第 三 章 · UMBOPA ENTERS OUR SERVICE

. UMBOPA ENTERS OUR SERVICE

It takes from four to five days, according to the speed of the vessel

and the state of the weather, to run up from the Cape to Durban.

Sometimes, if the landing is bad at East London, where they have not

yet made that wonderful harbour they talk so much of, and sink such a

mint of money in, a ship is delayed for twenty-four hours before the

cargo boats can get out to take off the goods. But on this occasion we

had not to wait at all, for there were no breakers on the Bar to speak

of, and the tugs came out at once with the long strings of ugly

flat-bottomed boats behind them, into which the packages were bundled

with a crash. It did not matter what they might be, over they went

slap-bang; whether they contained china or woollen goods they met with

the same treatment. I saw one case holding four dozen of champagne

smashed all to bits, and there was the champagne fizzing and boiling

about in the bottom of the dirty cargo boat. It was a wicked waste, and

evidently so the Kafirs in the boat thought, for they found a couple of

unbroken bottles, and knocking off the necks drank the contents. But

they had not allowed for the expansion caused by the fizz in the wine,

and, feeling themselves swelling, rolled about in the bottom of the

boat, calling out that the good liquor was “tagati”—that is, bewitched.

I spoke to them from the vessel, and told them it was the white man’s

strongest medicine, and that they were as good as dead men. Those

Kafirs went to the shore in a very great fright, and I do not think

that they will touch champagne again.

Well, all the time that we were steaming up to Natal I was thinking

over Sir Henry Curtis’s offer. We did not speak any more on the subject

for a day or two, though I told them many hunting yarns, all true ones.

There is no need to tell lies about hunting, for so many curious things

happen within the knowledge of a man whose business it is to hunt; but

this is by the way.

At last, one beautiful evening in January, which is our hottest month,

we steamed past the coast of Natal, expecting to make Durban Point by

sunset. It is a lovely coast all along from East London, with its red

sandhills and wide sweeps of vivid green, dotted here and there with

Kafir kraals, and bordered by a ribbon of white surf, which spouts up

in pillars of foam where it hits the rocks. But just before you come to

Durban there is a peculiar richness about the landscape. There are the

sheer kloofs cut in the hills by the rushing rains of centuries, down

which the rivers sparkle; there is the deepest green of the bush,

growing as God planted it, and the other greens of the mealie gardens

and the sugar patches, while now and again a white house, smiling out

at the placid sea, puts a finish and gives an air of homeliness to the

scene. For to my mind, however beautiful a view may be, it requires the

presence of man to make it complete, but perhaps that is because I have

lived so much in the wilderness, and therefore know the value of

civilisation, though to be sure it drives away the game. The Garden of

Eden, no doubt, looked fair before man was, but I always think that it

must have been fairer when Eve adorned it.

To return, we had miscalculated a little, and the sun was well down

before we dropped anchor off the Point, and heard the gun which told

the good folks of Durban that the English Mail was in. It was too late

to think of getting over the Bar that night, so we went comfortably to

dinner, after seeing the Mails carried off in the life-boat.

When we came up again the moon was out, and shining so brightly over

sea and shore that she almost paled the quick, large flashes from the

lighthouse. From the shore floated sweet spicy odours that always

remind me of hymns and missionaries, and in the windows of the houses

on the Berea sparkled a hundred lights. From a large brig lying near

also came the music of the sailors as they worked at getting the anchor

up in order to be ready for the wind. Altogether it was a perfect

night, such a night as you sometimes get in Southern Africa, and it

threw a garment of peace over everybody as the moon threw a garment of

silver over everything. Even the great bulldog, belonging to a sporting

passenger, seemed to yield to its gentle influences, and forgetting his

yearning to come to close quarters with the baboon in a cage on the

foc’sle, snored happily at the door of the cabin, dreaming no doubt

that he had finished him, and happy in his dream.

We three—that is, Sir Henry Curtis, Captain Good, and myself—went and

sat by the wheel, and were quiet for a while.

“Well, Mr. Quatermain,” said Sir Henry presently, “have you been

thinking about my proposals?”

“Ay,” echoed Captain Good, “what do you think of them, Mr. Quatermain?

I hope that you are going to give us the pleasure of your company so

far as Solomon’s Mines, or wherever the gentleman you knew as Neville

may have got to.”

I rose and knocked out my pipe before I answered. I had not made up my

mind, and wanted an additional moment to decide. Before the burning

tobacco had fallen into the sea I had decided; just that little extra

second did the trick. It is often the way when you have been bothering

a long time over a thing.

“Yes, gentlemen,” I said, sitting down again, “I will go, and by your

leave I will tell you why, and on what conditions. First for the terms

which I ask.

“1. You are to pay all expenses, and any ivory or other valuables we

may get is to be divided between Captain Good and myself.

“2. That you give me £500 for my services on the trip before we start,

I undertaking to serve you faithfully till you choose to abandon the

enterprise, or till we succeed, or disaster overtakes us.

“3. That before we trek you execute a deed agreeing, in the event of my

death or disablement, to pay my boy Harry, who is studying medicine

over there in London, at Guy’s Hospital, a sum of £200 a year for five

years, by which time he ought to be able to earn a living for himself

if he is worth his salt. That is all, I think, and I daresay you will

say quite enough too.”

“No,” answered Sir Henry, “I accept them gladly. I am bent upon this

project, and would pay more than that for your help, considering the

peculiar and exclusive knowledge which you possess.”

“Pity I did not ask it, then, but I won’t go back on my word. And now

that I have got my terms I will tell you my reasons for making up my

mind to go. First of all, gentlemen, I have been observing you both for

the last few days, and if you will not think me impertinent I may say

that I like you, and believe that we shall come up well to the yoke

together. That is something, let me tell you, when one has a long

journey like this before one.

“And now as to the journey itself, I tell you flatly, Sir Henry and

Captain Good, that I do not think it probable we can come out of it

alive, that is, if we attempt to cross the Suliman Mountains. What was

the fate of the old Dom da Silvestra three hundred years ago? What was

the fate of his descendant twenty years ago? What has been your

brother’s fate? I tell you frankly, gentlemen, that as their fates were

so I believe ours will be.”

I paused to watch the effect of my words. Captain Good looked a little

uncomfortable, but Sir Henry’s face did not change. “We must take our

chance,” he said.

“You may perhaps wonder,” I went on, “why, if I think this, I, who am,

as I told you, a timid man, should undertake such a journey. It is for

two reasons. First I am a fatalist, and believe that my time is

appointed to come quite without reference to my own movements and will,

and that if I am to go to Suliman’s Mountains to be killed, I shall go

there and shall be killed. God Almighty, no doubt, knows His mind about

me, so I need not trouble on that point. Secondly, I am a poor man. For

nearly forty years I have hunted and traded, but I have never made more

than a living. Well, gentlemen, I don’t know if you are aware that the

average life of