The golden pool : $b A story of a forgotten mineFreeman, R. Austin (Richard Austin)
General
The golden pool : $b A story of a forgotten mine
Freeman, R. Austin (Richard Austin)
British -- Africa -- Fiction; Mines and mineral resources -- Fiction
Pereira shrugged his shoulders. “It is something for a man to know his
own mind,” said he drily, “even if that mind is none of the soundest.”
But he made no further objections, and we spent the remainder of the
evening discussing the mysterious cavern and considering the details
of the great wild goose chase. It was nearly midnight when we rose to
retire, and, as Pereira shook hands with me and wished me
“good-night,” he said with sudden warmth, “You are a romantic young
idiot, Englefield, there is no doubt, but, all the same, if I were
twenty years younger, you should not go on your quest alone.”
“And I,” said his daughter, “if I were only a man, would be proud to
go with him and share his perils and adventures.”
“And so there would be three of us,” said Pereira, “a most glorious
and undivided trinity of fools.” He laughed again, and waving his hand
to me went off to bed.
CHAPTER IX.
I BID FAREWELL TO MY FRIENDS.
I remained at Quittáh some six weeks owing to various delays on the
part of Annan, and so pleasantly the time sped that, as the period of
my departure approached, my impatience to be gone gave way to a strong
reluctance to leave the scene of so much happiness. Pereira, having
once accepted my scheme, entered into it with all the fire and
enthusiasm of the genuine old Portuguese adventurer, and spent all his
leisure in preparing me for the difficult part I had to play. He
brought out an aged Arabic grammar and dictionary, with the aid of
which and of a printed Koran that he had imported for trade purposes,
he instructed me in the sacred tongue. He accompanied me to the
Mahommedan settlement outside the town and expounded the habits and
customs of the people in it. He visited the primitive thatch-built
mosque with me, and conversed in Hausa with the old Mallam or priest
that I might study the vernacular and improve my accent. He took me
through the camp at sunset that I might commit to memory the strange
sing-song cries of the worshippers as they prayed on their mats by the
road-side; and he picked up odds and ends of Hausa clothing to furnish
me for my journey.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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