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<br/>
<h2> CHAPTER V<br/> HASSAN </h2>
<p>I suppose it must have been two hours after dawn on the following morning
that I was awakened by knocks upon the door and the voice of Jack saying
that Sam, the cook, wanted to speak to me.</p>
<p>Wondering what he could be doing there, as I understood he was sleeping on
the ship, I called out that he was to come in. Now this Sam, I should say,
hailed from the Cape, and was a person of mixed blood. The original stock,
I imagine, was Malay which had been crossed with Indian coolie. Also,
somewhere or other, there was a dash of white and possibly, but of this I
am not sure, a little Hottentot. The result was a person of few vices and
many virtues. Sammy, I may say at once, was perhaps the biggest coward I
ever met. He could not help it, it was congenital, though, curiously
enough, this cowardice of his never prevented him from rushing into fresh
danger. Thus he knew that the expedition upon which I was engaged would be
most hazardous; remembering his weakness I explained this to him very
clearly. Yet that knowledge did not deter him from imploring that he might
be allowed to accompany me. Perhaps this was because there was some mutual
attachment between us, as in the case of Hans. Once, a good many years
before, I had rescued Sammy from a somewhat serious scrape by declining to
give evidence against him. I need not enter into the details, but a
certain sum of money over which he had control had disappeared. I will
merely say, therefore, that at the time he was engaged to a coloured lady
of very expensive tastes, whom in the end he never married.</p>
<p>After this, as it chanced, he nursed me through an illness. Hence the
attachment of which I have spoken.</p>
<p>Sammy was the son of a native Christian preacher, and brought up upon what
he called “The Word.” He had received an excellent education for a person
of his class, and in addition to many native dialects with which a varied
career had made him acquainted, spoke English perfectly, though in the
most bombastic style. Never would he use a short word if a long one came
to his hand, or rather to his tongue. For several years of his life he
was, I believe, a teacher in a school at Capetown where coloured persons
received their education; his “department,” as he called it, being
“English Language and Literature.”</p>
<p>Wearying of or being dismissed from his employment for some reason that he
never specified, he had drifted up the coast to Zanzibar, where he turned
his linguistic abilities to the study of Arabic and became the manager or
head cook of an hotel. After a few years he lost this billet, I know not
how or why, and appeared at Durban in what he called a “reversed
position.” Here it was that we met again, just before my expedition to
Pongo-land.</p>
<p>In manners he was most polite, in disposition most religious; I believe he
was a Baptist by faith, and in appearance a small, brown dandy of a man of
uncertain age, who wore his hair parted in the middle and, whatever the
circumstances, was always tidy in his garments.</p>
<p>I took him on because he was in great distress, an excellent cook, the
best of nurses, and above all for the reason that, as I have said, we were
in a way attached to each other. Also, he always amused me intensely,
which goes for something on a long journey of the sort that I
contemplated.</p>
<p>Such in brief was Sammy.</p>
<p>As he entered the room I saw that his clothes were very wet and asked him
at once if it were raining, or whether he had got drunk and been sleeping
in the damp grass.</p>
<p>“No, Mr. Quatermain,” he answered, “the morning is extremely fine, and
like the poor Hottentot, Hans, I have abjured the use of intoxicants.
Though we differ on much else, in this matter we agree.”</p>
<p>“Then what the deuce is up?” I interrupted, to cut short his flow of fine
language.</p>
<p>“Sir, there is trouble on the ship” (remembering Mavovo I started at these
words) “where I passed the night in the company of Mr. Somers at his
special request.” (It was the other way about really.) “This morning
before the dawn, when he thought that everybody was asleep, the Portuguese
captain and some of his Arabs began to weigh the anchor quite quietly;
also to hoist the sails. But Mr. Somers and I, being very much awake, came
out of the cabin and he sat upon the capstan with a revolver in his hand,
saying—well, sir, I will not repeat what he said.”</p>
<p>“No, don’t. What happened then?”</p>
<p>“Then, sir, there followed much noise and confusion. The Portugee and the
Arabs threatened Mr. Somers, but he, sir, continued to sit upon the
capstan with the stern courage of a rock in a rushing stream, and remarked
that he would see them all somewhere before they touched it. After this,
sir, I do not know what occurred, since while I watched from the bulwarks
someone knocked me head over heels into the sea and being fortunately, a
good swimmer, I gained the shore and hurried here to advise you.”</p>
<p>“And did you advise anyone else, you idiot?” I asked.</p>
<p>“Yes, sir. As I sped along I communicated to an officer of the port that
there was the devil of a mess upon the <i>Maria</i> which he would do well
to investigate.”</p>
<p>By this time I was in my shirt and trousers and shouting to Mavovo and the
others. Soon they arrived, for as the costume of Mavovo and his company
consisted only of a moocha and a blanket, it did not take them long to
dress.</p>
<p>“Mavovo,” I began, “there is trouble on the ship——”</p>
<p>“O <i>Baba</i>,” he interrupted with something resembling a grin, “it is
very strange, but last night I dreamed that I told you——”</p>
<p>“Curse your dreams,” I said. “Gather the men and go down—no, that
won’t work, there would be murder done. Either it is all over now or it is
all right. Get the hunters ready; I come with them. The luggage can be
fetched afterwards.”</p>
