CHAPTER III
THE MISSION STATION



We made the remains of our rope fast to the other canoe, and
sat waiting for the dawn and congratulating ourselves upon our
merciful escape, which really seemed to result more from the
special favour of Providence than from our own care or prowess.
At last it came, and I have not often been more grateful to
see the light, though so far as my canoe was concerned it revealed
a ghastly sight.  There in the bottom of the little boat lay
the unfortunate Askari, the sime, or sword, in his bosom, and
the severed hand gripping the handle.  I could not bear the sight,
so hauling up the stone which had served as an anchor to the
other canoe, we made it fast to the murdered man and dropped
him overboard, and down he went to the bottom, leaving nothing
but a train of bubbles behind him.  Alas! when our time comes,
most of us like him leave nothing but bubbles behind, to show
that we have been, and the bubbles soon burst.  The hand of his
murderer we threw into the stream, where it slowly sank.  The
sword, of which the handle was ivory, inlaid with gold (evidently
Arab work), I kept and used as a hunting-knife, and very useful
it proved.

Then, a man having been transferred to my canoe, we once more
started on in very low spirits and not feeling at all comfortable
as to the future, but fondly hoping to arrive at the 'Highlands'
station by night.  To make matters worse, within an hour of sunrise
it came on to rain in torrents, wetting us to the skin, and even
necessitating the occasional baling of the canoes, and as the
rain beat down the wind we could not use the sails, and had to
get along as best as we could with our paddles.

At eleven o'clock we halted on an open piece of ground on the
left bank of the river, and, the rain abating a little, managed
to make a fire and catch and broil some fish.  We did not dare
to wander about to search for game.  At two o'clock we got off
again, taking a supply of broiled fish with us, and shortly afterwards
the rain came on harder than ever.  Also the river began to get
exceedingly difficult to navigate on account of the numerous
rocks, reaches of shallow water, and the increased force of the
current; so that it soon became clear to us that we should not
reach the Rev. Mackenzie's hospitable roof that night -- a prospect
that did not tend to enliven us.  Toil as we would, we could
not make more than an average of a mile an hour, and at five
o'clock in the afternoon (by which time we were all utterly worn
out) we reckoned that we were still quite ten miles below the
station.  This being so, we set to work to make the best arrangements
we could for the night.  After our recent experience, we simply
did not dare to land, more especially as the banks of the Tana
were clothed with dense bush that would have given cover to five
thousand Masai, and at first I thought that we were going to
have another night of it in the canoes.  Fortunately, however,
we espied a little rocky islet, not more than fifteen miles or
so square, situated nearly in the middle of the river.  For this
we paddled, and, making fast the canoes, landed and made ourselves
as comfortable as circumstances would permit, which was very
uncomfortable indeed.  As for the weather, it continued to be
simply vile, the rain coming down in sheets till we were chilled
to the marrow, and utterly preventing us from lighting a fire.
There was, however, one consoling circumstance about this rain;
our Askari declared that nothing would induce the Masai to make
an attack in it, as they intensely disliked moving about in the
wet, perhaps, as Good suggested, because they hate the idea of
washing.  We ate some insipid and sodden cold fish -- that is,
with the exception of Umslopogaas, who, like most Zulus, cannot
bear fish -- and took a pull of brandy, of which we fortunately
had a few bottles left, and then began what, with one exception
-- when we same three white men nearly perished of cold on the
snow of Sheba's Breast in the course of our journey to Kukuanaland
-- was, I think, the most trying night I ever experienced.  It
seemed absolutely endless, and once or twice I feared that two
of the Askari would have died of the wet, cold, and exposure.
Indeed, had it not been for timely doses of brandy I am sure
that they would have died, for no African people can stand much
exposure, which first paralyses and then kills them.  I could
see that even that iron old warrior Umslopogaas felt it keenly;
though, in strange contrast to the Wakwafis, who groaned and
bemoaned their fate unceasingly, he never uttered a single complaint.
To make matters worse, about one in the morning we again heard
the owl's ominous hooting, and had at once to prepare ourselves
for another attack; though, if it had been attempted, I do not
think that we could have offered a very effective resistance.
But either the owl was a real one this time, or else the Masai
were themselves too miserable to think of offensive operations,
which, indeed, they rarely, if ever, undertake in bush veldt.
At any rate, we saw nothing of them.

At last the dawn came gliding across the water, wrapped in wreaths
of ghostly mist, and, with the daylight, the rain ceased; and
then, out came the glorious sun, sucking up the mists and warming
the chill air.  Benumbed, and utterly exhausted, we dragged ourselves
to our feet, and went and stood in the bright rays, and were
thankful for them.  I can quite understand how it is that primitive
people become sun worshippers, especially if their conditions
of life render them liable to exposure.

In half an hour more we were once again making fair progress
with the help of a good wind.  Our spirits had returned with
the sunshine, and we were ready to laugh at difficulties and
dangers that had been almost crushing on the previous day.

And so we went on cheerily till about eleven o'clock.  Just as
we were thinking of halting as usual, to rest and try to shoot
something to eat, a sudden bend in the river brought us in sight
of a substantial-looking European house with a veranda round
it, splendidly situated upon a hill, and surrounded by a high
stone wall with a ditch on the outer side.  Right against and
overshadowing the house was an enormous pine, the tope of which
we had seen through a glass for the last two days, but of course
without knowing that it marked the site of the mission station.
I was the first to see the house, and could not restrain myself
from giving a hearty cheer, in which the others, including the
natives, joined lustily.  There was no thought of halting now.
On we laboured, for, unfortunately, though the house seemed
quite near, it was still a long way off by river, until at last,
by one o'clock, we found ourselves at the bottom of the slope
on which the building stood.  Running the canoes to the bank,
we disembarked, and were just hauling them up on to the shore,
when we perceived three figures, dressed in ordinary English-looking
clothes, hurrying down through a grove of trees to meet us.

'A gentleman, a lady, and a little girl,' ejaculated Good, after
surveying the trio through his eyeglass, 'walking in a civilized
fashion, through a civilized garden, to meet us in this place.
Hang me, if this isn't the most curious thing we have seen yet!'

Good was right: it certainly did seem odd and out of place --
more like a scene out of a dream or an Italian opera than a real
tangible fact; and the sense of unreality was not lessened when
we heard ourselves addressed in good broad Scotch, which, however,
I cannot reproduce.

