The Triumph of Hilary Blachland Part 10

One can travel light on such a march, provided the wayfarer makes up his mind, and that rigidly, to take nothing along that is not strictly and absolutely necessary. To this rule the strangely a.s.sorted pair had adhered, so that the time taken to get under way was no longer than that required to saddle Blachland's horse.

Hlangulu's prediction was verified, for in less than half an hour the clouds had parted in all directions, revealing the depths of the blue-black vault all spangled with gushing stars--and lo, a silver crescent moon flooded the sombre valleys and fantastic crags with her soft light. It was a strange and eerie march through that grim wilderness in the hush of the silent night--a silence, broken now and again by mysterious cries as of bird or beast--the effect heightened by the varying echo from cave or crag. An ant-bear, looking like a great bald pig in the magnifying moonlight, scuttled across their path. A strange variety of nightjar flitted overhead, looking something between a b.u.t.terfly and a paper kite; or a troop of baboons, startled suddenly from their feast of roots, would skip hurriedly out of the way, their dark, gnome-like shapes glancing through the long gra.s.s as they sought refuge among the granite crags, there to bark loud and excited defiance after the disturbers.

These, however, took no notice, intent only on getting forward. They were safe here from the one great object of their apprehension, their fellow-man--as yet: the point was to cover all the ground possible while such immunity was still theirs. The Matabele led the way in long wiry strides--the horseman following. As a matter of precaution, the horse's shoes had been removed; for the clink of a shod hoof travels far, at night, in uninhabited solitudes, or, for the matter of that, even by day.

During the long night march, Blachland's thoughts were busy, and they were mainly concerned with the events of the three or four days during which he had been making up his mind to this undertaking; with the parting with Hermia, and with the future. She had not accepted the position quietly, and, a rare thing with her, had treated him to rather a stormy scene.

He had only just returned after a long absence, she declared, and now was anxious to start off again. a.s.suredly he was tired of her--or was it that her suspicions were correct, and that he had a kraal of his own in Matabeleland, like that horrid old Pemberton and other traders? Ah well, if he was tired of her, there might be other people who were not perhaps. If he did not appreciate her, there might be other people who did.

"Meaning, for present purposes, Spence," he had rejoined, but without heat. "Well, you are old enough and experienced enough to know where your own interests lie, and so it is superfluous for me to remind you,"

he had added. And so they had parted with but scant affection; and it might well be, remembering the perilous nature of his present undertaking, never to behold each other again.

A short off-saddle, about midnight, relieved the march. At length, in the black hour succeeding the setting of the moon, Hlangulu called a halt.

"We must leave the horse here," he said. "We can hide him in yonder cleft until to-morrow night. It will not be safe to ride him any further, Isipau. Look!"

The other had already beheld that to which his attention was now directed. For a dull glow arose upon the night, and that at no great distance ahead: a glow as of fires. And, in fact, such it was; for it was the glow of the watch-fires of one of the armed pickets, guarding, day and night, the approaches to the sacred neighbourhood of the King's grave.

CHAPTER TEN.

UMZILICAZI'S GRAVE.

The huge granite pile loomed forth overhead, grim, frowning, indistinct.

Then, as the faint streak in the blackness of the eastern horizon banded into red width, the outlines of the great natural mausoleum stood forth clearer and clearer.

Blachland's pulses beat hard, as he stood gazing. At last he had reached the goal of his undertaking--at last he stood upon the forbidden ground. The uneasy consciousness that discovery meant Death--death, moreover, in some barbarous and lingering form--was hardly calculated to still his bounding pulses. He stood there alone. Hlangulu had come as near as he dared, and, with the minutest instructions as to the nearest and safest approach, had hidden to await his return.

How they had eluded the vigilance of the pickets our explorer hardly knew. He called to mind, however, a moment which, if not the most exciting moment of his life, at any rate brought him within as grim a handshaking proximity to certain death as he had ever yet attained.

For, at the said moment, Hlangulu had drawn him within a rock cleft--and that with a quick muscular movement which there was neither time nor opportunity to resist, but which, a second later, there was no inclination to, as he beheld--they both beheld--a body of Matabele warriors, fully armed, and seeming to rise out of nowhere, pa.s.s right over the very spot just occupied by themselves. He could see the markings of the hide shields, could even make out the whites of rolling eyeb.a.l.l.s in the starlight, as the savages flitted by and were gone.

But would they return? Had the sound of strange footsteps reached their ears, and started them in search? a.s.suredly, if Hilary Blachland stood in need of a new and intense excitement, he had got it now. But a barely breathed inquiry met for some time with no response from his guide, who at length rose up and declared that they must push on.

And now here he stood alone. Before him two ma.s.sive granite faces arose, leaning forward, as it were, until their overhanging brows nearly met the topmost boughs of a solitary _Kafferboen_ which grew out of the ground fronting the entrance at a distance of some yards. Over the angle formed by these an immense boulder was balanced, in such wise as to form a huge natural porch; but in continuation of the angle was a deft, a tall narrow deft, the entrance to which was roughly built up with stones. This, then, was the King's grave.

