finished_summaries/gradesaver/King Solomon's Mines/section_10_part_0.txt
King Solomon's Mines.chapters 19-20
chapters 19-20
{"name": "Chapters 19 and 20", "url": "https://web.archive.org/web/20200804024551/https://www.gradesaver.com/king-solomons-mines/study-guide/summary-chapters-19-and-20", "summary": "Ten days after escaping the dark chambers of Solomon's treasure store, Quatermain, Sir Henry, and Good find themselves back in Loo. After having rested for two days, the men had tried to find the secret entrance to the treasure chamber, but to no avail. Giving up, they returned to Loo and prepared for their longer journey back to their own country. Ignosi finds their intent to leave disturbing, going so far as to question Quatermain's priorities in loving the precious diamonds more than their friendship. Quatermain replies that, just as Ignosi longed for his homeland when he joined the men in their quest, so do the white men long for their own homes. Somewhat mollified, Ignosi declares that Quatermain, Sir Henry, and Good are the only white men who will ever enter Kukuanaland; he warns the men that any other whites who approach will not be welcomed, and if they do not leave of their own accord they will be driven off or killed. He then declares the names of the three men--their \"African\" names, will be remembered as the names of gods among the Kukuanas, passed on for generations but never uttered aloud. Just before they leave, Good is approached by a young Kukuana woman bearing flowers. She eagerly desires to see Good's \"beautiful white legs\" before he leaves. At first Good balks at the prospect of showing his legs, but the cajoling of Sir Henry and Quatermain lead him to roll his pants-leg up to the knee. The woman and several other onlookers stare in awe at Good's white leg before Good makes his departure. The men learn of an alternate--and less perilous--route away from Kukuanaland, along which there is said to be an oasis. The men readily choose this path over the dangers of thirst and wild animals. Infadoos and a group of Kukuanas escort the men as far as the borders of Kukuanaland, then bid them farewell. Before leaving, Good makes Infadoos a gift of his spare monocle, giving the old Kukuana a token of his esteem and a physical badge of honor among the Kukuanas. Three days later the men reach the oasis and make camp by its refreshing waters. As Quatermain surveys the oasis, he comes across a hut . A white man clothed in animal skins, comes out of the hut and looks upon him. Quatermain asks his companions to verify that he is not hallucinating, when Sir Henry recognizes the white man as his brother George. When the men cry out in delight, another figure--this time a black man--exits the hut and addresses Quatermain. This is Jim, whom Quatermain had sent to deliver a note to George over two years ago. As it turns out, George had attempted to reach King Solomon's mines by this route rather than the more dangerous desert way. While camping at the oasis and preparing to head into Kukuanaland, a boulder fell and crushed his leg. Unable to climb the mountains or return the way he came, George settled in to survive at the oasis as long as he could. With Jim's help he built the hut and hunted game, which provided both food and clothing for the men. For two years they have lived this way, never anticipating seeing another human face, let alone these familiar faces. Sir Henry relates his own adventures to his brother, and he concludes with Quatermain showing George the diamonds retrieved from Solomon's treasure chamber. George declares that at least the men have gotten some benefit from their expedition, but Sir Henry insists that the diamonds belong to Quatermain and Good--he only sought to find his brother. Quatermain and Good secretly decide between them to give Sir Henry a third of the diamonds or, if he will not take them, to give them to George, whom they believe has suffered even more than they in his pursuit of King Solomon's Mines. Sir Henry reluctantly agrees. The men make their return journey, taking turns bearing the limping George back to Durban. There Quatermain takes his leave of the other men as they return to England. As Quatermain is writing the final lines of his narrative, a letter arrives from Sir Henry. Sir Henry urges Quatermain to come to England and take up residence near him; a house has recently gone up for sale and the proceeds from selling off a few of the diamonds will pay for the residence. To further entice Quatermain, Sir Henry has had Quatermain's son Harry visit and quite enjoys the young man's company. Quatermain is touched by Sir Henry's desire to have his friend nearby, and ends the narrative declaring his intention to return to England.", "analysis": "Good's gift to Infadoos is reminiscent of the cargo cult, in which artifacts from a strange culture are made objects of admiration or even worship by another culture.  Good's \"glass eye\" had fascinated the Kukuanas from the first moment they saw him.  By giving Infadoos a spare monocle, Good imparts to Infadoos a level of respect among the Kukuanas.  Although often an object of humor, it is Good who seems to be most connected to the Kukuanas. The three white men are deified among the Kukuanas.  