Chapter Thirty Four.Sirayo’s Mission.After climbing through the hole, Sirayo found himself in a passage so narrow that his broad shoulders jammed, and he was obliged to edge along sideways, and so dark that he had to feel his way with his toes. It bent sharply to the left, and after he had shuffled on about twenty paces he found an opening above, and mounting on projecting stones, reached the top of the wall, from which he dropped into the open passage. This coiled round and round in widening circles until at last he stood on the outermost fringe, from which he saw the light of Zulu fires about two hundred yards distant. Creeping round the wall to the opposite side, he saw, far off, the gleam of camp fires straight ahead in the direction of the Golden Rock, and then to the left, towards the river, the lights of still another encampment.The stars shone brilliantly out of the black sky, the air was cool and refreshing. He drew a long breath, looked back at the dark pile, so much like a mound of the dead that he almost shuddered, then sprang lightly to the ground, paused awhile, listening, and silently slipped away in the direction of the river, straight towards the Zulu fires.He heard the distant lowing of cattle complaining at being hurriedly driven in the night, the sharp yelping of dogs, the angry muttering of a war-song chanted by deep throats. They were sounds familiar to his ear. They told of war and victory, of premeditated riot in the morning, of a frightened people deserting their kraals in the night with such of their goods and their cattle as they could hastily collect, of terrified children and wailing women, of men who had lost heart. He knew them well. Often in his daring youth and stormy manhood he had burst upon some peaceful village slumbering amid waving fields of maize, and seen the scattered survivors flying to the woods or rocky retreats in a neighbouring krantz. Like a hurricane he had swept over the land, leaving desolation in his track; and the wailing of innumerable women widowed by his terrible regiment, the quavering cry of children made fatherless by him, seemed to mingle with that tremulous cry that came on the night air from beyond the river. His iron soul stirred under these blood-stained memories at the thought that now, in his grim age, the last of his band, an outcast, without authority or possessions beyond the assegai in his hand, he was hurrying to the relief of the helpless. He strode on faster over the level plain, his nostrils expanding, his tireless sinews stiffening until his gait was as clean and springy almost as in his youth, when he led his victorious warriors to the fight.The reflection before him shone in a ring of fire, then as he rapidly advanced this split up into separate flames, and he slackened his speed to approach stealthily. There were ten fires, and in a circle about each there squatted ten warriors, some of them chattering as they ate, others flinging their war-cry across the river, telling what they would do in the morning. Little did they dream in their confidence of the dreaded enemy whose fierce eyes took note of their numbers, and who, slipping away to the right, turned his steps to the river.He stood on the high bank, listening to its soft, mysterious murmur, trying to pierce the gloom on the further bank, and unshaken by the eye-like reflections of the brighter stars, through which Icanti, the spirit of the river, looks out upon the venturous mortal, seeking to draw him into the clutch of the waters. At a spot where the bank was low he went down to the water, felt the depth with his assegai, then gently slipping in, so that he made no sound to disturb a lurking crocodile, he waded until the cold waters mounted to his chin, when he fixed his assegai in his waistband, and struck out with his right arm. A few strokes he made, until with his toe he touched the bottom again, then struggled on to the bank, reached the top, and all wet as he was ran in the direction of a confused noise.His way was soon barred by the thorn fences to the cultivated lands, in which he could hear some stray cattle munching at the forbidden food, but with unerring instinct he found a footpath, and passed through several kraals, deserted by everything save a few curs, which yelped at his heels before returning to forage in the abandoned huts. Then he came up with a string of old people, feebly struggling along, who stood still to look after him with bleared eyes, and next upon a band of women, swinging along under great bundles borne on their heads. At the sight of this glistening figure at their side, that had come without warning, and of his head-ring, sign of the dreaded Zulu, they threw down their bundles and ran shrieking away, while at the noise young children ahead cried out shrilly, communicating the alarm to the men who were in advance driving the cattle.The men called to each other, and the rush of their feet could be heard.“What is it?” they shouted.“We know not,” said a boy’s clear voice; “but our mothers cried that the Zulus were upon us. Give me an assegai. I will fight, too.”“Run, my child, run!” called out a woman’s voice.“Stand where you are, and I will do you no harm;” and as the deep voice rolled above the noise there was immediate silence. “Soh! Let your chief Induna come forward; I have a message.”“Do not heed him,” cried the woman; “he will slay you.”“There is but one,” cried another, “kill him; nay, let us tear him to pieces.”“Stop, or by the bones of Chaka I will beat you till you cry for mercy. Let the boy who spoke advance. Come.”“My son, my son, do not heed.”“Nay, I will go, since I am chief;” and there came to the great Zulu a stripling, with his eyes gleaming, and the hand that held the assegai thrown back. “You speak to us as though we were dogs! Who are you?”Sirayo’s eyes rested on the boy, then glanced around.“Tell your men to keep back. I hear them stealing through the grass like snakes.”The boy turned, and called to the men to keep back.“Good! You will be a chief some day.”“I am a chief now,” said the boy proudly, “since my father is killed.”A strange light leapt from Sirayo’s eyes. “Take that, O chief, and tell me what it is!” and he held out something, after sticking the point of his assegai in the ground.The boy looked at the gigantic figure before him, then snatched the thing, and held it close to his eyes.“It is the war-plume of my father—Umkomaas.”“Yebo. He lives; but he is in danger, and if you would save him you must obey me. Say that to the people.”The boy turned instantly and shouted the message, whereupon the women came forward, while the men talked.“How do we know this is true?” asked an old man suspiciously.“You know by the plume, by the word that your chief lies in the old place of stones, by the wound I received in his defence, by the sign of the snakeskin round my arm. I have said enough. Let those who obey the chief Umkomaas stand on this side.”Sirayo, beginning suavely, ended by ringing out in a stern command, and, quelled by the authority in his tone, a few of the young men ranged up behind him.“What means this, son of Umkomaas? are your warriors quicker to run than to obey?”There was a threatening murmur from the dark mass of men who had gathered opposite to Sirayo and his small party.“Who are you that we should obey?”“Who am I? Well do you ask, for never yet have you seen a warrior like me. I am he who was the first war chief of the Zulus of the south. I have led, I have fought, I have conquered since I was a boy like this son of Umkomaas: I am Sirayo!”They fell back before this name, and the women fled again; for the fame of the great chief, spreading from tribe to tribe, had entered their remote valley.“Yes, I am Sirayo, and there never was a warrior yet who would not have left all to follow him at his command. You have heard; now, without more words, will you obey?”“Bayate!” they cried, and thundered on their shields—all but a few Indunas, who would feign probe their suspicions by prolonged discussion.“It is well. Let there be no more thought of flight. Your women will return to their kraals. The men will take their weapons and meet in the great kraal. Every man will take his place in his own regiment, and the Indunas will take their proper positions. Advance!”Under the spell of this born leader the courage of the people returned; the men poured on in one direction, talking excitedly, and Sirayo followed with the young chief by his side, whose head was thrown back, while his eyes continually turned upon his formidable companion.In a vast semicircle within the great kraal the men drew up in something like order, regiment on regiment, to the number of two thousand, each regiment with shields differing in colour from those carried by the others.Sirayo marched through the lines, towering a head above them, and the rows of gleaming eyes followed him, trying in the dark to decipher the features of their new leader. It was an impressive scene—this large body of men, silent and waiting, drawn up under the stars within the wide circle of huts.Sirayo smiled grimly on returning to the head of the column, after judging the number, to think that so large a body should dream of flying before the small band of Zulus.“Your enemies are few,” he said; “you are many. Why did you think of flight?”“They had killed our fetich, and the witch-doctors said we were doomed,” came the response.“They lied; they were in league with the enemy. Which of the regiments suffered most in the fight?”“We of the Rock,” said a young Induna proudly; “nearly half of our brothers lie beyond, and they fell facing the foe. I, Inyame, say it.”“The Regiment of the Rock will draw up on my right.”There was a movement, and from the mass, with active steps, a body of about three hundred drew up. Sirayo recognised the red and white shields of the men who had first sided with him.“The regiment of tried fighting men will now draw up on my left.”“It is the Regiment of the Snake,” said a deep voice, and at the command a body of about five hundred fine warriors marched to the left, giving a booming shout as they fell into columns.“Who leads the Regiment of the Snake?”“I, Chanda.”“Chanda, listen! You will at once lead your men down the river towards the place of stones. On the further bank you will see the fires of a band of Zulus. Camp over against them, singing your war-song. In the morning, when they retire, you will cross the river and attack them in the rear.”“Will they retire?”“I have said it. Heed my words. When they retreat you must cross and follow. Depart, and make much noise.”Chanda gave his orders, and the regiment, accompanied by a shrill whistling from those who remained, filed out of the gates and went chanting into the night, and as they sang they struck the hafts of their assegais against their shields.“Chanda has done well. Let the others obey as promptly. I want, now, picked men from the regiments in the centre to make good the Regiment of the Rock. Inyami, select your men.”The young Induna advanced and touched, with his assegai, the men he wanted, ticking them off on his fingers, until two hundred stood out and fell in with the Regiment of the Rock.“Son of Umkomaas, little chief with the big heart, I place you over the men who remain in the centre. You will sleep here, but when the sun is up you will march quickly to the old stones where your father lies.”“Shall I not go at once, O chief?”“Nay, do as I say. Inyami, listen. The largest body of Zulus lie at the place of the shining Rock. Is it not so?”“It is so, great chief.”“You will lead on to the nearest drift. We will cross the river to-night with your regiment, and draw up before the Zulus. There must be no noise. We steal like panthers on the prey—silent and hungry. If any man speaks so much as one word it will be his last. Do you heed?”“Eweh, O chief!”“Come, then;” and placing himself beside Inyami, he led the regiment towards the river. The war-song of Chanda’s regiment on the march came plainly on the wind, and in response they heard the deep booming of the Zulu chant. The enemy recognised that some movement was afoot, though in their confidence they never expected that their defeated foes would dare to attack them.