<p>Within less than an hour we were at that wharf off which the <i>Maria</i>
lay in what one day will be the splendid port of Durban, though in those
times its shipping arrangements were exceedingly primitive. A
strange-looking band we must have been. I, who was completely dressed, and
I trust tidy, marched ahead. Next came Hans in the filthy wide-awake hat
which he usually wore and greasy corduroys and after him the oleaginous
Sammy arrayed in European reach-me-downs, a billy-cock and a bright blue
tie striped with red, garments that would have looked very smart had it
not been for his recent immersion. After him followed the fierce-looking
Mavovo and his squad of hunters, all of whom wore the “ring” or <i>isicoco</i>,
as the Zulus call it; that is, a circle of polished black wax sewn into
their short hair. They were a grim set of fellows, but as, according to a
recent law it was not allowable for them to appear armed in the town,
their guns had already been shipped, while their broad stabbing spears
were rolled up in their sleeping mats, the blades wrapped round with dried
grass.</p>
<p>Each of them, however, bore in his hand a large knobkerry of red-wood, and
they marched four by four in martial fashion. It is true that when we
embarked on the big boat to go to the ship much of their warlike ardour
evaporated, since these men, who feared nothing on the land, were terribly
afraid of that unfamiliar element, the water.</p>
<p>We reached the <i>Maria</i>, an unimposing kind of tub, and climbed
aboard. On looking aft the first thing that I saw was Stephen seated on
the capstan with a pistol in his hand, as Sammy had said. Near by, leaning
on the bulwark was the villainous-looking Portugee, Delgado, apparently in
the worst of tempers and surrounded by a number of equally
villainous-looking Arab sailors clad in dirty white. In front was the
Captain of the port, a well-known and esteemed gentleman of the name of
Cato, like myself a small man who had gone through many adventures.
Accompanied by some attendants, he was seated on the after-skylight,
smoking, with his eyes fixed upon Stephen and the Portugee.</p>
<p>“Glad to see you, Quatermain,” he said. “There’s some row on here, but I
have only just arrived and don’t understand Portuguese, and the gentleman
on the capstan won’t leave it to explain.”</p>
<p>“What’s up, Stephen?” I asked, after shaking Mr. Cato by the hand.</p>
<p>“What’s up?” replied Somers. “This man,” and he pointed to Delgado,
“wanted to sneak out to sea with all our goods, that’s all, to say nothing
of me and Sammy, whom, no doubt, he’d have chucked overboard, as soon as
he was out of sight of land. However, Sammy, who knows Portuguese,
overheard his little plans and, as you see, I objected.”</p>
<p>Well, Delgado was asked for his version of the affair, and, as I expected,
explained that he only intended to get a little nearer to the bar and
there wait till we arrived. Of course he lied and knew that we were aware
of the fact and that his intention had been to slip out to sea with all
our valuable property, which he would sell after having murdered or
marooned Stephen and the poor cook. But as nothing could be proved, and we
were now in strong enough force to look after ourselves and our
belongings, I did not see the use of pursuing the argument. So I accepted
the explanation with a smile, and asked everybody to join in a morning
nip.</p>
<p>Afterwards Stephen told me that while I was engaged with Mavovo on the
previous night, a message had reached him from Sammy who was on board the
ship in charge of our belongings, saying that he would be glad of some
company. Knowing the cook’s nervous nature, fortunately enough he made up
his mind at once to go and sleep upon the <i>Maria</i>. In the morning
trouble arose as Sammy had told me. What he did not tell me was that he
was not knocked overboard, as he said, but took to the water of his own
accord, when complications with Delgado appeared imminent.</p>
<p>“I understand the position,” I said, “and all’s well that ends well. But
it’s lucky you thought of coming on board to sleep.”</p>
<p>After this everything went right. I sent some of the men back in the
charge of Stephen for our remaining effects, which they brought safely
aboard, and in the evening we sailed. Our voyage up to Kilwa was
beautiful, a gentle breeze driving us forward over a sea so calm that not
even Hans, who I think was one of the worst sailors in the world, or the
Zulu hunters were really sick, though as Sammy put it, they “declined
their food.”</p>
<p>I think it was on the fifth night of our voyage, or it may have been the
seventh, that we anchored one afternoon off the island of Kilwa, not very
far from the old Portuguese fort. Delgado, with whom we had little to do
during the passage, hoisted some queer sort of signal. In response a boat
came off containing what he called the Port officials, a band of
cut-throat, desperate-looking, black fellows in charge of a pock-marked,
elderly half-breed who was introduced to us as the Bey
Hassan-ben-Mohammed. That Mr. Hassan-ben-Mohammed entirely disapproved of
our presence on the ship, and especially of our proposed landing at Kilwa,
was evident to me from the moment that I set eyes upon his ill-favoured
countenance. After a hurried conference with Delgado, he came forward and
addressed me in Arabic, of which I could not understand a word. Luckily,
however, Sam the cook, who, as I think I said, was a great linguist, had a
fair acquaintance with this tongue, acquired, it appears, while at the
Zanzibar hotel; so, not trusting Delgado, I called on him to interpret.</p>
<p>“What is he saying, Sammy?” I asked.</p>
<p>He began to talk to Hassan and replied presently:</p>
<p>“Sir, he makes you many compliments. He says that he has heard what a
great man you are from his friend, Delgado, also that you and Mr. Somers
are English, a nation which he adores.”</p>
<p>“Does he?” I exclaimed. “I should never have thought it from his looks.