Their practice of remembering the men's names by never uttering them aloud is strange to the men, but reflects the sanctity with which they regard these men.  However, even as he honors them, Ignosi tells the white men that no other whites will be allowed in Kukuanaland.  Ignosi has seen their influence, and does not wish it to continue among his people.  This final closing of the borders by Ignosi is interesting in that the new king sees the dangers of allowing white/European culture to infiltrate his land.  Just as he owes his throne to the three white men to some extent, so does he recognize that an imperialistic nation could use force, guile, or technology to place their own favored man on the throne at any time.  Ignosi chooses instead to keep the Kukuanas insular and avoid the negative influence of Europe. At the same time, Ignosi holds these three specific white men in high regard.  When they tell him of their desire to depart, Ignosi says, \"It is the bright stones that ye love more than me, your friend\" .  In response to this charge of materialism, Quatermain replies that just as Ignosi longed for his homeland, so too do these men long to return to their own nation.  This assuages Ignosi, but it leaves the reader with a sense that the diamonds have become disproportionately valuable to the men--even Sir Henry Curtis has not mentioned his brother lately--and thus the pretext for their adventure has become an empty goal. Haggard leaves no loose ends in his novel.  The purpose of Sir Henry's quest--to find his brother or news of him--is finally achieved, although somewhat by accident.  Sir Henry had become convinced that Neville died en route to Solomon's Mines.  What he did not foresee was that Neville would become incapacitated on the way and never complete the journey, yet still live.  Also, George Neville took a different route than that indicated by da Silvestra's map, and so the evidence of his journey could not be found along the path of Sir Henry's expedition. Although the finding of Sir Henry's brother feels a bit like convenient coincidence, the details of his story mesh well with the events of Quatermain's narrative.  The lack of evidence  and information regarding Neville left Sir Henry in despair, but the lack was not due to his death in the wilderness, but due to his taking a different route and meeting an unexpected obstacle. Although George Neville denies it, the blame for his injury is in some part the fault of Jim, the African hunter of Quatermain's acquaintance.  Although probably intended as a plot device, it is interesting to note that George's injury and Sir Henry's subsequent anxiety and trials are partially the fault of an African native.  Haggard could not have George simply meet with an accident--thus making the man incompetent and no fit brother for the mighty Sir Henry Curtis.  He had to place the burden of the mistake upon another character--a minor African character--in order to meet the expectations of his readership. The issue of materialism is again raised.  Quatermain and Good readily agree to share a third of their diamonds with Sir Henry and, when he refuses, with George Neville as recompense for his suffering in quest for them.  Neville accepts where Sir Henry did not.  Again, Sir Henry Curtis is the ideal hero--brave, compassionate--and in this case content with his station in life and his income level.  Quatermain is no hero--he wants the money, but mostly for his son--but he is human, and thus makes a better point of view character for the novel than would Sir Henry. The story finishes with a letter.  Sir Henry has already made the acquaintance of Quatermain's son and likes the young many very much.  He wants Quatermain to join him and Good in England, where a nearby house has recently opened up.  In this way, the three bachelors can live in luxury and peace for their remaining days.  Quatermain, although restless and a born hunter and explorer, considers taking Sir Henry up on the offer.  He wants to see his son grow up and succeed, and it is in England that he can best achieve that goal.  Like Odysseus, Quatermain is now in a position to retire and finish his son's training in manhood, knowing that his legacy is secure."}
Ten days from that eventful morning found us once more in our old
quarters at Loo; and, strange to say, but little the worse for our
terrible experience, except that my stubbly hair came out of the
treasure cave about three shades greyer than it went in, and that Good
never was quite the same after Foulata's death, which seemed to move
him very greatly. I am bound to say, looking at the thing from the
point of view of an oldish man of the world, that I consider her
removal was a fortunate occurrence, since, otherwise, complications
would have been sure to ensue. The poor creature was no ordinary native
girl, but a person of great, I had almost said stately, beauty, and of
considerable refinement of mind. But no amount of beauty or refinement
could have made an entanglement between Good and herself a desirable
occurrence; for, as she herself put it, "Can the sun mate with the
darkness, or the white with the black?"

