The reason, however, soon appeared. Mr. Mackenzie was going down to the coast, and thence on to England. Now, if he went down country, Alphonse was persuaded that he would be seized, extradited, sent to France, and guillotined. This was the idea that haunted him, as King Charles’s heal haunted Mr. Dick, and he brooded over it till his imagination exaggerated the danger ten times. As a matter of fact, the probability is that his offense against the laws of his country had long ago been forgotten, and that he would have been allowed to pass unmolested anywhere except in France; but he could not be got to see this. Constitutional coward as the little man is, he infinitely preferred to face the certain hardships and great risks and dangers of sqch an expedition as ours, tham to expose himself, notwithstanding his intense longing for his native land, to the possible scrutiny of a police officer—which is, after all, only another exemplification of the truth that, to the majority of men, a far-off foreseen danger, however shadowy, is much more terrible than the most serious present emergency. After listening to what he had to say, we consulted among ourselves, and finally agreed, with Mr. Mackenzie’s knowledge and consent, to accept his offer. To begin with, we were very shorthanded, and Alphonse was a quick, active fellow, who could turn his hand to anything, and cook—ah, he could cook! I believe that he would have made a palatable dish of those gaiters of his heroic grandfather whicn he was so fond of talking about. Then he was a good-tempered little man, and merry as a monkey, whilst his pompous, vainglorious talk was a

source of infinite amusement to us; and what is more, he never bore malice.. Of bourse, his being so pronounced a Coward was a great drawback to him, but now that we knew his weakness we could more or less guard against it So, after warning him of the undoubted risks he was exposing himself to, we told him we would accept his offer on condition that.be would promise implicit obedience to our orders. We also promised to give him wages at the rate of ten pounds pt r month should he ever return to a civilized country to receive them. To all of this he agreed with alacrity, and retired to write a letter to his Annette, which Mr. Mackenzie promised topost when he got down country. He read it to us afterward. Sir Henry translating, and a wonderful composition it was. lam sure the depth of his devotion and the narration of his suffer* ings in a barbarous country, “far, far from thee, Annette, for whose adored sake I endure such sorrow,” ought to have touched up the feelings of the stoniest-hearted chamber-maid. Well, the morrow came, and by seven o’clock the donkeys were all loaded and the time of parting was at hand. It was a melancholy business, especially saying good-bye to dear little Flossie. She and I were great friends and often used to have talks together —but her nerves had never got over the Shock of that awful night when she lay iii the power of those bloodthirsty Masai. “Oh, Mr. Quatermain,” she cried, throwing her arms round my neck and bursting into tears. “I can’t bear to say good-bye to you. I wonder when we shall meet again ?’’ “I don’t know, my dear little girl,” I said. “I am at one end of life and you are at the other. I have but a short time before me at best, and most things lie in the past, but I hope that for you there are many long and happy years, and everything lies in the future. By and by you will grow into a beautiful woman, Flossie, and all this wild life will be like a far-off dream to you; but I hope,- even if we never do meet again, that you will think of your old friend and remember what I say to you now. Always try to be good, my dear, and to do what is right, rather than what happens to be pleasant, for in the end, whatever sneering people may say, what is good and what is happy are the same Be unselfish, and whenever you can give a helping hand to others—for the world is full of suffering, my dear, and to alleviate it is the noblest end that we can set before us. If you do that you will become a sweet and Godfearing woman, and make many people’s lives a little brighter, and then you will not have lived, as so many of your Bex d€H"in vatn. And~now Th'avir given you a lot of old-fashioned advice, and so I am going to give you something to sweeten it with. You see this little piece of paper. It is what is called a check. When we are gone give it to your father with this note—not before, mind. You will marry one day, my dear little Flossie, and it is to buy you a wedding-present which you are to wear, and your daughter after you, if you have one, in remembrance of Hunter Quatermain.” Poor little Flossie cried very much, and gave me a lock of her bright hair in return, which I still have. The check I gave her was for a thousand pounds (which, being now well off, and having no calls upon me except those of charity, I could well afford), and in the note I directed her father to invest it for her in,Government security, and when she married or came of age to buy her the best diamond necklace he could get for the money and accumulated interest. I chose diamonds because I think that now that King Solomon’s Mines are lost to the world, their price will never be much lower than ,it is at present, so that if in after-life she should ever be in pecuniary difficulties, she will be able to turn them into money. Well, at last we got off, after much hand-shaking, hat-waving, and also farewell saluting from the natives, Alphonse weeping copiously (for he has a warm heart) at parting with his master and mistress; and I was not sorry for it at all, for I hate those good-byes. Perhaps the most affecting thing of all was to witness Umslopogaas’s distress at parting with Flossie, for whom the grim old warrior had conceived a strong affection. He used to say that she was as sweet to see as the only star on a dark night, ahd was never tired of loudly congratulating himself on having killed the Lynonani who had threatened to murder her. And that was the last we saw of the pleasant Mission-house—a true oasis in the desert—and of European civilization. But I often think of the Maokenzies, and wonder how they gqt down country, and if they are now safe and well in England, and -will ever see these words. Dear little Flossie! I wonder how she fares there where there are no black folk to do her imperious bidding, and no sky piercing, snow-clad Kenia for her to look at when she gets up in the morning. And so Good-bye to Flossie. "By a sad coincidence, sine* the above was written by Mr. Quitermaiu, he Mitsui buve in April, 1886. massacred a inis io ary and uis wife, Mr. and Mrs. Houghton, on to is very Tana Ki. er.—Editob. To bb Continued.