Adventure stories; Fantasy fiction, English; Quatermain, Allan (Fictitious character) -- Fiction
So I was obliged to give in and with a melancholy heart to do what I
could to help in the simple preparations for this crazy undertaking,
realizing all the while that the only real help must come from above,
since in such a case man was powerless. I should add that after
consultation, Ragnall gave up the idea of adopting a Kendah disguise
which was certain to be discovered, also of starting at night when the
town was guarded.
That very afternoon they went, going out of the town quite openly on
the pretext of shooting partridges and small buck on the lower slopes
of the mountain, where both were numerous, as Harût had informed us we
were quite at liberty to do. The farewell was somewhat sad, especially
with Savage, who gave me a letter he had written for his old mother in
England, requesting me to post it if ever again I came to a civilized
land.
I did my best to put a better spirit in him but without avail. He only
wrung my hand warmly, said that it was a pleasure to have known such a
“real gentleman” as myself, and expressed a hope that I might get out
of this hell and live to a green old age amongst Christians. Then he
wiped away a tear with the cuff of his coat, touched his hat in the
orthodox fashion and departed. Their outfit, I should add, was very
simple: some food in bags, a flask of spirits, two double-barrelled
guns that would shoot either shot or ball, a bull’s-eye lantern,
matches and their pistols.
Hans walked with them a little way and, leaving them outside the town,
returned.
“Why do you look so gloomy, Hans?” I asked.
“Because, Baas,” he answered, twiddling his hat, “I had grown to be
fond of the white man, Bena, who was always very kind to me and did not
treat me like dirt as low-born whites are apt to do. Also he cooked
well, and now I shall have to do that work which I do not like.”
“What do you mean, Hans? The man isn’t dead, is he?”
“No, Baas, but soon he will be, for the shadow of death is in his
eyes.”
“Then how about Lord Ragnall?”
“I saw no shadow in his eyes; I think that he will live, Baas.”
I tried to get some explanation of these dark sayings out of the
Hottentot, but he would add nothing to his words.
All the following night I lay awake filled with heavy fears which
deepened as the hours went on. Just before dawn we heard a knocking on
our door and Ragnall’s voice whispering to us to open. Hans did so
while I lit a candle, of which we had a good supply. As it burned up
Ragnall entered, and from his face I saw at once that something
terrible had happened. He went to the jar where we kept our water and
drank three pannikin-fuls, one after the other. Then without waiting to
be asked, he said:
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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