I need hardly state that we never again penetrated into Solomon's
treasure chamber. After we had recovered from our fatigues, a process
which took us forty-eight hours, we descended into the great pit in the
hope of finding the hole by which we had crept out of the mountain, but
with no success. To begin with, rain had fallen, and obliterated our
spoor; and what is more, the sides of the vast pit were full of
ant-bear and other holes. It was impossible to say to which of these we
owed our salvation. Also, on the day before we started back to Loo, we
made a further examination of the wonders of the stalactite cave, and,
drawn by a kind of restless feeling, even penetrated once more into the
Chamber of the Dead. Passing beneath the spear of the White Death we
gazed, with sensations which it would be quite impossible for me to
describe, at the mass of rock that had shut us off from escape,
thinking the while of priceless treasures beyond, of the mysterious old
hag whose flattened fragments lay crushed beneath it, and of the fair
girl of whose tomb it was the portal. I say gazed at the "rock," for,
examine as we could, we could find no traces of the join of the sliding
door; nor, indeed, could we hit upon the secret, now utterly lost, that
worked it, though we tried for an hour or more. It is certainly a
marvellous bit of mechanism, characteristic, in its massive and yet
inscrutable simplicity, of the age which produced it; and I doubt if
the world has such another to show.

At last we gave it up in disgust; though, if the mass had suddenly
risen before our eyes, I doubt if we should have screwed up courage to
step over Gagool's mangled remains, and once more enter the treasure
chamber, even in the sure and certain hope of unlimited diamonds. And
yet I could have cried at the idea of leaving all that treasure, the
biggest treasure probably that in the world's history has ever been
accumulated in one spot. But there was no help for it. Only dynamite
could force its way through five feet of solid rock.

So we left it. Perhaps, in some remote unborn century, a more fortunate
explorer may hit upon the "Open Sesame," and flood the world with gems.
But, myself, I doubt it. Somehow, I seem to feel that the tens of
millions of pounds' worth of jewels which lie in the three stone
coffers will never shine round the neck of an earthly beauty. They and
Foulata's bones will keep cold company till the end of all things.

With a sigh of disappointment we made our way back, and next day
started for Loo. And yet it was really very ungrateful of us to be
disappointed; for, as the reader will remember, by a lucky thought, I
had taken the precaution to fill the wide pockets of my old shooting
coat and trousers with gems before we left our prison-house, also
Foulata's basket, which held twice as many more, notwithstanding that
the water bottle had occupied some of its space. A good many of these
fell out in the course of our roll down the side of the pit, including
several of the big ones, which I had crammed in on the top in my coat
pockets. But, comparatively speaking, an enormous quantity still
remained, including ninety-three large stones ranging from over two
hundred to seventy carats in weight. My old shooting coat and the
basket still held sufficient treasure to make us all, if not
millionaires as the term is understood in America, at least exceedingly
wealthy men, and yet to keep enough stones each to make the three
finest sets of gems in Europe. So we had not done so badly.

On arriving at Loo we were most cordially received by Ignosi, whom we
found well, and busily engaged in consolidating his power, and
reorganising the regiments which had suffered most in the great
struggle with Twala.

He listened with intense interest to our wonderful story; but when we
told him of old Gagool's frightful end he grew thoughtful.

"Come hither," he called, to a very old Induna or councillor, who was
sitting with others in a circle round the king, but out of ear-shot.
The ancient man rose, approached, saluted, and seated himself.

"Thou art aged," said Ignosi.

"Ay, my lord the king! Thy father's father and I were born on the same
day."

"Tell me, when thou wast little, didst thou know Gagaoola the witch
doctress?"

"Ay, my lord the king!"

"How was she then--young, like thee?"

"Not so, my lord the king! She was even as she is now and as she was in
the days of my great grandfather before me; old and dried, very ugly,
and full of wickedness."

"She is no more; she is dead."

"So, O king! then is an ancient curse taken from the land."

"Go!"

"_Koom!_ I go, Black Puppy, who tore out the old dog's throat. _Koom!_"

"Ye see, my brothers," said Ignosi, "this was a strange woman, and I
rejoice that she is dead. She would have let you die in the dark place,
and mayhap afterwards she had found a way to slay me, as she found a
way to slay my father, and set up Twala, whom her black heart loved, in
his place. Now go on with the tale; surely there never was its like!"

After I had narrated all the story of our escape, as we had agreed
between ourselves that I should, I took the opportunity to address
Ignosi as to our departure from Kukuanaland.

"And now, Ignosi," I said, "the time has come for us to bid thee
farewell, and start to see our own land once more. Behold, Ignosi, thou
camest with us a servant, and now we leave thee a mighty king. If thou
art grateful to us, remember to do even as thou didst promise: to rule
justly, to respect the law, and to put none to death without a cause.
So shalt thou prosper. To-morrow, at break of day, Ignosi, thou wilt
give us an escort who shall lead us across the mountains. Is it not so,
O king?"

Ignosi covered his face with his hands for a while before answering.