After climbing through the hole, Sirayo found himself in a passage so narrow that his broad shoulders jammed, and he was obliged to edge along sideways, and so dark that he had to feel his way with his toes. It bent sharply to the left, and after he had shuffled on about twenty paces he found an opening above, and mounting on projecting stones, reached the top of the wall, from which he dropped into the open passage. This coiled round and round in widening circles until at last he stood on the outermost fringe, from which he saw the light of Zulu fires about two hundred yards distant. Creeping round the wall to the opposite side, he saw, far off, the gleam of camp fires straight ahead in the direction of the Golden Rock, and then to the left, towards the river, the lights of still another encampment.
The stars shone brilliantly out of the black sky, the air was cool and refreshing. He drew a long breath, looked back at the dark pile, so much like a mound of the dead that he almost shuddered, then sprang lightly to the ground, paused awhile, listening, and silently slipped away in the direction of the river, straight towards the Zulu fires.
He heard the distant lowing of cattle complaining at being hurriedly driven in the night, the sharp yelping of dogs, the angry muttering of a war-song chanted by deep throats. They were sounds familiar to his ear. They told of war and victory, of premeditated riot in the morning, of a frightened people deserting their kraals in the night with such of their goods and their cattle as they could hastily collect, of terrified children and wailing women, of men who had lost heart. He knew them well. Often in his daring youth and stormy manhood he had burst upon some peaceful village slumbering amid waving fields of maize, and seen the scattered survivors flying to the woods or rocky retreats in a neighbouring krantz. Like a hurricane he had swept over the land, leaving desolation in his track; and the wailing of innumerable women widowed by his terrible regiment, the quavering cry of children made fatherless by him, seemed to mingle with that tremulous cry that came on the night air from beyond the river. His iron soul stirred under these blood-stained memories at the thought that now, in his grim age, the last of his band, an outcast, without authority or possessions beyond the assegai in his hand, he was hurrying to the relief of the helpless. He strode on faster over the level plain, his nostrils expanding, his tireless sinews stiffening until his gait was as clean and springy almost as in his youth, when he led his victorious warriors to the fight.
The reflection before him shone in a ring of fire, then as he rapidly advanced this split up into separate flames, and he slackened his speed to approach stealthily. There were ten fires, and in a circle about each there squatted ten warriors, some of them chattering as they ate, others flinging their war-cry across the river, telling what they would do in the morning. Little did they dream in their confidence of the dreaded enemy whose fierce eyes took note of their numbers, and who, slipping away to the right, turned his steps to the river.
He stood on the high bank, listening to its soft, mysterious murmur, trying to pierce the gloom on the further bank, and unshaken by the eye-like reflections of the brighter stars, through which Icanti, the spirit of the river, looks out upon the venturous mortal, seeking to draw him into the clutch of the waters. At a spot where the bank was low he went down to the water, felt the depth with his assegai, then gently slipping in, so that he made no sound to disturb a lurking crocodile, he waded until the cold waters mounted to his chin, when he fixed his assegai in his waistband, and struck out with his right arm. A few strokes he made, until with his toe he touched the bottom again, then struggled on to the bank, reached the top, and all wet as he was ran in the direction of a confused noise.
His way was soon barred by the thorn fences to the cultivated lands, in which he could hear some stray cattle munching at the forbidden food, but with unerring instinct he found a footpath, and passed through several kraals, deserted by everything save a few curs, which yelped at his heels before returning to forage in the abandoned huts. Then he came up with a string of old people, feebly struggling along, who stood still to look after him with bleared eyes, and next upon a band of women, swinging along under great bundles borne on their heads. At the sight of this glistening figure at their side, that had come without warning, and of his head-ring, sign of the dreaded Zulu, they threw down their bundles and ran shrieking away, while at the noise young children ahead cried out shrilly, communicating the alarm to the men who were in advance driving the cattle.
The men called to each other, and the rush of their feet could be heard.
“What is it?” they shouted.
“We know not,” said a boy’s clear voice; “but our mothers cried that the Zulus were upon us. Give me an assegai. I will fight, too.”
“Run, my child, run!” called out a woman’s voice.
“Stand where you are, and I will do you no harm;” and as the deep voice rolled above the noise there was immediate silence. “Soh! Let your chief Induna come forward; I have a message.”
“Do not heed him,” cried the woman; “he will slay you.”
“There is but one,” cried another, “kill him; nay, let us tear him to pieces.”
“Stop, or by the bones of Chaka I will beat you till you cry for mercy. Let the boy who spoke advance. Come.”
“My son, my son, do not heed.”
“Nay, I will go, since I am chief;” and there came to the great Zulu a stripling, with his eyes gleaming, and the hand that held the assegai thrown back. “You speak to us as though we were dogs! Who are you?”
Sirayo’s eyes rested on the boy, then glanced around.
“Tell your men to keep back. I hear them stealing through the grass like snakes.”
The boy turned, and called to the men to keep back.
“Good! You will be a chief some day.”
“I am a chief now,” said the boy proudly, “since my father is killed.”
A strange light leapt from Sirayo’s eyes. “Take that, O chief, and tell me what it is!” and he held out something, after sticking the point of his assegai in the ground.
The boy looked at the gigantic figure before him, then snatched the thing, and held it close to his eyes.
“It is the war-plume of my father—Umkomaas.”
“Yebo. He lives; but he is in danger, and if you would save him you must obey me. Say that to the people.”
The boy turned instantly and shouted the message, whereupon the women came forward, while the men talked.
“How do we know this is true?” asked an old man suspiciously.
“You know by the plume, by the word that your chief lies in the old place of stones, by the wound I received in his defence, by the sign of the snakeskin round my arm. I have said enough. Let those who obey the chief Umkomaas stand on this side.”
Sirayo, beginning suavely, ended by ringing out in a stern command, and, quelled by the authority in his tone, a few of the young men ranged up behind him.
“What means this, son of Umkomaas? are your warriors quicker to run than to obey?”
There was a threatening murmur from the dark mass of men who had gathered opposite to Sirayo and his small party.
“Who are you that we should obey?”
“Who am I? Well do you ask, for never yet have you seen a warrior like me. I am he who was the first war chief of the Zulus of the south. I have led, I have fought, I have conquered since I was a boy like this son of Umkomaas: I am Sirayo!”
They fell back before this name, and the women fled again; for the fame of the great chief, spreading from tribe to tribe, had entered their remote valley.
“Yes, I am Sirayo, and there never was a warrior yet who would not have left all to follow him at his command. You have heard; now, without more words, will you obey?”
“Bayate!” they cried, and thundered on their shields—all but a few Indunas, who would feign probe their suspicions by prolonged discussion.
“It is well. Let there be no more thought of flight. Your women will return to their kraals. The men will take their weapons and meet in the great kraal. Every man will take his place in his own regiment, and the Indunas will take their proper positions. Advance!”
Under the spell of this born leader the courage of the people returned; the men poured on in one direction, talking excitedly, and Sirayo followed with the young chief by his side, whose head was thrown back, while his eyes continually turned upon his formidable companion.
In a vast semicircle within the great kraal the men drew up in something like order, regiment on regiment, to the number of two thousand, each regiment with shields differing in colour from those carried by the others.
Sirayo marched through the lines, towering a head above them, and the rows of gleaming eyes followed him, trying in the dark to decipher the features of their new leader. It was an impressive scene—this large body of men, silent and waiting, drawn up under the stars within the wide circle of huts.
Sirayo smiled grimly on returning to the head of the column, after judging the number, to think that so large a body should dream of flying before the small band of Zulus.
“Your enemies are few,” he said; “you are many. Why did you think of flight?”
“They had killed our fetich, and the witch-doctors said we were doomed,” came the response.
“They lied; they were in league with the enemy. Which of the regiments suffered most in the fight?”
“We of the Rock,” said a young Induna proudly; “nearly half of our brothers lie beyond, and they fell facing the foe. I, Inyame, say it.”
“The Regiment of the Rock will draw up on my right.”
There was a movement, and from the mass, with active steps, a body of about three hundred drew up. Sirayo recognised the red and white shields of the men who had first sided with him.
