CHAPTER XI.

THE FROWNING CITY

For an hour or more I sat waiting (Umslopogaas having meanwhile gone to

sleep also) till at length the east turned grey, and huge misty shapes

moved over the surface of the water like ghosts of long-forgotten

dawns. They were the vapours rising from their watery bed to greet the

sun. Then the grey turned to primrose, and the primrose grew to red.

Next, glorious bars of light sprang up across the eastern sky, and

through them the radiant messengers of the dawn came speeding upon

their arrowy way, scattering the ghostly vapours and awaking the

mountains with a kiss, as they flew from range to range and longitude

to longitude. Another moment, and the golden gates were open and the

sun himself came forth as a bridegroom from his chamber, with pomp and

glory and a flashing as of ten million spears, and embraced the night

and covered her with brightness, and it was day.

But as yet I could see nothing save the beautiful blue sky above, for

over the water was a thick layer of mist exactly as though the whole

surface had been covered with billows of cotton wool. By degrees,

however, the sun sucked up the mists, and then I saw that we were

afloat upon a glorious sheet of blue water of which I could not make

out the shore. Some eight or ten miles behind us, however, there

stretched as far as the eye could reach a range of precipitous hills

that formed a retaining wall of the lake, and I have no doubt but that

it was through some entrance in these hills that the subterranean river

found its way into the open water. Indeed, I afterwards ascertained

this to be the fact, and it will be some indication of the

extraordinary strength and directness of the current of the mysterious

river that the canoe, even at this distance, was still answering to it.

Presently, too, I, or rather Umslopogaas, who woke up just then,

discovered another indication, and a very unpleasant one it was.

Perceiving some whitish object upon the water, Umslopogaas called my

attention to it, and with a few strokes of the paddle brought the canoe

to the spot, whereupon we discovered that the object was the body of a

man floating face downwards. This was bad enough, but imagine my horror

when Umslopogaas having turned him on to his back with the paddle, we

recognized in the sunken features the lineaments of—whom do you

suppose? None other than our poor servant who had been sucked down two

days before in the waters of the subterranean river. It quite

frightened me. I thought that we had left him behind for ever, and

behold! borne by the current, he had made the awful journey with us,

and with us had reached the end. His appearance also was dreadful, for

he bore traces of having touched the pillar of fire—one arm being

completely shrivelled up and all his hair being burnt off. The features

were, as I have said, sunken, and yet they preserved upon them that

awful look of despair that I had seen upon his living face as the poor

fellow was sucked down. Really the sight unnerved me, weary and shaken

as I felt with all that we had gone through, and I was heartily glad

when suddenly and without any warning the body began to sink just as

though it had had a mission, which having been accomplished, it

retired; the real reason no doubt being that turning it on its back

allowed a free passage to the gas. Down it went to the transparent

depths—fathom after fathom we could trace its course till at last a

long line of bright air-bubbles, swiftly chasing each other to the

surface, alone remained where it had passed. At length these, too, were

gone, and that was an end of our poor servant. Umslopogaas thoughtfully

watched the body vanish.

“What did he follow us for?” he asked. “’Tis an ill omen for thee and

me, Macumazahn.” And he laughed.

I turned on him angrily, for I dislike these unpleasant suggestions. If

people have such ideas, they ought in common decency to keep them to

themselves. I detest individuals who make on the subject of their

disagreeable presentiments, or who, when they dream that they saw one

hanged as a common felon, or some such horror, will insist upon telling

one all about it at breakfast, even if they have to get up early to do

it.

