Full Text

She

by H. Rider Haggard

First Published 1886.

IN EARTH AND SKIE AND SEA

STRANGE THYNGS THER BE

_Doggerel couplet from the Sherd of Amenartas_

Contents

INTRODUCTION

I. MY VISITOR

II. THE YEARS ROLL BY

III. THE SHERD OF AMENARTAS

IV. THE SQUALL

V. THE HEAD OF THE ETHIOPIAN

VI. AN EARLY CHRISTIAN CEREMONY

VII. USTANE SINGS

VIII. THE FEAST, AND AFTER!

IX. A LITTLE FOOT

X. SPECULATIONS

XI. THE PLAIN OF KÔR

XII. “SHE”

XIII. AYESHA UNVEILS

XIV. A SOUL IN HELL

XV. AYESHA GIVES JUDGMENT

XVI. THE TOMBS OF KÔR

XVII. THE BALANCE TURNS

XVIII. “GO, WOMAN!”

XIX. “GIVE ME A BLACK GOAT!”

XX. TRIUMPH

XXI. THE DEAD AND LIVING MEET

XXII. JOB HAS A PRESENTIMENT

XXIII. THE TEMPLE OF TRUTH

XXIV. WALKING THE PLANK

XXV. THE SPIRIT OF LIFE

XXVI. WHAT WE SAW

XXVII. WE LEAP

XXVIII. OVER THE MOUNTAIN

I inscribe this history to

ANDREW LANG

in token of personal regard

and of

my sincere admiration

for his learning and his works

SHE

INTRODUCTION

In giving to the world the record of what, looked at as an

adventure only, is I suppose one of the most wonderful and

mysterious experiences ever undergone by mortal men, I feel it

incumbent on me to explain what my exact connection with it is.

And so I may as well say at once that I am not the narrator but

only the editor of this extraordinary history, and then go on to

tell how it found its way into my hands.

Some years ago I, the editor, was stopping with a friend, “_vir

doctissimus et amicus meus_,” at a certain University, which for

the purposes of this history we will call Cambridge, and was one

day much struck with the appearance of two persons whom I saw

going arm-in-arm down the street. One of these gentlemen was I

think, without exception, the handsomest young fellow I have ever

seen. He was very tall, very broad, and had a look of power and a

grace of bearing that seemed as native to him as it is to a wild

stag. In addition his face was almost without flaw—a good face as

well as a beautiful one, and when he lifted his hat, which he did

just then to a passing lady, I saw that his head was covered with

little golden curls growing close to the scalp.

“Good gracious!” I said to my friend, with whom I was walking,

“why, that fellow looks like a statue of Apollo come to life.

What a splendid man he is!”

“Yes,” he answered, “he is the handsomest man in the University,

and one of the nicest too. They call him ‘the Greek god’; but

look at the other one, he’s Vincey’s (that’s the god’s name)

guardian, and supposed to be full of every kind of information.

They call him ‘Charon.’” I looked, and found the older man quite

as interesting in his way as the glorified specimen of humanity

at his side. He appeared to be about forty years of age, and was

I think as ugly as his companion was handsome. To begin with, he

was shortish, rather bow-legged, very deep chested, and with

unusually long arms. He had dark hair and small eyes, and the

hair grew right down on his forehead, and his whiskers grew right

up to his hair, so that there was uncommonly little of his

countenance to be seen. Altogether he reminded me forcibly of a

gorilla, and yet there was something very pleasing and genial

about the man’s eye. I remember saying that I should like to know

him.

“All right,” answered my friend, “nothing easier. I know Vincey;

I’ll introduce you,” and he did, and for some minutes we stood

chatting—about the Zulu people, I think, for I had just returned

from the Cape at the time. Presently, however, a stoutish lady,

whose name I do not remember, came along the pavement,

accompanied by a pretty fair-haired girl, and these two Mr.

Vincey, who clearly knew them well, at once joined, walking off

in their company. I remember being rather amused because of the

change in the expression of the elder man, whose name I

discovered was Holly, when he saw the ladies advancing. He

suddenly stopped short in his talk, cast a reproachful look at

his companion, and, with an abrupt nod to myself, turned and

marched off alone across the street. I heard afterwards that he

was popularly supposed to be as much afraid of a woman as most

people are of a mad dog, which accounted for his precipitate

retreat. I cannot say, however, that young Vincey showed much

aversion to feminine society on this occasion. Indeed I remember

laughing, and remarking to my friend at the time that he was not

the sort of man whom it would be desirable to introduce to the

lady one was going to marry, since it was exceedingly probable

that the acquaintance would end in a transfer of her affections.

He was altogether too good-looking, and, what is more, he had

none of that consciousness and conceit about him which usually

afflicts handsome men, and makes them deservedly disliked by

their fellows.

That same evening my visit came to an end, and this was the last

I saw or heard of “Charon” and “the Greek god” for many a long

day. Indeed, I have never seen either of them from that hour to

this, and do not think it probable that I shall. But a month ago

I received a letter and two packets, one of manuscript, and on

opening the first found that it was signed by “Horace Holly,” a

name that at the moment was not familiar to me. It ran as

follows:—

“—— College, Cambridge, May 1, 18—

“My dear Sir,—You will be surprised, considering the very slight

nature of our acquaintance, to get a letter from me. Indeed, I

think I had better begin by reminding you that we once met, now

some five years ago, when I and my ward Leo Vincey were

introduced to you in the street at Cambridge. To be brief and

come to my business. I have recently read with much interest a

book of yours describing a Central African adventure. I take it

that this book is partly true, and partly an effort of the

imagination. However this may be, it has given me an idea. It

happens, how you will see in the accompanying manuscript (which

together with the Scarab, the ‘Royal Son of the Sun,’ and the

original sherd, I am sending to you by hand), that my ward, or

rather my adopted son Leo Vincey and myself have recently passed

through a real African adventure, of a nature so much more

marvellous than the one which you describe, that to tell the

truth I am almost ashamed to submit it to you lest you should

disbelieve my tale. You will see it stated in this manuscript

that I, or rather we, had made up our minds not to make this

history public during our joint lives. Nor should we alter our

determination were it not for a circumstance which has recently

arisen. We are for reasons that, after perusing this manuscript,

you may be able to guess, going away again this time to Central

Asia where, if anywhere upon this earth, wisdom is to be found,

and we anticipate that our sojourn there will be a long one.

Possibly we shall not return. Under these altered conditions it

has become a question whether we are justified in withholding

from the world an account of a phenomenon which we believe to be

of unparalleled interest, merely because our private life is

involved, or because we are afraid of ridicule and doubt being

cast upon our statements. I hold one view about this matter, and

Leo holds another, and finally, after much discussion, we have

come to a compromise, namely, to send the history to you, giving

you full leave to publish it if you think fit, the only

stipulation being that you shall disguise our real names, and as

much concerning our personal identity as is consistent with the

maintenance of the _bona fides_ of the narrative.

“And now what am I to say further? I really do not know beyond

once more repeating that everything is described in the

accompanying manuscript exactly as it happened. As regards _She_

herself I have nothing to add. Day by day we gave greater

occasion to regret that we did not better avail ourselves of our

opportunities to obtain more information from that marvellous

woman. Who was she? How did she first come to the Caves of Kôr,

and what was her real religion? We never ascertained, and now,

alas! we never shall, at least not yet. These and many other

questions arise in my mind, but what is the good of asking them

now?

“Will you undertake the task? We give you complete freedom, and

as a reward you will, we believe, have the credit of presenting

to the world the most wonderful history, as distinguished from

romance, that its records can show. Read the manuscript (which I

have copied out fairly for your benefit), and let me know.

“Believe me, very truly yours, “L. Horace Holly.[1]

“P.S.—Of course, if any profit results from the sale of the

writing should you care to undertake its publication, you can do

what you like with it, but if there is a loss I will leave

instructions with my lawyers, Messrs. Geoffrey and Jordan, to

meet it. We entrust the sherd, the scarab, and the parchments to

your keeping, till such time as we demand them back again. —L. H.

H.”

[1] This name is varied throughout in accordance with the writer’s

request.—Editor.

This letter, as may be imagined, astonished me considerably, but

when I came to look at the MS., which the pressure of other work

prevented me from doing for a fortnight, I was still more

astonished, as I think the reader will be also, and at once made

up my mind to press on with the matter. I wrote to this effect to

Mr. Holly, but a week afterwards received a letter from that

gentleman’s lawyers, returning my own, with the information that

their client and Mr. Leo Vincey had already left this country for

Thibet, and they did not at present know their address.

Well, that is all I have to say. Of the history itself the reader

must judge. I give it him, with the exception of a very few

alterations, made with the object of concealing the identity of

the actors from the general public, exactly as it came to me.

Personally I have made up my mind to refrain from comments. At

first I was inclined to believe that this history of a woman on

whom, clothed in the majesty of her almost endless years, the

shadow of Eternity itself lay like the dark wing of Night, was

some gigantic allegory of which I could not catch the meaning.

Then I thought that it might be a bold attempt to portray the

possible results of practical immortality, informing the

substance of a mortal who yet drew her strength from Earth, and

in whose human bosom passions yet rose and fell and beat as in

the undying world around her the winds and the tides rise and

fall and beat unceasingly. But as I went on I abandoned that idea

also. To me the story seems to bear the stamp of truth upon its

face. Its explanation I must leave to others, and with this

slight preface, which circumstances make necessary, I introduce

the world to Ayesha and the Caves of Kôr.—The Editor.

P.S.—There is on consideration one circumstance that, after a

reperusal of this history, struck me with so much force that I

cannot resist calling the attention of the reader to it. He will

observe that so far as we are made acquainted with him there

appears to be nothing in the character of Leo Vincey which in the

opinion of most people would have been likely to attract an

intellect so powerful as that of Ayesha. He is not even, at any

rate to my view, particularly interesting. Indeed, one might

imagine that Mr. Holly would under ordinary circumstances have

easily outstripped him in the favour of _She_. Can it be that

extremes meet, and that the very excess and splendour of her mind

led her by means of some strange physical reaction to worship at

the shrine of matter? Was that ancient Kallikrates nothing but a

splendid animal loved for his hereditary Greek beauty? Or is the

true explanation what I believe it to be—namely, that Ayesha,

seeing further than we can see, perceived the germ and

smouldering spark of greatness which lay hid within her lover’s

soul, and well knew that under the influence of her gift of life,

watered by her wisdom, and shone upon with the sunshine of her

presence, it would bloom like a flower and flash out like a star,

filling the world with light and fragrance?

Here also I am not able to answer, but must leave the reader to

form his own judgment on the facts before him, as detailed by Mr.

Holly in the following pages.

I.

MY VISITOR

There are some events of which each circumstance and surrounding

detail seems to be graven on the memory in such fashion that we

cannot forget it, and so it is with the scene that I am about to

describe. It rises as clearly before my mind at this moment as

though it had happened but yesterday.

It was in this very month something over twenty years ago that I,

Ludwig Horace Holly, was sitting one night in my rooms at

Cambridge, grinding away at some mathematical work, I forget

what. I was to go up for my fellowship within a week, and was

expected by my tutor and my college generally to distinguish

myself. At last, wearied out, I flung my book down, and, going to

the mantelpiece, took down a pipe and filled it. There was a

candle burning on the mantelpiece, and a long, narrow glass at

the back of it; and as I was in the act of lighting the pipe I

caught sight of my own countenance in the glass, and paused to

reflect. The lighted match burnt away till it scorched my

fingers, forcing me to drop it; but still I stood and stared at

myself in the glass, and reflected.

“Well,” I said aloud, at last, “it is to be hoped that I shall be

able to do something with the inside of my head, for I shall

certainly never do anything by the help of the outside.”

This remark will doubtless strike anybody who reads it as being

slightly obscure, but I was in reality alluding to my physical

deficiencies. Most men of twenty-two are endowed at any rate with

some share of the comeliness of youth, but to me even this was

denied. Short, thick-set, and deep-chested almost to deformity,

with long sinewy arms, heavy features, deep-set grey eyes, a low

brow half overgrown with a mop of thick black hair, like a

deserted clearing on which the forest had once more begun to

encroach; such was my appearance nearly a quarter of a century

ago, and such, with some modification, it is to this day. Like

Cain, I was branded—branded by Nature with the stamp of abnormal

ugliness, as I was gifted by Nature with iron and abnormal

strength and considerable intellectual powers. So ugly was I that

the spruce young men of my College, though they were proud enough

of my feats of endurance and physical prowess, did not even care

to be seen walking with me. Was it wonderful that I was

misanthropic and sullen? Was it wonderful that I brooded and

worked alone, and had no friends—at least, only one? I was set

apart by Nature to live alone, and draw comfort from her breast,

and hers only. Women hated the sight of me. Only a week before I

had heard one call me a “monster” when she thought I was out of

hearing, and say that I had converted her to the monkey theory.

Once, indeed, a woman pretended to care for me, and I lavished

all the pent-up affection of my nature upon her. Then money that

was to have come to me went elsewhere, and she discarded me. I

pleaded with her as I have never pleaded with any living creature

before or since, for I was caught by her sweet face, and loved

her; and in the end by way of answer she took me to the glass,

and stood side by side with me, and looked into it.

“Now,” she said, “if I am Beauty, who are you?” That was when I

was only twenty.

And so I stood and stared, and felt a sort of grim satisfaction

in the sense of my own loneliness; for I had neither father, nor

mother, nor brother; and as I did so there came a knock at my

door.

I listened before I went to open it, for it was nearly twelve

o’clock at night, and I was in no mood to admit any stranger. I

had but one friend in the College, or, indeed, in the

world—perhaps it was he.

Just then the person outside the door coughed, and I hastened to

open it, for I knew the cough.

A tall man of about thirty, with the remains of great personal

beauty, came hurrying in, staggering beneath the weight of a

massive iron box which he carried by a handle with his right

hand. He placed the box upon the table, and then fell into an

awful fit of coughing. He coughed and coughed till his face

became quite purple, and at last he sank into a chair and began

to spit up blood. I poured out some whisky into a tumbler, and

gave it to him. He drank it, and seemed better; though his better

was very bad indeed.

“Why did you keep me standing there in the cold?” he asked

pettishly. “You know the draughts are death to me.”

“I did not know who it was,” I answered. “You are a late

visitor.”

“Yes; and I verily believe it is my last visit,” he answered,

with a ghastly attempt at a smile. “I am done for, Holly. I am

done for. I do not believe that I shall see to-morrow.”

“Nonsense!” I said. “Let me go for a doctor.”

He waved me back imperiously with his hand. “It is sober sense;

but I want no doctors. I have studied medicine and I know all

about it. No doctors can help me. My last hour has come! For a

year past I have only lived by a miracle. Now listen to me as you

have never listened to anybody before; for you will not have the

opportunity of getting me to repeat my words. We have been

friends for two years; now tell me how much do you know about

me?”

“I know that you are rich, and have had a fancy to come to

College long after the age that most men leave it. I know that

you have been married, and that your wife died; and that you have

been the best, indeed almost the only friend I ever had.”

“Did you know that I have a son?”

“No.”

“I have. He is five years old. He cost me his mother’s life, and

I have never been able to bear to look upon his face in

consequence. Holly, if you will accept the trust, I am going to

leave you that boy’s sole guardian.”

I sprang almost out of my chair. “_Me!_” I said.

“Yes, you. I have not studied you for two years for nothing. I have

known for some time that I could not last, and since I realised the

fact I have been searching for some one to whom I could confide the boy

and this,” and he tapped the iron box. “You are the man, Holly; for,

like a rugged tree, you are hard and sound at core. Listen; the boy

will be the only representative of one of the most ancient families in

the world, that is, so far as families can be traced. You will laugh at

me when I say it, but one day it will be proved to you beyond a doubt,

that my sixty-fifth or sixty-sixth lineal ancestor was an Egyptian

priest of Isis, though he was himself of Grecian extraction, and was

called Kallikrates.[1] His father was one of the Greek mercenaries

raised by Hak-Hor, a Mendesian Pharaoh of the twenty-ninth dynasty, and

his grandfather or great-grandfather, I believe, was that very

Kallikrates mentioned by Herodotus.[2] In or about the year 339 before

Christ, just at the time of the final fall of the Pharaohs, this

Kallikrates (the priest) broke his vows of celibacy and fled from Egypt

with a Princess of Royal blood who had fallen in love with him, and was

finally wrecked upon the coast of Africa, somewhere, as I believe, in

the neighbourhood of where Delagoa Bay now is, or rather to the north

of it, he and his wife being saved, and all the remainder of their

company destroyed in one way or another. Here they endured great

hardships, but were at last entertained by the mighty Queen of a savage

people, a white woman of peculiar loveliness, who, under circumstances

which I cannot enter into, but which you will one day learn, if you

live, from the contents of the box, finally murdered my ancestor

Kallikrates. His wife, however, escaped, how, I know not, to Athens,

bearing a child with her, whom she named Tisisthenes, or the Mighty

Avenger. Five hundred years or more afterwards, the family migrated to

Rome under circumstances of which no trace remains, and here, probably

with the idea of preserving the idea of vengeance which we find set out

in the name of Tisisthenes, they appear to have pretty regularly

assumed the cognomen of Vindex, or Avenger. Here, too, they remained

for another five centuries or more, till about 770 A.D., when

Charlemagne invaded Lombardy, where they were then settled, whereon the

head of the family seems to have attached himself to the great Emperor,

and to have returned with him across the Alps, and finally to have

settled in Brittany. Eight generations later his lineal representative

crossed to England in the reign of Edward the Confessor, and in the

time of William the Conqueror was advanced to great honour and power.

From that time to the present day I can trace my descent without a

break. Not that the Vinceys—for that was the final corruption of the

name after its bearers took root in English soil—have been particularly

distinguished—they never came much to the fore. Sometimes they were

soldiers, sometimes merchants, but on the whole they have preserved a

dead level of respectability, and a still deader level of mediocrity.

From the time of Charles II. till the beginning of the present century

they were merchants. About 1790 my grandfather made a considerable

fortune out of brewing, and retired. In 1821 he died, and my father

succeeded him, and dissipated most of the money. Ten years ago he died

also, leaving me a net income of about two thousand a year. Then it was

that I undertook an expedition in connection with _that_,” and he

pointed to the iron chest, “which ended disastrously enough. On my way

back I travelled in the South of Europe, and finally reached Athens.

There I met my beloved wife, who might well also have been called the

‘Beautiful,’ like my old Greek ancestor. There I married her, and

there, a year afterwards, when my boy was born, she died.”

[1] The Strong and Beautiful, or, more accurately, the Beautiful in

strength.

[2] The Kallikrates here referred to by my friend was a Spartan,

spoken of by Herodotus (Herod. ix. 72) as being remarkable for his

beauty. He fell at the glorious battle of Platæa (September 22, B.C.

479), when the Lacedæmonians and Athenians under Pausanias routed the

Persians, putting nearly 300,000 of them to the sword. The following

is a translation of the passage, “For Kallikrates died out of the

battle, he came to the army the most beautiful man of the Greeks of

that day—not only of the Lacedæmonians themselves, but of the other

Greeks also. He when Pausanias was sacrificing was wounded in the side

by an arrow; and then they fought, but on being carried off he

regretted his death, and said to Arimnestus, a Platæan, that he did

not grieve at dying for Greece, but at not having struck a blow, or,

although he desired so to do, performed any deed worthy of himself.”

This Kallikrates, who appears to have been as brave as he was

beautiful, is subsequently mentioned by Herodotus as having been

buried among the ἰρένες‚ (young commanders), apart from the other

Spartans and the Helots.—L. H. H.

He paused a while, his head sunk upon his hand, and then

continued—

“My marriage had diverted me from a project which I cannot enter

into now. I have no time, Holly—I have no time! One day, if you

accept my trust, you will learn all about it. After my wife’s

death I turned my mind to it again. But first it was necessary,

or, at least, I conceived that it was necessary, that I should

attain to a perfect knowledge of Eastern dialects, especially

Arabic. It was to facilitate my studies that I came here. Very

soon, however, my disease developed itself, and now there is an

end of me.” And as though to emphasise his words he burst into

another terrible fit of coughing.

I gave him some more whisky, and after resting he went on—

“I have never seen my boy, Leo, since he was a tiny baby. I never

could bear to see him, but they tell me that he is a quick and

handsome child. In this envelope,” and he produced a letter from

his pocket addressed to myself, “I have jotted down the course I

wish followed in the boy’s education. It is a somewhat peculiar

one. At any rate, I could not entrust it to a stranger. Once

more, will you undertake it?”

“I must first know what I am to undertake,” I answered.

“You are to undertake to have the boy, Leo, to live with you till

he is twenty-five years of age—not to send him to school,

remember. On his twenty-fifth birthday your guardianship will

end, and you will then, with the keys that I give you now” (and

he placed them on the table) “open the iron box, and let him see

and read the contents, and say whether or no he is willing to

undertake the quest. There is no obligation on him to do so. Now,

as regards terms. My present income is two thousand two hundred a

year. Half of that income I have secured to you by will for life,

contingently on your undertaking the guardianship—that is, one

thousand a year remuneration to yourself, for you will have to

give up your life to it, and one hundred a year to pay for the

board of the boy. The rest is to accumulate till Leo is

twenty-five, so that there may be a sum in hand should he wish to

undertake the quest of which I spoke.”

“And suppose I were to die?” I asked.

“Then the boy must become a ward of Chancery and take his chance.

Only be careful that the iron chest is passed on to him by your

will. Listen, Holly, don’t refuse me. Believe me, this is to your

advantage. You are not fit to mix with the world—it would only

embitter you. In a few weeks you will become a Fellow of your

College, and the income that you will derive from that combined

with what I have left you will enable you to live a life of

learned leisure, alternated with the sport of which you are so

fond, such as will exactly suit you.”

He paused and looked at me anxiously, but I still hesitated. The

charge seemed so very strange.

“For my sake, Holly. We have been good friends, and I have no

time to make other arrangements.”

“Very well,” I said, “I will do it, provided there is nothing in

this paper to make me change my mind,” and I touched the envelope

he had put upon the table by the keys.

“Thank you, Holly, thank you. There is nothing at all. Swear to

me by God that you will be a father to the boy, and follow my

directions to the letter.”

“I swear it,” I answered solemnly.

“Very well, remember that perhaps one day I shall ask for the

account of your oath, for though I am dead and forgotten, yet I

shall live. There is no such thing as death, Holly, only a

change, and, as you may perhaps learn in time to come, I believe

that even that change could under certain circumstances be

indefinitely postponed,” and again he broke into one of his

dreadful fits of coughing.

“There,” he said, “I must go, you have the chest, and my will

will be found among my papers, under the authority of which the

child will be handed over to you. You will be well paid, Holly,

and I know that you are honest, but if you betray my trust, by

Heaven, I will haunt you.”

I said nothing, being, indeed, too bewildered to speak.

He held up the candle, and looked at his own face in the glass.

It had been a beautiful face, but disease had wrecked it. “Food

for the worms,” he said. “Curious to think that in a few hours I

shall be stiff and cold—the journey done, the little game played

out. Ah me, Holly! life is not worth the trouble of life, except

when one is in love—at least, mine has not been; but the boy

Leo’s may be if he has the courage and the faith. Good-bye, my

friend!” and with a sudden access of tenderness he flung his arm

about me and kissed me on the forehead, and then turned to go.

“Look here, Vincey,” I said, “if you are as ill as you think, you

had better let me fetch a doctor.”

“No, no,” he said earnestly. “Promise me that you won’t. I am

going to die, and, like a poisoned rat, I wish to die alone.”

“I don’t believe that you are going to do anything of the sort,”

I answered. He smiled, and, with the word “Remember” on his lips,

was gone. As for myself, I sat down and rubbed my eyes, wondering

if I had been asleep. As this supposition would not bear

investigation I gave it up and began to think that Vincey must

have been drinking. I knew that he was, and had been, very ill,

but still it seemed impossible that he could be in such a

condition as to be able to know for certain that he would not

outlive the night. Had he been so near dissolution surely he

would scarcely have been able to walk, and carry a heavy iron box

with him. The whole story, on reflection, seemed to me utterly

incredible, for I was not then old enough to be aware how many

things happen in this world that the common sense of the average

man would set down as so improbable as to be absolutely

impossible. This is a fact that I have only recently mastered.

Was it likely that a man would have a son five years of age whom

he had never seen since he was a tiny infant? No. Was it likely

that he could foretell his own death so accurately? No. Was it

likely that he could trace his pedigree for more than three

centuries before Christ, or that he would suddenly confide the

absolute guardianship of his child, and leave half his fortune,

to a college friend? Most certainly not. Clearly Vincey was

either drunk or mad. That being so, what did it mean? and what

was in the sealed iron chest?

The whole thing baffled and puzzled me to such an extent that at

last I could stand it no longer, and determined to sleep over it.

So I jumped up, and having put the keys and the letter that

Vincey had left away into my despatch-box, and stowed the iron

chest in a large portmanteau, I turned in, and was soon fast

asleep.

As it seemed to me, I had only been asleep for a few minutes when

I was awakened by somebody calling me. I sat up and rubbed my

eyes; it was broad daylight—eight o’clock, in fact.

“Why, what is the matter with you, John?” I asked of the gyp who

waited on Vincey and myself. “You look as though you had seen a

ghost!”

“Yes, sir, and so I have,” he answered, “leastways I’ve seen a

corpse, which is worse. I’ve been in to call Mr. Vincey, as

usual, and there he lies stark and dead!”

II.

THE YEARS ROLL BY

As might be expected, poor Vincey’s sudden death created a great

stir in the College; but, as he was known to be very ill, and a

satisfactory doctor’s certificate was forthcoming, there was no

inquest. They were not so particular about inquests in those days

as they are now; indeed, they were generally disliked, because of

the scandal. Under all these circumstances, being asked no

questions, I did not feel called upon to volunteer any

information about our interview on the night of Vincey’s decease,

beyond saying that he had come into my rooms to see me, as he

often did. On the day of the funeral a lawyer came down from

London and followed my poor friend’s remains to the grave, and

then went back with his papers and effects, except, of course,

the iron chest which had been left in my keeping. For a week

after this I heard no more of the matter, and, indeed, my

attention was amply occupied in other ways, for I was up for my

Fellowship, a fact that had prevented me from attending the

funeral or seeing the lawyer. At last, however, the examination

was over, and I came back to my rooms and sank into an easy chair

with a happy consciousness that I had got through it very fairly.

Soon, however, my thoughts, relieved of the pressure that had

crushed them into a single groove during the last few days,

turned to the events of the night of poor Vincey’s death, and

again I asked myself what it all meant, and wondered if I should

hear anything more of the matter, and if I did not, what it would

be my duty to do with the curious iron chest. I sat there and

thought and thought till I began to grow quite disturbed over the

whole occurrence: the mysterious midnight visit, the prophecy of

death so shortly to be fulfilled, the solemn oath that I had

taken, and which Vincey had called on me to answer to in another

world than this. Had the man committed suicide? It looked like

it. And what was the quest of which he spoke? The circumstances

were uncanny, so much so that, though I am by no means nervous,

or apt to be alarmed at anything that may seem to cross the

bounds of the natural, I grew afraid, and began to wish I had

nothing to do with them. How much more do I wish it now, over

twenty years afterwards!

As I sat and thought, there came a knock at the door, and a

letter, in a big blue envelope, was brought in to me. I saw at a

glance that it was a lawyer’s letter, and an instinct told me

that it was connected with my trust. The letter, which I still

have, runs thus:—

“Sir,—Our client, the late M. L. Vincey, Esq., who died on the 9th

instant in —— College, Cambridge, has left behind him a Will, of which

you will please find copy enclosed and of which we are the executors.

Under this Will you will perceive that you take a life-interest in

about half of the late Mr. Vincey’s property, now invested in Consols,

subject to your acceptance of the guardianship of his only son, Leo

Vincey, at present an infant, aged five. Had we not ourselves drawn up

the document in question in obedience to Mr. Vincey’s clear and precise

instructions, both personal and written, and had he not then assured us

that he had very good reasons for what he was doing, we are bound to

tell you that its provisions seem to us of so unusual a nature, that we

should have felt bound to call the attention of the Court of Chancery

to them, in order that such steps might be taken as seemed desirable to

it, either by contesting the capacity of the testator or otherwise, to

safeguard the interests of the infant. As it is, knowing that the

testator was a gentleman of the highest intelligence and acumen, and

that he has absolutely no relations living to whom he could have

confided the guardianship of the child, we do not feel justified in

taking this course.

“Awaiting such instructions as you please to send us as regards

the delivery of the infant and the payment of the proportion of

the dividends due to you,

“We remain, Sir, faithfully yours,

“Geoffrey and Jordan.

“Horace L. Holly, Esq.”

I put down the letter, and ran my eye through the Will, which

appeared, from its utter unintelligibility, to have been drawn on

the strictest legal principles. So far as I could discover,

however, it exactly bore out what my friend Vincey had told me on

the night of his death. So it was true after all. I must take the

boy. Suddenly I remembered the letter which Vincey had left with

the chest. I fetched and opened it. It only contained such

directions as he had already given to me as to opening the chest

on Leo’s twenty-fifth birthday, and laid down the outlines of the

boy’s education, which was to include Greek, the higher

Mathematics, and _Arabic_. At the end there was a postscript to

the effect that if the boy died under the age of twenty-five,

which, however, he did not believe would be the case, I was to

open the chest, and act on the information I obtained if I saw

fit. If I did not see fit, I was to destroy all the contents. On

no account was I to pass them on to a stranger.

As this letter added nothing material to my knowledge, and

certainly raised no further objection in my mind to entering on

the task I had promised my dead friend to undertake, there was

only one course open to me—namely, to write to Messrs. Geoffrey

and Jordan, and express my acceptance of the trust, stating that

I should be willing to commence my guardianship of Leo in ten

days’ time. This done I went to the authorities of my college,

and, having told them as much of the story as I considered

desirable, which was not very much, after considerable difficulty

succeeded in persuading them to stretch a point, and, in the

event of my having obtained a fellowship, which I was pretty

certain I had done, allow me to have the child to live with me.

Their consent, however, was only granted on the condition that I

vacated my rooms in college and took lodgings. This I did, and

with some difficulty succeeded in obtaining very good apartments

quite close to the college gates. The next thing was to find a

nurse. And on this point I came to a determination. I would have

no woman to lord it over me about the child, and steal his

affections from me. The boy was old enough to do without female

assistance, so I set to work to hunt up a suitable male

attendant. With some difficulty I succeeded in hiring a most

respectable round-faced young man, who had been a helper in a

hunting-stable, but who said that he was one of a family of

seventeen and well-accustomed to the ways of children, and

professed himself quite willing to undertake the charge of Master

Leo when he arrived. Then, having taken the iron box to town, and

with my own hands deposited it at my banker’s, I bought some

books upon the health and management of children and read them,

first to myself, and then aloud to Job—that was the young man’s

name—and waited.

At length the child arrived in the charge of an elderly person,

who wept bitterly at parting with him, and a beautiful boy he

was. Indeed, I do not think that I ever saw such a perfect child

before or since. His eyes were grey, his forehead was broad, and

his face, even at that early age, clean cut as a cameo, without

being pinched or thin. But perhaps his most attractive point was

his hair, which was pure gold in colour and tightly curled over

his shapely head. He cried a little when his nurse finally tore

herself away and left him with us. Never shall I forget the

scene. There he stood, with the sunlight from the window playing

upon his golden curls, his fist screwed over one eye, whilst he

took us in with the other. I was seated in a chair, and stretched

out my hand to him to induce him to come to me, while Job, in the

corner, was making a sort of clucking noise, which, arguing from

his previous experience, or from the analogy of the hen, he

judged would have a soothing effect, and inspire confidence in

the youthful mind, and running a wooden horse of peculiar

hideousness backwards and forwards in a way that was little short

of inane. This went on for some minutes, and then all of a sudden

the lad stretched out both his little arms and ran to me.

“I like you,” he said: “you is ugly, but you is good.”

Ten minutes afterwards he was eating large slices of bread and

butter, with every sign of satisfaction; Job wanted to put jam on

to them, but I sternly reminded him of the excellent works that

we had read, and forbade it.

In a very little while (for, as I expected, I got my fellowship)

the boy became the favourite of the whole College—where, all

orders and regulations to the contrary notwithstanding, he was

continually in and out—a sort of chartered libertine, in whose

favour all rules were relaxed. The offerings made at his shrine

were simply without number, and I had serious difference of

opinion with one old resident Fellow, now long dead, who was

usually supposed to be the crustiest man in the University, and

to abhor the sight of a child. And yet I discovered, when a

frequently recurring fit of sickness had forced Job to keep a

strict look-out, that this unprincipled old man was in the habit

of enticing the boy to his rooms and there feeding him upon

unlimited quantities of brandy-balls, and making him promise to

say nothing about it. Job told him that he ought to be ashamed of

himself, “at his age, too, when he might have been a grandfather

if he had done what was right,” by which Job understood had got

married, and thence arose the row.

But I have no space to dwell upon those delightful years, around

which memory still fondly hovers. One by one they went by, and as

they passed we two grew dearer and yet more dear to each other.

Few sons have been loved as I love Leo, and few fathers know the

deep and continuous affection that Leo bears to me.

The child grew into the boy, and the boy into the young man,

while one by one the remorseless years flew by, and as he grew

and increased so did his beauty and the beauty of his mind grow

with him. When he was about fifteen they used to call him Beauty

about the College, and me they nicknamed the Beast. Beauty and

the Beast was what they called us when we went out walking

together, as we used to do every day. Once Leo attacked a great

strapping butcher’s man, twice his size, because he sang it out

after us, and thrashed him, too—thrashed him fairly. I walked on

and pretended not to see, till the combat got too exciting, when

I turned round and cheered him on to victory. It was the chaff of

the College at the time, but I could not help it. Then when he

was a little older the undergraduates found fresh names for us.

They called me Charon, and Leo the Greek god! I will pass over my

own appellation with the humble remark that I was never handsome,

and did not grow more so as I grew older. As for his, there was

no doubt about its fitness. Leo at twenty-one might have stood

for a statue of the youthful Apollo. I never saw anybody to touch

him in looks, or anybody so absolutely unconscious of them. As

for his mind, he was brilliant and keen-witted, but not a

scholar. He had not the dulness necessary for that result. We

followed out his father’s instructions as regards his education

strictly enough, and on the whole the results, especially in the

matters of Greek and Arabic, were satisfactory. I learnt the

latter language in order to help to teach it to him, but after

five years of it he knew it as well as I did—almost as well as

the professor who instructed us both. I always was a great

sportsman—it is my one passion—and every autumn we went away

somewhere shooting or fishing, sometimes to Scotland, sometimes

to Norway, once even to Russia. I am a good shot, but even in

this he learnt to excel me.

When Leo was eighteen I moved back into my rooms, and entered him

at my own College, and at twenty-one he took his degree—a

respectable degree, but not a very high one. Then it was that I,

for the first time, told him something of his own story, and of

the mystery that loomed ahead. Of course he was very curious

about it, and of course I explained to him that his curiosity

could not be gratified at present. After that, to pass the time

away, I suggested that he should get himself called to the Bar;

and this he did, reading at Cambridge, and only going up to

London to eat his dinners.

I had only one trouble about him, and that was that every young

woman who came across him, or, if not every one, nearly so, would

insist on falling in love with him. Hence arose difficulties

which I need not enter into here, though they were troublesome

enough at the time. On the whole, he behaved fairly well; I

cannot say more than that.

And so the time went by till at last he reached his twenty-fifth

birthday, at which date this strange and, in some ways, awful

history really begins.

III.

THE SHERD OF AMENARTAS

On the day preceding Leo’s twenty-fifth birthday we both

journeyed to London, and extracted the mysterious chest from the

bank where I had deposited it twenty years before. It was, I

remember, brought up by the same clerk who had taken it down. He

perfectly remembered having hidden it away. Had he not done so,

he said, he should have had difficulty in finding it, it was so

covered up with cobwebs.

In the evening we returned with our precious burden to Cambridge,

and I think that we might both of us have given away all the

sleep we got that night and not have been much the poorer. At

daybreak Leo arrived in my room in a dressing-gown, and suggested

that we should at once proceed to business. I scouted the idea as

showing an unworthy curiosity. The chest had waited twenty years,

I said, so it could very well continue to wait until after

breakfast. Accordingly at nine—an unusually sharp nine—we

breakfasted; and so occupied was I with my own thoughts that I

regret to state that I put a piece of bacon into Leo’s tea in

mistake for a lump of sugar. Job, too, to whom the contagion of

excitement had, of course, spread, managed to break the handle

off my Sèvres china tea-cup, the identical one I believe that

Marat had been drinking from just before he was stabbed in his

bath.

At last, however, breakfast was cleared away, and Job, at my

request, fetched the chest, and placed it upon the table in a

somewhat gingerly fashion, as though he mistrusted it. Then he

prepared to leave the room.

“Stop a moment, Job,” I said. “If Mr. Leo has no objection, I

should prefer to have an independent witness to this business,

who can be relied upon to hold his tongue unless he is asked to

speak.”

“Certainly, Uncle Horace,” answered Leo; for I had brought him up

to call me uncle—though he varied the appellation somewhat

disrespectfully by calling me “old fellow,” or even “my avuncular

relative.”

Job touched his head, not having a hat on.

“Lock the door, Job,” I said, “and bring me my despatch-box.”

He obeyed, and from the box I took the keys that poor Vincey,

Leo’s father, had given me on the night of his death. There were

three of them; the largest a comparatively modern key, the second

an exceedingly ancient one, and the third entirely unlike

anything of the sort that we had ever seen before, being

fashioned apparently from a strip of solid silver, with a bar

placed across to serve as a handle, and leaving some nicks cut in

the edge of the bar. It was more like a model of an antediluvian

railway key than anything else.

“Now are you both ready?” I said, as people do when they are

going to fire a mine. There was no answer, so I took the big key,

rubbed some salad oil into the wards, and after one or two bad

shots, for my hands were shaking, managed to fit it, and shoot

the lock. Leo bent over and caught the massive lid in both his

hands, and with an effort, for the hinges had rusted, forced it

back. Its removal revealed another case covered with dust. This

we extracted from the iron chest without any difficulty, and

removed the accumulated filth of years from it with a

clothes-brush.

It was, or appeared to be, of ebony, or some such close-grained

black wood, and was bound in every direction with flat bands of

iron. Its antiquity must have been extreme, for the dense heavy

wood was in parts actually commencing to crumble from age.

“Now for it,” I said, inserting the second key.

Job and Leo bent forward in breathless silence. The key turned,

and I flung back the lid, and uttered an exclamation, and no

wonder, for inside the ebony case was a magnificent silver

casket, about twelve inches square by eight high. It appeared to

be of Egyptian workmanship, and the four legs were formed of

Sphinxes, and the dome-shaped cover was also surmounted by a

Sphinx. The casket was of course much tarnished and dinted with

age, but otherwise in fairly sound condition.

I drew it out and set it on the table, and then, in the midst of

the most perfect silence, I inserted the strange-looking silver

key, and pressed this way and that until at last the lock

yielded, and the casket stood before us. It was filled to the

brim with some brown shredded material, more like vegetable fibre

than paper, the nature of which I have never been able to

discover. This I carefully removed to the depth of some three

inches, when I came to a letter enclosed in an ordinary

modern-looking envelope, and addressed in the handwriting of my

dead friend Vincey.

“_To my son Leo, should he live to open this casket._”

I handed the letter to Leo, who glanced at the envelope, and then

put it down upon the table, making a motion to me to go on

emptying the casket.

The next thing that I found was a parchment carefully rolled up.

I unrolled it, and seeing that it was also in Vincey’s

handwriting, and headed, “Translation of the Uncial Greek Writing

on the Potsherd,” put it down by the letter. Then followed

another ancient roll of parchment, that had become yellow and

crinkled with the passage of years. This I also unrolled. It was

likewise a translation of the same Greek original, but into

black-letter Latin, which at the first glance from the style and

character appeared to me to date from somewhere about the

beginning of the sixteenth century. Immediately beneath this roll

was something hard and heavy, wrapped up in yellow linen, and

reposing upon another layer of the fibrous material. Slowly and

carefully we unrolled the linen, exposing to view a very large

but undoubtedly ancient potsherd of a dirty yellow colour! This

potsherd had in my judgment, once been a part of an ordinary

amphora of medium size. For the rest, it measured ten and a half

inches in length by seven in width, was about a quarter of an

inch thick, and densely covered on the convex side that lay

towards the bottom of the box with writing in the later uncial

Greek character, faded here and there, but for the most part

perfectly legible, the inscription having evidently been executed

with the greatest care, and by means of a reed pen, such as the

ancients often used. I must not forget to mention that in some

remote age this wonderful fragment had been broken in two, and

rejoined by means of cement and eight long rivets. Also there

were numerous inscriptions on the inner side, but these were of

the most erratic character, and had clearly been made by

different hands and in many different ages, and of them, together

with the writings on the parchments, I shall have to speak

presently.

[Illustration] FACSIMILE OF THE SHERD OF AMENARTAS

One 1/2 size

Greatest length of the original 10½ inches

Greatest breadth 7 inches

Weight 1lb 5½ oz

[Illustration] FACSIMILE OF THE SHERD OF AMENARTAS

One 1/2 size

“Is there anything more?” asked Leo, in a kind of excited

whisper.

I groped about, and produced something hard, done up in a little

linen bag. Out of the bag we took first a very beautiful

miniature done upon ivory, and secondly, a small

chocolate-coloured composition _scarabæus_, marked thus:—

[Illustration]

symbols which, we have since ascertained, mean “Suten se Ra,”

which is being translated the “Royal Son of Ra or the Sun.” The

miniature was a picture of Leo’s Greek mother—a lovely, dark-eyed

creature. On the back of it was written, in poor Vincey’s

handwriting, “My beloved wife.”

“That is all,” I said.

“Very well,” answered Leo, putting down the miniature, at which

he had been gazing affectionately; “and now let us read the

letter,” and without further ado he broke the seal, and read

aloud as follows:—

“My Son Leo,—When you open this, if you ever live to do so, you

will have attained to manhood, and I shall have been long enough

dead to be absolutely forgotten by nearly all who knew me. Yet in

reading it remember that I have been, and for anything you know

may still be, and that in it, through this link of pen and paper,

I stretch out my hand to you across the gulf of death, and my

voice speaks to you from the silence of the grave. Though I am

dead, and no memory of me remains in your mind, yet am I with you

in this hour that you read. Since your birth to this day I have

scarcely seen your face. Forgive me this. Your life supplanted

the life of one whom I loved better than women are often loved,

and the bitterness of it endureth yet. Had I lived I should in

time have conquered this foolish feeling, but I am not destined

to live. My sufferings, physical and mental, are more than I can

bear, and when such small arrangements as I have to make for your

future well-being are completed it is my intention to put a

period to them. May God forgive me if I do wrong. At the best I

could not live more than another year.”

“So he killed himself,” I exclaimed. “I thought so.”

“And now,” Leo went on, without replying, “enough of myself. What

has to be said belongs to you who live, not to me, who am dead,

and almost as much forgotten as though I had never been. Holly,

my friend (to whom, if he will accept the trust, it is my

intention to confide you), will have told you something of the

extraordinary antiquity of your race. In the contents of this

casket you will find sufficient to prove it. The strange legend

that you will find inscribed by your remote ancestress upon the

potsherd was communicated to me by my father on his deathbed, and

took a strong hold in my imagination. When I was only nineteen

years of age I determined, as, to his misfortune, did one of our

ancestors about the time of Elizabeth, to investigate its truth.

Into all that befell me I cannot enter now. But this I saw with

my own eyes. On the coast of Africa, in a hitherto unexplored

region, some distance to the north of where the Zambesi falls

into the sea, there is a headland, at the extremity of which a

peak towers up, shaped like the head of a negro, similar to that

of which the writing speaks. I landed there, and learnt from a

wandering native, who had been cast out by his people because of

some crime which he had committed, that far inland are great

mountains, shaped like cups, and caves surrounded by measureless

swamps. I learnt also that the people there speak a dialect of

Arabic, and are ruled over by a _beautiful white woman_ who is

seldom seen by them, but who is reported to have power over all

things living and dead. Two days after I had ascertained this the

man died of fever contracted in crossing the swamps, and I was

forced by want of provisions and by symptoms of an illness which

afterwards prostrated me to take to my dhow again.

“Of the adventures that befell me after this I need not now

speak. I was wrecked upon the coast of Madagascar, and rescued

some months afterwards by an English ship that brought me to

Aden, whence I started for England, intending to prosecute my

search as soon as I had made sufficient preparations. On my way I

stopped in Greece, and there, for ‘Omnia vincit amor,’ I met your

beloved mother, and married her, and there you were born and she

died. Then it was that my last illness seized me, and I returned

hither to die. But still I hoped against hope, and set myself to

work to learn Arabic, with the intention, should I ever get

better, of returning to the coast of Africa, and solving the

mystery of which the tradition has lived so many centuries in our

family. But I have not got better, and, so far as I am concerned,

the story is at an end.

“For you, however, my son, it is not at an end, and to you I hand

on these the results of my labour, together with the hereditary

proofs of its origin. It is my intention to provide that they

shall not be put into your hands until you have reached an age

when you will be able to judge for yourself whether or no you

will choose to investigate what, if it is true, must be the

greatest mystery in the world, or to put it by as an idle fable,

originating in the first place in a woman’s disordered brain.

“I do not believe that it is a fable; I believe that if it can

only be re-discovered there is a spot where the vital forces of

the world visibly exist. Life exists; why therefore should not

the means of preserving it indefinitely exist also? But I have no

wish to prejudice your mind about the matter. Read and judge for

yourself. If you are inclined to undertake the search, I have so

provided that you will not lack for means. If, on the other hand,

you are satisfied that the whole thing is a chimera, then, I

adjure you, destroy the potsherd and the writings, and let a

cause of troubling be removed from our race for ever. Perhaps

that will be wisest. The unknown is generally taken to be

terrible, not as the proverb would infer, from the inherent

superstition of man, but because it so often _is_ terrible. He

who would tamper with the vast and secret forces that animate the

world may well fall a victim to them. And if the end were

attained, if at last you emerged from the trial ever beautiful

and ever young, defying time and evil, and lifted above the

natural decay of flesh and intellect, who shall say that the

awesome change would prove a happy one? Choose, my son, and may

the Power who rules all things, and who says ‘thus far shalt thou

go, and thus much shalt thou learn,’ direct the choice to your

own happiness and the happiness of the world, which, in the event

of your success, you would one day certainly rule by the pure

force of accumulated experience.— Farewell!”

Thus the letter, which was unsigned and undated, abruptly ended.

“What do you make of that, Uncle Holly,” said Leo, with a sort of

gasp, as he replaced it on the table. “We have been looking for a

mystery, and we certainly seem to have found one.”

“What do I make of it? Why, that your poor dear father was off

his head, of course,” I answered, testily. “I guessed as much

that night, twenty years ago, when he came into my room. You see

he evidently hurried his own end, poor man. It is absolute

balderdash.”

“That’s it, sir!” said Job, solemnly. Job was a most

matter-of-fact specimen of a matter-of-fact class.

“Well, let’s see what the potsherd has to say, at any rate,” said

Leo, taking up the translation in his father’s writing, and

commencing to read:—

“_I, Amenartas, of the Royal House of the Pharaohs of Egypt, wife of

Kallikrates (the Beautiful in Strength), a Priest of Isis whom the gods

cherish and the demons obey, being about to die, to my little son

Tisisthenes (the Mighty Avenger). I fled with thy father from Egypt in

the days of Nectanebes,_[1] _causing him through love to break the vows

that he had vowed. We fled southward, across the waters, and we

wandered for twice twelve moons on the coast of Libya (Africa) that

looks towards the rising sun, where by a river is a great rock carven

like the head of an Ethiopian. Four days on the water from the mouth of

a mighty river were we cast away, and some were drowned and some died

of sickness. But us wild men took through wastes and marshes, where the

sea fowl hid the sky, bearing us ten days’ journey till we came to a

hollow mountain, where a great city had been and fallen, and where

there are caves of which no man hath seen the end; and they brought us

to the Queen of the people who place pots upon the heads of strangers,

who is a magician having a knowledge of all things, and life and

loveliness that does not die. And she cast eyes of love upon thy

father, Kallikrates, and would have slain me, and taken him to husband,

but he loved me and feared her, and would not. Then did she take us,

and lead us by terrible ways, by means of dark magic, to where the

great pit is, in the mouth of which the old philosopher lay dead, and

showed to us the rolling Pillar of Life that dies not, whereof the

voice is as the voice of thunder; and she did stand in the flames, and

come forth unharmed, and yet more beautiful. Then did she swear to make

thy father undying even as she is, if he would but slay me, and give

himself to her, for me she could not slay because of the magic of my

own people that I have, and that prevailed thus far against her. And he

held his hand before his eyes to hide her beauty, and would not. Then

in her rage did she smite him by her magic, and he died; but she wept

over him, and bore him thence with lamentations: and being afraid, me

she sent to the mouth of the great river where the ships come, and I

was carried far away on the ships where I gave thee birth, and hither

to Athens I came at last after many wanderings. Now I say to thee, my

son, Tisisthenes, seek out the woman, and learn the secret of Life, and

if thou mayest find a way slay her, because of thy father Kallikrates;

and if thou dost fear or fail, this I say to all thy seed who come

after thee, till at last a brave man be found among them who shall

bathe in the fire and sit in the place of the Pharaohs. I speak of

those things, that though they be past belief, yet I have known, and I

lie not._”

[1] Nekht-nebf, or Nectanebo II., the last native Pharaoh of Egypt,

fled from Ochus to Ethiopia, B.C. 339.—Editor.

“May the Lord forgive her for that,” groaned Job, who had been

listening to this marvellous composition with his mouth open.

