King Solomon's Mines
“Put down your guns!” I halloed to the others, seeing that our only
chance of safety lay in conciliation. They obeyed, and walking to the
front I addressed the elderly man who had checked the youth.
“Greeting,” I said in Zulu, not knowing what language to use. To my
surprise I was understood.
“Greeting,” answered the old man, not, indeed, in the same tongue, but
in a dialect so closely allied to it that neither Umbopa nor myself had
any difficulty in understanding him. Indeed, as we afterwards found
out, the language spoken by this people is an old-fashioned form of the
Zulu tongue, bearing about the same relationship to it that the English
of Chaucer does to the English of the nineteenth century.
“Whence come you?” he went on, “who are you? and why are the faces of
three of you white, and the face of the fourth as the face of our
mother’s sons?” and he pointed to Umbopa. I looked at Umbopa as he said
it, and it flashed across me that he was right. The face of Umbopa was
like the faces of the men before me, and so was his great form like
their forms. But I had not time to reflect on this coincidence.
“We are strangers, and come in peace,” I answered, speaking very
slowly, so that he might understand me, “and this man is our servant.”
“You lie,” he answered; “no strangers can cross the mountains where all
things perish. But what do your lies matter?—if ye are strangers then
ye must die, for no strangers may live in the land of the Kukuanas. It
is the king’s law. Prepare then to die, O strangers!”
I was slightly staggered at this, more especially as I saw the hands of
some of the men steal down to their sides, where hung on each what
looked to me like a large and heavy knife.
“What does that beggar say?” asked Good.
“He says we are going to be killed,” I answered grimly.
“Oh, Lord!” groaned Good; and, as was his way when perplexed, he put
his hand to his false teeth, dragging the top set down and allowing
them to fly back to his jaw with a snap. It was a most fortunate move,
for next second the dignified crowd of Kukuanas uttered a simultaneous
yell of horror, and bolted back some yards.
“What’s up?” said I.
“It’s his teeth,” whispered Sir Henry excitedly. “He moved them. Take
them out, Good, take them out!”
He obeyed, slipping the set into the sleeve of his flannel shirt.
In another second curiosity had overcome fear, and the men advanced
slowly. Apparently they had now forgotten their amiable intention of
killing us.
“How is it, O strangers,” asked the old man solemnly, “that this fat
man (pointing to Good, who was clad in nothing but boots and a flannel
shirt, and had only half finished his shaving), whose body is clothed,
and whose legs are bare, who grows hair on one side of his sickly face
and not on the other, and who wears one shining and transparent eye—how
is it, I ask, that he has teeth which move of themselves, coming away
from the jaws and returning of their own will?”
“Open your mouth,” I said to Good, who promptly curled up his lips and
grinned at the old gentleman like an angry dog, revealing to his
astonished gaze two thin red lines of gum as utterly innocent of
ivories as a new-born elephant. The audience gasped.
“Where are his teeth?” they shouted; “with our eyes we saw them.”
Turning his head slowly and with a gesture of ineffable contempt, Good
swept his hand across his mouth. Then he grinned again, and lo, there
were two rows of lovely teeth.
Now the young man who had flung the knife threw himself down on the
grass and gave vent to a prolonged howl of terror; and as for the old
gentleman, his knees knocked together with fear.
“I see that ye are spirits,” he said falteringly; “did ever man born of
woman have hair on one side of his face and not on the other, or a
round and transparent eye, or teeth which moved and melted away and
grew again? Pardon us, O my lords.”
Here was luck indeed, and, needless to say, I jumped at the chance.
“It is granted,” I said with an imperial smile. “Nay, ye shall know the
truth. We come from another world, though we are men such as ye; we
come,” I went on, “from the biggest star that shines at night.”
“Oh! oh!” groaned the chorus of astonished aborigines.
“Yes,” I went on, “we do, indeed”; and again I smiled benignly, as I
uttered that amazing lie. “We come to stay with you a little while, and
to bless you by our sojourn. Ye will see, O friends, that I have
prepared myself for this visit by the learning of your language.”
“It is so, it is so,” said the chorus.
“Only, my lord,” put in the old gentleman, “thou hast learnt it very
badly.”
I cast an indignant glance at him, and he quailed.
“Now friends,” I continued, “ye might think that after so long a
journey we should find it in our hearts to avenge such a reception,
mayhap to strike cold in death the imperious hand that—that, in
short—threw a knife at the head of him whose teeth come and go.”
“Spare him, my lords,” said the old man in supplication; “he is the
king’s son, and I am his uncle. If anything befalls him his blood will
be required at my hands.”
“Yes, that is certainly so,” put in the young man with great emphasis.
“Ye may perhaps doubt our power to avenge,” I went on, heedless of this
by-play. “Stay, I will show you. Here, thou dog and slave (addressing
Umbopa in a savage tone), give me the magic tube that speaks”; and I
tipped a wink towards my express rifle.
Umbopa rose to the occasion, and with something as nearly resembling a
grin as I have ever seen on his dignified face he handed me the gun.
“It is here, O Lord of Lords,” he said with a deep obeisance.
Now just before I had asked for the rifle I had perceived a little
_klipspringer_ antelope standing on a mass of rock about seventy yards
away, and determined to risk the shot.
“Ye see that buck,” I said, pointing the animal out to the party before
me. “Tell me, is it possible for man born of woman to kill it from here
with a noise?”