Thank him for his kind remarks and tell him that we are going to land here
and march up country to shoot.”</p>
<p>Sammy obeyed, and the conversation went on somewhat as follows:</p>
<p>“With all humility I (i.e. Hassan) request you not to land. This country
is not a fit place for such noble gentlemen. There is nothing to eat and
no head of game has been seen for years. The people in the interior are
savages of the worst sort, whom hunger has driven to take to cannibalism.
I would not have your blood upon my head. I beg of you, therefore, to go
on in this ship to Delagoa Bay, where you will find a good hotel, or to
any other place you may select.”</p>
<p>A.Q.: “Might I ask you, noble sir, what is your position at Kilwa, that
you consider yourself responsible for our safety?”</p>
<p>H.: “Honoured English lord, I am a trader here of Portuguese nationality,
but born of an Arab mother of high birth and brought up among that people.
I have gardens on the mainland, tended by my native servants who are as
children to me, where I grow palms and cassava and ground nuts and
plantains and many other kinds of produce. All the tribes in this district
look upon me as their chief and venerated father.”</p>
<p>A.Q.: “Then, noble Hassan, you will be able to pass us through them,
seeing that we are peaceful hunters who wish to harm no one.”</p>
<p>(A long consultation between Hassan and Delgado, during which I ordered
Mavovo to bring his Zulus on deck with their guns.)</p>
<p>H.: “Honoured English lord, I cannot allow you to land.”</p>
<p>A.Q.: “Noble son of the Prophet, I intend to land with my friend, my
followers, my donkeys and my goods early to-morrow morning. If I can do so
with your leave I shall be glad. If not——” and I glanced at
the fierce group of hunters behind me.</p>
<p>H.: “Honoured English lord, I shall be grieved to use force, but let me
tell you that in my peaceful village ashore I have at least a hundred men
armed with rifles, whereas here I see under twenty.”</p>
<p>A.Q., after reflection and a few words with Stephen Somers: “Can you tell
me, noble sir, if from your peaceful village you have yet sighted the
English man-of-war, <i>Crocodile</i>; I mean the steamer that is engaged
in watching for the dhows of wicked slavers? A letter from her captain
informed me that he would be in these waters by yesterday. Perhaps,
however, he has been delayed for a day or two.”</p>
<p>If I had exploded a bomb at the feet of the excellent Hassan its effect
could scarcely have been more remarkable than that of this question. He
turned—not pale, but a horrible yellow, and exclaimed:</p>
<p>“English man-of-war! <i>Crocodile</i>! I thought she had gone to Aden to
refit and would not be back at Zanzibar for four months.”</p>
<p>A.Q.: “You have been misinformed, noble Hassan. She will not refit till
October. Shall I read you the letter?” and I produced a piece of paper
from my pocket. “It may be interesting since my friend, the captain, whom
you remember is named Flowers, mentions you in it. He says——”</p>
<p>Hassan waved his hand. “It is enough. I see, honoured lord, that you are a
man of mettle not easily to be turned from your purpose. In the name of
God the Compassionate, land and go wheresoever you like.”</p>
<p>A.Q.: “I think that I had almost rather wait until the <i>Crocodile</i>
comes in.”</p>
<p>H.: “Land! Land! Captain Delgado, get up the cargo and man your boat. Mine
too is at the service of these lords. You, Captain, will like to get away
by this night’s tide. There is still light, Lord Quatermain, and such
hospitality as I can offer is at your service.”</p>
<p>A.Q.: “Ah! I knew Bey Hassan, that you were only joking with me when you
said that you wished us to go elsewhere. An excellent jest, truly, from
one whose hospitality is so famous. Well, to fall in with your wishes, we
will come ashore this evening, and if the Captain Delgado chances to sight
the Queen’s ship <i>Crocodile</i> before he sails, perhaps he will be so