“The regiment of tried fighting men will now draw up on my left.”
“It is the Regiment of the Snake,” said a deep voice, and at the command a body of about five hundred fine warriors marched to the left, giving a booming shout as they fell into columns.
“Who leads the Regiment of the Snake?”
“I, Chanda.”
“Chanda, listen! You will at once lead your men down the river towards the place of stones. On the further bank you will see the fires of a band of Zulus. Camp over against them, singing your war-song. In the morning, when they retire, you will cross the river and attack them in the rear.”
“Will they retire?”
“I have said it. Heed my words. When they retreat you must cross and follow. Depart, and make much noise.”
Chanda gave his orders, and the regiment, accompanied by a shrill whistling from those who remained, filed out of the gates and went chanting into the night, and as they sang they struck the hafts of their assegais against their shields.
“Chanda has done well. Let the others obey as promptly. I want, now, picked men from the regiments in the centre to make good the Regiment of the Rock. Inyami, select your men.”
The young Induna advanced and touched, with his assegai, the men he wanted, ticking them off on his fingers, until two hundred stood out and fell in with the Regiment of the Rock.
“Son of Umkomaas, little chief with the big heart, I place you over the men who remain in the centre. You will sleep here, but when the sun is up you will march quickly to the old stones where your father lies.”
“Shall I not go at once, O chief?”
“Nay, do as I say. Inyami, listen. The largest body of Zulus lie at the place of the shining Rock. Is it not so?”
“It is so, great chief.”
“You will lead on to the nearest drift. We will cross the river to-night with your regiment, and draw up before the Zulus. There must be no noise. We steal like panthers on the prey—silent and hungry. If any man speaks so much as one word it will be his last. Do you heed?”
“Eweh, O chief!”
“Come, then;” and placing himself beside Inyami, he led the regiment towards the river. The war-song of Chanda’s regiment on the march came plainly on the wind, and in response they heard the deep booming of the Zulu chant. The enemy recognised that some movement was afoot, though in their confidence they never expected that their defeated foes would dare to attack them.
Chapter Thirty Five.At Bay!When Sirayo left, Webster, chafing at the narrow limits of the stifling den, knocked away the loose stone and wriggled through into the inner chamber, where they had passed the previous night in a stupor of sodden sleep. The Gaika presently glided to his side, and Laura soon struggled out to drink in the fresher air. The two men went along the passage, still bearing its ghastly burdens.She leant against the rough wall, with her white face to the stars, weary in body and mind, worn out by the unequal struggle against the accumulating horrors and dangers, in which there was no wild dash of romance. She was beaten. Her courage had lost its resolution; her pride had been burnt out.“Where have you gone?” asked Hume, with a touch of reproach in his tones.She shuddered, but did not move or speak.“It is very dark,” he muttered, as he groped about with his hands until he came upon the opening, when he thrust his head through, moving it helplessly from side to side.“Don’t!” she gasped; “you frighten me.”“I am sorry,” he said.“For heaven’s sake!” whispered Webster as he hurried up, “keep quiet, man. Someone has entered, and is coming along the passage.”With a low cry, Laura placed her hands before her face.“I will protect you!” murmured Webster passionately, and Hume silently withdrew his head, a feeling of fierce despair at his heart.He stood in the narrow den, hoping in his bitterness that death would free him from his torture, when the old woman suddenly clicked with her tongue angrily, then muttered to the wounded chief. He rose up, and she supported him to the hole, calling on the Gaika to help him through. She followed, and said a few words to Klaas, who, with a stifled exclamation, began tapping the sanded floor with the butt of his assegai.“What are you doing?” demanded Webster.“Wait, sieur;” and the tapping of the assegai continued. “This is the place;” and Klaas with his naked foot pushed the sand away, leaving bare a flat stone in the centre of the room. With the point of his assegai he prised up the stone and then started back, for there was a yawning pit disclosed, out of which came a rush of damp and sickly air.“Where does that lead?” asked Webster.“I don’t know, sieur. The old woman will say.”She spoke rapidly, pointing with skinny forefinger at the pit, and turning her gleaming eyes from face to face.“She says we must go down,” said Klaas; “but I am afraid.”“Hark!” said Laura; “I hear voices.”The old woman drew Umkomaas to the hole, then, seizing Laura by the arm, pulled her violently forward.“What the deuce does the old witch mean?” growled Webster impatiently.“I think,” said Klaas, “she say this is the last place of hiding; and the Amazulus will find us if we stay here.”“Go down, then.”“Neh, sieur. It is too dark.”“It is no blacker than a ship’s hold. Stand away;” and, dropping his feet through, Webster lowered himself till he touched ground, when immediately Umkomaas almost fell on top of him, and he was obliged to catch the helpless chief and stagger back with him.Before she could utter a word of protest, Laura was seized by wiry arms and dropped into the pit, and the Gaika, with a grunt of anger at such treatment of his mistress, followed her. Then the old woman quickly slid the stone over the opening, rapidly spread the sand above, and stood listening.Hume had heard the exclamations, the excited whispers, and a muffled cry from Webster calling his name, and in the silence which suddenly cut short this commotion he read some fresh calamity, and stood for a moment trembling violently. Then he groped once more to the hole, and, thrusting his head through, called softly:“Laura!”No answer came to the murmur.“Webster!” he cried, a little louder. “Jim! are you there?”“Ssh! be still,” came a suppressed cry in the native tongue.“I have been still too long—where are you?”“Listen. The men know that hiding-place. I heard two come and retreat. They will return in greater numbers. Be not afraid for your people; they are safe with Umkomaas, my chief, under the ground here;” and she stamped with her feet.“They are safe,” he muttered—“safe, you say? Why did they leave me?”“You must stay there and tell the Amazulus that your people have fled.”“And then?”“They will kill you. Your strength has gone; it is well.”“Good heavens!” he gasped in horror; “did they know that? No, no, no! It is a lie. They would not leave me. Jim!”“Ssh!” she hissed, then swiftly climbed the wild vine and crouched flat on the wall.“My God!” he cried, “my God! and is this the end, to be left in a hole, blind, helpless, and alone? And I lost my sight for them! would have lost my life to save them”—he paused—“ay,” he continued softly, “may do so yet.” There was the ring of metal against stones, and he drew in his head instinctively and grasped his rifle. “Good!” he muttered fiercely; “I hope there are many, so that even a blind man may strike home.”He heard the soft sound of men brushing against the stones, heard their exclamations of fury as they kicked against the bodies of dead Zulus, and knew they had reached the inner chamber.“Is this the place?” said one harshly, in Portuguese.“This is the place, Captain,” answered a deep voice that seemed familiar to Hume.“And where are those robbers hidden?”“In the wall there. See! there is the gap by which they entered.”“Hark ye,” said the first man, raising his voice, and speaking in English, “you who are hidden in there. I will lay a train of powder and blow the walls in upon you if you so much as lift a finger upon us. Do you hear?”“I hear,” said Hume sternly; “and I warn you also that I will shoot you like the dog you are if you attempt to injure one of us.”There was a laugh, and a third man, whom Hume judged to be Lieutenant Gobo, said: “Would it not be better to blow them in now, Captain?”“What! and kill the girl you rave about?” said the Captain in Portuguese. “We’ll get her first—moreover, we have no time to waste; the people across the river may yet show fight. Hark to their singing! Blow them up when we have finished this job.”The deep chant of Chanda’s regiment rolled from beyond.“Now,” said the man who had been addressed as Captain, “let us begin. Ferrara, which is the entrance to this hidden treasure? It must be in the centre. Where is that witch-doctor—ah, you thief of night, come here! Now, Ferrara, tell him to point out the place.”As the witch-doctor stepped forward, a loud hiss arrested his steps.“What in the devil’s name was that?”“Look!” said Gobo, trembling; “there is something moving on the wall. Is it a snake?”“Serpent or not, here goes.” A report rang out, followed by a wild cry, the rustling of leaves, and the fall of a heavy body.“Carrambo! What have we here? A woman—a witch. Gobo, here is your serpent;” and the Captain laughed. “Do you hear that, you inside? If you do not keep quiet you will be served in the same way.”The old woman, with a last effort, called to Hume: “Keep watch; they look for the secret place of hiding.”“Be silent!” cried the Captain; “and, Ferrara, show us this place of treasure, if you have not lied.”“I do not lie,” replied a deep voice, “and you have done wrong to shoot that woman. She has given warning of our search.”“And what then? Are we afraid of a parcel of sick men? By the saints! I will give them this old witch for company.”“Stay; here is the place. Yes—see the crack! Your knife, Captain, to force it open.”Hume heard the scrape of the knife, the thud of the stone as it fell back.“Carrambo!” exclaimed the Captain. “What a hole of night! Who goes down first? I will lead. A light—give me a light.”There was a light, a flash of red flame from the hole in the wall, as Hume, who had listened, with nerves all quivering, fired blindly to save his friends.“Bayate!” gasped the old woman. “It is well done, O Mole.”There was a sound of rushing feet, followed by a storm of curses from the passage, where the men had rushed for shelter. Hume drew his revolver, and, with his arm out of the hole, fired in the direction of the voices.