'How do you do, sirs,' said Mr Mackenzie, a grey-haired, angular
man, with a kindly face and red cheeks; 'I hope I see you very
well.  My natives told me an hour ago they spied two canoes with
white men in them coming up the river; so we have just come down
to meet you.'

'And it is very glad that we are to see a white face again, let
me tell you,' put in the lady -- a charming and refined-looking
person.

We took off our hats in acknowledgment, and proceeded to introduce
ourselves.

'And now,' said Mr Mackenzie, 'you must all be hungry and weary;
so come on, gentlemen, come on, and right glad we are to see
you.  The last white who visited us was Alphonse -- you will
see Alphonse presently -- and that was a year ago.'

Meanwhile we had been walking up the slope of the hill, the lower
portion of which was fenced off, sometimes with quince fences
and sometimes with rough stone walls, into Kaffir gardens, just
now full of crops of mealies, pumpkins, potatoes, etc.  In the
corners of these gardens were groups of neat mushroom-shaped
huts, occupied by Mr Mackenzie's mission natives, whose women
and children came pouring out to meet us as we walked.  Through
the centre of the gardens ran the roadway up which we were walking.
It was bordered on each side by a line of orange trees, which,
although they had only been planted ten years, had in the lovely
climate of the uplands below Mt Kenia, the base of which is about
5,000 feet above the coastline level, already grown to imposing
proportions, and were positively laden with golden fruit.  After
a stiffish climb of a quarter of a mile or so -- for the hillside
was steep -- we came to a splendid quince fence, also covered
with fruit, which enclosed, Mr Mackenzie told us, a space of
about four acres of ground that contained his private garden,
house, church, and outbuildings, and, indeed, the whole hilltop.
And what a garden it was!  I have always loved a good garden,
and I could have thrown up my hands for joy when I saw Mr Mackenzie's.
First there were rows upon rows of standard European fruit-trees,
all grafted; for on top of this hill the climate was so temperate
that nearly all the English vegetables, trees, and flowers flourished
luxuriantly, even including several varieties of the apple, which,
generally, runs to wood in a warm climate and obstinately refuses
to fruit.  Then there were strawberries and tomatoes (such tomatoes!),
and melons and cucumbers, and, indeed, every sort of vegetable
and fruit.

'Well, you have something like a garden!' I said, overpowered
with admiration not untouched by envy.

'Yes,' answered the missionary, 'it is a very good garden, and
has well repaid my labour; but it is the climate that I have
to thank.  If you stick a peach-stone into the ground it will
bear fruit the fourth year, and a rose-cutting will bloom in
a year.  It is a lovely clime.'

Just then we came to a ditch about ten feet wide, and full of
water, on the other side of which was a loopholed stone wall
eight feet high, and with sharp flints plentifully set in mortar
on the coping.

'There,' said Mr Mackenzie, pointing to the ditch and wall, 'this
is my magnum opus; at least, this and the church, which is the
other side of the house.  It took me and twenty natives two years
to dig the ditch and build the wall, but I never felt safe till
it was done; and now I can defy all the savages in Africa, for
the spring that fills the ditch is inside the wall, and bubbles
out at the top of the hill winter and summer alike, and I always
keep a store of four months' provision in the house.'

Crossing over a plank and through a very narrow opening in the
wall, we entered into what Mrs Mackenzie called _her_ domain --
namely, the flower garden, the beauty of which is really beyond
my power to describe.  I do not think I ever saw such roses,
gardenias, or camellias (all reared from seeds or cuttings sent
from England); and there was also a patch given up to a collection
of bulbous roots mostly collected by Miss Flossie, Mr Mackenzie's
little daughter, from the surrounding country, some of which
were surpassingly beautiful.  In the middle of this garden, and
exactly opposite the veranda, a beautiful fountain of clear water
bubbled up from the ground, and fell into a stone-work basin
which had been carefully built to receive it, whence the overflow
found its way by means of a drain to the moat round the outer
wall, this moat in its turn serving as a reservoir, whence an
unfailing supply of water was available to irrigate all the gardens
below.  The house itself, a massively built single-storied building,
was roofed with slabs of stone, and had a handsome veranda in
front.  It was built on three sides of a square, the fourth side
being taken up by the kitchens, which stood separate from the
house -- a very good plan in a hot country.  In the centre of
this square thus formed was, perhaps, the most remarkable object
that we had yet seen in this charming place, and that was a single
tree of the conifer tribe, varieties of which grow freely on
the highlands of this part of Africa.  This splendid tree, which
Mr Mackenzie informed us was a landmark for fifty miles round,
and which we had ourselves seen for the last forty miles of our
journey, must have been nearly three hundred feet in height,
the trunk measuring about sixteen feet in diameter at a yard
from the ground.  For some seventy feet it rose a beautiful tapering
brown pillar without a single branch, but at that height splendid
dark green boughs, which, looked at from below, had the appearance
of gigantic fern-leaves, sprang out horizontally from the trunk,
projecting right over the house and flower-garden, to both of
which they furnished a grateful proportion of shade, without
-- being so high up -- offering any impediment to the passage
of light and air.

'What a beautiful tree!' exclaimed Sir Henry.

'Yes, you are right; it is a beautiful tree.  There is not another
like it in all the country round, that I know of,' answered Mr
Mackenzie.  'I call it my watch tower.  As you see, I have a
rope ladder fixed to the lowest bough; and if I want to see anything
that is going on within fifteen miles or so, all I have to do
is to run up it with a spyglass.  But you must be hungry, and
I am sure the dinner is cooked.  Come in, my friends; it is but
a rough place, but well enough for these savage parts; and I
can tell you what, we have got -- a French cook.'  And he led
the way on to the veranda.

As I was following him, and wondering what on earth he could
mean by this, there suddenly appeared, through the door that
opened on to the veranda from the house, a dapper little man,
dressed in a neat blue cotton suit, with shoes made of tanned
hide, and remarkable for a bustling air and most enormous black
mustachios, shaped into an upward curve, and coming to a point
for all the world like a pair of buffalo-horns.

'Madame bids me for to say that dinnar is sarved.  Messieurs,
my compliments;' then suddenly perceiving Umslopogaas, who was
loitering along after us and playing with his battleaxe, he threw
up his hands in astonishment.  'Ah, mais quel homme!' he ejaculated
in French, 'quel sauvage affreux!  Take but note of his huge
choppare and the great pit in his head.'