good as to signal to us with a rocket.”</p>
<p>“Certainly, certainly,” interrupted Delgado, who up to this time had
pretended that he understood no English, the tongue in which I was
speaking to the interpreter, Sammy.</p>
<p>Then he turned and gave orders to his Arab crew to bring up our belongings
from the hold and to lower the <i>Maria’s</i> boat.</p>
<p>Never did I see goods transferred in quicker time. Within half an hour
every one of our packages was off that ship, for Stephen Somers kept a
count of them. Our personal baggage went into the <i>Maria’s</i> boat, and
the goods together with the four donkeys which were lowered on to the top
of them, were rumbled pell-mell into the barge-like punt belonging to
Hassan. Here also I was accommodated, with about half of our people, the
rest taking their seats in the smaller boat under the charge of Stephen.</p>
<p>At length all was ready and we cast off.</p>
<p>“Farewell, Captain,” I cried to Delgado. “If you should sight the <i>Crocodile</i>——”</p>
<p>At this point Delgado broke into such a torrent of bad language in
Portuguese, Arabic and English that I fear the rest of my remarks never
reached him.</p>
<p>As we rowed shorewards I observed that Hans, who was seated near to me
under the stomach of a jackass, was engaged in sniffing at the sides and
bottom of the barge, as a dog might do, and asked him what he was about.</p>
<p>“Very odd smell in this boat,” he whispered back in Dutch. “It stinks of
Kaffir man, just like the hold of the <i>Maria</i>. I think this boat is
used to carry slaves.”</p>
<p>“Be quiet,” I whispered back, “and stop nosing at those planks.” But to
myself I thought, Hans is right, we are in a nest of slave-traders, and
this Hassan is their leader.</p>
<p>We rowed past the island, on which I observed the ruins of an old
Portuguese fort and some long grass-roofed huts, where, I reflected, the
slaves were probably kept until they could be shipped away. Observing my
glance fixed upon these, Hassan hastened to explain, through Sammy, that
they were storehouses in which he dried fish and hides, and kept goods.</p>
<p>“How interesting!” I answered. “Further south we dry hides in the sun.”</p>
<p>Crossing a narrow channel we arrived at a rough jetty where we
disembarked, whence we were led by Hassan not to the village which I now
saw upon our left, but to a pleasant-looking, though dilapidated house
that stood a hundred yards from the shore. Something about the appearance
of this house impressed me with the idea that it was never built by
slavers; the whole look of the place with its verandah and garden
suggested taste and civilisation. Evidently educated people had designed
it and resided here. I glanced about me and saw, amidst a grove of
neglected orange trees that were surrounded with palms of some age, the
ruins of a church. About this there was no doubt, for there, surmounted by
a stone cross, was a little pent-house in which still hung the bell that
once summoned the worshippers to prayer.</p>
<p>“Tell the English lord,” said Hassan to Sammy, “that these buildings were
a mission station of the Christians, who abandoned them more than twenty
years ago. When I came here I found them empty.”</p>
<p>“Indeed,” I answered, “and what were the names of those who dwelt in
them?”</p>
<p>“I never heard,” said Hassan; “they had been gone a long while when I
came.”</p>
<p>Then we went up to the house, and for the next hour and more were engaged
with our baggage which was piled in a heap in what had been the garden and
in unpacking and pitching two tents for the hunters which I caused to be
placed immediately in front of the rooms that were assigned to us. Those
rooms were remarkable in their way. Mine had evidently been a sitting
chamber, as I judged from some much broken articles of furniture, that
appeared to be of American make. That which Stephen occupied had once
served as a sleeping-place, for the bedstead of iron still remained there.