As for myself, I said nothing: my first idea being that my poor

friend, being demented, had composed the whole thing, though it

scarcely seemed likely that such a story could have been invented

by anybody. It was too original. To solve my doubts I took up the

potsherd and began to read the close uncial Greek writing on it;

and very good Greek of the period it is, considering that it came

from the pen of an Egyptian born. Here is an exact transcript of

it:—

ΑΜΕΝΑΡΤΑΣΤΟΥΒΑΣΙΛΙΚΟΥΓΕΝΟΥΣΤΟΥΑΙΓΥΠΤΙΟΥΗΤΟΥΚΑΛΛΙΚΡΑΤΟΥΣΙΣΙΔΟΣΙΕΡΕΩΣΗΝΟ

ΙΜΕΝΘΕΟΙΤΡΕΦΟΥΣΙΤΑΔΕΔΑΙΜΟΝΙΑΥΠΟΤΑΣΣΕΤΑΙΗΔΗΤΕΛΕΥΤΩΣΑΤΙΣΙΣΘΕΝΕΙΤΩΠΑΙΔΙΕΠ

ΙΣΤΕΛΛΕΙΤΑΔΕΣΥΝΕΦΥΓΟΝΓΑΡΠΟΤΕΕΚΤΗΣΑΙΓΥΠΤΙΑΣΕΠΙΝΕΚΤΑΝΕΒΟΥΜΕΤΑΤΟΥΣΟΥΠΑΤΡΟ

ΣΔΙΑΤΟΝΕΡΩΤΑΤΟΝΕΜΟΝΕΠΙΟΡΚΗΣΑΝΤΟΣΦΥΓΟΝΤΕΣΔΕΠΡΟΣΝΟΤΟΝΔΙΑΠΟΝΤΙΟΙΚΑΙΚΔΜΗΝΑ

ΣΚΑΤΑΤΑΠΑΡΑΘΑΛΑΣΣΙΑΤΗΣΛΙΒΥΗΣΤΑΠΡΟΣΗΛΙΟΥΑΝΑΤΟΛΑΣΠΛΑΝΗΘΕΝΤΕΣΕΝΘΑΠΕΡΠΕΤΡΑ

ΤΙΣΜΕΓΑΛΗΓΛΥΠΤΟΝΟΜΟΙΩΜΑΑΙΘΙΟΠΟΣΚΕΦΑΛΗΣΕΙΤΑΗΜΕΡΑΣΔΑΠΟΣΤΟΜΑΤΟΣΠΟΤΑΜΟΥΜΕΓ

ΑΛΟΥΕΚΠΕΣΟΝΤΕΣΟΙΜΕΝΚΑΤΕΠΟΝΤΙΣΘΗΜΕΝΟΙΔΕΝΟΣΩΙΑΠΕΘΑΝΟΜΕΝΤΕΛΟΣΔΕΥΠΑΓΡΙΩΝΑΝ

ΘΡΩΠΩΝΕΦΕΡΟΜΕΘΑΔΙΑΕΛΕΩΝΤΕΚΑΙΤΕΝΑΓΕΩΝΕΝΘΑΠΕΡΠΤΗΝΩΝΠΛΗΘΟΣΑΠΟΚΡΥΠΤΕΙΤΟΝΟΥ

ΡΑΝΟΝΗΜΕΡΑΣΙΕΩΣΗΛΘΟΜΕΝΕΙΣΚΟΙΛΟΝΤΙΟΡΟΣΕΝΘΑΠΟΤΕΜΕΓΑΛΗΜΕΝΠΟΛΙΣΗΝΑΝΤΡΑΔΕΑΠ

ΕΙΡΟΝΑΗΓΑΓΟΝΔΕΩΣΒΑΣΙΛΕΙΑΝΤΗΝΤΩΝΞΕΝΟΥΣΧΥΤΡΑΙΣΣΤΕΦΑΝΟΥΝΤΩΝΗΤΙΣΜΑΓΕΙΑΜΕΝΕ

ΧΡΗΤΟΕΠΙΣΤΗΜΗΔΕΠΑΝΤΩΝΚΑΙΔΗΚΑΙΚΑΛΛΟΣΚΑΙΡΩΜΗΝΑΓΗΡΩΣΗΝΗΔΕΚΑΛΛΙΚΡΑΤΟΥΣΤΟΥΣ

ΟΥΠΑΤΡΟΣΕΡΑΣΘΕΙΣΑΤΟΜΕΝΠΡΩΤΟΝΣΥΝΟΙΚΕΙΝΕΒΟΥΛΕΤΟΕΜΕΔΕΑΝΕΛΕΙΝΕΠΕΙΤΑΩΣΟΥΚΑΝ

ΕΠΕΙΘΕΝΕΜΕΓΑΡΥΠΕΡΕΦΙΛΕΙΚΑΙΤΗΝΞΕΝΗΝΕΦΟΒΕΙΤΟΑΠΗΓΑΓΕΝΗΜΑΣΥΠΟΜΑΓΕΙΑΣΚΑΘΟΔΟ

ΥΣΣΦΑΛΕΡΑΣΕΝΘΑΤΟΒΑΡΑΘΡΟΝΤΟΜΕΓΑΟΥΚΑΤΑΣΤΟΜΑΕΚΕΙΤΟΟΓΕΡΩΝΟΦΙΛΟΣΟΦΟΣΤΕΘΝΕΩΣ

ΑΦΙΚΟΜΕΝΟΙΣΔΕΔΕΙΞΕΦΩΣΤΟΥΒΙΟΥΕΥΘΥΟΙΟΝΚΙΟΝΑΕΛΙΣΣΟΜΕΝΟΝΦΩΝΗΝΙΕΝΤΑΚΑΘΑΠΕΡΒ

ΡΟΝΤΗΣΕΙΤΑΔΙΑΠΥΡΟΣΒΕΒΗΚΥΙΑΑΒΛΑΒΗΣΚΑΙΕΤΙΚΑΛΛΙΩΝΑΥΤΗΕΑΥΤΗΣΕΞΕΦΑΝΗΕΚΔΕΤΟΥ

ΤΩΝΩΜΟΣΕΚΑΙΤΟΝΣΟΝΠΑΤΕΡΑΑΘΑΝΑΤΟΝΑΠΟΔΕΙΞΕΙΝΕΙΣΥΝΟΙΚΕΙΝΟΙΒΟΥΛΟΙΤΟΕΜΕΔΕΑΝΕ

ΛΕΙΝΟΥΓΑΡΟΥΝΑΥΤΗΑΝΕΛΕΙΝΙΣΧΥΕΝΥΠΟΤΩΝΗΜΕΔΑΠΩΝΗΝΚΑΙΑΥΤΗΕΧΩΜΑΓΕΙΑΣΟΔΟΥΔΕΝΤ

ΙΜΑΛΛΟΝΗΘΕΛΕΤΩΧΕΙΡΕΤΩΝΟΜΜΑΤΩΝΠΡΟΙΣΧΩΝΙΝΑΔΗΤΟΤΗΣΓΥΝΑΙΚΟΣΚΑΛΛΟΣΜΗΟΡΩΗΕΠΕ

ΙΤΑΟΡΓΙΣΘΕΙΣΑΚΑΤΕΓΟΗΤΕΥΣΕΜΕΝΑΥΤΟΝΑΠΟΛΟΜΕΝΟΝΜΕΝΤΟΙΚΛΑΟΥΣΑΚΑΙΟΔΥΡΟΜΕΝΗΕΚ

ΕΙΘΕΝΑΠΗΝΕΓΚΕΝΕΜΕΔΕΦΟΒΩΙΑΦΗΚΕΝΕΙΣΣΤΟΜΑΤΟΥΜΕΓΑΛΟΥΠΟΤΑΜΟΥΤΟΥΝΑΥΣΙΠΟΡΟΥΠΟ

ΡΡΩΔΕΝΑΥΣΙΝΕΦΩΝΠΕΡΠΛΕΟΥΣΑΕΤΕΚΟΝΣΕΑΠΟΠΛΕΥΣΑΣΑΜΟΛΙΣΠΟΤΕΔΕΥΡΟΑΘΗΝΑΖΕΚΑΤΗΓ

ΑΓΟΜΗΝΣΥΔΕΩΤΙΣΙΣΘΕΝΕΣΩΝΕΠΙΣΤΕΛΛΩΜΗΟΛΙΓΩΡΕΙΔΕΙΓΑΡΤΗΝΓΥΝΑΙΚΑΑΝΑΖΗΤΕΙΝΗΝΠ

ΩΣΤΟΤΟΥΒΙΟΥΜΥΣΤΗΡΙΟΝΑΝΕΥΡΗΣΚΑΙΑΝΑΙΡΕΙΝΗΝΠΟΥΠΑΡΑΣΧΗΔΙΑΤΟΝΣΟΝΠΑΤΕΡΑΚΑΛΛΙ

ΚΡΑΤΗΝΕΙΔΕΦΟΒΟΥΜΕΝΟΣΗΔΙΑΑΛΛΟΤΙΑΥΤΟΣΛΕΙΠΕΙΤΟΥΕΡΓΟΥΠΑΣΙΤΟΙΣΥΣΤΕΡΟΝΑΥΤΟΤΟ

ΥΤΟΕΠΙΣΤΕΛΛΩΕΩΣΠΟΤΕΑΓΑΘΟΣΤΙΣΓΕΝΟΜΕΝΟΣΤΩΠΥΡΙΛΟΥΣΑΣΘΑΙΤΟΛΜΗΣΕΙΚΑΙΤΑΑΡΙΣΤ

ΕΙΑΕΧΩΝΒΑΣΙΛΕΥΣΑΙΤΩΝΑΝΘΡΩΠΩΝΑΠΙΣΤΑΜΕΝΔΗΤΑΤΟΙΑΥΤΑΛΕΓΩΟΜΩΣΔΕΑΑΥΤΗΕΓΝΩΚΑΟ

ΥΚΕΨΕΥΣΑΜΗΝ

For general convenience in reading, I have here accurately transcribed

this inscription into the cursive character.

Ἀμενάρτας, τοῦ βασικοῦ γένους τοῦ Αἰγυπτίου, ἡ τοῦ Καλλικράτους Ἴσιδος

ἱερέως, ἣν οἱ μὲν θεοὶ τρέφουσι τὰ δὲ δαιμονια ὑποτάσσεται, ἤδη

τελευτῶσα Τισισθένει τῷ παιδὶ ἐπιστέλλει τάδε· συνέφυγον γάρ ποτε ἐκ

τῆς Αἰγυπτίας ἐπὶ Νεκτανέβου μετὰ τοῦ σοῦ πατρός, διὰ τὸν ἔρωτα τὸν

ἐμὸν ἐπιορκήσαντος. φυγόντες δὲ πρὸς νότον διαπόντιοι καὶ κʹδʹ μῆνας

κατὰ τὰ παραθαλάσσια τῆς Αιβύης τὰ πρός ἡλίου ἀνατολὰς πλανηθέντες,

ἔνθαπερ πέτρα τις μελάλη, γλυπτὸν ὁμοίωμα Αἰθίοπος κεφαλῆς, εἶτα ἡμέρας

δʹ ἀπὸ στόματος ποταμοῦ μεγάλου ἐκπεσόντες, οἱ μέν κατεποντίσθημεν, οἱ

δὲ νόσῳ ἀπεθάνομεν· τέλος δὲ ὑπ᾽ ἀλρίων ἀνθρώπων ἐφερόμεθα διὰ ἐλέων τε

καὶ τεναλέων ἔνθαπερ πτηνῶν πλῆθος ἀποκρύπτει τὸν οὐρανὸν, ἡμέρας ί,

ἕως ἤλθομεν εἰς κοῖλόν τι ὄρος, ἔνθα ποτὲ μεγάλη μὲν πόλις ἦν, ἄντρα δὲ

ἀπείρονα· ἤγαγον δὲ ὡς βασίλειαν τὴν τῶν ξένους χύτραις στεφανούντων,

ἥτις μαλεία μὲν ἐχρῆτο ἐπιστήμη δὲ πάντων καὶ δὴ καὶ κάλλός καὶ ῥώμην

ἀλήρως ἦν· ἡ δὲ Καλλικράτους τοῦ πατρὸς ἐρασθεῖδα τὸ μὲν πρῶτον

συνοικεῖν ἐβούλετο ἐμὲ δὲ ἀνελεῖν· ἔπειτα, ὡς οὐκ ἀνέπειθεν, ἐμὲ γὰρ

ὑπερεφίλει καὶ τὴν ξένην ἐφοβεῖτο, ἀπήγαγεν ἡμᾶς ὑπὸ μαγείας καθʹ ὁδοὺς

σφαλερὰς ἔνθα τὸ βάραθρον τὸ μέγα, οὗ κατὰ στόμα ἔκειτο ὁ γέρων ὁ

φιλόσοφος τεθνεώς, ἀφικομένοις δʹ ἔδειξε φῶς τοῦ βίου εὐθύ, οἷον κίονα

ἑλισσόμενον φώνην ἱέντα καθάπερ βροντῆς, εἶτα διὰ πυρὸς βεβηκυῖα

ἀβλαβὴς καὶ ἔτι καλλίων αὐτὴ ἑαυτῆς ἐξεφάνη. ἐκ δὲ τούτων ὤμοσε καὶ τὸν

σὸν πατέρα ἀθάνατον ἀποδείξειν, εἰ συνοικεῖν οἱ βούλοιτο ἐμὲ δε

ὰνελεῖν, οὐ γὰρ οὖν αὐτὴ ἀνελεῖν ἴσχυεν ὑπὸ τῶν ἡμεδαπῶν ἣν καὶ αὐτὴ

ἔχω μαγείας. ὁ δʹ οὐδέν τι μᾶλλον ἤθελε, τὼ χεῖρε τῶν ὀμμάτων προίσχων

ἵνα δὴ τὸ τῆς γυναικὸς κάλλος μὴ ὁρῴη· ἔπειτα ὀργισθεῖσα κατεγοήτευσε

μὲν αὐτόν, ἀπολόμενον μέντοι κλάουσα καὶ ὀδυρμένη ἐκεῖθεν ἀπήνεγκεν,

ἐμὲ δὲ φόβῳ ἀφῆκεν εἰς στόμα τοῦ μεγάλου ποταμοῦ τοῦ ναυσιπόρου, πόδδω

δὲ ναυσίν, ἐφʹ ὧνπερ πλέουσα ἔτεκόν σε, ἀποπλεύσασα μόλις ποτὲ δεῦρο

Ἀθηνάζε κατηγαγόν. σὺ δέ, ὦ Τισίσθενες, ὧν ἐπιστέλλω μὴ ὀλιγώρει· δεῖ

γὰρ τῆν γυναῖκα ἀναζητεῖν ἤν πως τῦ βίου μυστήριον ἀνεύρῃς, καὶ

ἀναιρεῖν, ἤν που παρασχῇ, διὰ τὸν πατέρα Καλλικράτους. εἐ δὲ φοβούμενος

ἢ διὰ ἄλλο τι αὐτὸς λείπει τοῦ ἔργου, πᾶσι τοῖς ὕστερον αὐτὸ τοῦτο

ἐπιστέλλω, ἕως ποτὲ ἀγαθός τις γενόμενος τῷ πυρὶ λούσασθαι τολμήσει καὶ

τὰ ἀριστεῖα ἔχων βασιλεῦσαι τῶν ἀνθρώπων· ἄπιστα μὲν δὴ τὰ τοιαῦτα

λέγω, ὅμως δὲ ἃ αὐτὴ ἔγνωκα οὐκ ἐψευσάμην.

The English translation was, as I discovered on further

investigation, and as the reader may easily see by comparison,

both accurate and elegant.

Besides the uncial writing on the convex side of the sherd at the top,

painted in dull red, on what had once been the lip of the amphora, was

the cartouche already mentioned as being on the _scarabæus_, which we

had also found in the casket. The hieroglyphics or symbols, however,

were reversed, just as though they had been pressed on wax. Whether

this was the cartouche of the original Kallikrates,[2] or of some

Prince or Pharaoh from whom his wife Amenartas was descended, I am not

sure, nor can I tell if it was drawn upon the sherd at the same time

that the uncial Greek was inscribed, or copied on more recently from

the Scarab by some other member of the family. Nor was this all. At the

foot of the writing, painted in the same dull red, was the faint

outline of a somewhat rude drawing of the head and shoulders of a

Sphinx wearing two feathers, symbols of majesty, which, though common

enough upon the effigies of sacred bulls and gods, I have never before

met with on a Sphinx.

[2] The cartouche, if it be a true cartouche, cannot have been that of

Kallikrates, as Mr. Holly suggests. Kallikrates was a priest and not

entitled to a cartouche, which was the prerogative of Egyptian

royalty, though he might have inscribed his name or title upon an

_oval_.—Editor.

Also on the right-hand side of this surface of the sherd, painted

obliquely in red on the space not covered by the uncial

characters, and signed in blue paint, was the following quaint

inscription:—

IN EARTH AND SKIE AND SEA

STRANGE THYNGES THER BE.

HOC FECIT

DOROTHEA VINCEY.

Perfectly bewildered, I turned the relic over. It was covered

from top to bottom with notes and signatures in Greek, Latin, and

English. The first in uncial Greek was by Tisisthenes, the son to

whom the writing was addressed. It was, “I could not go.

Tisisthenes to his son, Kallikrates.” Here it is in fac-simile

with its cursive equivalent:—

ΟΥΚΑΝΔΥΝΑΙΜΗΝΠΟΡΕΥΕϹΘΑΙΤΙϹΙϹΘΕΝΗϹΚΑΛΛΙΚΡΑΤΕΙΤΩΙΠΑΙΔΙ

οὐκ ἂν δυναίμην πορεύεσθαι. Τισισθένης Καλλικράτει τῷ παιδί.

This Kallikrates (probably, in the Greek fashion, so named after

his grandfather) evidently made some attempt to start on the

quest, for his entry written in very faint and almost illegible

uncial is, “I ceased from my going, the gods being against me.

Kallikrates to his son.” Here it is also:—

ΤΩΝΘΕΩΝΑΝΤΙΣΤΑΝΤΩΝΕΠΑΥΣΑΜΗΝΤΗΣΠΟΡΕΙΑΣΑΛΛΙΚΡΑΤΗΣΤΩΙΠΑΙΔΙ

τῶν θεῶν ἀντιστάντων ἐπαυσάμην τῆς πορείας. Καλλικράτης τῷ παιδί.

Between these two ancient writings, the second of which was

inscribed upside down and was so faint and worn that, had it not

been for the transcript of it executed by Vincey, I should

scarcely have been able to read it, since, owing to its having

been written on that portion of the tile which had, in the course

of ages, undergone the most handling, it was nearly rubbed

out—was the bold, modern-looking signature of one Lionel Vincey,

“Ætate sua 17,” which was written thereon, I think, by Leo’s

grandfather. To the right of this were the initials “J. B. V.,”

and below came a variety of Greek signatures, in uncial and

cursive character, and what appeared to be some carelessly

executed repetitions of the sentence τῷ παιδί (to my son),

showing that the relic was religiously passed on from generation

to generation.

The next legible thing after the Greek signatures was the word

“Romae, A.U.C.,” showing that the family had now migrated to

Rome. Unfortunately, however, with the exception of its

termination (evi) the date of their settlement there is for ever

lost, for just where it had been placed a piece of the potsherd

is broken away.

Then followed twelve Latin signatures, jotted about here and

there, wherever there was a space upon the tile suitable to their

inscription. These signatures, with three exceptions only, ended

with the name “Vindex” or “the Avenger,” which seems to have been

adopted by the family after its migration to Rome as a kind of

equivalent to the Greek “Tisisthenes,” which also means an

avenger. Ultimately, as might be expected, this Latin cognomen of

Vindex was transformed first into De Vincey, and then into the

plain, modern Vincey. It is very curious to observe how the idea

of revenge, inspired by an Egyptian who lived before the time of

Christ, is thus, as it were, embalmed in an English family name.

A few of the Roman names inscribed upon the sherd I have actually

since found mentioned in history and other records. They were, if

I remember right,

MVSSIVS. VINDEX

SEX. VARIVS MARVLLVS

C. FVFIDIVS. C. F. VINDEX

and

LABERIA POMPEIANA. CONIVX. MACRINI. VINDICIS

this last being, of course, the name of a Roman lady.

The following list, however, comprises all the Latin names upon

the sherd:—

C. CAECILIVS VINDEX

M. AIMILIVS VINDEX

SEX. VARIVS. MARVLLVS

Q. SOSIVS PRISCVS SENECIO VINDEX

L. VALERIVS COMINIVS VINDEX

SEX. OTACILIVS. M. F.

L. ATTIVS. VINDEX

MVSSIVS VINDEX

C. FVFIDIVS. C. F. VINDEX

LICINIVS FAVSTVS

LABERIA POMPEIANA CONIVX MACRINI VINDICIS

MANILIA LVCILLA CONIVX MARVLLI VINDICIS

After the Roman names there is evidently a gap of very many

centuries. Nobody will ever know now what was the history of the

relic during those dark ages, or how it came to have been

preserved in the family. My poor friend Vincey had, it will be

remembered, told me that his Roman ancestors finally settled in

Lombardy, and when Charlemagne invaded it, returned with him

across the Alps, and made their home in Brittany, whence they

crossed to England in the reign of Edward the Confessor. How he

knew this I am not aware, for there is no reference to Lombardy

or Charlemagne upon the tile, though, as will presently be seen,

there is a reference to Brittany. To continue: the next entries

on the sherd, if I may except a long splash either of blood or

red colouring matter of some sort, consist of two crosses drawn

in red pigment, and probably representing Crusaders’ swords, and

a rather neat monogram (“D. V.”) in scarlet and blue, perhaps

executed by that same Dorothea Vincey who wrote, or rather

painted, the doggrel couplet. To the left of this, inscribed in

faint blue, were the initials A. V., and after them a date, 1800.

Then came what was perhaps as curious an entry as anything upon

this extraordinary relic of the past. It is executed in black

letter, written over the crosses or Crusaders’ swords, and dated

fourteen hundred and forty-five. As the best plan will be to

allow it to speak for itself, I here give the black-letter

fac-simile, together with the original Latin without the

contractions, from which it will be seen that the writer was a

fair mediæval Latinist. Also we discovered what is still more

curious, an English version of the black-letter Latin. This, also

written in black letter, we found inscribed on a second parchment

that was in the coffer, apparently somewhat older in date than

that on which was inscribed the mediæval Latin translation of the

uncial Greek of which I shall speak presently. This I also give

in full.

_Fac-simile of Black-Letter Inscription on the Sherd of Amenartas._

“Iſta reliq̅ia eſt valde miſticu̅ et myrificu̅ op̅s q̅d maiores

mei ex Armorica ſſ Brittania mi̅ore ſecu̅ co̅veheba̅t et q̅dm

ſc̅s cleric̅s ſe̅per p̅ri meo in manu ferebat q̅d pe̅itus illvd

deſtrueret, affirma̅s q̅d eſſet ab ipſo ſathana co̅flatu̅

preſtigioſa et dyabolica arte q̅re p̅ter mevs co̅fregit illvd i̅

dvas p̅tes q̅s q̅dm ego Johs̅ de Vi̅ceto ſalvas ſervavi et

adaptavi ſicut ap̅paret die lu̅e p̅r̅ poſt feſt beate Mrie vir{g}

anni gr̅e mccccxlv.”

_Expanded Version of the above Black-Letter Inscription._

“Ista reliquia est valde misticum et myrificum opus, quod majores

mei ex Armorica, scilicet Britannia Minore, secum convehebant; et

et quidam sanctus clericus semper patri meo in manu ferebat quod

penitus illud destrueret, affirmans quod esset ab ipso Sathana

conflatum prestigiosa et dyabolica arte, quare pater meus

confregit illud in duas partes, quas quidem ego Johannes de

Vinceto salvas servavi et adaptavi sicut apparet die lune proximo

post festum beate Marie Virginis anni gratie MCCCCXLV.”

_Fac-simile of the Old English Black-Letter Translation of the

above Latin Inscription from the Sherd of Amenartas found

inscribed upon a parchment._

“Thys rellike ys a ryghte mistycall worke & a marvaylous yᵉ

whyche myne aunceteres afore tyme dyd conveigh hider wᵗ yᵐ ffrom

Armoryke whᵉ ys to ſeien Britaine yᵉ leſſe & a certayne holye

clerke ſhoulde allweyes beare my ffadir on honde yᵗ he owghte

uttirly ffor to ffruſſhe yᵉ ſame affyrmynge yᵗ yt was ffourmyd &

confflatyd off ſathanas hym ſelffe by arte magike & dyvellyſſhe

wherefore my ffadir dyd take yᵉ ſame & to braſt yt yn tweyne but

I John de Vincey dyd ſave whool yᵉ tweye p̄tes therof & topeecyd

yᵐ togydder agayne ſoe as yee ſe on y{s} daye mondaye next

ffolowynge after yᵉ ffeeste of ſeynte Marye yᵉ bleſſed vyrgyne yn

yᵉ yeere of ſalvacioun ffowertene hundreth & ffyve & ffowrti.”

_Modernised Version of the above Black-Letter Translation._

“Thys rellike ys a ryghte mistycall worke and a marvaylous, ye

whyche myne aunceteres aforetyme dyd conveigh hider with them

from Armoryke which ys to seien Britaine ye Lesse and a certayne

holye clerke should allweyes beare my fadir on honde that he

owghte uttirly for to frusshe ye same, affyrmynge that yt was

fourmed and conflatyed of Sathanas hym selfe by arte magike and

dyvellysshe wherefore my fadir dyd take ye same and tobrast yt yn

tweyne, but I, John de Vincey, dyd save whool ye tweye partes

therof and topeecyd them togydder agayne soe as yee se, on this

daye mondaye next followynge after ye feeste of Seynte Marye ye

Blessed Vyrgyne yn ye yeere of Salvacioun fowertene hundreth and

fyve and fowerti.”

The next and, save one, last entry was Elizabethan, and dated

1564. “A most strange historie, and one that did cost my father

his life; for in seekynge for the place upon the east coast of

Africa, his pinnance was sunk by a Portuguese galleon off Lorenzo

Marquez, and he himself perished.—John Vincey.”

Then came the last entry, apparently, to judge by the style of writing,

made by some representative of the family in the middle of the

eighteenth century. It was a misquotation of the well-known lines in

Hamlet, and ran thus: “There are more things in Heaven and earth than

are dreamt of in your philosophy, Horatio.”[3]

[3] Another thing that makes me fix the date of this entry at the

middle of the eighteenth century is that, curiously enough, I have an

acting copy of “Hamlet,” written about 1740, in which these two lines

are misquoted almost exactly in the same way, and I have little doubt

but that the Vincey who wrote them on the potsherd heard them so

misquoted at that date. Of course, the lines really run:—

There are more things in heaven and earth, Horatio,

Than are dreamt of in your philosophy.—L. H. H.

And now there remained but one more document to be examined—namely, the

ancient black-letter transcription into mediæval Latin of the uncial

inscription on the sherd. As will be seen, this translation was

executed and subscribed in the year 1495, by a certain “learned man,”

Edmundus de Prato (Edmund Pratt) by name, licentiate in Canon Law, of

Exeter College, Oxford, who had actually been a pupil of Grocyn, the

first scholar who taught Greek in England.[4] No doubt, on the fame of

this new learning reaching his ears, the Vincey of the day, perhaps

that same John de Vincey who years before had saved the relic from

destruction and made the black-letter entry on the sherd in 1445,

hurried off to Oxford to see if perchance it might avail to dissolve

the secret of the mysterious inscription. Nor was he disappointed, for

the learned Edmundus was equal to the task. Indeed his rendering is so

excellent an example of mediæval learning and latinity that, even at

the risk of sating the learned reader with too many antiquities, I have

made up my mind to give it in fac-simile, together with an expanded

version for the benefit of those who find the contractions troublesome.

The translation has several peculiarities on which this is not the

place to dwell, but I would in passing call the attention of scholars

to the passage “duxerunt autem nos ad reginam

_advenaslasaniscoronantium_,” which strikes me as a delightful

rendering of the original, “ἤγαγον δὲ ὡς βασίλειαν τὴν τῶν ξένους

χύτραις στεφανούντων.”

[4] Grocyn, the instructor of Erasmus, studied Greek under

Chalcondylas the Byzantine at Florence, and first lectured in the Hall

of Exeter College, Oxford, in 1491.—Editor.

_mediæval Black-Letter Latin Translation of the Uncial Inscription on

the Sherd of Amenartas_

Amenartas e gen. reg. Egyptii uxor Callicratis ſacerdot̅ Iſidis

qua̅ dei fove̅t demonia atte̅du̅t filiol’ ſuo Tiſiſtheni ia̅

moribu̅da ita ma̅dat: Effugi quo̅da̅ ex Egypto regna̅te Nectanebo

cu̅ patre tuo, p̃pter mei amore̅ pejerato. Fugie̅tes aute̅ v’ſus

Notu̅ trans mare et xxiiij me̅ſes p’r litora Libye v’ſus Orie̅te̅

errant̃ ubi eſt petra queda̅ m̃gna ſculpta inſtar Ethiop̃ capit̃,

deinde dies iiij ab oſt̃ flum̃ m̃gni eiecti p’tim ſubmerſi ſumus

p’tim morbo mortui ſum̃: in fine aute̅ a fer̃ ho̅i̅bs portabamur

p̃r palud̃ et vada. ubi aviu̅ m’titudo celu̅ obu̅brat dies x.

donec advenim̃ ad cavu̅ que̅da̅ monte̅, ubi olim m̃gna urbs erat,

caverne quoq̃ im̅e̅ſe: duxeru̅t aute̅ nos ad regina̅

Advenaſlaſaniſcorona̅tiu̅ que magic̃ utebat̃ et peritia omniu̅

rer̃ et ſalte̅ pulcrit̃ et vigore i̅ſe̅eſcibil’ erat. Hec m̃gno

patr̃ tui amore p̃culſa p’mu̅ q’de̅ ei con̅ubiu̅ michi morte̅

parabat. poſtea v’ro recuſa̅te Callicrate amore mei et timore

regine affecto nos p̃r magica̅ abduxit p’r vias horribil’ ubi eſt

puteus ille p̃fu̅dus, cuius iuxta aditu̅ iacebat ſenior̃

philoſophi cadaver, et adve̅ie̅tib̃ mo̅ſtravit flam̅a̅ Vite

erecta̅, i̅star columne voluta̅tis, voces emitte̅te̅ q̃ſi

tonitrus: tu̅c p̃r igne̅ i̅petu nociuo expers tra̅ſiit et ia̅

ipsa ſeſe formoſior viſa eſt.

Quib̃ fact̃ iuravit ſe patre̅ tuu̅ quoq̃ im̅ortale̅ oſte̅ſura̅

eſſe, ſi me prius occiſa regine co̅tuberniu̅ mallet; neq̃ eni̅

ipſa me occidere valuit, p̃pter noſtratu̅ m̃gica̅ cuius egomet

p̃tem habeo. Ille vero nichil huius geñ maluit, manib ante ocul̃

paſſis ne mulier̃ formoſitate̅ adſpiceret: poſtea eu̅ m̃gica

p̃cuſſit arte, at mortuu̅ efferebat i̅de cu̅ fletib̃ et vagitib̃,

me p̃r timore̅ expulit ad oſtiu̅ m̃gni flumiñ veliuoli porro in

nave in qua te peperi, uix poſt dies hvc Athenas invecta ſu̅. At

tu, O Tiſiſtheñ, ne q’d quoru̅ ma̅do nauci fac: neceſſe eni̅ eſt

muliere̅ exquirere ſi qva Vite myſteriu̅ i̅petres et vi̅dicare,

qua̅tu̅ in te eſt, patre̅ tuu̅ Callierat̃ in regine morte. Sin

timore ſue aliq̃ cavſa re̅ reli̅quis i̅fecta̅, hoc ipſu̅ oi̅b̃

poſter̃ ma̅do du̅ bonvs q̃s inveniatur qvi ignis lauacru̅ no̅

p̃rhorreſcet et p̃tentia digñ do̅i̅abit̃ ho̅i̅u̅.

Talia dico incredibilia q̃de̅ at min̅e ñcta de reb̃ michi

cognitis.

Hec Grece scripta Latine reddidit vir doctus Edm̅ds de Prato, in

Decretis Licenciatus e Coll. Exon: Oxon: doctiſſimi Grocyni

quondam e pupillis, Id. Apr. Aᵒ. Dn̅i. MCCCCLXXXXV°.

_Expanded Version of the above Mediæval Latin Translation_

Amenartas, e genere regio Egyptii, uxor Callicratis, sacerdotis

Isidis, quam dei fovent demonia attendunt, filiolo suo Tisistheni

jam moribunda ita mandat: Effugi quodam ex Egypto, regnante

Nectanebo, cum patre tuo, propter mei amorem pejerato. Fugientes

autem versus Notum trans mare, et viginti quatuor menses per

litora Libye versus Orientem errantes, ubi est petra quedam magna

sculpta instar Ethiopis capitis, deinde dies quatuor ab ostio

fluminis magni ejecti partim submersi sumus partim morbo mortui

sumus: in fine autem a feris hominibus portabamur per paludes et

vada, ubi avium multitudo celum obumbrat, dies decem, donec

advenimus ad cavum quendam montem, ubi olim magna urbs erat,

caverne quoque immense; duxerunt autem nos ad reginam

Advenaslasaniscoronantium, que magicâ utebatur et peritiá omnium

rerum, et saltem pulcritudine et vigore insenescibilis erat. Hec

magno patris tui amore perculsa, primum quidem ei connubium michi

mortem parabat; postea vero, recusante Callicrate, amore mei et

timore regine affecto, nos per magicam abduxit per vias

horribiles ubi est puteus ille profundus, cujus juxta aditum

jacebat senioris philosophi cadaver, et advenientibus monstravit

flammam Vite erectam, instar columne voluntantis, voces

emittentem quasi tonitrus: tunc per ignem impetu nocivo expers

transiit et jam ipsa sese formosior visa est.

Quibus factis juravit se patrem tuum quoque immortalem ostensuram

esse, si me prius occisa regine contubernium mallet; neque enim

ipsa me occidere valuit, propter nostratum magicam cujus egomet

partem habeo. Ille vero nichil hujus generis malebat, manibus

ante oculos passis, ne mulieris formositatem adspiceret: postea

illum magica percussit arte, at mortuum efferebat inde cum

fletibus et vagitibus, et me per timorem expulit ad ostium magni

fluminis, velivoli, porro in nave, in qua te peperi, vix post

dies huc Athenas vecta sum. At tu, O Tisisthenes, ne quid quorum

mando nauci fac: necesse enim est mulierem exquirere si qua Vite

mysterium impetres et vindicare, quautum in te est, patrem tuum

Callieratem in regine morte. Sin timore sue aliqua causa rem

reliquis infectam, hoc ipsum omnibus posteris mando, dum bonus

quis inveniatur qui ignis lavacrum non perhorrescet, et potentia

dignus dominabitur hominum.

Talia dico incredibilia quidem at minime ficta de rebus michi

cognitis.

Hec Grece scripta Latine reddidit vir doctus Edmundus de Prato,

in Descretis Licenciatus, e Collegio Exoniensi Oxoniensi

doctissimi Grocyni quondam e pupillis, Idibus Aprilis Anno Domini

MCCCCLXXXXV°.

“Well,” I said, when at length I had read out and carefully

examined these writings and paragraphs, at least those of them

that were still easily legible, “that is the conclusion of the

whole matter, Leo, and now you can form your own opinion on it. I

have already formed mine.”

“And what is it?” he asked, in his quick way.

“It is this. I believe that potsherd to be perfectly genuine, and

that, wonderful as it may seem, it has come down in your family

from since the fourth century before Christ. The entries

absolutely prove it, and therefore, however improbable it may

seem, it must be accepted. But there I stop. That your remote

ancestress, the Egyptian princess, or some scribe under her

direction, wrote that which we see on the sherd I have no doubt,

nor have I the slightest doubt but that her sufferings and the

loss of her husband had turned her head, and that she was not

right in her mind when she did write it.”

“How do you account for what my father saw and heard there?”

asked Leo.

“Coincidence. No doubt there are bluffs on the coast of Africa

that look something like a man’s head, and plenty of people who

speak bastard Arabic. Also, I believe that there are lots of

swamps. Another thing is, Leo, and I am sorry to say it, but I do

not believe that your poor father was quite right when he wrote

that letter. He had met with a great trouble, and also he had

allowed this story to prey on his imagination, and he was a very

imaginative man. Anyway, I believe that the whole thing is the

most unmitigated rubbish. I know that there are curious things

and forces in nature which we rarely meet with, and, when we do

meet them, cannot understand. But until I see it with my own

eyes, which I am not likely to, I never will believe that there

is any means of avoiding death, even for a time, or that there is

or was a white sorceress living in the heart of an African swamp.

It is bosh, my boy, all bosh!—What do you say, Job?”

“I say, sir, that it is a lie, and, if it is true, I hope Mr. Leo

won’t meddle with no such things, for no good can’t come of it.”

“Perhaps you are both right,” said Leo, very quietly. “I express

no opinion. But I say this. I am going to set the matter at rest

once and for all, and if you won’t come with me I will go by

myself.”

I looked at the young man, and saw that he meant what he said.

When Leo means what he says he always puts on a curious look

about the mouth. It has been a trick of his from a child. Now, as

a matter of fact, I had no intention of allowing Leo to go

anywhere by himself, for my own sake, if not for his. I was far

too attached to him for that. I am not a man of many ties or

affections. Circumstances have been against me in this respect,

and men and women shrink from me, or at least, I fancy that they

do, which comes to the same thing, thinking, perhaps, that my

somewhat forbidding exterior is a key to my character. Rather

than endure this, I have, to a great extent, secluded myself from

the world, and cut myself off from those opportunities which with

most men result in the formation of relations more or less

intimate. Therefore Leo was all the world to me—brother, child,

and friend—and until he wearied of me, where he went there I

should go too. But, of course, it would not do to let him see how

great a hold he had over me; so I cast about for some means

whereby I might let myself down easy.

“Yes, I shall go, Uncle; and if I don’t find the ‘rolling Pillar

of Life,’ at any rate I shall get some first-class shooting.”

Here was my opportunity, and I took it.

“Shooting?” I said. “Ah! yes; I never thought of that. It must be

a very wild stretch of country, and full of big game. I have

always wanted to kill a buffalo before I die. Do you know, my

boy, I don’t believe in the quest, but I do believe in big game,

and really on the whole, if, after thinking it over, you make up

your mind to go, I will take a holiday, and come with you.”

“Ah,” said Leo, “I thought that you would not lose such a chance.

But how about money? We shall want a good lot.”

“You need not trouble about that,” I answered. “There is all your

income that has been accumulating for years, and besides that I

have saved two-thirds of what your father left to me, as I

consider, in trust for you. There is plenty of cash.”

“Very well, then, we may as well stow these things away and go up

to town to see about our guns. By the way, Job, are you coming

too? It’s time you began to see the world.”

“Well, sir,” answered Job, stolidly, “I don’t hold much with

foreign parts, but if both you gentlemen are going you will want

somebody to look after you, and I am not the man to stop behind

after serving you for twenty years.”

“That’s right, Job,” said I. “You won’t find out anything

wonderful, but you will get some good shooting. And now look

here, both of you. I won’t have a word said to a living soul

about this nonsense,” and I pointed to the potsherd. “If it got

out, and anything happened to me, my next of kin would dispute my

will on the ground of insanity, and I should become the laughing

stock of Cambridge.”

That day three months we were on the ocean, bound for Zanzibar.

IV.

THE SQUALL

How different is the scene that I have now to tell from that

which has just been told! Gone are the quiet college rooms, gone

the wind-swayed English elms, the cawing rooks, and the familiar

volumes on the shelves, and in their place there rises a vision

of the great calm ocean gleaming in shaded silver lights beneath

the beams of the full African moon. A gentle breeze fills the

huge sail of our dhow, and draws us through the water that

ripples musically against her sides. Most of the men are sleeping

forward, for it is near midnight, but a stout swarthy Arab,

Mahomed by name, stands at the tiller, lazily steering by the

stars. Three miles or more to our starboard is a low dim line. It

is the Eastern shore of Central Africa. We are running to the

southward, before the North East Monsoon, between the mainland

and the reef that for hundreds of miles fringes this perilous

coast. The night is quiet, so quiet that a whisper can be heard

fore and aft the dhow; so quiet that a faint booming sound rolls

across the water to us from the distant land.

The Arab at the tiller holds up his hand, and says one

word:—“_Simba_ (lion)!”

We all sit up and listen. Then it comes again, a slow, majestic

sound, that thrills us to the marrow.

“To-morrow by ten o’clock,” I say, “we ought, if the Captain is

not out in his reckoning, which I think very probable, to make

this mysterious rock with a man’s head, and begin our shooting.”

“And begin our search for the ruined city and the Fire of Life,”

corrected Leo, taking his pipe from his mouth, and laughing a

little.

“Nonsense!” I answered. “You were airing your Arabic with that

man at the tiller this afternoon. What did he tell you? He has

been trading (slave-trading, probably) up and down these

latitudes for half of his iniquitous life, and once landed on

this very ‘man’ rock. Did he ever hear anything of the ruined

city or the caves?”

“No,” answered Leo. “He says that the country is all swamp

behind, and full of snakes, especially pythons, and game, and

that no man lives there. But then there is a belt of swamp all

along the East African coast, so that does not go for much.”

“Yes,” I said, “it does—it goes for malaria. You see what sort of

an opinion these gentry have of the country. Not one of them will

go with us. They think that we are mad, and upon my word I

believe that they are right. If ever we see old England again I

shall be astonished. However, it does not greatly matter to me at

my age, but I am anxious for you, Leo, and for Job. It’s a Tom

Fool’s business, my boy.”

“All right, Uncle Horace. So far as I am concerned, I am willing

to take my chance. Look! What is that cloud?” and he pointed to a

dark blotch upon the starry sky, some miles astern of us.

“Go and ask the man at the tiller,” I said.

He rose, stretched his arms, and went. Presently he returned.

“He says it is a squall, but it will pass far on one side of us.”

Just then Job came up, looking very stout and English in his

shooting-suit of brown flannel, and with a sort of perplexed

appearance upon his honest round face that had been very common

with him since he got into these strange waters.

“Please, sir,” he said, touching his sun hat, which was stuck on

to the back of his head in a somewhat ludicrous fashion, “as we

have got all those guns and things in the whale-boat astern, to

say nothing of the provisions in the lockers, I think it would be

best if I got down and slept in her. I don’t like the looks”

(here he dropped his voice to a portentous whisper) “of these

black gentry; they have such a wonderful thievish way about them.

Supposing now that some of them were to slip into the boat at

night and cut the cable, and make off with her? That would be a

pretty go, that would.”

The whale-boat, I may explain, was one specially built for us at

Dundee, in Scotland. We had brought it with us, as we knew that

this coast was a network of creeks, and that we might require

something to navigate them with. She was a beautiful boat,

thirty-feet in length, with a centre-board for sailing,

copper-bottomed to keep the worm out of her, and full of

water-tight compartments. The Captain of the dhow had told us

that when we reached the rock, which he knew, and which appeared

to be identical with the one described upon the sherd and by

Leo’s father, he would probably not be able to run up to it on

account of the shallows and breakers. Therefore we had employed

three hours that very morning, whilst we were totally becalmed,

the wind having dropped at sunrise, in transferring most of our

goods and chattels to the whale-boat, and placing the guns,

ammunition, and preserved provisions in the water-tight lockers

specially prepared for them, so that when we did sight the fabled

rock we should have nothing to do but step into the boat, and run

her ashore. Another reason that induced us to take this

precautionary step was that Arab captains are apt to run past the

point that they are making, either from carelessness or owing to

a mistake in its identity. Now, as sailors know, it is quite

impossible for a dhow which is only rigged to run before the

monsoon to beat back against it. Therefore we got our boat ready

to row for the rock at any moment.

“Well, Job,” I said, “perhaps it would be as well. There are lots

of blankets there, only be careful to keep out of the moon, or it

may turn your head or blind you.”

“Lord, sir! I don’t think it would much matter if it did; it is

that turned already with the sight of these blackamoors and their

filthy, thieving ways. They are only fit for muck, they are; and

they smell bad enough for it already.”

Job, it will be perceived, was no admirer of the manners and

customs of our dark-skinned brothers.

Accordingly we hauled up the boat by the tow-rope till it was

right under the stern of the dhow, and Job bundled into her with

all the grace of a falling sack of potatoes. Then we returned and

sat down on the deck again, and smoked and talked in little gusts

and jerks. The night was so lovely, and our brains were so full

of suppressed excitement of one sort and another, that we did not

feel inclined to turn in. For nearly an hour we sat thus, and

then, I think, we both dozed off. At least I have a faint

recollection of Leo sleepily explaining that the head was not a

bad place to hit a buffalo, if you could catch him exactly

between the horns, or send your bullet down his throat, or some

nonsense of the sort.

Then I remember no more; till suddenly—a frightful roar of wind,

a shriek of terror from the awakening crew, and a whip-like sting

of water in our faces. Some of the men ran to let go the

haulyards and lower the sail, but the parrel jammed and the yard

would not come down. I sprang to my feet and hung on to a rope.

The sky aft was dark as pitch, but the moon still shone brightly

ahead of us and lit up the blackness. Beneath its sheen a huge

white-topped breaker, twenty feet high or more, was rushing on to

us. It was on the break—the moon shone on its crest and tipped

its foam with light. On it rushed beneath the inky sky, driven by

the awful squall behind it. Suddenly, in the twinkling of an eye,

I saw the black shape of the whale-boat cast high into the air on

the crest of the breaking wave. Then—a shock of water, a wild

rush of boiling foam, and I was clinging for my life to the

shroud, ay, swept straight out from it like a flag in a gale.

We were pooped.

The wave passed. It seemed to me that I was under water for

minutes—really it was seconds. I looked forward. The blast had

torn out the great sail, and high in the air it was fluttering

away to leeward like a huge wounded bird. Then for a moment there

was comparative calm, and in it I heard Job’s voice yelling

wildly, “Come here to the boat.”

Bewildered and half-drowned as I was, I had the sense to rush

aft. I felt the dhow sinking under me—she was full of water.

Under her counter the whale-boat was tossing furiously, and I saw

the Arab Mahomed, who had been steering, leap into her. I gave

one desperate pull at the tow-rope to bring the boat alongside.

Wildly I sprang also, Job caught me by the arm and I rolled into

the bottom of the boat. Down went the dhow bodily, and as she did

so Mahomed drew his curved knife and severed the fibre-rope by

which we were fast to her, and in another second we were driving

before the storm over the place where the dhow had been.

“Great God!” I shrieked, “where is Leo? _Leo! Leo!_”

“He’s gone, sir, God help him!” roared Job into my ear; and such

was the fury of the squall that his voice sounded like a whisper.

I wrung my hands in agony. Leo was drowned, and I was left alive

to mourn him.

“Look out,” yelled Job; “here comes another.”

I turned; a second huge wave was overtaking us. I half hoped that

it would drown me. With a curious fascination I watched its awful

advent. The moon was nearly hidden now by the wreaths of the

rushing storm, but a little light still caught the crest of the

devouring breaker. There was something dark on it—a piece of

wreckage. It was on us now, and the boat was nearly full of

water. But she was built in air-tight compartments—Heaven bless

the man who invented them!—and lifted up through it like a swan.

Through the foam and turmoil I saw the black thing on the wave

hurrying right at me. I put out my right arm to ward it from me,

and my hand closed on another arm, the wrist of which my fingers

gripped like a vice. I am a very strong man, and had something to

hold to, but my arm was nearly torn from its socket by the strain

and weight of the floating body. Had the rush lasted another two

seconds I might either have let go or gone with it. But it

passed, leaving us up to our knees in water.

“Bail out! bail out!” shouted Job, suiting the action to the

word.

But I could not bail just then, for as the moon went out and left

us in total darkness, one faint, flying ray of light lit upon the

face of the man I had gripped, who was now half lying, half

floating in the bottom of the boat.

It was Leo. Leo brought back by the wave—back, dead or alive,

from the very jaws of Death.

“Bail out! bail out!” yelled Job, “or we shall founder.”

I seized a large tin bowl with a handle to it, which was fixed

under one of the seats, and the three of us bailed away for dear

life. The furious tempest drove over and round us, flinging the

boat this way and that, the wind and the storm wreaths and the

sheets of stinging spray blinded and bewildered us, but through

it all we worked like demons with the wild exhilaration of

despair, for even despair can exhilarate. One minute! three

minutes! six minutes! The boat began to lighten, and no fresh

wave swamped us. Five minutes more, and she was fairly clear.

Then, suddenly, above the awful shriekings of the hurricane came

a duller, deeper roar. Great Heavens! It was the voice of

breakers!

At that moment the moon began to shine forth again—this time

behind the path of the squall. Out far across the torn bosom of

the ocean shot the ragged arrows of her light, and there, half a

mile ahead of us, was a white line of foam, then a little space

of open-mouthed blackness, and then another line of white. It was

the breakers, and their roar grew clearer and yet more clear as

we sped down upon them like a swallow. There they were, boiling

up in snowy spouts of spray, smiting and gnashing together like

the gleaming teeth of hell.

“Take the tiller, Mahomed!” I roared in Arabic. “We must try and

shoot them.” At the same moment I seized an oar, and got it out,

motioning to Job to do likewise.

Mahomed clambered aft, and got hold of the tiller, and with some

difficulty Job, who had sometimes pulled a tub upon the homely

Cam, got out his oar. In another minute the boat’s head was

straight on to the ever-nearing foam, towards which she plunged

and tore with the speed of a racehorse. Just in front of us the

first line of breakers seemed a little thinner than to the right

or left—there was a cap of rather deeper water. I turned and

pointed to it.

“Steer for your life, Mahomed!” I yelled. He was a skilful

steersman, and well acquainted with the dangers of this most

perilous coast, and I saw him grip the tiller, bend his heavy

frame forward, and stare at the foaming terror till his big round

eyes looked as though they would start out of his head. The send

of the sea was driving the boat’s head round to starboard. If we

struck the line of breakers fifty yards to starboard of the gap

we must sink. It was a great field of twisting, spouting waves.

Mahomed planted his foot against the seat before him, and,

glancing at him, I saw his brown toes spread out like a hand with

the weight he put upon them as he took the strain of the tiller.

She came round a bit, but not enough. I roared to Job to back

water, whilst I dragged and laboured at my oar. She answered now,

and none too soon.

Heavens, we were in them! And then followed a couple of minutes

of heart-breaking excitement such as I cannot hope to describe.

All that I remember is a shrieking sea of foam, out of which the

billows rose here, there, and everywhere like avenging ghosts

from their ocean grave. Once we were turned right round, but

either by chance, or through Mahomed’s skilful steering, the

boat’s head came straight again before a breaker filled us. One

more—a monster. We were through it or over it—more through than

over—and then, with a wild yell of exultation from the Arab, we

shot out into the comparative smooth water of the mouth of sea

between the teeth-like lines of gnashing waves.

But we were nearly full of water again, and not more than half a

mile ahead was the second line of breakers. Again we set to and

bailed furiously. Fortunately the storm had now quite gone by,

and the moon shone brightly, revealing a rocky headland running

half a mile or more out into the sea, of which this second line

of breakers appeared to be a continuation. At any rate, they

boiled around its foot. Probably the ridge that formed the

headland ran out into the ocean, only at a lower level, and made

the reef also. This headland was terminated by a curious peak

that seemed not to be more than a mile away from us. Just as we

got the boat pretty clear for the second time, Leo, to my immense

relief, opened his eyes and remarked that the clothes had tumbled

off the bed, and that he supposed it was time to get up for

chapel. I told him to shut his eyes and keep quiet, which he did

without in the slightest degree realizing the position. As for

myself, his reference to chapel made me reflect, with a sort of

sick longing, on my comfortable rooms at Cambridge. Why had I

been such a fool as to leave them? This is a reflection that has

several times recurred to me since, and with an ever-increasing

force.

But now again we were drifting down on the breakers, though with

lessened speed, for the wind had fallen, and only the current or

the tide (it afterwards turned out to be the tide) was driving

us.

Another minute, and with a sort of howl to Allah from the Arab, a

pious ejaculation from myself, and something that was not pious

from Job, we were in them. And then the whole scene, down to our

final escape, repeated itself, only not quite so violently.

Mahomed’s skilful steering and the air-tight compartments saved

our lives. In five minutes we were through, and drifting—for we

were too exhausted to do anything to help ourselves except keep

her head straight—with the most startling rapidity round the

headland which I have described.

Round we went with the tide, until we got well under the lee of

the point, and then suddenly the speed slackened, we ceased to

make way, and finally appeared to be in dead water. The storm had

entirely passed, leaving a clean-washed sky behind it; the

headland intercepted the heavy sea that had been occasioned by

the squall, and the tide, which had been running so fiercely up

the river (for we were now in the mouth of a river), was sluggish

before it turned, so we floated quietly, and before the moon went

down managed to bail out the boat thoroughly and get her a little

ship-shape. Leo was sleeping profoundly, and on the whole I

thought it wise not to wake him. It was true he was sleeping in

wet clothes, but the night was now so warm that I thought (and so

did Job) that they were not likely to injure a man of his

unusually vigorous constitution. Besides, we had no dry ones at

hand.

Presently the moon went down, and left us floating on the waters,

now only heaving like some troubled woman’s breast, with leisure

to reflect upon all that we had gone through and all that we had

escaped. Job stationed himself at the bow, Mahomed kept his post

at the tiller, and I sat on a seat in the middle of the boat

close to where Leo was lying.