'Ay,' said Mr Mackenzie; 'what are you talking about, Alphonse?'

'Talking about!' replied the little Frenchman, his eyes still
fixed upon Umslopogaas, whose general appearance seemed to fascinate
him; 'why I talk of him' -- and he rudely pointed -- 'of ce monsieur noir.'

At this everybody began to laugh, and Umslopogaas, perceiving
that he was the object of remark, frowned ferociously, for he
had a most lordly dislike of anything like a personal liberty.

'Parbleu!' said Alphonse, 'he is angered -- he makes the grimace.
I like not his air.  I vanish.'  And he did with considerable rapidity.

Mr Mackenzie joined heartily in the shout of laughter which we
indulged in.  'He is a queer character -- Alphonse,' he said.
'By and by I will tell you his history; in the meanwhile let
us try his cooking.'

'Might I ask,' said Sir Henry, after we had eaten a most excellent
dinner, 'how you came to have a French cook in these wilds?'

'Oh,' answered Mrs Mackenzie, 'he arrived here of his own accord
about a year ago, and asked to be taken into our service.
He had got into some trouble in France, and fled to Zanzibar,
where he found an application had been made by the French Government
for his extradition.  Whereupon he rushed off up-country, and
fell in, when nearly starved, with our caravan of men, who were
bringing us our annual supply of goods, and was brought on here.
You should get him to tell you the story.'

When dinner was over we lit our pipes, and Sir Henry proceeded
to give our host a description of our journey up here, over which
he looked very grave.

'It is evident to me,' he said, 'that those rascally Masai are
following you, and I am very thankful that you have reached this
house in safety.  I do not think that they will dare to attack
you here.  It is unfortunate, though, that nearly all my men
have gone down to the coast with ivory and goods.  There are
two hundred of them in the caravan, and the consequence is that
I have not more than twenty men available for defensive purposes
in case they should attack us.  But, still, I will just give
a few orders;' and, calling a black man who was loitering about
outside in the garden, he went to the window, and addressed him
in a Swahili dialect.  The man listened, and then saluted and
departed.

'I am sure I devoutly hope that we shall bring no such calamity
upon you,' said I, anxiously, when he had taken his seat again.
'Rather than bring those bloodthirsty villains about your ears,
we will move on and take our chance.'

'You will do nothing of the sort.  If the Masai come, they come,
and there is an end on it; and I think we can give them a pretty
warm greeting.  I would not show any man the door for all the
Masai in the world.'

'That reminds me,' I said, 'the Consul at Lamu told me that he
had had a letter from you, in which you said that a man had arrived
here who reported that he had come across a white people in the
interior.  Do you think that there was any truth in his story?
I ask, because I have once or twice in my life heard rumours
from natives who have come down from the far north of the existence
of such a race.'

Mr Mackenzie, by way of answer, went out of the room and returned,
bringing with him a most curious sword.  It was long, and all
the blade, which was very thick and heavy, was to within a quarter
of an inch of the cutting edge worked into an ornamental pattern
exactly as we work soft wood with a fret-saw, the steel, however,
being invariably pierced in such a way as not to interfere with
the strength of the sword.  This in itself was sufficiently curious,
but what was still more so was that all the edges of the hollow
spaces cut through the substance of the blade were most beautifully
inlaid with gold, which was in some way that I cannot understand
welded on to the steel {Endnote 5}.

'There,' said Mr Mackenzie, 'did you ever see a sword like that?'

We all examined it and shook our heads.

'Well, I have got it to show you, because this is what the man
who said he had seen the white people brought with him, and because
it does more or less give an air of truth to what I should otherwise
have set down as a lie.  Look here; I will tell you all that
I know about the matter, which is not much.  One afternoon, just
before sunset, I was sitting on the veranda, when a poor, miserable,
starved-looking man came limping up and squatted down before
me.  I asked him where he came from and what he wanted, and thereon
he plunged into a long rambling narrative about how he belonged
to a tribe far in the north, and how his tribe was destroyed
by another tribe, and he with a few other survivors driven still
further north past a lake named Laga.  Thence, it appears, he
made his way to another lake that lay up in the mountains, "a
lake without a bottom" he called it, and here his wife and brother
died of an infectious sickness -- probably smallpox -- whereon
the people drove him out of their villages into the wilderness,
where he wandered miserably over mountains for ten days, after
which he got into dense thorn forest, and was one day found there
by some _white men_ who were hunting, and who took him to a place
where all the people were white and lived in stone houses.  Here
he remained a week shut up in a house, till one night a man with
a white beard, whom he understood to be a "medicine-man", came
and inspected him, after which he was led off and taken through
the thorn forest to the confines of the wilderness, and given
food and this sword (at least so he said), and turned loose.'

'Well,' said Sir Henry, who had been listening with breathless
interest, 'and what did he do then?'

'Oh! he seems, according to his account, to have gone through
sufferings and hardships innumerable, and to have lived for weeks
on roots and berries, and such things as he could catch and kill.
But somehow he did live, and at last by slow degrees made his
way south and reached this place.  What the details of his journey
were I never learnt, for I told him to return on the morrow,
bidding one of my headmen look after him for the night.  The
headman took him away, but the poor man had the itch so badly
that the headman's wife would not have him in the hut for fear
of catching it, so he was given a blanket and told to sleep outside.
As it happened, we had a lion hanging about here just then,
and most unhappily he winded this unfortunate wanderer, and,
springing on him, bit his head almost off without the people
in the hut knowing anything about it, and there was an end of
him and his story about the white people; and whether or no there
is any truth in it is more than I can tell you.  What do you
think, Mr Quatermain?'

I shook my head, and answered, 'I don't know.  There are so many
queer things hidden away in the heart of this great continent
that I should be sorry to assert that there was no truth in it.
Anyhow, we mean to try and find out.  We intend to journey to
Lekakisera, and thence, if we live to get so far, to this Lake
Laga; and, if there are any white people beyond, we will do our
best to find them.'

'You are very venturesome people,' said Mr Mackenzie,
with a smile, and the subject dropped.




