She
thought them, or they might be worse. I feared that they were
worse, and I was not wrong. It was a curious sort of a feast, I
reflected, in appearance indeed, an entertainment of the
Barmecide stamp, for there was absolutely nothing to eat.
At last, just as I was beginning to feel as though I were being
mesmerised, a move was made. Without the slightest warning, a man
from the other side of the circle called out in a loud voice—
“Where is the flesh that we shall eat?”
Thereon everybody in the circle answered in a deep measured tone,
and stretching out the right arm towards the fire as he spoke—
“_The flesh will come._”
“Is it a goat?” said the same man.
“_It is a goat without horns, and more than a goat, and we shall
slay it,_” they answered with one voice, and turning half round
they one and all grasped the handles of their spears with the
right hand, and then simultaneously let them go.
“Is it an ox?” said the man again.
“_It is an ox without horns, and more than an ox, and we shall
slay it,_” was the answer, and again the spears were grasped, and
again let go.
Then came a pause, and I noticed, with horror and a rising of the hair,
that the woman next to Mahomed began to fondle him, patting his cheeks
and calling him by names of endearment while her fierce eyes played up
and down his trembling form. I do not know why the sight frightened me
so, but it did frighten us all dreadfully, especially Leo. The
caressing was so snake-like, and so evidently a part of some ghastly
formula that had to be gone through.[1] I saw Mahomed turn white under
his brown skin, sickly white with fear.
[1] We afterwards learnt that its object was to pretend to the victim
that he was the object of love and admiration, and so to sooth his
injured feelings, and cause him to expire in a happy and contented
frame of mind.—L. H. H.
“Is the meat ready to be cooked?” asked the voice, more rapidly.
“_It is ready; it is ready._”
“Is the pot hot to cook it?” it continued, in a sort of scream
that echoed painfully down the great recesses of the cave.
“_It is hot; it is hot._”
“Great heavens!” roared Leo, “remember the writing, ‘_The people
who place pots upon the heads of strangers._’”
As he said the words, before we could stir, or even take the
matter in, two great ruffians jumped up, and, seizing the long
pincers, thrust them into the heart of the fire, and the woman
who had been caressing Mahomed suddenly produced a fibre noose
from under her girdle or moocha, and, slipping it over his
shoulders, ran it tight, while the men next to him seized him by
the legs. The two men with the pincers gave a heave, and,
scattering the fire this way and that upon the rocky floor,
lifted from it a large earthenware pot, heated to a white heat.
In an instant, almost with a single movement, they had reached
the spot where Mahomed was struggling. He fought like a fiend,
shrieking in the abandonment of his despair, and notwithstanding
the noose round him, and the efforts of the men who held his
legs, the advancing wretches were for the moment unable to
accomplish their purpose, which, horrible and incredible as it
seems, was _to put the red-hot pot upon his head_.
I sprang to my feet with a yell of horror, and drawing my
revolver fired it by a sort of instinct straight at the
diabolical woman who had been caressing Mahomed, and was now
gripping him in her arms. The bullet struck her in the back and
killed her, and to this day I am glad that it did, for, as it
afterwards transpired, she had availed herself of the
anthropophagous customs of the Amahagger to organise the whole
thing in revenge of the slight put upon her by Job. She sank down
dead, and as she did so, to my terror and dismay, Mahomed, by a
superhuman effort, burst from his tormenters, and, springing high
into the air, fell dying upon her corpse. The heavy bullet from
my pistol had driven through the bodies of both, at once striking
down the murderess, and saving her victim from a death a hundred
times more horrible. It was an awful and yet a most merciful
accident.
For a moment there was a silence of astonishment. The Amahagger
had never heard the report of a firearm before, and its effects
dismayed them. But the next instant a man close to us recovered himself,
and seized his spear preparatory to making a lunge with it at
Leo, who was the nearest to him.