“The powder!” roared the Captain, hoarse with fury. “Give me the powder, and I will blow in the wall on their heads.”“Nay!” said Ferrara; “the falling stones may crush in the secret chamber below. Let two of us fire into the hole while the other descends.”“No, the powder! That bullet grazed my head. I will lay it against the wall. Good! here is a projecting stone. Get back, all of you, to the inner curve.”Hume, listening, heard the men retreat.“Listen in there! In one minute you will be crushed. I have laid the train”—there was a scratch—“I have fired it—good-bye!”Hume stood a moment; then felt wildly for a hole, struggled through, and as he fell free of the wall he heard the spluttering of the powder. The next instant he was hurled aside, and in his ears there roared the heavy blast of the explosion, coupled with the hollow rumble of falling stones, while the floor beneath him shook and trembled to the shock. He remained for a time on his face motionless, almost stunned by the noise of the explosion and by the force with which he was flung aside. Then, as his senses returned, he heard a murmur of voices as though afar off—then more clearly a man speaking:“By the saints! that is well done. They have had decent burial, Captain.”“Ay, too good; now we can get to work at our ease. But what a dust! First let it settle; it chokes me.”Hume rallied his senses, and softly rolled over, feeling for his rifle, which he had dropped. Then he put his hand to his eyes, to feel that the bandage had been torn away by the rush, of air. With his fingers he pushed back the lids, which by long pressure remained as though gummed down. With his eyes blinking at the falling dust, he sat in hopeless darkness; then a sharp cry escaped his lips, for it seemed to him that the darkness was not so black. He shut his eyes tightly, then opened them wide, and before him there was a yellow blur. A brilliant spark flashed through it; then it changed to a deep violet, and from his trembling lips there leapt a cry, for he saw the looming dark walls, and above caught the sparkle of innumerable stars.“I can see!” he cried. “My God! I can see!”“Hark! It is one of them crying out.”“It was a fearful voice,” whispered Gobo. “The men say this place is possessed.”Hume saw the sheen of something bright, and, with his heart beating, softly drew his rifle to him. He shut his eyes, and opened them with a joy he could scarce restrain; then, gently cocking the hammer, he rose to his feet.“Curse this dust!” growled the Captain; “one can neither see nor hear. But we cannot remain here like a lot of children frightened by a sound. Come.”“Stop!” shouted Hume sternly. “I can see you—ay, I can see you well; and if a man moves I will shoot him.”“If you can see in this light, you have good eyes, my friend,” said the Captain, with a nervous laugh. “But who in the devil’s name are you?”“Stand aside, Captain,” whispered Gobo.“Stand where you are,” said Hume fiercely. “Now give an account of yourselves. You have hunted us, keeping yourselves, like the shabbiest curs, well out of danger; and now, when you have brought us to bay, you have taken the last damnable measure of cowardice against us—thinking, too, there was a lady here. I see that third man move—by heavens! I will shoot.”“Be calm, my friend,” said the Captain in his hoarse voice; “we do not wish to harm you. Now, can’t you make some agreement with us? You are perhaps alone?”“Thanks to you,” said Hume grimly.“Alone—one man against two hundred. What can you do? Just think: you may kill one of us; but then you are yourself killed, or perhaps wounded and given over as a plaything to the Zulus, who are like tigers because of their friends who died.”“Well, what do you propose?” said Hume, listening to the louder cry of Chanda’s regiment, and to a confused murmur that quivered through the fresh morning air.“You know why we are here, as we know why you have come. We have been racing against each other for a hidden treasure, and you would not accept the warnings we gave you to desist. There are three of us; let us sink all differences, and do you come in, taking fourth share.”“And my friends?”“Your friends? It was the fortune of war that—”“War do you call it? The better name would be murder.”“We need not split hairs,” said the Captain impatiently. “But why speak of your friends, since they are dead?”“You lie! they live. The treasure is not for you. They have already secured it, and are in safety with the people beyond the river. Fools! while you slept they marched away, and Sirayo is now leading an army against your men.”“You lie yourself, dog of an Englishman!” cried the Captain.“Listen!”The distant murmur increased to a hoarse roar, threatening, and nearer rose the shouts of Zulus calling to each other.Behind the three men in the passage were some Zulus, who had remained silent; but now they broke out in fierce excitement, all speaking together.“What do they say?” shouted the Captain shrilly.“They say there is a fight where the greatest number of our men are, and the enemy have gathered also by the river, where our second force is stationed. This man speaks truly. The people would not fight unless they had a fresh leader, and who can that leader be but Sirayo? But as for the treasure, those feeble people could not have carried it away.”“Carrambo!” said Gobo, “I recognise this fellow now.”“We met before at Madeira,” said Hume grimly; and as the light increased the scowling faces of the three men stood out.“Mother of God! what a sight! His eyes are red and look out from a black mask.”“He is like a devil,” muttered Gobo; and, with his gun at his hip, he pressed the trigger.“Baleka!” cried a warrior, pushing in. “Sirayo eats our men up by the lone rock, and men are swarming across the river for this place.”“To the mountain!” cried Gobo, turning to fly.“Not I!” cried the Captain furiously.“Nor I!” said Ferrara.And the two dashed at Hume.He fired and the Captain fell; but Ferrara gripped him by the throat, and the two reeled about in a fierce struggle, and in their ears, though without conveying much meaning, there came the sound of shouting beyond the walls. As they stood for a spell, gasping for breath to renew the struggle, they heard the Zulus calling to each other to fly, and Ferrara by a terrific effort hurled Hume away, sent him staggering, to fall heavily over the heap of fallen stones, then himself vanished into the underground passage, a moment before the little son of Umkomaas dashed into the ruined chamber at the head of his victorious warriors.
When Sirayo left, Webster, chafing at the narrow limits of the stifling den, knocked away the loose stone and wriggled through into the inner chamber, where they had passed the previous night in a stupor of sodden sleep. The Gaika presently glided to his side, and Laura soon struggled out to drink in the fresher air. The two men went along the passage, still bearing its ghastly burdens.
She leant against the rough wall, with her white face to the stars, weary in body and mind, worn out by the unequal struggle against the accumulating horrors and dangers, in which there was no wild dash of romance. She was beaten. Her courage had lost its resolution; her pride had been burnt out.
“Where have you gone?” asked Hume, with a touch of reproach in his tones.
She shuddered, but did not move or speak.
“It is very dark,” he muttered, as he groped about with his hands until he came upon the opening, when he thrust his head through, moving it helplessly from side to side.
“Don’t!” she gasped; “you frighten me.”
“I am sorry,” he said.
“For heaven’s sake!” whispered Webster as he hurried up, “keep quiet, man. Someone has entered, and is coming along the passage.”
With a low cry, Laura placed her hands before her face.
“I will protect you!” murmured Webster passionately, and Hume silently withdrew his head, a feeling of fierce despair at his heart.
He stood in the narrow den, hoping in his bitterness that death would free him from his torture, when the old woman suddenly clicked with her tongue angrily, then muttered to the wounded chief. He rose up, and she supported him to the hole, calling on the Gaika to help him through. She followed, and said a few words to Klaas, who, with a stifled exclamation, began tapping the sanded floor with the butt of his assegai.
“What are you doing?” demanded Webster.
“Wait, sieur;” and the tapping of the assegai continued. “This is the place;” and Klaas with his naked foot pushed the sand away, leaving bare a flat stone in the centre of the room. With the point of his assegai he prised up the stone and then started back, for there was a yawning pit disclosed, out of which came a rush of damp and sickly air.
“Where does that lead?” asked Webster.
“I don’t know, sieur. The old woman will say.”
She spoke rapidly, pointing with skinny forefinger at the pit, and turning her gleaming eyes from face to face.
“She says we must go down,” said Klaas; “but I am afraid.”
“Hark!” said Laura; “I hear voices.”
The old woman drew Umkomaas to the hole, then, seizing Laura by the arm, pulled her violently forward.
“What the deuce does the old witch mean?” growled Webster impatiently.
“I think,” said Klaas, “she say this is the last place of hiding; and the Amazulus will find us if we stay here.”
“Go down, then.”
“Neh, sieur. It is too dark.”
“It is no blacker than a ship’s hold. Stand away;” and, dropping his feet through, Webster lowered himself till he touched ground, when immediately Umkomaas almost fell on top of him, and he was obliged to catch the helpless chief and stagger back with him.
Before she could utter a word of protest, Laura was seized by wiry arms and dropped into the pit, and the Gaika, with a grunt of anger at such treatment of his mistress, followed her. Then the old woman quickly slid the stone over the opening, rapidly spread the sand above, and stood listening.
Hume had heard the exclamations, the excited whispers, and a muffled cry from Webster calling his name, and in the silence which suddenly cut short this commotion he read some fresh calamity, and stood for a moment trembling violently. Then he groped once more to the hole, and, thrusting his head through, called softly:
“Laura!”
No answer came to the murmur.
“Webster!” he cried, a little louder. “Jim! are you there?”