"My heart is sore," he said at last; "your words split my heart in
twain. What have I done to you, Incubu, Macumazahn, and Bougwan, that
ye should leave me desolate? Ye who stood by me in rebellion and in
battle, will ye leave me in the day of peace and victory? What will
ye--wives? Choose from among the maidens! A place to live in? Behold,
the land is yours as far as ye can see. The white man's houses? Ye
shall teach my people how to build them. Cattle for beef and milk?
Every married man shall bring you an ox or a cow. Wild game to hunt?
Does not the elephant walk through my forests, and the river-horse
sleep in the reeds? Would ye make war? My Impis wait your word. If
there is anything more which I can give, that will I give you."

"Nay, Ignosi, we want none of these things," I answered; "we would seek
our own place."

"Now do I learn," said Ignosi bitterly, and with flashing eyes, "that
ye love the bright stones more than me, your friend. Ye have the
stones; now ye would go to Natal and across the moving black water and
sell them, and be rich, as it is the desire of a white man's heart to
be. Cursed for your sake be the white stones, and cursed he who seeks
them. Death shall it be to him who sets foot in the place of Death to
find them. I have spoken. White men, ye can go."

I laid my hand upon his arm. "Ignosi," I said, "tell us, when thou
didst wander in Zululand, and among the white people of Natal, did not
thine heart turn to the land thy mother told thee of, thy native place,
where thou didst see the light, and play when thou wast little, the
land where thy place was?"

"It was even so, Macumazahn."

"In like manner, Ignosi, do our hearts turn to our land and to our own
place."

Then came a silence. When Ignosi broke it, it was in a different voice.

"I do perceive that now as ever thy words are wise and full of reason,
Macumazahn; that which flies in the air loves not to run along the
ground; the white man loves not to live on the level of the black or to
house among his kraals. Well, ye must go, and leave my heart sore,
because ye will be as dead to me, since from where ye are no tidings
can come to me.

"But listen, and let all your brothers know my words. No other white
man shall cross the mountains, even if any man live to come so far. I
will see no traders with their guns and gin. My people shall fight with
the spear, and drink water, like their forefathers before them. I will
have no praying-men to put a fear of death into men's hearts, to stir
them up against the law of the king, and make a path for the white folk
who follow to run on. If a white man comes to my gates I will send him
back; if a hundred come I will push them back; if armies come, I will
make war on them with all my strength, and they shall not prevail
against me. None shall ever seek for the shining stones: no, not an
army, for if they come I will send a regiment and fill up the pit, and
break down the white columns in the caves and choke them with rocks, so
that none can reach even to that door of which ye speak, and whereof
the way to move it is lost. But for you three, Incubu, Macumazahn, and
Bougwan, the path is always open; for, behold, ye are dearer to me than
aught that breathes.

"And ye would go. Infadoos, my uncle, and my Induna, shall take you by
the hand and guide you with a regiment. There is, as I have learned,
another way across the mountains that he shall show you. Farewell, my
brothers, brave white men. See me no more, for I have no heart to bear
it. Behold! I make a decree, and it shall be published from the
mountains to the mountains; your names, Incubu, Macumazahn, and
Bougwan, shall be "_hlonipa_" even as the names of dead kings, and he
who speaks them shall die.[1] So shall your memory be preserved in the
land for ever.

"Go now, ere my eyes rain tears like a woman's. At times as ye look
back down the path of life, or when ye are old and gather yourselves
together to crouch before the fire, because for you the sun has no more
heat, ye will think of how we stood shoulder to shoulder, in that great
battle which thy wise words planned, Macumazahn; of how thou wast the
point of the horn that galled Twala's flank, Bougwan; whilst thou stood
in the ring of the Greys, Incubu, and men went down before thine axe
like corn before a sickle; ay, and of how thou didst break that wild
bull Twala's strength, and bring his pride to dust. Fare ye well for
ever, Incubu, Macumazahn, and Bougwan, my lords and my friends."

Ignosi rose and looked earnestly at us for a few seconds. Then he threw
the corner of his karross over his head, so as to cover his face from
us.

We went in silence.


Next day at dawn we left Loo, escorted by our old friend Infadoos, who
was heart-broken at our departure, and by the regiment of Buffaloes.
Early as was the hour, all the main street of the town was lined with
multitudes of people, who gave us the royal salute as we passed at the
head of the regiment, while the women blessed us for having rid the
land of Twala, throwing flowers before us as we went. It was really
very affecting, and not the sort of thing one is accustomed to meet
with from natives.

One ludicrous incident occurred, however, which I rather welcomed, as
it gave us something to laugh at.

