Dead Man's Land: Being the Voyage to Zimbambangwe of certain and uncertain blacks and whitesFenn, George Manville
General
Dead Man's Land: Being the Voyage to Zimbambangwe of certain and uncertain blacks and whites
Fenn, George Manville
Africa -- Fiction; Hunting stories; Travel -- Fiction
"Yes, gen'lemen, I want to get him out and show black Mak the sperrit as
he is afraid of. Rum beggars, these natives are, ready enough to fight
and spear anybody. Got as much pluck as we have; but they are just like
kids in being frightened about ghosts and by stories told by old women.
Now then, it's no use to kick. Poor old chap! Here, I could tuck him
under my arm and carry him, only he may as well walk. He is just like a
skin bag of bones. Hallo, you, Bob Bacon, who told you to put a
'stinguisher on that light?" For a sudden darkness came upon them all.
"'Stinguished itself," growled Bob.
But the darkness was only apparent for a few moments, for about fifty
yards ahead there was a bright gleam of sunshine at the mouth of the
cavern, and two shadows moved, which proved to be Mak and the pigmy
peering in as if listening and trying to make out what was going on
inside.
"Hi, you sir!" shouted Dean. "We have caught your spirit. Come and
help him out."
But as if grasping the lad's meaning by the tone of his voice, Mak
turned sharply and darted away at a rate which carried him in a series
of bounds down the slope of the great kopje, so that by the time the
little party of explorers were out in the broad sunshine with their
captive, Mak was threading his way amongst the rocks, closely followed
once more by the pigmy, and about to disappear.
"There, gents!" cried Buck. "What do you make of him, sir?" And he
thrust his captive more into the light. "Why, he must have been a
monkey as big as me when he was in full fettle."
"Monkey!" cried Mark. "Why, it's a man!"
"Man, sir!" cried Buck scornfully. "He arn't a black; he's grey. Who
ever see a man like that?"
"Not I," said the doctor, laughing.
"There, Mr Mark," cried Buck triumphantly.
"But a man it is, Buck," said the doctor. "Poor old fellow! Doesn't
say much for the natives' civilisation, for there must have been some
living near. Crawled into that cave to die. Now, I should say he's one
of their old priests or medicine men, who, taking advantage of his great
age and supposed wisdom, has imposed upon his fellows till he got to be
looked upon as one who held intercourse with the unknown world, and
lived upon his reputation, till his fellows grew to look upon him and
talked about him as a spirit. That's why Mak objected to our exploring
this cave. Poor fellow, he meant well; and he made his objections no
doubt in our interest, for fear that we might come to harm."
"Why, a poor old scarecrow, sir!" said Buck. "He only wants one or two
old clothes put on him, and he'd make a fine tatter-dooley. Not much to
be afraid of in him! Well, gentlemen, we have got him."
"Yes, we have got him," said Mark; "but it seems to me that the question
is, what are we going to do with him now we have got him?"
"Yes," said the doctor; "that is a bit of a puzzle. We can't take him
into camp. What do you say, Dean?"
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
Reviews
Reviews
No reviews yet
Be the first to share your thoughts on this work.
Elsewhere in the archive
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account