CHAPTER IV
ALPHONSE AND HIS ANNETTE



After dinner we thoroughly inspected all the outbuildings and
grounds of the station, which I consider the most successful
as well as the most beautiful place of the sort that I have seen
in Africa.  We then returned to the veranda, where we found Umslopogaas
taking advantage of this favourable opportunity to clean all
the rifles thoroughly.  This was the only _work_ that he ever did
or was asked to do, for as a Zulu chief it was beneath his dignity
to work with his hands; but such as it was he did it very well.
It was a curious sight to see the great Zulu sitting there upon
the floor, his battleaxe resting against the wall behind him,
whilst his long aristocratic-looking hands were busily employed,
delicately and with the utmost care, cleaning the mechanism of
the breech-loaders.  He had a name for each gun.  One -- a double
four-bore belonging to Sir Henry -- was the Thunderer; another,
my 500 Express, which had a peculiarly sharp report, was 'the
little one who spoke like a whip'; the Winchester repeaters were
'the women, who talked so fast that you could not tell one word
from another'; the six Martinis were 'the common people'; and
so on with them all.  It was very curious to hear him addressing
each gun as he cleaned it, as though it were an individual, and
in a vein of the quaintest humour.  He did the same with his
battle-axe, which he seemed to look upon as an intimate friend,
and to which he would at times talk by the hour, going over all
his old adventures with it -- and dreadful enough some of them
were.  By a piece of grim humour, he had named this axe 'Inkosi-kaas',
which is the Zulu word for chieftainess.  For a long while I
could not make out why he gave it such a name, and at last I
asked him, when he informed me that the axe was very evidently
feminine, because of her womanly habit of prying very deep into
things, and that she was clearly a chieftainess because all men
fell down before her, struck dumb at the sight of her beauty
and power.  In the same way he would consult 'Inkosi-kaas' if
in any dilemma; and when I asked him why he did so, he informed
me it was because she must needs be wise, having 'looked into
so many people's brains'.

I took up the axe and closely examined this formidable weapon.
It was, as I have said, of the nature of a pole-axe.  The haft,
made out of an enormous rhinoceros horn, was three feet three
inches long, about an inch and a quarter thick, and with a knob
at the end as large as a Maltese orange, left there to prevent
the hand from slipping.  This horn haft, though so massive, was
as flexible as cane, and practically unbreakable; but, to make
assurance doubly sure, it was whipped round at intervals of a
few inches with copper wire -- all the parts where the hands
grip being thus treated.  Just above where the haft entered the
head were scored a number of little nicks, each nick representing
a man killed in battle with the weapon.  The axe itself was made
of the most beautiful steel, and apparently of European manufacture,
though Umslopogaas did not know where it came from, having taken
it from the hand of a chief he had killed in battle many years
before.  It was not very heavy, the head weighing two and a half
pounds, as nearly as I could judge.  The cutting part was slightly
concave in shape -- not convex, as it generally the case with
savage battleaxes -- and sharp as a razor, measuring five and
three-quarter inches across the widest part.  From the back of
the axe sprang a stout spike four inches long, for the last two
of which it was hollow, and shaped like a leather punch, with
an opening for anything forced into the hollow at the punch end
to be pushed out above -- in fact, in this respect it exactly
resembled a butcher's pole-axe.  It was with this punch end,
as we afterwards discovered, that Umslopogaas usually struck
when fighting, driving a neat round hole in his adversary's skull,
and only using the broad cutting edge for a circular sweep, or
sometimes in a melee.  I think he considered the punch a neater
and more sportsmanlike tool, and it was from his habit of pecking
at his enemy with it that he got his name of 'Woodpecker'.  Certainly
in his hands it was a terribly efficient one.

Such was Umslopogaas' axe, Inkosi-kaas, the most remarkable and
fatal hand-to-hand weapon that I ever saw, and one which he cherished
as much as his own life.  It scarcely ever left his hand except
when he was eating, and then he always sat with it under his
leg.

Just as I returned his axe to Umslopogaas, Miss Flossie came
up and took me off to see her collection of flowers, African
liliums, and blooming shrubs, some of which are very beautiful,
many of the varieties being quite unknown to me and also, I believe,
to botanical science.  I asked her if she had ever seen or heard
of the 'Goya' lily, which Central African explorers have told
me they have occasionally met with and whose wonderful loveliness
has filled them with astonishment.  This lily, which the natives
say blooms only once in ten years, flourishes in the most arid
soil.  Compared to the size of the bloom, the bulb is small,
generally weighing about four pounds.  As for the flower itself
(which I afterwards saw under circumstances likely to impress
its appearance fixedly in my mind), I know not how to describe
its beauty and splendour, or the indescribable sweetness of its
perfume.  The flower -- for it has only one bloom -- rises from
the crown of the bulb on a thick fleshy and flat-sided stem,
the specimen that I saw measured fourteen inches in diameter,
and is somewhat trumpet-shaped like the bloom of an ordinary
'longiflorum' set vertically.  First there is the green sheath,
which in its early stage is not unlike that of a water-lily,
but which as the bloom opens splits into four portions and curls
back gracefully towards the stem.  Then comes the bloom itself,
a single dazzling arch of white enclosing another cup of richest
velvety crimson, from the heart of which rises a golden-coloured
pistil.  I have never seen anything to equal this bloom in beauty
or fragrance, and as I believe it is but little known, I take
the liberty to describe it at length.  Looking at it for the
first time I well remember that I realized how even in a flower
there dwells something of the majesty of its Maker.  To my great
delight Miss Flossie told me that she knew the flower well and
had tried to grow it in her garden, but without success, adding,
however, that as it should be in bloom at this time of the year
she thought that she could procure me a specimen.

After that I fell to asking her if she was not lonely up here
among all these savage people and without any companions of her
own age.

'Lonely?' she said.  'Oh, indeed no!  I am as happy as the day
is long, and besides I have my own companions.  Why, I should
hate to be buried in a crowd of white girls all just like myself
so that nobody could tell the difference!  Here,' she said, giving
her head a little toss, 'I am I; and every native for miles around
knows the "Water-lily", -- for that is what they call me -- and
is ready to do what I want, but in the books that I have read
about little girls in England it is not like that.  Everybody
thinks them a trouble, and they have to do what their schoolmistress
likes.  Oh! it would break my heart to be put in a cage like
that and not to be free -- free as the air.'

'Would you not like to learn?' I asked.

'So I do learn.  Father teaches me Latin and French and arithmetic.'

'And are you never afraid among all these wild men?'