The dawn was rapidly lightening. There was no time to lose. He must enter at once, and there remain throughout the entire day. Only in the darkness could he enter, only in the darkness could he leave it.

As he climbed up on the embankment of stones, one, loosened by his tread, dislodged another. Heavens! what a clatter they made, or seemed to make, in the dead stillness. Then he set his teeth hard, stifling a groan. The falling stone had struck his ankle, bruising it sharply and causing intense pain. For a moment he paused. Could he climb any further? It seemed to have lamed him. Then somehow there came back to him old Pemberton's words: "There's no luck meddling with such places-- no, none." Well, there seemed something in it, and if his ill-luck began here what was awaiting him when he should have effected his purpose? But he had professed himself above such puerile superst.i.tions, and now was the time to make good his professions. Besides, it was too late to draw back. If he were not under concealment within a moment or so, his peril would be of a more real and material order. So, summoning all his coolness and resolution, exercising the greatest care, he climbed over the remaining stones and dropped down within the cleft.

And now he forgot the pain of his contused ankle, as, full of interest he stood within this wonderful tomb. But for a very slight trend the cleft ran inward straight to a depth of some forty or fifty feet, its sides, straight and smooth, rising to nearly the same height; and at the further end, which narrowed somewhat, ere terminating abruptly in the meeting of the two t.i.tanic boulders which caused it, he could make out something which looked like a heap, an indefinable heap, of old clothes.

Blachland paused. Here, then, was the object of his exploration. Here, then, lay the mouldering remains of the dead King, and here lay the buried gold. Drawing his flask from his pocket, he took a nip to steady his nerves before beginning his search. Before beginning it, however, some impulse moved him to glance forth once more upon the outside world.

The sun had not yet risen, but the land lay revealed in the pearly dawn.

There was the rough, long, boulder-strewn ridge, continuing away from this great natural tumulus which dominated it. Away over the valley, the bushy outline of the Intaba Inyoka stood humped against the suffusing sky; but what drew and held his gaze was a kind of natural platform, immediately below, part rock, part soil. This, however, lay black amid the surrounding green--black as though through the action of fire; but its blackness was strangely relieved, chequered, by patches of white. He recognised it for the spot described by Sybrandt and also by Hlangulu--the place where cattle were sacrificed at intervals to the shades of the departed King.

Something else caught his eye, something moving overhead. Heavens! the great boulder, overhanging like a penthouse, was falling--falling over!

In a moment he would be shut in, buried alive in this ghastly tomb.

Appalled, he gazed upwards, his eyes straining on it, and then he could have laughed aloud, for the solution was simple. A light breeze had sprung and up, the topmost boughs of the _Kafferboen_, swaying to its movement, were meeting the boulder, then swinging away again, producing just that curious and eerie effect to one in a state of nervous tension.

He stood watching this optical delusion, and laughed again. Decidedly his nerves were overstrung. Well, this would not do. Facing once more within the cave, he concluded to start upon his research without further delay.

It was lighter now--indeed, but for the chastened gloom of the interior, nearly as light as it ever would be. He approached the farther end.

Mouldering old blankets crumbled under his tread. He could see the whole of the interior, and again he laughed to himself--recalling the legend of the King's Snake. There was no recess that would hide so much as a mouse. He scattered the fragments of old clothing with the stock of his rifle, laying bare layers of crumbling matting. More eagerly still he parted these when he came to the central heap. Layer by layer, he tore away the stuff-ancient hide wrappings, ornamented with worn bead-work--beneath the mats of woven gra.s.s; then something white appeared--white, and smooth, and round. Eagerly, yet carefully, he parted the wrappings; and lo, protruding from them--not lying, but in a bolt-upright position--a great grinning skull!

He stepped back a pace or two, and stood gazing at this with intense interest, not unmixed with awe. Here, then, sat the dead King-- Umzilikazi, the mighty; the founder of a great and martial nation; the scourge, the devastator of a vast region,--here he sat, the warrior King, before whose frown tens of thousands had trembled, a mere framework of fleshless bones, seated upon his last throne, here, within the heart of this vast silent rock-tomb: and the upright position of the skull, caused by the sitting att.i.tude in which Zulus are buried, seemed to lend to the Death's head something of the majesty which it had worn in life when its cavity had enclosed the indomitable and far-seeing brain, when those eye-sockets had framed the relentless, terrible eyes.

For some moments he stood gazing upon the grim face staring at him from its sightless sockets, and then, not in mockery, but moved by certain poetic instincts underlying a highly imaginative temperament, he raised his right hand, and uttered softly--

"k.u.malo!"

Yes, even as he would have saluted the living, so he saluted the remains of the dead King. Yet he had already violated and was here to plunder the dead King's grave.

What was this? Something glistening among the rotting heap of wrappings caught his eye. Bending down, he raised it eagerly. It was a large bead about the size of a marble. Two more lay beside them, the remnant of the leather lanyard on which they had been threaded, crumbling to his touch. Gold, were they? They were of solid weight. But a quick close examination convinced him that they were merely bra.s.s. Anyway, they would make valuable curios, and he slipped them into his pocket accordingly. Again he could not restrain a start as he raised his eyes.

