Marie: An Episode in the Life of the Late Allan QuatermainHaggard, H. Rider (Henry Rider)
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Marie: An Episode in the Life of the Late Allan Quatermain
Haggard, H. Rider (Henry Rider)
Quatermain, Allan (Fictitious character) -- Fiction
Dingaan hesitated, for he did not wish to spare the Boers, and I,
noting his hesitation, lifted my rifle a little. Perhaps he saw it, or
perhaps his sense of honour, as he understood the word, overcame his
wish for their blood. At any rate, he said to one of his councillors:
“Search the carcase of that vulture and see if there is a bullet hole
in it.”
The man obeyed, feeling at the mass of broken bones and flesh. By good
fortune he found, not the hole, for that was lost in the general
destruction of the tissues, but the ball itself, which, having pierced
the thick body from below upwards, had remained fast in the tough skin
just by the back-bone where the long, red neck emerges from between the
wings. He picked it out, for it was only hanging in the skin, and held
it up for all to see.
“Macumazahn has won his bet,” said Dingaan. “His magic has conquered,
though by but a very little. Macumazahn, take these Boers, they are
yours, and begone with them out of my country.”
CHAPTER XV.
RETIEF ASKS A FAVOUR
Now and again during our troubled journey through life we reach little
oases of almost perfect happiness, set jewel-like here and there in the
thorny wilderness of time. Sometimes these are hours of mere animal
content. In others they are made beautiful by waters blowing from our
spiritual springs of being, as in those rare instances when the
material veil of life seems to be rent by a mighty hand, and we feel
the presence and the comfort of God within us and about us, guiding our
footsteps to the ineffable end, which is Himself. Occasionally,
however, all these, physical satisfaction and love divine and human,
are blended to a whole, like soul and body, and we can say, “Now I know
what is joy.”
Such an hour came to me on the evening of that day of the winning of my
bet with Dingaan, when a dozen lives or so were set against my nerve
and skill. These had not failed me, although I knew that had it not
been for the inspiration of the Hottentot Hans (who sent it, I wonder?)
they would have been of no service at all. With all my thought and
experience, it had never occurred to me that the wonderful eyes of the
vultures would see the flash of the powder even through the pervading
sunlight, and swerve before the deadly bullet could reach them.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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