'Afraid?  Oh no! they never interfere with me.  I think they
believe that I am "Ngai" (of the Divinity) because I am so white
and have fair hair.  And look here,' and diving her little hand
into the bodice of her dress she produced a double-barrelled
nickel-plated Derringer, 'I always carry that loaded, and if
anybody tried to touch me I should shoot him.  Once I shot a
leopard that jumped upon my donkey as I was riding along.  It
frightened me very much, but I shot it in the ear and it fell
dead, and I have its skin upon my bed.  Look there!' she went
on in an altered voice, touching me on the arm and pointing to
some far-away object, 'I said just now that I had companions;
there is one of them.'

I looked, and for the first time there burst upon my sight the
glory of Mount Kenia.  Hitherto the mountain had always been
hidden in mist, but now its radiant beauty was unveiled for many
thousand feet, although the base was still wrapped in vapour
so that the lofty peak or pillar, towering nearly twenty thousand
feet into the sky, appeared to be a fairy vision, hanging between
earth and heaven, and based upon the clouds.  The solemn majesty
and beauty of this white peak are together beyond the power of
my poor pen to describe.  There it rose straight and sheer --
a glittering white glory, its crest piercing the very blue of
heaven.  As I gazed at it with that little girl I felt my whole
heart lifted up with an indescribable emotion, and for a moment
great and wonderful thoughts seemed to break upon my mind, even
as the arrows of the setting sun were breaking upon Kenia's snows.
Mr Mackenzie's natives call the mountain the 'Finger of God',
and to me it did seem eloquent of immortal peace and of the pure
high calm that surely lies above this fevered world.  Somewhere
I had heard a line of poetry,


A thing of beauty is a joy for ever,


and now it came into my mind, and for the first time I thoroughly
understood what it meant.  Base, indeed, would be the man who
could look upon that mighty snow-wreathed pile -- that white
old tombstone of the years -- and not feel his own utter insignificance,
and, by whatever name he calls Him, worship God in his heart.
Such sights are like visions of the spirit; they throw wide
the windows of the chamber of our small selfishness and let in
a breath of that air that rushes round the rolling spheres, and
for a while illumine our darkness with a far-off gleam of the
white light which beats upon the Throne.

Yes, such things of beauty are indeed a joy for ever, and I can
well understand what little Flossie meant when she talked of
Kenia as her companion.  As Umslopogaas, savage old Zulu that
he was, said when I pointed out to him the peak hanging in the
glittering air: 'A man might look thereon for a thousand years
and yet be hungry to see.'  But he gave rather another colour
to his poetical idea when he added in a sort of chant, and with
a touch of that weird imagination for which the man was remarkable,
that when he was dead he should like his spirit to sit upon that
snow-clad peak for ever, and to rush down the steep white sides
in the breath of the whirlwind, or on the flash of the lightning,
and 'slay, and slay, and slay'.

'Slay what, you old bloodhound?' I asked.

This rather puzzled him, but at length he answered --

'The other shadows.'

'So thou wouldst continue thy murdering even after death?' I said.

'I murder not,' he answered hotly; 'I kill in fair fight.  Man
is born to kill.  He who kills not when his blood is hot is a
woman, and no man.  The people who kill not are slaves.  I say
I kill in fair fight; and when I am "in the shadow", as you white
men say, I hope to go on killing in fair fight.  May my shadow
be accursed and chilled to the bone for ever if it should fall
to murdering like a bushman with his poisoned arrows!'  And he
stalked away with much dignity, and left me laughing.

Just then the spies whom our host had sent out in the morning
to find out if there were any traces of our Masai friends about,
returned, and reported that the country had been scoured for
fifteen miles round without a single Elmoran being seen, and
that they believed that those gentry had given up the pursuit
and returned whence they came.  Mr Mackenzie gave a sigh of relief
when he heard this, and so indeed did we, for we had had quite
enough of the Masai to last us for some time.  Indeed, the general
opinion was that, finding we had reached the mission station
in safety, they had, knowing its strength, given up the pursuit
of us as a bad job.  How ill-judged that view was the sequel
will show.

After the spies had gone, and Mrs Mackenzie and Flossie had retired
for the night, Alphonse, the little Frenchman, came out, and
Sir Henry, who is a very good French scholar, got him to tell
us how he came to visit Central Africa, which he did in a most
extraordinary lingo, that for the most part I shall not attempt
to reproduce.

'My grandfather,' he began, 'was a soldier of the Guard, and
served under Napoleon.  He was in the retreat from Moscow, and
lived for ten days on his own leggings and a pair he stole from
a comrade.  He used to get drunk -- he died drunk, and I remember
playing at drums on his coffin.  My father --'

Here we suggested that he might skip his ancestry and come to
the point.

'Bien, messieurs!' replied this comical little man, with a polite
bow.  'I did only wish to demonstrate that the military principle
is not hereditary.  My grandfather was a splendid man, six feet
two high, broad in proportion, a swallower of fire and gaiters.
Also he was remarkable for his moustache.  To me there remains
the moustache and -- nothing more.

'I am, messieurs, a cook, and I was born at Marseilles.  In that
dear town I spent my happy youth.  For years and years I washed
the dishes at the Hotel Continental.  Ah, those were golden days!'
and he sighed.  'I am a Frenchman.  Need I say, messieurs, that
I admire beauty?  Nay, I adore the fair.  Messieurs, we admire
all the roses in a garden, but we pluck one.  I plucked one,
and alas, messieurs, it pricked my finger.  She was a chambermaid,
her name Annette, her figure ravishing, her face an angel's,
her heart -- alas, messieurs, that I should have to own it! --
black and slippery as a patent leather boot.  I loved to desperation,
I adored her to despair.  She transported me -- in every sense;
she inspired me.  Never have I cooked as I cooked (for I had
been promoted at the hotel) when Annette, my adored Annette,
smiled on me.  Never' -- and here his manly voice broke into
a sob -- 'never shall I cook so well again.'  Here he melted
into tears.

'Come, cheer up!' said Sir Henry in French, smacking him smartly
on the back.  'There's no knowing what may happen, you know.
To judge from your dinner today, I should say you were in a
fair way to recovery.'

Alphonse stopped weeping, and began to rub his back.  'Monsieur,'
he said, 'doubtless means to console, but his hand is heavy.
To continue: we loved, and were happy in each other's love.
The birds in their little nest could not be happier than Alphonse
and his Annette.  Then came the blow -- sapristi! -- when I think
of it.  Messieurs will forgive me if I wipe away a tear.
Mine was an evil number; I was drawn for the conscription.  Fortune
would be avenged on me for having won the heart of Annette.