Also there were a hanging bookcase, now fallen, and some tattered remnants
of books. One of these, that oddly enough was well-preserved, perhaps
because the white ants or other creatures did not like the taste of its
morocco binding, was a Keble’s <i>Christian Year</i>, on the title-page of
which was written, “To my dearest Elizabeth on her birthday, from her
husband.” I took the liberty to put it in my pocket. On the wall,
moreover, still hung the small watercolour picture of a very pretty young
woman with fair hair and blue eyes, in the corner of which picture was
written in the same handwriting as that in the book, “Elizabeth, aged
twenty.” This also I annexed, thinking that it might come in useful as a
piece of evidence.</p>
<p>“Looks as if the owners of this place had left it in a hurry, Quatermain,”
said Stephen.</p>
<p>“That’s it, my boy. Or perhaps they didn’t leave; perhaps they stopped
here.”</p>
<p>“Murdered?”</p>
<p>I nodded and said, “I dare say friend Hassan could tell us something about
the matter. Meanwhile as supper isn’t ready yet, let us have a look at
that church while it is light.”</p>
<p>We walked through the palm and orange grove to where the building stood
finely placed upon a mound. It was well-constructed of a kind of coral
rock, and a glance showed us that it had been gutted by fire; the
discoloured walls told their own tale. The interior was now full of shrubs
and creepers, and an ugly, yellowish snake glided from what had been the
stone altar. Without, the graveyard was enclosed by a broken wall, only we
could see no trace of graves. Near the gateway, however, was a rough
mound.</p>
<p>“If we could dig into that,” I said, “I expect we should find the bones of
the people who inhabited this place. Does that suggest anything to you,
Stephen?”</p>
<p>“Nothing, except that they were probably killed.”</p>
<p>“You should learn to draw inferences. It is a useful art, especially in
Africa. It suggests to me that, if you are right, the deed was not done by
natives, who would never take the trouble to bury the dead. Arabs, on the
contrary, might do so, especially if there were any bastard Portuguese
among them who called themselves Christians. But whatever happened must
have been a long while ago,” and I pointed to a self-sown hardwood tree
growing from the mound which could scarcely have been less than twenty
years old.</p>
<p>We returned to the house to find that our meal was ready. Hassan had asked
us to dine with him, but for obvious reasons I preferred that Sammy should
cook our food and that he should dine with us. He appeared full of
compliments, though I could see hate and suspicion in his eye, and we fell
to on the kid that we had bought from him, for I did not wish to accept
any gifts from this fellow. Our drink was square-face gin, mixed with
water that I sent Hans to fetch with his own hands from the stream that
ran by the house, lest otherwise it should be drugged.</p>
<p>At first Hassan, like a good Mohammedan, refused to touch any spirits, but
as the meal went on he politely relented upon this point, and I poured him
out a liberal tot. The appetite comes in eating, as the Frenchman said,
and the same thing applies to drinking. So at least it was in Hassan’s
case, who probably thought that the quantity swallowed made no difference
to his sin. After the third dose of square-face he grew quite amiable and
talkative. Thinking the opportunity a good one, I sent for Sammy, and
through him told our host that we were anxious to hire twenty porters to
carry our packages. He declared that there was not such a thing as a
porter within a hundred miles, whereon I gave him some more gin. The end
of it was that we struck a bargain, I forget for how much, he promising to
find us twenty good men who were to stay with us for as long as we wanted
them.</p>
<p>Then I asked him about the destruction of the mission station, but
although he was half-drunk, on this point he remained very close. All he
would say was that he had heard that twenty years ago the people called
the Mazitu, who were very fierce, had raided right down to the coast and
killed those who dwelt there, except a white man and his wife who had fled
inland and never been seen again.</p>
<p>“How many of them were buried in that mound by the church?” I asked
quickly.</p>
<p>“Who told you they were buried there?” he replied, with a start, but
seeing his mistake, went on, “I do not know what you mean. I never heard
of anyone being buried. Sleep well, honoured lords, I must go and see to
the loading of my goods upon the <i>Maria</i>.” Then rising, he salaamed
and walked, or rather rolled, away.</p>
<p>“So the <i>Maria</i> hasn’t sailed after all,” I said, and whistled in a
certain fashion. Instantly Hans crept into the room out of the darkness,
for this was my signal to him.</p>
<p>“Hans,” I said, “I hear sounds upon that island. Slip down to the shore
and spy out what is happening. No one will see you if you are careful.”</p>
<p>“No, Baas,” he answered with a grin, “I do not think that anyone will see
Hans if he is careful, especially at night,” and he slid away as quietly
as he had come.</p>
<p>Now I went out and spoke to Mavovo, telling him to keep a good watch and
to be sure that every man had his gun ready, as I thought that these
people were slave-traders and might attack us in the night.</p>
<p>In that event, I said, they were to fall back upon the stoep, but not to
fire until I gave the word.</p>