The moon went slowly down in chastened loveliness; she departed

like some sweet bride into her chamber, and long veil-like

shadows crept up the sky through which the stars peeped shyly

out. Soon, however, they too began to pale before a splendour in

the east, and then the quivering footsteps of the dawn came

rushing across the new-born blue, and shook the high stars from

their places. Quieter and yet more quiet grew the sea, quiet as

the soft mist that brooded on her bosom, and covered up her

troubling, as the illusive wreaths of sleep brood upon a

pain-racked mind, causing it to forget its sorrow. From the east

to the west sped the angels of the Dawn, from sea to sea, from

mountain-top to mountain-top, scattering light with both their

hands. On they sped out of the darkness, perfect, glorious, like

spirits of the just breaking from the tomb; on, over the quiet

sea, over the low coastline, and the swamps beyond, and the

mountains above them; over those who slept in peace and those who

woke in sorrow; over the evil and the good; over the living and

the dead; over the wide world and all that breathes or has

breathed thereon.

It was a wonderfully beautiful sight, and yet sad, perhaps, from

the very excess of its beauty. The arising sun; the setting sun!

There we have the symbol and the type of humanity, and all things

with which humanity has to do. The symbol and the type, yes, and

the earthly beginning, and the end also. And on that morning this

came home to me with a peculiar force. The sun that rose to-day

for us had set last night for eighteen of our

fellow-voyagers!—had set everlastingly for eighteen whom we knew!

The dhow had gone down with them, they were tossing about among

the rocks and seaweed, so much human drift on the great ocean of

Death! And we four were saved. But one day a sunrise will come

when we shall be among those who are lost, and then others will

watch those glorious rays, and grow sad in the midst of beauty,

and dream of Death in the full glow of arising Life!

For this is the lot of man.

V.

THE HEAD OF THE ETHIOPIAN

At length the heralds and forerunners of the royal sun had done

their work, and, searching out the shadows, had caused them to

flee away. Then up he came in glory from his ocean-bed, and

flooded the earth with warmth and light. I sat there in the boat

listening to the gentle lapping of the water and watched him

rise, till presently the slight drift of the boat brought the

odd-shaped rock, or peak, at the end of the promontory which we

had weathered with so much peril, between me and the majestic

sight, and blotted it from my view. I still continued, however,

to stare at the rock, absently enough, till presently it became

edged with the fire of the growing light behind it, and then I

started, as well I might, for I perceived that the top of the

peak, which was about eighty feet high by one hundred and fifty

feet thick at its base, was shaped like a negro’s head and face,

whereon was stamped a most fiendish and terrifying expression.

There was no doubt about it; there were the thick lips, the fat

cheeks, and the squat nose standing out with startling clearness

against the flaming background. There, too, was the round skull,

washed into shape perhaps by thousands of years of wind and

weather, and, to complete the resemblance, there was a scrubby

growth of weeds or lichen upon it, which against the sun looked

for all the world like the wool on a colossal negro’s head. It

certainly was very odd; so odd that now I believe it is not a

mere freak of nature but a gigantic monument fashioned, like the

well-known Egyptian Sphinx, by a forgotten people out of a pile

of rock that lent itself to their design, perhaps as an emblem of

warning and defiance to any enemies who approached the harbour.

Unfortunately we were never able to ascertain whether or not this

was the case, inasmuch as the rock was difficult of access both

from the land and the waterside, and we had other things to

attend to. Myself, considering the matter by the light of what we

afterwards saw, I believe that it was fashioned by man, but

whether or not this is so, there it stands, and sullenly stares

from age to age out across the changing sea—there it stood two

thousand years and more ago, when Amenartas, the Egyptian

princess, and the wife of Leo’s remote ancestor Kallikrates,

gazed upon its devilish face—and there I have no doubt it will

still stand when as many centuries as are numbered between her

day and our own are added to the year that bore us to oblivion.

“What do you think of that, Job?” I asked of our retainer, who

was sitting on the edge of the boat, trying to get as much

sunshine as possible, and generally looking uncommonly wretched,

and I pointed to the fiery and demoniacal head.

“Oh Lord, sir,” answered Job, who now perceived the object for

the first time, “I think that the old gentleman must have been

sitting for his portrait on them rocks.”

I laughed, and the laugh woke up Leo.

“Hullo,” he said, “what’s the matter with me? I am all

stiff—where is the dhow? Give me some brandy, please.”

“You may be thankful that you are not stiffer, my boy,” I

answered. “The dhow is sunk, everybody on board her is drowned

with the exception of us four, and your own life was only saved

by a miracle”; and whilst Job, now that it was light enough,

searched about in a locker for the brandy for which Leo asked, I

told him the history of our night’s adventure.

“Great Heavens!” he said faintly; “and to think that we should

have been chosen to live through it!”

By this time the brandy was forthcoming, and we all had a good

pull at it, and thankful enough we were for it. Also the sun was

beginning to get strength, and warm our chilled bones, for we had

been wet through for five hours or more.

“Why,” said Leo, with a gasp as he put down the brandy bottle,

“there is the head the writing talks of, the ‘rock carven like

the head of an Ethiopian.’”

“Yes,” I said, “there it is.”

“Well, then,” he answered, “the whole thing is true.”

“I don’t see at all that that follows,” I answered. “We knew this

head was here: your father saw it. Very likely it is not the same

head that the writing talks of; or if it is, it proves nothing.”

Leo smiled at me in a superior way. “You are an unbelieving Jew,

Uncle Horace,” he said. “Those who live will see.”

“Exactly so,” I answered, “and now perhaps you will observe that

we are drifting across a sandbank into the mouth of the river.

Get hold of your oar, Job, and we will row in and see if we can

find a place to land.”

The river mouth which we were entering did not appear to be a very wide

one, though as yet the long banks of steaming mist that clung about its

shores had not lifted sufficiently to enable us to see its exact

measure. There was, as is the case with nearly every East African

river, a considerable bar at the mouth, which, no doubt, when the wind

was on shore and the tide running out, was absolutely impassable even

for a boat drawing only a few inches. But as things were it was

manageable enough, and we did not ship a cupful of water. In twenty

minutes we were well across it, with but slight assistance from

ourselves, and being carried by a strong though somewhat variable

breeze well up the harbour. By this time the mist was being sucked up

by the sun, which was getting uncomfortably hot, and we saw that the

mouth of the little estuary was here about half a mile across, and that

the banks were very marshy, and crowded with crocodiles lying about on

the mud like logs. About a mile ahead of us, however, was what appeared

to be a strip of firm land, and for this we steered. In another quarter

of an hour we were there, and making the boat fast to a beautiful tree

with broad shining leaves, and flowers of the magnolia species, only

they were rose-coloured and not white,[1] which hung over the water, we

disembarked. This done we undressed, washed ourselves, and spread our

clothes, together with the contents of the boat, in the sun to dry,

which they very quickly did. Then, taking shelter from the sun under

some trees, we made a hearty breakfast off a “Paysandu” potted tongue,

of which we had brought a good quantity with us, congratulating

ourselves loudly on our good fortune in having loaded and provisioned

the boat on the previous day before the hurricane destroyed the dhow.

By the time that we had finished our meal our clothes were quite dry,

and we hastened to get into them, feeling not a little refreshed.

Indeed, with the exception of weariness and a few bruises, none of us

were the worse for the terrifying adventure which had been fatal to all

our companions. Leo, it is true, had been half-drowned, but that is no

great matter to a vigorous young athlete of five-and-twenty.

[1] There is a known species of magnolia with pink flowers. It is

indigenous in Sikkim, and known as _Magnolia Campbellii_.—Editor.

After breakfast we started to look about us. We were on a strip

of dry land about two hundred yards broad by five hundred long,

bordered on one side by the river, and on the other three by

endless desolate swamps, that stretched as far as the eye could

reach. This strip of land was raised about twenty-five feet above

the plain of the surrounding swamps and the river level: indeed

it had every appearance of having been made by the hand of man.

“This place has been a wharf,” said Leo, dogmatically.

“Nonsense,” I answered. “Who would be stupid enough to build a

wharf in the middle of these dreadful marshes in a country

inhabited by savages—that is, if it is inhabited at all?”

“Perhaps it was not always marsh, and perhaps the people were not

always savage,” he said drily, looking down the steep bank, for

we were standing by the river. “Look there,” he went on, pointing

to a spot where the hurricane of the previous night had torn up

one of the magnolia trees by the roots, which had grown on the

extreme edge of the bank just where it sloped down to the water,

and lifted a large cake of earth with them. “Is not that

stonework? If not, it is very like it.”

“Nonsense,” I said again, but we clambered down to the spot, and

got between the upturned roots and the bank.

“Well?” he said.

But I did not answer this time. I only whistled. For there, laid

bare by the removal of the earth, was an undoubted facing of

solid stone laid in large blocks and bound together with brown

cement, so hard that I could make no impression on it with the

file in my shooting-knife. Nor was this all; seeing something

projecting through the soil at the bottom of the bared patch of

walling, I removed the loose earth with my hands, and revealed a

huge stone ring, a foot or more in diameter, and about three

inches thick. This fairly staggered me.

“Looks rather like a wharf where good-sized vessels have been

moored, does it not, Uncle Horace?” said Leo, with an excited

grin.

I tried to say “Nonsense” again, but the word stuck in my

throat—the ring spoke for itself. In some past age vessels _had_

been moored there, and this stone wall was undoubtedly the

remnant of a solidly constructed wharf. Probably the city to

which it had belonged lay buried beneath the swamp behind it.

“Begins to look as though there were something in the story after

all, Uncle Horace,” said the exultant Leo; and reflecting on the

mysterious negro’s head and the equally mysterious stonework, I

made no direct reply.

“A country like Africa,” I said, “is sure to be full of the relics of

long dead and forgotten civilisations. Nobody knows the age of the

Egyptian civilisation, and very likely it had offshoots. Then there

were the Babylonians and the Phœnicians, and the Persians, and all

manner of people, all more or less civilised, to say nothing of the

Jews whom everybody ‘wants’ nowadays. It is possible that they, or any

one of them, may have had colonies or trading stations about here.

Remember those buried Persian cities that the consul showed us at

Kilwa.”[2]

[2] Near Kilwa, on the East Coast of Africa, about 400 miles south of

Zanzibar, is a cliff which has been recently washed by the waves. On

the top of this cliff are Persian tombs known to be at least seven

centuries old by the dates still legible upon them. Beneath these

tombs is a layer of _débris_ representing a city. Farther down the

cliff is a second layer representing an older city, and farther down

still a third layer, the remains of yet another city of vast and

unknown antiquity. Beneath the bottom city were recently found some

specimens of glazed earthenware, such as are occasionally to be met

with on that coast to this day. I believe that they are now in the

possession of Sir John Kirk.—Editor.

“Quite so,” said Leo, “but that is not what you said before.”

“Well, what is to be done now?” I asked, turning the

conversation.

As no answer was forthcoming we walked to the edge of the swamp,

and looked over it. It was apparently boundless, and vast flocks

of every sort of waterfowl flew from its recesses, till it was

sometimes difficult to see the sky. Now that the sun was getting

high it drew thin sickly looking clouds of poisonous vapour from

the surface of the marsh and from the scummy pools of stagnant

water.

“Two things are clear to me,” I said, addressing my three

companions, who stared at this spectacle in dismay: “first, that

we can’t go across there” (I pointed to the swamp), “and,

secondly, that if we stop here we shall certainly die of fever.”

“That’s as clear as a haystack, sir,” said Job.

“Very well, then; there are two alternatives before us. One is to

‘bout ship, and try and run for some port in the whale-boat,

which would be a sufficiently risky proceeding, and the other to

sail or row on up the river, and see where we come to.”

“I don’t know what you are going to do,” said Leo, setting his

mouth, “but I am going up that river.”

Job turned up the whites of his eyes and groaned, and the Arab

murmured “Allah,” and groaned also. As for me, I remarked sweetly

that as we seemed to be between the devil and the deep sea, it

did not much matter where we went. But in reality I was as

anxious to proceed as Leo. The colossal negro’s head and the

stone wharf had excited my curiosity to an extent of which I was

secretly ashamed, and I was prepared to gratify it at any cost.

Accordingly, having carefully fitted the mast, restowed the boat,

and got out our rifles, we embarked. Fortunately the wind was

blowing on shore from the ocean, so we were able to hoist the

sail. Indeed, we afterwards found out that as a general rule the

wind set on shore from daybreak for some hours, and off shore

again at sunset, and the explanation that I offer of this is,

that when the earth is cooled by the dew and the night the hot

air rises, and the draught rushes in from the sea till the sun

has once more heated it through. At least that appeared to be the

rule here.

Taking advantage of this favouring wind, we sailed merrily up the

river for three or four hours. Once we came across a school of

hippopotami, which rose, and bellowed dreadfully at us within ten

or a dozen fathoms of the boat, much to Job’s alarm, and, I will

confess, to my own. These were the first hippopotami that we had

ever seen, and, to judge by their insatiable curiosity, I should

judge that we were the first white men that they had ever seen.

Upon my word, I once or twice thought that they were coming into

the boat to gratify it. Leo wanted to fire at them, but I

dissuaded him, fearing the consequences. Also, we saw hundreds of

crocodiles basking on the muddy banks, and thousands upon

thousands of water-fowl. Some of these we shot, and among them

was a wild goose, which, in addition to the sharp-curved spurs on

its wings, had a spur about three-quarters of an inch long

growing from the skull just between the eyes. We never shot

another like it, so I do not know if it was a “sport” or a

distinct species. In the latter case this incident may interest

naturalists. Job named it the Unicorn Goose.

About midday the sun grew intensely hot, and the stench drawn up

by it from the marshes which the river drains was something too

awful, and caused us instantly to swallow precautionary doses of

quinine. Shortly afterwards the breeze died away altogether, and

as rowing our heavy boat against stream in the heat was out of

the question, we were thankful enough to get under the shade of a

group of trees—a species of willow—that grew by the edge of the

river, and lie there and gasp till at length the approach of

sunset put a period to our miseries. Seeing what appeared to be

an open space of water straight ahead of us, we determined to row

there before settling what to do for the night. Just as we were

about to loosen the boat, however, a beautiful waterbuck, with

great horns curving forward, and a white stripe across the rump,

came down to the river to drink, without perceiving us hidden

away within fifty yards under the willows. Leo was the first to

catch sight of it, and, being an ardent sportsman, thirsting for

the blood of big game, about which he had been dreaming for

months, he instantly stiffened all over, and pointed like a

setter dog. Seeing what was the matter, I handed him his express

rifle, at the same time taking my own.

“Now then,” I whispered, “mind you don’t miss.”

“Miss!” he whispered back contemptuously; “I could not miss it if

I tried.”

He lifted the rifle, and the roan-coloured buck, having drunk his

fill, raised his head and looked out across the river. He was

standing right against the sunset sky on a little eminence, or

ridge of ground, which ran across the swamp, evidently a

favourite path for game, and there was something very beautiful

about him. Indeed, I do not think that if I live to a hundred I

shall ever forget that desolate and yet most fascinating scene;

it is stamped upon my memory. To the right and left were wide

stretches of lonely death-breeding swamp, unbroken and unrelieved

so far as the eye could reach, except here and there by ponds of

black and peaty water that, mirror-like, flashed up the red rays

of the setting sun. Behind us and before stretched the vista of

the sluggish river, ending in glimpses of a reed-fringed lagoon,

on the surface of which the long lights of the evening played as

the faint breeze stirred the shadows. To the west loomed the huge

red ball of the sinking sun, now vanishing down the vapoury

horizon, and filling the great heaven, high across whose arch the

cranes and wildfowl streamed in line, square, and triangle, with

flashes of flying gold and the lurid stain of blood. And then

ourselves—three modern Englishmen in a modern English

boat—seeming to jar upon and look out of tone with that

measureless desolation; and in front of us the noble buck limned

out upon a background of ruddy sky.

_Bang!_ Away he goes with a mighty bound. Leo has missed him.

_Bang!_ right under him again. Now for a shot. I must have one,

though he is going like an arrow, and a hundred yards away and

more. By Jove! over and over and over! “Well, I think I’ve wiped

your eye there, Master Leo,” I say, struggling against the

ungenerous exultation that in such a supreme moment of one’s

existence will rise in the best-mannered sportsman’s breast.

“Confound you, yes,” growled Leo; and then, with that quick smile

that is one of his charms lighting up his handsome face like a

ray of light, “I beg your pardon, old fellow. I congratulate you;

it was a lovely shot, and mine were vile.”

We got out of the boat and ran to the buck, which was shot

through the spine and stone dead. It took us a quarter of an hour

or more to clean it and cut off as much of the best meat as we

could carry, and, having packed this away, we had barely light

enough to row up into the lagoon-like space, into which, there

being a hollow in the swamp, the river here expanded. Just as the

light vanished we cast anchor about thirty fathoms from the edge

of the lake. We did not dare to go ashore, not knowing if we

should find dry ground to camp on, and greatly fearing the

poisonous exhalations from the marsh, from which we thought we

should be freer on the water. So we lighted a lantern, and made

our evening meal off another potted tongue in the best fashion

that we could, and then prepared to go to sleep, only, however,

to find that sleep was impossible. For, whether they were

attracted by the lantern, or by the unaccustomed smell of a white

man for which they had been waiting for the last thousand years

or so, I know not; but certainly we were presently attacked by

tens of thousands of the most blood-thirsty, pertinacious, and

huge mosquitoes that I ever saw or read of. In clouds they came,

and pinged and buzzed and bit till we were nearly mad. Tobacco

smoke only seemed to stir them into a merrier and more active

life, till at length we were driven to covering ourselves with

blankets, head and all, and sitting to slowly stew and

continually scratch and swear beneath them. And as we sat,

suddenly rolling out like thunder through the silence came the

deep roar of a lion, and then of a second lion, moving among the

reeds within sixty yards of us.

“I say,” said Leo, sticking his head out from under his blanket,

“lucky we ain’t on the bank, eh, Avuncular?” (Leo sometimes

addressed me in this disrespectful way.) “Curse it! a mosquito

has bitten me on the nose,” and the head vanished again.

Shortly after this the moon came up, and notwithstanding every

variety of roar that echoed over the water to us from the lions

on the banks, we began, thinking ourselves perfectly secure, to

gradually doze off.

I do not quite know what it was that made me poke my head out of

the friendly shelter of the blanket, perhaps because I found that

the mosquitoes were biting right through it. Anyhow, as I did so

I heard Job whisper, in a frightened voice—

“Oh, my stars, look there!”

Instantly we all of us looked, and this was what we saw in the

moonlight. Near the shore were two wide and ever-widening circles

of concentric rings rippling away across the surface of the

water, and in the heart and centre of the circles were two dark

moving objects.

“What is it?” asked I.

“It is those damned lions, sir,” answered Job, in a tone which

was an odd mixture of a sense of personal injury, habitual

respect, and acknowledged fear, “and they are swimming here to

_heat_ us,” he added, nervously picking up an “h” in his

agitation.

I looked again: there was no doubt about it; I could catch the

glare of their ferocious eyes. Attracted either by the smell of

the newly killed waterbuck meat or of ourselves, the hungry

beasts were actually storming our position.

Leo already had his rifle in his hand. I called to him to wait

till they were nearer, and meanwhile grabbed my own. Some fifteen

feet from us the water shallowed on a bank to the depth of about

fifteen inches, and presently the first of them—it was the

lioness—got on to it, shook herself, and roared. At that moment

Leo fired, the bullet went right down her open mouth and out at

the back of her neck, and down she dropped, with a splash, dead.

The other lion—a full-grown male—was some two paces behind her.

At this second he got his forepaws on to the bank, when a strange

thing happened. There was a rush and disturbance of the water,

such as one sees in a pond in England when a pike takes a little

fish, only a thousand times fiercer and larger, and suddenly the

lion gave a most terrific snarling roar and sprang forward on to

the bank, dragging something black with him.

“Allah!” shouted Mahomed, “a crocodile has got him by the leg!”

and sure enough he had. We could see the long snout with its

gleaming lines of teeth and the reptile body behind it.

And then followed an extraordinary scene indeed. The lion managed

to get well on to the bank, the crocodile half standing and half

swimming, still nipping his hind leg. He roared till the air

quivered with the sound, and then, with a savage, shrieking

snarl, turned round and clawed hold of the crocodile’s head. The

crocodile shifted his grip, having, as we afterwards discovered,

had one of his eyes torn out, and slightly turned over; instantly

the lion got him by the throat and held on, and then over and

over they rolled upon the bank struggling hideously. It was

impossible to follow their movements, but when next we got a

clear view the tables had turned, for the crocodile, whose head

seemed to be a mass of gore, had got the lion’s body in his iron

jaws just above the hips, and was squeezing him and shaking him

to and fro. For his part, the tortured brute, roaring in agony,

was clawing and biting madly at his enemy’s scaly head, and

fixing his great hind claws in the crocodile’s, comparatively

speaking, soft throat, ripping it open as one would rip a glove.

Then, all of a sudden, the end came. The lion’s head fell forward

on the crocodile’s back, and with an awful groan he died, and the

crocodile, after standing for a minute motionless, slowly rolled

over on to his side, his jaws still fixed across the carcase of

the lion, which, we afterwards found, he had bitten almost in

halves.

This duel to the death was a wonderful and a shocking sight, and

one that I suppose few men have seen—and thus it ended.

When it was all over, leaving Mahomed to keep a look out, we

managed to spend the rest of the night as quietly as the

mosquitoes would allow.

VI.

AN EARLY CHRISTIAN CEREMONY

Next morning, at the earliest light of dawn, we rose, performed

such ablutions as circumstances would allow, and generally made

ready to start. I am bound to say that when there was sufficient

light to enable us to see each other’s faces I, for one, burst

out into a roar of laughter. Job’s fat and comfortable

countenance was swollen out to nearly twice its natural size from

mosquito bites, and Leo’s condition was not much better. Indeed,

of the three I had come off much the best, probably owing to the

toughness of my dark skin, and to the fact that a good deal of it

was covered by hair, for since we had started from England I had

allowed my naturally luxuriant beard to grow at its own sweet

will. But the other two were, comparatively speaking, clean

shaved, which of course gave the enemy a larger extent of open

country to operate on, though in Mahomed’s case the mosquitoes,

recognising the taste of a true believer, would not touch him at

any price. How often, I wonder, during the next week or so did we

wish that we were flavoured like an Arab!

By the time that we had done laughing as heartily as our swollen

lips would allow, it was daylight, and the morning breeze was

coming up from the sea, cutting lanes through the dense marsh

mists, and here and there rolling them before it in great balls

of fleecy vapour. So we set our sail, and having first taken a

look at the two dead lions and the alligator, which we were of

course unable to skin, being destitute of means of curing the

pelts, we started, and, sailing through the lagoon, followed the

course of the river on the farther side. At midday, when the

breeze dropped, we were fortunate enough to find a convenient

piece of dry land on which to camp and light a fire, and here we

cooked two wild-ducks and some of the waterbuck’s flesh—not in a

very appetising way, it is true, but still sufficiently. The rest

of the buck’s flesh we cut into strips and hung in the sun to dry

into “biltong,” as, I believe, the South African Dutch call flesh

thus prepared. On this welcome patch of dry land we stopped till

the following dawn, and, as before, spent the night in warfare

with the mosquitoes, but without other troubles. The next day or

two passed in similar fashion, and without noticeable adventures,

except that we shot a specimen of a peculiarly graceful hornless

buck, and saw many varieties of water-lily in full bloom, some of

them blue and of exquisite beauty, though few of the flowers were

perfect, owing to the prevalence of a white water-maggot with a

green head that fed upon them.

It was on the fifth day of our journey, when we had travelled, so

far as we could reckon, about one hundred and thirty-five to a

hundred and forty miles westwards from the coast, that the first

event of any real importance occurred. On that morning the usual

wind failed us about eleven o’clock, and after pulling a little

way we were forced to halt, more or less exhausted, at what

appeared to be the junction of our stream with another of a

uniform width of about fifty feet. Some trees grew near at

hand—the only trees in all this country were along the banks of

the river, and under these we rested, and then, the land being

fairly dry just here, walked a little way along the edge of the

river to prospect, and shoot a few waterfowl for food. Before we

had gone fifty yards we perceived that all hopes of getting

further up the stream in the whale-boat were at an end, for not

two hundred yards above where we had stopped were a succession of

shallows and mudbanks, with not six inches of water over them. It

was a watery _cul de sac_.

Turning back, we walked some way along the banks of the other

river, and soon came to the conclusion, from various indications,

that it was not a river at all, but an ancient canal, like the

one which is to be seen above Mombasa, on the Zanzibar coast,

connecting the Tana River with the Ozy, in such a way as to

enable the shipping coming down the Tana to cross to the Ozy, and

reach the sea by it, and thus avoid the very dangerous bar that

blocks the mouth of the Tana. The canal before us had evidently

been dug out by man at some remote period of the world’s history,

and the results of his digging still remained in the shape of the

raised banks that had no doubt once formed towing-paths. Except

here and there, where they had been hollowed out by the water or

fallen in, these banks of stiff binding clay were at a uniform

distance from each other, and the depth of the stream also

appeared to be uniform. Current there was little or none, and, as

a consequence, the surface of the canal was choked with vegetable

growth, intersected by little paths of clear water, made, I

suppose, by the constant passage of waterfowl, iguanas, and other

vermin. Now, as it was evident that we could not proceed up the

river, it became equally evident that we must either try the

canal or else return to the sea. We could not stop where we were,

to be baked by the sun and eaten up by the mosquitoes, till we

died of fever in that dreary marsh.

“Well, I suppose that we must try it,” I said; and the others

assented in their various ways—Leo, as though it were the best

joke in the world; Job, in respectful disgust; and Mahomed, with

an invocation to the Prophet, and a comprehensive curse upon all

unbelievers and their ways of thought and travel.

Accordingly, as soon as the sun got low, having little or nothing

more to hope for from our friendly wind, we started. For the

first hour or so we managed to row the boat, though with great

labour; but after that the weeds got too thick to allow of it,

and we were obliged to resort to the primitive and most

exhausting resource of towing her. For two hours we laboured,

Mahomed, Job, and I, who was supposed to be strong enough to pull

against the two of them, on the bank, while Leo sat in the bow of

the boat, and brushed away the weeds which collected round the

cutwater with Mahomed’s sword. At dark we halted for some hours

to rest and enjoy the mosquitoes, but about midnight we went on

again, taking advantage of the comparative cool of the night. At

dawn we rested for three hours, and then started once more, and

laboured on till about ten o’clock, when a thunderstorm,

accompanied by a deluge of rain, overtook us, and we spent the

next six hours practically under water.

I do not know that there is any necessity for me to describe the

next four days of our voyage in detail, further than to say that

they were, on the whole, the most miserable that I ever spent in

my life, forming one monotonous record of heavy labour, heat,

misery, and mosquitoes. All that dreary way we passed through a

region of almost endless swamp, and I can only attribute our

escape from fever and death to the constant doses of quinine and

purgatives which we took, and the unceasing toil which we were

forced to undergo. On the third day of our journey up the canal

we had sighted a round hill that loomed dimly through the vapours

of the marsh, and on the evening of the fourth night, when we

camped, this hill seemed to be within five-and-twenty or thirty

miles of us. We were by now utterly exhausted, and felt as though

our blistered hands could not pull the boat a yard farther, and

that the best thing that we could do would be to lie down and die

in that dreadful wilderness of swamp. It was an awful position,

and one in which I trust no other white man will ever be placed;

and as I threw myself down in the boat to sleep the sleep of

utter exhaustion, I bitterly cursed my folly in ever having been

a party to such a mad undertaking, which could, I saw, only end

in our death in this ghastly land. I thought, I remember, as I

slowly sank into a doze, of what the appearance of the boat and

her unhappy crew would be in two or three months’ time from that

night. There she would lie, with gaping seams and half filled

with fœtid water, which, when the mist-laden wind stirred her,

would wash backwards and forwards through our mouldering bones,

and that would be the end of her, and of those in her who would

follow after myths and seek out the secrets of Nature.

Already I seemed to hear the water rippling against the

desiccated bones and rattling them together, rolling my skull

against Mahomed’s, and his against mine, till at last Mahomed’s

stood straight up upon its vertebræ, and glared at me through its

empty eyeholes, and cursed me with its grinning jaws, because I,

a dog of a Christian, disturbed the last sleep of a true

believer. I opened my eyes, and shuddered at the horrid dream,

and then shuddered again at something that was not a dream, for

two great eyes were gleaming down at me through the misty

darkness. I struggled up, and in my terror and confusion

shrieked, and shrieked again, so that the others sprang up too,

reeling, and drunken with sleep and fear. And then all of a

sudden there was a flash of cold steel, and a great spear was

held against my throat, and behind it other spears gleamed

cruelly.

“Peace,” said a voice, speaking in Arabic, or rather in some

dialect into which Arabic entered very largely; “who are ye who

come hither swimming on the water? Speak or ye die,” and the

steel pressed sharply against my throat, sending a cold chill

through me.

“We are travellers, and have come hither by chance,” I answered

in my best Arabic, which appeared to be understood, for the man

turned his head, and, addressing a tall form that towered up in

the background, said, “Father, shall we slay?”

“What is the colour of the men?” said a deep voice in answer.

“White is their colour.”

“Slay not,” was the reply. “Four suns since was the word brought

to me from ‘_She-who-must-be-obeyed_,’ ‘White men come; if white

men come, slay them not.’ Let them be brought to the house of

‘_She-who-must-be-obeyed_.’ Bring forth the men, and let that

which they have with them be brought forth also.”

“Come,” said the man, half leading and half dragging me from the

boat, and as he did so I perceived other men doing the same kind

office to my companions.

On the bank were gathered a company of some fifty men. In that

light all I could make out was that they were armed with huge

spears, were very tall, and strongly built, comparatively light

in colour, and nude, save for a leopard skin tied round the

middle.

Presently Leo and Job were bundled out and placed beside me.

“What on earth is up?” said Leo, rubbing his eyes.

“Oh, Lord! sir, here’s a rum go,” ejaculated Job; and just at

that moment a disturbance ensued, and Mahomed came tumbling

between us, followed by a shadowy form with an uplifted spear.

“Allah! Allah!” howled Mahomed, feeling that he had little to

hope from man, “protect me! protect me!”

“Father, it is a black one,” said a voice. “What said

‘_She-who-must-be-obeyed_’ about the black one?”

“She said naught; but slay him not. Come hither, my son.”

The man advanced, and the tall shadowy form bent forward and

whispered something.

“Yes, yes,” said the other, and chuckled in a rather

blood-curdling tone.

“Are the three white men there?” asked the form.

“Yes, they are there.”

“Then bring up that which is made ready for them, and let the men

take all that can be brought from the thing which floats.”

Hardly had he spoken when men came running up, carrying on their

shoulders neither more nor less than palanquins—four bearers and

two spare men to a palanquin—and in these it was promptly

indicated we were expected to stow ourselves.

“Well!” said Leo, “it is a blessing to find anybody to carry us

after having to carry ourselves so long.”

Leo always takes a cheerful view of things.

There being no help for it, after seeing the others into theirs I

tumbled into my own litter, and very comfortable I found it. It

appeared to be manufactured of cloth woven from grass-fibre,

which stretched and yielded to every motion of the body, and,

being bound top and bottom to the bearing pole, gave a grateful

support to the head and neck.

Scarcely had I settled myself when, accompanying their steps with

a monotonous song, the bearers started at a swinging trot. For

half an hour or so I lay still, reflecting on the very remarkable

experiences that we were going through, and wondering if any of

my eminently respectable fossil friends down at Cambridge would

believe me if I were to be miraculously set at the familiar

dinner-table for the purpose of relating them. I do not want to

convey any disrespectful notion or slight when I call those good

and learned men fossils, but my experience is that people are apt

to fossilise even at a University if they follow the same paths

too persistently. I was getting fossilised myself, but of late my

stock of ideas has been very much enlarged. Well, I lay and

reflected, and wondered what on earth would be the end of it all,

till at last I ceased to wonder, and went to sleep.

I suppose I must have slept for seven or eight hours, getting the

first real rest that I had had since the night before the loss of

the dhow, for when I woke the sun was high in the heavens. We

were still journeying on at a pace of about four miles an hour.

Peeping out through the mist-like curtains of the litter, which

were ingeniously fixed to the bearing pole, I perceived to my

infinite relief that we had passed out of the region of eternal

swamp, and were now travelling over swelling grassy plains

towards a cup-shaped hill. Whether or not it was the same hill

that we had seen from the canal I do not know, and have never

since been able to discover, for, as we afterwards found out,

these people will give little information upon such points. Next

I glanced at the men who were bearing me. They were of a

magnificent build, few of them being under six feet in height,

and yellowish in colour. Generally their appearance had a good

deal in common with that of the East African Somali, only their

hair was not frizzed up, but hung in thick black locks upon their

shoulders. Their features were aquiline, and in many cases

exceedingly handsome, the teeth being especially regular and

beautiful. But notwithstanding their beauty, it struck me that,

on the whole, I had never seen a more evil-looking set of faces.

There was an aspect of cold and sullen cruelty stamped upon them

that revolted me, and which in some cases was almost uncanny in

its intensity.

Another thing that struck me about them was that they never

seemed to smile. Sometimes they sang the monotonous song of which

I have spoken, but when they were not singing they remained

almost perfectly silent, and the light of a laugh never came to

brighten their sombre and evil countenances. Of what race could

these people be? Their language was a bastard Arabic, and yet

they were not Arabs; I was quite sure of that. For one thing they

were too dark, or rather yellow. I could not say why, but I know

that their appearance filled me with a sick fear of which I felt

ashamed. While I was still wondering another litter came up

alongside of mine. In it—for the curtains were drawn—sat an old

man, clothed in a whitish robe, made apparently from coarse

linen, that hung loosely about him, who, I at once jumped to the

conclusion, was the shadowy figure that had stood on the bank and

been addressed as “Father.” He was a wonderful-looking old man,

with a snowy beard, so long that the ends of it hung over the

sides of the litter, and he had a hooked nose, above which

flashed out a pair of eyes as keen as a snake’s, while his whole

countenance was instinct with a look of wise and sardonic humour

impossible to describe on paper.

“Art thou awake, stranger?” he said in a deep and low voice.

“Surely, my father,” I answered courteously, feeling certain that

I should do well to conciliate this ancient Mammon of

Unrighteousness.

He stroked his beautiful white beard, and smiled faintly.

“From whatever country thou camest,” he said, “and by the way it

must be from one where somewhat of our language is known, they

teach their children courtesy there, my stranger son. And now

wherefore comest thou unto this land, which scarce an alien foot

has pressed from the time that man knoweth? Art thou and those

with thee weary of life?”

“We came to find new things,” I answered boldly. “We are tired of

the old things; we have come up out of the sea to know that which

is unknown. We are of a brave race who fear not death, my very

much respected father—that is, if we can get a little information

before we die.”

“Humph!” said the old gentleman, “that may be true; it is rash to

contradict, otherwise I should say that thou wast lying, my son.

However, I dare to say that ‘_She-who-must-be-obeyed_’ will meet

thy wishes in the matter.”

“Who is ‘_She-who-must-be-obeyed_’?” I asked, curiously.

The old man glanced at the bearers, and then answered, with a

little smile that somehow sent my blood to my heart—

“Surely, my stranger son, thou wilt learn soon enough, if it be

her pleasure to see thee at all in the flesh.”

“In the flesh?” I answered. “What may my father wish to convey?”

But the old man only laughed a dreadful laugh, and made no reply.

“What is the name of my father’s people?” I asked.

“The name of my people is Amahagger” (the People of the Rocks).

“And if a son might ask, what is the name of my father?”

“My name is Billali.”

“And whither go we, my father?”

“That shalt thou see,” and at a sign from him his bearers started

forward at a run till they reached the litter in which Job was

reposing (with one leg hanging over the side). Apparently,

however, he could not make much out of Job, for presently I saw

his bearers trot forward to Leo’s litter.

And after that, as nothing fresh occurred, I yielded to the

pleasant swaying motion of the litter, and went to sleep again. I

was dreadfully tired. When I woke I found that we were passing

through a rocky defile of a lava formation with precipitous

sides, in which grew many beautiful trees and flowering shrubs.

Presently this defile took a turn, and a lovely sight unfolded

itself to my eyes. Before us was a vast cup of green from four to

six miles in extent, in the shape of a Roman amphitheatre. The

sides of this great cup were rocky, and clothed with bush, but

the centre was of the richest meadow land, studded with single

trees of magnificent growth, and watered by meandering brooks. On

this rich plain grazed herds of goats and cattle, but I saw no

sheep. At first I could not imagine what this strange spot could

be, but presently it flashed upon me that it must represent the

crater of some long-extinct volcano which had afterwards been a

lake, and was ultimately drained in some unexplained way. And

here I may state that from my subsequent experience of this and a

much larger, but otherwise similar spot, which I shall have

occasion to describe by-and-by, I have every reason to believe

that this conclusion was correct. What puzzled me, however, was,

that although there were people moving about herding the goats

and cattle, I saw no signs of any human habitation. Where did

they all live? I wondered. My curiosity was soon destined to be

gratified. Turning to the left the string of litters followed the

cliffy sides of the crater for a distance of about half a mile,

or perhaps a little less, and then halted. Seeing the old

gentleman, my adopted “father,” Billali, emerge from his litter,

I did the same, and so did Leo and Job. The first thing I saw was

our wretched Arab companion, Mahomed, lying exhausted on the

ground. It appeared that he had not been provided with a litter,

but had been forced to run the entire distance, and, as he was

already quite worn out when we started, his condition now was one

of great prostration.

On looking round we discovered that the place where we had halted

was a platform in front of the mouth of a great cave, and piled

upon this platform were the entire contents of the whale-boat,

even down to the oars and sail. Round the cave stood groups of

the men who had escorted us, and other men of a similar stamp.

They were all tall and all handsome, though they varied in their

degree of darkness of skin, some being as dark as Mahomed, and

some as yellow as a Chinese. They were naked, except for the

leopard-skin round the waist, and each of them carried a huge

spear.

There were also some women among them, who, instead of the

leopard-skin, wore a tanned hide of a small red buck, something

like that of the oribé, only rather darker in colour. These women

were, as a class, exceedingly good-looking, with large, dark

eyes, well-cut features, and a thick bush of curling hair—not

crisped like a negro’s—ranging from black to chestnut in hue,

with all shades of intermediate colour. Some, but very few of

them, wore a yellowish linen garment, such as I have described as

worn by Billali, but this, as we afterwards discovered, was a

mark of rank, rather than an attempt at clothing. For the rest,

their appearance was not quite so terrifying as that of the men,

and they sometimes, though rarely, smiled. As soon as we had

alighted they gathered round us and examined us with curiosity,

but without excitement. Leo’s tall, athletic form and clear-cut

Grecian face, however, evidently excited their attention, and

when he politely lifted his hat to them, and showed his curling

yellow hair, there was a slight murmur of admiration. Nor did it

stop there; for, after regarding him critically from head to

foot, the handsomest of the young women—one wearing a robe, and

with hair of a shade between brown and chestnut—deliberately

advanced to him, and, in a way that would have been winning had

it not been so determined, quietly put her arm round his neck,

bent forward, and kissed him on the lips.

I gave a gasp, expecting to see Leo instantly speared; and Job

ejaculated, “The hussy—well, I never!” As for Leo, he looked

slightly astonished; and then, remarking that we had clearly got

into a country where they followed the customs of the early

Christians, deliberately returned the embrace.

Again I gasped, thinking that something would happen; but, to my

surprise, though some of the young women showed traces of

vexation, the older ones and the men only smiled slightly. When

we came to understand the customs of this extraordinary people

the mystery was explained. It then appeared that, in direct

opposition to the habits of almost every other savage race in the

world, women among the Amahagger are not only upon terms of

perfect equality with the men, but are not held to them by any

binding ties. Descent is traced only through the line of the

mother, and while individuals are as proud of a long and superior

female ancestry as we are of our families in Europe, they never

pay attention to, or even acknowledge, any man as their father,

even when their male parentage is perfectly well known. There is

but one titular male parent of each tribe, or, as they call it,

“Household,” and he is its elected and immediate ruler, with the

title of “Father.” For instance, the man Billali was the father

of this “household,” which consisted of about seven thousand

individuals all told, and no other man was ever called by that

name. When a woman took a fancy to a man she signified her

preference by advancing and embracing him publicly, in the same

way that this handsome and exceedingly prompt young lady, who was

called Ustane, had embraced Leo. If he kissed her back it was a

token that he accepted her, and the arrangement continued until

one of them wearied of it. I am bound, however, to say that the

change of husbands was not nearly so frequent as might have been

expected. Nor did quarrels arise out of it, at least among the

men, who, when their wives deserted them in favour of a rival,

accepted the whole thing much as we accept the income-tax or our

marriage laws, as something not to be disputed, and as tending to

the good of the community, however disagreeable they may in

particular instances prove to the individual.

It is very curious to observe how the customs of mankind on this

matter vary in different countries, making morality an affair of

latitude, and what is right and proper in one place wrong and

improper in another. It must, however, be understood that, since

all civilised nations appear to accept it as an axiom that

ceremony is the touchstone of morality, there is, even according

to our canons, nothing immoral about this Amahagger custom,

seeing that the interchange of the embrace answers to our

ceremony of marriage, which, as we know, justifies most things.

VII.

USTANE SINGS

When the kissing operation was finished—by the way, none of the

young ladies offered to pet me in this fashion, though I saw one

hovering round Job, to that respectable individual’s evident

alarm—the old man Billali advanced, and graciously waved us into

the cave, whither we went, followed by Ustane, who did not seem

inclined to take the hints I gave her that we liked privacy.

Before we had gone five paces it struck me that the cave that we

were entering was none of Nature’s handiwork, but, on the

contrary, had been hollowed by the hand of man. So far as we

could judge it appeared to be about one hundred feet in length by

fifty wide, and very lofty, resembling a cathedral aisle more

than anything else. From this main aisle opened passages at a

distance of every twelve or fifteen feet, leading, I supposed, to

smaller chambers. About fifty feet from the entrance of the cave,

just where the light began to get dim, a fire was burning, which

threw huge shadows upon the gloomy walls around. Here Billali

halted, and asked us to be seated, saying that the people would

bring us food, and accordingly we squatted ourselves down upon

the rugs of skins which were spread for us, and waited. Presently

the food, consisting of goat’s flesh boiled, fresh milk in an

earthenware pot, and boiled cobs of Indian corn, was brought by

young girls. We were almost starving, and I do not think that I

ever in my life before ate with such satisfaction. Indeed, before

we had finished we literally ate up everything that was set

before us.

When we had done, our somewhat saturnine host, Billali, who had

been watching us in perfect silence, rose and addressed us. He

said that it was a wonderful thing that had happened. No man had

ever known or heard of white strangers arriving in the country of

the People of the Rocks. Sometimes, though rarely, black men had

come here, and from them they had heard of the existence of men

much whiter than themselves, who sailed on the sea in ships, but

for the arrival of such there was no precedent. We had, however,

been seen dragging the boat up the canal, and he told us frankly

that he had at once given orders for our destruction, seeing that

it was unlawful for any stranger to enter here, when a message

had come from “_She-who-must-be-obeyed_,” saying that our lives

were to be spared, and that we were to be brought hither.

“Pardon me, my father,” I interrupted at this point; “but if, as

I understand, ‘_She-who-must-be-obeyed_’ lives yet farther off,

how could she have known of our approach?”

Billali turned, and seeing that we were alone—for the young lady,

Ustane, had withdrawn when he had begun to speak—said, with a

curious little laugh—

“Are there none in your land who can see without eyes and hear

without ears? Ask no questions; _She_ knew.”

I shrugged my shoulders at this, and he proceeded to say that no

further instructions had been received on the subject of our

disposal, and this being so he was about to start to interview

“_She-who-must-be-obeyed_,” generally spoken of, for the sake of

brevity, as “Hiya” or _She_ simply, who he gave us to understand

was the Queen of the Amahagger, and learn her wishes.

I asked him how long he proposed to be away, and he said that by

travelling hard he might be back on the fifth day, but there were

many miles of marsh to cross before he came to where _She_ was.

He then said that every arrangement would be made for our comfort

during his absence, and that, as he personally had taken a fancy

to us, he sincerely trusted that the answer he should bring from

_She_ would be one favourable to the continuation of our

existence, but at the same time he did not wish to conceal from

us that he thought this doubtful, as every stranger who had ever

come into the country during his grandmother’s life, his mother’s

life, and his own life, had been put to death without mercy, and

in a way he would not harrow our feelings by describing; and this

had been done by the order of _She_ herself, at least he supposed

that it was by her order. At any rate, she never interfered to

save them.

“Why,” I said, “but how can that be? You are an old man, and the

time you talk of must reach back three men’s lives. How therefore

could _She_ have ordered the death of anybody at the beginning of

the life of your grandmother, seeing that herself she would not

have been born?”

Again he smiled—that same faint, peculiar smile, and with a deep

bow departed, without making any answer; nor did we see him again

for five days.

When he had gone we discussed the situation, which filled me with

alarm. I did not at all like the accounts of this mysterious

Queen, “_She-who-must-be-obeyed_,” or more shortly _She_, who

apparently ordered the execution of any unfortunate stranger in a

fashion so unmerciful. Leo, too, was depressed about it, but

consoled himself by triumphantly pointing out that this _She_ was

undoubtedly the person referred to in the writing on the potsherd

and in his father’s letter, in proof of which he advanced

Billali’s allusions to her age and power. I was by this time too

overwhelmed with the whole course of events that I had not even

the heart left to dispute a proposition so absurd, so I suggested

that we should try to go out and get a bath, of which we all

stood sadly in need.

Accordingly, having indicated our wish to a middle-aged individual of

an unusually saturnine cast of countenance, even among this saturnine

people, who appeared to be deputed to look after us now that the Father

of the hamlet had departed, we started in a body—having first lit our

pipes. Outside the cave we found quite a crowd of people evidently

watching for our appearance, but when they saw us come out smoking they

vanished this way and that, calling out that we were great magicians.

Indeed, nothing about us created so great a sensation as our tobacco

smoke—not even our firearms.[1] After this we succeeded in reaching a

stream that had its source in a strong ground spring, and taking our

bath in peace, though some of the women, not excepting Ustane, showed a

decided inclination to follow us even there.

[1] We found tobacco growing in this country as it does in every other

part of Africa, and, although they were so absolutely ignorant of its

other blessed qualities, the Amahagger use it habitually in the form

of snuff and also for medicinal purposes.—L. H. H.

By the time that we had finished this most refreshing bath the

sun was setting; indeed, when we got back to the big cave it had

already set. The cave itself was full of people gathered round

fires—for several more had now been lighted—and eating their

evening meal by their lurid light, and by that of various lamps

which were set about or hung upon the walls. These lamps were of

a rude manufacture of baked earthenware, and of all shapes, some

of them graceful enough. The larger ones were formed of big red

earthenware pots, filled with clarified melted fat, and having a

reed wick stuck through a wooden disk which filled the top of the

pot. This sort of lamp required the most constant attention to

prevent its going out whenever the wick burnt down, as there were

no means of turning it up. The smaller hand lamps, however, which

were also made of baked clay, were fitted with wicks manufactured

from the pith of a palm-tree, or sometimes from the stem of a

very handsome variety of fern. This kind of wick was passed

through a round hole at the end of the lamp, to which a sharp

piece of hard wood was attached wherewith to pierce and draw it

up whenever it showed signs of burning low.

For a while we sat down and watched this grim people eating their

evening meal in silence as grim as themselves, till at length,

getting tired of contemplating them and the huge moving shadows

on the rocky walls, I suggested to our new keeper that we should

like to go to bed.

Without a word he rose, and, taking me politely by the hand,

advanced with a lamp to one of the small passages that I had

noticed opening out of the central cave. This we followed for

about five paces, when it suddenly widened out into a small

chamber, about eight feet square, and hewn out of the living

rock. On one side of this chamber was a stone slab, about three

feet from the ground, and running its entire length like a bunk

in a cabin, and on this slab he intimated that I was to sleep.

There was no window or air-hole to the chamber, and no furniture;

and, on looking at it more closely, I came to the disturbing

conclusion (in which, as I afterwards discovered, I was quite

right) that it had originally served for a sepulchre for the dead

rather than a sleeping-place for the living, the slab being

designed to receive the corpse of the departed. The thought made

me shudder in spite of myself; but, seeing that I must sleep

somewhere, I got over the feeling as best I might, and returned

to the cavern to get my blanket, which had been brought up from

the boat with the other things. There I met Job, who, having been

inducted to a similar apartment, had flatly declined to stop in

it, saying that the look of the place gave him the horrors, and

that he might as well be dead and buried in his grandfather’s

brick grave at once, and expressed his determination of sleeping

with me if I would allow him. This, of course, I was only too

glad to do.

The night passed very comfortably on the whole. I say on the

whole, for personally I went through a most horrible nightmare of

being buried alive, induced, no doubt, by the sepulchral nature

of my surroundings. At dawn we were aroused by a loud trumpeting

sound, produced, as we afterwards discovered, by a young

Amahagger blowing through a hole bored in its side into a

hollowed elephant tusk, which was kept for the purpose.

Taking the hint, we got up and went down to the stream to wash,

after which the morning meal was served. At breakfast one of the

women, no longer quite young, advanced and publicly kissed Job. I

think it was in its way the most delightful thing (putting its

impropriety aside for a moment) that I ever saw. Never shall I

forget the respectable Job’s abject terror and disgust. Job, like

myself, is a bit of a misogynist—I fancy chiefly owing to the

fact of his having been one of a family of seventeen—and the

feelings expressed upon his countenance when he realised that he

was not only being embraced publicly, and without authorisation

on his own part, but also in the presence of his masters, were

too mixed and painful to admit of accurate description. He sprang

to his feet, and pushed the woman, a buxom person of about

thirty, from him.

“Well, I never!” he gasped, whereupon probably thinking that he

was only coy, she embraced him again.

“Be off with you! Get away, you minx!” he shouted, waving the

wooden spoon, with which he was eating his breakfast, up and down

before the lady’s face. “Beg your pardon, gentlemen, I am sure I

haven’t encouraged her. Oh, Lord! she’s coming for me again. Hold

her, Mr. Holly! please hold her! I can’t stand it; I can’t,

indeed. This has never happened to me before, gentlemen, never.

There’s nothing against my character,” and here he broke off, and

ran as hard as he could go down the cave, and for once I saw the

Amahagger laugh. As for the woman, however, she did not laugh. On

the contrary, she seemed to bristle with fury, which the mockery

of the other women about only served to intensify. She stood

there literally snarling and shaking with indignation, and,

seeing her, I wished Job’s scruples had been at Jericho, forming

a shrewd guess that his admirable behaviour had endangered our

throats. Nor, as the sequel shows, was I wrong.

The lady having retreated, Job returned in a great state of

nervousness, and keeping his weather eye fixed upon every woman

who came near him. I took an opportunity to explain to our hosts

that Job was a married man, and had had very unhappy experiences

in his domestic relations, which accounted for his presence here

and his terror at the sight of women, but my remarks were

received in grim silence, it being evident that our retainer’s

behaviour was considered as a slight to the “household” at large,

although the women, after the manner of some of their most

civilised sisters, made merry at the rebuff of their companion.

After breakfast we took a walk and inspected the Amahagger herds,

and also their cultivated lands. They have two breeds of cattle,

one large and angular, with no horns, but yielding beautiful

milk; and the other, a red breed, very small and fat, excellent

for meat, but of no value for milking purposes. This last breed

closely resembles the Norfolk red-pole strain, only it has horns

which generally curve forward over the head, sometimes to such an

extent that they have to be cut to prevent them from growing into

the bones of the skull. The goats are long-haired, and are used

for eating only, at least I never saw them milked. As for the

Amahagger cultivation, it is primitive in the extreme, being all

done by means of a spade made of iron, for these people smelt and

work iron. This spade is shaped more like a big spear-head than

anything else, and has no shoulder to it on which the foot can be

set. As a consequence, the labour of digging is very great. It

is, however, all done by the men, the women, contrary to the

habits of most savage races, being entirely exempt from manual

toil. But then, as I think I have said elsewhere, among the

Amahagger the weaker sex has established its rights.

