Adventure stories; Fantasy fiction, English; Quatermain, Allan (Fictitious character) -- Fiction
I presume that the whole formation of this peculiar hill was the result
of a violent volcanic action in the early ages of the earth. But as I
do not understand such matters I will not dilate upon them further than
to say that, although comparatively small, it bore a certain
resemblance to other extinct volcanoes which I had met with in
different parts of Africa.
We climbed down to the bottom of the ditch that from its general
appearance might have been dug out by some giant race as a protection
to their stronghold, and up its farther side to where the forest began
on deep and fertile soil. Why there should have been rich earth here
and none in the ditch is more than we could guess, but perhaps the
presence of springs of water in this part of the mount may have been a
cause. At any rate it was so.
The trees in this forest were huge and of a variety of cedar, but did
not grow closely together; also there was practically no undergrowth,
perhaps for the reason that their dense, spreading tops shut out the
light. As I saw afterwards both trunks and boughs were clothed with
long grey moss, which even at midday gave the place a very ghostly
appearance. The darkness beneath those trees was intense, literally we
could not see an inch before our faces. Yet rather than stand still we
struggled on, Hans leading the way, for his instincts were quicker than
ours. The steep rise of the ground beneath our feet told us that we
were going uphill, as we wished to do, and from time to time I
consulted a pocket compass I carried by the light of a match, knowing
from previous observations that the top of the Holy Mount lay due
north.
Thus for hour after hour we crept up and on, occasionally butting into
the trunk of a tree or stumbling over a fallen bough, but meeting with
no other adventures or obstacles of a physical kind. Of moral, or
rather mental, obstacles there were many, since to all of us the
atmosphere of this forest was as that of a haunted house. It may have
been the embracing darkness, or the sough of the night wind amongst the
boughs and mosses, or the sense of the imminent dangers that we had
passed and that still awaited us. Or it may have been unknown horrors
connected with this place of which some spiritual essence still
survived, for without doubt localities preserve such influences, which
can be felt by the sensitive among living things, especially in
favouring conditions of fear and gloom. At any rate I never experienced
more subtle and yet more penetrating terrors than I did upon that
night, and afterwards Ragnall confessed to me that my case was his own.
Black as it was I thought that I saw apparitions, among them glaring
eyes and that of the elephant Jana standing in front of me with his
trunk raised against the bole of a cedar. I could have sworn that I saw
him, nor was I reassured when Hans whispered to me below his breath,
for here we did not seem to dare to raise our voices:
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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