<p>“Good, my father,” he answered. “This is a lucky journey; I never thought
there would be hope of war so soon. My Snake forgot to mention it the
other night. Sleep safe, Macumazana. Nothing that walks shall reach you
while we live.”</p>
<p>“Don’t be so sure,” I answered, and we lay down in the bedroom with our
clothes on and our rifles by our sides.</p>
<p>The next thing I remember was someone shaking me by the shoulder. I
thought it was Stephen, who had agreed to keep awake for the first part of
the night and to call me at one in the morning. Indeed, he was awake, for
I could see the glow from the pipe he smoked.</p>
<p>“Baas,” whispered the voice of Hans, “I have found out everything. They
are loading the <i>Maria</i> with slaves, taking them in big boats from
the island.”</p>
<p>“So,” I answered. “But how did you get here? Are the hunters asleep
without?”</p>
<p>He chuckled. “No, they are not asleep; they look with all their eyes and
listen with all their ears, yet old Hans passed through them; even the
Baas Somers did not hear him.”</p>
<p>“That I didn’t,” said Stephen; “thought a rat was moving, no more.”</p>
<p>I stepped through the place where the door had been on to the stoep. By
the light of the fire which the hunters had lit without I could see Mavovo
sitting wide awake, his gun upon his knees, and beyond him two sentries. I
called him and pointed to Hans.</p>
<p>“See,” I said, “what good watchmen you are when one can step over your
heads and enter my room without your knowing it!”</p>
<p>Mavovo looked at the Hottentot and felt his clothes and boots to see
whether they were wet with the night dew.</p>
<p>“<i>Ow!</i>” he exclaimed in a surly voice, “I said that nothing which
walks could reach you, Macumazana, but this yellow snake has crawled
between us on his belly. Look at the new mud that stains his waistcoat.”</p>
<p>“Yet snakes can bite and kill,” answered Hans with a snigger. “Oh! you
Zulus think that you are very brave, and shout and flourish spears and
battleaxes. One poor Hottentot dog is worth a whole impi of you after all.
No, don’t try to strike me, Mavovo the warrior, since we both serve the
same master in our separate ways. When it comes to fighting I will leave
the matter to you, but when it is a case of watching or spying, do you
leave it to Hans. Look here, Mavovo,” and he opened his hand in which was
a horn snuff-box such as Zulus sometimes carry in their ears. “To whom
does this belong?”</p>
<p>“It is mine,” said Mavovo, “and you have stolen it.”</p>
<p>“Yes,” jeered Hans, “it is yours. Also I stole it from your ear as I
passed you in the dark. Don’t you remember that you thought a gnat had
tickled you and hit up at your face?”</p>
<p>“It is true,” growled Mavovo, “and you, snake of a Hottentot, are great in
your own low way. Yet next time anything tickles me, I shall strike, not
with my hand, but with a spear.”</p>
<p>Then I turned them both out, remarking to Stephen that this was a good
example of the eternal fight between courage and cunning. After this, as I
was sure that Hassan and his friends were too busy to interfere with us
that night, we went to bed and slept the sleep of the just.</p>
<p>When I got up the next morning I found that Stephen Somers had already
risen and gone out, nor did he appear until I was half through my
breakfast.</p>
<p>“Where on earth have you been?” I asked, noting that his clothes were torn
and covered with wet moss.</p>
<p>“Up the tallest of those palm trees, Quatermain. Saw an Arab climbing one
of them with a rope and got another Arab to teach me the trick. It isn’t
really difficult, though it looks alarming.”</p>
<p>“What in the name of goodness——” I began.</p>
<p>“Oh!” he interrupted, “my ruling passion. Looking through the glasses I
thought I caught sight of an orchid growing near the crown, so went up. It
wasn’t an orchid after all, only a mass of yellow pollen. But I learned
something for my pains. Sitting in the top of that palm I saw the <i>Maria</i>
working out from under the lee of the island. Also, far away, I noted a
streak of smoke, and watching it through the glasses, made out what looked
to me uncommonly like a man-of-war steaming slowly along the coast. In
fact, I am sure it was, and English too. Then the mist came up and I lost
sight of them.”</p>
<p>“My word!” I said, “that will be the <i>Crocodile</i>. What I told our
host, Hassan, was not altogether bunkum. Mr. Cato, the port officer at
Durban, mentioned to me that the <i>Crocodile</i> was expected to call
there within the next fortnight to take in stores after a slave-hunting
cruise down the coast. Now it would be odd if she chanced to meet the <i>Maria</i>
and asked to have a look at her cargo, wouldn’t it?”</p>
<p>“Not at all, Quatermain, for unless one or the other of them changes her
course that is just what she must do within the next hour or so, and I
jolly well hope she will. I haven’t forgiven that beast, Delgado, the
trick he tried to play on us by slipping away with our goods, to say
nothing of those poor devils of slaves. Pass the coffee, will you?”</p>
<p>For the next ten minutes we ate in silence, for Stephen had an excellent
appetite and was hungry after his morning climb.</p>
<p>Just as we finished our meal Hassan appeared, looking even more villainous
than he had done the previous day. I saw also that he was in a truculent
mood, induced perhaps by the headache from which he was evidently
suffering as a result of his potations. Or perhaps the fact that the <i>Maria</i>