The skull when last he beheld it, of a dull, yellowy white in the deep shadows of the gloomy place was now shining like fire as it glowered at him, suffused as with a reddening incandescent glow. A wave of superst.i.tious awe thrilled him from head to heel. What on earth did it mean? And then the real reason of this startling metamorphosis came home to him.

The sun had risen. High above through a c.h.i.n.k between the huge boulders right over the entrance of the cleft, one single spear-like beam found entrance, and, piercing the gloomy shadows of the tomb, struck full upon the fleshless countenance of the dead King, illuminating it with a well-nigh supernatural glow; and with the clearing up of the mystery, the spectator was lost in admiration of the ingenuity that had contrived that the first ray of the rising sun should illuminate the countenance of the Great Great One, whom while living they hailed, among other t.i.tles of honour, as "Light of the Sun." Then he remembered that the coincidence was purely accidental, for he himself had uncovered the skull and exposed it to view, and the illusion vanished. And as he gazed, the beam was withdrawn, leaving the Death's head in its former shadow.

Leaning back against the rock wall, Blachland began to attune himself to the situation. At last he had explored the King's grave, he, all by himself. What a laugh he would have over Sybrandt and Pemberton bye-and-bye--they who had scouted the feat as utterly impossible. Well, he had done it, he alone, had done what no white man had ever done before him--what possibly no white man would ever do again. And--it was intensely interesting.

And now, what about the buried treasure? He had all through been sceptical as to the existence of this, but had not insisted on his scepticism to Hlangulu, lest he might cool that acquisitive savage off the undertaking. The latter's reply to his question as to how it was that others were not now in the know as well as he--that the matter was _hlonipa_, i.e. veiled, forbidden of mention--had not struck him as satisfactory. Well, as he was here he might as well take a thorough look round and make sure.

Acting upon this idea he once more approached the skeleton of the dead King, but a careful search all around it revealed nothing. All around it? Not quite, for he had not tried behind it. There was a dark recess extending perhaps three or four yards behind it--to where the cleft ended, and this too, seemed spread with old and mouldering wrappings.

These he began, as with the others, raking aside with the b.u.t.t of his rifle. Then, suddenly his foothold began to tremble--then to move violently from under him. Was there no end to the weird surprises of this uncanny place, was the thought that flashed lightning-like through his mind; and then, as with a superlative effort he just managed to keep his footing--while staggering back a few paces, there befel something so appalling that his blood seemed to run ice within him, and the very hair of his head to stand up.

CHAPTER ELEVEN.

THE KING'S SNAKE.

A loud, awful hiss of ear-splitting stridency--and simultaneously there shot up, from the very ground as it were, a long, writhing, sinuous length of black neck, glistening as the half light played upon it-- swaying in the gloom of the recess. It was surmounted by a horrible head, with two scintillating eyes. The forked tongue was darting in and out between the widely parted fangs, as the head, waving to and fro was suddenly drawn back as if to strike. And the man had been actually standing upon the hidden coils of this huge and terrible reptile.

For a moment Blachland stood as one petrified, as well he might be by the awfulness and suddenness of this blasting apparition. Then, instinctively, he drew his revolver, as being more sure at close quarters than the rifle, the while stepping back cautiously, and keeping his face turned to the reptile.

The fury of the latter seemed in no wise to diminish. Hissing hideously, its eyes glared, as more and more of its horrible length rose into view, and the further floor of the cave heaved and trembled with the still concealed coils.

Blachland had now drawn back as far as he could, short of clambering out of the place altogether, and, his blood all curdling with horror and dread, he stood watching the monster with a kind of fell fascination.

He dared not fire. The cavernous echoes of the report would go booming forth over all the land so to say, and bring an entire hornet's nest about his ears from which there would be no escape. The King's Snake!

He recalled the utter derision wherewith he had received Sybrandt's statement on the subject--and yet it was only too fearfully true. A black _imamba_, Sybrandt had said, and this was one, and an enormous one at that. He knew, moreover, that this species was the most deadly and ferocious of serpents. No, he would stay here no longer--not another moment. Better meet death a hundred times in the ordinary way at the hand of enemies in the open, than remain here, shut up in a charnel house, with this awful black fiend.

Acting on this idea, he began to feel for a firm hold of the stone parapet, intending to spring out quickly and at all risks, but still keeping his eyes on the reptile. It, strange to say, still remained where it was, just behind the skeleton of the King, and though still hissing furiously, made no movement forward to attack him. Encouraged by this, he got a firm grip on the topmost stone, and hoisted himself carefully up. Then he let himself down again. For simultaneously with the appearance of his head above the stones, a shout had broken forth from beneath, then another and another. His presence there had been discovered. Well, he had a choice of two deaths, both equally horrible.

Was there not a third, however, which was less so? There was. He might blow out his own brains. That would be quicker at any rate.

But almost immediately upon the idea came the consciousness that these were no hostile shouts that rose booming, full-voiced, to raise the echoes of the King's grave.

"_k.u.malo!

Ho, inyoka 'nkulu!