“Ssh! be still,” came a suppressed cry in the native tongue.
“I have been still too long—where are you?”
“Listen. The men know that hiding-place. I heard two come and retreat. They will return in greater numbers. Be not afraid for your people; they are safe with Umkomaas, my chief, under the ground here;” and she stamped with her feet.
“They are safe,” he muttered—“safe, you say? Why did they leave me?”
“You must stay there and tell the Amazulus that your people have fled.”
“And then?”
“They will kill you. Your strength has gone; it is well.”
“Good heavens!” he gasped in horror; “did they know that? No, no, no! It is a lie. They would not leave me. Jim!”
“Ssh!” she hissed, then swiftly climbed the wild vine and crouched flat on the wall.
“My God!” he cried, “my God! and is this the end, to be left in a hole, blind, helpless, and alone? And I lost my sight for them! would have lost my life to save them”—he paused—“ay,” he continued softly, “may do so yet.” There was the ring of metal against stones, and he drew in his head instinctively and grasped his rifle. “Good!” he muttered fiercely; “I hope there are many, so that even a blind man may strike home.”
He heard the soft sound of men brushing against the stones, heard their exclamations of fury as they kicked against the bodies of dead Zulus, and knew they had reached the inner chamber.
“Is this the place?” said one harshly, in Portuguese.
“This is the place, Captain,” answered a deep voice that seemed familiar to Hume.
“And where are those robbers hidden?”
“In the wall there. See! there is the gap by which they entered.”
“Hark ye,” said the first man, raising his voice, and speaking in English, “you who are hidden in there. I will lay a train of powder and blow the walls in upon you if you so much as lift a finger upon us. Do you hear?”
“I hear,” said Hume sternly; “and I warn you also that I will shoot you like the dog you are if you attempt to injure one of us.”
There was a laugh, and a third man, whom Hume judged to be Lieutenant Gobo, said: “Would it not be better to blow them in now, Captain?”
“What! and kill the girl you rave about?” said the Captain in Portuguese. “We’ll get her first—moreover, we have no time to waste; the people across the river may yet show fight. Hark to their singing! Blow them up when we have finished this job.”
The deep chant of Chanda’s regiment rolled from beyond.
“Now,” said the man who had been addressed as Captain, “let us begin. Ferrara, which is the entrance to this hidden treasure? It must be in the centre. Where is that witch-doctor—ah, you thief of night, come here! Now, Ferrara, tell him to point out the place.”
As the witch-doctor stepped forward, a loud hiss arrested his steps.
“What in the devil’s name was that?”
“Look!” said Gobo, trembling; “there is something moving on the wall. Is it a snake?”
“Serpent or not, here goes.” A report rang out, followed by a wild cry, the rustling of leaves, and the fall of a heavy body.
“Carrambo! What have we here? A woman—a witch. Gobo, here is your serpent;” and the Captain laughed. “Do you hear that, you inside? If you do not keep quiet you will be served in the same way.”
The old woman, with a last effort, called to Hume: “Keep watch; they look for the secret place of hiding.”
“Be silent!” cried the Captain; “and, Ferrara, show us this place of treasure, if you have not lied.”
“I do not lie,” replied a deep voice, “and you have done wrong to shoot that woman. She has given warning of our search.”
“And what then? Are we afraid of a parcel of sick men? By the saints! I will give them this old witch for company.”
“Stay; here is the place. Yes—see the crack! Your knife, Captain, to force it open.”
Hume heard the scrape of the knife, the thud of the stone as it fell back.
“Carrambo!” exclaimed the Captain. “What a hole of night! Who goes down first? I will lead. A light—give me a light.”
There was a light, a flash of red flame from the hole in the wall, as Hume, who had listened, with nerves all quivering, fired blindly to save his friends.
“Bayate!” gasped the old woman. “It is well done, O Mole.”
There was a sound of rushing feet, followed by a storm of curses from the passage, where the men had rushed for shelter. Hume drew his revolver, and, with his arm out of the hole, fired in the direction of the voices.
“The powder!” roared the Captain, hoarse with fury. “Give me the powder, and I will blow in the wall on their heads.”
“Nay!” said Ferrara; “the falling stones may crush in the secret chamber below. Let two of us fire into the hole while the other descends.”
“No, the powder! That bullet grazed my head. I will lay it against the wall. Good! here is a projecting stone. Get back, all of you, to the inner curve.”
Hume, listening, heard the men retreat.
“Listen in there! In one minute you will be crushed. I have laid the train”—there was a scratch—“I have fired it—good-bye!”
Hume stood a moment; then felt wildly for a hole, struggled through, and as he fell free of the wall he heard the spluttering of the powder. The next instant he was hurled aside, and in his ears there roared the heavy blast of the explosion, coupled with the hollow rumble of falling stones, while the floor beneath him shook and trembled to the shock. He remained for a time on his face motionless, almost stunned by the noise of the explosion and by the force with which he was flung aside. Then, as his senses returned, he heard a murmur of voices as though afar off—then more clearly a man speaking:
“By the saints! that is well done. They have had decent burial, Captain.”
“Ay, too good; now we can get to work at our ease. But what a dust! First let it settle; it chokes me.”
Hume rallied his senses, and softly rolled over, feeling for his rifle, which he had dropped. Then he put his hand to his eyes, to feel that the bandage had been torn away by the rush, of air. With his fingers he pushed back the lids, which by long pressure remained as though gummed down. With his eyes blinking at the falling dust, he sat in hopeless darkness; then a sharp cry escaped his lips, for it seemed to him that the darkness was not so black. He shut his eyes tightly, then opened them wide, and before him there was a yellow blur. A brilliant spark flashed through it; then it changed to a deep violet, and from his trembling lips there leapt a cry, for he saw the looming dark walls, and above caught the sparkle of innumerable stars.
“I can see!” he cried. “My God! I can see!”
“Hark! It is one of them crying out.”
“It was a fearful voice,” whispered Gobo. “The men say this place is possessed.”
Hume saw the sheen of something bright, and, with his heart beating, softly drew his rifle to him. He shut his eyes, and opened them with a joy he could scarce restrain; then, gently cocking the hammer, he rose to his feet.
“Curse this dust!” growled the Captain; “one can neither see nor hear. But we cannot remain here like a lot of children frightened by a sound. Come.”
“Stop!” shouted Hume sternly. “I can see you—ay, I can see you well; and if a man moves I will shoot him.”
“If you can see in this light, you have good eyes, my friend,” said the Captain, with a nervous laugh. “But who in the devil’s name are you?”
“Stand aside, Captain,” whispered Gobo.
“Stand where you are,” said Hume fiercely. “Now give an account of yourselves. You have hunted us, keeping yourselves, like the shabbiest curs, well out of danger; and now, when you have brought us to bay, you have taken the last damnable measure of cowardice against us—thinking, too, there was a lady here. I see that third man move—by heavens! I will shoot.”
“Be calm, my friend,” said the Captain in his hoarse voice; “we do not wish to harm you. Now, can’t you make some agreement with us? You are perhaps alone?”
“Thanks to you,” said Hume grimly.
“Alone—one man against two hundred. What can you do? Just think: you may kill one of us; but then you are yourself killed, or perhaps wounded and given over as a plaything to the Zulus, who are like tigers because of their friends who died.”
“Well, what do you propose?” said Hume, listening to the louder cry of Chanda’s regiment, and to a confused murmur that quivered through the fresh morning air.
“You know why we are here, as we know why you have come. We have been racing against each other for a hidden treasure, and you would not accept the warnings we gave you to desist. There are three of us; let us sink all differences, and do you come in, taking fourth share.”
“And my friends?”
“Your friends? It was the fortune of war that—”
“War do you call it? The better name would be murder.”
“We need not split hairs,” said the Captain impatiently. “But why speak of your friends, since they are dead?”
“You lie! they live. The treasure is not for you. They have already secured it, and are in safety with the people beyond the river. Fools! while you slept they marched away, and Sirayo is now leading an army against your men.”
“You lie yourself, dog of an Englishman!” cried the Captain.
“Listen!”
The distant murmur increased to a hoarse roar, threatening, and nearer rose the shouts of Zulus calling to each other.
Behind the three men in the passage were some Zulus, who had remained silent; but now they broke out in fierce excitement, all speaking together.
“What do they say?” shouted the Captain shrilly.
“They say there is a fight where the greatest number of our men are, and the enemy have gathered also by the river, where our second force is stationed. This man speaks truly. The people would not fight unless they had a fresh leader, and who can that leader be but Sirayo? But as for the treasure, those feeble people could not have carried it away.”
“Carrambo!” said Gobo, “I recognise this fellow now.”
“We met before at Madeira,” said Hume grimly; and as the light increased the scowling faces of the three men stood out.
“Mother of God! what a sight! His eyes are red and look out from a black mask.”
“He is like a devil,” muttered Gobo; and, with his gun at his hip, he pressed the trigger.
“Baleka!” cried a warrior, pushing in. “Sirayo eats our men up by the lone rock, and men are swarming across the river for this place.”
“To the mountain!” cried Gobo, turning to fly.