'The evil moment came; I had to go.  I tried to run away, but
I was caught by brutal soldiers, and they banged me with the
butt-end of muskets till my mustachios curled with pain.  I had
a cousin a linen-draper, well-to-do, but very ugly.  He had drawn
a good number, and sympathized when they thumped me.  "To thee,
my cousin," I said, "to thee, in whose veins flows the blue blood
of our heroic grandparent, to thee I consign Annette.  Watch
over her whilst I hunt for glory in the bloody field."

'"Make your mind easy," said he; "I will."  As the sequel shows,
he did!

'I went.  I lived in barracks on black soup.  I am a refined
man and a poet by nature, and I suffered tortures from the coarse
horror of my surroundings.  There was a drill sergeant, and he
had a cane.  Ah, that cane, how it curled!  Alas, never can I
forget it!

'One morning came the news; my battalion was ordered to Tonquin.
The drill sergeant and the other coarse monsters rejoiced.
I -- I made enquiries about Tonquin.  They were not satisfactory.
In Tonquin are savage Chinese who rip you open.  My artistic
tastes -- for I am also an artist -- recoiled from the idea of
being ripped open.  The great man makes up his mind quickly.
I made up my mind.  I determined not to be ripped open.  I deserted.

'I reached Marseilles disguised as an old man.  I went to the
house of my cousin -- he in whom runs my grandfather's heroic
blood -- and there sat Annette.  It was the season of cherries.
They took a double stalk.  At each end was a cherry.  My cousin
put one into his mouth, Annette put the other in hers.  Then
they drew the stalks in till their eyes met -- and alas, alas
that I should have to say it! -- they kissed.  The game was a
pretty one, but it filled me with fury.  The heroic blood of
my grandfather boiled up in me.  I rushed into the kitchen.
I struck my cousin with the old man's crutch.  He fell -- I had
slain him.  Alas, I believe that I did slay him.  Annette screamed.
The gendarmes came.  I fled.  I reached the harbour.  I hid
aboard a vessel.  The vessel put to sea.  The captain found me
and beat me.  He took an opportunity.  He posted a letter from
a foreign port to the police.  He did not put me ashore because
I cooked so well.  I cooked for him all the way to Zanzibar.
When I asked for payment he kicked me.  The blood of my heroic
grandfather boiled within me, and I shook my fist in his face
and vowed to have my revenge.  He kicked me again.  At Zanzibar
there was a telegram.  I cursed the man who invented telegraphs.
Now I curse him again.  I was to be arrested for desertion,
for murder, and que sais-je?  I escaped from the prison.  I fled,
I starved.  I met the men of Monsieur le Cure.  They brought
me here.  I am full of woe.  But I return not to France.  Better
to risk my life in these horrible places than to know the Bagne.'

He paused, and we nearly choked with laughter, having to turn
our faces away.

'Ah! you weep, messieurs,' he said.  'No wonder -- it is a sad
story.'

'Perhaps,' said Sir Henry, 'the heroic blood of your
grandparent will triumph after all; perhaps you will still be
great.  At any rate we shall see.  And now I vote we go to bed.
I am dead tired, and we had not much sleep on that confounded
rock last night.'

And so we did, and very strange the tidy rooms and clean white
sheets seemed to us after our recent experiences.




CHAPTER V
UMSLOPOGAAS MAKES A PROMISE



Next morning at breakfast I missed Flossie and asked where she was.

'Well,' said her mother, 'when I got up this morning I found
a note put outside my door in which --  But here it is, you can
read it for yourself,' and she gave me the slip of paper on which
the following was written: --


'Dearest M--, -- It is just dawn, and I am off to the hills to
get Mr Q-- a bloom of the lily he wants, so don't expect me till
you see me.  I have taken the white donkey; and nurse and a couple
of boys are coming with me -- also something to eat, as I may
be away all day, for I am determined to get the lily if I have
to go twenty miles for it.  -- Flossie.'


'I hope she will be all right,' I said, a little anxiously;
'I never meant her to trouble after the flower.'

'Ah, Flossie can look after herself,' said her mother; 'she often
goes off in this way like a true child of the wilderness.'  But
Mr Mackenzie, who came in just then and saw the note for the
first time, looked rather grave, though he said nothing.

After breakfast was over I took him aside and asked him whether
it would not be possible to send after the girl and get her back,
having in view the possibility of there still being some Masai
hanging about, at whose hands she might come to harm.

'I fear it would be of no use,' he answered.  'She may be fifteen
miles off by now, and it is impossible to say what path she has
taken.  There are the hills;' and he pointed to a long range
of rising ground stretching almost parallel with the course followed
by the river Tana, but gradually sloping down to a dense bush-clad
plain about five miles short of the house.

Here I suggested that we might get up the great tree over the
house and search the country round with a spyglass; and this,
after Mr Mackenzie had given some orders to his people to try
and follow Flossie's spoor, we did.

The ascent of the mighty tree was rather an alarming performance,
even with a sound rope-ladder fixed at both ends to climb up,
at least to a landsman; but Good came up like a lamplighter.

On reaching the height at which the first fern-shaped boughs
sprang from the bole, we stepped without any difficulty upon
a platform made of boards, nailed from one bough to another,
and large enough to accommodate a dozen people.  As for the view,
it was simply glorious.  In every direction the bush rolled away
in great billows for miles and miles, as far as the glass would
show, only here and there broken by the brighter green of patches
of cultivation, or by the glittering surface of lakes.  To the
northwest, Kenia reared his mighty head, and we could trace the
Tana river curling like a silver snake almost from his feet,
and far away beyond us towards the ocean.  It is a glorious country,
and only wants the hand of civilized man to make it a most productive
one.

But look as we would, we could see no signs of Flossie and her
donkey, so at last we had to come down disappointed.  On reaching
the veranda I found Umslopogaas sitting there, slowly and lightly
sharpening his axe with a small whetstone he always carried with
him.

'What doest thou, Umslopogaas?' I asked.

'I smell blood,' was the answer; and I could get no more out
of him.

After dinner we again went up the tree and searched the surrounding
country with a spyglass, but without result.  When we came down
Umslopogaas was still sharpening Inkosi-kaas, although she already
had an edge like a razor.  Standing in front of him, and regarding
him with a mixture of fear and fascination, was Alphonse.  And
certainly he did seem an alarming object -- sitting there, Zulu
fashion, on his haunches, a wild look upon his intensely savage
and yet intellectual face, sharpening, sharpening, sharpening
at the murderous-looking axe.