Just then, however, the others woke up and began to rejoice exceedingly

at finding that we were out of that dreadful river and once more

beneath the blue sky. Then followed a babel of talk and suggestions as

to what we were to do next, the upshot of all of which was that, as we

were excessively hungry, and had nothing whatsoever left to eat except

a few scraps of biltong (dried game-flesh), having abandoned all that

remained of our provisions to those horrible freshwater crabs, we

determined to make for the shore. But a new difficulty arose. We did

not know where the shore was, and, with the exception of the cliffs

through which the subterranean river made its entry, could see nothing

but a wide expanse of sparkling blue water. Observing, however, that

the long flights of aquatic birds kept flying from our left, we

concluded that they were advancing from their feeding-grounds on shore

to pass the day in the lake, and accordingly headed the boat towards

the quarter whence they came, and began to paddle. Before long,

however, a stiffish breeze sprang up, blowing directly in the direction

we wanted, so we improvised a sail with a blanket and the pole, which

took us along merrily. This done, we devoured the remnants of our

biltong, washed down with the sweet lake water, and then lit our pipes

and awaited whatever might turn up.

When we had been sailing for an hour, Good, who was searching the

horizon with the spy-glass, suddenly announced joyfully that he saw

land, and pointed out that, from the change in the colour of the water,

he thought we must be approaching the mouth of a river. In another

minute we perceived a great golden dome, not unlike that of St Paul’s,

piercing the morning mists, and while we were wondering what in the

world it could be, Good reported another and still more important

discovery, namely, that a small sailing-boat was advancing towards us.

This bit of news, which we were very shortly able to verify with our

own eyes, threw us into a considerable flutter. That the natives of

this unknown lake should understand the art of sailing seemed to

suggest that they possessed some degree of civilization. In a few more

minutes it became evident that the occupant or occupants of the

advancing boat had made us out. For a moment or two she hung in the

wind as though in doubt, and then came tacking towards us with great

swiftness. In ten more minutes she was within a hundred yards, and we

saw that she was a neat little boat—not a canoe “dug out”, but built

more or less in the European fashion with planks, and carrying a

singularly large sail for her size. But our attention was soon diverted

from the boat to her crew, which consisted of a man and a woman,

_nearly as white as ourselves_.

We stared at each other in amazement, thinking that we must be

mistaken; but no, there was no doubt about it. They were not fair, but

the two people in the boat were decidedly of a white as distinguished

from a black race, as white, for instance, as Spaniards or Italians. It

was a patent fact. So it was true, after all; and, mysteriously led by

a Power beyond our own, we had discovered this wonderful people. I

could have shouted for joy when I thought of the glory and the wonder

of the thing; and as it was, we all shook hands and congratulated each

other on the unexpected success of our wild search. All my life had I

heard rumours of a white race that existed in the highlands of this

vast continent, and longed to put them to the proof, and now here I saw

it with my own eyes, and was dumbfounded. Truly, as Sir Henry said, the

old Roman was right when he wrote “Ex Africa semper aliquid novi”,

which he tells me means that out of Africa there always comes some new

thing.

The man in the boat was of a good but not particularly fine physique,

and possessed straight black hair, regular aquiline features, and an

intelligent face. He was dressed in a brown cloth garment, something

like a flannel shirt without the sleeves, and in an unmistakable kilt

of the same material. The legs and feet were bare. Round the right arm

and left leg he wore thick rings of yellow metal that I judged to be

gold. The woman had a sweet face, wild and shy, with large eyes and

curling brown hair. Her dress was made of the same material as the

man’s, and consisted, as we afterwards discovered, first of a linen

under-garment that hung down to her knee, and then of a single long

strip of cloth, about four feet wide by fifteen long, which was wound

round the body in graceful folds and finally flung over the left

shoulder so that the end, which was dyed blue or purple or some other

colour, according to the social standing of the wearer, hung down in

front, the right arm and breast being, however, left quite bare. A more

becoming dress, especially when, as in the present case, the wearer was

young and pretty, it is quite impossible to conceive. Good (who has an

eye for such things) was greatly struck with it, and so indeed was I.

It was so simple and yet so effective.