had got safe away with the slaves, as he imagined unobserved by us, was
the cause of the change of his demeanour. A third alternative may have
been that he intended to murder us during the previous night and found no
safe opportunity of carrying out his amiable scheme.</p>
<p>We saluted him courteously, but without salaaming in reply he asked me
bluntly through Sammy when we intended to be gone, as such “Christian dogs
defiled his house,” which he wanted for himself.</p>
<p>I answered, as soon as the twenty bearers whom he had promised us
appeared, but not before.</p>
<p>“You lie,” he said. “I never promised you bearers; I have none here.”</p>
<p>“Do you mean that you shipped them all away in the <i>Maria</i> with the
slaves last night?” I asked, sweetly.</p>
<p>My reader, have you ever taken note of the appearance and proceedings of a
tom-cat of established age and morose disposition when a little dog
suddenly disturbs it on the prowl? Have you observed how it contorts
itself into arched but unnatural shapes, how it swells visibly to almost
twice its normal size, how its hair stands up and its eyes flash, and the
stream of unmentionable language that proceeds from its open mouth? If so,
you will have a very good idea of the effect produced upon Hassan by this
remark of mine. The fellow looked as though he were going to burst with
rage. He rolled about, his bloodshot eyes seemed to protrude, he cursed us
horribly, he put his hand upon the hilt of the great knife he wore, and
finally he did what the tom-cat does, he spat.</p>
<p>Now, Stephen was standing with me, looking as cool as a cucumber and very
much amused, and being, as it chanced, a little nearer to Hassan than I
was, received the full benefit of this rude proceeding. My word! didn’t it
wake him up. He said something strong, and the next second flew at the
half-breed like a tiger, landing him a beauty straight upon the nose. Back
staggered Hassan, drawing his knife as he did so, but Stephen’s left in
the eye caused him to drop it, as he dropped himself. I pounced upon the
knife, and since it was too late to interfere, for the mischief had been
done, let things take their course and held back the Zulus who had rushed
up at the noise.</p>
<p>Hassan rose and, to do him credit, came on like a man, head down. His
great skull caught Stephen, who was the lighter of the two, in the chest
and knocked him over, but before the Arab could follow up the advantage,
he was on his feet again. Then ensued a really glorious mill. Hassan
fought with head and fists and feet, Stephen with fists alone. Dodging his
opponent’s rushes, he gave it to him as he passed, and soon his coolness
and silence began to tell. Once he was knocked over by a hooked one under
the jaw, but in the next round he sent the Arab literally flying head over
heels. Oh! how those Zulus cheered, and I, too, danced with delight. Up
Hassan came again, spitting out several teeth and, adopting new tactics,
grabbed Stephen round the middle. To and fro they swung, the Arab trying
to kick the Englishman with his knees and to bite him also, till the pain
reminded him of the absence of his front teeth. Once he nearly got him
down—nearly, but not quite, for the collar by which he had gripped
him (his object was to strangle) burst and, at that juncture, Hassan’s
turban fell over his face, blinding him for a moment.</p>
<p>Then Stephen gripped him round the middle with his left arm and with his
right pommelled him unmercifully till he sank in a sitting position to the
ground and held up his hand in token of surrender.</p>
<p>“The noble English lord has beaten me,” he gasped.</p>
<p>“Apologise!” yelled Stephen, picking up a handful of mud, “or I shove this
down your dirty throat.”</p>
<p>He seemed to understand. At any rate, he bowed till his forehead touched
the ground, and apologised very thoroughly.</p>
<p>“Now that is over,” I said cheerfully to him, “so how about those
bearers?”</p>
<p>“I have no bearers,” he answered.</p>
<p>“You dirty liar,” I exclaimed; “one of my people has been down to your
village there and says it is full of men.”</p>
<p>“Then go and take them for yourself,” he replied, viciously, for he knew
that the place was stockaded.</p>
<p>Now I was in a fix. It was all very well to give a slave-dealer the
thrashing he deserved, but if he chose to attack us with his Arabs we
should be in a poor way. Watching me with the eye that was not bunged up,
Hassan guessed my perplexity.</p>
<p>“I have been beaten like a dog,” he said, his rage returning to him with
his breath, “but God is compassionate and just, He will avenge in due
time.”</p>
<p>The words had not left his lips for one second when from somewhere out at
sea there floated the sullen boom of a great gun. At this moment, too, an
Arab rushed up from the shore, crying:</p>
<p>“Where is the Bey Hassan?”</p>
<p>“Here,” I said, pointing at him.</p>
<p>The Arab stared until I thought his eyes would drop out, for the Bey
Hassan was indeed a sight to see. Then he gabbled in a frightened voice:</p>
<p>“Captain, an English man-of-war is chasing the <i>Maria</i>.”</p>
<p>Boom went the great gun for the second time. Hassan said nothing, but his
jaw dropped, and I saw that he had lost exactly three teeth.</p>
<p>“That is the <i>Crocodile</i>,” I remarked slowly, causing Sammy to
translate, and as I spoke, produced from my inner pocket a Union Jack
which I had placed there after I heard that the ship was sighted.