'Oh, the monster, the horrible man!' said the little French cook,
lifting his hands in amazement.  'See but the hole in his head;
the skin beats on it up and down like a baby's!  Who would nurse
such a baby?' and he burst out laughing at the idea.

For a moment Umslopogaas looked up from his sharpening, and a
sort of evil light played in his dark eyes.

'What does the little "buffalo-heifer" [so named by Umslopogaas,
on account of his mustachios and feminine characteristics] say?
Let him be careful, or I will cut his horns.  Beware, little
man monkey, beware!'

Unfortunately Alphonse, who was getting over his fear of him,
went on laughing at 'ce drole d'un monsieur noir'.  I was about
to warn him to desist, when suddenly the huge Zulu bounded off
the veranda on to the open space where Alphonse was standing,
his features alive with a sort of malicious enthusiasm, and began
swinging the axe round and round over the Frenchman's head.

'Stand still,' I shouted; 'do not move as you value your life
-- he will not hurt you;' but I doubt if Alphonse heard me, being,
fortunately for himself, almost petrified with horror.

Then followed the most extraordinary display of sword, or rather
of axemanship, that I ever saw.  First of all the axe went flying
round and round over the top of Alphonse's head, with an angry
whirl and such extraordinary swiftness that it looked like a
continuous band of steel, ever getting nearer and yet nearer
to that unhappy individual's skull, till at last it grazed it
as it flew.  Then suddenly the motion was changed, and it seemed
to literally flow up and down his body and limbs, never more
than an eighth of an inch from them, and yet never striking them.
It was a wonderful sight to see the little man fixed there,
having apparently realized that to move would be to run the risk
of sudden death, while his black tormentor towered over him,
and wrapped him round with the quick flashes of the axe.  For
a minute or more this went on, till suddenly I saw the moving
brightness travel down the side of Alphonse's face, and then
outwards and stop.  As it did so a tuft of something black fell
to the ground; it was the tip of one of the little Frenchman's
curling mustachios.

Umslopogaas leant upon the handle of Inkosi-kaas, and broke into
a long, low laugh; and Alphonse, overcome with fear, sank into
a sitting posture on the ground, while we stood astonished at
this exhibition of almost superhuman skill and mastery of a weapon.
'Inkosi-kaas is sharp enough,' he shouted; 'the blow that clipped
the "buffalo-heifer's" horn would have split a man from the crown
to the chin.  Few could have struck it but I; none could have
struck it and not taken off the shoulder too.  Look, thou little
heifer!  Am I a good man to laugh at, thinkest thou?  For a space
hast thou stood within a hair's-breadth of death.  Laugh not
again, lest the hair's-breadth be wanting.  I have spoken.'

'What meanest thou by such mad tricks?' I asked of Umslopogaas,
indignantly.  'Surely thou art mad.  Twenty times didst thou
go near to slaying the man.'

'And yet, Macumazahn, I slew not.  Thrice as Inkosi-kaas flew
the spirit entered into me to end him, and send her crashing
through his skull; but I did not.  Nay, it was but a jest; but
tell the "heifer" that it is not well to mock at such as I.
Now I go to make a shield, for I smell blood, Macumazahn -- of
a truth I smell blood.  Before the battle hast thou not seen
the vulture grow of a sudden in the sky?  They smell the blood,
Macumazahn, and my scent is more keen than theirs.  There is
a dry ox-hide down yonder; I go to make a shield.'

'That is an uncomfortable retainer of yours,' said Mr Mackenzie,
who had witnessed this extraordinary scene.  'He has frightened
Alphonse out of his wits; look!' and he pointed to the Frenchman,
who, with a scared white face and trembling limbs, was making
his way into the house.  'I don't think that he will ever laugh
at "le monsieur noir" again.'

'Yes,' answered I, 'it is ill jesting with such as he.  When
he is roused he is like a fiend, and yet he has a kind heart
in his own fierce way.  I remember years ago seeing him nurse
a sick child for a week.  He is a strange character, but true
as steel, and a strong stick to rest on in danger.'

'He says he smells blood,' said Mr Mackenzie.  'I only trust
he is not right.  I am getting very fearful about my little girl.
She must have gone far, or she would be home by now.  It is
half-past three o'clock.'

I pointed out that she had taken food with her, and very likely
would not in the ordinary course of events return till nightfall;
but I myself felt very anxious, and fear that my anxiety betrayed
itself.

Shortly after this, the people whom Mr Mackenzie had sent out
to search for Flossie returned, stating that they had followed
the spoor of the donkey for a couple of miles and had then lost
it on some stony ground, nor could they discover it again.  They
had, however, scoured the country far and wide, but without success.

After this the afternoon wore drearily on, and towards evening,
there still being no signs of Flossie, our anxiety grew very
keen.  As for the poor mother, she was quite prostrated by her
fears, and no wonder, but the father kept his head wonderfully
well.  Everything that could be done was done: people were sent
out in all directions, shots were fired, and a continuous outlook
kept from the great tree, but without avail.

And then it grew dark, and still no sign of fair-haired little
Flossie.

At eight o'clock we had supper.  It was but a sorrowful meal,
and Mrs Mackenzie did not appear at it.  We three also were very
silent, for in addition to our natural anxiety as to the fate
of the child, we were weighed down by the sense that we had brought
this trouble on the head of our kind host.  When supper was nearly
at an end I made an excuse to leave the table.  I wanted to get
outside and think the situation over.  I went on to the veranda
and, having lit my pipe, sat down on a seat about a dozen feet
from the right-hand end of the structure, which was, as the reader
may remember, exactly opposite one of the narrow doors of the
protecting wall that enclosed the house and flower garden.  I
had been sitting there perhaps six or seven minutes when I thought
I heard the door move.  I looked in that direction and I listened,
but, being unable to make out anything, concluded that I must
have been mistaken.  It was a darkish night, the moon not having
yet risen.

Another minute passed, when suddenly something round fell with
a soft but heavy thud upon the stone flooring of the veranda,
and came bounding and rolling along past me.  For a moment I
did not rise, but sat wondering what it could be.  Finally, I
concluded it must have been an animal.  Just then, however, another
idea struck me, and I got up quick enough.  The thing lay quite
still a few feet beyond me.  I put down my hand towards it and
it did not move: clearly it was not an animal.  My hand touched
it.  It was soft and warm and heavy.  Hurriedly I lifted it and
held it up against the faint starlight.