“Not I!” cried the Captain furiously.
“Nor I!” said Ferrara.
And the two dashed at Hume.
He fired and the Captain fell; but Ferrara gripped him by the throat, and the two reeled about in a fierce struggle, and in their ears, though without conveying much meaning, there came the sound of shouting beyond the walls. As they stood for a spell, gasping for breath to renew the struggle, they heard the Zulus calling to each other to fly, and Ferrara by a terrific effort hurled Hume away, sent him staggering, to fall heavily over the heap of fallen stones, then himself vanished into the underground passage, a moment before the little son of Umkomaas dashed into the ruined chamber at the head of his victorious warriors.
Chapter Thirty Six.The Underground Chamber.Sirayo’s leadership had prevailed. He attacked the main body of the enemy before sunrise, and the young warriors of the Rock, fired by his ferocious courage, had withstood the desperate rush of the Zulus until Chanda’s regiment came up on the trail of the second detachment, when the enemy, terribly thinned, took the path to the mountain wisely left open for them.Before the fight Sirayo had taken the long throwing assegai from Inyami and snapped the haft across his knee within three feet of the blade.“Do ye likewise,” he said to the regiment, “and you will fight the Zulus hand-to-hand with their own weapons, for it is by their short assegais they have conquered.”The young warriors obeyed, and for the first time they went into a fight without hurling their spears.After the great fight, which left the ground about a lonely rock of strange shape strewn with dead and dying, the women flocked to the scene, to attend to the wounded, and Sirayo, with the remnant of his band, marched to the ruins. As they neared the place, the men broke out with their song of victory—a deep-throated roar tossed to the mountain—and the warriors about the ruins formed up to meet them, whistling shrilly and drumming on their shields, while the boy-chief stood before the ranks, his black eyes glittering.“Bayate!” they thundered. “Great is Sirayo, the big black bull, the swooping eagle!”The air vibrated to their shouts, and the warriors of the Rock, with the marks of battle on them, gave an answering shout, and proclaimed Sirayo as their chief.If the Zulu had been a younger man, he would perhaps have seized the opportunity and grasped the proffered honour, which would have meant instant death to the little chief, and a fierce attack upon any suspected of supporting him.As it was, the chief took a pinch of snuff, while his bloodshot eyes glared fiercely at the son of Umkomaas, standing within reach of his red and dripping assegai.“Do you hear, little chief?” he said in his deep tones.“I hear, and I know. Strike if you will.”Sirayo took from his head the broken eagle plume, and fixed it on the head of the child.“Behold your chief!” he cried, lifting his assegai and letting his dark glance sweep along the ranks of excited men. “He is a babe, but he has the heart of a lion. Chief, see your men; they fought like my own Zulus of the far south. Take thought that your heart never turns black towards them.”Then Sirayo turned into the ruins, and found Hume wetting with his dripping handkerchief the lips of the old woman, who lay bleeding slowly from a wound in the breast. The chief looked at the fallen stones and at the prone body of the Portuguese Captain.“What evil has happened?” he asked.“I heard them shout your name, chief,” said Hume, keeping his face bent over the woman; “you have triumphed?”“Yebo! it was well done, and it was a great fight. Your eyes are no longer dark; that is better than my victory. Ay, it is good! Where are the others?”“Down there;” and he pointed at the hole.“Did they go before the fight, and leave you alone?”“I could not see, and they were hurried. They forgot me.”“Yoh! And do they hide there like jackals? It was not a good thing to leave a blind man.”“They did it without thought I fear there is something dark thereunder, chief, for a strange man, I think, has gone down. I would have followed, but my head was dizzy from a fall; and then I heard this old woman crying feebly for water, and I went out to the spring. We must go down.”Sirayo called for men, and when a few came in with wild looks he bid them carry the old woman to the spring and tend to her. The men exclaimed, when they saw Hume, and clapped their hands to their mouths, but Sirayo sternly bid them go.“They do not like my face,” said Hume, with a bitter smile.“They are not women, that they should be terrified at a scar received in battle.”“Then my face would frighten a woman;” and he shuddered. “Will you go first, chief?”A faint smile flickered for a second about the grim mouth of the warrior; then he lowered himself into the hole. “We shall need a light,” he said, and split the haft of an assegai. They found themselves in a narrow passage curiously arched and ribbed, which coiled round and widened as they advanced, turning always to the left. The walls were polished, as if by constant friction, and where the ribs met overhead was a well-defined ridge, or backbone, regularly articulated. It was very still, the stagnant air heavy with a sickly odour, and twice they paused to struggle against a feeling of dizziness; but a slight current of air, coming with a cooling touch, freshened them, so they were able to struggle on, through a short length where the passage suddenly narrowed, to a large wedge-shaped chamber.They stood peering by the flickering and waning light at some dim forms stretched upon the floor, at two spots of light at the far end through which the air came, at a double row of shining objects on either side the narrow end of the wedge, and at an object in the centre from which there came a wreath of smoke, spreading the odour that had so disturbed them.As Hume hesitated, with a sharp fear at his heart, one of the figures moved, then rose up, swaying to the side for support.“Thank God!” he cried; and at the sound of the voice the figure started back, moved his head from side to side as though he tried in vain to pierce the gloom behind the spark of fire, and then cried hoarsely:“Quien es?”“Ah, it is you! Surrender; we are armed.”The man made no answer; but, stooping, he appeared to grope among the prostrate forms; then with a fierce growl of satisfaction lifted one, and by the light that filtered through the two openings they caught the sheen of steel in his hand; they saw, too, the face of Laura, white and deathlike.“I will not surrender!” he said slowly; “and if I die she dies also.”“Don’t!” cried Hume hoarsely. “Give her to me, for Heaven’s sake!”“Not I,” he growled, and placed her face in the stream of light, so that Hume could see the closed eyes and white cheeks.Hume trembled and went faint with terror. “For mercy’s sake, take her out of this, into the fresh air.”“And what of me?”“Ask what you like; but be quick, or it will be worse for you—I swear it!”“Do not threaten,” said the other darkly; “I want my life!”“Yes—yes.”“My liberty, and safe passage from the valley.”“Ay, I will see you out myself; but, for God’s sake, be quick!”“And more—a full half-share of any treasure there may be here. I have lived years for it, and less I will not take.”“I know nothing of any treasure; but if there is any, halt is yours—the whole if you will hasten.”“Nay, half will do; I would not try you with the loss of the whole. How do I know you can dispose of it?”Hume swore under his breath, and made a step forward.“Stop!” cried the other, with so menacing a voice that Hume reeled back. “You are wasting time now, and I feel her heart beats more slowly. What claim have you to give half the treasure away?”“I—I am captain of this party.”“Ay, but you are not the chief of the people here.”“No,” said Hume quickly; “but here he is. Sirayo!” And he spoke hurriedly to the chief.“Half is his,” said Sirayo.“Good!” said the man, this time in Zulu. “Swear it. I think I will trust you—since I have watched you for many nights—had your lives in my power, but spared you.”“Then bring her out!”“Take her yourself.”And the next minute Hume was staggering blindly, fiercely through the dark and tortuous passage, with his precious burden.Then the stranger overturned the burning vessel in the middle of the room, and stamped on the smouldering herbs; next he lifted Webster’s heavy form, to stagger off with it; while Sirayo did the same for Klaas, both returning to carry the chief, Umkomaas. They were all taken to the spring, shelters of rushes built over them, and a medicine man called to attend them. They had been all stupefied by the fumes of burning herbs, by the same fumes which, stealing through the cracks in the floor, had overcome them on their first night in the ruins; and the witch-doctor, after much waste of time over muttered incantations, brought them slowly to their senses, though they were too languid to move.When Hume found that they had shaken off the stupor in which they were locked, he went down to the spring and stooped to quench his burning thirst; but he paused as he knelt, appalled by the reflection he saw in the clear pool—the reflection of a terrible face: the eyes red, inflamed, without eyelashes; the forehead blackened, as though covered by a mask. In his anxiety for Laura, in his joy at her recovery, he had forgotten about his injury; and now this sudden revelation filled him with horror. He turned away from the pool with a feeling of repulsion for himself, and went off to the now deserted ruins, where he faced this new trouble, and all that it meant to him of ruined hopes. With these awful eyes of his he could not face her—no, nor mingle among his fellows. He remembered how the Portuguese had exclaimed at seeing his face; and he writhed at the thought that men would start at sight of him, and women would turn shuddering away. A great bitterness filled his heart, and when he thought of Webster, he ground his teeth at the cursed chance which left him maimed, while leaving his friend free. A feeling of resentment towards Laura sprang up also, because she had feared him even in the dark.“Would to Heaven,” he muttered savagely, “I had been killed!”And he sat staring blankly at the wall before him, and suddenly there came before him the calm face of Mr Dixon, the engineer, going to his death, cooped up in the bowels of theSwift, and the stern features of Captain Pardoe. Then he rose with a faint smile about his lips and went to the inner chamber, where he found Ferrara preparing a torch, while Sirayo sat near, as calm and indifferent as though he had passed an uneventful day.“Are your mends better?” asked Ferrara.