Adventure stories; Africa -- Fiction; Hunting guides -- Fiction; Quatermain, Allan (Fictitious character) -- Fiction
The path was clear, and we rushed forward along the water-course. But
first we picked up little Tota. The child was not in a swoon, as I had
thought, but paralyzed by terror, so that she could scarcely speak.
Otherwise she was unhurt, though it took her many a week to recover her
nerve. Had she been older, and had she not remembered Hendrika, I doubt
if she would have recovered it. She knew me again, and flung her little
arms about my neck, clinging to me so closely that I did not dare to
give her to any one else to carry lest I should add to her terrors. So
I went on with her in my arms. The fears that pierced my heart may well
be imagined. Should I find Stella living or dead? Should I find her at
all? Well, we should soon know now. We stumbled on up the stony
watercourse; notwithstanding the weight of Tota I led the way, for
suspense lent me wings. Now we were through, and an extraordinary scene
lay before us. We were in a great natural amphitheatre, only it was
three times the size of any amphitheatre ever shaped by man, and the
walls were formed of precipitous cliffs, ranging from one to two
hundred feet in height. For the rest, the space thus enclosed was
level, studded with park-like trees, brilliant with flowers, and having
a stream running through the centre of it, that, as I afterwards
discovered, welled up from the ground at the head of the open space.
We spread ourselves out in a line, searching everywhere, for Tota was
too overcome to be able to tell us where Stella was hidden away. For
nearly half an hour we searched and searched, scanning the walls of
rock for any possible openings to a cave. In vain, we could find none.
I applied to old Indaba-zimbi, but his foresight was at fault here. All
he could say was that this was the place, and that the “Star” was
hidden somewhere in a cave, but where the cave was he could not tell.
At last we came to the top of the amphitheatre. There before us was a
wall of rock, of which the lower parts were here and there clothed in
grasses, lichens, and creepers. I walked along it, calling at the top
of my voice.
Presently my heart stood still, for I thought I heard a faint answer. I
drew nearer to the place from which the sound seemed to come, and again
called. Yes, there was an answer in my wife’s voice. It seemed to come
from the rock. I went up to it and searched among the creepers, but
still could find no opening.
“Move the stone,” cried Stella’s voice, “the cave is shut with a
stone.”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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