At first we were much puzzled as to the origin and constitution

of this extraordinary race, points upon which they were

singularly uncommunicative. As the time went on—for the next four

days passed without any striking event—we learnt something from

Leo’s lady friend Ustane, who, by the way, stuck to that young

gentleman like his own shadow. As to origin, they had none, at

least, so far as she was aware. There were, however, she informed

us, mounds of masonry and many pillars, near the place where

_She_ lived, which was called Kôr, and which the wise said had

once been houses wherein men lived, and it was suggested that

they were descended from these men. No one, however, dared go

near these great ruins, because they were haunted: they only

looked on them from a distance. Other similar ruins were to be

seen, she had heard, in various parts of the country, that is,

wherever one of the mountains rose above the level of the swamp.

Also the caves in which they lived had been hollowed out of the

rocks by men, perhaps the same who built the cities. They

themselves had no written laws, only custom, which was, however,

quite as binding as law. If any man offended against the custom,

he was put to death by order of the Father of the “Household.” I

asked how he was put to death, and she only smiled and said that

I might see one day soon.

They had a Queen, however. _She_ was their Queen, but she was

very rarely seen, perhaps once in two or three years, when she

came forth to pass sentence on some offenders, and when seen was

muffled up in a big cloak, so that nobody could look upon her

face. Those who waited upon her were deaf and dumb, and therefore

could tell no tales, but it was reported that she was lovely as

no other woman was lovely, or ever had been. It was rumoured also

that she was immortal, and had power over all things, but she,

Ustane, could say nothing of all that. What she believed was that

the Queen chose a husband from time to time, and as soon as a

female child was born, this husband, who was never again seen,

was put to death. Then the female child grew up and took the

place of the Queen when its mother died, and had been buried in

the great caves. But of these matters none could speak with

certainty. Only _She_ was obeyed throughout the length and

breadth of the land, and to question her command was instant

death. She kept a guard, but had no regular army, and to disobey

her was to die.

I asked what size the land was, and how many people lived in it.

She answered that there were ten “Households,” like this that she

knew of, including the big “Household,” where the Queen was, that

all the “Households” lived in caves, in places resembling this

stretch of raised country, dotted about in a vast extent of

swamp, which was only to be threaded by secret paths. Often the

“Households” made war on each other until _She_ sent word that it

was to stop, and then they instantly ceased. That and the fever

which they caught in crossing the swamps prevented their numbers

from increasing too much. They had no connection with any other

race, indeed none lived near them, or were able to thread the

vast swamps. Once an army from the direction of the great river

(presumably the Zambesi) had attempted to attack them, but they

got lost in the marshes, and at night, seeing the great balls of

fire that move about there, tried to come to them, thinking that

they marked the enemy camp, and half of them were drowned. As for

the rest, they soon died of fever and starvation, not a blow

being struck at them. The marshes, she told us, were absolutely

impassable except to those who knew the paths, adding, what I

could well believe, that we should never have reached this place

where we then were had we not been brought thither.

These and many other things we learnt from Ustane during the four

days’ pause before our real adventures began, and, as may be

imagined, they gave us considerable cause for thought. The whole

thing was exceedingly remarkable, almost incredibly so, indeed,

and the oddest part of it was that so far it did more or less

correspond to the ancient writing on the sherd. And now it

appeared that there was a mysterious Queen clothed by rumour with

dread and wonderful attributes, and commonly known by the

impersonal, but, to my mind, rather awesome title of _She_.

Altogether, I could not make it out, nor could Leo, though of

course he was exceedingly triumphant over me because I had

persistently mocked at the whole thing. As for Job, he had long

since abandoned any attempt to call his reason his own, and left

it to drift upon the sea of circumstance. Mahomed, the Arab, who

was, by the way, treated civilly indeed, but with chilling

contempt, by the Amahagger, was, I discovered, in a great fright,

though I could not quite make out what he was frightened about.

He would sit crouched up in a corner of the cave all day long,

calling upon Allah and the Prophet to protect him. When I pressed

him about it, he said that he was afraid because these people

were not men or women at all, but devils, and that this was an

enchanted land; and, upon my word, once or twice since then I

have been inclined to agree with him. And so the time went on,

till the night of the fourth day after Billali had left, when

something happened.

We three and Ustane were sitting round a fire in the cave just

before bedtime, when suddenly the woman, who had been brooding in

silence, rose, and laid her hand upon Leo’s golden curls, and

addressed him. Even now, when I shut my eyes, I can see her

proud, imperial form, clothed alternately in dense shadow and the

red flickering of the fire, as she stood, the wild centre of as

weird a scene as I ever witnessed, and delivered herself of the

burden of her thoughts and forebodings in a kind of rhythmical

speech that ran something as follows:—

Thou art my chosen—I have waited for thee from the beginning!

Thou art very beautiful. Who hath hair like unto thee, or skin so

white?

Who hath so strong an arm, who is so much a man?

Thine eyes are the sky, and the light in them is the stars.

Thou art perfect and of a happy face, and my heart turned itself

towards thee.

Ay, when mine eyes fell upon thee I did desire thee,—

Then did I take thee to me—oh, thou Beloved,

And hold thee fast, lest harm should come unto thee.

Ay, I did cover thine head with mine hair, lest the sun should strike

it;

And altogether was I thine, and thou wast altogether mine.

And so it went for a little space, till Time was in labour with an evil

Day;

And then what befell on that day? Alas! my Beloved, I know not!

But I, I saw thee no more—I, I was lost in the blackness.

And she who is stronger did take thee; ay, she who is fairer than

Ustane.

Yet didst thou turn and call upon me, and let thine eyes wander in the

darkness.

But, nevertheless, she prevailed by Beauty, and led thee down horrible

places,

And then, ah! then my Beloved——

Here this extraordinary woman broke off her speech, or chant,

which was so much musical gibberish to us, for all that we

understood of what she was talking about, and seemed to fix her

flashing eyes upon the deep shadow before her. Then in a moment

they acquired a vacant, terrified stare, as though they were

striving to realise some half-seen horror. She lifted her hand

from Leo’s head, and pointed into the darkness. We all looked,

and could see nothing; but she saw something, or thought she did,

and something evidently that affected even her iron nerves, for,

without another sound, down she fell senseless between us.

Leo, who was growing really attached to this remarkable young

person, was in a great state of alarm and distress, and I, to be

perfectly candid, was in a condition not far removed from

superstitious fear. The whole scene was an uncanny one.

Presently, however, she recovered, and sat up with an

extraordinary convulsive shudder.

“What didst thou mean, Ustane?” asked Leo, who, thanks to years

of tuition, spoke Arabic very prettily.

“Nay, my chosen,” she answered, with a little forced laugh. “I

did but sing unto thee after the fashion of my people. Surely, I

meant nothing. How could I speak of that which is not yet?”

“And what didst thou see, Ustane?” I asked, looking her sharply

in the face.

“Nay,” she answered again, “I saw naught. Ask me not what I saw.

Why should I fright ye?” And then, turning to Leo with a look of

the most utter tenderness that I ever saw upon the face of a

woman, civilised or savage, she took his head between her hands,

and kissed him on the forehead as a mother might.

“When I am gone from thee, my chosen,” she said; “when at night

thou stretchest out thine hand and canst not find me, then

shouldst thou think at times of me, for of a truth I love thee

well, though I be not fit to wash thy feet. And now let us love

and take that which is given us, and be happy; for in the grave

there is no love and no warmth, nor any touching of the lips.

Nothing perchance, or perchance but bitter memories of what might

have been. To-night the hours are our own, how know we to whom

they shall belong to-morrow?”

VIII.

THE FEAST, AND AFTER!

On the day following this remarkable scene—a scene calculated to

make a deep impression upon anybody who beheld it, more because

of what it suggested and seemed to foreshadow than of what it

revealed—it was announced to us that a feast would be held that

evening in our honour. I did my best to get out of it, saying

that we were modest people, and cared little for feasts, but my

remarks being received with the silence of displeasure, I thought

it wisest to hold my tongue.

Accordingly, just before sundown, I was informed that everything

was ready, and, accompanied by Job, went into the cave, where I

met Leo, who was, as usual, followed by Ustane. These two had

been out walking somewhere, and knew nothing of the projected

festivity till that moment. When Ustane heard of it I saw an

expression of horror spring up upon her handsome features.

Turning she caught a man who was passing up the cave by the arm,

and asked him something in an imperious tone. His answer seemed

to reassure her a little, for she looked relieved, though far

from satisfied. Next she appeared to attempt some remonstrance

with the man, who was a person in authority, but he spoke angrily

to her, and shook her off, and then, changing his mind, led her

by the arm, and sat her down between himself and another man in

the circle round the fire, and I perceived that for some reason

of her own she thought it best to submit.

The fire in the cave was an unusually big one that night, and in

a large circle round it were gathered about thirty-five men and

two women, Ustane and the woman to avoid whom Job had played the

_rôle_ of another Scriptural character. The men were sitting in

perfect silence, as was their custom, each with his great spear

stuck upright behind him, in a socket cut in the rock for that

purpose. Only one or two wore the yellowish linen garment of

which I have spoken, the rest had nothing on except the leopard’s

skin about the middle.

“What’s up now, sir,” said Job, doubtfully. “Bless us and save

us, there’s that woman again. Now, surely, she can’t be after me,

seeing that I have given her no encouragement. They give me the

creeps, the whole lot of them, and that’s a fact. Why look, they

have asked Mahomed to dine, too. There, that lady of mine is

talking to him in as nice and civil a way as possible. Well, I’m

glad it isn’t me, that’s all.”

We looked up, and sure enough the woman in question had risen,

and was escorting the wretched Mahomed from his corner, where,

overcome by some acute prescience of horror, he had been seated,

shivering, and calling on Allah. He appeared unwilling enough to

come, if for no other reason perhaps because it was an

unaccustomed honour, for hitherto his food had been given to him

apart. Anyway I could see that he was in a state of great terror,

for his tottering legs would scarcely support his stout, bulky

form, and I think it was rather owing to the resources of

barbarism behind him, in the shape of a huge Amahagger with a

proportionately huge spear, than to the seductions of the lady

who led him by the hand, that he consented to come at all.

“Well,” I said to the others, “I don’t at all like the look of

things, but I suppose we must face it out. Have you fellows got

your revolvers on? because, if so, you had better see that they

are loaded.”

“I have, sir,” said Job, tapping his Colt, “but Mr. Leo has only

got his hunting knife, though that is big enough, surely.”

Feeling that it would not do to wait while the missing weapon was

fetched, we advanced boldly, and seated ourselves in a line, with

our backs against the side of the cave.

As soon as we were seated, an earthenware jar was passed round

containing a fermented fluid, of by no means unpleasant taste,

though apt to turn upon the stomach, made from crushed grain—not

Indian corn, but a small brown grain that grows upon its stem in

clusters, not unlike that which in the southern part of Africa is

known by the name of Kafir corn. The vase which contained this

liquor was very curious, and as it more or less resembled many

hundreds of others in use among the Amahagger I may as well

describe it. These vases are of a very ancient manufacture, and

of all sizes. None such can have been made in the country for

hundreds, or rather thousands, of years. They are found in the

rock tombs, of which I shall give a description in their proper

place, and my own belief is that, after the fashion of the

Egyptians, with whom the former inhabitants of this country may

have had some connection, they were used to receive the viscera

of the dead. Leo, however, is of opinion that, as in the case of

Etruscan amphoræ, they were placed there for the spiritual use of

the deceased. They are mostly two-handled, and of all sizes, some

being nearly three feet in height, and running from that down to

as many inches. In shape they vary, but all are exceedingly

beautiful and graceful, being made of a very fine black ware, not

lustrous, but slightly rough. On this groundwork are inlaid

figures much more graceful and lifelike than any others that I

have seen on antique vases. Some of these inlaid pictures

represent love-scenes with a childlike simplicity and freedom of

manner which would not commend itself to the taste of the present

day. Others again give pictures of maidens dancing, and yet

others of hunting-scenes. For instance, the very vase from which

we were then drinking had on one side a most spirited drawing of

men, apparently white in colour, attacking a bull-elephant with

spears, while on the reverse was a picture, not quite so well

done, of a hunter shooting an arrow at a running antelope, I

should say from the look of it either an eland or a koodoo.

This is a digression at a critical moment, but it is not too long

for the occasion, for the occasion itself was very long. With the

exception of the periodical passing of the vase, and the movement

necessary to throw fuel on to the fire, nothing happened for the

best part of a whole hour. Nobody spoke a word. There we all sat

in perfect silence, staring at the glare and glow of the large

fire, and at the shadows thrown by the flickering earthenware

lamps (which, by the way, were not ancient). On the open space

between us and the fire lay a large wooden tray, with four short

handles to it, exactly like a butcher’s tray, only not hollowed

out. By the side of the tray was a great pair of long-handled

iron pincers, and on the other side of the fire was a similar

pair. Somehow I did not at all like the appearance of this tray

and the accompanying pincers. There I sat and stared at them and

at the silent circle of the fierce moody faces of the men, and

reflected that it was all very awful, and that we were absolutely

in the power of this alarming people, who, to me at any rate,

were all the more formidable because their true character was

still very much of a mystery to us. They might be better than I

thought them, or they might be worse. I feared that they were

worse, and I was not wrong. It was a curious sort of a feast, I

reflected, in appearance indeed, an entertainment of the

Barmecide stamp, for there was absolutely nothing to eat.

At last, just as I was beginning to feel as though I were being

mesmerised, a move was made. Without the slightest warning, a man

from the other side of the circle called out in a loud voice—

“Where is the flesh that we shall eat?”

Thereon everybody in the circle answered in a deep measured tone,

and stretching out the right arm towards the fire as he spoke—

“_The flesh will come._”

“Is it a goat?” said the same man.

“_It is a goat without horns, and more than a goat, and we shall

slay it,_” they answered with one voice, and turning half round

they one and all grasped the handles of their spears with the

right hand, and then simultaneously let them go.

“Is it an ox?” said the man again.

“_It is an ox without horns, and more than an ox, and we shall

slay it,_” was the answer, and again the spears were grasped, and

again let go.

Then came a pause, and I noticed, with horror and a rising of the hair,

that the woman next to Mahomed began to fondle him, patting his cheeks

and calling him by names of endearment while her fierce eyes played up

and down his trembling form. I do not know why the sight frightened me

so, but it did frighten us all dreadfully, especially Leo. The

caressing was so snake-like, and so evidently a part of some ghastly

formula that had to be gone through.[1] I saw Mahomed turn white under

his brown skin, sickly white with fear.

[1] We afterwards learnt that its object was to pretend to the victim

that he was the object of love and admiration, and so to sooth his

injured feelings, and cause him to expire in a happy and contented

frame of mind.—L. H. H.

“Is the meat ready to be cooked?” asked the voice, more rapidly.

“_It is ready; it is ready._”

“Is the pot hot to cook it?” it continued, in a sort of scream

that echoed painfully down the great recesses of the cave.

“_It is hot; it is hot._”

“Great heavens!” roared Leo, “remember the writing, ‘_The people

who place pots upon the heads of strangers._’”

As he said the words, before we could stir, or even take the

matter in, two great ruffians jumped up, and, seizing the long

pincers, thrust them into the heart of the fire, and the woman

who had been caressing Mahomed suddenly produced a fibre noose

from under her girdle or moocha, and, slipping it over his

shoulders, ran it tight, while the men next to him seized him by

the legs. The two men with the pincers gave a heave, and,

scattering the fire this way and that upon the rocky floor,

lifted from it a large earthenware pot, heated to a white heat.

In an instant, almost with a single movement, they had reached

the spot where Mahomed was struggling. He fought like a fiend,

shrieking in the abandonment of his despair, and notwithstanding

the noose round him, and the efforts of the men who held his

legs, the advancing wretches were for the moment unable to

accomplish their purpose, which, horrible and incredible as it

seems, was _to put the red-hot pot upon his head_.

I sprang to my feet with a yell of horror, and drawing my

revolver fired it by a sort of instinct straight at the

diabolical woman who had been caressing Mahomed, and was now

gripping him in her arms. The bullet struck her in the back and

killed her, and to this day I am glad that it did, for, as it

afterwards transpired, she had availed herself of the

anthropophagous customs of the Amahagger to organise the whole

thing in revenge of the slight put upon her by Job. She sank down

dead, and as she did so, to my terror and dismay, Mahomed, by a

superhuman effort, burst from his tormenters, and, springing high

into the air, fell dying upon her corpse. The heavy bullet from

my pistol had driven through the bodies of both, at once striking

down the murderess, and saving her victim from a death a hundred

times more horrible. It was an awful and yet a most merciful

accident.

For a moment there was a silence of astonishment. The Amahagger

had never heard the report of a firearm before, and its effects

dismayed them. But the next instant a man close to us recovered himself,

and seized his spear preparatory to making a lunge with it at

Leo, who was the nearest to him.

“Run for it!” I shouted, setting the example by starting up the

cave as hard as my legs would carry me. I would have made for the

open air if it had been possible, but there were men in the way,

and, besides, I had caught sight of the forms of a crowd of

people standing out clear against the skyline beyond the entrance

to the cave. Up the cave I went, and after me came the others,

and after them thundered the whole crowd of cannibals, mad with

fury at the death of the woman. With a bound I cleared the

prostrate form of Mahomed. As I flew over him I felt the heat

from the red-hot pot, which was lying close by, strike upon my

legs, and by its glow saw his hands—for he was not quite

dead—still feebly moving. At the top of the cave was a little

platform of rock three feet or so high by about eight deep, on

which two large lamps were placed at night. Whether this platform

had been left as a seat, or as a raised point afterwards to be

cut away when it had served its purpose as a standing place from

which to carry on the excavations, I do not know—at least, I did

not then. At any rate, we all three reached it, and, jumping on

it, prepared to sell our lives as dearly as we could. For a few

seconds the crowd that was pressing on our heels hung back when

they saw us face round upon them. Job was on one side of the rock

to the left, Leo in the centre, and I to the right. Behind us

were the lamps. Leo bent forward, and looked down the long lane

of shadows, terminating in the fire and lighted lamps, through

which the quiet forms of our would-be murderers flitted to and

fro with the faint light glinting on their spears, for even their

fury was silent as a bulldog’s. The only other thing visible was

the red-hot pot still glowing angrily in the gloom. There was a

curious light in Leo’s eyes, and his handsome face was set like a

stone. In his right hand was his heavy hunting-knife. He shifted

its thong a little up his wrist and then put his arm round me and

gave me a good hug.

“Good-bye, old fellow,” he said, “my dear friend—my more than

father. We have no chance against those scoundrels; they will

finish us in a few minutes, and eat us afterwards, I suppose.

Good-bye. I led you into this. I hope you will forgive me.

Good-bye, Job.”

“God’s will be done,” I said, setting my teeth, as I prepared for

the end. At that moment, with an exclamation, Job lifted his

revolver and fired, and hit a man—not the man he had aimed at, by

the way: anything that Job shot _at_ was perfectly safe.

On they came with a rush, and I fired too as fast as I could, and

checked them—between us, Job and I, besides the woman, killed or

mortally wounded five men with our pistols before they were

emptied. But we had no time to reload, and they still came on in

a way that was almost splendid in its recklessness, seeing that

they did not know but that we could go on firing for ever.

A great fellow bounded up upon the platform, and Leo struck him

dead with one blow of his powerful arm, sending the knife right

through him. I did the same by another, but Job missed his

stroke, and I saw a brawny Amahagger grip him by the middle and

whirl him off the rock. The knife not being secured by a thong

fell from Job’s hand as he did so, and, by a most happy accident

for him, lit upon its handle on the rock, just as the body of the

Amahagger, who was undermost, struck upon its point and was

transfixed upon it. What happened to Job after that I am sure I

do not know, but my own impression is that he lay still upon the

corpse of his deceased assailant, “playing ‘possum” as the

Americans say. As for myself, I was soon involved in a desperate

encounter with two ruffians, who, luckily for me, had left their

spears behind them; and for the first time in my life the great

physical power with which Nature has endowed me stood me in good

stead. I had hacked at the head of one man with my hunting-knife,

which was almost as big and heavy as a short sword, with such

vigour, that the sharp steel had split his skull down to the

eyes, and was held so fast by it that as he suddenly fell

sideways the knife was twisted right out of my hand.

Then it was that the two others sprang upon me. I saw them

coming, and got an arm round the waist of each, and down we all

fell upon the floor of the cave together, rolling over and over.

They were strong men, but I was mad with rage, and that awful

lust for slaughter which will creep into the hearts of the most

civilised of us when blows are flying, and life and death tremble

on the turn. My arms were round the two swarthy demons, and I

hugged them till I heard their ribs crack and crunch up beneath

my grip. They twisted and writhed like snakes, and clawed and

battered at me with their fists, but I held on. Lying on my back

there, so that their bodies might protect me from spear thrusts

from above, I slowly crushed the life out of them, and as I did

so, strange as it may seem, I thought of what the amiable Head of

my College at Cambridge (who is a member of the Peace Society)

and my brother Fellows would say if by clairvoyance they could

see me, of all men, playing such a bloody game. Soon my

assailants grew faint, and almost ceased to struggle, their

breath had failed them, and they were dying, but still I dared

not leave them, for they died very slowly. I knew that if I

relaxed my grip they would revive. The other ruffians probably

thought—for we were all three lying in the shadow of the

ledge—that we were all dead together, at any rate they did not

interfere with our little tragedy.

I turned my head, and as I lay gasping in the throes of that

awful struggle I could see that Leo was off the rock now, for the

lamplight fell full upon him. He was still on his feet, but in

the centre of a surging mass of struggling men, who were striving

to pull him down as wolves pull down a stag. Up above them

towered his beautiful pale face crowned with its bright curls

(for Leo is six feet two high), and I saw that he was fighting

with a desperate abandonment and energy that was at once splendid

and hideous to behold. He drove his knife through one man—they

were so close to and mixed up with him that they could not get at

him to kill him with their big spears, and they had no knives or

sticks. The man fell, and then somehow the knife was wrenched

from his hand, leaving him defenceless, and I thought the end had

come. But no; with a desperate effort he broke loose from them,

seized the body of the man he had just slain, and lifting it high

in the air hurled it right at the mob of his assailants, so that

the shock and weight of it swept some five or six of them to the

earth. But in a minute they were all up again, except one, whose

skull was smashed, and had once more fastened upon him. And then

slowly, and with infinite labour and struggling, the wolves bore

the lion down. Once even then he recovered himself, and felled an

Amahagger with his fist, but it was more than man could do to

hold his own for long against so many, and at last he came

crashing down upon the rock floor, falling as an oak falls, and

bearing with him to the earth all those who clung about him. They

gripped him by his arms and legs, and then cleared off his body.

“A spear,” cried a voice—“a spear to cut his throat, and a vessel

to catch his blood.”

I shut my eyes, for I saw the man coming with a spear, and

myself, I could not stir to Leo’s help, for I was growing weak,

and the two men on me were not yet dead, and a deadly sickness

overcame me.

Then suddenly there was a disturbance, and involuntarily I opened

my eyes again, and looked towards the scene of murder. The girl

Ustane had thrown herself on Leo’s prostrate form, covering his

body with her body, and fastening her arms about his neck. They

tried to drag her from him, but she twisted her legs round his,

and hung on like a bulldog, or rather like a creeper to a tree,

and they could not. Then they tried to stab him in the side

without hurting her, but somehow she shielded him, and he was

only wounded.

At last they lost patience.

“Drive the spear through the man and the woman together,” said a

voice, the same voice that had asked the questions at that

ghastly feast, “so of a verity shall they be wed.”

Then I saw the man with the weapon straighten himself for the

effort. I saw the cold steel gleam on high, and once more I shut

my eyes.

As I did so I heard the voice of a man thunder out in tones that

rang and echoed down the rocky ways—

“_Cease!_”

Then I fainted, and as I did so it flashed through my darkening

mind that I was passing down into the last oblivion of death.

IX.

A LITTLE FOOT

When I opened my eyes again I found myself lying on a skin mat

not far from the fire round which we had been gathered for that

dreadful feast. Near me lay Leo, still apparently in a swoon, and

over him was bending the tall form of the girl Ustane, who was

washing a deep spear wound in his side with cold water

preparatory to binding it up with linen. Leaning against the wall

of the cave behind her was Job, apparently uninjured, but bruised

and trembling. On the other side of the fire, tossed about this

way and that, as though they had thrown themselves down to sleep

in some moment of absolute exhaustion, were the bodies of those

whom we had killed in our frightful struggle for life. I counted

them: there were twelve besides the woman, and the corpse of poor

Mahomed, who had died by my hand, which, the fire-stained pot at

its side, was placed at the end of the irregular line. To the

left a body of men were engaged in binding the arms of the

survivors of the cannibals behind them, and then fastening them

two and two. The villains were submitting with a look of sulky

indifference upon their faces which accorded ill with the baffled

fury that gleamed in their sombre eyes. In front of these men,

directing the operations, stood no other than our friend Billali,

looking rather tired, but particularly patriarchal with his

flowing beard, and as cool and unconcerned as though he were

superintending the cutting up of an ox.

Presently he turned, and perceiving that I was sitting up

advanced to me, and with the utmost courtesy said that he trusted

that I felt better. I answered that at present I scarcely knew

how I felt, except that I ached all over.

Then he bent down and examined Leo’s wound.

“It is an evil cut,” he said, “but the spear has not pierced the

entrails. He will recover.”

“Thanks to thy arrival, my father,” I answered. “In another

minute we should all have been beyond the reach of recovery, for

those devils of thine would have slain us as they would have

slain our servant,” and I pointed towards Mahomed.

The old man ground his teeth, and I saw an extraordinary

expression of malignity light up his eyes.

“Fear not, my son,” he answered. “Vengeance shall be taken on

them such as would make the flesh twist upon the bones merely to

hear of it. To _She_ shall they go, and her vengeance shall be

worthy of her greatness. That man,” pointing to Mahomed, “I tell

thee that man would have died a merciful death to the death these

hyæna-men shall die. Tell me, I pray of thee, how it came about.”

In a few words I sketched what had happened.

“Ah, so,” he answered. “Thou seest, my son, here there is a

custom that if a stranger comes into this country he may be slain

by ‘the pot,’ and eaten.”

“It is hospitality turned upside down,” I answered feebly. “In

our country we entertain a stranger, and give him food to eat.

Here ye eat him, and are entertained.”

“It is a custom,” he answered, with a shrug. “Myself I think it

an evil one; but then,” he added by an afterthought, “I do not

like the taste of strangers, especially after they have wandered

through the swamps and lived on wild-fowl. When

_She-who-must-be-obeyed_ sent orders that ye were to be saved

alive she said naught of the black man, therefore, being hyænas,

these men lusted after his flesh, and the woman it was, whom thou

didst rightly slay, who put it into their evil hearts to hot-pot

him. Well, they will have their reward. Better for them would it

be if they had never seen the light than that they should stand

before _She_ in her terrible anger. Happy are those of them who

died by your hands.”

“Ah,” he went on, “it was a gallant fight that ye fought. Knowest

thou that, long-armed old baboon that thou art, thou hast crushed

in the ribs of those two who are laid out there as though they

were but as the shell on an egg? And the young one, the lion, it

was a beautiful stand that he made—one against so many—three did

he slay outright, and that one there”—and he pointed to a body

that was still moving a little—“will die anon, for his head is

cracked across, and others of those who are bound are hurt. It

was a gallant fight, and thou and he have made a friend of me by

it, for I love to see a well-fought fray. But tell me, my son,

the baboon—and now I think of it thy face, too, is hairy, and

altogether like a baboon’s—how was it that ye slew those with a

hole in them?—Ye made a noise, they say, and slew them—they fell

down on the faces at the noise?”

I explained to him as well as I could, but very shortly—for I was

terribly wearied, and only persuaded to talk at all through fear

of offending one so powerful if I refused to do so—what were the

properties of gunpowder, and he instantly suggested that I should

illustrate what I said by operating on the person of one of the

prisoners. One, he said, never would be counted, and it would not

only be very interesting to him, but would give me the

opportunity of an instalment of revenge. He was greatly astounded

when I told him that it was not our custom to avenge ourselves in

cold blood, and that we left vengeance to the law and a higher

power, of which he knew nothing. I added, however, that when I

recovered I would take him out shooting with us, and he should

kill an animal for himself, and at this he was as pleased as a

child at the promise of a new toy.

Just then Leo opened his eyes beneath the stimulus of some brandy

(of which we still had a little) that Job had poured down his

throat, and our conversation came to an end.

After this we managed to get Leo, who was in a very poor way

indeed, and only half conscious, safely off to bed, supported by

Job and that brave girl Ustane, to whom, had I not been afraid

that she might resent it, I would certainly have given a kiss for

her splendid behaviour in saving my boy’s life at the risk of her

own. But Ustane was not the sort of young person with whom one

would care to take liberties unless one were perfectly certain

that they would not be misunderstood, so I repressed my

inclinations. Then, bruised and battered, but with a sense of

safety in my breast to which I had for some days been a stranger,

I crept off to my own little sepulchre, not forgetting before I

laid down in it to thank Providence from the bottom of my heart

that it was not a sepulchre indeed, as, save for a merciful

combination of events that I can only attribute to its

protection, it would certainly have been for me that night. Few

men have been nearer their end and yet escaped it than we were on

that dreadful day.

I am a bad sleeper at the best of times, and my dreams that night

when at last I got to rest were not of the pleasantest. The awful

vision of poor Mahomed struggling to escape the red-hot pot would

haunt them, and then in the background, as it were, a veiled form

was always hovering, which, from time to time, seemed to draw the

coverings from its body, revealing now the perfect shape of a

lovely blooming woman, and now again the white bones of a

grinning skeleton, and which, as it veiled and unveiled, uttered

the mysterious and apparently meaningless sentence:—

“That which is alive and hath known death, and that which is dead

yet can never die, for in the Circle of the Spirit life is naught

and death is naught. Yea, all things live for ever, though at

times they sleep and are forgotten.”

The morning came at last, but when it came I found that I was too

stiff and sore to rise. About seven Job arrived, limping

terribly, and with his face the colour of a rotten apple, and

told me that Leo had slept fairly, but was very weak. Two hours

afterwards Billali (Job called him “Billy-goat,” to which,

indeed, his white beard gave him some resemblance, or more

familiarly, “Billy”) came too, bearing a lamp in his hand, his

towering form reaching nearly to the roof of the little chamber.

I pretended to be asleep, and through the cracks of my eyelids

watched his sardonic but handsome old face. He fixed his

hawk-like eyes upon me, and stroked his glorious white beard,

which, by the way, would have been worth a hundred a year to any

London barber as an advertisement.

“Ah!” I heard him mutter (Billali had a habit of muttering to

himself), “he is ugly—ugly as the other is beautiful—a very

Baboon, it was a good name. But I like the man. Strange now, at

my age, that I should like a man. What says the proverb—’Mistrust

all men, and slay him whom thou mistrustest overmuch; and as for

women, flee from them, for they are evil, and in the end will

destroy thee.’ It is a good proverb, especially the last part of

it: I think that it must have come down from the ancients.

Nevertheless I like this Baboon, and I wonder where they taught

him his tricks, and I trust that _She_ will not bewitch him. Poor

Baboon! he must be wearied after that fight. I will go lest I

should awake him.”

I waited till he had turned and was nearly through the entrance,

walking softly on tiptoe, and then I called after him.

“My father,” I said, “is it thou?”

“Yes, my son, it is I; but let me not disturb thee. I did but

come to see how thou didst fare, and to tell thee that those who

would have slain thee, my Baboon, are by now far on their road to

_She_. _She_ said that ye also were to come at once, but I fear

ye cannot yet.”

“Nay,” I said, “not till we have recovered a little; but have me

borne out into the daylight, I pray thee, my father. I love not

this place.”

“Ah, no,” he answered, “it hath a sad air. I remember when I was

a boy I found the body of a fair woman lying where thou liest

now, yes, on that very bench. She was so beautiful that I was

wont to creep in hither with a lamp and gaze upon her. Had it not

been for her cold hands, almost could I think that she slept and

would one day awake, so fair and peaceful was she in her robes of

white. White was she, too, and her hair was yellow and lay down

her almost to the feet. There are many such still in the tombs at

the place where _She_ is, for those who set them there had a way

I know naught of, whereby to keep their beloved out of the

crumbling hand of Decay, even when Death had slain them. Ay, day

by day I came hither, and gazed on her till at last—laugh not at

me, stranger, for I was but a silly lad—I learned to love that

dead form, that shell which once had held a life that no more is.

I would creep up to her and kiss her cold face, and wonder how

many men had lived and died since she was, and who had loved her

and embraced her in the days that long had passed away. And, my

Baboon, I think I learned wisdom from that dead one, for of a

truth it taught me of the littleness of life, and the length of

Death, and how all things that are under the sun go down one

path, and are for ever forgotten. And so I mused, and it seemed

to me that wisdom flowed into me from the dead, till one day my

mother, a watchful woman, but hasty-minded, seeing I was changed,

followed me, and saw the beautiful white one, and feared that I

was bewitched, as, indeed, I was. So half in dread, and half in

anger, she took up the lamp, and standing the dead woman up

against the wall even there, set fire to her hair, and she burnt

fiercely, even down to the feet, for those who are thus kept burn

excellently well.

“See, my son, there on the roof is yet the smoke of her burning.”

I looked up doubtfully, and there, sure enough, on the roof of

the sepulchre, was a peculiarly unctuous and sooty mark, three

feet or more across. Doubtless it had in the course of years been

rubbed off the sides of the little cave, but on the roof it

remained, and there was no mistaking its appearance.

“She burnt,” he went on in a meditative way, “even to the feet,

but the feet I came back and saved, cutting the burnt bone from

them, and hid them under the stone bench there, wrapped up in a

piece of linen. Surely, I remember it as though it were but

yesterday. Perchance they are there, if none have found them,

even to this hour. Of a truth I have not entered this chamber

from that time to this very day. Stay, I will look,” and,

kneeling down, he groped about with his long arm in the recess

under the stone bench. Presently his face brightened, and with an

exclamation he pulled something forth which was caked in dust;

which he shook on to the floor. It was covered with the remains

of a rotting rag, which he undid, and revealed to my astonished

gaze a beautifully shaped and almost white woman’s foot, looking

as fresh and firm as though it had but now been placed there.

“Thou seest, my son, the Baboon,” he said, in a sad voice, “I

spake the truth to thee, for here is yet one foot remaining. Take

it, my son, and gaze upon it.”

I took this cold fragment of mortality in my hand and looked at

it in the light of the lamp with feelings which I cannot

describe, so mixed up were they between astonishment, fear, and

fascination. It was light, much lighter I should say than it had

been in the living state, and the flesh to all appearance was

still flesh, though about it there clung a faintly aromatic

odour. For the rest it was not shrunk or shrivelled, or even

black and unsightly, like the flesh of Egyptian mummies, but

plump and fair, and, except where it had been slightly burnt,

perfect as on the day of death—a very triumph of embalming.

Poor little foot! I set it down upon the stone bench where it had

lain for so many thousand years, and wondered whose was the

beauty that it had upborne through the pomp and pageantry of a

forgotten civilisation—first as a merry child’s, then as a

blushing maid’s, and lastly as a perfect woman’s. Through what

halls of Life had its soft step echoed, and in the end, with what

courage had it trodden down the dusty ways of Death! To whose

side had it stolen in the hush of night when the black slave

slept upon the marble floor, and who had listened for its

stealing? Shapely little foot! Well might it have been set upon

the proud neck of a conqueror bent at last to woman’s beauty, and

well might the lips of nobles and of kings have been pressed upon

its jewelled whiteness.

I wrapped up this relic of the past in the remnants of the old

linen rag which had evidently formed a portion of its owner’s

grave-clothes, for it was partially burnt, and put it away in my

Gladstone bag—a strange combination, I thought. Then with

Billali’s help I staggered off to see Leo. I found him dreadfully

bruised, worse even than myself, perhaps owing to the excessive

whiteness of his skin, and faint and weak with the loss of blood

from the flesh wound in his side, but for all that cheerful as a

cricket, and asking for some breakfast. Job and Ustane got him on

to the bottom, or rather the sacking of a litter, which was

removed from its pole for that purpose, and with the aid of old

Billali carried him out into the shade at the mouth of the cave,

from which, by the way, every trace of the slaughter of the

previous night had now been removed, and there we all

breakfasted, and indeed spent that day, and most of the two

following ones.

On the third morning Job and myself were practically recovered.

Leo also was so much better that I yielded to Billali’s often

expressed entreaty, and agreed to start at once upon our journey

to Kôr, which we were told was the name of the place where the

mysterious _She_ lived, though I still feared for its effect upon

Leo, and especially lest the motion should cause his wound, which

was scarcely skinned over, to break open again. Indeed, had it

not been for Billali’s evident anxiety to get off, which led us

to suspect that some difficulty or danger might threaten us if we

did not comply with it, I would not have consented to go.

X.

SPECULATIONS

Within an hour of our finally deciding to start five litters were

brought up to the door of the cave, each accompanied by four

regular bearers and two spare hands, also a band of about fifty

armed Amahagger, who were to form the escort and carry the

baggage. Three of these litters, of course, were for us, and one

for Billali, who, I was immensely relieved to hear, was to be our

companion, while the fifth I presumed was for the use of Ustane.

“Does the lady go with us, my father?” I asked of Billali, as he

stood superintending things in general.

He shrugged his shoulders as he answered—

“If she wills. In this country the women do what they please. We

worship them, and give them their way, because without them the

world could not go on; they are the source of life.”

“Ah,” I said, the matter never having struck me quite in that

light before.

“We worship them,” he went on, “up to a point, till at last they

get unbearable, which,” he added, “they do about every second

generation.”

“And then what do you do?” I asked, with curiosity.

“Then,” he answered, with a faint smile, “we rise, and kill the

old ones as an example to the young ones, and to show them that

we are the strongest. My poor wife was killed in that way three

years ago. It was very sad, but to tell thee the truth, my son,

life has been happier since, for my age protects me from the

young ones.”

“In short,” I replied, quoting the saying of a great man whose

wisdom has not yet lightened the darkness of the Amahagger, “thou

hast found thy position one of greater freedom and less

responsibility.”

This phrase puzzled him a little at first from its vagueness,

though I think my translation hit off its sense very well, but at

last he saw it, and appreciated it.

“Yes, yes, my Baboon,” he said, “I see it now, but all the

‘responsibilities’ are killed, at least some of them are, and

that is why there are so few old women about just now. Well, they

brought it on themselves. As for this girl,” he went on, in a

graver tone, “I know not what to say. She is a brave girl, and

she loves the Lion (Leo); thou sawest how she clung to him, and

saved his life. Also, she is, according to our custom, wed to

him, and has a right to go where he goes, unless,” he added

significantly, “_She_ would say her no, for her word overrides

all rights.”

“And if _She_ bade her leave him, and the girl refused? What

then?”

“If,” he said, with a shrug, “the hurricane bids the tree to

bend, and it will not; what happens?”

And then, without waiting for an answer, he turned and walked to

his litter, and in ten minutes from that time we were all well

under way.

It took us an hour and more to cross the cup of the volcanic

plain, and another half-hour or so to climb the edge on the

farther side. Once there, however, the view was a very fine one.

Before us was a long steep slope of grassy plain, broken here and

there by clumps of trees mostly of the thorn tribe. At the bottom

of this gentle slope, some nine or ten miles away, we could make

out a dim sea of marsh, over which the foul vapours hung like

smoke about a city. It was easy going for the bearers down the

slopes, and by midday we had reached the borders of the dismal

swamp. Here we halted to eat our midday meal, and then, following

a winding and devious path, plunged into the morass. Presently

the path, at any rate to our unaccustomed eyes, grew so faint as

to be almost indistinguishable from those made by the aquatic

beasts and birds, and it is to this day a mystery to me how our

bearers found their way across the marshes. Ahead of the

cavalcade marched two men with long poles, which they now and

again plunged into the ground before them, the reason of this

being that the nature of the soil frequently changed from causes

with which I am not acquainted, so that places which might be

safe enough to cross one month would certainly swallow the

wayfarer the next. Never did I see a more dreary and depressing

scene. Miles on miles of quagmire, varied only by bright green

strips of comparatively solid ground, and by deep and sullen

pools fringed with tall rushes, in which the bitterns boomed and

the frogs croaked incessantly: miles on miles of it without a

break, unless the fever fog can be called a break. The only life

in this great morass was that of the aquatic birds, and the

animals that fed on them, of both of which there were vast

numbers. Geese, cranes, ducks, teal, coot, snipe, and plover

swarmed all around us, many being of varieties that were quite

new to me, and all so tame that one could almost have knocked

them over with a stick. Among these birds I especially noticed a

very beautiful variety of painted snipe, almost the size of a

woodcock, and with a flight more resembling that bird’s than an

English snipe’s. In the pools, too, was a species of small

alligator or enormous iguana, I do not know which, that fed,

Billali told me, upon the waterfowl, also large quantities of a

hideous black water-snake, of which the bite is very dangerous,

though not, I gathered, so deadly as a cobra’s or a puff adder’s.

The bull-frogs were also very large, and with voices

proportionate to their size; and as for the mosquitoes—the

“musqueteers,” as Job called them—they were, if possible, even

worse than they had been on the river, and tormented us greatly.

Undoubtedly, however, the worst feature of the swamp was the

awful smell of rotting vegetation that hung about it, which was

at times positively overpowering, and the malarious exhalations

that accompanied it, which we were of course obliged to breathe.

On we went through it all, till at last the sun sank in sullen

splendour just as we reached a spot of rising ground about two

acres in extent—a little oasis of dry in the midst of the miry

wilderness—where Billali announced that we were to camp. The

camping, however, turned out to be a very simple process, and

consisted, in fact, in sitting down on the ground round a scanty

fire made of dry reeds and some wood that had been brought with

us. However, we made the best we could of it, and smoked and ate

with such appetite as the smell of damp, stifling heat would

allow, for it was very hot on this low land, and yet, oddly

enough, chilly at times. But, however hot it was, we were glad

enough to keep near the fire, because we found that the

mosquitoes did not like the smoke. Presently we rolled ourselves

up in our blankets and tried to go to sleep, but so far as I was

concerned the bull-frogs, and the extraordinary roaring and

alarming sound produced by hundreds of snipe hovering high in the

air, made sleep an impossibility, to say nothing of our other

discomforts. I turned and looked at Leo, who was next me; he was

dozing, but his face had a flushed appearance that I did not

like, and by the flickering fire-light I saw Ustane, who was

lying on the other side of him, raise herself from time to time

upon her elbow, and look at him anxiously enough.

However, I could do nothing for him, for we had all already taken

a good dose of quinine, which was the only preventive we had; so

I lay and watched the stars come out by thousands, till all the

immense arch of heaven was strewn with glittering points, and

every point a world! Here was a glorious sight by which man might

well measure his own insignificance! Soon I gave up thinking

about it, for the mind wearies easily when it strives to grapple

with the Infinite, and to trace the footsteps of the Almighty as

he strides from sphere to sphere, or deduce His purpose from His

works. Such things are not for us to know. Knowledge is to the

strong, and we are weak. Too much wisdom would perchance blind

our imperfect sight, and too much strength would make us drunk,

and over-weight our feeble reason till it fell and we were

drowned in the depths of our own vanity. For what is the first

result of man’s increased knowledge interpreted from Nature’s

book by the persistent effort of his purblind observation? Is it

not but too often to make him question the existence of his

Maker, or indeed of any intelligent purpose beyond his own? The

truth is veiled, because we could no more look upon her glory

than we can upon the sun. It would destroy us. Full knowledge is

not for man as man is here, for his capacities, which he is apt

to think so great, are indeed but small. The vessel is soon

filled, and, were one-thousandth part of the unutterable and

silent wisdom that directs the rolling of those shining spheres,

and the Force which makes them roll, pressed into it, it would be

shattered into fragments. Perhaps in some other place and time it

may be otherwise, who can tell? Here the lot of man born of the

flesh is but to endure midst toil and tribulation, to catch at

the bubbles blown by Fate, which he calls pleasure, thankful if

before they burst they rest a moment in his hand, and when the

tragedy is played out, and his hour comes to perish, to pass

humbly whither he knows not.

Above me, as I lay, shone the eternal stars, and there at my feet

the impish marsh-born balls of fire rolled this way and that,

vapour-tossed and earth-desiring, and methought that in the two I

saw a type and image of what man is, and what perchance man may

one day be, if the living Force who ordained him and them should

so ordain this also. Oh, that it might be ours to rest year by

year upon that high level of the heart to which at times we

momentarily attain! Oh, that we could shake loose the prisoned

pinions of the soul and soar to that superior point, whence, like

to some traveller looking out through space from Darien’s

giddiest peak, we might gaze with spiritual eyes deep into

Infinity!

What would it be to cast off this earthy robe, to have done for

ever with these earthy thoughts and miserable desires; no longer,

like those corpse candles, to be tossed this way and that, by

forces beyond our control; or which, if we can theoretically

control them, we are at times driven by the exigencies of our

nature to obey! Yes, to cast them off, to have done with the foul

and thorny places of the world; and, like to those glittering

points above me, to rest on high wrapped for ever in the

brightness of our better selves, that even now shines in us as

fire faintly shines within those lurid balls, and lay down our

littleness in that wide glory of our dreams, that invisible but

surrounding Good, from which all truth and beauty comes!

These and many such thoughts passed through my mind that night.

They come to torment us all at times. I say to torment, for,

alas! thinking can only serve to measure out the helplessness of

thought. What is the purpose of our feeble crying in the awful

silences of space? Can our dim intelligence read the secrets of

that star-strewn sky? Does any answer come out of it? Never any

at all, nothing but echoes and fantastic visions! And yet we

believe that there is an answer, and that upon a time a new Dawn

will come blushing down the ways of our enduring night. We

believe it, for its reflected beauty even now shines up

continually in our hearts from beneath the horizon of the grave,

and we call it Hope. Without Hope we should suffer moral death,

and by the help of Hope we yet may climb to Heaven, or at the

worst, if she also prove but a kindly mockery given to hold us

from despair, be gently lowered into the abysses of eternal

sleep.

Then I fell to reflecting upon the undertaking on which we were

bent, and what a wild one it was, and yet how strangely the story

seemed to fit in with what had been written centuries ago upon

the sherd. Who was this extraordinary woman, Queen over a people

apparently as extraordinary as herself, and reigning amidst the

vestiges of a lost civilisation? And what was the meaning of this

story of the Fire that gave unending life? Could it be possible

that any fluid or essence should exist which might so fortify

these fleshy walls that they should from age to age resist the

mines and batterings of decay? It was possible, though not

probable. The infinite continuation of life would not, as poor

Vincey said, be so marvellous a thing as the production of life

and its temporary endurance. And if it were true, what then? The

person who found it could no doubt rule the world. He could

accumulate all the wealth in the world, and all the power, and

all the wisdom that is power. He might give a lifetime to the

study of each art or science. Well, if that were so, and this

_She_ were practically immortal, which I did not for one moment

believe, how was it that, with all these things at her feet, she

preferred to remain in a cave amongst a society of cannibals?

This surely settled the question. The whole story was monstrous,

and only worthy of the superstitious days in which it was

written. At any rate I was very sure that _I_ would not attempt

to attain unending life. I had had far too many worries and

disappointments and secret bitternesses during my forty odd years

of existence to wish that this state of affairs should be

continued indefinitely. And yet I suppose that my life has been,

comparatively speaking, a happy one.

And then, reflecting that at the present moment there was far

more likelihood of our earthly careers being cut exceedingly

short than of their being unduly prolonged, I at last managed to

get to sleep, a fact for which anybody who reads this narrative,

if anybody ever does, may very probably be thankful.

When I woke again it was just dawning, and the guard and bearers

were moving about like ghosts through the dense morning mists,

getting ready for our start. The fire had died quite down, and I

rose and stretched myself, shivering in every limb from the damp

cold of the dawn. Then I looked at Leo. He was sitting up,

holding his hands to his head, and I saw that his face was

flushed and his eye bright, and yet yellow round the pupil.

“Well, Leo,” I said, “how do you feel?”

“I feel as though I were going to die,” he answered hoarsely. “My

head is splitting, my body is trembling, and I am as sick as a

cat.”

I whistled, or if I did not whistle I felt inclined to—Leo had

got a sharp attack of fever. I went to Job, and asked him for the

quinine, of which fortunately we had still a good supply, only to

find that Job himself was not much better. He complained of pains

across the back, and dizziness, and was almost incapable of

helping himself. Then I did the only thing it was possible to do

under the circumstances—gave them both about ten grains of

quinine, and took a slightly smaller dose myself as a matter of

precaution. After that I found Billali, and explained to him how

matters stood, asking at the same time what he thought had best

be done. He came with me, and looked at Leo and Job (whom, by the

way, he had named the Pig on account of his fatness, round face,

and small eyes).

“Ah,” he said, when we were out of earshot, “the fever! I thought

so. The Lion has it badly, but he is young, and he may live. As

for the Pig, his attack is not so bad; it is the ‘little fever’

which he has; that always begins with pains across the back, it

will spend itself upon his fat.”

“Can they go on, my father?” I asked.

“Nay, my son, they must go on. If they stop here they will

certainly die; also, they will be better in the litters than on

the ground. By to-night, if all goes well, we shall be across the

marsh and in good air. Come, let us lift them into the litters

and start, for it is very bad to stand still in this morning fog.

We can eat our meal as we go.”

This we accordingly did, and with a heavy heart I once more set

out upon our strange journey. For the first three hours all went

as well as could be expected, and then an accident happened that

nearly lost us the pleasure of the company of our venerable

friend Billali, whose litter was leading the cavalcade. We were

going through a particularly dangerous stretch of quagmire, in

which the bearers sometimes sank up to their knees. Indeed, it

was a mystery to me how they contrived to carry the heavy litters

at all over such ground as that which we were traversing, though

the two spare hands, as well as the four regular ones, had of

course to put their shoulders to the pole.

Presently, as we blundered and floundered along, there was a

sharp cry, then a storm of exclamations, and, last of all, a most

tremendous splash, and the whole caravan halted.

I jumped out of my litter and ran forward. About twenty yards

ahead was the edge of one of those sullen peaty pools of which I

have spoken, the path we were following running along the top of

its bank, that, as it happened, was a steep one. Looking towards

this pool, to my horror I saw that Billali’s litter was floating

on it, and as for Billali himself, he was nowhere to be seen. To

make matters clear I may as well explain at once what had

happened. One of Billali’s bearers had unfortunately trodden on a

basking snake, which had bitten him in the leg, whereon he had,

not unnaturally, let go of the pole, and then, finding that he

was tumbling down the bank, grasped at the litter to save

himself. The result of this was what might have been expected.

The litter was pulled over the edge of the bank, the bearers let

go, and the whole thing, including Billali and the man who had

been bitten, rolled into the slimy pool. When I got to the edge

of the water neither of them were to be seen; indeed, the

unfortunate bearer never was seen again. Either he struck his

head against something, or got wedged in the mud, or possibly the

snake-bite paralyzed him. At any rate he vanished. But though

Billali was not to be seen, his whereabouts was clear enough from

the agitation of the floating litter, in the bearing cloth and

curtains of which he was entangled.

“He is there! Our father is there!” said one of the men, but he

did not stir a finger to help him, nor did any of the others.

They simply stood and stared at the water.

“Out of the way, you brutes!” I shouted in English, and throwing

off my hat I took a run and sprang well out into the horrid

slimy-looking pool. A couple of strokes took me to where Billali

was struggling beneath the cloth.