“Run for it!” I shouted, setting the example by starting up the
cave as hard as my legs would carry me. I would have made for the
open air if it had been possible, but there were men in the way,
and, besides, I had caught sight of the forms of a crowd of
people standing out clear against the skyline beyond the entrance
to the cave. Up the cave I went, and after me came the others,
and after them thundered the whole crowd of cannibals, mad with
fury at the death of the woman. With a bound I cleared the
prostrate form of Mahomed. As I flew over him I felt the heat
from the red-hot pot, which was lying close by, strike upon my
legs, and by its glow saw his hands—for he was not quite
dead—still feebly moving. At the top of the cave was a little
platform of rock three feet or so high by about eight deep, on
which two large lamps were placed at night. Whether this platform
had been left as a seat, or as a raised point afterwards to be
cut away when it had served its purpose as a standing place from
which to carry on the excavations, I do not know—at least, I did
not then. At any rate, we all three reached it, and, jumping on
it, prepared to sell our lives as dearly as we could. For a few
seconds the crowd that was pressing on our heels hung back when
they saw us face round upon them. Job was on one side of the rock
to the left, Leo in the centre, and I to the right. Behind us
were the lamps. Leo bent forward, and looked down the long lane
of shadows, terminating in the fire and lighted lamps, through
which the quiet forms of our would-be murderers flitted to and
fro with the faint light glinting on their spears, for even their
fury was silent as a bulldog’s. The only other thing visible was
the red-hot pot still glowing angrily in the gloom. There was a
curious light in Leo’s eyes, and his handsome face was set like a
stone. In his right hand was his heavy hunting-knife. He shifted
its thong a little up his wrist and then put his arm round me and
gave me a good hug.
“Good-bye, old fellow,” he said, “my dear friend—my more than
father. We have no chance against those scoundrels; they will
finish us in a few minutes, and eat us afterwards, I suppose.
Good-bye. I led you into this. I hope you will forgive me.
Good-bye, Job.”
“God’s will be done,” I said, setting my teeth, as I prepared for
the end. At that moment, with an exclamation, Job lifted his
revolver and fired, and hit a man—not the man he had aimed at, by
the way: anything that Job shot _at_ was perfectly safe.
On they came with a rush, and I fired too as fast as I could, and
checked them—between us, Job and I, besides the woman, killed or
mortally wounded five men with our pistols before they were
emptied. But we had no time to reload, and they still came on in
a way that was almost splendid in its recklessness, seeing that
they did not know but that we could go on firing for ever.
A great fellow bounded up upon the platform, and Leo struck him
dead with one blow of his powerful arm, sending the knife right
through him. I did the same by another, but Job missed his
stroke, and I saw a brawny Amahagger grip him by the middle and
whirl him off the rock. The knife not being secured by a thong
fell from Job’s hand as he did so, and, by a most happy accident
for him, lit upon its handle on the rock, just as the body of the
Amahagger, who was undermost, struck upon its point and was
transfixed upon it. What happened to Job after that I am sure I
do not know, but my own impression is that he lay still upon the
corpse of his deceased assailant, “playing ‘possum” as the
Americans say. As for myself, I was soon involved in a desperate
encounter with two ruffians, who, luckily for me, had left their
spears behind them; and for the first time in my life the great
physical power with which Nature has endowed me stood me in good
stead. I had hacked at the head of one man with my hunting-knife,
which was almost as big and heavy as a short sword, with such
vigour, that the sharp steel had split his skull down to the
eyes, and was held so fast by it that as he suddenly fell
sideways the knife was twisted right out of my hand.
Then it was that the two others sprang upon me. I saw them
coming, and got an arm round the waist of each, and down we all
fell upon the floor of the cave together, rolling over and over.
They were strong men, but I was mad with rage, and that awful
lust for slaughter which will creep into the hearts of the most
civilised of us when blows are flying, and life and death tremble
on the turn. My arms were round the two swarthy demons, and I
hugged them till I heard their ribs crack and crunch up beneath
my grip. They twisted and writhed like snakes, and clawed and
battered at me with their fists, but I held on. Lying on my back
there, so that their bodies might protect me from spear thrusts
from above, I slowly crushed the life out of them, and as I did
so, strange as it may seem, I thought of what the amiable Head of
my College at Cambridge (who is a member of the Peace Society)
and my brother Fellows would say if by clairvoyance they could
see me, of all men, playing such a bloody game. Soon my
assailants grew faint, and almost ceased to struggle, their
breath had failed them, and they were dying, but still I dared
not leave them, for they died very slowly. I knew that if I
relaxed my grip they would revive. The other ruffians probably
thought—for we were all three lying in the shadow of the
ledge—that we were all dead together, at any rate they did not
interfere with our little tragedy.
I turned my head, and as I lay gasping in the throes of that
awful struggle I could see that Leo was off the rock now, for the
lamplight fell full upon him. He was still on his feet, but in
the centre of a surging mass of struggling men, who were striving
to pull him down as wolves pull down a stag. Up above them
towered his beautiful pale face crowned with its bright curls
(for Leo is six feet two high), and I saw that he was fighting
with a desperate abandonment and energy that was at once splendid
and hideous to behold. He drove his knife through one man—they
were so close to and mixed up with him that they could not get at
him to kill him with their big spears, and they had no knives or
sticks. The man fell, and then somehow the knife was wrenched
from his hand, leaving him defenceless, and I thought the end had