_It was a newly severed human head!_

I am an old hand and not easily upset, but I own that that ghastly
sight made me feel sick.  How had the thing come there?  Whose
was it?  I put it down and ran to the little doorway.  I could
see nothing, hear nobody.  I was about to go out into the darkness
beyond, but remembering that to do so was to expose myself to
the risk of being stabbed, I drew back, shut the door, and bolted it.
Then I returned to the veranda, and in as careless a voice as
I could command called Curtis.  I fear, however, that my tones
must have betrayed me, for not only Sir Henry but also Good and
Mackenzie rose from the table and came hurrying out.

'What is it?' said the clergyman, anxiously.

Then I had to tell them.

Mr Mackenzie turned pale as death under his red skin.  We were
standing opposite the hall door, and there was a light in it
so that I could see.  He snatched the head up by the hair and
held it against the light.

'It is the head of one of the men who accompanied Flossie,' he
said with a gasp.  'Thank God it is not hers!'

We all stood and stared at each other aghast.  What was to be done?

Just then there was a knocking at the door that I had bolted,
and a voice cried, 'Open, my father, open!'

The door was unlocked, and in sped a terrified man.  He was one
of the spies who had been sent out.

'My father,' he cried, 'the Masai are on us!  A great body of
them have passed round the hill and are moving towards the old
stone kraal down by the little stream.  My father, make strong
thy heart!  In the midst of them I saw the white ass, and on
it sat the Water-lily [Flossie].  An Elmoran [young warrior]
led the ass, and by its side walked the nurse weeping.  The men
who went with her in the morning I saw not.'

'Was the child alive?' asked Mr Mackenzie, hoarsely.

'She was white as the snow, but well, my father.  They passed
quite close to me, and looking up from where I lay hid I saw
her face against the sky.'

'God help her and us!' groaned the clergyman.

'How many are there of them?' I asked.

'More than two hundred -- two hundred and half a hundred.'

Once more we looked one on the other.  What was to be done?
Just then there rose a loud insistent cry outside the wall.

'Open the door, white man; open the door!  A herald -- a herald
to speak with thee.'  Thus cried the voice.

Umslopogaas ran to the wall, and, reaching with his long arms
to the coping, lifted his head above it and gazed over.

'I see but one man,' he said.  'He is armed, and carries a basket
in his hand.'

'Open the door,' I said.  'Umslopogaas, take thine axe and stand
thereby.  Let one man pass.  If another follows, slay.'

The door was unbarred.  In the shadow of the wall stood Umslopogaas,
his axe raised above his head to strike.  Just then the moon
came out.  There was a moment's pause, and then in stalked a
Masai Elmoran, clad in the full war panoply that I have already
described, but bearing a large basket in his hand.  The moonlight
shone bright upon his great spear as he walked.  He was physically
a splendid man, apparently about thirty-five years of age.  Indeed,
none of the Masai that I saw were under six feet high, though
mostly quite young.  When he got opposite to us he halted, put
down the basket, and stuck the spike of his spear into the ground,
so that it stood upright.

'Let us talk,' he said.  'The first messenger we sent to you
could not talk;' and he pointed to the head which lay upon the
paving of the stoep -- a ghastly sight in the moonlight; 'but
I have words to speak if ye have ears to hear.  Also I bring
presents;' and he pointed to the basket and laughed with an air
of swaggering insolence that is perfectly indescribable, and
yet which one could not but admire, seeing that he was surrounded
by enemies.

'Say on,' said Mr Mackenzie.

'I am the "Lygonani" [war captain] of a party of the Masai of
the Guasa Amboni.  I and my men followed these three white men,'
and he pointed to Sir Henry, Good, and myself, 'but they were
too clever for us, and escaped hither.  We have a quarrel with
them, and are going to kill them.'

'Are you, my friend?' said I to myself.

'In following these men we this morning caught two black men,
one black woman, a white donkey, and a white girl.  One of the
black men we killed -- there is his head upon the pavement; the
other ran away.  The black woman, the little white girl, and
the white ass we took and brought with us.  In proof thereof
have I brought this basket that she carried.  Is it not thy
daughter's basket?'

Mr Mackenzie nodded, and the warrior went on.

'Good!  With thee and thy daughter we have no quarrel, nor do
we wish to harm thee, save as to thy cattle, which we have already
gathered, two hundred and forty head -- a beast for every man's
father.' {Endnote 6}

Here Mr Mackenzie gave a groan, as he greatly valued this herd
of cattle, which he bred with much care and trouble.

'So, save for the cattle, thou mayst go free; more especially,'
he added frankly, glancing at the wall, 'as this place would
be a difficult one to take.  But as to these men it is otherwise;
we have followed them for nights and days, and must kill them.
Were we to return to our kraal without having done so, all the
girls would make a mock of us.  So, however troublesome it
may be, they must die.

'Now I have a proposition for thee.  We would not harm the
little girl; she is too fair to harm, and has besides a brave spirit.
Give us one of these three men -- a life for a life -- and we
will let her go, and throw in the black woman with her also.
This is a fair offer, white man.  We ask but for one, not for
the three; we must take another opportunity to kill the other
two.  I do not even pick my man, though I should prefer the big
one,' pointing to Sir Henry; 'he looks strong, and would die
more slowly.'

'And if I say I will not yield the man?' said Mr Mackenzie.

'Nay, say not so, white man,' answered the Masai, 'for then thy
daughter dies at dawn, and the woman with her says thou hast
no other child.  Were she older I would take her for a servant;
but as she is so young I will slay her with my own hand -- ay,
with this very spear.  Thou canst come and see, an' thou wilt.
I give thee a safe conduct;' and the fiend laughed aloud as
his brutal jest.

Meanwhile I had been thinking rapidly, as one does in emergencies,
and had come to the conclusion that I would exchange myself against
Flossie.  I scarcely like to mention the matter for fear it should
be misunderstood.  Pray do not let any one be misled into thinking
that there was anything heroic about this, or any such nonsense.
It was merely a matter of common sense and common justice.
My life was an old and worthless one, hers was young and valuable.
Her death would pretty well kill her father and mother also,
whils