Somehow, I do not quite know how, I managed to push it free of

him, and his venerable head all covered with green slime, like

that of a yellowish Bacchus with ivy leaves, emerged upon the

surface of the water. The rest was easy, for Billali was an

eminently practical individual, and had the common sense not to

grasp hold of me as drowning people often do, so I got him by the

arm, and towed him to the bank, through the mud of which we were

with difficulty dragged. Such a filthy spectacle as we presented

I have never seen before or since, and it will perhaps give some

idea of the almost superhuman dignity of Billali’s appearance

when I say that, coughing, half-drowned, and covered with mud and

green slime as he was, with his beautiful beard coming to a

dripping point, like a Chinaman’s freshly-oiled pig-tail, he

still looked venerable and imposing.

“Ye dogs,” he said, addressing the bearers, as soon as he had

sufficiently recovered to speak, “ye left me, your father, to

drown. Had it not been for this stranger, my son the Baboon,

assuredly I should have drowned. Well, I will remember it,” and

he fixed them with his gleaming though slightly watery eye, in a

way I saw that they did not like, though they tried to appear

sulkily indifferent.

“As for thee, my son,” the old man went on, turning towards me

and grasping my hand, “rest assured that I am thy friend through

good and evil. Thou hast saved my life: perchance a day may come

when I shall save thine.”

After that we cleaned ourselves as best we could, fished out the

litter, and went on, _minus_ the man who had been drowned. I do

not know if it was owing to his being an unpopular character, or

from native indifference and selfishness of temperament, but I am

bound to say that nobody seemed to grieve much over his sudden

and final disappearance, unless, perhaps, it was the men who had

to do his share of the work.

XI.

THE PLAIN OF KÔR

About an hour before sundown we at last, to my unbounded

gratitude, emerged from the great belt of marsh on to land that

swelled upwards in a succession of rolling waves. Just on the

hither side of the crest of the first wave we halted for the

night. My first act was to examine Leo’s condition. It was, if

anything, worse than in the morning, and a new and very

distressing feature, vomiting, set in, and continued till dawn.

Not one wink of sleep did I get that night, for I passed it in

assisting Ustane, who was one of the most gentle and

indefatigable nurses I ever saw, to wait upon Leo and Job.

However, the air here was warm and genial without being too hot,

and there were no mosquitoes to speak of. Also we were above the

level of the marsh mist, which lay stretched beneath us like the

dim smoke-pall over a city, lit up here and there by the

wandering globes of fen fire. Thus it will be seen that we were,

speaking comparatively, in clover.

By dawn on the following morning Leo was quite light-headed, and

fancied that he was divided into halves. I was dreadfully

distressed, and began to wonder with a sort of sick fear what the

end of the attack would be. Alas! I had heard but too much of how

these attacks generally terminate. As I was wondering Billali

came up and said that we must be getting on, more especially as,

in his opinion, if Leo did not reach some spot where he could be

quiet, and have proper nursing, within the next twelve hours, his

life would only be a matter of a day or two. I could not but

agree with him, so we got Leo into the litter, and started on,

Ustane walking by his side to keep the flies off him, and see

that he did not throw himself out on to the ground.

Within half an hour of sunrise we had reached the top of the rise

of which I have spoken, and a most beautiful view broke upon our

gaze. Beneath us was a rich stretch of country, verdant with

grass and lovely with foliage and flowers. In the background, at

a distance, so far as I could judge, of some eighteen miles from

where we then stood, a huge and extraordinary mountain rose

abruptly from the plain. The base of this great mountain appeared

to consist of a grassy slope, but rising from this, I should say,

from subsequent observation, at a height of about five hundred

feet above the level of the plain, was a most tremendous and

absolutely precipitous wall of bare rock, quite twelve or fifteen

hundred feet in height. The shape of the mountain, which was

undoubtedly of volcanic origin, was round, and of course, as only

a segment of its circle was visible, it was difficult to estimate

its exact size, which was enormous. I afterwards discovered that

it could not cover less than fifty square miles of ground.

Anything more grand and imposing than the sight presented by this

great natural castle, starting in solitary grandeur from the

level of the plain, I never saw, and I suppose I never shall. Its

very solitude added to its majesty, and its towering cliffs

seemed to kiss the sky. Indeed, generally speaking, they were

clothed in clouds that lay in fleecy masses upon their broad and

level battlements.

I sat up in my hammock and gazed out across the plain at this

thrilling and majestic sight, and I suppose that Billali noticed

it, for he brought his litter alongside.

“Behold the house of ‘_She-who-must-be-obeyed_!’” he said. “Had

ever a queen such a throne before?”

“It is wonderful, my father,” I answered. “But how do we enter?

Those cliffs look hard to climb.”

“Thou shalt see, my Baboon. Look now at the path below us. What

thinkest thou that it is? Thou art a wise man. Come, tell me.”

I looked, and saw what appeared to be the line of roadway running

straight towards the base of the mountain, though it was covered

with turf. There were high banks on each side of it, broken here

and there, but fairly continuous on the whole, the meaning of

which I did not understand. It seemed so very odd that anybody

should embank a roadway.

“Well, my father,” I answered, “I suppose that it is a road,

otherwise I should have been inclined to say that it was the bed

of a river, or rather,” I added, observing the extraordinary

directness of the cutting, “of a canal.”

Billali—who, by the way, was none the worse for his immersion of

the day before—nodded his head sagely as he replied—

“Thou art right, my son. It is a channel cut out by those who

were before us in this place to carry away water. Of this I am

sure: within the rocky circle of the mountain whither we journey

was once a great lake. But those who were before us, by wonderful

arts of which I know naught, hewed a path for the water through

the solid rock of the mountain, piercing even to the bed of the

lake. But first they cut the channel that thou seest across the

plain. Then, when at last the water burst out, it rushed down the

channel that had been made to receive it, and crossed this plain

till it reached the low land behind the rise, and there,

perchance, it made the swamp through which we have come. Then

when the lake was drained dry, the people whereof I speak built a

mighty city on its bed, whereof naught but ruins and the name of

Kôr yet remaineth, and from age to age hewed the caves and

passages that thou wilt see.”

“It may be,” I answered; “but if so, how is it that the lake does

not fill up again with the rains and the water of the springs?”

“Nay, my son, the people were a wise people, and they left a

drain to keep it clear. Seest thou the river to the right?” and

he pointed to a fair-sized stream that wound away across the

plain, some four miles from us. “That is the drain, and it comes

out through the mountain wall where this cutting goes in. At

first, perhaps, the water ran down this canal, but afterwards the

people turned it, and used the cutting for a road.”

“And is there then no other place where one may enter into the

great mountain,” I asked, “except through that drain?”

“There is a place,” he answered, “where cattle and men on foot

may cross with much labour, but it is secret. A year mightest

thou search and shouldst never find it. It is only used once a

year, when the herds of cattle that have been fatting on the

slopes of the mountain, and on this plain, are driven into the

space within.”

“And does _She_ live there always?” I asked, “or does she come at

times without the mountain?”

“Nay, my son, where she is, there she is.”

By now we were well on to the great plain, and I was examining

with delight the varied beauty of its semi-tropical flowers and

trees, the latter of which grew singly, or at most in clumps of

three or four, much of the timber being of large size, and

belonging apparently to a variety of evergreen oak. There were

also many palms, some of them more than one hundred feet high,

and the largest and most beautiful tree ferns that I ever saw,

about which hung clouds of jewelled honeysuckers and great-winged

butterflies. Wandering about among the trees or crouching in the

long and feathered grass were all varieties of game, from

rhinoceroses down. I saw a rhinoceros, buffalo (a large herd),

eland, quagga, and sable antelope, the most beautiful of all the

bucks, not to mention many smaller varieties of game, and three

ostriches which scudded away at our approach like white drift

before a gale. So plentiful was the game that at last I could

stand it no longer. I had a single barrel sporting Martini with

me in the litter, the “Express” being too cumbersome, and espying

a beautiful fat eland rubbing himself under one of the oak-like

trees, I jumped out of the litter, and proceeded to creep as near

to him as I could. He let me come within eighty yards, and then

turned his head, and stared at me, preparatory to running away. I

lifted the rifle, and taking him about midway down the shoulder,

for he was side on to me, fired. I never made a cleaner shot or a

better kill in all my small experience, for the great buck sprang

right up into the air and fell dead. The bearers, who had all

halted to see the performance, gave a murmur of surprise, an

unwonted compliment from these sullen people, who never appear to

be surprised at anything, and a party of the guard at once ran

off to cut the animal up. As for myself, though I was longing to

have a look at him, I sauntered back to my litter as though I had

been in the habit of killing eland all my life, feeling that I

had gone up several degrees in the estimation of the Amahagger,

who looked on the whole thing as a very high-class manifestation

of witchcraft. As a matter of fact, however, I had never seen an

eland in a wild state before. Billali received me with

enthusiasm.

“It is wonderful, my son the Baboon,” he cried; “wonderful! Thou

art a very great man, though so ugly. Had I not seen, surely I

would never have believed. And thou sayest that thou wilt teach

me to slay in this fashion?”

“Certainly, my father,” I said airily; “it is nothing.”

But all the same I firmly made up my mind that when “my father”

Billali began to fire I would without fail lie down or take

refuge behind a tree.

After this little incident nothing happened of any note till

about an hour and a half before sundown, when we arrived beneath

the shadow of the towering volcanic mass that I have already

described. It is quite impossible for me to describe its grim

grandeur as it appeared to me while my patient bearers toiled

along the bed of the ancient watercourse towards the spot where

the rich brown-hued cliff shot up from precipice to precipice

till its crown lost itself in a cloud. All I can say is that it

almost awed me by the intensity of its lonesome and most solemn

greatness. On we went up the bright and sunny slope, till at last

the creeping shadows from above swallowed up its brightness, and

presently we began to pass through a cutting hewn in the living

rock. Deeper and deeper grew this marvellous work, which must, I

should say, have employed thousands of men for many years.

Indeed, how it was ever executed at all without the aid of

blasting-powder or dynamite I cannot to this day imagine. It is

and must remain one of the mysteries of that wild land. I can

only suppose that these cuttings and the vast caves that had been

hollowed out of the rocks they pierced were the State

undertakings of the people of Kôr, who lived here in the dim lost

ages of the world, and, as in the case of the Egyptian monuments,

were executed by the forced labour of tens of thousands of

captives, carried on through an indefinite number of centuries.

But who were the people?

At last we reached the face of the precipice itself, and found

ourselves looking into the mouth of a dark tunnel that forcibly

reminded me of those undertaken by our nineteenth-century

engineers in the construction of railway lines. Out of this

tunnel flowed a considerable stream of water. Indeed, though I do

not think that I have mentioned it, we had followed this stream,

which ultimately developed into the river I have already

described as winding away to the right, from the spot where the

cutting in the solid rock commenced. Half of this cutting formed

a channel for the stream, and half, which was placed on a

slightly higher level—eight feet perhaps—was devoted to the

purposes of a roadway. At the termination of the cutting,

however, the stream turned off across the plain and followed a

channel of its own. At the mouth of the cave the cavalcade was

halted, and, while the men employed themselves in lighting some

earthenware lamps they had brought with them, Billali, descending

from his litter, informed me politely but firmly that the orders

of _She_ were that we were now to be blindfolded, so that we

should not learn the secret of the paths through the bowels of

the mountains. To this I, of course, assented cheerfully enough,

but Job, who was now very much better, notwithstanding the

journey, did not like it at all, fancying, I believe, that it was

but a preliminary step to being hot-potted. He was, however, a

little consoled when I pointed out to him that there were no hot

pots at hand, and, so far as I knew, no fire to heat them in. As

for poor Leo, after turning restlessly for hours, he had, to my

deep thankfulness, at last dropped off into a sleep or stupor, I

do not know which, so there was no need to blindfold him. The

blindfolding was performed by binding a piece of the yellowish

linen whereof those of the Amahagger who condescended to wear

anything in particular made their dresses, tightly round the

eyes. This linen I afterwards discovered was taken from the

tombs, and was not, as I had at first supposed, of native

manufacture. The bandage was then knotted at the back of the

head, and finally brought down again and the ends bound under the

chin to prevent its slipping. Ustane was, by the way, also

blindfolded, I do not know why, unless it was from fear that she

should impart the secrets of the route to us.

This operation performed we started on once more, and soon, by

the echoing sound of the footsteps of the bearers and the

increased noise of the water caused by reverberation in a

confined space, I knew that we were entering into the bowels of

the great mountain. It was an eerie sensation, being borne along

into the dead heart of the rock we knew not whither, but I was

getting used to eerie sensations by this time, and by now was

pretty well prepared for anything. So I lay still, and listened

to the tramp, tramp of the bearers and the rushing of the water,

and tried to believe that I was enjoying myself. Presently the

men set up the melancholy little chant that I had heard on the

first night when we were captured in the whaleboat, and the

effect produced by their voices was very curious, and quite

indescribable. After a while the air began to get exceedingly

thick and heavy, so much so, indeed, that I felt as though I were

going to choke, till at length the litter took a sharp turn, then

another and another, and the sound of the running water ceased.

After this the air was fresher again, but the turns were

continuous, and to me, blindfolded as I was, most bewildering. I

tried to keep a map of them in my mind in case it might ever be

necessary for us to try and escape by this route, but, needless

to say, failed utterly. Another half-hour or so passed, and then

suddenly I became aware that we were once more in the open air. I

could see the light through my bandage and feel its freshness on

my face. A few more minutes and the caravan halted, and I heard

Billali order Ustane to remove her bandage and undo ours. Without

waiting for her attentions I got the knot of mine loose, and

looked out.

As I anticipated, we had passed right through the precipice, and

were now on the farther side, and immediately beneath its

beetling face. The first thing I noticed was that the cliff is

not nearly so high here, not so high I should say by five hundred

feet, which proved that the bed of the lake, or rather of the

vast ancient crater in which we stood, was much above the level

of the surrounding plain. For the rest, we found ourselves in a

huge rock-surrounded cup, not unlike that of the first place

where we had sojourned, only ten times the size. Indeed, I could

only just make out the frowning line of the opposite cliffs. A

great portion of the plain thus enclosed by nature was

cultivated, and fenced in with walls of stone placed there to

keep the cattle and goats, of which there were large herds about,

from breaking into the gardens. Here and there rose great grass

mounds, and some miles away towards the centre I thought that I

could see the outline of colossal ruins. I had no time to observe

anything more at the moment, for we were instantly surrounded by

crowds of Amahagger, similar in every particular to those with

whom we were already familiar, who, though they spoke little,

pressed round us so closely as to obscure the view to a person

lying in a hammock. Then all of a sudden a number of armed men

arranged in companies, and marshalled by officers who held ivory

wands in their hands, came running swiftly towards us, having, so

far as I could make out, emerged from the face of the precipice

like ants from their burrows. These men as well as their officers

were all robed in addition to the usual leopard skin, and, as I

gathered, formed the bodyguard of _She_ herself.

Their leader advanced to Billali, saluted him by placing his

ivory wand transversely across his forehead, and then asked some

question which I could not catch, and Billali having answered him

the whole regiment turned and marched along the side of the

cliff, our cavalcade of litters following in their track. After

going thus for about half a mile we halted once more in front of

the mouth of a tremendous cave, measuring about sixty feet in

height by eighty wide, and here Billali descended finally, and

requested Job and myself to do the same. Leo, of course, was far

too ill to do anything of the sort. I did so, and we entered the

great cave, into which the light of the setting sun penetrated

for some distance, while beyond the reach of the daylight it was

faintly illuminated with lamps which seemed to me to stretch away

for an almost immeasurable distance, like the gas lights of an

empty London street. The first thing I noticed was that the walls

were covered with sculptures in bas-relief, of a sort,

pictorially speaking, similar to those that I have described upon

the vases;—love-scenes principally, then hunting pictures,

pictures of executions, and the torture of criminals by the

placing of a, presumably, red-hot pot upon the head, showing

whence our hosts had derived this pleasant practice. There were

very few battle-pieces, though many of duels, and men running and

wrestling, and from this fact I am led to believe that this

people were not much subject to attack by exterior foes, either

on account of the isolation of their position or because of their

great strength. Between the pictures were columns of stone

characters of a formation absolutely new to me; at any rate, they

were neither Greek nor Egyptian, nor Hebrew, nor Assyrian—that I

am sure of. They looked more like Chinese writings than any other

that I am acquainted with. Near to the entrance of the cave both

pictures and writings were worn away, but further in they were in

many cases absolutely fresh and perfect as the day on which the

sculptor had ceased work on them.

The regiment of guards did not come further than the entrance to

the cave, where they formed up to let us pass through. On

entering the place itself we were, however, met by a man robed in

white, who bowed humbly, but said nothing, which, as it

afterwards appeared that he was a deaf mute, was not very

wonderful.

Running at right angles to the great cave, at a distance of some

twenty feet from the entrance, was a smaller cave or wide

gallery, that was pierced into the rock both to the right and to

the left of the main cavern. In front of the gallery to our left

stood two guards, from which circumstance I argued that it was

the entrance to the apartments of _She_ herself. The mouth of the

right-hand gallery was unguarded, and along it the mute indicated

that we were to go. Walking a few yards down this passage, which

was lighted with lamps, we came to the entrance of a chamber

having a curtain made of some grass material, not unlike a

Zanzibar mat in appearance, hung over the doorway. This the mute

drew back with another profound obeisance, and led the way into a

good-sized apartment, hewn, of course, out of the solid rock, but

to my great relief lighted by means of a shaft pierced in the

face of the precipice. In this room was a stone bedstead, pots

full of water for washing, and beautifully tanned leopard skins

to serve as blankets.

Here we left Leo, who was still sleeping heavily, and with him

stopped Ustane. I noticed that the mute gave her a very sharp

look, as much as to say, “Who are you, and by whose order do you

come here?” Then he conducted us to another similar room which

Job took, and then to two more that were respectively occupied by

Billali and myself.

XII.

“SHE”

The first care of Job and myself, after seeing to Leo, was to

wash ourselves and put on clean clothing, for what we were

wearing had not been changed since the loss of the dhow.

Fortunately, as I think that I have said, by far the greater part

of our personal baggage had been packed into the whaleboat, and

was therefore saved—and brought hither by the bearers—although

all the stores laid in by us for barter and presents to the

natives were lost. Nearly all our clothing was made of a

well-shrunk and very strong grey flannel, and excellent I found

it for travelling in these places, because though a Norfolk

jacket, shirt, and pair of trousers of it only weighed about four

pounds, a great consideration in a tropical country, where every

extra ounce tells on the wearer, it was warm, and offered a good

resistance to the rays of the sun, and best of all to chills,

which are so apt to result from sudden changes of temperature.

Never shall I forget the comfort of the “wash and brush-up,” and

of those clean flannels. The only thing that was wanting to

complete my joy was a cake of soap, of which we had none.

Afterwards I discovered that the Amahagger, who do not reckon

dirt among their many disagreeable qualities, use a kind of burnt

earth for washing purposes, which, though unpleasant to the touch

till one gets accustomed to it, forms a very fair substitute for

soap.

By the time that I was dressed, and had combed and trimmed my

black beard, the previous condition of which was certainly

sufficiently unkempt to give weight to Billali’s appellation for

me of “Baboon,” I began to feel most uncommonly hungry. Therefore

I was by no means sorry when, without the slightest preparatory

sound or warning, the curtain over the entrance to my cave was

flung aside, and another mute, a young girl this time, announced

to me by signs that I could not misunderstand—that is, by opening

her mouth and pointing down it—that there was something ready to

eat. Accordingly I followed her into the next chamber, which we

had not yet entered, where I found Job, who had also, to his

great embarrassment, been conducted thither by a fair mute. Job

never got over the advances the former lady had made towards him,

and suspected every girl who came near to him of similar designs.

“These young parties have a way of looking at one, sir,” he would

say apologetically, “which I don’t call respectable.”

This chamber was twice the size of the sleeping caves, and I saw

at once that it had originally served as a refectory, and also

probably as an embalming room for the Priests of the Dead; for I

may as well say at once that these hollowed-out caves were

nothing more nor less than vast catacombs, in which for tens of

ages the mortal remains of the great extinct race whose monuments

surrounded us had been first preserved, with an art and a

completeness that has never since been equalled, and then hidden

away for all time. On each side of this particular rock-chamber

was a long and solid stone table, about three feet wide by three

feet six in height, hewn out of the living rock, of which it had

formed part, and was still attached to at the base. These tables

were slightly hollowed out or curved inward, to give room for the

knees of any one sitting on the stone ledge that had been cut for

a bench along the side of the cave at a distance of about two

feet from them. Each of them, also, was so arranged that it ended

right under a shaft pierced in the rock for the admission of

light and air. On examining them carefully, however, I saw that

there was a difference between them that had at first escaped my

attention, viz. that one of the tables, that to the left as we

entered the cave, had evidently been used, not to eat upon, but

for the purposes of embalming. That this was beyond all question

the case was clear from five shallow depressions in the stone of

the table, all shaped like a human form, with a separate place

for the head to lie in, and a little bridge to support the neck,

each depression being of a different size, so as to fit bodies

varying in stature from a full-grown man’s to a small child’s,

and with little holes bored at intervals to carry off fluid. And,

indeed, if any further confirmation was required, we had but to

look at the wall of the cave above to find it. For there,

sculptured all round the apartment, and looking nearly as fresh

as the day it was done, was the pictorial representation of the

death, embalming, and burial of an old man with a long beard,

probably an ancient king or grandee of this country.

The first picture represented his death. He was lying upon a

couch which had four short curved posts at the corners coming to

a knob at the end, in appearance something like written notes of

music, and was evidently in the very act of expiring. Gathered

round the couch were women and children weeping, the former with

their hair hanging down their backs. The next scene represented

the embalmment of the body, which lay stark upon a table with

depressions in it, similar to the one before us; probably,

indeed, it was a picture of the same table. Three men were

employed at the work—one superintending, one holding a funnel

shaped exactly like a port wine strainer, of which the narrow end

was fixed in an incision in the breast, no doubt in the great

pectoral artery; while the third, who was depicted as standing

straddle-legged over the corpse, held a kind of large jug high in

his hand, and poured from it some steaming fluid which fell

accurately into the funnel. The most curious part of this

sculpture is that both the man with the funnel and the man who

pours the fluid are drawn holding their noses, either I suppose

because of the stench arising from the body, or more probably to

keep out the aromatic fumes of the hot fluid which was being

forced into the dead man’s veins. Another curious thing which I

am unable to explain is that all three men were represented as

having a band of linen tied round the face with holes in it for

the eyes.

The third sculpture was a picture of the burial of the deceased.

There he was, stiff and cold, clothed in a linen robe, and laid

out on a stone slab such as I had slept upon at our first

sojourning-place. At his head and feet burnt lamps, and by his

side were placed several of the beautiful painted vases that I

have described, which were perhaps supposed to be full of

provisions. The little chamber was crowded with mourners, and

with musicians playing on an instrument resembling a lyre, while

near the foot of the corpse stood a man holding a sheet, with

which he was preparing to cover it from view.

These sculptures, looked at merely as works of art, were so

remarkable that I make no apology for describing them rather

fully. They struck me also as being of surpassing interest as

representing, probably with studious accuracy, the last rites of

the dead as practised among an utterly lost people, and even then

I thought how envious some antiquarian friends of my own at

Cambridge would be if ever I found an opportunity of describing

these wonderful remains to them. Probably they would say that I

was exaggerating, notwithstanding that every page of this history

must bear so much internal evidence of its truth that it would

obviously have been quite impossible for me to have invented it.

To return. As soon as I had hastily examined these sculptures,

which I think I omitted to mention were executed in relief, we

sat down to a very excellent meal of boiled goat’s-flesh, fresh

milk, and cakes made of meal, the whole being served upon clean

wooden platters.

When we had eaten we returned to see how Leo was getting on,

Billali saying that he must now wait upon _She_, and hear her

commands. On reaching Leo’s room we found the poor boy in a very

bad way. He had woke up from his torpor, and was altogether off

his head, babbling about some boat-race on the Cam, and was

inclined to be violent. Indeed, when we entered the room Ustane

was holding him down. I spoke to him, and my voice seemed to

soothe him; at any rate he grew much quieter, and was persuaded

to swallow a dose of quinine.

I had been sitting with him for an hour, perhaps—at any rate I

know that it was getting so dark that I could only just make out

his head lying like a gleam of gold upon the pillow we had

extemporised out of a bag covered with a blanket—when suddenly

Billali arrived with an air of great importance, and informed me

that _She_ herself had deigned to express a wish to see me—an

honour, he added, accorded to but very few. I think that he was a

little horrified at my cool way of taking the honour, but the

fact was that I did not feel overwhelmed with gratitude at the

prospect of seeing some savage, dusky queen, however absolute and

mysterious she might be, more especially as my mind was full of

dear Leo, for whose life I began to have great fears. However, I

rose to follow him, and as I did so I caught sight of something

bright lying on the floor, which I picked up. Perhaps the reader

will remember that with the potsherd in the casket was a

composition scarabæus marked with a round O, a goose, and another

curious hieroglyphic, the meaning of which is “Suten se Ra,” or

“Royal Son of the Sun.” The scarab, which is a very small one,

Leo had insisted upon having set in a massive gold ring, such as

is generally used for signets, and it was this very ring that I

now picked up. He had pulled it off in the paroxysm of his fever,

at least I suppose so, and flung it down upon the rock-floor.

Thinking that if I left it about it might get lost, I slipped it

on my own little finger, and then followed Billali, leaving Job

and Ustane with Leo.

We passed down the passage, crossed the great aisle-like cave,

and came to the corresponding passage on the other side, at the

mouth of which the guards stood like two statues. As we came they

bowed their heads in salutation, and then lifting their long

spears placed them transversely across their foreheads, as the

leaders of the troop that had met us had done with their ivory

wands. We stepped between them, and found ourselves in an exactly

similar gallery to that which led to our own apartments, only

this passage was, comparatively speaking, brilliantly lighted. A

few paces down it we were met by four mutes—two men and two

women—who bowed low and then arranged themselves, the women in

front and the men behind of us, and in this order we continued

our procession past several doorways hung with curtains

resembling those leading to our own quarters, and which I

afterwards found opened out into chambers occupied by the mutes

who attended on _She_. A few paces more and we came to another

doorway facing us, and not to our left like the others, which

seemed to mark the termination of the passage. Here two more

white-, or rather yellow-robed guards were standing, and they too

bowed, saluted, and let us pass through heavy curtains into a

great antechamber, quite forty feet long by as many wide, in

which some eight or ten women, most of them young and handsome,

with yellowish hair, sat on cushions working with ivory needles

at what had the appearance of being embroidery frames. These

women were also deaf and dumb. At the farther end of this great

lamp-lit apartment was another doorway closed in with heavy

Oriental-looking curtains, quite unlike those that hung before

the doors of our own rooms, and here stood two particularly

handsome girl mutes, their heads bowed upon their bosoms and

their hands crossed in an attitude of humble submission. As we

advanced they each stretched out an arm and drew back the

curtains. Thereupon Billali did a curious thing. Down he went,

that venerable-looking old gentleman—for Billali is a gentleman

at the bottom—down on to his hands and knees, and in this

undignified position, with his long white beard trailing on the

ground, he began to creep into the apartment beyond. I followed

him, standing on my feet in the usual fashion. Looking over his

shoulder he perceived it.

“Down, my son; down, my Baboon; down on to thy hands and knees.

We enter the presence of _She_, and, if thou art not humble, of a

surety she will blast thee where thou standest.”

I halted, and felt scared. Indeed, my knees began to give way of

their own mere motion; but reflection came to my aid. I was an

Englishman, and why, I asked myself, should I creep into the

presence of some savage woman as though I were a monkey in fact

as well as in name? I would not and could not do it, that is,

unless I was absolutely sure that my life or comfort depended

upon it. If once I began to creep upon my knees I should always

have to do so, and it would be a patent acknowledgment of

inferiority. So, fortified by an insular prejudice against

“kootooing,” which has, like most of our so-called prejudices, a

good deal of common sense to recommend it, I marched in boldly

after Billali. I found myself in another apartment, considerably

smaller than the anteroom, of which the walls were entirely hung

with rich-looking curtains of the same make as those over the

door, the work, as I subsequently discovered, of the mutes who

sat in the antechamber and wove them in strips, which were

afterwards sewn together. Also, here and there about the room,

were settees of a beautiful black wood of the ebony tribe, inlaid

with ivory, and all over the floor were other tapestries, or

rather rugs. At the top end of this apartment was what appeared

to be a recess, also draped with curtains, through which shone

rays of light. There was nobody in the place except ourselves.

Painfully and slowly old Billali crept up the length of the cave,

and with the most dignified stride that I could command I

followed after him. But I felt that it was more or less of a

failure. To begin with, it is not possible to look dignified when

you are following in the wake of an old man writhing along on his

stomach like a snake, and then, in order to go sufficiently

slowly, either I had to keep my leg some seconds in the air at

every step, or else to advance with a full stop between each

stride, like Mary Queen of Scots going to execution in a play.

Billali was not good at crawling, I suppose his years stood in

the way, and our progress up that apartment was a very long

affair. I was immediately behind him, and several times I was

sorely tempted to help him on with a good kick. It is so absurd

to advance into the presence of savage royalty after the fashion

of an Irishman driving a pig to market, for that is what we

looked like, and the idea nearly made me burst out laughing then

and there. I had to work off my dangerous tendency to unseemly

merriment by blowing my nose, a proceeding which filled old

Billali with horror, for he looked over his shoulder and made a

ghastly face at me, and I heard him murmur, “Oh, my poor Baboon!”

At last we reached the curtains, and here Billali collapsed flat

on to his stomach, with his hands stretched out before him as

though he were dead, and I, not knowing what to do, began to

stare about the place. But presently I clearly felt that somebody

was looking at me from behind the curtains. I could not see the

person, but I could distinctly feel his or her gaze, and, what is

more, it produced a very odd effect upon my nerves. I was

frightened, I do not know why. The place was a strange one, it is

true, and looked lonely, notwithstanding its rich hangings and

the soft glow of the lamps—indeed, these accessories added to,

rather than detracted from its loneliness, just as a lighted

street at night has always a more solitary appearance than a dark

one. It was so silent in the place, and there lay Billali like

one dead before the heavy curtains, through which the odour of

perfume seemed to float up towards the gloom of the arched roof

above. Minute grew into minute, and still there was no sign of

life, nor did the curtain move; but I felt the gaze of the

unknown being sinking through and through me, and filling me with

a nameless terror, till the perspiration stood in beads upon my

brow.

At length the curtain began to move. Who could be behind it?—some

naked savage queen, a languishing Oriental beauty, or a

nineteenth-century young lady, drinking afternoon tea? I had not

the slightest idea, and should not have been astonished at seeing

any of the three. I was getting beyond astonishment. The curtain

agitated itself a little, then suddenly between its folds there

appeared a most beautiful white hand (white as snow), and with

long tapering fingers, ending in the pinkest nails. The hand

grasped the curtain, and drew it aside, and as it did so I heard

a voice, I think the softest and yet most silvery voice I ever

heard. It reminded me of the murmur of a brook.

“Stranger,” said the voice in Arabic, but much purer and more

classical Arabic than the Amahagger talk—“stranger, wherefore art

thou so much afraid?”

Now I flattered myself that in spite of my inward terrors I had

kept a very fair command of my countenance, and was, therefore, a

little astonished at this question. Before I had made up my mind

how to answer it, however, the curtain was drawn, and a tall

figure stood before us. I say a figure, for not only the body,

but also the face was wrapped up in soft white, gauzy material in

such a way as at first sight to remind me most forcibly of a

corpse in its grave-clothes. And yet I do not know why it should

have given me that idea, seeing that the wrappings were so thin

that one could distinctly see the gleam of the pink flesh beneath

them. I suppose it was owing to the way in which they were

arranged, either accidentally, or more probably by design.

Anyhow, I felt more frightened than ever at this ghost-like

apparition, and my hair began to rise upon my head as the feeling

crept over me that I was in the presence of something that was

not canny. I could, however, clearly distinguish that the swathed

mummy-like form before me was that of a tall and lovely woman,

instinct with beauty in every part, and also with a certain

snake-like grace which I had never seen anything to equal before.

When she moved a hand or foot her entire frame seemed to

undulate, and the neck did not bend, it curved.

“Why art thou so frightened, stranger?” asked the sweet voice

again—a voice which seemed to draw the heart out of me, like the

strains of softest music. “Is there that about me that should

affright a man? Then surely are men changed from what they used

to be!” And with a little coquettish movement she turned herself,

and held up one arm, so as to show all her loveliness and the

rich hair of raven blackness that streamed in soft ripples down

her snowy robes, almost to her sandalled feet.

“It is thy beauty that makes me fear, oh Queen,” I answered

humbly, scarcely knowing what to say, and I thought that as I did

so I heard old Billali, who was still lying prostrate on the

floor, mutter, “Good, my Baboon, good.”

“I see that men still know how to beguile us women with false

words. Ah, stranger,” she answered, with a laugh that sounded

like distant silver bells, “thou wast afraid because mine eyes

were searching out thine heart, therefore wast thou afraid. Yet

being but a woman, I forgive thee for the lie, for it was

courteously said. And now tell me how came ye hither to this land

of the dwellers among the caves—a land of swamps and evil things

and dead old shadows of the dead? What came ye for to see? How is

it that ye hold your lives so cheap as to place them in the

hollow of the hand of _Hiya_, into the hand of

‘_She-who-must-be-obeyed_’? Tell me also how come ye to know the

tongue I talk. It is an ancient tongue, that sweet child of the

old Syriac. Liveth it yet in the world? Thou seest I dwell among

the caves and the dead, and naught know I of the affairs of men,

nor have I cared to know. I have lived, O stranger, with my

memories, and my memories are in a grave that mine hands

hollowed, for truly hath it been said that the child of man

maketh his own path evil;” and her beautiful voice quivered, and

broke in a note as soft as any wood-bird’s. Suddenly her eye fell

upon the sprawling frame of Billali, and she seemed to recollect

herself.

“Ah! thou art there, old man. Tell me how it is that things have

gone wrong in thine household. Forsooth, it seems that these my

guests were set upon. Ay, and one was nigh to being slain by the

hot-pot to be eaten of those brutes, thy children, and had not

the others fought gallantly they too had been slain, and not even

I could have called back the life which had been loosed from the

body. What means it, old man? What hast thou to say that I should

not give thee over to those who execute my vengeance?”

Her voice had risen in her anger, and it rang clear and cold

against the rocky walls. Also I thought I could see her eyes

flash through the gauze that hid them. I saw poor Billali, whom I

had believed to be a very fearless person, positively quiver with

terror at her words.

“Oh ‘Hiya!’ oh _She_!” he said, without lifting his white head

from the floor. “Oh _She_, as thou art great be merciful, for I

am now as ever thy servant to obey. It was no plan or fault of

mine, oh _She_, it was those wicked ones who are called my

children. Led on by a woman whom thy guest the Pig had scorned,

they would have followed the ancient custom of the land, and

eaten the fat black stranger who came hither with these thy

guests the Baboon and the Lion who is sick, thinking that no word

had come from thee about the Black one. But when the Baboon and

the Lion saw what they would do, they slew the woman, and slew

also their servant to save him from the horror of the pot. Then

those evil ones, ay, those children of the Wicked One who lives

in the Pit, they went mad with the lust of blood, and flew at the

throats of the Lion and the Baboon and the Pig. But gallantly

they fought. Oh _Hiya_! they fought like very men, and slew many,

and held their own, and then I came and saved them, and the

evildoers have I sent on hither to Kôr to be judged of thy

greatness, oh _She_! and here they are.”

“Ay, old man, I know it, and to-morrow will I sit in the great

hall and do justice upon them, fear not. And for thee, I forgive

thee, though hardly. See that thou dost keep thine household

better. Go.”

Billali rose upon his knees with astonishing alacrity, bowed his

head thrice, and his white beard sweeping the ground, crawled

down the apartment as he had crawled up it, till he finally

vanished through the curtains, leaving me, not a little to my

alarm, alone with this terrible but most fascinating person.

XIII.

AYESHA UNVEILS

“There,” said _She_, “he has gone, the white-bearded old fool!

Ah, how little knowledge does a man acquire in his life. He

gathereth it up like water, but like water it runneth through his

fingers, and yet, if his hands be but wet as though with dew,

behold a generation of fools call out, ‘See, he is a wise man!’

Is it not so? But how call they thee? ‘Baboon,’ he says,” and she

laughed; “but that is the fashion of these savages who lack

imagination, and fly to the beasts they resemble for a name. How

do they call thee in thine own country, stranger?”

“They call me Holly, oh Queen,” I answered.

“Holly,” she answered, speaking the word with difficulty, and yet

with a most charming accent; “and what is ‘Holly’?”

“’Holly’ is a prickly tree,” I said.

“So. Well, thou hast a prickly and yet a tree-like look. Strong

art thou, and ugly, but if my wisdom be not at fault, honest at

the core, and a staff to lean on. Also one who thinks. But stay,

oh Holly, stand not there, enter with me and be seated by me. I

would not see thee crawl before me like those slaves. I am aweary

of their worship and their terror; sometimes when they vex me I

could blast them for very sport, and to see the rest turn white,

even to the heart.” And she held the curtain aside with her ivory

hand to let me pass in.

I entered, shuddering. This woman was very terrible. Within the

curtains was a recess, about twelve feet by ten, and in the

recess was a couch and a table whereon stood fruit and sparkling

water. By it, at its end, was a vessel like a font cut in carved

stone, also full of pure water. The place was softly lit with

lamps formed out of the beautiful vessels of which I have spoken,

and the air and curtains were laden with a subtle perfume.

Perfume too seemed to emanate from the glorious hair and

white-clinging vestments of _She_ herself. I entered the little

room, and there stood uncertain.

“Sit,” said _She_, pointing to the couch. “As yet thou hast no

cause to fear me. If thou hast cause, thou shalt not fear for

long, for I shall slay thee. Therefore let thy heart be light.”

I sat down on the foot of the couch near to the font-like basin

of water, and _She_ sank down softly on to the other end.

“Now, Holly,” she said, “how comest thou to speak Arabic? It is my own

dear tongue, for Arabian am I by my birth, even ‘al Arab al Ariba’ (an

Arab of the Arabs), and of the race of our father Yárab, the son of

Kâhtan, for in that fair and ancient city Ozal was I born, in the

province of Yaman the Happy. Yet dost thou not speak it as we used to

speak. Thy talk doth lack the music of the sweet tongue of the tribes

of Hamyar which I was wont to hear. Some of the words too seemed

changed, even as among these Amahagger, who have debased and defiled

its purity, so that I must speak with them in what is to me another

tongue.”[1]

[1] Yárab the son of Kâhtan, who lived some centuries before the time

of Abraham, was the father of the ancient Arabs, and gave its name

Araba to the country. In speaking of herself as “al Arab al Ariba,”

_She_ no doubt meant to convey that she was of the true Arab blood as

distinguished from the naturalised Arabs, the descendants of Ismael,

the son of Abraham and Hagar, who were known as “al Arab al

mostáraba.” The dialect of the Koreish was usually called the clear or

“perspicuous” Arabic, but the Hamaritic dialect approached nearer to

the purity of the mother Syriac.—L. H. H.

“I have studied it,” I answered, “for many years. Also the

language is spoken in Egypt and elsewhere.”

“So it is still spoken, and there is yet an Egypt? And what

Pharaoh sits upon the throne? Still one of the spawn of the

Persian Ochús, or are the Achæmenians gone, for far is it to the

days of Ochús.”

“The Persians have been gone from Egypt for nigh two thousand

years, and since then the Ptolemies, the Romans, and many others

have flourished and held sway upon the Nile, and fallen when

their time was ripe,” I said, aghast. “What canst thou know of

the Persian Artaxerxes?”

She laughed, and made no answer, and again a cold chill went

through me. “And Greece,” she said; “is there still a Greece? Ah,

I loved the Greeks. Beautiful were they as the day, and clever,

but fierce at heart and fickle, notwithstanding.”

“Yes,” I said, “there is a Greece; and, just now, it is once more

a people. Yet the Greeks of to-day are not what the Greeks of the

old time were, and Greece herself is but a mockery of the Greece

that was.”

“So! The Hebrews, are they yet at Jerusalem? And does the Temple

that the wise king built stand, and if so what God do they

worship therein? Is their Messiah come, of whom they preached so

much and prophesied so loudly, and doth He rule the earth?”

“The Jews are broken and gone, and the fragments of their people

strew the world, and Jerusalem is no more. As for the temple that

Herod built——”

“Herod!” she said. “I know not Herod. But go on.”

“The Romans burnt it, and the Roman eagles flew across its ruins,

and now Judæa is a desert.”

“So, so! They were a great people, those Romans, and went

straight to their end—ay, they sped to it like Fate, or like

their own eagles on their prey!—and left peace behind them.”

“Solitudinem faciunt, pacem appellant,” I suggested.

“Ah, thou canst speak the Latin tongue, too!” she said, in

surprise. “It hath a strange ring in my ears after all these

days, and it seems to me that thy accent does not fall as the

Romans put it. Who was it wrote that? I know not the saying, but

it is a true one of that great people. It seems that I have found

a learned man—one whose hands have held the water of the world’s

knowledge. Knowest thou Greek also?”

“Yes, oh Queen, and something of Hebrew, but not to speak them

well. They are all dead languages now.”

She clapped her hands in childish glee. “Of a truth, ugly tree

that thou art, thou growest the fruits of wisdom, oh Holly,” she

said; “but of those Jews whom I hated, for they called me

‘heathen’ when I would have taught them my philosophy—did their

Messiah come, and doth He rule the world?”

“Their Messiah came,” I answered with reverence; “but He came

poor and lowly, and they would have none of Him. They scourged

Him, and crucified Him upon a tree, but yet His words and His

works live on, for He was the Son of God, and now of a truth He

doth rule half the world, but not with an Empire of the World.”

“Ah, the fierce-hearted wolves,” she said, “the followers of

Sense and many gods—greedy of gain and faction-torn. I can see

their dark faces yet. So they crucified their Messiah? Well can I

believe it. That He was a Son of the Living Spirit would be

naught to them, if indeed He was so, and of that we will talk

afterwards. They would care naught for any God if He came not

with pomp and power. They, a chosen people, a vessel of Him they

call Jehovah, ay, and a vessel of Baal, and a vessel of Astoreth,

and a vessel of the gods of the Egyptians—a high-stomached

people, greedy of aught that brought them wealth and power. So

they crucified their Messiah because He came in lowly guise—and

now are they scattered about the earth? Why, if I remember, so

said one of their prophets that it should be. Well, let them

go—they broke my heart, those Jews, and made me look with evil

eyes across the world, ay, and drove me to this wilderness, this

place of a people that was before them. When I would have taught

them wisdom in Jerusalem they stoned me, ay, at the Gate of the

Temple those white-bearded hypocrites and Rabbis hounded the

people on to stone me! See, here is the mark of it to this day!”

and with a sudden move she pulled up the gauzy wrapping on her

rounded arm, and pointed to a little scar that showed red against

its milky beauty.

I shrank back, horrified.

“Pardon me, oh Queen,” I said, “but I am bewildered. Nigh upon

two thousand years have rolled across the earth since the Jewish

Messiah hung upon His cross at Golgotha. How then canst thou have

taught thy philosophy to the Jews before He was? Thou art a woman

and no spirit. How can a woman live two thousand years? Why dost

thou befool me, oh Queen?”

She leaned back upon the couch, and once more I felt the hidden

eyes playing upon me and searching out my heart.

“Oh man!” she said at last, speaking very slowly and

deliberately, “it seems that there are still things upon the

earth of which thou knowest naught. Dost thou still believe that

all things die, even as those very Jews believed? I tell thee

that naught dies. There is no such thing as Death, though there

be a thing called Change. See,” and she pointed to some

sculptures on the rocky wall. “Three times two thousand years

have passed since the last of the great race that hewed those

pictures fell before the breath of the pestilence which destroyed

them, yet are they not dead. E’en now they live; perchance their

spirits are drawn towards us at this very hour,” and she glanced

round. “Of a surety it sometimes seems to me that my eyes can see

them.”

“Yes, but to the world they are dead.”

“Ay, for a time; but even to the world are they born again and again.

I, yes I, Ayesha[2]—for that, stranger, is my name—I say to thee that I

wait now for one I loved to be born again, and here I tarry till he

finds me, knowing of a surety that hither he will come, and that here,

and here only, shall he greet me. Why, dost thou believe that I, who am

all-powerful, I, whose loveliness is more than the loveliness of the

Grecian Helen, of whom they used to sing, and whose wisdom is wider,

ay, far more wide and deep than the wisdom of Solomon the Wise—I, who

know the secrets of the earth and its riches, and can turn all things

to my uses—I, who have even for a while overcome Change, that ye call

Death—why, I say, oh stranger, dost thou think that I herd here with

barbarians lower than the beasts?”

[2] Pronounced Assha.—L. H. H.

“I know not,” I said humbly.

“Because I wait for him I love. My life has perchance been evil,

I know not—for who can say what is evil and what good?—so I fear

to die even if I could die, which I cannot until mine hour comes,

to go and seek him where he is; for between us there might rise a

wall I could not climb, at least, I dread it. Surely easy would

it be also to lose the way in seeking in those great spaces

wherein the planets wander on for ever. But the day will come, it

may be when five thousand more years have passed, and are lost

and melted into the vault of Time, even as the little clouds melt

into the gloom of night, or it may be to-morrow, when he, my

love, shall be born again, and then, following a law that is

stronger than any human plan, he shall find me _here_, where once

he knew me, and of a surety his heart will soften towards me,

though I sinned against him; ay, even though he knew me not

again, yet will he love me, if only for my beauty’s sake.”

For a moment I was dumbfounded, and could not answer. The matter

was too overpowering for my intellect to grasp.

“But even so, oh Queen,” I said at last, “even if we men be born

again and again, that is not so with thee, if thou speakest

truly.” Here she looked up sharply, and once more I caught the

flash of those hidden eyes; “thou,” I went on hurriedly, “who

hast never died?”

“That is so,” she said; “and it is so because I have, half by

chance and half by learning, solved one of the great secrets of

the world. Tell me, stranger: life is—why therefore should not

life be lengthened for a while? What are ten or twenty or fifty

thousand years in the history of life? Why in ten thousand years

scarce will the rain and storms lessen a mountain top by a span

in thickness? In two thousand years these caves have not changed,

nothing has changed but the beasts, and man, who is as the

beasts. There is naught that is wonderful about the matter,

couldst thou but understand. Life is wonderful, ay, but that it

should be a little lengthened is not wonderful. Nature hath her

animating spirit as well as man, who is Nature’s child, and he

who can find that spirit, and let it breathe upon him, shall live

with her life. He shall not live eternally, for Nature is not

eternal, and she herself must die, even as the nature of the moon

hath died. She herself must die, I say, or rather change and

sleep till it be time for her to live again. But when shall she

die? Not yet, I ween, and while she lives, so shall he who hath

all her secret live with her. All I have it not, yet have I some,

more perchance than any who were before me. Now, to thee I doubt

not that this thing is a great mystery, therefore I will not

overcome thee with it now. Another time I will tell thee more if

the mood be on me, though perchance I shall never speak thereof

again. Dost thou wonder how I knew that ye were coming to this

land, and so saved your heads from the hot-pot?”

“Ay, oh Queen,” I answered feebly.

“Then gaze upon that water,” and she pointed to the font-like

vessel, and then, bending forward, held her hand over it.

I rose and gazed, and instantly the water darkened. Then it

cleared, and I saw as distinctly as I ever saw anything in my

life—I saw, I say, our boat upon that horrible canal. There was

Leo lying at the bottom asleep in it, with a coat thrown over him

to keep off the mosquitoes, in such a fashion as to hide his

face, and myself, Job, and Mahomed towing on the bank.

I started back, aghast, and cried out that it was magic, for I

recognised the whole scene—it was one which had actually

occurred.

“Nay, nay; oh Holly,” she answered, “it is no magic, that is a

fiction of ignorance. There is no such thing as magic, though

there is such a thing as a knowledge of the secrets of Nature.

That water is my glass; in it I see what passes if I will to

summon up the pictures, which is not often. Therein I can show

thee what thou wilt of the past, if it be anything that hath to

do with this country and with what I have known, or anything that

thou, the gazer, hast known. Think of a face if thou wilt, and it

shall be reflected from thy mind upon the water. I know not all

the secret yet—I can read nothing in the future. But it is an old

secret; I did not find it. In Arabia and in Egypt the sorcerers

knew it centuries gone. So one day I chanced to bethink me of

that old canal—some twenty ages since I sailed upon it, and I was

minded to look thereon again. So I looked, and there I saw the

boat and three men walking, and one, whose face I could not see,

but a youth of noble form, sleeping in the boat, and so I sent

and saved ye. And now farewell. But stay, tell me of this

youth—the Lion, as the old man calls him. I would look upon him,

but he is sick, thou sayest—sick with the fever, and also wounded

in the fray.”

“He is very sick,” I answered sadly; “canst thou do nothing for

him, oh Queen! who knowest so much?”

“Of a surety I can. I can cure him; but why speakest thou so

sadly? Dost thou love the youth? Is he perchance thy son?”

“He is my adopted son, oh Queen! Shall he be brought in before

thee?”

“Nay. How long hath the fever taken him?”

“This is the third day.”

“Good; then let him lie another day. Then will he perchance throw

it off by his own strength, and that is better than that I should

cure him, for my medicine is of a sort to shake the life in its

very citadel. If, however, by to-morrow night, at that hour when

the fever first took him, he doth not begin to mend, then will I

come to him and cure him. Stay, who nurses him?”

“Our white servant, him whom Billali names the Pig; also,” and

here I spoke with some little hesitation, “a woman named Ustane,

a very handsome woman of this country, who came and embraced him

when she first saw him, and hath stayed by him ever since, as I

understand is the fashion of thy people, oh Queen.”

“My people! speak not to me of my people,” she answered hastily;

“these slaves are no people of mine, they are but dogs to do my

bidding till the day of my deliverance comes; and, as for their

customs, naught have I to do with them. Also, call me not Queen—I

am weary of flattery and titles—call me Ayesha, the name hath a

sweet sound in mine ears, it is an echo from the past. As for

this Ustane, I know not. I wonder if it be she against whom I was

warned, and whom I in turn did warn? Hath she—stay, I will see;”

and, bending forward, she passed her hand over the font of water

and gazed intently into it. “See,” she said quietly, “is that the

woman?”

I looked into the water, and there, mirrored upon its placid

surface, was the silhouette of Ustane’s stately face. She was

bending forward, with a look of infinite tenderness upon her

features, watching something beneath her, and with her chestnut

locks falling on to her right shoulder.

“It is she,” I said, in a low voice, for once more I felt much

disturbed at this most uncommon sight. “She watches Leo asleep.”

“Leo!” said Ayesha, in an absent voice; “why, that is ‘lion’ in

the Latin tongue. The old man hath named happily for once. It is

very strange,” she went on, speaking to herself, “very. So

like—but it is not possible!” With an impatient gesture she

passed her hand over the water once more. It darkened, and the

image vanished silently and mysteriously as it had risen, and

once more the lamplight, and the lamplight only, shone on the

placid surface of that limpid, living mirror.

“Hast thou aught to ask me before thou goest, oh Holly?” she

said, after a few moments’ reflection. “It is but a rude life

that thou must live here, for these people are savages, and know

not the ways of cultivated man. Not that I am troubled thereby,

for behold my food,” and she pointed to the fruit upon the little

table. “Naught but fruit doth ever pass my lips—fruit and cakes

of flour, and a little water. I have bidden my girls to wait upon

thee. They are mutes, thou knowest, deaf are they and dumb, and

therefore the safest of servants, save to those who can read

their faces and their signs. I bred them so—it hath taken many

centuries and much trouble; but at last I have triumphed. Once I

succeeded before, but the race was too ugly, so I let it die

away; but now, as thou seest, they are otherwise. Once, too, I

reared a race of giants, but after a while Nature would no more

of it, and it died away. Hast thou aught to ask of me?”

