Maiwa's Revenge; Or, The War of the Little Hand — John Shaqi
Maiwa's Revenge; Or, The War of the Little HandHaggard, H. Rider (Henry Rider)
General
Maiwa's Revenge; Or, The War of the Little Hand
Haggard, H. Rider (Henry Rider)
Africa -- Fiction; Hunting guides -- Fiction; Quatermain, Allan (Fictitious character) -- Fiction; Revenge -- Fiction
“The last half of the tusk was now vanishing over the rock, and I sung
out to Gobo and the other man who had been pushing it up to vanish
after it. Gobo, poor fellow, required no second invitation; indeed, his
haste was his undoing. He went at the projecting rock with a bound. The
end of the tusk was still hanging over, and instead of grasping the
rock he caught at it. It twisted in his hand—he slipped—he fell; with
one wild shriek he vanished into the abyss beneath, his falling body
brushing me as it passed. For a moment we stood aghast, and presently
the dull thud of his fall smote heavily upon our ears. Poor fellow, he
had met the Fate which, as he declared, walked about loose in Wambe’s
country. Then with an oath the remaining man sprung at the rock and
clambered over it in safety. Aghast at the awfulness of what had
happened, I stood still, till I saw the great blade of a Matuku spear
pass up between my feet. That brought me to my senses, and I began to
clamber up the rock like a cat. I was half way round it. Already I had
clasped the hand of that brave girl Maiwa, who came down to help me,
the men having scrambled forward with the ivory, when I felt some one
seize my ankle.
“‘Pull, Maiwa, pull,’ I gasped, and she certainly did pull. Maiwa was a
very muscular woman, and never before did I appreciate the advantages
of the physical development of females so keenly. She tugged at my left
arm, the savage below tugged at my right leg, till I began to realize
that something must give way ere long. Luckily I retained my presence
of mind, like the man who threw his mother-in-law out of the window,
and carried the mattress down-stairs, when a fire broke out in his
house. My right hand was still free, and in it I held my revolver,
which was secured to my wrist by a leather thong. The pistol was
cocked, and I simply pointed it downwards and fired. The result was
instantaneous—and so far as I am concerned, most satisfactory. The
bullet hit the man beneath me somewhere, I am sure I don’t know where;
at any rate, he let go of my leg and plunged headlong into the gulf
beneath to join Gobo. In another moment I was on the top of the rock,
and going up the remaining steps like a lamplighter. A single other
soldier appeared in pursuit, but one of my boys at the top fired my
elephant gun at him. I don’t know if he hit him or only frightened him;
at any rate, he vanished whence he came. I do know, however, that he
very nearly hit _me_, for I felt the wind of the bullet.
“Another thirty seconds, and I and the woman Maiwa were at the top of
the cliff panting, but safe.
“My men, being directed thereto by Maiwa, had most fortunately rolled
up some big boulders which lay about, and with these we soon managed to
block the passage through the overhanging ridge of rock in such fashion
that the soldiers below could not possibly climb over it. Indeed, so
far as I could see, they did not even try to do so—their heart was
turned to fat, as the Zulus say.
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.
Join the Discussion
Join the discussion
Sign in to leave a comment or review.
Sign InorCreate an account