Meanwhile, if we had been astonished at the appearance of the man and

woman, it was clear that they were far more astonished at us. As for

the man, he appeared to be overcome with fear and wonder, and for a

while hovered round our canoe, but would not approach. At last,

however, he came within hailing distance, and called to us in a

language that sounded soft and pleasing enough, but of which we could

not understand one word. So we hailed back in English, French, Latin,

Greek, German, Zulu, Dutch, Sisutu, Kukuana, and a few other native

dialects that I am acquainted with, but our visitor did not understand

any of these tongues; indeed, they appeared to bewilder him. As for the

lady, she was busily employed in taking stock of us, and Good was

returning the compliment by staring at her hard through his eyeglass, a

proceeding that she seemed rather to enjoy than otherwise. At length,

the man, being unable to make anything of us, suddenly turned his boat

round and began to head off for the shore, his little boat skimming

away before the wind like a swallow. As she passed across our bows the

man turned to attend to the large sail, and Good promptly took the

opportunity to kiss his hand to the young lady. I was horrified at this

proceeding, both on general grounds and because I feared that she might

take offence, but to my delight she did not, for, first glancing round

and seeing that her husband, or brother, or whoever he was, was

engaged, she promptly kissed hers back.

“Ah!” said I. “It seems that we have at last found a language that the

people of this country understand.”

“In which case,” said Sir Henry, “Good will prove an invaluable

interpreter.”

I frowned, for I do not approve of Good’s frivolities, and he knows it,

and I turned the conversation to more serious subjects. “It is very

clear to me,” I said, “that the man will be back before long with a

host of his fellows, so we had best make up our minds as to how we are

going to receive them.”

“The question is how will they receive us?” said Sir Henry.

As for Good he made no remark, but began to extract a small square tin

case that had accompanied us in all our wanderings from under a pile of

baggage. Now we had often remonstrated with Good about this tin case,

inasmuch as it had been an awkward thing to carry, and he had never

given any very explicit account as to its contents; but he had insisted

on keeping it, saying mysteriously that it might come in very useful

one day.

“What on earth are you going to do, Good?” asked Sir Henry.

“Do—why dress, of course! You don’t expect me to appear in a new

country in these things, do you?” and he pointed to his soiled and worn

garments, which were however, like all Good’s things, very tidy, and

with every tear neatly mended.

We said no more, but watched his proceedings with breathless interest.

His first step was to get Alphonse, who was thoroughly competent in

such matters, to trim his hair and beard in the most approved fashion.

I think that if he had had some hot water and a cake of soap at hand he

would have shaved off the latter; but he had not. This done, he

suggested that we should lower the sail of the canoe and all take a

bath, which we did, greatly to the horror and astonishment of Alphonse,

who lifted his hands and ejaculated that these English were indeed a

wonderful people. Umslopogaas, who, though he was, like most high-bred

Zulus, scrupulously cleanly in his person, did not see the fun of

swimming about in a lake, also regarded the proceeding with mild

amusement. We got back into the canoe much refreshed by the cold water,

and sat to dry in the sun, whilst Good undid his tin box, and produced

first a beautiful clean white shirt, just as it had left a London steam

laundry, and then some garments wrapped first in brown, then in white,

and finally in silver paper. We watched this undoing with the tenderest

interest and much speculation. One by one Good removed the dull husks

that hid their splendours, carefully folding and replacing each piece

of paper as he did so; and there at last lay, in all the majesty of its

golden epaulettes, lace, and buttons, a Commander of the Royal Navy’s

full-dress uniform—dress sword, cocked hat, shiny patent leather boots

and all. We literally gasped.

“_What!_” we said, “_what!_ Are you going to put those things on?”

“Certainly,” he answered composedly; “you see so much depends upon a

first impression, especially,” he added, “as I observe that there are

ladies about. One at least of us ought to be decently dressed.”

We said no more; we were simply dumbfounded, especially when we

considered the artful way in which Good had concealed the contents of

that box for all these months. Only one suggestion did we make—namely,

that he should wear his mail shirt next his skin. He replied that he

feared it would spoil the set of his coat, now carefully spread in the

sun to take the creases out, but finally consented to this

precautionary measure. The most amusing part of the affair, however,

was to see old Umslopogaas’s astonishment and Alphonse’s delight at

Good’s transformation. When at last he stood up in all his glory, even

down to the medals on his breast, and contemplated himself in the still

waters of the lake, after the fashion of the young gentleman in ancient

history, whose name I cannot remember, but who fell in love with his

own shadow, the old Zulu could no longer restrain his feelings.