“Ay, one thing, oh Ayesha,” I said boldly; but feeling by no

means as bold as I trust I looked. “I would gaze upon thy face.”

She laughed out in her bell-like notes. “Bethink thee, Holly,”

she answered; “bethink thee. It seems that thou knowest the old

myths of the gods of Greece. Was there not one Actæon who

perished miserably because he looked on too much beauty? If I

show thee my face, perchance thou wouldst perish miserably also;

perchance thou wouldst eat out thy heart in impotent desire; for

know I am not for thee—I am for no man, save one, who hath been,

but is not yet.”

“As thou wilt, Ayesha,” I said. “I fear not thy beauty. I have

put my heart away from such vanity as woman’s loveliness, that

passeth like a flower.”

“Nay, thou errest,” she said; “that does _not_ pass. My beauty

endures even as I endure; still, if thou wilt, oh rash man, have

thy will; but blame not me if passion mount thy reason, as the

Egyptian breakers used to mount a colt, and guide it whither thou

wilt not. Never may the man to whom my beauty has been unveiled

put it from his mind, and therefore even with these savages do I

go veiled, lest they vex me, and I should slay them. Say, wilt

thou see?”

“I will,” I answered, my curiosity overpowering me.

She lifted her white and rounded arms—never had I seen such arms

before—and slowly, very slowly, withdrew some fastening beneath

her hair. Then all of a sudden the long, corpse-like wrappings

fell from her to the ground, and my eyes travelled up her form,

now only robed in a garb of clinging white that did but serve to

show its perfect and imperial shape, instinct with a life that

was more than life, and with a certain serpent-like grace that

was more than human. On her little feet were sandals, fastened

with studs of gold. Then came ankles more perfect than ever

sculptor dreamed of. About the waist her white kirtle was

fastened by a double-headed snake of solid gold, above which her

gracious form swelled up in lines as pure as they were lovely,

till the kirtle ended on the snowy argent of her breast, whereon

her arms were folded. I gazed above them at her face, and—I do

not exaggerate—shrank back blinded and amazed. I have heard of

the beauty of celestial beings, now I saw it; only this beauty,

with all its awful loveliness and purity, was _evil_—at least, at

the time, it struck me as evil. How am I to describe it? I

cannot—simply I cannot! The man does not live whose pen could

convey a sense of what I saw. I might talk of the great changing

eyes of deepest, softest black, of the tinted face, of the broad

and noble brow, on which the hair grew low, and delicate,

straight features. But, beautiful, surpassingly beautiful as they

all were, her loveliness did not lie in them. It lay rather, if

it can be said to have had any fixed abiding place, in a visible

majesty, in an imperial grace, in a godlike stamp of softened

power, which shone upon that radiant countenance like a living

halo. Never before had I guessed what beauty made sublime could

be—and yet, the sublimity was a dark one—the glory was not all of

heaven—though none the less was it glorious. Though the face

before me was that of a young woman of certainly not more than

thirty years, in perfect health, and the first flush of ripened

beauty, yet it had stamped upon it a look of unutterable

experience, and of deep acquaintance with grief and passion. Not

even the lovely smile that crept about the dimples of her mouth

could hide this shadow of sin and sorrow. It shone even in the

light of the glorious eyes, it was present in the air of majesty,

and it seemed to say: “Behold me, lovely as no woman was or is,

undying and half-divine; memory haunts me from age to age, and

passion leads me by the hand—evil have I done, and from age to

age evil I shall do, and sorrow shall I know till my redemption

comes.”

Drawn by some magnetic force which I could not resist, I let my

eyes rest upon her shining orbs, and felt a current pass from

them to me that bewildered and half-blinded me.

She laughed—ah, how musically! and nodded her little head at me

with an air of sublimated coquetry that would have done credit to

a Venus Victrix.

“Rash man!” she said; “like Actæon, thou hast had thy will; be

careful lest, like Actæon, thou too dost perish miserably, torn

to pieces by the ban-hounds of thine own passions. I too, oh

Holly, am a virgin goddess, not to be moved of any man, save one,

and it is not thou. Say, hast thou seen enough!”

“I have looked on beauty, and I am blinded,” I said hoarsely,

lifting my hand to cover up my eyes.

“So! what did I tell thee? Beauty is like the lightning; it is

lovely, but it destroys—especially trees, oh Holly!” and again

she nodded and laughed.

Suddenly she paused, and through my fingers I saw an awful change

come over her countenance. Her great eyes suddenly fixed

themselves into an expression in which horror seemed to struggle

with some tremendous hope arising through the depths of her dark

soul. The lovely face grew rigid, and the gracious willowy form

seemed to erect itself.

“Man,” she half whispered, half hissed, throwing back her head

like a snake about to strike—“Man, whence hadst thou that scarab

on thy hand? Speak, or by the Spirit of Life I will blast thee

where thou standest!” and she took one light step towards me, and

from her eyes there shone such an awful light—to me it seemed

almost like a flame—that I fell, then and there, on the ground

before her, babbling confusedly in my terror.

“Peace,” she said, with a sudden change of manner, and speaking

in her former soft voice. “I did affright thee! Forgive me! But

at times, oh Holly, the almost infinite mind grows impatient of

the slowness of the very finite, and am I tempted to use my power

out of vexation—very nearly wast thou dead, but I remembered——.

But the scarab—about the scarabæus!”

“I picked it up,” I gurgled feebly, as I got on to my feet again,

and it is a solemn fact that my mind was so disturbed that at the

moment I could remember nothing else about the ring except that I

had picked it up in Leo’s cave.

“It is very strange,” she said with a sudden access of womanlike

trembling and agitation which seemed out of place in this awful

woman—“but once I knew a scarab like to that. It—hung round the

neck—of one I loved,” and she gave a little sob, and I saw that

after all she was only a woman, although she might be a very old

one.

“There,” she went on, “it must be one like to it, and yet never did I

see one like to it, for thereto hung a history, and he who wore it

prized it much.[3] But the scarab that I knew was not set thus in the

bezel of a ring. Go now, Holly, go, and, if thou canst, try to forget

that thou hast of thy folly looked upon Ayesha’s beauty,” and, turning

from me, she flung herself on her couch, and buried her face in the

cushions.

[3] I am informed by a renowned and learned Egyptologist, to whom I

have submitted this very interesting and beautifully finished scarab,

“Suten se Ra,” that he has never seen one resembling it. Although it

bears a title frequently given to Egyptian royalty, he is of opinion

that it is not necessarily the cartouche of a Pharaoh, on which either

the throne or personal name of the monarch is generally inscribed.

What the history of this particular scarab may have been we can now,

unfortunately, never know, but I have little doubt but that it played

some part in the tragic story of the Princess Amenartas and her lover

Kallikrates, the forsworn priest of Isis.—Editor.

As for me, I stumbled from her presence, and I do not remember

how I reached my own cave.

XIV.

A SOUL IN HELL

It was nearly ten o’clock at night when I cast myself down upon

my bed, and began to gather my scattered wits, and reflect upon

what I had seen and heard. But the more I reflected the less I

could make of it. Was I mad, or drunk, or dreaming, or was I

merely the victim of a gigantic and most elaborate hoax? How was

it possible that I, a rational man, not unacquainted with the

leading scientific facts of our history, and hitherto an absolute

and utter disbeliever in all the hocus-pocus which in Europe goes

by the name of the supernatural, could believe that I had within

the last few minutes been engaged in conversation with a woman

two thousand and odd years old? The thing was contrary to the

experience of human nature, and absolutely and utterly

impossible. It must be a hoax, and yet, if it were a hoax, what

was I to make of it? What, too, was to be said of the figures on

the water, of the woman’s extraordinary acquaintance with the

remote past, and her ignorance, or apparent ignorance, of any

subsequent history? What, too, of her wonderful and awful

loveliness? This, at any rate, was a patent fact, and beyond the

experience of the world. No merely mortal woman could shine with

such a supernatural radiance. About that she had, at any rate,

been in the right—it was not safe for any man to look upon such

beauty. I was a hardened vessel in such matters, having, with the

exception of one painful experience of my green and tender youth,

put the softer sex (I sometimes think that this is a misnomer)

almost entirely out of my thoughts. But now, to my intense

horror, I _knew_ that I could never put away the vision of those

glorious eyes; and alas! the very _diablerie_ of the woman,

whilst it horrified and repelled, attracted in even a greater

degree. A person with the experience of two thousand years at her

back, with the command of such tremendous powers, and the

knowledge of a mystery that could hold off death, was certainly

worth falling in love with, if ever woman was. But, alas! it was

not a question of whether or no she was worth it, for so far as I

could judge, not being versed in such matters, I, a fellow of my

college, noted for what my acquaintances are pleased to call my

misogyny, and a respectable man now well on in middle life, had

fallen absolutely and hopelessly in love with this white

sorceress. Nonsense; it must be nonsense! She had warned me

fairly, and I had refused to take the warning. Curses on the

fatal curiosity that is ever prompting man to draw the veil from

woman, and curses on the natural impulse that begets it! It is

the cause of half—ay, and more than half—of our misfortunes. Why

cannot man be content to live alone and be happy, and let the

women live alone and be happy too? But perhaps they would not be

happy, and I am not sure that we should either. Here is a nice

state of affairs. I, at my age, to fall a victim to this modern

Circe! But then she was not modern, at least she said not. She

was almost as ancient as the original Circe.

I tore my hair, and jumped up from my couch, feeling that if I

did not do something I should go off my head. What did she mean

about the scarabæus too? It was Leo’s scarabæus, and had come out

of the old coffer that Vincey had left in my rooms nearly

one-and-twenty years before. Could it be, after all, that the

whole story was true, and the writing on the sherd was _not_ a

forgery, or the invention of some crack-brained, long-forgotten

individual? And if so, could it be that _Leo_ was the man that

_She_ was waiting for—the dead man who was to be born again!

Impossible! The whole thing was gibberish! Who ever heard of a

man being born again?

But if it were possible that a woman could exist for two thousand

years, this might be possible also—anything might be possible. I

myself might, for aught I knew, be a reincarnation of some other

forgotten self, or perhaps the last of a long line of ancestral

selves. Well, _vive la guerre!_ why not? Only, unfortunately, I

had no recollection of these previous conditions. The idea was so

absurd to me that I burst out laughing, and, addressing the

sculptured picture of a grim-looking warrior on the cave wall,

called out to him aloud, “Who knows, old fellow?—perhaps I was

your contemporary. By Jove! perhaps I was you and you are I,” and

then I laughed again at my own folly, and the sound of my

laughter rang dismally along the vaulted roof, as though the

ghost of the warrior had echoed the ghost of a laugh.

Next I bethought me that I had not been to see how Leo was, so,

taking up one of the lamps which was burning at my bedside, I

slipped off my shoes and crept down the passage to the entrance

of his sleeping cave. The draught of the night air was lifting

his curtain to and fro gently, as though spirit hands were

drawing and redrawing it. I slid into the vault-like apartment,

and looked round. There was a light by which I could see that Leo

was lying on the couch, tossing restlessly in his fever, but

asleep. At his side, half-lying on the floor, half-leaning

against the stone couch, was Ustane. She held his hand in one of

hers, but she too was dozing, and the two made a pretty, or

rather a pathetic, picture. Poor Leo! his cheek was burning red,

there were dark shadows beneath his eyes, and his breath came

heavily. He was very, very ill; and again the horrible fear

seized me that he might die, and I be left alone in the world.

And yet if he lived he would perhaps be my rival with Ayesha;

even if he were not the man, what chance should I, middle-aged

and hideous, have against his bright youth and beauty? Well,

thank Heaven! my sense of right was not dead. _She_ had not

killed that yet; and, as I stood there, I prayed to Heaven in my

heart that my boy, my more than son, might live—ay, even if he

proved to be the man.

Then I went back as softly as I had come, but still I could not

sleep; the sight and thought of dear Leo lying there so ill had

but added fuel to the fire of my unrest. My wearied body and

overstrained mind awakened all my imagination into preternatural

activity. Ideas, visions, almost inspirations, floated before it

with startling vividness. Most of them were grotesque enough,

some were ghastly, some recalled thoughts and sensations that had

for years been buried in the _débris_ of my past life. But,

behind and above them all, hovered the shape of that awful woman,

and through them gleamed the memory of her entrancing loveliness.

Up and down the cave I strode—up and down.

Suddenly I observed, what I had not noticed before, that there

was a narrow aperture in the rocky wall. I took up the lamp and

examined it; the aperture led to a passage. Now, I was still

sufficiently sensible to remember that it is not pleasant, in

such a situation as ours was, to have passages running into one’s

bed-chamber from no one knows where. If there are passages,

people can come up them; they can come up when one is asleep.

Partly to see where it went to, and partly from a restless desire

to be doing something, I followed the passage. It led to a stone

stair, which I descended; the stair ended in another passage, or

rather tunnel, also hewn out of the bed-rock, and running, so far

as I could judge, exactly beneath the gallery that led to the

entrance of our rooms, and across the great central cave. I went

on down it: it was as silent as the grave, but still, drawn by

some sensation or attraction that I cannot define, I followed on,

my stockinged feet falling without noise on the smooth and rocky

floor. When I had traversed some fifty yards of space, I came to

another passage running at right angles, and here an awful thing

happened to me: the sharp draught caught my lamp and extinguished

it, leaving me in utter darkness in the bowels of that mysterious

place. I took a couple of strides forward so as to clear the

bisecting tunnel, being terribly afraid lest I should turn up it

in the dark if once I got confused as to the direction, and then

paused to think. What was I to do? I had no match; it seemed

awful to attempt that long journey back through the utter gloom,

and yet I could not stand there all night, and, if I did,

probably it would not help me much, for in the bowels of the rock

it would be as dark at midday as at midnight. I looked back over

my shoulder—not a sight or a sound. I peered forward into the

darkness: surely, far away, I saw something like the faint glow

of fire. Perhaps it was a cave where I could get a light—at any

rate, it was worth investigating. Slowly and painfully I crept

along the tunnel, keeping my hand against its wall, and feeling

at every step with my foot before I put it down, fearing lest I

should fall into some pit. Thirty paces—there was a light, a

broad light that came and went, shining through curtains! Fifty

paces—it was close at hand! Sixty—oh, great heaven!

I was at the curtains, and they did not hang close, so I could

see clearly into the little cavern beyond them. It had all the

appearance of being a tomb, and was lit up by a fire that burnt

in its centre with a whitish flame and without smoke. Indeed,

there, to the left, was a stone shelf with a little ledge to it

three inches or so high, and on the shelf lay what I took to be a

corpse; at any rate, it looked like one, with something white

thrown over it. To the right was a similar shelf, on which lay

some broidered coverings. Over the fire bent the figure of a

woman; she was sideways to me and facing the corpse, wrapped in a

dark mantle that hid her like a nun’s cloak. She seemed to be

staring at the flickering flame. Suddenly, as I was trying to

make up my mind what to do, with a convulsive movement that

somehow gave an impression of despairing energy, the woman rose

to her feet and cast the dark cloak from her.

It was _She_ herself!

She was clothed, as I had seen her when she unveiled, in the

kirtle of clinging white, cut low upon her bosom, and bound in at

the waist with the barbaric double-headed snake, and, as before,

her rippling black hair fell in heavy masses down her back. But

her face was what caught my eye, and held me as in a vice, not

this time by the force of its beauty, but by the power of

fascinated terror. The beauty was still there, indeed, but the

agony, the blind passion, and the awful vindictiveness displayed

upon those quivering features, and in the tortured look of the

upturned eyes, were such as surpass my powers of description.

For a moment she stood still, her hands raised high above her

head, and as she did so the white robe slipped from her down to

her golden girdle, baring the blinding loveliness of her form.

She stood there, her fingers clenched, and the awful look of

malevolence gathered and deepened on her face.

Suddenly I thought of what would happen if she discovered me, and

the reflection made me turn sick and faint. But, even if I had

known that I must die if I stopped, I do not believe that I could

have moved, for I was absolutely fascinated. But still I knew my

danger. Supposing she should hear me, or see me through the

curtain, supposing I even sneezed, or that her magic told her

that she was being watched—swift indeed would be my doom.

Down came the clenched hands to her sides, then up again above

her head, and, as I am a living and honourable man, the white

flame of the fire leapt up after them, almost to the roof,

throwing a fierce and ghastly glare upon _She_ herself, upon the

white figure beneath the covering, and every scroll and detail of

the rockwork.

Down came the ivory arms again, and as they did so she spoke, or

rather hissed, in Arabic, in a note that curdled my blood, and

for a second stopped my heart.

“Curse her, may she be everlastingly accursed.”

The arms fell and the flame sank. Up they went again, and the

broad tongue of fire shot up after them; and then again they

fell.

“Curse her memory—accursed be the memory of the Egyptian.”

Up again, and again down.

“Curse her, the daughter of the Nile, because of her beauty.

“Curse her, because her magic hath prevailed against me.

“Curse her, because she held my beloved from me.”

And again the flame dwindled and shrank.

She put her hands before her eyes, and abandoning the hissing

tone, cried aloud:—

“What is the use of cursing?—she prevailed, and she is gone.”

Then she recommenced with an even more frightful energy:—

“Curse her where she is. Let my curses reach her where she is and

disturb her rest.

“Curse her through the starry spaces. Let her shadow be accursed.

“Let my power find her even there.

“Let her hear me even there. Let her hide herself in the

blackness.

“Let her go down into the pit of despair, because I shall one day

find her.”

Again the flame fell, and again she covered her eyes with her

hands.

“It is of no use—no use,” she wailed; “who can reach those who

sleep? Not even I can reach them.”

Then once more she began her unholy rites.

“Curse her when she shall be born again. Let her be born

accursed.

“Let her be utterly accursed from the hour of her birth until

sleep finds her.

“Yea, then, let her be accursed; for then shall I overtake her

with my vengeance, and utterly destroy her.”

And so on. The flame rose and fell, reflecting itself in her

agonised eyes; the hissing sound of her terrible maledictions,

and no words of mine can convey how terrible they were, ran round

the walls and died away in little echoes, and the fierce light

and deep gloom alternated themselves on the white and dreadful

form stretched upon that bier of stone.

But at length she seemed to wear herself out and cease. She sat

herself down upon the rocky floor, shook the dense cloud of her

beautiful hair over her face and breast, and began to sob

terribly in the torture of a heartrending despair.

“Two thousand years,” she moaned—“two thousand years have I

wanted and endured; but though century doth still creep on to

century, and time give place to time, the sting of memory hath

not lessened, the light of hope doth not shine more bright. Oh!

to have lived two thousand years, with all my passion eating out

my heart, and with my sin ever before me. Oh, that for me life

cannot bring forgetfulness! Oh, for the weary years that have

been and are yet to come, and evermore to come, endless and

without end!

“My love! my love! my love! Why did that stranger bring thee back

to me after this sort? For five hundred years I have not suffered

thus. Oh, if I sinned against thee, have I not wiped away the

sin? When wilt thou come back to me who have all, and yet without

thee have naught? What is there that I can do? What? What? What?

And perchance she—perchance that Egyptian doth abide with thee

where thou art, and mock my memory. Oh, why could I not die with

thee, I who slew thee? Alas, that I cannot die! Alas! Alas!” and

she flung herself prone upon the ground, and sobbed and wept till

I thought her heart must burst.

Suddenly she ceased, raised herself to her feet, rearranged her

robe, and, tossing back her long locks impatiently, swept across

to where the figure lay upon the stone.

“Oh Kallikrates,” she cried, and I trembled at the name, “I must

look upon thy face again, though it be agony. It is a generation

since I looked upon thee whom I slew—slew with mine own hand,”

and with trembling fingers she seized the corner of the

sheet-like wrapping that covered the form upon the stone bier,

and then paused. When she spoke again, it was in a kind of awed

whisper, as though her idea were terrible even to herself.

“Shall I raise thee,” she said, apparently addressing the corpse,

“so that thou standest there before me, as of old? I _can_ do

it,” and she held out her hands over the sheeted dead, while her

whole frame became rigid and terrible to see, and her eyes grew

fixed and dull. I shrank in horror behind the curtain, my hair

stood up upon my head, and, whether it was my imagination or a

fact I am unable to say, but I thought that the quiet form

beneath the covering began to quiver, and the winding sheet to

lift as though it lay on the breast of one who slept. Suddenly

she withdrew her hands, and the motion of the corpse seemed to me

to cease.

“To what purpose?” she said gloomily. “Of what good is it to

recall the semblance of life when I cannot recall the spirit?

Even if thou stoodest before me thou wouldst not know me, and

couldst but do what I bid thee. The life in thee would be _my_

life, and not _thy_ life, Kallikrates.”

For a moment she stood there brooding, and then cast herself down

on her knees beside the form, and began to press her lips against

the sheet, and weep. There was something so horrible about the

sight of this awe-inspiring woman letting loose her passion on

the dead—so much more horrible even than anything that had gone

before—that I could no longer bear to look at it, and, turning,

began to creep, shaking as I was in every limb, slowly along the

pitch-dark passage, feeling in my trembling heart that I had seen

a vision of a Soul in Hell.

On I stumbled, I scarcely know how. Twice I fell, once I turned

up the bisecting passage, but fortunately found out my mistake in

time. For twenty minutes or more I crept along, till at last it

occurred to me that I must have passed the little stair by which

I had descended. So, utterly exhausted, and nearly frightened to

death, I sank down at length there on the stone flooring, and

sank into oblivion.

When I came to I noticed a faint ray of light in the passage just

behind me. I crept to it, and found it was the little stair down

which the weak dawn was stealing. Passing up it, I gained my

chamber in safety, and, flinging myself on the couch, was soon

lost in slumber or rather stupor.

XV.

AYESHA GIVES JUDGMENT

The next thing that I remember was opening my eyes and perceiving

the form of Job, who had now practically recovered from his

attack of fever. He was standing in the ray of light that pierced

into the cave from the outer air, shaking out my clothes as a

makeshift for brushing them, which he could not do because there

was no brush, and then folding them up neatly and laying them on

the foot of the stone couch. This done, he got my travelling

dressing-case out of the Gladstone bag, and opened it ready for

my use. First he stood it on the foot of the couch also, then,

being afraid, I suppose, that I should kick it off, he placed it

on a leopard skin on the floor, and stood back a step or two to

observe the effect. It was not satisfactory, so he shut up the

bag, turned it on end, and, having rested it against the foot of

the couch, placed the dressing-case on it. Next he looked at the

pots full of water, which constituted our washing apparatus.

“Ah!” I heard him murmur, “no hot water in this beastly place. I

suppose these poor creatures only use it to boil each other in,”

and he sighed deeply.

“What is the matter, Job?” I said.

“Beg pardon, sir,” he said, touching his hair. “I thought you

were asleep, sir; and I am sure you seem as though you want it.

One might think from the look of you that you had been having a

night of it.”

I only groaned by way of answer. I had, indeed, been having a

night of it, such as I hope never to have again.

“How is Mr. Leo, Job?”

“Much the same, sir. If he don’t soon mend, he’ll end, sir; and

that’s all about it; though I must say that that there savage,

Ustane, do do her best for him, almost like a baptised Christian.

She is always hanging round and looking after him, and if I

ventures to interfere it’s awful to see her; her hair seems to

stand on end, and she curses and swears away in her heathen

talk—at least I fancy she must be cursing, from the look of her.”

“And what do you do then?”

“I make her a perlite bow, and I say, ‘Young woman, your position

is one that I don’t quite understand, and can’t recognise. Let me

tell you that I has a duty to perform to my master as is

incapacitated by illness, and that I am going to perform it until

I am incapacitated too,’ but she don’t take no heed, not she—only

curses and swears away worse than ever. Last night she put her

hand under that sort of night-shirt she wears and whips out a

knife with a kind of a curl in the blade, so I whips out my

revolver, and we walks round and round each other till at last

she bursts out laughing. It isn’t nice treatment for a Christian

man to have to put up with from a savage, however handsome she

may be, but it is what people must expect as is _fools_ enough”

(Job laid great emphasis on the “fools”) “to come to such a place

to look for things no man is meant to find. It’s a judgment on

us, sir—that’s my view; and I, for one, is of opinion that the

judgment isn’t half done yet, and when it is done we shall be

done too, and just stop in these beastly caves with the ghosts

and the corpseses for once and all. And now, sir, I must be

seeing about Mr. Leo’s broth, if that wild cat will let me; and,

perhaps, you would like to get up, sir, because it’s past nine

o’clock.”

Job’s remarks were not of an exactly cheering order to a man who

had passed such a night as I had; and, what is more, they had the

weight of truth. Taking one thing with another, it appeared to me

to be an utter impossibility that we should escape from the place

we were. Supposing that Leo recovered, and supposing that _She_

would let us go, which was exceedingly doubtful, and that she did

not “blast” us in some moment of vexation, and that we were not

hot-potted by the Amahagger, it would be quite impossible for us

to find our way across the network of marshes which, stretching

for scores and scores of miles, formed a stronger and more

impassable fortification round the various Amahagger households

than any that could be built or designed by man. No, there was

but one thing to do—face it out; and, speaking for my own part, I

was so intensely interested in the whole weird story that, so far

as I was concerned, notwithstanding the shattered state of my

nerves, I asked nothing better, even if my life paid forfeit to

my curiosity. What man for whom physiology has charms could

forbear to study such a character as that of this Ayesha when the

opportunity of doing so presented itself? The very terror of the

pursuit added to its fascination, and besides, as I was forced to

own to myself even now in the sober light of day, she herself had

attractions that I could not forget. Not even the dreadful sight

which I had witnessed during the night could drive that folly

from my mind; and alas! that I should have to admit it, it has

not been driven thence to this hour.

After I had dressed myself I passed into the eating, or rather

embalming chamber, and had some food, which was as before brought

to me by the girl mutes. When I had finished I went and saw poor

Leo, who was quite off his head, and did not even know me. I

asked Ustane how she thought he was; but she only shook her head

and began to cry a little. Evidently her hopes were small; and I

then and there made up my mind that, if it were in any way

possible, I would get _She_ to come and see him. Surely she would

cure him if she chose—at any rate she said she could. While I was

in the room, Billali entered, and also shook his head.

“He will die at night,” he said.

“God forbid, my father,” I answered, and turned away with a heavy

heart.

“_She-who-must-be-obeyed_ commands thy presence, my Baboon,” said

the old man as soon as we got to the curtain; “but, oh my dear

son, be more careful. Yesterday I made sure in my heart that

_She_ would blast thee when thou didst not crawl upon thy stomach

before her. She is sitting in the great hall even now to do

justice upon those who would have smitten thee and the Lion. Come

on, my son; come swiftly.”

I turned, and followed him down the passage, and when we reached

the great central cave saw that many Amahagger, some robed, and

some merely clad in the sweet simplicity of a leopard skin, were

hurrying along it. We mingled with the throng, and walked up the

enormous and, indeed, almost interminable cave. All the way its

walls were elaborately sculptured, and every twenty paces or so

passages opened out of it at right angles, leading, Billali told

me, to tombs, hollowed in the rock by “the people who were

before.” Nobody visited those tombs now, he said; and I must say

that my heart rejoiced when I thought of the opportunities of

antiquarian research which opened out before me.

At last we came to the head of the cave, where there was a rock

daïs almost exactly similar to the one on which we had been so

furiously attacked, a fact that proved to me that these daïs must

have been used as altars, probably for the celebration of

religious ceremonies, and more especially of rites connected with

the interment of the dead. On either side of this daïs were

passages leading, Billali informed me, to other caves full of

dead bodies. “Indeed,” he added, “the whole mountain is full of

dead, and nearly all of them are perfect.”

In front of the daïs were gathered a great number of people of

both sexes, who stood staring about in their peculiar gloomy

fashion, which would have reduced Mark Tapley himself to misery

in about five minutes. On the daïs was a rude chair of black wood

inlaid with ivory, having a seat made of grass fibre, and a

footstool formed of a wooden slab attached to the framework of

the chair.

Suddenly there was a cry of “Hiya! Hiya!” (“_She! She!_”), and

thereupon the entire crowd of spectators instantly precipitated

itself upon the ground, and lay still as though it were

individually and collectively stricken dead, leaving me standing

there like some solitary survivor of a massacre. As it did so a

long string of guards began to defile from a passage to the left,

and ranged themselves on either side of the daïs. Then followed

about a score of male mutes, then as many women mutes bearing

lamps, and then a tall white figure, swathed from head to foot,

in whom I recognised _She_ herself. She mounted the daïs and sat

down upon the chair, and spoke to me in _Greek_, I suppose

because she did not wish those present to understand what she

said.

“Come hither, oh Holly,” she said, “and sit thou at my feet, and

see me do justice on those who would have slain thee. Forgive me

if my Greek doth halt like a lame man; it is so long since I have

heard the sound of it that my tongue is stiff, and will not bend

rightly to the words.”

I bowed, and, mounting the daïs, sat down at her feet.

“How hast thou slept, my Holly?” she asked.

“I slept not well, oh Ayesha!” I answered with perfect truth, and

with an inward fear that perhaps she knew how I had passed the

heart of the night.

“So,” she said, with a little laugh; “I, too, have not slept

well. Last night I had dreams, and methinks that thou didst call

them to me, oh Holly.”

“Of what didst thou dream, Ayesha?” I asked indifferently.

“I dreamed,” she answered quickly, “of one I hate and one I

love,” and then, as though to turn the conversation, she

addressed the captain of her guard in Arabic: “Let the men be

brought before me.”

The captain bowed low, for the guard and her attendants did not

prostrate themselves, but had remained standing, and departed

with his underlings down a passage to the right.

Then came a silence. _She_ leaned her swathed head upon her hand

and appeared to be lost in thought, while the multitude before

her continued to grovel upon their stomachs, only screwing their

heads round a little so as to get a view of us with one eye. It

seemed that their Queen so rarely appeared in public that they

were willing to undergo this inconvenience, and even graver

risks, to have the opportunity of looking on her, or rather on

her garments, for no living man there except myself had ever seen

her face. At last we caught sight of the waving of lights, and

heard the tramp of men coming along the passage, and in filed the

guard, and with them the survivors of our would-be murderers, to

the number of twenty or more, on whose countenances a natural

expression of sullenness struggled with the terror that evidently

filled their savage hearts. They were ranged in front of the

daïs, and would have cast themselves down on the floor of the

cave like the spectators, but _She_ stopped them.

“Nay,” she said in her softest voice, “stand; I pray you stand.

Perchance the time will soon be when ye shall grow weary of being

stretched out,” and she laughed melodiously.

I saw a cringe of terror run along the rank of the doomed

wretches, and, wicked villains as they were, I felt sorry for

them. Some minutes, perhaps two or three, passed before anything

fresh occurred, during which _She_ appeared from the movement of

her head—for, of course, we could not see her eyes—to be slowly

and carefully examining each delinquent. At last she spoke,

addressing herself to me in a quiet and deliberate tone.

“Dost thou, oh my guest, recognise these men?”

“Ay, oh Queen, nearly all of them,” I said, and I saw them glower

at me as I said it.

“Then tell to me, and this great company, the tale whereof I have

heard.”

Thus adjured, I, in as few words as I could, related the history

of the cannibal feast, and of the attempted torture of our poor

servant. The narrative was received in perfect silence, both by

the accused and by the audience, and also by _She_ herself. When

I had done, Ayesha called upon Billali by name, and, lifting his

head from the ground, but without rising, the old man confirmed

my story. No further evidence was taken.

“Ye have heard,” said _She_ at length, in a cold, clear voice,

very different from her usual tones—indeed, it was one of the

most remarkable things about this extraordinary creature that her

voice had the power of suiting itself in a wonderful manner to

the mood of the moment. “What have ye to say, ye rebellious

children, why vengeance should not be done upon you?”

For some time there was no answer, but at last one of the men, a

fine, broad-chested fellow, well on in middle-life, with

deep-graven features and an eye like a hawk’s, spoke, and said

that the orders that they had received were not to harm the white

men; nothing was said of their black servant, so, egged on

thereto by a woman who was now dead, they proceeded to try to

hot-pot him after the ancient and honourable custom of their

country, with a view of eating him in due course. As for their

sudden attack upon ourselves, it was made in an access of sudden

fury, and they deeply regretted it. He ended by humbly praying

that they might be banished into the swamps, to live and die as

it might chance; but I saw it written on his face that he had but

little hope of mercy.

Then came a pause, and the most intense silence reigned over the

whole scene, which, illuminated as it was by the flicker of the

lamps striking out broad patterns of light and shadow upon the

rocky walls, was as strange as any I ever saw, even in that

unholy land. Upon the ground before the daïs were stretched

scores of the corpselike forms of the spectators, till at last

the long lines of them were lost in the gloomy background. Before

this outstretched audience were the knots of evil-doers, trying

to cover up their natural terrors with a brave appearance of

unconcern. On the right and left stood the silent guards, robed

in white and armed with great spears and daggers, and men and

women mutes watching with hard curious eyes. Then, seated in her

barbaric chair above them all, with myself at her feet, was the

veiled white woman, whose loveliness and awesome power seemed to

visibly shine about her like a halo, or rather like the glow from

some unseen light. Never have I seen her veiled shape look more

terrible than it did in that space, while she gathered herself up

for vengeance.

At last it came.

“Dogs and serpents,” _She_ began in a low voice that gradually gathered

power as she went on, till the place rang with it. “Eaters of human

flesh, two things have ye done. First, ye have attacked these

strangers, being white men, and would have slain their servant, and for

that alone death is your reward. But that is not all. Ye have dared to

disobey me. Did I not send my word unto you by Billali, my servant, and

the father of your household? Did I not bid you to hospitably entertain

these strangers, whom now ye have striven to slay, and whom, had not

they been brave and strong beyond the strength of men, ye would cruelly

have murdered? Hath it not been taught to you from childhood that the

law of _She_ is an ever fixed law, and that he who breaketh it by so

much as one jot or tittle shall perish? And is not my lightest word a

law? Have not your fathers taught you this, I say, whilst as yet ye

were but children? Do ye not know that as well might ye bid these great

caves to fall upon you, or the sun to cease its journeying, as to hope

to turn me from my courses, or make my word light or heavy, according

to your minds? Well do ye know it, ye Wicked Ones. But ye are all

evil—evil to the core—the wickedness bubbles up in you like a fountain

in the spring-time. Were it not for me, generations since had ye ceased

to be, for of your own evil way had ye destroyed each other. And now,

because ye have done this thing, because ye have striven to put these

men, my guests, to death, and yet more because ye have dared to disobey

my word, this is the doom that I doom you to. That ye be taken to the

cave of torture,[1] and given over to the tormentors, and that on the

going down of to-morrow’s sun those of you who yet remain alive be

slain, even as ye would have slain the servant of this my guest.”

[1] “The cave of torture.” I afterwards saw this dreadful place, also

a legacy from the prehistoric people who lived in Kôr. The only

objects in the cave itself were slabs of rock arranged in various

positions to facilitate the operations of the torturers. Many of these

slabs, which were of a porous stone, were stained quite dark with the

blood of ancient victims that had soaked into them. Also in the centre

of the room was a place for a furnace, with a cavity wherein to heat

the historic pot. But the most dreadful thing about the cave was that

over each slab was a sculptured illustration of the appropriate

torture being applied. These sculptures were so awful that I will not

harrow the reader by attempting a description of them.—L. H. H.

She ceased, and a faint murmur of horror ran round the cave. As

for the victims, as soon as they realised the full hideousness of

their doom, their stoicism forsook them, and they flung

themselves down upon the ground, and wept and implored for mercy

in a way that was dreadful to behold. I, too, turned to Ayesha,

and begged her to spare them, or at least to mete out their fate

in some less awful way. But she was hard as adamant about it.

“My Holly,” she said, again speaking in Greek, which, to tell the

truth, although I have always been considered a better scholar of

the language than most men, I found it rather difficult to

follow, chiefly because of the change in the fall of the accent.

Ayesha, of course, talked with the accent of her contemporaries,

whereas we have only tradition and the modern accent to guide us

as to the exact pronunciation. “My Holly, it cannot be. Were I to

show mercy to those wolves, your lives would not be safe among

this people for a day. Thou knowest them not. They are tigers to

lap blood, and even now they hunger for your lives. How thinkest

thou that I rule this people? I have but a regiment of guards to

do my bidding, therefore it is not by force. It is by terror. My

empire is of the imagination. Once in a generation mayhap I do as

I have done but now, and slay a score by torture. Believe not

that I would be cruel, or take vengeance on anything so low. What

can it profit me to be avenged on such as these? Those who live

long, my Holly, have no passions, save where they have interests.

Though I may seem to slay in wrath, or because my mood is

crossed, it is not so. Thou hast seen how in the heavens the

little clouds blow this way and that without a cause, yet behind

them is the great wind sweeping on its path whither it listeth.

So it is with me, oh Holly. My moods and changes are the little

clouds, and fitfully these seem to turn; but behind them ever

blows the great wind of my purpose. Nay, the men must die; and

die as I have said.” Then, suddenly turning to the captain of the

guard:—

“As my word is, so be it!”

XVI.

THE TOMBS OF KÔR

After the prisoners had been removed Ayesha waved her hand, and

the spectators turned round, and began to crawl off down the cave

like a scattered flock of sheep. When they were a fair distance

from the daïs, however, they rose and walked away, leaving the

Queen and myself alone, with the exception of the mutes and the

few remaining guards, most of whom had departed with the doomed

men. Thinking this a good opportunity, I asked _She_ to come and

see Leo, telling her of his serious condition; but she would not,

saying that he certainly would not die before the night, as

people never died of that sort of fever except at nightfall or

dawn. Also she said that it would be better to let the sickness

spend its course as much as possible before she cured it.

Accordingly, I was rising to leave, when she bade me follow her,

as she would talk with me, and show me the wonders of the caves.

I was too much involved in the web of her fatal fascinations to

say her no, even if I had wished, which I did not. She rose from

her chair, and, making some signs to the mutes, descended from

the daïs. Thereon four of the girls took lamps, and ranged

themselves two in front and two behind us, but the others went

away, as also did the guards.

“Now,” she said, “wouldst thou see some of the wonders of this

place, oh Holly? Look upon this great cave. Sawest thou ever the

like? Yet was it, and many more like it, hollowed by the hands of

the dead race that once lived here in the city on the plain. A

great and wonderful people must they have been, those men of Kôr,

but, like the Egyptians, they thought more of the dead than of

the living. How many men, thinkest thou, working for how many

years, did it need to the hollowing out this cave and all the

galleries thereof?”

“Tens of thousands,” I answered.

“So, oh Holly. This people was an old people before the Egyptians

were. A little can I read of their inscriptions, having found the

key thereto—and see thou here, this was one of the last of the

caves that they hollowed,” and, turning to the rock behind her,

she motioned the mutes to hold up the lamps. Carven over the daïs

was the figure of an old man seated in a chair, with an ivory rod

in his hand. It struck me at once that his features were

exceedingly like those of the man who was represented as being

embalmed in the chamber where we took our meals. Beneath the

chair, which, by the way, was shaped exactly like the one in

which Ayesha had sat to give judgment, was a short inscription in

the extraordinary characters of which I have already spoken, but

which I do not remember sufficient of to illustrate. It looked

more like Chinese writing than any other that I am acquainted

with. This inscription Ayesha proceeded, with some difficulty and

hesitation, to read aloud and translate. It ran as follows:—

“In the year four thousand two hundred and fifty-nine from the founding

of the City of imperial Kôr was this cave (or burial place) completed

by Tisno, King of Kôr, the people thereof and their slaves having

laboured thereat for three generations, to be a tomb for their citizens

of rank who shall come after. May the blessings of the heaven above the

heaven rest upon their work, and make the sleep of Tisno, the mighty

monarch, the likeness of whose features is graven above, a sound and

happy sleep till the day of awakening,[1] and also the sleep of his

servants, and of those of his race who, rising up after him, shall yet

lay their heads as low.”

[1] This phrase is remarkable, as seeming to indicate a belief in a

future state.—Editor.

“Thou seest, oh Holly,” she said, “this people founded the city,

of which the ruins yet cumber the plain yonder, four thousand

years before this cave was finished. Yet, when first mine eyes

beheld it two thousand years ago, was it even as it is now.

Judge, therefore, how old must that city have been! And now,

follow thou me, and I will show thee after what fashion this

great people fell when the time was come for it to fall,” and she

led the way down to the centre of the cave, stopping at a spot

where a round rock had been let into a kind of large manhole in

the flooring, accurately filling it just as the iron plates fill

the spaces in the London pavements down which the coals are

thrown. “Thou seest,” she said. “Tell me, what is it?”

“Nay, I know not,” I answered; whereon she crossed to the

left-hand side of the cave (looking towards the entrance) and

signed to the mutes to hold up the lamps. On the wall was

something painted with a red pigment in similar characters to

those hewn beneath the sculpture of Tisno, King of Kôr. This

inscription she proceeded to translate to me, the pigment still

being fresh enough to show the form of the letters. It ran thus:

“I, Junis, a priest of the Great Temple of Kôr, write this upon

the rock of the burying-place in the year four thousand eight

hundred and three from the founding of Kôr. Kôr is fallen! No

more shall the mighty feast in her halls, no more shall she rule

the world, and her navies go out to commerce with the world. Kôr

is fallen! and her mighty works and all the cities of Kôr, and

all the harbours that she built and the canals that she made, are

for the wolf and the owl and the wild swan, and the barbarian who

comes after. Twenty and five moons ago did a cloud settle upon

Kôr, and the hundred cities of Kôr, and out of the cloud came a

pestilence that slew her people, old and young, one with another,

and spared not. One with another they turned black and died—the

young and the old, the rich and the poor, the man and the woman,

the prince and the slave. The pestilence slew and slew, and

ceased not by day or by night, and those who escaped from the

pestilence were slain of the famine. No longer could the bodies

of the children of Kôr be preserved according to the ancient

rites, because of the number of the dead, therefore were they

hurled into the great pit beneath the cave, through the hole in

the floor of the cave. Then, at last, a remnant of this the great

people, the light of the whole world, went down to the coast and

took ship and sailed northwards; and now am I, the Priest Junis,

who write this, the last man left alive of this great city of

men, but whether there be any yet left in the other cities I know

not. This do I write in misery of heart before I die, because Kôr

the Imperial is no more, and because there are none to worship in

her temple, and all her palaces are empty, and her princes and

her captains and her traders and her fair women have passed off

the face of the earth.”

I gave a sigh of astonishment—the utter desolation depicted in

this rude scrawl was so overpowering. It was terrible to think of

this solitary survivor of a mighty people recording its fate

before he too went down into darkness. What must the old man have

felt as, in ghastly terrifying solitude, by the light of one lamp

feebly illuminating a little space of gloom, he in a few brief

lines daubed the history of his nation’s death upon the cavern

wall? What a subject for the moralist, or the painter, or indeed

for any one who can think!

“Doth it not occur to thee, oh Holly,” said Ayesha, laying her

hand upon my shoulder, “that those men who sailed North may have

been the fathers of the first Egyptians?”

“Nay, I know not,” I said; “it seems that the world is very old.”

“Old? Yes, it is old indeed. Time after time have nations, ay, and rich

and strong nations, learned in the arts, been and passed away and been

forgotten, so that no memory of them remains. This is but one of

several; for Time eats up the works of man, unless, indeed, he digs in

caves like the people of Kôr, and then mayhap the sea swallows them, or

the earthquake shakes them in. Who knows what hath been on the earth,

or what shall be? There is no new thing under the sun, as the wise

Hebrew wrote long ago. Yet were not these people utterly destroyed, as

I think. Some few remained in the other cities, for their cities were

many. But the barbarians from the south, or perchance my people, the

Arabs, came down upon them, and took their women to wife, and the race

of the Amahagger that is now is a bastard brood of the mighty sons of

Kôr, and behold it dwelleth in the tombs with its fathers’ bones.[2]

But I know not: who can know? My arts cannot pierce so far into the

blackness of Time’s night. A great people were they. They conquered

till none were left to conquer, and then they dwelt at ease within

their rocky mountain walls, with their man servants and their maid

servants, their minstrels, their sculptors, and their concubines, and

traded and quarrelled, and ate and hunted and slept and made merry till

their time came. But come, I will show thee the great pit beneath the

cave whereof the writing speaks. Never shall thine eyes witness such

another sight.”

[2] The name of the race Ama-hagger would seem to indicate a curious

mingling of races such as might easily have occurred in the

neighbourhood of the Zambesi. The prefix “Ama” is common to the Zulu

and kindred races, and signifies “people,” while “hagger” is an Arabic

word meaning a stone. —Editor.

Accordingly I followed her to a side passage opening out of the

main cave, then down a great number of steps, and along an

underground shaft which cannot have been less than sixty feet

beneath the surface of the rock, and was ventilated by curious

borings that ran upward, I know not where. Suddenly the passage

ended, and she halted and bade the mutes hold up the lamps, and,

as she had prophesied, I saw a scene such as I was not likely to

see again. We were standing in an enormous pit, or rather on the

brink of it, for it went down deeper—I do not know how much—than

the level on which we stood, and was edged in with a low wall of

rock. So far as I could judge, this pit was about the size of the

space beneath the dome of St. Paul’s in London, and when the

lamps were held up I saw that it was nothing but one vast

charnel-house, being literally full of thousands of human

skeletons, which lay piled up in an enormous gleaming pyramid,

formed by the slipping down of the bodies at the apex as fresh

ones were dropped in from above. Anything more appalling than

this jumbled mass of the remains of a departed race I cannot

imagine, and what made it even more dreadful was that in this dry

air a considerable number of the bodies had simply become

desiccated with the skin still on them, and now, fixed in every

conceivable position, stared at us out of the mountain of white

bones, grotesquely horrible caricatures of humanity. In my

astonishment I uttered an ejaculation, and the echoes of my

voice, ringing in the vaulted space, disturbed a skull that had

been accurately balanced for many thousands of years near the

apex of the pile. Down it came with a run, bounding along merrily

towards us, and of course bringing an avalanche of other bones

after it, till at last the whole pit rattled with their movement,

even as though the skeletons were getting up to greet us.

“Come,” I said, “I have seen enough. These are the bodies of

those who died of the great sickness, is it not so?” I added, as

we turned away.

“Yea. The people of Kôr ever embalmed their dead, as did the Egyptians,

but their art was greater than the art of the Egyptians, for, whereas

the Egyptians disembowelled and drew the brain, the people of Kôr

injected fluid into the veins, and thus reached every part. But stay,

thou shalt see,” and she halted at haphazard at one of the little

doorways opening out of the passage along which we were walking, and

motioned to the mutes to light us in. We entered into a small chamber

similar to the one in which I had slept at our first stopping-place,

only instead of one there were two stone benches or beds in it. On the

benches lay figures covered with yellow linen,[3] on which a fine and

impalpable dust had gathered in the course of ages, but nothing like to

the extent that one would have anticipated, for in these deep-hewn

caves there is no material to turn to dust. About the bodies on the

stone shelves and floor of the tomb were many painted vases, but I saw

very few ornaments or weapons in any of the vaults.

[3] All the linen that the Amahagger wore was taken from the tombs,

which accounted for its yellow hue. It was well washed, however, and

properly rebleached, it acquired its former snowy whiteness, and was

the softest and best linen I ever saw.—L. H. H.

“Uplift the cloths, oh Holly,” said Ayesha, but when I put out my

hand to do so I drew it back again. It seemed like sacrilege,

and, to speak the truth, I was awed by the dread solemnity of the

place, and of the presences before us. Then, with a little laugh

at my fears, she drew them herself, only to discover other and

yet finer cloths lying over the forms upon the stone bench. These

also she withdrew, and then for the first time for thousands upon

thousands of years did living eyes look upon the face of that

chilly dead. It was a woman; she might have been thirty-five

years of age, or perhaps a little less, and had certainly been

beautiful. Even now her calm clear-cut features, marked out with

delicate eyebrows and long eyelashes which threw little lines of

the shadow of the lamplight upon the ivory face, were wonderfully

beautiful. There, robed in white, down which her blue-black hair

was streaming, she slept her last long sleep, and on her arm, its

face pressed against her breast, there lay a little babe. So

sweet was the sight, although so awful, that—I confess it without

shame—I could scarcely withhold my tears. It took me back across

the dim gulf of ages to some happy home in dead Imperial Kôr,

where this winsome lady girt about with beauty had lived and

died, and dying taken her last-born with her to the tomb. There

they were before us, mother and babe, the white memories of a

forgotten human history speaking more eloquently to the heart

than could any written record of their lives. Reverently I

replaced the grave-cloths, and, with a sigh that flowers so fair

should, in the purpose of the Everlasting, have only bloomed to

be gathered to the grave, I turned to the body on the opposite

shelf, and gently unveiled it. It was that of a man in advanced

life, with a long grizzled beard, and also robed in white,

probably the husband of the lady, who, after surviving her many

years, came at the last to sleep once more for good and all

beside her.

We left the place and entered others. It would be too long to

describe the many things I saw in them. Each one had its

occupants, for the five hundred and odd years that had elapsed

between the completion of the cave and the destruction of the

race had evidently sufficed to fill these catacombs, numberless

as they were, and all appeared to have been undisturbed since the

day when they were placed there. I could fill a book with the

description of them, but to do so would only be to repeat what I

have said, with variations.

Nearly all the bodies, so masterfully was the art with which they had

been treated, were as perfect as on the day of death thousands of years

before. Nothing came to injure them in the deep silence of the living

rock: they were beyond the reach of heat and cold and damp, and the

aromatic drugs with which they had been saturated were evidently

practically everlasting in their effect. Here and there, however, we

saw an exception, and in these cases, although the flesh looked sound

enough externally, if one touched it it fell in, and revealed the fact

that the figure was but a pile of dust. This arose, Ayesha told me,

from these particular bodies having, either owing to haste in the

burial or other causes, been soaked in the preservative,[4] instead of

its being injected into the substance of the flesh.

[4] Ayesha afterwards showed me the tree from the leaves of which this

ancient preservative was manufactured. It is a low bush-like tree,

that to this day grows in wonderful plenty upon the sides of the

mountains, or rather upon the slopes leading up to the rocky walls.

The leaves are long and narrow, a vivid green in colour, but turning a

bright red in the autumn, and not unlike those of a laurel in general

appearance. They have little smell when green, but if boiled the

aromatic odour from them is so strong that one can hardly bear it. The

best mixture, however, was made from the roots, and among the people

of Kôr there was a law, which Ayesha showed me alluded to on some of

the inscriptions, to the effect that on pain of heavy penalties no one

under a certain rank was to be embalmed with the drugs prepared from

the roots. The object and effect of this was, of course, to preserve

the trees from extermination. The sale of the leaves and roots was a

Government monopoly, and from it the Kings of Kôr derived a large

proportion of their private revenue.—L. H. H.

About the last tomb we visited I must, however, say one word, for

its contents spoke even more eloquently to the human sympathies

than those of the first. It had but two occupants, and they lay

together on a single shelf. I withdrew the grave-cloths and

there, clasped heart to heart, were a young man and a blooming

girl. Her head rested on his arm, and his lips were pressed

against her brow. I opened the man’s linen robe, and there over

his heart was a dagger-wound, and beneath the woman’s fair breast

was a like cruel stab, through which her life had ebbed away. On

the rock above was an inscription in three words. Ayesha

translated it. It was “_Wedded in Death_.”

What was the life-story of these two, who, of a truth, were

beautiful in their lives, and in their death were not divided?