“Stephen,” I went on as I shook it out, “if you have got your wind, would
you mind climbing up that palm tree again and signalling with this to the
<i>Crocodile</i> out at sea?”</p>
<p>“By George! that’s a good idea,” said Stephen, whose jovial face, although
swollen, was now again wreathed in smiles. “Hans, bring me a long stick
and a bit of string.”</p>
<p>But Hassan did not think it at all a good idea.</p>
<p>“English lord,” he gasped, “you shall have the bearers. I will go to fetch
them.”</p>
<p>“No, you won’t,” I said, “you will stop here as a hostage. Send that man.”</p>
<p>Hassan uttered some rapid orders and the messenger sped away, this time
towards the stockaded village on the right.</p>
<p>As he went another messenger arrived, who also stared amazedly at the
condition of his chief.</p>
<p>“Bey—if you are the Bey,” he said, in a doubtful voice, for by now
the amiable face of Hassan had begun to swell and colour, “with the
telescope we have seen that the English man-of-war has sent a boat and
boarded the <i>Maria</i>.”</p>
<p>“God is great!” muttered the discomfited Hassan, “and Delgado, who is a
thief and a traitor from his mother’s breast, will tell the truth. The
English sons of Satan will land here. All is finished; nothing is left but
flight. Bid the people fly into the bush and take the slaves—I mean
their servants. I will join them.”</p>
<p>“No, you won’t,” I interrupted, through Sammy; “at any rate, not at
present. You will come with us.”</p>
<p>The miserable Hassan reflected, then he asked:</p>
<p>“Lord Quatermain” (I remember the title, because it is the nearest I ever
got, or am likely to get, to the peerage), “if I furnish you with the
twenty bearers and accompany you for some days on your journey inland,
will you promise not to signal to your countrymen on the ship and bring
them ashore?”</p>
<p>“What do you think?” I asked of Stephen.</p>
<p>“Oh!” he answered, “I think I’d agree. This scoundrel has had a pretty
good dusting, and if once the <i>Crocodile</i> people land, there’ll be an
end of our expedition. As sure as eggs are eggs they will carry us off to
Zanzibar or somewhere to give evidence before a slave court. Also nothing
will be gained, for by the time the sailors get here, all these rascals
will have bolted, except our friend, Hassan. You see it isn’t as though we
were sure he would be hung. He’d probably escape after all. International
law, subject of a foreign Power, no direct proof—that kind of thing,
you know.”</p>
<p>“Give me a minute or two,” I said, and began to reflect very deeply.</p>
<p>Whilst I was thus engaged several things happened. I saw twenty natives
being escorted towards us, doubtless the bearers who had been promised;
also I saw many others, accompanied by other natives, flying from the
village into the bush. Lastly, a third messenger arrived, who announced
that the <i>Maria</i> was sailing away, apparently in charge of a
prize-crew, and that the man-of-war was putting about as though to
accompany her. Evidently she had no intention of effecting a landing upon
what was, nominally at any rate, Portuguese territory. Therefore, if
anything was to be done, we must act at once.</p>
<p>Well, the end of it was that, like a fool, I accepted Stephen’s advice and
did nothing, always the easiest course and generally that which leads to
most trouble. Ten minutes afterwards I changed my mind, but then it was
too late; the <i>Crocodile</i> was out of signalling distance. This was
subsequent to a conversation with Hans.</p>
<p>“Baas,” said that worthy, in his leery fashion, “I think you have made a
mistake. You forget that these yellow devils in white robes who have run
away will come back again, and that when you return from up country, they
may be waiting for you. Now if the English man-of-war had destroyed their
town, and their slave-sheds, they might have gone somewhere else.
However,” he added, as an afterthought, glancing at the disfigured Hassan,
“we have their captain, and of course you mean to hang him, Baas. Or if
you don’t like to, leave it to me. I can hang men very well. Once, when I
was young, I helped the executioner at Cape Town.”</p>
<p>“Get out,” I said, but, nevertheless, I knew that Hans was right.</p>
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