“Yes,” was the curt reply. “What do you hope to find here?”“That which has brought you to this valley, and led us upon your tracks, and sent many of us on the longest journey of all—the love of gain.”“And what good, after all?”“Very little good to you, my friend; but for me—I am not too old to have one last fling after having lived the life of a savage. Now let us find and share.”He lit the torch and held it close to the arched roof, and the flaming light was reflected on a double row of shining objects. His eyes glittered as he examined them closely.“Ah,” he muttered, “the man did not lie, then. These are the teeth of gold.”“Teeth,” said Hume, throwing off his moody air—“teeth of what?”“Why, of this serpent. Have you not been through the coils?—and this place is the head. The temple above was reared on the coils of a serpent, and the simple people of the valley have kept alive the old worship in some of its forms. These two points of light at the narrow end are the nostrils. But you knew of this.”“Nothing. We came in search of the Golden Rock.”“Yes; I have seen that wondrous thing, but it was not to be carried away bodily, while these treasures may.”And with a strong tug he wrenched one of the curved teeth from its socket, and as it lay in the broad palm, the three heads bent over to examine it—a finely-wrought piece of pure metal, two inches in length, and about a quarter of a pound in weight. There were altogether forty-eight of these teeth, and in an hour they had all been wrenched from the sockets which had retained them in glittering rows for many centuries.“My knowledge of values is rather musty. What would you judge the worth of these?”“About a thousand,” said Hume, after a mental calculation.“Is that all? Then my share will not purchase a month’s enjoyment. You gave me half for the life of that girl, yet I had you all at my mercy, and spared you. Come, comrade, what say you to my taking the whole? Remember, you offered me all.”Hume divided the yellow pile into two parts, and emptied one half into Sirayo’s skin bag.“There! that is your share,” he said sternly, and Ferrara, muttering to himself, stored the precious burden about his person.Hume looked curiously at the tall dark man.“Who are you?” he asked, “and why have you followed us so closely?”“Who am I? Ho, ho! I scarcely know. Ask the Zulus; they will tell you I am the great Witch-Doctor, whose coming and going no man knows. Ask the white traders—they will tell you I am the Hermit of the River. Ask the Portuguese—they will say I am Alfonse Ferrara, the lieutenant who killed his captain at Delagoa Bay. I am all these, and for twenty years I have lived on the banks of the river, alone—alone with the running water, the brooding trees, and the things that move in the night.”“The animals?” whispered Hume, awed by the light which smouldered in the dark eyes opposite him.“The animals—phaugh! they shrink at my coming. No, no, the soft, silent, gliding things that lurk in the shadows; that watch me looking over their shoulders, or peeping from the shelter of rocks, or from out the dark pool. I want to get away from them;” and he glared round the cavern, shuddering.Hume shuddered too at the glimpse of madness in Ferrara’s gesture.“But why did you dog us?”“Because I knew what you were after, and I wanted it for myself. Years ago I knew of the secret of this valley. It was I who set your uncle upon the quest, in the hope I might afterwards rob him. I have haunted this place, but in vain, for they kept too close a watch. It was necessary to have help, and before you came, I sent a message to a Portuguese trader. You came when my plans were ready, and if it had not been that I mistrusted my countrymen, you would have been killed while you slept; but if they had played me false, I would have sought your help.”“You appeared to us as a savage,” said Hume, repressing a feeling of abhorrence.“Yes,” replied Ferrara with a mysterious air, and dropping his voice. “You see, I have donned this clothing to deceive them—the voiceless people who are searching for me. If they found me”—and he looked cautiously round—“they would drag me back to the river.”After another glance round the chamber, Hume and Sirayo withdrew, leaving Ferrara alone, and Hume, surrendering himself again to gloomy thoughts of his maimed face, sat on the outer coping of the wall, with his face resting on his hand.Long he sat there thinking whether he, too, would not do well to lead the life of a hermit, rather than be an object of disgust to his friends, when he heard a hoarse cry behind him, and, turning, saw Ferrara standing with his head turned, looking back along the passage.The strange being had stripped himself of his clothes. His huge form stood naked as that of a savage, his breast was heaving, the muscles of his arms rigid, and when he turned his face it was contorted with the passion of terror and rage.“What in Heaven’s name is it now?” cried Hume, springing to his feet.Ferrara fixed his eyes on Hume; his lips moved, but without sound, and he seized his throat savagely. Then with a wild cry in Zulu of “They come! they come!” he sprang over the wall and fled towards the mountain, while Hume faced the passage, expecting he knew not what. Presently he entered cautiously, until he came once again to the underground coil without meeting anyone; but while he stood peering down into the dark pit, he realised that Ferrara had in the stillness of that gloomy retreat fallen a victim to his dark fancies of the “voiceless people.”
Sirayo’s leadership had prevailed. He attacked the main body of the enemy before sunrise, and the young warriors of the Rock, fired by his ferocious courage, had withstood the desperate rush of the Zulus until Chanda’s regiment came up on the trail of the second detachment, when the enemy, terribly thinned, took the path to the mountain wisely left open for them.
Before the fight Sirayo had taken the long throwing assegai from Inyami and snapped the haft across his knee within three feet of the blade.
“Do ye likewise,” he said to the regiment, “and you will fight the Zulus hand-to-hand with their own weapons, for it is by their short assegais they have conquered.”
The young warriors obeyed, and for the first time they went into a fight without hurling their spears.
After the great fight, which left the ground about a lonely rock of strange shape strewn with dead and dying, the women flocked to the scene, to attend to the wounded, and Sirayo, with the remnant of his band, marched to the ruins. As they neared the place, the men broke out with their song of victory—a deep-throated roar tossed to the mountain—and the warriors about the ruins formed up to meet them, whistling shrilly and drumming on their shields, while the boy-chief stood before the ranks, his black eyes glittering.
“Bayate!” they thundered. “Great is Sirayo, the big black bull, the swooping eagle!”
The air vibrated to their shouts, and the warriors of the Rock, with the marks of battle on them, gave an answering shout, and proclaimed Sirayo as their chief.
If the Zulu had been a younger man, he would perhaps have seized the opportunity and grasped the proffered honour, which would have meant instant death to the little chief, and a fierce attack upon any suspected of supporting him.
As it was, the chief took a pinch of snuff, while his bloodshot eyes glared fiercely at the son of Umkomaas, standing within reach of his red and dripping assegai.
“Do you hear, little chief?” he said in his deep tones.
“I hear, and I know. Strike if you will.”
Sirayo took from his head the broken eagle plume, and fixed it on the head of the child.
“Behold your chief!” he cried, lifting his assegai and letting his dark glance sweep along the ranks of excited men. “He is a babe, but he has the heart of a lion. Chief, see your men; they fought like my own Zulus of the far south. Take thought that your heart never turns black towards them.”
Then Sirayo turned into the ruins, and found Hume wetting with his dripping handkerchief the lips of the old woman, who lay bleeding slowly from a wound in the breast. The chief looked at the fallen stones and at the prone body of the Portuguese Captain.
“What evil has happened?” he asked.
“I heard them shout your name, chief,” said Hume, keeping his face bent over the woman; “you have triumphed?”
“Yebo! it was well done, and it was a great fight. Your eyes are no longer dark; that is better than my victory. Ay, it is good! Where are the others?”
“Down there;” and he pointed at the hole.
“Did they go before the fight, and leave you alone?”
“I could not see, and they were hurried. They forgot me.”
“Yoh! And do they hide there like jackals? It was not a good thing to leave a blind man.”
“They did it without thought I fear there is something dark thereunder, chief, for a strange man, I think, has gone down. I would have followed, but my head was dizzy from a fall; and then I heard this old woman crying feebly for water, and I went out to the spring. We must go down.”
Sirayo called for men, and when a few came in with wild looks he bid them carry the old woman to the spring and tend to her. The men exclaimed, when they saw Hume, and clapped their hands to their mouths, but Sirayo sternly bid them go.
“They do not like my face,” said Hume, with a bitter smile.
“They are not women, that they should be terrified at a scar received in battle.”
“Then my face would frighten a woman;” and he shuddered. “Will you go first, chief?”
A faint smile flickered for a second about the grim mouth of the warrior; then he lowered himself into the hole. “We shall need a light,” he said, and split the haft of an assegai. They found themselves in a narrow passage curiously arched and ribbed, which coiled round and widened as they advanced, turning always to the left. The walls were polished, as if by constant friction, and where the ribs met overhead was a well-defined ridge, or backbone, regularly articulated. It was very still, the stagnant air heavy with a sickly odour, and twice they paused to struggle against a feeling of dizziness; but a slight current of air, coming with a cooling touch, freshened them, so they were able to struggle on, through a short length where the passage suddenly narrowed, to a large wedge-shaped chamber.
They stood peering by the flickering and waning light at some dim forms stretched upon the floor, at two spots of light at the far end through which the air came, at a double row of shining objects on either side the narrow end of the wedge, and at an object in the centre from which there came a wreath of smoke, spreading the odour that had so disturbed them.