I closed my eyelids, and imagination, taking up the thread of

thought, shot its swift shuttle back across the ages, weaving a

picture on their blackness so real and vivid in its details that

I could almost for a moment think that I had triumphed o’er the

Past, and that my spirit’s eyes had pierced the mystery of Time.

I seemed to see this fair girl form—the yellow hair streaming

down her, glittering against her garments snowy white, and the

bosom that was whiter than the robes, even dimming with its

lustre her ornaments of burnished gold. I seemed to see the great

cave filled with warriors, bearded and clad in mail, and, on the

lighted daïs where Ayesha had given judgment, a man standing,

robed, and surrounded by the symbols of his priestly office. And

up the cave there came one clad in purple, and before him and

behind him came minstrels and fair maidens, chanting a wedding

song. White stood the maid against the altar, fairer than the

fairest there—purer than a lily, and more cold than the dew that

glistens in its heart. But as the man drew near she shuddered.

Then out of the press and throng there sprang a dark-haired

youth, and put his arms about this long-forgotten maid, and

kissed her pale face in which the blood shot up like lights of

the red dawn across the silent sky. And next there was turmoil

and uproar, and a flashing of swords, and they tore the youth

from her arms, and stabbed him, but with a cry she snatched the

dagger from his belt, and drove it into her snowy breast, home to

the heart, and down she fell, and then, with cries and wailing,

and every sound of lamentation, the pageant rolled away from the

arena of my vision, and once more the past shut to its book.

Let him who reads forgive the intrusion of a dream into a history

of fact. But it came so home to me—I saw it all so clear in a

moment, as it were; and, besides, who shall say what proportion

of fact, past, present, or to come, may lie in the imagination?

What is imagination? Perhaps it is the shadow of the intangible

truth, perhaps it is the soul’s thought.

In an instant the whole thing had passed through my brain, and

_She_ was addressing me.

“Behold the lot of man,” said the veiled Ayesha, as she drew the

winding sheets back over the dead lovers, speaking in a solemn,

thrilling voice, which accorded well with the dream that I had

dreamed: “to the tomb, and to the forgetfulness that hides the

tomb, must we all come at last! Ay, even I who live so long. Even

for me, oh Holly, thousands upon thousands of years hence;

thousands of years after thou hast gone through the gate and been

lost in the mists, a day will dawn whereon I shall die, and be

even as thou art and these are. And then what will it avail that

I have lived a little longer, holding off death by the knowledge

that I have wrung from Nature, since at last I too must die? What

is a span of ten thousand years, or ten times ten thousand years,

in the history of time? It is as naught—it is as the mists that

roll up in the sunlight; it fleeth away like an hour of sleep or

a breath of the Eternal Spirit. Behold the lot of man! Certainly

it shall overtake us, and we shall sleep. Certainly, too, we

shall awake and live again, and again shall sleep, and so on and

on, through periods, spaces, and times, from æon unto æon, till

the world is dead, and the worlds beyond the world are dead, and

naught liveth but the Spirit that is Life. But for us twain and

for these dead ones shall the end of ends be Life, or shall it be

Death? As yet Death is but Life’s Night, but out of the night is

the Morrow born again, and doth again beget the Night. Only when

Day and Night, and Life and Death, are ended and swallowed up in

that from which they came, what shall be our fate, oh Holly? Who

can see so far? Not even I!”

And then, with a sudden change of tone and manner—

“Hast thou seen enough, my stranger guest, or shall I show thee

more of the wonders of these tombs that are my palace halls? If

thou wilt, I can lead thee to where Tisno, the mightiest and most

valorous King of Kôr, in whose day these caves were ended, lies

in a pomp that seems to mock at nothingness, and bid the empty

shadows of the past do homage to his sculptured vanity!”

“I have seen enough, oh Queen,” I answered. “My heart is

overwhelmed by the power of the present Death. Mortality is weak,

and easily broken down by a sense of the companionship that waits

upon its end. Take me hence, oh Ayesha!”

XVII.

THE BALANCE TURNS

In a few minutes, following the lamps of the mutes, which, held

out from the body as a bearer holds water in a vessel, had the

appearance of floating down the darkness by themselves, we came

to a stair which led us to _She’s_ ante-room, the same that

Billali had crept up upon on all fours on the previous day. Here

I would have bid the Queen adieu, but she would not.

“Nay,” she said, “enter with me, oh Holly, for of a truth thy

conversation pleaseth me. Think, oh Holly: for two thousand years

have I had none to converse with save slaves and my own thoughts,

and though of all this thinking hath much wisdom come, and many

secrets been made plain, yet am I weary of my thoughts, and have

come to loathe mine own society, for surely the food that memory

gives to eat is bitter to the taste, and it is only with the

teeth of hope that we can bear to bite it. Now, though thy

thoughts are green and tender, as becometh one so young, yet are

they those of a thinking brain, and in truth thou dost bring back

to my mind certain of those old philosophers with whom in days

bygone I have disputed at Athens, and at Becca in Arabia, for

thou hast the same crabbed air and dusty look, as though thou

hadst passed thy days in reading ill-writ Greek, and been stained

dark with the grime of manuscripts. So draw the curtain, and sit

here by my side, and we will eat fruit, and talk of pleasant

things. See, I will again unveil to thee. Thou hast brought it on

thyself, oh Holly; fairly have I warned thee—and thou shalt call

me beautiful as even those old philosophers were wont to do. Fie

upon them, forgetting their philosophy!”

And without more ado she stood up and shook the white wrappings

from her, and came forth shining and splendid like some

glittering snake when she has cast her slough; ay, and fixed her

wonderful eyes upon me—more deadly than any Basilisk’s—and

pierced me through and through with their beauty, and sent her

light laugh ringing through the air like chimes of silver bells.

A new mood was on her, and the very colour of her mind seemed to

change beneath it. It was no longer torture-torn and hateful, as

I had seen it when she was cursing her dead rival by the leaping

flames, no longer icily terrible as in the judgment-hall, no

longer rich, and sombre, and splendid, like a Tyrian cloth, as in

the dwellings of the dead. No, her mood now was that of Aphrodité

triumphing. Life—radiant, ecstatic, wonderful—seemed to flow from

her and around her. Softly she laughed and sighed, and swift her

glances flew. She shook her heavy tresses, and their perfume

filled the place; she struck her little sandalled foot upon the

floor, and hummed a snatch of some old Greek epithalamium. All

the majesty was gone, or did but lurk and faintly flicker through

her laughing eyes, like lightning seen through sunlight. She had

cast off the terror of the leaping flame, the cold power of

judgment that was even now being done, and the wise sadness of

the tombs—cast them off and put them behind her, like the white

shroud she wore, and now stood out the incarnation of lovely

tempting womanhood, made more perfect—and in a way more

spiritual—than ever woman was before.

“So, my Holly, sit there where thou canst see me. It is by thine

own wish, remember—again I say, blame me not if thou dost wear

away thy little span with such a sick pain at the heart that thou

wouldst fain have died before ever thy curious eyes were set upon

me. There, sit so, and tell me, for in truth I am inclined for

praises—tell me, am I not beautiful? Nay, speak not so hastily;

consider well the point; take me feature by feature, forgetting

not my form, and my hands and feet, and my hair, and the

whiteness of my skin, and then tell me truly, hast thou ever

known a woman who in aught, ay, in one little portion of her

beauty, in the curve of an eyelash even, or the modelling of a

shell-like ear, is justified to hold a light before my

loveliness? Now, my waist! Perchance thou thinkest it too large,

but of a truth it is not so; it is this golden snake that is too

large, and doth not bind it as it should. It is a wide snake, and

knoweth that it is ill to tie in the waist. But see, give me thy

hands—so—now press them round me, and there, with but a little

force, thy fingers touch, oh Holly.”

I could bear it no longer. I am but a man, and she was more than

a woman. Heaven knows what she was—I do not! But then and there I

fell upon my knees before her, and told her in a sad mixture of

languages—for such moments confuse the thoughts—that I worshipped

her as never woman was worshipped, and that I would give my

immortal soul to marry her, which at that time I certainly would

have done, and so, indeed, would any other man, or all the race

of men rolled into one. For a moment she looked surprised, and

then she began to laugh, and clap her hands in glee.

“Oh, so soon, oh Holly!” she said. “I wondered how many minutes

it would need to bring thee to thy knees. I have not seen a man

kneel before me for so many days, and, believe me, to a woman’s

heart the sight is sweet, ay, wisdom and length of days take not

from that dear pleasure which is our sex’s only right.

“What wouldst thou?—what wouldst thou? Thou dost not know what

thou doest. Have I not told thee that I am not for thee? I love

but one, and thou art not the man. Ah Holly, for all thy

wisdom—and in a way thou art wise—thou art but a fool running

after folly. Thou wouldst look into mine eyes—thou wouldst kiss

me! Well, if it pleaseth thee, _look_,” and she bent herself

towards me, and fixed her dark and thrilling orbs upon my own;

“ay, and _kiss_ too, if thou wilt, for, thanks be given to the

scheme of things, kisses leave no marks, except upon the heart.

But if thou dost kiss, I tell thee of a surety wilt thou eat out

thy breast with love of me, and die!” and she bent yet further

towards me till her soft hair brushed my brow, and her fragrant

breath played upon my face, and made me faint and weak. Then of a

sudden, even as I stretched out my hands to clasp, she

straightened herself, and a quick change passed over her.

Reaching out her hand, she held it over my head, and it seemed to

me that something flowed from it that chilled me back to common

sense, and a knowledge of propriety and the domestic virtues.

“Enough of this wanton folly,” she said with a touch of

sternness. “Listen, Holly. Thou art a good and honest man, and I

fain would spare thee; but, oh! it is so hard for woman to be

merciful. I have said I am not for thee, therefore let thy

thoughts pass by me like an idle wind, and the dust of thy

imagination sink again into the depths—well, of despair, if thou

wilt. Thou dost not know me, Holly. Hadst thou seen me but ten

hours past when my passion seized me, thou hadst shrunk from me

in fear and trembling. I am of many moods, and, like the water in

that vessel, I reflect many things; but they pass, my Holly; they

pass, and are forgotten. Only the water is the water still, and I

still am I, and that which maketh the water maketh it, and that

which maketh me maketh me, nor can my quality be altered.

Therefore, pay no heed to what I seem, seeing that thou canst not

know what I am. If thou troublest me again I will veil myself,

and thou shalt behold my face no more.”

I rose, and sank on the cushioned couch beside her, yet quivering

with emotion, though for a moment my mad passion had left me, as

the leaves of a tree quiver still, although the gust be gone that

stirred them. I did not dare to tell her that I _had_ seen her in

that deep and hellish mood, muttering incantations to the fire in

the tomb.

“So,” she went on, “now eat some fruit; believe me, it is the

only true food for man. Oh, tell me of the philosophy of that

Hebrew Messiah, who came after me, and who thou sayest doth now

rule Rome, and Greece, and Egypt, and the barbarians beyond. It

must have been a strange philosophy that He taught, for in my day

the peoples would have naught of our philosophies. Revel and lust

and drink, blood and cold steel, and the shock of men gathered in

the battle—these were the canons of their creeds.”

I had recovered myself a little by now, and, feeling bitterly

ashamed of the weakness into which I had been betrayed, I did my

best to expound to her the doctrines of Christianity, to which,

however, with the single exception of our conception of Heaven

and Hell, I found that she paid but scant attention, her interest

being all directed towards the Man who taught them. Also I told

her that among her own people, the Arabs, another prophet, one

Mohammed, had arisen and preached a new faith, to which many

millions of mankind now adhered.

“Ah!” she said; “I see—two new religions! I have known so many,

and doubtless there have been many more since I knew aught beyond

these caves of Kôr. Mankind asks ever of the skies to vision out

what lies behind them. It is terror for the end, and but a

subtler form of selfishness—this it is that breeds religions.

Mark, my Holly, each religion claims the future for its

followers; or, at least, the good thereof. The evil is for those

benighted ones who will have none of it; seeing the light the

true believers worship, as the fishes see the stars, but dimly.

The religions come and the religions pass, and the civilisations

come and pass, and naught endures but the world and human nature.

Ah! if man would but see that hope is from within and not from

without—that he himself must work out his own salvation! He is

there, and within him is the breath of life and a knowledge of

good and evil as good and evil is to him. Thereon let him build

and stand erect, and not cast himself before the image of some

unknown God, modelled like his poor self, but with a bigger brain

to think the evil thing, and a longer arm to do it.”

I thought to myself, which shows how old such reasoning is,

being, indeed, one of the recurring qualities of theological

discussion, that her argument sounded very like some that I have

heard in the nineteenth century, and in other places than the

caves of Kôr, and with which, by the way, I totally disagree, but

I did not care to try and discuss the question with her. To begin

with, my mind was too weary with all the emotions through which I

had passed, and, in the second place, I knew that I should get

the worst of it. It is weary work enough to argue with an

ordinary materialist, who hurls statistics and whole strata of

geological facts at your head, whilst you can only buffet him

with deductions and instincts and the snowflakes of faith, that

are, alas! so apt to melt in the hot embers of our troubles. How

little chance, then, should I have against one whose brain was

supernaturally sharpened, and who had two thousand years of

experience, besides all manner of knowledge of the secrets of

Nature at her command! Feeling that she would be more likely to

convert me than I should to convert her, I thought it best to

leave the matter alone, and so sat silent. Many a time since then

have I bitterly regretted that I did so, for thereby I lost the

only opportunity I can remember having had of ascertaining what

Ayesha _really_ believed, and what her “philosophy” was.

“Well, my Holly,” she continued, “and so those people of mine have

found a prophet, a false prophet thou sayest, for he is not thine own,

and, indeed, I doubt it not. Yet in my day was it otherwise, for then

we Arabs had many gods. Allât there was, and Saba, the Host of Heaven,

Al Uzza, and Manah the stony one, for whom the blood of victims flowed,

and Wadd and Sawâ, and Yaghûth the Lion of the dwellers in Yaman, and

Yäûk the Horse of Morad, and Nasr the Eagle of Hamyar; ay, and many

more. Oh, the folly of it all, the shame and the pitiful folly! Yet

when I rose in wisdom and spoke thereof, surely they would have slain

me in the name of their outraged gods. Well, so hath it ever been;—but,

my Holly, art thou weary of me already, that thou dost sit so silent?

Or dost thou fear lest I should teach thee my philosophy?—for know I

have a philosophy. What would a teacher be without her own philosophy?

and if thou dost vex me overmuch beware! for I will have thee learn it,

and thou shalt be my disciple, and we twain will found a faith that

shall swallow up all others. Faithless man! And but half an hour since

thou wast upon thy knees—the posture does not suit thee, Holly—swearing

that thou didst love me. What shall we do?—Nay, I have it. I will come

and see this youth, the Lion, as the old man Billali calls him, who

came with thee, and who is so sick. The fever must have run its course

by now, and if he is about to die I will recover him. Fear not, my

Holly, I shall use no magic. Have I not told thee that there is no such

thing as magic, though there is such a thing as understanding and

applying the forces which are in Nature? Go now, and presently, when I

have made the drug ready, I will follow thee.”[1]

[1] Ayesha was a great chemist, indeed chemistry appears to have been

her only amusement and occupation. She had one of the caves fitted up

as a laboratory, and, although her appliances were necessarily rude,

the results that she attained were, as will become clear in the course

of this narrative, sufficiently surprising.—L. H. H.

Accordingly I went, only to find Job and Ustane in a great state

of grief, declaring that Leo was in the throes of death, and that

they had been searching for me everywhere. I rushed to the couch,

and glanced at him: clearly he was dying. He was senseless, and

breathing heavily, but his lips were quivering, and every now and

again a little shudder ran down his frame. I knew enough of

doctoring to see that in another hour he would be beyond the

reach of earthly help—perhaps in another five minutes. How I

cursed my selfishness and the folly that had kept me lingering by

Ayesha’s side while my dear boy lay dying! Alas and alas! how

easily the best of us are lighted down to evil by the gleam of a

woman’s eyes! What a wicked wretch was I! Actually, for the last

half-hour I had scarcely thought of Leo, and this, be it

remembered, of the man who for twenty years had been my dearest

companion, and the chief interest of my existence. And now,

perhaps, it was too late!

I wrung my hands, and glanced round. Ustane was sitting by the

couch, and in her eyes burnt the dull light of despair. Job was

blubbering—I am sorry I cannot name his distress by any more

delicate word—audibly in the corner. Seeing my eye fixed upon

him, he went outside to give way to his grief in the passage.

Obviously the only hope lay in Ayesha. She, and she alone—unless,

indeed, she was an imposter, which I could not believe—could save

him. I would go and implore her to come. As I started to do so,

however, Job came flying into the room, his hair literally

standing on end with terror.

“Oh, God help us, sir!” he ejaculated in a frightened whisper,

“here’s a corpse a-coming sliding down the passage!”

For a moment I was puzzled, but presently, of course, it struck

me that he must have seen Ayesha, wrapped in her grave-like

garment, and been deceived by the extraordinary undulating

smoothness of her walk into a belief that she was a white ghost

gliding towards him. Indeed, at that very moment the question was

settled, for Ayesha herself was in the apartment, or rather cave.

Job turned, and saw her sheeted form, and then, with a convulsive

howl of “Here it comes!” sprang into a corner, and jammed his

face against the wall, and Ustane, guessing whose the dread

presence must be, prostrated herself upon her face.

“Thou comest in a good time, Ayesha,” I said, “for my boy lies at

the point of death.”

“So,” she said softly; “provided he be not dead, it is no matter,

for I can bring him back to life, my Holly. Is that man there thy

servant, and is that the method wherewith thy servants greet

strangers in thy country?”

“He is frightened of thy garb—it hath a death-like air,” I

answered.

She laughed.

“And the girl? Ah, I see now. It is she of whom thou didst speak

to me. Well, bid them both to leave us, and we will see to this

sick Lion of thine. I love not that underlings should perceive my

wisdom.”

Thereon I told Ustane in Arabic and Job in English both to leave

the room; an order which the latter obeyed readily enough, and

was glad to obey, for he could not in any way subdue his fear.

But it was otherwise with Ustane.

“What does _She_ want?” she whispered, divided between her fear

of the terrible Queen and her anxiety to remain near Leo. “It is

surely the right of a wife to be near her husband when he dieth.

Nay, I will not go, my lord the Baboon.”

“Why doth not that woman leave us, my Holly?” asked Ayesha from

the other end of the cave, where she was engaged in carelessly

examining some of the sculptures on the wall.

“She is not willing to leave Leo,” I answered, not knowing what

to say. Ayesha wheeled round, and, pointing to the girl Ustane,

said one word, and one only, but it was quite enough, for the

tone in which it was said meant volumes.

“Go!”

And then Ustane crept past her on her hands and knees, and went.

“Thou seest, my Holly,” said Ayesha, with a little laugh, “it was

needful that I should give these people a lesson in obedience.

That girl went nigh to disobeying me, but then she did not learn

this morn how I treat the disobedient. Well, she has gone; and

now let me see the youth,” and she glided towards the couch on

which Leo lay, with his face in the shadow and turned towards the

wall.

“He hath a noble shape,” she said, as she bent over him to look

upon his face.

Next second her tall and willowy form was staggering back across

the room, as though she had been shot or stabbed, staggering back

till at last she struck the cavern wall, and then there burst

from her lips the most awful and unearthly scream that I ever

heard in all my life.

“What is it, Ayesha?” I cried. “Is he dead?”

She turned, and sprang towards me like a tigress.

“Thou dog!” she said, in her terrible whisper, which sounded like

the hiss of a snake, “why didst thou hide this from me?” And she

stretched out her arm, and I thought that she was about to slay

me.

“What?” I ejaculated, in the most lively terror; “what?”

“Ah!” she said, “perchance thou didst not know. Learn, my Holly,

learn: there lies—there lies my lost Kallikrates. Kallikrates,

who has come back to me at last, as I knew he would, as I knew he

would;” and she began to sob and to laugh, and generally to

conduct herself like any other lady who is a little upset,

murmuring “Kallikrates, Kallikrates!”

“Nonsense,” thought I to myself, but I did not like to say it;

and, indeed, at that moment I was thinking of Leo’s life, having

forgotten everything else in that terrible anxiety. What I feared

now was that he should die while she was “carrying on.”

“Unless thou art able to help him, Ayesha,” I put in, by way of a

reminder, “thy Kallikrates will soon be far beyond thy calling.

Surely he dieth even now.”

“True,” she said, with a start. “Oh, why did I not come before! I

am unnerved—my hand trembles, even mine—and yet it is very easy.

Here, thou Holly, take this phial,” and she produced a tiny jar

of pottery from the folds of her garment, “and pour the liquid in

it down his throat. It will cure him if he be not dead. Swift,

now! Swift! The man dies!”

I glanced towards him; it was true enough, Leo was in his

death-struggle. I saw his poor face turning ashen, and heard the

breath begin to rattle in his throat. The phial was stoppered

with a little piece of wood. I drew it with my teeth, and a drop

of the fluid within flew out upon my tongue. It had a sweet

flavour, and for a second made my head swim, and a mist gather

before my eyes, but happily the effect passed away as swiftly as

it had arisen.

When I reached Leo’s side he was plainly expiring—his golden head

was slowly turning from side to side, and his mouth was slightly

open. I called to Ayesha to hold his head, and this she managed

to do, though the woman was quivering from head to foot, like an

aspen-leaf or a startled horse. Then, forcing the jaw a little

more open, I poured the contents of the phial into his mouth.

Instantly a little vapour arose from it, as happens when one

disturbs nitric acid, and this sight did not increase my hopes,

already faint enough, of the efficacy of the treatment.

One thing, however, was certain, the death throes ceased—at first

I thought because he had got beyond them, and crossed the awful

river. His face turned to a livid pallor, and his heart-beats,

which had been feeble enough before, seemed to die away

altogether—only the eyelid still twitched a little. In my doubt I

looked up at Ayesha, whose head-wrapping had slipped back in her

excitement when she went reeling across the room. She was still

holding Leo’s head, and, with a face as pale as his own, watching

his countenance with such an expression of agonised anxiety as I

had never seen before. Clearly she did not know if he would live

or die. Five minutes slowly passed and I saw that she was

abandoning hope; her lovely oval face seemed to fall in and grow

visibly thinner beneath the pressure of a mental agony whose

pencil drew black lines about the hollows of her eyes. The coral

faded even from her lips, till they were as white as Leo’s face,

and quivered pitifully. It was shocking to see her: even in my

own grief I felt for hers.

“Is it too late?” I gasped.

She hid her face in her hands, and made no answer, and I too

turned away. But as I did so I heard a deep-drawn breath, and

looking down perceived a line of colour creeping up Leo’s face,

then another and another, and then, wonder of wonders, the man we

had thought dead turned over on his side.

“Thou seest,” I said in a whisper.

“I see,” she answered hoarsely. “He is saved. I thought we were

too late—another moment—one little moment more—and he had been

gone!” and she burst into an awful flood of tears, sobbing as

though her heart would break, and yet looking lovelier than ever

as she did it. At last she ceased.

“Forgive me, my Holly—forgive me for my weakness,” she said.

“Thou seest after all I am a very woman. Think—now think of it!

This morning didst thou speak of the place of torment appointed

by this new religion of thine. Hell or Hades thou didst call it—a

place where the vital essence lives and retains an individual

memory, and where all the errors and faults of judgment, and

unsatisfied passions and the unsubstantial terrors of the mind

wherewith it hath at any time had to do, come to mock and haunt

and gibe and wring the heart for ever and for ever with the

vision of its own hopelessness. Thus, even thus, have I lived for

full two thousand years—for some six and sixty generations, as ye

reckon time—in a Hell, as thou callest it—tormented by the memory

of a crime, tortured day and night with an unfulfilled

desire—without companionship, without comfort, without death, and

led on only down my dreary road by the marsh lights of Hope,

which, though they flickered here and there, and now glowed

strong, and now were not, yet, as my skill told me, would one day

lead unto my deliverer.

“And then—think of it still, oh Holly, for never shalt thou hear

such another tale, or see such another scene, nay, not even if I

give thee ten thousand years of life—and thou shalt have it in

payment if thou wilt—think: at last my deliverer came—he for whom

I had watched and waited through the generations—at the appointed

time he came to seek me, as I knew that he must come, for my

wisdom could not err, though I knew not when or how. Yet see how

ignorant I was! See how small my knowledge, and how faint my

strength! For hours he lay there sick unto death, and I felt it

not—I who had waited for him for two thousand years—I knew it

not. And then at last I see him, and behold, my chance is gone

but by a hair’s breadth even before I have it, for he is in the

very jaws of death, whence no power of mine can draw him. And if

he die, surely must the Hell be lived through once more—once more

must I face the weary centuries, and wait, and wait till the time

in its fulness shall bring my Beloved back to me. And then thou

gavest him the medicine, and that five minutes dragged long

before I knew if he would live or die, and I tell thee that all

the sixty generations that are gone were not so long as that five

minutes. But they passed at length, and still he showed no sign,

and I knew that if the drug works not then, so far as I have had

knowledge, it works not at all. Then thought I that he was once

more dead, and all the tortures of all the years gathered

themselves into a single venomed spear, and pierced me through

and through, because again I had lost Kallikrates! And then, when

all was done, behold! he sighed, behold! he lived, and I knew

that he would live, for none die on whom the drug takes hold.

Think of it now, my Holly—think of the wonder of it! He will

sleep for twelve hours and then the fever will have left him!”

She stopped, and laid her hand upon his golden head, and then

bent down and kissed his brow with a chastened abandonment of

tenderness that would have been beautiful to behold had not the

sight cut me to the heart—for I was jealous!

XVIII.

“GO, WOMAN!”

Then followed a silence of a minute or so, during which _She_

appeared, if one might judge from the almost angelic rapture of

her face—for she looked angelic sometimes—to be plunged into a

happy ecstasy. Suddenly, however, a new thought struck her, and

her expression became the very reverse of angelic.

“Almost had I forgotten,” she said, “that woman, Ustane. What is

she to Kallikrates—his servant, or——” and she paused, and her

voice trembled.

I shrugged my shoulders. “I understand that she is wed to him

according to the custom of the Amahagger,” I answered; “but I

know not.”

Her face grew dark as a thunder-cloud. Old as she was, Ayesha had

not outlived jealousy.

“Then there is an end,” she said; “she must die, even now!”

“For what crime?” I asked, horrified. “She is guilty of naught

that thou art not guilty of thyself, oh Ayesha. She loves the

man, and he has been pleased to accept her love: where, then, is

her sin?”

“Truly, oh Holly, thou art foolish,” she answered, almost

petulantly. “Where is her sin? Her sin is that she stands between

me and my desire. Well, I know that I can take him from her—for

dwells there a man upon this earth, oh Holly, who could resist me

if I put out my strength? Men are faithful for so long only as

temptations pass them by. If the temptation be but strong enough,

then will the man yield, for every man, like every rope, hath his

breaking strain, and passion is to men what gold and power are to

women—the weight upon their weakness. Believe me, ill will it go

with mortal woman in that heaven of which thou speakest, if only

the spirits be more fair, for their lords will never turn to look

upon them, and their Heaven will become their Hell. For man can

be bought with woman’s beauty, if it be but beautiful enough; and

woman’s beauty can be ever bought with gold, if only there be

gold enough. So was it in my day, and so it will be to the end of

time. The world is a great mart, my Holly, where all things are

for sale to him who bids the highest in the currency of our

desires.”

These remarks, which were as cynical as might have been expected

from a woman of Ayesha’s age and experience, jarred upon me, and

I answered, testily, that in our heaven there was no marriage or

giving in marriage.

“Else would it not be heaven, dost thou mean?” she put in. “Fie

on thee, Holly, to think so ill of us poor women! Is it, then,

marriage that marks the line between thy heaven and thy hell? but

enough of this. This is no time for disputing and the challenge

of our wits. Why dost thou always dispute? Art thou also a

philosopher of these latter days? As for this woman, she must

die; for, though I can take her lover from her, yet, while she

lived, might he think tenderly of her, and that I cannot away

with. No other woman shall dwell in my Lord’s thoughts; my empire

shall be all my own. She hath had her day, let her be content;

for better is an hour with love than a century of loneliness—now

the night shall swallow her.”

“Nay, nay,” I cried, “it would be a wicked crime; and from a

crime naught comes but what is evil. For thine own sake, do not

this deed.”

“Is it, then, a crime, oh foolish man, to put away that which

stands between us and our ends? Then is our life one long crime,

my Holly, since day by day we destroy that we may live, since in

this world none save the strongest can endure. Those who are weak

must perish; the earth is to the strong, and the fruits thereof.

For every tree that grows a score shall wither, that the strong

one may take their share. We run to place and power over the dead

bodies of those who fail and fall; ay, we win the food we eat

from out of the mouths of starving babes. It is the scheme of

things. Thou sayest, too, that a crime breeds evil, but therein

thou dost lack experience; for out of crimes come many good

things, and out of good grows much evil. The cruel rage of the

tyrant may prove a blessing to the thousands who come after him,

and the sweetheartedness of a holy man may make a nation slaves.

Man doeth this, and doeth that from the good or evil of his

heart; but he knoweth not to what end his moral sense doth prompt

him; for when he striketh he is blind to where the blow shall

fall, nor can he count the airy threads that weave the web of

circumstance. Good and evil, love and hate, night and day, sweet

and bitter, man and woman, heaven above and the earth beneath—all

these things are necessary, one to the other, and who knows the

end of each? I tell thee that there is a hand of fate that twines

them up to bear the burden of its purpose, and all things are

gathered in that great rope to which all things are needful.

Therefore doth it not become us to say this thing is evil and

this good, or the dark is hateful and the light lovely; for to

other eyes than ours the evil may be the good and the darkness

more beautiful than the day, or all alike be fair. Hearest thou,

my Holly?”

I felt it was hopeless to argue against casuistry of this nature,

which, if it were carried to its logical conclusion, would

absolutely destroy all morality, as we understand it. But her

talk gave me a fresh thrill of fear; for what may not be possible

to a being who, unconstrained by human law, is also absolutely

unshackled by a moral sense of right and wrong, which, however

partial and conventional it may be, is yet based, as our

conscience tells us, upon the great wall of individual

responsibility that marks off mankind from the beasts?

But I was deeply anxious to save Ustane, whom I liked and

respected, from the dire fate that overshadowed her at the hands

of her mighty rival. So I made one more appeal.

“Ayesha,” I said, “thou art too subtle for me; but thou thyself

hast told me that each man should be a law unto himself, and

follow the teaching of his heart. Hath thy heart no mercy towards

her whose place thou wouldst take? Bethink thee—as thou

sayest—though to me the thing is incredible—he whom thou desirest

has returned to thee after many ages, and but now thou hast, as

thou sayest also, wrung him from the jaws of death. Wilt thou

celebrate his coming by the murder of one who loved him, and whom

perchance he loved—one, at the least, who saved his life for thee

when the spears of thy slaves would have made an end thereof?

Thou sayest also that in past days thou didst grievously wrong

this man, that with thine own hand thou didst slay him because of

the Egyptian Amenartas whom he loved.”

“How knowest thou that, oh stranger? How knowest thou that name?

I spoke it not to thee,” she broke in with a cry, catching at my

arm.

“Perchance I dreamed it,” I answered; “strange dreams do hover

about these caves of Kôr. It seems that the dream was, indeed, a

shadow of the truth. What came to thee of thy mad crime?—two

thousand years of waiting, was it not? And now wouldst thou

repeat the history? Say what thou wilt, I tell thee that evil

will come of it; for to him who doeth, at the least, good breeds

good and evil evil, even though in after days out of evil cometh

good. Offences must needs come; but woe to him by whom the

offence cometh. So said that Messiah of whom I spoke to thee, and

it was truly said. If thou slayest this innocent woman, I say

unto thee that thou shalt be accursed, and pluck no fruit from

thine ancient tree of love. Also, what thinkest thou? How will

this man take thee red-handed from the slaughter of her who loved

and tended him?”

“As to that,” she answered, “I have already answered thee. Had I

slain thee as well as her, yet should he love me, Holly, because

he could not save himself therefrom any more than thou couldst

save thyself from dying, if by chance I slew thee, oh Holly. And

yet maybe there is truth in what thou dost say; for in some way

it presseth on my mind. If it may be, I will spare this woman;

for have I not told thee that I am not cruel for the sake of

cruelty? I love not to see suffering, or to cause it. Let her

come before me—quick now, before my mood changes,” and she

hastily covered her face with its gauzy wrapping.

Well pleased to have succeeded even to this extent, I passed out

into the passage and called to Ustane, whose white garment I

caught sight of some yards away, huddled up against one of the

earthenware lamps that were placed at intervals along the tunnel.

She rose, and ran towards me.

“Is my lord dead? Oh, say not he is dead,” she cried, lifting her

noble-looking face, all stained as it was with tears, up to me

with an air of infinite beseeching that went straight to my

heart.

“Nay, he lives,” I answered. “_She_ hath saved him. Enter.”

She sighed deeply, entered, and fell upon her hands and knees,

after the custom of the Amahagger people, in the presence of the

dread _She_.

“Stand,” said Ayesha, in her coldest voice, “and come hither.”

Ustane obeyed, standing before her with bowed head.

Then came a pause, which Ayesha broke.

“Who is this man?” she said, pointing to the sleeping form of

Leo.

“The man is my husband,” she answered in a low voice.

“Who gave him to thee for a husband?”

“I took him according to the custom of our country, oh _She_.”

“Thou hast done evil, woman, in taking this man, who is a

stranger. He is not a man of thine own race, and the custom

fails. Listen: perchance thou didst this thing through ignorance,

therefore, woman, do I spare thee, otherwise hadst thou died.

Listen again. Go from hence back to thine own place, and never

dare to speak to or set thine eyes upon this man again. He is not

for thee. Listen a third time. If thou breakest this my law, that

moment thou diest. Go.”

But Ustane did not move.

“Go, woman!”

Then she looked up, and I saw that her face was torn with

passion.

“Nay, oh _She_. I will not go,” she answered in a choked voice:

“the man is my husband, and I love him—I love him, and I will not

leave him. What right hast thou to command me to leave my

husband?”

I saw a little quiver pass down Ayesha’s frame, and shuddered

myself, fearing the worst.

“Be pitiful,” I said in Latin; “it is but Nature working.”

“I am pitiful,” she answered coldly in the same language; “had I

not been pitiful she had been dead even now.” Then, addressing

Ustane: “Woman, I say to thee, go before I destroy thee where

thou art!”

“I will not go! He is mine—mine!” she cried in anguish. “I took

him, and I saved his life! Destroy me, then, if thou hast the

power! I will not give thee my husband—never—never!”

Ayesha made a movement so swift that I could scarcely follow it,

but it seemed to me that she lightly struck the poor girl upon

the head with her hand. I looked at Ustane, and then staggered

back in horror, for there upon her hair, right across her

bronze-like tresses, were three finger-marks _white as snow_. As

for the girl herself, she had put her hands to her head, and was

looking dazed.

“Great heavens!” I said, perfectly aghast at this dreadful

manifestation of human power; but _She_ did but laugh a little.

“Thou thinkest, poor ignorant fool,” she said to the bewildered

woman, “that I have not the power to slay. Stay, there lies a

mirror,” and she pointed to Leo’s round shaving-glass that had

been arranged by Job with other things upon his portmanteau;

“give it to this woman, my Holly, and let her see that which lies

across her hair, and whether or no I have power to slay.”

I picked up the glass, and held it before Ustane’s eyes. She

gazed, then felt at her hair, then gazed again, and then sank

upon the ground with a sort of sob.

“Now, wilt thou go, or must I strike a second time?” asked

Ayesha, in mockery. “Look, I have set my seal upon thee so that I

may know thee till thy hair is all as white as it. If I see thy

face again, be sure, too, that thy bones shall soon be whiter

than my mark upon thy hair.”

Utterly awed and broken down, the poor creature rose, and, marked

with that awful mark, crept from the room, sobbing bitterly.

“Look not so frighted, my Holly,” said Ayesha, when she had gone.

“I tell thee I deal not in magic—there is no such thing. ‘Tis

only a force that thou dost not understand. I marked her to

strike terror to her heart, else must I have slain her. And now I

will bid my servants to bear my Lord Kallikrates to a chamber

near mine own, that I may watch over him, and be ready to greet

him when he wakes; and thither, too, shalt thou come, my Holly,

and the white man, thy servant. But one thing remember at thy

peril. Naught shalt thou say to Kallikrates as to how this woman

went, and as little as may be of me. Now, I have warned thee!”

and she slid away to give her orders, leaving me more absolutely

confounded than ever. Indeed, so bewildered was I, and racked and

torn with such a succession of various emotions, that I began to

think that I must be going mad. However, perhaps fortunately, I

had but little time to reflect, for presently the mutes arrived

to carry the sleeping Leo and our possessions across the central

cave, so for a while all was bustle. Our new rooms were situated

immediately behind what we used to call Ayesha’s boudoir—the

curtained space where I had first seen her. Where she herself

slept I did not then know, but it was somewhere quite close.

That night I passed in Leo’s room, but he slept through it like

the dead, never once stirring. I also slept fairly well, as,

indeed, I needed to do, but my sleep was full of dreams of all

the horrors and wonders I had undergone. Chiefly, however, I was

haunted by that frightful piece of _diablerie_ by which Ayesha

left her finger-marks upon her rival’s hair. There was something

so terrible about her swift, snake-like movement, and the

instantaneous blanching of that threefold line, that, if the

results to Ustane had been much more tremendous, I doubt if they

would have impressed me so deeply. To this day I often dream of

that awful scene, and see the weeping woman, bereaved, and marked

like Cain, cast a last look at her lover, and creep from the

presence of her dread Queen.

Another dream that troubled me originated in the huge pyramid of

bones. I dreamed that they all stood up and marched past me in

thousands and tens of thousands—in squadrons, companies, and

armies—with the sunlight shining through their hollow ribs. On

they rushed across the plain to Kôr, their imperial home; I saw

the drawbridges fall before them, and heard their bones clank

through the brazen gates. On they went, up the splendid streets,

on past fountains, palaces, and temples such as the eye of man

never saw. But there was no man to greet them in the

market-place, and no woman’s face appeared at the windows—only a

bodiless voice went before them, calling: “_Fallen is Imperial

Kôr!—fallen!—fallen! fallen!_” On, right through the city,

marched those gleaming phalanxes, and the rattle of their bony

tread echoed through the silent air as they pressed grimly on.

They passed through the city and clomb the wall, and marched

along the great roadway that was made upon the wall, till at

length they once more reached the drawbridge. Then, as the sun

was sinking, they returned again towards their sepulchre, and

luridly his light shone in the sockets of their empty eyes,

throwing gigantic shadows of their bones, that stretched away,

and crept and crept like huge spiders’ legs as their armies wound

across the plain. Then they came to the cave, and once more one

by one flung themselves in unending files through the hole into

the pit of bones, and I awoke, shuddering, to see _She_, who had

evidently been standing between my couch and Leo’s, glide like a

shadow from the room.

After this I slept again, soundly this time, till morning, when I

awoke much refreshed, and got up. At last the hour drew near at

which, according to Ayesha, Leo was to awake, and with it came

_She_ herself, as usual, veiled.

“Thou shalt see, oh Holly,” she said; “presently shall he awake

in his right mind, the fever having left him.”

Hardly were the words out of her mouth, when Leo turned round and

stretched out his arms, yawned, opened his eyes, and, perceiving

a female form bending over him, threw his arms round her and

kissed her, mistaking her, perhaps, for Ustane. At any rate, he

said, in Arabic, “Hullo, Ustane, why have you tied your head up

like that? Have you got the toothache?” and then, in English, “I

say, I’m awfully hungry. Why, Job, you old son of a gun, where

the deuce have we got to now—eh?”

“I am sure I wish I knew, Mr. Leo,” said Job, edging suspiciously

past Ayesha, whom he still regarded with the utmost disgust and

horror, being by no means sure that she was not an animated

corpse; “but you mustn’t talk, Mr. Leo, you’ve been very ill, and

given us a great deal of hanxiety, and, if this lady,” looking at

Ayesha, “would be so kind as to move, I’ll bring you your soup.”

This turned Leo’s attention to the “lady,” who was standing by in

perfect silence. “Hullo!” he said; “that is not Ustane—where is

Ustane?”

Then, for the first time, Ayesha spoke to him, and her first

words were a lie. “She has gone from hence upon a visit,” she

said; “and, behold, in her place am I here as thine handmaiden.”

Ayesha’s silver notes seemed to puzzle Leo’s half-awakened

intellect, as also did her corpse-like wrappings. However, he

said nothing at the time, but drank off his soup greedily enough,

and then turned over and slept again till the evening. When he

woke for the second time he saw me, and began to question me as

to what had happened, but I had to put him off as best I could

till the morrow, when he awoke almost miraculously better. Then I

told him something of his illness and of my doings, but as Ayesha

was present I could not tell him much except that she was the

Queen of the country, and well disposed towards us, and that it

was her pleasure to go veiled; for, though of course I spoke in

English, I was afraid that she might understand what we were

saying from the expression of our faces, and besides, I

remembered her warning.

On the following day Leo got up almost entirely recovered. The

flesh wound in his side was healed, and his constitution,

naturally a vigorous one, had shaken off the exhaustion

consequent on his terrible fever with a rapidity that I can only

attribute to the effects of the wonderful drug which Ayesha had

given to him, and also to the fact that his illness had been too

short to reduce him very much. With his returning health came

back full recollection of all his adventures up to the time when

he had lost consciousness in the marsh, and of course of Ustane

also, to whom I had discovered he had grown considerably

attached. Indeed, he overwhelmed me with questions about the poor

girl, which I did not dare to answer, for after Leo’s first

awakening _She_ had sent for me, and again warned me solemnly

that I was to reveal nothing of the story to him, delicately

hinting that if I did it would be the worse for me. She also, for

the second time, cautioned me not to tell Leo anything more than

I was obliged about herself, saying that she would reveal herself

to him in her own time.

Indeed, her whole manner changed. After all that I had seen I had

expected that she would take the earliest opportunity of claiming

the man she believed to be her old-world lover, but this, for

some reason of her own, which was at the time quite inscrutable

to me, she did not do. All that she did was to attend to his

wants quietly, and with a humility which was in striking contrast

with her former imperious bearing, addressing him always in a

tone of something very like respect, and keeping him with her as

much as possible. Of course his curiosity was as much excited

about this mysterious woman as my own had been, and he was

particularly anxious to see her face, which I had, without

entering into particulars, told him was as lovely as her form and

voice. This in itself was enough to raise the expectations of any

young man to a dangerous pitch, and, had it not been that he had

not as yet completely shaken off the effects of illness, and was

much troubled in his mind about Ustane, of whose affection and

brave devotion he spoke in touching terms, I have no doubt that

he would have entered into her plans, and fallen in love with her

by anticipation. As it was, however, he was simply wildly

curious, and also, like myself, considerably awed, for, though no

hint had been given to him by Ayesha of her extraordinary age, he

not unnaturally came to identify her with the woman spoken of on

the potsherd. At last, quite driven into a corner by his

continual questions, which he showered on me while he was

dressing on this third morning, I referred him to Ayesha, saying,

with perfect truth, that I did not know where Ustane was.

Accordingly, after Leo had eaten a hearty breakfast, we adjourned

into _She’s_ presence, for her mutes had orders to admit us at

all hours.

She was, as usual, seated in what, for want of a better term, we

called her boudoir, and on the curtains being drawn she rose from

her couch and, stretching out both hands, came forward to greet

us, or rather Leo; for I, as may be imagined, was now quite left

in the cold. It was a pretty sight to see her veiled form gliding

towards the sturdy young Englishman, dressed in his grey flannel

suit; for, though he is half a Greek in blood, Leo is, with the

exception of his hair, one of the most English-looking men I ever

saw. He has nothing of the subtle form or slippery manner of the

modern Greek about him, though I presume that he got his

remarkable personal beauty from his foreign mother, whose

portrait he resembles not a little. He is very tall and

big-chested, and yet not awkward, as so many big men are, and his

head is set upon him in such a fashion as to give him a proud and

vigorous air, which was well translated in his Amahagger name of

the “Lion.”

“Greeting to thee, my young stranger lord,” she said in her

softest voice. “Right glad am I to see thee upon thy feet.

Believe me, had I not saved thee at the last, never wouldst thou

have stood upon those feet again. But the danger is done, and it

shall be my care”—and she flung a world of meaning into the

words—“that it doth return no more.”

Leo bowed to her, and then, in his best Arabic, thanked her for

all her kindness and courtesy in caring for one unknown to her.

“Nay,” she answered softly, “ill could the world spare such a

man. Beauty is too rare upon it. Give me no thanks, who am made

happy by thy coming.”

“Humph! old fellow,” said Leo aside to me in English, “the lady

is very civil. We seem to have tumbled into clover. I hope that

you have made the most of your opportunities. By Jove! what a

pair of arms she has got!”

I nudged him in the ribs to make him keep quiet, for I caught

sight of a gleam from Ayesha’s veiled eyes, which were regarding

me curiously.

“I trust,” went on Ayesha, “that my servants have attended well

upon thee; if there can be comfort in this poor place, be sure it

waits on thee. Is there aught that I can do for thee more?”

“Yes, oh _She_,” answered Leo hastily, “I would fain know whither

the young lady who was looking after me has gone to.”

“Ah,” said Ayesha: “the girl—yes, I saw her. Nay, I know not; she

said that she would go, I know not whither. Perchance she will

return, perchance not. It is wearisome waiting on the sick, and

these savage women are fickle.”

Leo looked both sulky and distressed at this intelligence.

“It’s very odd,” he said to me in English; and then, addressing

_She_, “I cannot understand,” he said; “the young lady and

I—well—in short, we had a regard for each other.”

Ayesha laughed a little very musically, and then turned the

subject.

XIX.

“GIVE ME A BLACK GOAT!”

The conversation after this was of such a desultory order that I do not

quite recollect it. For some reason, perhaps from a desire to keep her

identity and character in reserve, Ayesha did not talk freely, as she

usually did. Presently, however, she informed Leo that she had arranged

a dance that night for our amusement. I was astonished to hear this, as

I fancied that the Amahagger were much too gloomy a folk to indulge in

any such frivolity; but, as will presently more clearly appear, it

turned out that an Amahagger dance has little in common with such

fantastic festivities in other countries, savage or civilised. Then, as

we were about to withdraw, she suggested that Leo might like to see

some of the wonders of the caves, and as he gladly assented thither we

departed, accompanied by Job and Billali. To describe our visit would

only be to repeat a great deal of what I have already said. The tombs

we entered were indeed different, for the whole rock was a honeycomb of

sepulchres,[1] but the contents were nearly always similar. Afterwards

we visited the pyramid of bones that had haunted my dreams on the

previous night, and from thence went down a long passage to one of the

great vaults occupied by the bodies of the poorer citizens of Imperial

Kôr. These bodies were not nearly so well preserved as were those of

the wealthier classes. Many of them had no linen covering on them, also

they were buried from five hundred to one thousand in a single large

vault, the corpses in some instances being thickly piled one upon

another, like a heap of slain.

[1] For a long while it puzzled me to know what could have been done

with the enormous quantities of rock that must have been dug out of

these vast caves; but I afterwards discovered that it was for the most

part built into the walls and palaces of Kôr, and also used to line

the reservoirs and sewers.—L. H. H.

Leo was of course intensely interested in this stupendous and

unequalled sight, which was, indeed, enough to awake all the

imagination a man had in him into the most active life. But to

poor Job it did not prove attractive. His nerves—already

seriously shaken by what he had undergone since we had arrived in

this terrible country—were, as may be imagined, still further

disturbed by the spectacle of these masses of departed humanity,

whereof the forms still remained perfect before his eyes, though

their voices were for ever lost in the eternal silence of the

tomb. Nor was he comforted when old Billali, by way of soothing

his evident agitation, informed him that he should not be

frightened of these dead things, as he would soon be like them

himself.

“There’s a nice thing to say of a man, sir,” he ejaculated, when

I translated this little remark; “but there, what can one expect

of an old man-eating savage? Not but what I dare say he’s right,”

and Job sighed.

When we had finished inspecting the caves, we returned and had

our meal, for it was now past four in the afternoon, and we

all—especially Leo—needed some food and rest. At six o’clock we,

together with Job, waited on Ayesha, who set to work to terrify

our poor servant still further by showing him pictures on the

pool of water in the font-like vessel. She learnt from me that he

was one of seventeen children, and then bid him think of all his

brothers and sisters, or as many of them as he could, gathered

together in his father’s cottage. Then she told him to look in

the water, and there, reflected from its stilly surface, was that

dead scene of many years gone by, as it was recalled to our

retainer’s brain. Some of the faces were clear enough, but some

were mere blurs and splotches, or with one feature grossly

exaggerated; the fact being that, in these instances, Job had

been unable to recall the exact appearances of the individuals,

or remembered them only by a peculiarity of his tribe, and the

water could only reflect what he saw with his mind’s eye. For it

must be remembered that _She’s_ power in this matter was strictly

limited; she could apparently, except in very rare instances,

only photograph upon the water what was actually in the mind of

some one present, and then only by his will. But, if she was

personally acquainted with a locality, she could, as in the case

of ourselves and the whale-boat, throw its reflection upon the

water, and also, it seems, the reflection of anything extraneous

that was passing there at the time. This power, however, did not

extend to the minds of others. For instance, she could show me

the interior of my college chapel, as I remembered it, but not as

it was at the moment of reflection; for, where other people were

concerned, her art was strictly limited to the facts or memories

present to _their_ consciousness at the moment. So much was this

so that when we tried, for her amusement, to show her pictures of

noted buildings, such as St. Paul’s or the Houses of Parliament,

the result was most imperfect; for, of course, though we had a

good general idea of their appearance, we could not recall all

the architectural details, and therefore the minutiæ necessary to

a perfect reflection were wanting. But Job could not be got to

understand this, and, so far from accepting a natural explanation

of the matter, which was after all, though strange enough in all

conscience, nothing more than an instance of glorified and

perfected telepathy, he set the whole thing down as a

manifestation of the blackest magic. I shall never forget the

howl of terror which he uttered when he saw the more or less

perfect portraits of his long-scattered brethren staring at him

from the quiet water, or the merry peal of laughter with which

Ayesha greeted his consternation. As for Leo, he did not

altogether like it either, but ran his fingers through his yellow

curls, and remarked that it gave him the creeps.

After about an hour of this amusement, in the latter part of

which Job did _not_ participate, the mutes by signs indicated

that Billali was waiting for an audience. Accordingly he was told

to “crawl up,” which he did as awkwardly as usual, and announced

that the dance was ready to begin if _She_ and the white

strangers would be pleased to attend. Shortly afterwards we all

rose, and, Ayesha having thrown a dark cloak (the same, by the

way, that she had worn when I saw her cursing by the fire) over

her white wrappings, we started. The dance was to be held in the

open air, on the smooth rocky plateau in front of the great cave,

and thither we made our way. About fifteen paces from the mouth

of the cave we found three chairs placed, and here we sat and

waited, for as yet no dancers were to be seen. The night was

almost, but not quite, dark, the moon not having risen as yet,

which made us wonder how we should be able to see the dancing.

“Thou wilt presently understand,” said Ayesha, with a little

laugh, when Leo asked her; and we certainly did. Scarcely were

the words out of her mouth when from every point we saw dark

forms rushing up, each bearing with him what we at first took to

be an enormous flaming torch. Whatever they were, they were

burning furiously, for the flames stood out a yard or more behind

each bearer. On they came, fifty or more of them, carrying their

flaming burdens and looking like so many devils from hell. Leo

was the first to discover what these burdens were.

“Great heaven!” he said, “they are corpses on fire!”

I stared and stared again—he was perfectly right—the torches that

were to light our entertainment were human mummies from the

caves!

On rushed the bearers of the flaming corpses, and, meeting at a

spot about twenty paces in front of us, built their ghastly

burdens crossways into a huge bonfire. Heavens! how they roared

and flared! No tar barrel could have burnt as those mummies did.