“Oh, Bougwan!” he said. “Oh, Bougwan! I always thought thee an ugly

little man, and fat—fat as the cows at calving time; and now thou art

like a blue jay when he spreads his tail out. Surely, Bougwan, it hurts

my eyes to look at thee.”

Good did not much like this allusion to his fat, which, to tell the

truth, was not very well deserved, for hard exercise had brought him

down three inches; but on the whole he was pleased at Umslopogaas’s

admiration. As for Alphonse, he was quite delighted.

“Ah! but Monsieur has the beautiful air—the air of the warrior. It is

the ladies who will say so when we come to get ashore. Monsieur is

complete; he puts me in mind of my heroic grand—”

Here we stopped Alphonse.

As we gazed upon the beauties thus revealed by Good, a spirit of

emulation filled our breasts, and we set to work to get ourselves up as

well as we could. The most, however, that we were able to do was to

array ourselves in our spare suits of shooting clothes, of which we

each had several, all the fine clothes in the world could never make it

otherwise than scrubby and insignificant; but Sir Henry looked what he

is, a magnificent man in his nearly new tweed suit, gaiters, and boots.

Alphonse also got himself up to kill, giving an extra turn to his

enormous moustaches. Even old Umslopogaas, who was not in a general way

given to the vain adorning of his body, took some oil out of the

lantern and a bit of tow, and polished up his head-ring with it till it

shone like Good’s patent leather boots. Then he put on the mail shirt

Sir Henry had given him and his “moocha”, and, having cleaned up

Inkosi-kaas a little, stood forth complete.

All this while, having hoisted the sail again as soon as we had

finished bathing, we had been progressing steadily for the land, or,

rather, for the mouth of a great river. Presently—in all about an hour

and a half after the little boat had left us—we saw emerging from the

river or harbour a large number of boats, ranging up to ten or twelve

tons burden. One of these was propelled by twenty-four oars, and most

of the rest sailed. Looking through the glass we soon made out that the

row-boat was an official vessel, her crew being all dressed in a sort

of uniform, whilst on the half-deck forward stood an old man of

venerable appearance, and with a flowing white beard, and a sword

strapped to his side, who was evidently the commander of the craft. The

other boats were apparently occupied by people brought out by

curiosity, and were rowing or sailing towards us as quickly as they

could.

“Now for it,” said I. “What is the betting? Are they going to be

friendly or to put an end to us?”

Nobody could answer this question, and, not liking the warlike

appearance of the old gentleman and his sword, we felt a little

anxious.

Just then Good spied a school of hippopotami on the water about two

hundred yards off us, and suggested that it would not be a bad plan to

impress the natives with a sense of our power by shooting some of them

if possible. This, unluckily enough, struck us as a good idea, and

accordingly we at once got out our eight-bore rifles, for which we

still had a few cartridges left, and prepared for action. There were

four of the animals, a big bull, a cow, and two young ones, one three

parts grown. We got up to them without difficulty, the great animals

contenting themselves with sinking down into the water and rising again

a few yards farther on; indeed, their excessive tameness struck me as

being peculiar. When the advancing boats were about five hundred yards

away, Sir Henry opened the ball by firing at the three parts grown

young one. The heavy bullet struck it fair between the eyes, and,

crashing through the skull, killed it, and it sank, leaving a long

train of blood behind it. At the same moment I fired at the cow, and

Good at the old bull. My shot took effect, but not fatally, and down

went the hippopotamus with a prodigious splashing, only to rise again

presently blowing and grunting furiously, dyeing all the water round

her crimson, when I killed her with the left barrel. Good, who is an

execrable shot, missed the head of the bull altogether, the bullet

merely cutting the side of his face as it passed. On glancing up, after

I had fired my second shot, I perceived that the people we had fallen

among were evidently ignorant of the nature of firearms, for the

consternation caused by our shots and their effect upon the animals was

prodigious. Some of the parties in the boats began to cry out in fear;