“It is not possible, my lord,” answered the old man.
“Yet shall I kill it,” I said quietly.
The old man smiled. “That my lord cannot do,” he answered.
I raised the rifle and covered the buck. It was a small animal, and one
which a man might well be excused for missing, but I knew that it would
not do to miss.
I drew a deep breath, and slowly pressed on the trigger. The buck stood
still as a stone.
“Bang! thud!” The antelope sprang into the air and fell on the rock
dead as a door nail.
A groan of simultaneous terror burst from the group before us.
“If you want meat,” I remarked coolly, “go fetch that buck.”
The old man made a sign, and one of his followers departed, and
presently returned bearing the _klipspringer_. I noticed with
satisfaction that I had hit it fairly behind the shoulder. They
gathered round the poor creature’s body, gazing at the bullet-hole in
consternation.
“Ye see,” I said, “I do not speak empty words.”
There was no answer.
“If ye yet doubt our power,” I went on, “let one of you go stand upon
that rock that I may make him as this buck.”
None of them seemed at all inclined to take the hint, till at last the
king’s son spoke.
“It is well said. Do thou, my uncle, go stand upon the rock. It is but
a buck that the magic has killed. Surely it cannot kill a man.”
The old gentleman did not take the suggestion in good part. Indeed, he
seemed hurt.
“No! no!” he ejaculated hastily, “my old eyes have seen enough. These
are wizards, indeed. Let us bring them to the king. Yet if any should
wish a further proof, let _him_ stand upon the rock, that the magic
tube may speak with him.”
There was a most general and hasty expression of dissent.
“Let not good magic be wasted on our poor bodies,” said one; “we are
satisfied. All the witchcraft of our people cannot show the like of
this.”
“It is so,” remarked the old gentleman, in a tone of intense relief;
“without any doubt it is so. Listen, children of the Stars, children of
the shining Eye and the movable Teeth, who roar out in thunder, and
slay from afar. I am Infadoos, son of Kafa, once king of the Kukuana
people. This youth is Scragga.”
“He nearly scragged me,” murmured Good.
“Scragga, son of Twala, the great king—Twala, husband of a thousand
wives, chief and lord paramount of the Kukuanas, keeper of the great
Road, terror of his enemies, student of the Black Arts, leader of a
hundred thousand warriors, Twala the One-eyed, the Black, the
Terrible.”
“So,” said I superciliously, “lead us then to Twala. We do not talk
with low people and underlings.”
“It is well, my lords, we will lead you; but the way is long. We are
hunting three days’ journey from the place of the king. But let my
lords have patience, and we will lead them.”
“So be it,” I said carelessly; “all time is before us, for we do not
die. We are ready, lead on. But Infadoos, and thou Scragga, beware!
Play us no monkey tricks, set for us no foxes’ snares, for before your
brains of mud have thought of them we shall know and avenge. The light
of the transparent eye of him with the bare legs and the half-haired
face shall destroy you, and go through your land; his vanishing teeth
shall affix themselves fast in you and eat you up, you and your wives
and children; the magic tubes shall argue with you loudly, and make you
as sieves. Beware!”
This magnificent address did not fail of its effect; indeed, it might
almost have been spared, so deeply were our friends already impressed
with our powers.
The old man made a deep obeisance, and murmured the words, “_Koom
Koom_,” which I afterwards discovered was their royal salute,
corresponding to the _Bayéte_ of the Zulus, and turning, addressed his
followers. These at once proceeded to lay hold of all our goods and
chattels, in order to bear them for us, excepting only the guns, which
they would on no account touch. They even seized Good’s clothes, that,
as the reader may remember, were neatly folded up beside him.
He saw and made a dive for them, and a loud altercation ensued.
“Let not my lord of the transparent Eye and the melting Teeth touch
them,” said the old man. “Surely his slave shall carry the things.”
“But I want to put ’em on!” roared Good, in nervous English.
Umbopa translated.
“Nay, my lord,” answered Infadoos, “would my lord cover up his
beautiful white legs (although he is so dark Good has a singularly
white skin) from the eyes of his servants? Have we offended my lord
that he should do such a thing?”
Here I nearly exploded with laughing; and meanwhile one of the men
started on with the garments.
“Damn it!” roared Good, “that black villain has got my trousers.”
“Look here, Good,” said Sir Henry; “you have appeared in this country
in a certain character, and you must live up to it. It will never do
for you to put on trousers again. Henceforth you must exist in a
flannel shirt, a pair of boots, and an eye-glass.”
“Yes,” I said, “and with whiskers on one side of your face and not on
the other. If you change any of these things the people will think that
we are impostors. I am very sorry for you, but, seriously, you must. If
once they begin to suspect us our lives will not be worth a brass
farthing.”
“Do you really think so?” said Good gloomily.
“I do, indeed. Your ‘beautiful white legs’ and your eye-glass are now
_the_ features of our party, and as Sir Henry says, you must live up to
them. Be thankful that you have got your boots on, and that the air is
warm.”
Good sighed, and said no more, but it took him a fortnight to become
accustomed to his new and scant attire.
CHAPTER VIII.
WE ENTER KUKUANALAND
All that afternoon we travelled along the magnificent roadway, which
trended steadily in a north-westerly direction. Infadoos and Scragga