As Hume hesitated, with a sharp fear at his heart, one of the figures moved, then rose up, swaying to the side for support.
“Thank God!” he cried; and at the sound of the voice the figure started back, moved his head from side to side as though he tried in vain to pierce the gloom behind the spark of fire, and then cried hoarsely:
“Quien es?”
“Ah, it is you! Surrender; we are armed.”
The man made no answer; but, stooping, he appeared to grope among the prostrate forms; then with a fierce growl of satisfaction lifted one, and by the light that filtered through the two openings they caught the sheen of steel in his hand; they saw, too, the face of Laura, white and deathlike.
“I will not surrender!” he said slowly; “and if I die she dies also.”
“Don’t!” cried Hume hoarsely. “Give her to me, for Heaven’s sake!”
“Not I,” he growled, and placed her face in the stream of light, so that Hume could see the closed eyes and white cheeks.
Hume trembled and went faint with terror. “For mercy’s sake, take her out of this, into the fresh air.”
“And what of me?”
“Ask what you like; but be quick, or it will be worse for you—I swear it!”
“Do not threaten,” said the other darkly; “I want my life!”
“Yes—yes.”
“My liberty, and safe passage from the valley.”
“Ay, I will see you out myself; but, for God’s sake, be quick!”
“And more—a full half-share of any treasure there may be here. I have lived years for it, and less I will not take.”
“I know nothing of any treasure; but if there is any, halt is yours—the whole if you will hasten.”
“Nay, half will do; I would not try you with the loss of the whole. How do I know you can dispose of it?”
Hume swore under his breath, and made a step forward.
“Stop!” cried the other, with so menacing a voice that Hume reeled back. “You are wasting time now, and I feel her heart beats more slowly. What claim have you to give half the treasure away?”
“I—I am captain of this party.”
“Ay, but you are not the chief of the people here.”
“No,” said Hume quickly; “but here he is. Sirayo!” And he spoke hurriedly to the chief.
“Half is his,” said Sirayo.
“Good!” said the man, this time in Zulu. “Swear it. I think I will trust you—since I have watched you for many nights—had your lives in my power, but spared you.”
“Then bring her out!”
“Take her yourself.”
And the next minute Hume was staggering blindly, fiercely through the dark and tortuous passage, with his precious burden.
Then the stranger overturned the burning vessel in the middle of the room, and stamped on the smouldering herbs; next he lifted Webster’s heavy form, to stagger off with it; while Sirayo did the same for Klaas, both returning to carry the chief, Umkomaas. They were all taken to the spring, shelters of rushes built over them, and a medicine man called to attend them. They had been all stupefied by the fumes of burning herbs, by the same fumes which, stealing through the cracks in the floor, had overcome them on their first night in the ruins; and the witch-doctor, after much waste of time over muttered incantations, brought them slowly to their senses, though they were too languid to move.
When Hume found that they had shaken off the stupor in which they were locked, he went down to the spring and stooped to quench his burning thirst; but he paused as he knelt, appalled by the reflection he saw in the clear pool—the reflection of a terrible face: the eyes red, inflamed, without eyelashes; the forehead blackened, as though covered by a mask. In his anxiety for Laura, in his joy at her recovery, he had forgotten about his injury; and now this sudden revelation filled him with horror. He turned away from the pool with a feeling of repulsion for himself, and went off to the now deserted ruins, where he faced this new trouble, and all that it meant to him of ruined hopes. With these awful eyes of his he could not face her—no, nor mingle among his fellows. He remembered how the Portuguese had exclaimed at seeing his face; and he writhed at the thought that men would start at sight of him, and women would turn shuddering away. A great bitterness filled his heart, and when he thought of Webster, he ground his teeth at the cursed chance which left him maimed, while leaving his friend free. A feeling of resentment towards Laura sprang up also, because she had feared him even in the dark.
“Would to Heaven,” he muttered savagely, “I had been killed!”
And he sat staring blankly at the wall before him, and suddenly there came before him the calm face of Mr Dixon, the engineer, going to his death, cooped up in the bowels of theSwift, and the stern features of Captain Pardoe. Then he rose with a faint smile about his lips and went to the inner chamber, where he found Ferrara preparing a torch, while Sirayo sat near, as calm and indifferent as though he had passed an uneventful day.
“Are your mends better?” asked Ferrara.
“Yes,” was the curt reply. “What do you hope to find here?”
“That which has brought you to this valley, and led us upon your tracks, and sent many of us on the longest journey of all—the love of gain.”
“And what good, after all?”
“Very little good to you, my friend; but for me—I am not too old to have one last fling after having lived the life of a savage. Now let us find and share.”
He lit the torch and held it close to the arched roof, and the flaming light was reflected on a double row of shining objects. His eyes glittered as he examined them closely.
“Ah,” he muttered, “the man did not lie, then. These are the teeth of gold.”
“Teeth,” said Hume, throwing off his moody air—“teeth of what?”
“Why, of this serpent. Have you not been through the coils?—and this place is the head. The temple above was reared on the coils of a serpent, and the simple people of the valley have kept alive the old worship in some of its forms. These two points of light at the narrow end are the nostrils. But you knew of this.”
“Nothing. We came in search of the Golden Rock.”
“Yes; I have seen that wondrous thing, but it was not to be carried away bodily, while these treasures may.”
And with a strong tug he wrenched one of the curved teeth from its socket, and as it lay in the broad palm, the three heads bent over to examine it—a finely-wrought piece of pure metal, two inches in length, and about a quarter of a pound in weight. There were altogether forty-eight of these teeth, and in an hour they had all been wrenched from the sockets which had retained them in glittering rows for many centuries.
“My knowledge of values is rather musty. What would you judge the worth of these?”
“About a thousand,” said Hume, after a mental calculation.
“Is that all? Then my share will not purchase a month’s enjoyment. You gave me half for the life of that girl, yet I had you all at my mercy, and spared you. Come, comrade, what say you to my taking the whole? Remember, you offered me all.”
Hume divided the yellow pile into two parts, and emptied one half into Sirayo’s skin bag.
“There! that is your share,” he said sternly, and Ferrara, muttering to himself, stored the precious burden about his person.
Hume looked curiously at the tall dark man.
“Who are you?” he asked, “and why have you followed us so closely?”
“Who am I? Ho, ho! I scarcely know. Ask the Zulus; they will tell you I am the great Witch-Doctor, whose coming and going no man knows. Ask the white traders—they will tell you I am the Hermit of the River. Ask the Portuguese—they will say I am Alfonse Ferrara, the lieutenant who killed his captain at Delagoa Bay. I am all these, and for twenty years I have lived on the banks of the river, alone—alone with the running water, the brooding trees, and the things that move in the night.”
“The animals?” whispered Hume, awed by the light which smouldered in the dark eyes opposite him.
“The animals—phaugh! they shrink at my coming. No, no, the soft, silent, gliding things that lurk in the shadows; that watch me looking over their shoulders, or peeping from the shelter of rocks, or from out the dark pool. I want to get away from them;” and he glared round the cavern, shuddering.
Hume shuddered too at the glimpse of madness in Ferrara’s gesture.
“But why did you dog us?”
“Because I knew what you were after, and I wanted it for myself. Years ago I knew of the secret of this valley. It was I who set your uncle upon the quest, in the hope I might afterwards rob him. I have haunted this place, but in vain, for they kept too close a watch. It was necessary to have help, and before you came, I sent a message to a Portuguese trader. You came when my plans were ready, and if it had not been that I mistrusted my countrymen, you would have been killed while you slept; but if they had played me false, I would have sought your help.”
“You appeared to us as a savage,” said Hume, repressing a feeling of abhorrence.
“Yes,” replied Ferrara with a mysterious air, and dropping his voice. “You see, I have donned this clothing to deceive them—the voiceless people who are searching for me. If they found me”—and he looked cautiously round—“they would drag me back to the river.”
After another glance round the chamber, Hume and Sirayo withdrew, leaving Ferrara alone, and Hume, surrendering himself again to gloomy thoughts of his maimed face, sat on the outer coping of the wall, with his face resting on his hand.
Long he sat there thinking whether he, too, would not do well to lead the life of a hermit, rather than be an object of disgust to his friends, when he heard a hoarse cry behind him, and, turning, saw Ferrara standing with his head turned, looking back along the passage.
The strange being had stripped himself of his clothes. His huge form stood naked as that of a savage, his breast was heaving, the muscles of his arms rigid, and when he turned his face it was contorted with the passion of terror and rage.
“What in Heaven’s name is it now?” cried Hume, springing to his feet.
Ferrara fixed his eyes on Hume; his lips moved, but without sound, and he seized his throat savagely. Then with a wild cry in Zulu of “They come! they come!” he sprang over the wall and fled towards the mountain, while Hume faced the passage, expecting he knew not what. Presently he entered cautiously, until he came once again to the underground coil without meeting anyone; but while he stood peering down into the dark pit, he realised that Ferrara had in the stillness of that gloomy retreat fallen a victim to his dark fancies of the “voiceless people.”