others turned and made off as hard as they could; and even the old

gentleman with the sword looked greatly puzzled and alarmed, and halted

his big row-boat. We had, however, but little time for observation, for

just then the old bull, rendered furious by the wound he had received,

rose fair within forty yards of us, glaring savagely. We all fired, and

hit him in various places, and down he went, badly wounded. Curiosity

now began to overcome the fear of the onlookers, and some of them

sailed on up close to us, amongst these being the man and woman whom we

had first seen a couple of hours or so before, who drew up almost

alongside. Just then the great brute rose again within ten yards of

their base, and instantly with a roar of fury made at it open-mouthed.

The woman shrieked, and the man tried to give the boat way, but without

success. In another second I saw the huge red jaws and gleaming ivories

close with a crunch on the frail craft, taking an enormous mouthful out

of its side and capsizing it. Down went the boat, leaving its occupants

struggling in the water. Next moment, before we could do anything

towards saving them, the huge and furious creature was up again and

making open-mouthed at the poor girl, who was struggling in the water.

Lifting my rifle just as the grinding jaws were about to close on her,

I fired over her head right down the hippopotamus’s throat. Over he

went, and commenced turning round and round, snorting, and blowing red

streams of blood through his nostrils. Before he could recover himself,

however, I let him have the other barrel in the side of the throat, and

that finished him. He never moved or struggled again, but instantly

sank. Our next effort was directed towards saving the girl, the man

having swum off towards another boat; and in this we were fortunately

successful, pulling her into the canoe (amidst the shouts of the

spectators) considerably exhausted and frightened, but otherwise

unhurt.

Meanwhile the boats had gathered together at a distance, and we could

see that the occupants, who were evidently much frightened, were

consulting what to do. Without giving them time for further

consideration, which we thought might result unfavourably to ourselves,

we instantly took our paddles and advanced towards them, Good standing

in the bow and taking off his cocked hat politely in every direction,

his amiable features suffused by a bland but intelligent smile. Most of

the craft retreated as we advanced, but a few held their ground, while

the big row-boat came on to meet us. Presently we were alongside, and I

could see that our appearance—and especially Good’s and

Umslopogaas’s—filled the venerable-looking commander with astonishment,

not unmixed with awe. He was dressed after the same fashion as the man

we first met, except that his shirt was not made of brown cloth, but of

pure white linen hemmed with purple. The kilt, however, was identical,

and so were the thick rings of gold around the arm and beneath the left

knee. The rowers wore only a kilt, their bodies being naked to the

waist. Good took off his hat to the old gentleman with an extra

flourish, and inquired after his health in the purest English, to which

he replied by laying the first two fingers of his right hand

horizontally across his lips and holding them there for a moment, which

we took as his method of salutation. Then he also addressed some

remarks to us in the same soft accents that had distinguished our first

interviewer, which we were forced to indicate we did not understand by

shaking our heads and shrugging our shoulders. This last Alphonse,

being to the manner born, did to perfection, and in so polite a way

that nobody could take any offence. Then we came to a standstill, till

I, being exceedingly hungry, thought I might as well call attention to

the fact, and did so first by opening my mouth and pointing down it,

and then rubbing my stomach. These signals the old gentleman clearly

understood, for he nodded his head vigorously, and pointed towards the

harbour; and at the same time one of the men on his boat threw us a

line and motioned to us to make it fast, which we did. The row-boat

then took us in tow, and went with great rapidity towards the mouth of

the river, accompanied by all the other boats. In about twenty minutes

more we reached the entrance to the harbour, which was crowded with

boats full of people who had come out to see us. We observed that all

the occupants were more or less of the same type, though some were

fairer than others. Indeed, we noticed certain ladies whose skin was of

a most dazzling whiteness; and the darkest shade of colour which we saw

was about that of a rather swarthy Spaniard. Presently the wide river

gave a sweep, and when it did so an exclamation of astonishment and

delight burst from our lips as we caught our first view of the place

that we afterwards knew as Milosis, or the Frowning City (from the

prefix _mi_, which means city, and _losis_, a frown).