Nor was this all. Suddenly I saw one great fellow seize a flaming

human arm that had fallen from its parent frame, and rush off

into the darkness. Presently he stopped, and a tall streak of

fire shot up into the air, illumining the gloom, and also the

lamp from which it sprang. That lamp was the mummy of a woman

tied to a stout stake let into the rock, and he had fired her

hair. On he went a few paces and touched a second, then a third,

and a fourth, till at last we were surrounded on all three sides

by a great ring of bodies flaring furiously, the material with

which they were preserved having rendered them so inflammable

that the flames would literally spout out of the ears and mouth

in tongues of fire a foot or more in length.

Nero illuminated his gardens with live Christians soaked in tar,

and we were now treated to a similar spectacle, probably for the

first time since his day, only happily our lamps were not living

ones.

But, although this element of horror was fortunately wanting, to

describe the awful and hideous grandeur of the spectacle thus

presented to us is, I feel, so absolutely beyond my poor powers

that I scarcely dare attempt it. To begin with, it appealed to

the moral as well as the physical susceptibilities. There was

something very terrible, and yet very fascinating, about the

employment of the remote dead to illumine the orgies of the

living; in itself the thing was a satire, both on the living and

the dead. Cæsar’s dust—or is it Alexander’s?—may stop a bunghole,

but the functions of these dead Cæsars of the past was to light

up a savage fetish dance. To such base uses may we come, of so

little account may we be in the minds of the eager multitudes

that we shall breed, many of whom, so far from revering our

memory, will live to curse us for begetting them into such a

world of woe.

Then there was the physical side of the spectacle, and a weird

and splendid one it was. Those old citizens of Kôr burnt as, to

judge from their sculptures and inscriptions, they had lived,

very fast, and with the utmost liberality. What is more, there

were plenty of them. As soon as ever a mummy had burnt down to

the ankles, which it did in about twenty minutes, the feet were

kicked away, and another one put in its place. The bonfire was

kept going on the same generous scale, and its flames shot up,

with a hiss and a crackle, twenty or thirty feet into the air,

throwing great flashes of light far out into the gloom, through

which the dark forms of the Amahagger flitted to and fro like

devils replenishing the infernal fires. We all stood and stared

aghast—shocked, and yet fascinated at so strange a spectacle, and

half expecting to see the spirits those flaming forms had once

enclosed come creeping from the shadows to work vengeance on

their desecrators.

“I promised thee a strange sight, my Holly,” laughed Ayesha,

whose nerves alone did not seem to be affected; “and, behold, I

have not failed thee. Also, it hath its lesson. Trust not to the

future, for who knows what the future may bring! Therefore, live

for the day, and endeavour not to escape the dust which seems to

be man’s end. What thinkest thou those long-forgotten nobles and

ladies would have felt had they known that they should one day

flare to light the dance or boil the pot of savages? But see,

here come the dancers; a merry crew—are they not? The stage is

lit—now for the play.”

As she spoke, we perceived two lines of figures, one male and the

other female, to the number of about a hundred, each advancing

round the human bonfire, arrayed only in the usual leopard and

buck skins. They formed up, in perfect silence, in two lines,

facing each other between us and the fire, and then the dance—a

sort of infernal and fiendish cancan—began. To describe it is

quite impossible, but, though there was a good deal of tossing of

legs and double-shuffling, it seemed to our untutored minds to be

more of a play than a dance, and, as usual with this dreadful

people, whose minds seem to have taken their colour from the

caves in which they live, and whose jokes and amusements are

drawn from the inexhaustible stores of preserved mortality with

which they share their homes, the subject appeared to be a most

ghastly one. I know that it represented an attempted murder first

of all, and then the burial alive of the victim and his

struggling from the grave; each act of the abominable drama,

which was carried on in perfect silence, being rounded off and

finished with a furious and most revolting dance round the

supposed victim, who writhed upon the ground in the red light of

the bonfire.

Presently, however, this pleasing piece was interrupted. Suddenly

there was a slight commotion, and a large powerful woman, whom I

had noted as one of the most vigorous of the dancers, came, made

mad and drunken with unholy excitement, bounding and staggering

towards us, shrieking out as she came:—

“I want a Black Goat, I must have a Black Goat, bring me a Black

Goat!” and down she fell upon the rocky floor foaming and

writhing, and shrieking for a Black Goat, about as hideous a

spectacle as can well be conceived.

Instantly most of the dancers came up and got round her, though

some still continued their capers in the background.

“She has got a Devil,” called out one of them. “Run and get a

black goat. There, Devil, keep quiet! keep quiet! You shall have

the goat presently. They have gone to fetch it, Devil.”

“I want a Black Goat, I must have a Black Goat!” shrieked the

foaming rolling creature again.

“All right, Devil, the goat will be here presently; keep quiet,

there’s a good Devil!”

And so on till the goat, taken from a neighbouring kraal, did at

last arrive, being dragged bleating on to the scene by its horns.

“Is it a Black One, is it a Black One?” shrieked the possessed.

“Yes, yes, Devil, as black as night;” then aside, “keep it behind

thee, don’t let the Devil see that it has got a white spot on its

rump and another on its belly. In one minute, Devil. There, cut

his throat quick. Where is the saucer?”

“The Goat! the Goat! the Goat! Give me the blood of my black

goat! I must have it, don’t you see I must have it? Oh! oh! oh!

give me the blood of the goat.”

At this moment a terrified _bah!_ announced that the poor goat

had been sacrificed, and the next minute a woman ran up with a

saucer full of blood. This the possessed creature, who was then

raving and foaming her wildest, seized and _drank_, and was

instantly recovered, and without a trace of hysteria, or fits, or

being possessed, or whatever dreadful thing it was she was

suffering from. She stretched her arms, smiled faintly, and

walked quietly back to the dancers, who presently withdrew in a

double line as they had come, leaving the space between us and

the bonfire deserted.

I thought that the entertainment was now over, and, feeling

rather queer, was about to ask _She_ if we could rise, when

suddenly what at first I took to be a baboon came hopping round

the fire, and was instantly met upon the other side by a lion, or

rather a human being dressed in a lion’s skin. Then came a goat,

then a man wrapped in an ox’s hide, with the horns wobbling about

in a ludicrous way. After him followed a blesbok, then an impala,

then a koodoo, then more goats, and many other animals, including

a girl sewn up in the shining scaly hide of a boa-constrictor,

several yards of which trailed along the ground behind her. When

all the beasts had collected they began to dance about in a

lumbering, unnatural fashion, and to imitate the sounds produced

by the respective animals they represented, till the whole air

was alive with roars and bleating and the hissing of snakes. This

went on for a long time, till, getting tired of the pantomime, I

asked Ayesha if there would be any objection to Leo and myself

walking round to inspect the human torches, and, as she had

nothing to say against it, we started, striking round to the

left. After looking at one or two of the flaming bodies, we were

about to return, thoroughly disgusted with the grotesque

weirdness of the spectacle, when our attention was attracted by

one of the dancers, a particularly active leopard, that had

separated itself from its fellow-beasts, and was whisking about

in our immediate neighbourhood, but gradually drawing into a spot

where the shadow was darkest, equidistant between two of the

flaming mummies. Drawn by curiosity, we followed it, when

suddenly it darted past us into the shadows beyond, and as it did

so erected itself and whispered, “Come,” in a voice that we both

recognised as that of Ustane. Without waiting to consult me Leo

turned and followed her into the outer darkness, and I, feeling

sick enough at heart, went after them. The leopard crawled on for

about fifty paces—a sufficient distance to be quite beyond the

light of the fire and torches—and then Leo came up with it, or,

rather, with Ustane.

“Oh, my lord,” I heard her whisper, “so I have found thee!

Listen. I am in peril of my life from ‘_She-who-must-be-obeyed_.’

Surely the Baboon has told thee how she drove me from thee? I

love thee, my lord, and thou art mine according to the custom of

the country. I saved thy life! My Lion, wilt thou cast me off

now?”

“Of course not,” ejaculated Leo; “I have been wondering whither

thou hadst gone. Let us go and explain matters to the Queen.”

“Nay, nay, she would slay us. Thou knowest not her power—the

Baboon there, he knoweth, for he saw. Nay, there is but one way:

if thou wilt cleave to me, thou must flee with me across the

marshes even now, and then perchance we may escape.”

“For Heaven’s sake, Leo,” I began, but she broke in—

“Nay, listen not to him. Swift—be swift—death is in the air we

breathe. Even now, mayhap, _She_ heareth us,” and without more

ado she proceeded to back her arguments by throwing herself into

his arms. As she did so the leopard’s head slipped from her hair,

and I saw the three white finger-marks upon it, gleaming faintly

in the starlight. Once more realising the desperate nature of the

position, I was about to interpose, for I knew that Leo was not

too strong-minded where women were concerned, when—oh! horror!—I

heard a little silvery laugh behind me. I turned round, and there

was _She_ herself, and with her Billali and two male mutes. I

gasped and nearly sank to the ground, for I knew that such a

situation must result in some dreadful tragedy, of which it

seemed exceedingly probable to me that I should be the first

victim. As for Ustane, she untwined her arms and covered her eyes

with her hands, while Leo, not knowing the full terror of the

position, merely covered up, and looked as foolish as a man

caught in such a trap would naturally do.

XX.

TRIUMPH

Then followed a moment of the most painful silence that I ever

endured. It was broken by Ayesha, who addressed herself to Leo.

“Nay, now, my lord and guest,” she said in her softest tones,

which yet had the ring of steel about them, “look not so bashful.

Surely the sight was a pretty one—the leopard and the lion!”

“Oh, hang it all!” said Leo in English.

“And thou, Ustane,” she went on, “surely I should have passed

thee by, had not the light fallen on the white across thy hair,”

and she pointed to the bright edge of the rising moon which was

now appearing above the horizon. “Well! well! the dance is

done—see, the tapers have burnt down, and all things end in

silence and in ashes. So thou thoughtest it a fit time for love,

Ustane, my servant—and I, dreaming not that I could be disobeyed,

thought thee already far away.”

“Play not with me,” moaned the wretched woman; “slay me, and let

there be an end.”

“Nay, why? It is not well to go so swift from the hot lips of

love down to the cold mouth of the grave,” and she made a motion

to the mutes, who instantly stepped up and caught the girl by

either arm. With an oath Leo sprang upon the nearest, and hurled

him to the ground, and then stood over him with his face set, and

his fist ready.

Again Ayesha laughed. “It was well thrown, my guest; thou hast a

strong arm for one who so late was sick. But now out of thy

courtesy I pray thee let that man live and do my bidding. He

shall not harm the girl; the night air grows chill, and I would

welcome her in mine own place. Surely she whom thou dost favour

shall be favoured of me also.”

I took Leo by the arm, and pulled him from the prostrate mute,

and he, half bewildered, obeyed the pressure. Then we all set out

for the cave across the plateau, where a pile of white human

ashes was all that remained of the fire that had lit the dancing,

for the dancers had vanished.

In due course we gained Ayesha’s boudoir—all too soon, it seemed

to me, having a sad presage of what was to come lying heavy on my

heart.

Ayesha seated herself upon her cushions, and, having dismissed

Job and Billali, by signs bade the mutes tend the lamps and

retire—all save one girl, who was her favourite personal

attendant. We three remained standing, the unfortunate Ustane a

little to the left of the rest of us.

“Now, oh Holly,” Ayesha began, “how came it that thou who didst

hear my words bidding this evil-doer”—and she pointed to

Ustane—“to go hence—thou at whose prayer I did weakly spare her

life—how came it, I say, that thou wast a sharer in what I saw

to-night? Answer, and for thine own sake, I say, speak all the

truth, for I am not minded to hear lies upon this matter!”

“It was by accident, oh Queen,” I answered. “I knew naught of

it.”

“I do believe thee, oh Holly,” she answered coldly, “and well it

is for thee that I do—then does the whole guilt rest upon her.”

“I do not find any guilt therein,” broke in Leo. “She is not

another man’s wife, and it appears that she has married me

according to the custom of this awful place, so who is the worse?

Any way, madam,” he went on, “whatever she has done I have done

too, so if she is to be punished let me be punished also; and I

tell thee,” he went on, working himself up into a fury, “that if

thou biddest one of those deaf and dumb villains to touch her

again I will tear him to pieces!” And he looked as though he

meant it.

Ayesha listened in icy silence, and made no remark. When he had

finished, however, she addressed Ustane.

“Hast thou aught to say, woman? Thou silly straw, thou feather,

who didst think to float towards thy passion’s petty ends, even

against the great wind of my will! Tell me, for I fain would

understand. Why didst thou this thing?”

And then I think I saw the most tremendous exhibition of moral

courage and intrepidity that it is possible to conceive. For the

poor doomed girl, knowing what she had to expect at the hands of

her terrible Queen, knowing, too, from bitter experience, how

great was her adversary’s power, yet gathered herself together,

and out of the very depths of her despair drew materials to defy

her.

“I did it, oh _She_,” she answered, drawing herself up to the

full of her stately height, and throwing back the panther skin

from her head, “because my love is stronger than the grave. I did

it because my life without this man whom my heart chose would be

but a living death. Therefore did I risk my life, and, now that I

know that it is forfeit to thine anger, yet am I glad that I did

risk it, and pay it away in the risking, ay, because he embraced

me once, and told me that he loved me yet.”

Here Ayesha half rose from her couch, and then sank down again.

“I have no magic,” went on Ustane, her rich voice ringing strong

and full, “and I am not a Queen, nor do I live for ever, but a

woman’s heart is heavy to sink through waters, however deep, oh

Queen! and a woman’s eyes are quick to see—even through thy veil,

oh Queen!

“Listen: I know it, thou dost love this man thyself, and

therefore wouldst thou destroy me who stand across thy path. Ay,

I die—I die, and go into the darkness, nor know I whither I go.

But this I know. There is a light shining in my breast, and by

that light, as by a lamp, I see the truth, and the future that I

shall not share unroll itself before me like a scroll. When first

I knew my lord,” and she pointed to Leo, “I knew also that death

would be the bridal gift he gave me—it rushed upon me of a

sudden, but I turned not back, being ready to pay the price, and,

behold, death is here! And now, even as I knew that, so do I,

standing on the steps of doom, know that thou shalt not reap the

profit of thy crime. Mine he is, and, though thy beauty shine

like a sun among the stars, mine shall he remain for thee. Never

here in this life shall he look thee in the eyes and call thee

spouse. Thou too art doomed, I see”—and her voice rang like the

cry of an inspired prophetess; “ah, I see——”

Then came an answering cry of mingled rage and terror. I turned

my head. Ayesha had risen, and was standing with her outstretched

hand pointing at Ustane, who had suddenly stopped speaking. I

gazed at the poor woman, and as I gazed there came upon her face

that same woeful, fixed expression of terror that I had seen once

before when she had broken out into her wild chant. Her eyes grew

large, her nostrils dilated, and her lips blanched.

Ayesha said nothing, she made no sound, she only drew herself up,

stretched out her arm, and, her tall veiled frame quivering like

an aspen leaf, appeared to look fixedly at her victim. Even as

she did so Ustane put her hands to her head, uttered one piercing

scream, turned round twice, and then fell backwards with a

thud—prone upon the floor. Both Leo and myself rushed to her—she

was stone dead—blasted into death by some mysterious electric

agency or overwhelming will-force whereof the dread _She_ had

command.

For a moment Leo did not quite realise what had happened. But,

when he did, his face was awful to see. With a savage oath he

rose from beside the corpse, and, turning, literally sprang at

Ayesha. But she was watching, and, seeing him come, stretched out

her hand again, and he went staggering back towards me, and would

have fallen, had I not caught him. Afterwards he told me that he

felt as though he had suddenly received a violent blow in the

chest, and, what is more, utterly cowed, as if all the manhood

had been taken out of him.

Then Ayesha spoke. “Forgive me, my guest,” she said softly,

addressing him, “if I have shocked thee with my justice.”

“Forgive thee, thou fiend,” roared poor Leo, wringing his hands

in his rage and grief. “Forgive thee, thou murderess! By Heaven,

I will kill thee if I can!”

“Nay, nay,” she answered in the same soft voice, “thou dost not

understand—the time has come for thee to learn. _Thou_ art my

love, my Kallikrates, my Beautiful, my Strong! For two thousand

years, Kallikrates, have I waited for _thee_, and now at length

thou hast come back to me; and as for this woman,” pointing to

the corpse, “she stood between me and thee, and therefore have I

laid her in the dust, Kallikrates.”

“It is an accursed lie!” said Leo. “My name is not Kallikrates! I

am Leo Vincey; my ancestor was Kallikrates—at least, I believe he

was.”

“Ah, thou sayest it—thine ancestor was Kallikrates, and thou,

even thou, art Kallikrates reborn, come back—and mine own dear

lord!”

“I am not Kallikrates, and, as for being thy lord, or having

aught to do with thee, I had sooner be the lord of a fiend from

hell, for she would be better than thou.”

“Sayest thou so—sayest thou so, Kallikrates? Nay, but thou hast

not seen me for so long a time that no memory remains. Yet am I

very fair, Kallikrates!”

“I hate thee, murderess, and I have no wish to see thee. What is

it to me how fair thou art? I hate thee, I say.”

“Yet within a very little space shalt thou creep to my knee, and

swear that thou dost love me,” answered Ayesha, with a sweet,

mocking laugh. “Come, there is no time like the present time,

here before this dead girl who loved thee, let us put it to the

proof.

“Look now on me, Kallikrates!” and with a sudden motion she shook

her gauzy covering from her, and stood forth in her low kirtle

and her snaky zone, in her glorious radiant beauty and her

imperial grace, rising from her wrappings, as it were, like Venus

from the wave, or Galatea from her marble, or a beatified spirit

from the tomb. She stood forth, and fixed her deep and glowing

eyes upon Leo’s eyes, and I saw his clenched fists unclasp, and

his set and quivering features relax beneath her gaze. I saw his

wonder and astonishment grow into admiration, and then into

fascination, and the more he struggled the more I saw the power

of her dread beauty fasten on him and take possession of his

senses, drugging them, and drawing the heart out of him. Did I

not know the process? Had not I, who was twice his age, gone

through it myself? Was I not going through it afresh even then,

although her sweet and passionate gaze was not for me? Yes, alas,

I was! Alas, that I should have to confess that at that very

moment I was rent by mad and furious jealousy. I could have flown

at him, shame upon me! The woman had confounded and almost

destroyed my moral sense, as she was bound to confound all who

looked upon her superhuman loveliness. But—I do not quite know

how—I got the better of myself, and once more turned to see the

climax of the tragedy.

“Oh, great Heaven!” gasped Leo, “art thou a woman?”

“A woman in truth—in very truth—and thine own spouse,

Kallikrates!” she answered, stretching out her rounded ivory arms

towards him, and smiling, ah, so sweetly!

He looked and looked, and slowly I perceived that he was drawing

nearer to her. Suddenly his eye fell upon the corpse of poor

Ustane, and he shuddered and stopped.

“How can I?” he said hoarsely. “Thou art a murderess; she loved

me.”

Observe, he was already forgetting that he had loved her.

“It is naught,” she murmured, and her voice sounded sweet as the

night-wind passing through the trees. “It is naught at all. If I

have sinned, let my beauty answer for my sin. If I have sinned,

it is for love of thee: let my sin, therefore, be put away and

forgotten;” and once more she stretched out her arms and

whispered “_Come_,” and then in another few seconds it was all

over.

I saw him struggle—I saw him even turn to fly; but her eyes drew

him more strongly than iron bonds, and the magic of her beauty

and concentrated will and passion entered into him and

overpowered him—ay, even there, in the presence of the body of

the woman who had loved him well enough to die for him. It sounds

horrible and wicked enough, but he should not be too greatly

blamed, and be sure his sin will find him out. The temptress who

drew him into evil was more than human, and her beauty was

greater than the loveliness of the daughters of men.

I looked up again and now her perfect form lay in his arms, and

her lips were pressed against his own; and thus, with the corpse

of his dead love for an altar, did Leo Vincey plight his troth to

her red-handed murderess—plight it for ever and a day. For those

who sell themselves into a like dominion, paying down the price

of their own honour, and throwing their soul into the balance to

sink the scale to the level of their lusts, can hope for no

deliverance here or hereafter. As they have sown, so shall they

reap and reap, even when the poppy flowers of passion have

withered in their hands, and their harvest is but bitter tares,

garnered in satiety.

Suddenly, with a snake-like motion, she seemed to slip from his

embrace, and then again broke out into her low laugh of

triumphant mockery.

“Did I not tell thee that within a little space thou wouldst

creep to my knee, oh Kallikrates? And surely the space has not

been a great one!”

Leo groaned in shame and misery; for though he was overcome and

stricken down, he was not so lost as to be unaware of the depth

of the degradation to which he had sunk. On the contrary, his

better nature rose up in arms against his fallen self, as I saw

clearly enough later on.

Ayesha laughed again, and then quickly veiled herself, and made a

sign to the girl mute, who had been watching the whole scene with

curious startled eyes. The girl left, and presently returned,

followed by two male mutes, to whom the Queen made another sign.

Thereon they all three seized the body of poor Ustane by the

arms, and dragged it heavily down the cavern and away through the

curtains at the end. Leo watched it for a little while, and then

covered his eyes with his hand, and it too, to my excited fancy,

seemed to watch us as it went.

“There passes the dead past,” said Ayesha, solemnly, as the curtains

shook and fell back into their places, when the ghastly procession had

vanished behind them. And then, with one of those extraordinary

transitions of which I have already spoken, she again threw off her

veil, and broke out, after the ancient and poetic fashion of the

dwellers in Arabia,[1] into a pæan of triumph or epithalamium, which,

wild and beautiful as it was, is exceedingly difficult to render into

English, and ought by rights to be sung to the music of a cantata,

rather than written and read. It was divided into two parts—one

descriptive or definitive, and the other personal; and, as nearly as I

can remember, ran as follows:—

[1] Among the ancient Arabians the power of poetic declamation, either

in verse or prose, was held in the highest honour and esteem, and he

who excelled in it was known as “Khâteb,” or Orator. Every year a

general assembly was held at which the rival poets repeated their

compositions, when those poems which were judged to be the best were,

so soon as the knowledge and the art of writing became general,

inscribed on silk in letters of gold, and publicly exhibited, being

known as “Al Modhahabât,” or golden verses. In the poem given above by

Mr. Holly, Ayesha evidently followed the traditional poetic manner of

her people, which was to embody their thoughts in a series of somewhat

disconnected sentences, each remarkable for its beauty and the grace

of its expression. —Editor.

Love is like a flower in the desert.

It is like the aloe of Arabia that blooms but once and dies; it

blooms in the salt emptiness of Life, and the brightness of its

beauty is set upon the waste as a star is set upon a storm.

It hath the sun above that is the Spirit, and above it blows the

air of its divinity.

At the echoing of a step, Love blooms, I say; I say Love blooms,

and bends her beauty down to him who passeth by.

He plucketh it, yea, he plucketh the red cup that is full of

honey, and beareth it away; away across the desert, away till the

flower be withered, away till the desert be done.

There is only one perfect flower in the wilderness of Life.

That flower is Love!

There is only one fixed star in the midsts of our wandering.

That star is Love!

There is only one hope in our despairing night.

That hope is Love!

All else is false. All else is shadow moving upon water. All else

is wind and vanity.

Who shall say what is the weight or the measure of Love?

It is born of the flesh, it dwelleth in the spirit. From each

doth it draw its comfort.

For beauty it is as a star.

Many are its shapes, but all are beautiful, and none know where

the star rose, or the horizon where it shall set.

Then, turning to Leo, and laying her hand upon his shoulder, she

went on in a fuller and more triumphant tone, speaking in

balanced sentences that gradually grew and swelled from idealised

prose into pure and majestic verse:—

Long have I loved thee, oh, my love; yet has my love not

lessened.

Long have I waited for thee, and behold my reward is at hand—is

here!

Far away I saw thee once, and thou wast taken from me.

Then in a grave sowed I the seed of patience, and shone upon it

with the sun of hope, and watered it with tears of repentance,

and breathed on it with the breath of my knowledge. And now, lo!

it hath sprung up, and borne fruit. Lo! out of the grave hath it

sprung. Yea, from among the dry bones and ashes of the dead.

I have waited and my reward is with me.

I have overcome Death, and Death brought back to me him that was

dead.

Therefore do I rejoice, for fair is the future.

Green are the paths that we shall tread across the everlasting

meadows.

The hour is at hand. Night hath fled away into the valleys.

The dawn kisseth the mountain tops.

Soft shall we live, my love, and easy shall we go.

Crowned shall we be with the diadem of Kings.

Worshipping and wonder struck all peoples of the world, Blinded

shall fall before our beauty and might.

From time unto times shall our greatness thunder on, Rolling like

a chariot through the dust of endless days.

Laughing shall we speed in our victory and pomp, Laughing like

the Daylight as he leaps along the hills.

Onward, still triumphant to a triumph ever new!

Onward, in our power to a power unattained!

Onward, never weary, clad with splendour for a robe!

Till accomplished be our fate, and the night is rushing down.

She paused in her strange and most thrilling allegorical chant,

of which I am, unfortunately, only able to give the burden, and

that feebly enough, and then said—

“Perchance thou dost not believe my word, Kallikrates—perchance

thou thinkest that I do delude thee, and that I have not lived

these many years, and that thou hast not been born again to me.

Nay, look not so—put away that pale cast of doubt, for oh be sure

herein can error find no foothold! Sooner shall the suns forget

their course and the swallow miss her nest, than my soul shall

swear a lie and be led astray from thee, Kallikrates. Blind me,

take away mine eyes, and let the darkness utterly fence me in,

and still mine ears would catch the tone of thy unforgotten

voice, striking more loud against the portals of my sense than

can the call of brazen-throated clarions:—stop up mine hearing

also, and let a thousand touch me on the brow, and I would name

thee out of all:—yea, rob me of every sense, and see me stand

deaf and blind, and dumb, and with nerves that cannot weigh the

value of a touch, yet would my spirit leap within me like a

quickening child and cry unto my heart, behold Kallikrates!

behold, thou watcher, the watches of thy night are ended! behold

thou who seekest in the night season, thy morning Star ariseth.”

She paused awhile and then continued, “But stay, if thy heart is

yet hardened against the mighty truth and thou dost require a

further pledge of that which thou dost find too deep to

understand, even now shall it be given to thee, and to thee also,

oh my Holly. Bear each one of you a lamp, and follow after me

whither I shall lead you.”

Without stopping to think—indeed, speaking for myself, I had

almost abandoned the function in circumstances under which to

think seemed to be absolutely useless, since thought fell hourly

helpless against a black wall of wonder—we took the lamps and

followed her. Going to the end of her “boudoir,” she raised a

curtain and revealed a little stair of the sort that is so common

in these dim caves of Kôr. As we hurried down the stair I

observed that the steps were worn in the centre to such an extent

that some of them had been reduced from seven and a half inches,

at which I guessed their original height, to about three and a

half. Now, all the other steps that I had seen in the caves were

practically unworn, as was to be expected, seeing that the only

traffic which ever passed upon them was that of those who bore a

fresh burden to the tomb. Therefore this fact struck my notice

with that curious force with which little things do strike us

when our minds are absolutely overwhelmed by a sudden rush of

powerful sensations; beaten flat, as it were, like a sea beneath

the first burst of a hurricane, so that every little object on

the surface starts into an unnatural prominence.

At the bottom of the staircase I stood and stared at the worn

steps, and Ayesha, turning, saw me.

“Wonderest thou whose are the feet that have worn away the rock,

my Holly?” she asked. “They are mine—even mine own light feet! I

can remember when those stairs were fresh and level, but for two

thousand years and more have I gone down hither day by day, and

see, my sandals have worn out the solid rock!”

I made no answer, but I do not think that anything that I had

heard or seen brought home to my limited understanding so clear a

sense of this being’s overwhelming antiquity as that hard rock

hollowed out by her soft white feet. How many hundreds of

thousands of times must she have passed up and down that stair to

bring about such a result?

The stair led to a tunnel, and a few paces down the tunnel was

one of the usual curtain-hung doorways, a glance at which told me

that it was the same where I had been a witness of that terrible

scene by the leaping flame. I recognised the pattern of the

curtain, and the sight of it brought the whole event vividly

before my eyes, and made me tremble even at its memory. Ayesha

entered the tomb (for it was a tomb), and we followed her—I, for

one, rejoicing that the mystery of the place was about to be

cleared up, and yet afraid to face its solution.

XXI.

THE DEAD AND LIVING MEET

“See now the place where I have slept for these two thousand

years,” said Ayesha, taking the lamp from Leo’s hand and holding

it above her head. Its rays fell upon a little hollow in the

floor, where I had seen the leaping flame, but the fire was out

now. They fell upon the white form stretched there beneath its

wrappings upon its bed of stone, upon the fretted carving of the

tomb, and upon another shelf of stone opposite the one on which

the body lay, and separated from it by the breadth of the cave.

“Here,” went on Ayesha, laying her hand upon the rock—“here have

I slept night by night for all these generations, with but a

cloak to cover me. It did not become me that I should lie soft

when my spouse yonder,” and she pointed to the rigid form, “lay

stiff in death. Here night by night have I slept in his cold

company—till, thou seest, this thick slab, like the stairs down

which we passed, has worn thin with the tossing of my form—so

faithful have I been to thee even in thy space of sleep,

Kallikrates. And now, mine own, thou shalt see a wonderful

thing—living, thou shalt behold thyself dead—for well have I

tended thee during all these years, Kallikrates. Art thou

prepared?”

We made no answer, but gazed at each other with frightened eyes,

the whole scene was so dreadful and so solemn. Ayesha advanced,

and laid her hand upon the corner of the shroud, and once more

spoke.

“Be not affrighted,” she said; “though the thing seem wonderful

to thee—all we who live have thus lived before; nor is the very

shape that holds us a stranger to the sun! Only we know it not,

because memory writes no record, and earth hath gathered in the

earth she lent us, for none have saved our glory from the grave.

But I, by my arts and by the arts of those dead men of Kôr which

I have learned, have held thee back, oh Kallikrates, from the

dust, that the waxen stamp of beauty on thy face should ever rest

before mine eye. ‘Twas a mask that memory might fill, serving to

fashion out thy presence from the past, and give it strength to

wander in the habitations of my thought, clad in a mummery of

life that stayed my appetite with visions of dead days.

“Behold now, let the Dead and Living meet! Across the gulf of

Time they still are one. Time hath no power against Identity,

though sleep the merciful hath blotted out the tablets of our

mind, and with oblivion sealed the sorrows that else would hound

us from life to life, stuffing the brain with gathered griefs

till it burst in the madness of uttermost despair. Still are they

one, for the wrappings of our sleep shall roll away as

thunder-clouds before the wind; the frozen voice of the past

shall melt in music like mountain snows beneath the sun; and the

weeping and the laughter of the lost hours shall be heard once

more most sweetly echoing up the cliffs of immeasurable time.

“Ay, the sleep shall roll away, and the voices shall be heard,

when down the completed chain, whereof our each existence is a

link, the lightning of the Spirit hath passed to work out the

purpose of our being; quickening and fusing those separated days

of life, and shaping them to a staff whereon we may safely lean

as we wend to our appointed fate.

“Therefore, have no fear, Kallikrates, when thou—living, and but

lately born—shalt look upon thine own departed self, who breathed

and died so long ago. I do but turn one page in thy Book of

Being, and show thee what is writ thereon.

“_Behold!_”

With a sudden motion she drew the shroud from the cold form, and

let the lamplight play upon it. I looked, and then shrank back

terrified; since, say what she might in explanation, the sight

was an uncanny one—for her explanations were beyond the grasp of

our finite minds, and when they were stripped from the mists of

vague esoteric philosophy, and brought into conflict with the

cold and horrifying fact, did not do much to break its force. For

there, stretched upon the stone bier before us, robed in white

and perfectly preserved, was what appeared to be the body of Leo

Vincey. I stared from Leo, standing _there_ alive, to Leo lying

_there_ dead, and could see no difference; except, perhaps, that

the body on the bier looked older. Feature for feature they were

the same, even down to the crop of little golden curls, which was

Leo’s most uncommon beauty. It even seemed to me, as I looked,

that the expression on the dead man’s face resembled that which I

had sometimes seen upon Leo’s when he was plunged into profound

sleep. I can only sum up the closeness of the resemblance by

saying that I never saw twins so exactly similar as that dead and

living pair.

I turned to see what effect was produced upon Leo by the sight of

his dead self, and found it to be one of partial stupefaction. He

stood for two or three minutes staring, and said nothing, and

when at last he spoke it was only to ejaculate—

“Cover it up, and take me away.”

“Nay, wait, Kallikrates,” said Ayesha, who, standing with the

lamp raised above her head, flooding with its light her own rich

beauty and the cold wonder of the death-clothed form upon the

bier, resembled an inspired Sibyl rather than a woman, as she

rolled out her majestic sentences with a grandeur and a freedom

of utterance which I am, alas! quite unable to reproduce.

“Wait, I would show thee something, that no tittle of my crime

may be hidden from thee. Do thou, oh Holly, open the garment on

the breast of the dead Kallikrates, for perchance my lord may

fear to touch it himself.”

I obeyed with trembling hands. It seemed a desecration and an

unhallowed thing to touch that sleeping image of the live man by

my side. Presently his broad chest was bare, and there upon it,

right over the heart, was a wound, evidently inflicted with a

spear.

“Thou seest, Kallikrates,” she said. “Know then that it was _I_

who slew thee: in the Place of Life _I_ gave thee death. I slew

thee because of the Egyptian Amenartas, whom thou didst love, for

by her wiles she held thy heart, and her I could not smite as but

now I smote that woman, for she was too strong for me. In my

haste and bitter anger I slew thee, and now for all these days

have I lamented thee, and waited for thy coming. And thou hast

come, and none can stand between thee and me, and of a truth now

for death I will give thee life—not life eternal, for that none

can give, but life and youth that shall endure for thousands upon

thousands of years, and with it pomp, and power, and wealth, and

all things that are good and beautiful, such as have been to no

man before thee, nor shall be to any man who comes after. And now

one thing more, and thou shalt rest and make ready for the day of

thy new birth. Thou seest this body, which was thine own. For all

these centuries it hath been my cold comfort and my companion,

but now I need it no more, for I have thy living presence, and it

can but serve to stir up memories of that which I would fain

forget. Let it therefore go back to the dust from which I held

it.

“Behold! I have prepared against this happy hour!” And going to

the other shelf or stone ledge, which she said had served her for

a bed, she took from it a large vitrified double-handed vase, the

mouth of which was tied up with a bladder. This she loosed, and

then, having bent down and gently kissed the white forehead of

the dead man, she undid the vase, and sprinkled its contents

carefully over the form, taking, I observed, the greatest

precautions against any drop of them touching us or herself, and

then poured out what remained of the liquid upon the chest and

head. Instantly a dense vapour arose, and the cave was filled

with choking fumes that prevented us from seeing anything while

the deadly acid (for I presume it was some tremendous preparation

of that sort) did its work. From the spot where the body lay came

a fierce fizzing and cracking sound, which ceased, however,

before the fumes had cleared away. At last they were all gone,

except a little cloud that still hung over the corpse. In a

couple of minutes more this too had vanished, and, wonderful as

it may seem, it is a fact that on the stone bench that had

supported the mortal remains of the ancient Kallikrates for so

many centuries there was now nothing to be seen but a few

handfuls of smoking white powder. The acid had utterly destroyed

the body, and even in places eaten into the stone. Ayesha stooped

down, and, taking a handful of this powder in her grasp, threw it

into the air, saying at the same time, in a voice of calm

solemnity—

“Dust to dust!—the past to the past!—the dead to the

dead!—Kallikrates is dead, and is born again!”

The ashes floated noiselessly to the rocky floor, and we stood in

awed silence and watched them fall, too overcome for words.

“Now leave me,” she said, “and sleep if ye may. I must watch and

think, for to-morrow night we go hence, and the time is long

since I trod the path that we must follow.”

Accordingly we bowed, and left her.

As we passed to our own apartment I peeped into Job’s sleeping

place, to see how he fared, for he had gone away just before our

interview with the murdered Ustane, quite prostrated by the

terrors of the Amahagger festivity. He was sleeping soundly, good

honest fellow that he was, and I rejoiced to think that his

nerves, which, like those of most uneducated people, were far

from strong, had been spared the closing scenes of this dreadful

day. Then we entered our own chamber, and here at last poor Leo,

who, ever since he had looked upon that frozen image of his

living self, had been in a state not far removed from

stupefaction, burst out into a torrent of grief. Now that he was

no longer in the presence of the dread _She_, his sense of the

awfulness of all that had happened, and more especially of the

wicked murder of Ustane, who was bound to him by ties so close,

broke upon him like a storm, and lashed him into an agony of

remorse and terror which was painful to witness. He cursed

himself—he cursed the hour when we had first seen the writing on

the sherd, which was being so mysteriously verified, and bitterly

he cursed his own weakness. Ayesha he dared not curse—who dared

speak evil of such a woman, whose consciousness, for aught we

knew, was watching us at the very moment?

“What am I to do, old fellow?” he groaned, resting his head

against my shoulder in the extremity of his grief. “I let her be

killed—not that I could help that, but within five minutes I was

kissing her murderess over her body. I am a degraded brute, but I

cannot resist that” (and here his voice sank)—“that awful

sorceress. I know I shall do it again to-morrow; I know that I am

in her power for always; if I never saw her again I should never

think of anybody else during all my life; I must follow her as a

needle follows a magnet; I would not go away now if I could; I

could not leave her, my legs would not carry me, but my mind is

still clear enough, and in my mind I hate her—at least, I think

so. It is all so horrible; and that—that body! What can I make of

it? It was _I_! I am sold into bondage, old fellow, and she will

take my soul as the price of herself!”

Then, for the first time, I told him that I was in a but very

little better position; and I am bound to say that,

notwithstanding his own infatuation, he had the decency to

sympathise with me. Perhaps he did not think it worth while being

jealous, realising that he had no cause so far as the lady was

concerned. I went on to suggest that we should try to run away,

but we soon rejected the project as futile, and, to be perfectly

honest, I do not believe that either of us would really have left

Ayesha even if some superior power had suddenly offered to convey

us from these gloomy caves and set us down in Cambridge. We could

no more have left her than a moth can leave the light that

destroys it. We were like confirmed opium-eaters: in our moments

of reason we well knew the deadly nature of our pursuit, but we

certainly were not prepared to abandon its terrible delights.

No man who once had seen _She_ unveiled, and heard the music of

her voice, and drunk in the bitter wisdom of her words, would

willingly give up the sight for a whole sea of placid joys. How

much more, then, was this likely to be so when, as in Leo’s case,

to put myself out of the question, this extraordinary creature

declared her utter and absolute devotion, and gave what appeared

to be proofs of its having lasted for some two thousand years?

No doubt she was a wicked person, and no doubt she had murdered

Ustane when she stood in her path, but then she was very

faithful, and by a law of nature man is apt to think but lightly

of a woman’s crimes, especially if that woman be beautiful, and

the crime be committed for the love of him.

And then, for the rest, when had such a chance ever come to a man

before as that which now lay in Leo’s hand? True, in uniting himself to

this dread woman, he would place his life under the influence of a

mysterious creature of evil tendencies,[1] but then that would be

likely enough to happen to him in any ordinary marriage. On the other

hand, however, no ordinary marriage could bring him such awful

beauty—for awful is the only word that can describe it—such divine

devotion, such wisdom, and command over the secrets of nature, and the

place and power that they must win, or, lastly, the royal crown of

unending youth, if indeed she could give that. No, on the whole, it is

not wonderful that, though Leo was plunged in bitter shame and grief,

such as any gentleman would have felt under the circumstances, he was

not ready to entertain the idea of running away from his extraordinary

fortune.

[1] After some months of consideration of this statement I am bound to

confess that I am not quite satisfied of its truth. It is perfectly

true that Ayesha committed a murder, but I shrewdly suspect that, were

we endowed with the same absolute power, and if we had the same

tremendous interest at stake, we would be very apt to do likewise

under parallel circumstances. Also, it must be remembered that she

looked on it as an execution for disobedience under a system which

made the slightest disobedience punishable by death. Putting aside

this question of the murder, her evil-doing resolves itself into the

expression of views and the acknowledgment of motives which are

contrary to our preaching if not to our practice. Now at first sight

this might be fairly taken as a proof of an evil nature, but when we

come to consider the great antiquity of the individual it becomes

doubtful if it was anything more than the natural cynicism which

arises from age and bitter experience, and the possession of

extraordinary powers of observation. It is a well known fact that very

often, putting the period of boyhood out of the question, the older we

grow the more cynical and hardened we get; indeed many of us are only

saved by timely death from utter moral petrifaction if not moral

corruption. No one will deny that a young man is on the average better

than an old one, for he is without that experience of the order of

things that in certain thoughtful dispositions can hardly fail to

produce cynicism, and that disregard of acknowledged methods and

established custom which we call evil. Now the oldest man upon the

earth was but a babe compared to Ayesha, and the wisest man upon the

earth was not one-third as wise. And the fruit of her wisdom was this,

that there was but one thing worth living for, and that was Love in

its highest sense, and to gain that good thing she was not prepared to

stop at trifles. This is really the sum of her evil doings, and it

must be remembered, on the other hand, that, whatever may be thought

of them, she had some virtues developed to a degree very uncommon in

either sex—constancy, for instance.—L. H. H.

My own opinion is that he would have been mad if he had done so.

But then I confess that my statement on the matter must be

accepted with qualifications. I am in love with Ayesha myself to

this day, and I would rather have been the object of her

affection for one short week than that of any other woman in the

world for a whole lifetime. And let me add that, if anybody who

doubts this statement, and thinks me foolish for making it, could

have seen Ayesha draw her veil and flash out in beauty on his

gaze, his view would exactly coincide with my own. Of course, I

am speaking of any _man_. We never had the advantage of a lady’s

opinion of Ayesha, but I think it quite possible that she would

have regarded the Queen with dislike, would have expressed her

disapproval in some more or less pointed manner, and ultimately

have got herself blasted.

For two hours or more Leo and I sat with shaken nerves and

frightened eyes, and talked over the miraculous events through

which we were passing. It seemed like a dream or a fairy tale,

instead of the solemn, sober fact. Who would have believed that

the writing on the potsherd was not only true, but that we should

live to verify its truth, and that we two seekers should find her

who was sought, patiently awaiting our coming in the tombs of

Kôr? Who would have thought that in the person of Leo this

mysterious woman should, as she believed, discover the being whom

she awaited from century to century, and whose former earthly

habitation she had till this very night preserved? But so it was.

In the face of all we had seen it was difficult for us as

ordinary reasoning men any longer to doubt its truth, and

therefore at last, with humble hearts and a deep sense of the

impotence of human knowledge, and the insolence of its assumption

that denies that to be possible which it has no experience of, we

laid ourselves down to sleep, leaving our fates in the hands of

that watching Providence which had thus chosen to allow us to

draw the veil of human ignorance, and reveal to us for good or

evil some glimpse of the possibilities of life.

XXII.

JOB HAS A PRESENTIMENT

It was nine o’clock on the following morning when Job, who still

looked scared and frightened, came in to call me, and at the same

time breathe his gratitude at finding us alive in our beds, which

it appeared was more than he had expected. When I told him of the

awful end of poor Ustane he was even more grateful at our

survival, and much shocked, though Ustane had been no favourite

of his, or he of hers, for the matter of that. She called him

“pig” in bastard Arabic, and he called her “hussy” in good

English, but these amenities were forgotten in the face of the

catastrophe that had overwhelmed her at the hands of her Queen.

“I don’t want to say anything as mayn’t be agreeable, sir,” said

Job, when he had finished exclaiming at my tale, “but it’s my

opinion that that there _She_ is the old gentleman himself, or

perhaps his wife, if he has one, which I suppose he has, for he

couldn’t be so wicked all by himself. The Witch of Endor was a

fool to her, sir: bless you, she would make no more of raising

every gentleman in the Bible out of these here beastly tombs than

I should of growing cress on an old flannel. It’s a country of

devils, this is, sir, and she’s the master one of the lot; and if

ever we get out of it it will be more than I expect to do. I

don’t see no way out of it. That witch isn’t likely to let a fine

young man like Mr. Leo go.”

“Come,” I said, “at any rate she saved his life.”

“Yes, and she’ll take his soul to pay for it. She’ll make him a

witch, like herself. I say it’s wicked to have anything to do

with those sort of people. Last night, sir, I lay awake and read

in my little Bible that my poor old mother gave me about what is

going to happen to sorceresses and them sort, till my hair stood

on end. Lord, how the old lady would stare if she saw where her

Job had got to!”

“Yes, it’s a queer country, and a queer people too, Job,” I

answered, with a sigh, for, though I am not superstitious like

Job, I admit to a natural shrinking (which will not bear

investigation) from the things that are above Nature.

“You are right, sir,” he answered, “and if you won’t think me

very foolish, I should like to say something to you now that Mr.

Leo is out of the way”—(Leo had got up early and gone for a

stroll)—“and that is that I know it is the last country as ever I

shall see in this world. I had a dream last night, and I dreamed

that I saw my old father with a kind of night-shirt on him,

something like these folks wear when they want to be in

particular full-dress, and a bit of that feathery grass in his

hand, which he may have gathered on the way, for I saw lots of it

yesterday about three hundred yards from the mouth of this

beastly cave.

“’Job,’ he said to me, solemn like, and yet with a kind of

satisfaction shining through him, more like a Methody parson when

he has sold a neighbour a marked horse for a sound one and

cleared twenty pounds by the job than anything I can think

on—’Job, time’s up, Job; but I never did expect to have to come

and hunt you out in this ‘ere place, Job. Such ado as I have had

to nose you up; it wasn’t friendly to give your poor old father

such a run, let alone that a wonderful lot of bad characters hail

from this place Kôr.’”

“Regular cautions,” I suggested.

“Yes, sir—of course, sir, that’s just what he said they

was—’cautions, downright scorchers’—sir, and I’m sure I don’t

doubt it, seeing what I know of them, and their hot-potting

ways,” went on Job sadly. “Anyway, he was sure that time was up,

and went away saying that we should see more than we cared for of

each other soon, and I suppose he was a-thinking of the fact that

father and I never could hit it off together for longer nor three

days, and I daresay that things will be similar when we meet

again.”

“Surely,” I said, “you don’t think that you are going to die

because you dreamed you saw your old father; if one dies because

one dreams of one’s father, what happens to a man who dreams of

his mother-in-law?”

“Ah, sir, you’re laughing at me,” said Job; “but, you see, you

didn’t know my old father. If it had been anybody else—my Aunt

Mary, for instance, who never made much of a job—I should not

have thought so much of it; but my father was that idle, which he

shouldn’t have been with seventeen children, that he would never

have put himself out to come here just to see the place. No, sir;

I know that he meant business. Well, sir, I can’t help it; I

suppose every man must go some time or other, though it is a hard

thing to die in a place like this, where Christian burial isn’t

to be had for its weight in gold. I’ve tried to be a good man,

sir, and do my duty honest, and if it wasn’t for the supercilus

kind of way in which father carried on last night—a sort of

sniffing at me as it were, as though he hadn’t no opinion of my

references and testimonials—I should feel easy enough in my mind.

Any way, sir, I’ve been a good servant to you and Mr. Leo, bless

him!—why, it seems but the other day that I used to lead him

about the streets with a penny whip;—and if ever you get out of

this place—which, as father didn’t allude to you, perhaps you

may—I hope you will think kindly of my whitened bones, and never

have anything more to do with Greek writing on flower-pots, sir,

if I may make so bold as to say so.”

“Come, come, Job,” I said seriously, “this is all nonsense, you

know. You mustn’t be silly enough to go getting such ideas into

your head. We’ve lived through some queer things, and I hope that

we may go on doing so.”

“No, sir,” answered Job, in a tone of conviction that jarred on

me unpleasantly, “it isn’t nonsense. I’m a doomed man, and I feel

it, and a wonderful uncomfortable feeling it is, sir, for one

can’t help wondering how it’s going to come about. If you are

eating your dinner you think of poison and it goes against your

stomach, and if you are walking along these dark rabbit-burrows

you think of knives, and Lord, don’t you just shiver about the

back! I ain’t particular, sir, provided it’s sharp, like that

poor girl, who, now that she’s gone, I am sorry to have spoke

hard on, though I don’t approve of her morals in getting married,

which I consider too quick to be decent. Still, sir,” and poor

Job turned a shade paler as he said it, “I do hope it won’t be

that hot-pot game.”

“Nonsense,” I broke in angrily, “nonsense!”

“Very well, sir,” said Job, “it isn’t my place to differ from

you, sir, but if you happen to be going anywhere, sir, I should

be obliged if you could manage to take me with you, seeing that I

shall be glad to have a friendly face to look at when the time

comes, just to help one through, as it were. And now, sir, I’ll

be getting the breakfast,” and he went, leaving me in a very

uncomfortable state of mind. I was deeply attached to old Job,

who was one of the best and honestest men I have ever had to do

with in any class of life, and really more of a friend than a

servant, and the mere idea of anything happening to him brought a

lump into my throat. Beneath all his ludicrous talk I could see

that he himself was quite convinced that something was going to

happen, and though in most cases these convictions turn out to be

utter moonshine—and this particular one especially was to be

amply accounted for by the gloomy and unaccustomed surroundings

in which its victim was placed—still it did more or less carry a

chill to my heart, as any dread that is obviously a genuine

object of belief is apt to do, however absurd the belief may be.

Presently the breakfast arrived, and with it Leo, who had been

taking a walk outside the cave—to clear his mind, he said—and

very glad I was to see both, for they gave me a respite from my

gloomy thoughts. After breakfast we went for another walk, and

watched some of the Amahagger sowing a plot of ground with the

grain from which they make their beer. This they did in

scriptural fashion—a man with a bag made of goat’s hide fastened

round his waist walking up and down the plot and scattering the

seed as he went. It was a positive relief to see one of these

dreadful people do anything so homely and pleasant as sow a

field, perhaps because it seemed to link them, as it were, with

the rest of humanity.

As we were returning Billali met us, and informed us that it was

_She’s_ pleasure that we should wait upon her, and accordingly we

entered her presence, not without trepidation, for Ayesha was

certainly an exception to the rule. Familiarity with her might

and did breed passion and wonder and horror, but it certainly did

_not_ breed contempt.

We were as usual shown in by the mutes, and after these had

retired Ayesha unveiled, and once more bade Leo embrace her,

which, notwithstanding his heart-searchings of the previous

night, he did with more alacrity and fervour than in strictness

courtesy required.

She laid her white hand on his head, and looked him fondly in the

eyes. “Dost thou wonder, my Kallikrates,” she said, “when thou

shalt call me all thine own, and when we shall of a truth be for

one another and to one another? I will tell thee. First, must

thou be even as I am, not immortal indeed, for that I am not, but

so cased and hardened against the attacks of Time that his arrows

shall glance from the armour of thy vigorous life as the sunbeams

glance from water. As yet I may not mate with thee, for thou and

I are different, and the very brightness of my being would burn

thee up, and perchance destroy thee. Thou couldst not even endure

to look upon me for too long a time lest thine eyes should ache,

and thy senses swim, and therefore” (with a little nod) “shall I

presently veil myself again.” (This by the way she did not do.)

“No: listen, thou shalt not be tried beyond endurance, for this

very evening, an hour before the sun goes down, shall we start

hence, and by to-morrow’s dark, if all goes well, and the road is

not lost to me, which I pray it may not be, shall we stand in the

place of Life, and thou shalt bathe in the fire, and come forth

glorified, as no man ever was before thee, and then, Kallikrates,

shalt thou call me wife, and I will call thee husband.”