Benita, an African romanceHaggard, H. Rider (Henry Rider)
General
Benita, an African romance
Haggard, H. Rider (Henry Rider)
Adventure and adventurers -- Fiction; Africa, East -- Fiction
“I know what you mean,” said her father. “But, curse the fellow! he
has no reverence, although at first he seemed almost as scared as I was
myself. He said that as we could not begin our search with all those
corpses about, they had best be got out of the way as soon as possible.
Or perhaps it was because he is really afraid of them, and wanted to
prove to himself that they are nothing more than dust. Benita,” went on
the old man, “to tell you the truth, I wish heartily that we had left
this business alone. I don’t believe that any good will come of it, and
certainly it has brought enough trouble already. That old prophet of a
Molimo has the second sight, or something like it, and he does not hide
his opinion, but keeps chuckling away in that dreadful place, and piping
out his promises of ill to be.”
“He promised me nothing but good,” said Benita with a little smile.
“Though I don’t see how it can happen. But if you dislike the thing,
father, why not give it up and try to escape?”
“It is too late, dear,” he replied passionately. “Meyer would never
come, and I can’t in honour leave him. Also, I should laugh at myself
for the rest of my life; and, after all, why should we not have the gold
if it can be found? It belongs to nobody. We do not get it by robbery,
or murder; nuggets are of no use to Portuguese who have been dead two
hundred years, and whose heirs, if they have any, it is impossible to
discover. Nor can it matter to them whether they lie about singly as
they died or were placed after death, or piled together in a corner. Our
fears were mere churchyard superstitions, which we have caught from that
ghoul of a Molimo. Don’t you agree with me?”
“Yes, I suppose so,” answered Benita, “though a fate may cling to
certain things or places, perhaps. At any rate, I think that it is of no
use turning back now, even if we had anywhere to turn, so we may as well
go through with the venture and await its end. Give me the water-bottle,
please. I am thirsty.”
A while later Jacob Meyer appeared, carrying a great bundle of precious
objects wrapped in one of the gold cere-cloths, which bundle he hid away
behind a stone.
“The cave is much tidier now,” he said, as he flicked the thick dust
which had collected on them during his unhallowed task from his hands,
and hair, and garments. Then he drank greedily, and asked:
“Have you two made any plans for our future researches?”
They shook their heads.
“Well, then, I have. I thought them out while I was bone-carting, and
here they are. It is no use our going down below again; for one thing,
the journey is too dangerous, and takes too long; and for another, we
are safer up above, where we have plenty to do.”
“But,” said Benita, “how about things to eat and sleep on, and the
rest?”
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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