At a distance of some five hundred yards from the river’s bank rose a

sheer precipice of granite, two hundred feet or so in height, which had

no doubt once formed the bank itself—the intermediate space of land now

utilized as docks and roadways having been gained by draining, and

deepening and embanking the stream.

On the brow of this precipice stood a great building of the same

granite that formed the cliff, built on three sides of a square, the

fourth side being open, save for a kind of battlement pierced at its

base by a little door. This imposing place we afterwards discovered was

the palace of the queen, or rather of the queens. At the back of the

palace the town sloped gently upwards to a flashing building of white

marble, crowned by the golden dome which we had already observed. The

city was, with the exception of this one building, entirely built of

red granite, and laid out in regular blocks with splendid roadways

between. So far as we could see also the houses were all one-storied

and detached, with gardens round them, which gave some relief to the

eye wearied with the vista of red granite. At the back of the palace a

road of extraordinary width stretched away up the hill for a distance

of a mile and a half or so, and appeared to terminate at an open space

surrounding the gleaming building that crowned the hill. But right in

front of us was the wonder and glory of Milosis—the great staircase of

the palace, the magnificence of which took our breath away. Let the

reader imagine, if he can, a splendid stairway, sixty-five feet from

balustrade to balustrade, consisting of two vast flights, each of one

hundred and twenty-five steps of eight inches in height by three feet

broad, connected by a flat resting-place sixty feet in length, and

running from the palace wall on the edge of the precipice down to meet

a waterway or canal cut to its foot from the river. This marvellous

staircase was supported upon a single enormous granite arch, of which

the resting-place between the two flights formed the crown; that is,

the connecting open space lay upon it. From this archway sprang a

subsidiary flying arch, or rather something that resembled a flying

arch in shape, such as none of us had seen in any other country, and of

which the beauty and wonder surpassed all that we had ever imagined.

Three hundred feet from point to point, and no less than five hundred

and fifty round the curve, that half-arc soared touching the bridge it

supported for a space of fifty feet only, one end resting on and built

into the parent archway, and the other embedded in the solid granite of

the side of the precipice.

This staircase with its supports was, indeed, a work of which any

living man might have been proud, both on account of its magnitude and

its surpassing beauty. Four times, as we afterwards learnt, did the

work, which was commenced in remote antiquity, fail, and was then

abandoned for three centuries when half-finished, till at last there

rose a youthful engineer named Rademas, who said that he would complete

it successfully, and staked his life upon it. If he failed he was to be

hurled from the precipice he had undertaken to scale; if he succeeded,

he was to be rewarded by the hand of the king’s daughter. Five years

was given to him to complete the work, and an unlimited supply of

labour and material. Three times did his arch fall, till at last,

seeing failure to be inevitable, he determined to commit suicide on the

morrow of the third collapse. That night, however, a beautiful woman

came to him in a dream and touched his forehead, and of a sudden he saw

a vision of the completed work, and saw too through the masonry and how

the difficulties connected with the flying arch that had hitherto

baffled his genius were to be overcome. Then he awoke and once more

commenced the work, but on a different plan, and behold! he achieved

it, and on the last day of the five years he led the princess his bride

up the stair and into the palace. And in due course he became king by

right of his wife, and founded the present Zu-Vendi dynasty, which is

to this day called the “House of the Stairway”, thus proving once more

how energy and talent are the natural stepping-stones to grandeur. And

to commemorate his triumph he fashioned a statue of himself dreaming,

and of the fair woman who touched him on the forehead, and placed it in

the great hall of the palace, and there it stands to this day.

Such was the great stair of Milosis, and such the city beyond. No

wonder they named it the “Frowning City”, for certainly those mighty

works in solid granite did seem to frown down upon our littleness in

their sombre splendour. This was so even in the sunshine, but when the

storm-clouds gathered on her imperial brow Milosis looked more like a

supernatural dwelling-place, or some imagining of a poet’s brain, than

what she is—a mortal city, carven by the patient genius of generations

out of the red silence of the mountain side.