Just before we reached the confines of the town, a pretty young girl,
with some lovely lilies in her hand, ran forward and presented them to
Good--somehow they all seemed to like Good; I think his eye-glass and
solitary whisker gave him a fictitious value--and then said that she
had a boon to ask.

"Speak on," he answered.

"Let my lord show his servant his beautiful white legs, that his
servant may look upon them, and remember them all her days, and tell of
them to her children; his servant has travelled four days' journey to
see them, for the fame of them has gone throughout the land."

"I'll be hanged if I do!" exclaimed Good excitedly.

"Come, come, my dear fellow," said Sir Henry, "you can't refuse to
oblige a lady."

"I won't," replied Good obstinately; "it is positively indecent."

However, in the end he consented to draw up his trousers to the knee,
amidst notes of rapturous admiration from all the women present,
especially the gratified young lady, and in this guise he had to walk
till we got clear of the town.

Good's legs, I fear, will never be so greatly admired again. Of his
melting teeth, and even of his "transparent eye," the Kukuanas wearied
more or less, but of his legs never.

As we travelled, Infadoos told us that there was another pass over the
mountains to the north of the one followed by Solomon's Great Road, or
rather that there was a place where it was possible to climb down the
wall of cliff which separates Kukuanaland from the desert, and is
broken by the towering shapes of Sheba's Breasts. It appeared, also,
that rather more than two years previously a party of Kukuana hunters
had descended this path into the desert in search of ostriches, whose
plumes are much prized among them for war head-dresses, and that in the
course of their hunt they had been led far from the mountains and were
much troubled by thirst. Seeing trees on the horizon, however, they
walked towards them, and discovered a large and fertile oasis some
miles in extent, and plentifully watered. It was by way of this oasis
that Infadoos suggested we should return, and the idea seemed to us a
good one, for it appeared that we should thus escape the rigours of the
mountain pass. Also some of the hunters were in attendance to guide us
to the oasis, from which, they stated, they could perceive other
fertile spots far away in the desert.[2]

Travelling easily, on the night of the fourth day's journey we found
ourselves once more on the crest of the mountains that separate
Kukuanaland from the desert, which rolled away in sandy billows at our
feet, and about twenty-five miles to the north of Sheba's Breasts.

At dawn on the following day, we were led to the edge of a very
precipitous chasm, by which we were to descend the precipice, and gain
the plain two thousand and more feet below.

Here we bade farewell to that true friend and sturdy old warrior,
Infadoos, who solemnly wished all good upon us, and nearly wept with
grief. "Never, my lords," he said, "shall mine old eyes see the like of
you again. Ah! the way that Incubu cut his men down in the battle! Ah!
for the sight of that stroke with which he swept off my brother Twala's
head! It was beautiful--beautiful! I may never hope to see such
another, except perchance in happy dreams."

We were very sorry to part from him; indeed, Good was so moved that he
gave him as a souvenir--what do you think?--an _eye-glass_; afterwards
we discovered that it was a spare one. Infadoos was delighted,
foreseeing that the possession of such an article would increase his
prestige enormously, and after several vain attempts he actually
succeeded in screwing it into his own eye. Anything more incongruous
than the old warrior looked with an eye-glass I never saw. Eye-glasses
do not go well with leopard-skin cloaks and black ostrich plumes.

Then, after seeing that our guides were well laden with water and
provisions, and having received a thundering farewell salute from the
Buffaloes, we wrung Infadoos by the hand, and began our downward climb.
A very arduous business it proved to be, but somehow that evening we
found ourselves at the bottom without accident.

"Do you know," said Sir Henry that night, as we sat by our fire and
gazed up at the beetling cliffs above us, "I think that there are worse
places than Kukuanaland in the world, and that I have known unhappier
times than the last month or two, though I have never spent such queer
ones. Eh! you fellows?"

"I almost wish I were back," said Good, with a sigh.

As for myself, I reflected that all's well that ends well; but in the
course of a long life of shaves, I never had such shaves as those which
I had recently experienced. The thought of that battle makes me feel
cold all over, and as for our experience in the treasure chamber--!


Next morning we started on a toilsome trudge across the desert, having
with us a good supply of water carried by our five guides, and camped
that night in the open, marching again at dawn on the morrow.

By noon of the third day's journey we could see the trees of the oasis
of which the guides spoke, and within an hour of sundown we were
walking once more upon grass and listening to the sound of running
water.


[1] This extraordinary and negative way of showing intense respect is
by no means unknown among African people, and the result is that if, as
is usual, the name in question has a significance, the meaning must be
expressed by an idiom or other word. In this way a memory is preserved
for generations, or until the new word utterly supplants the old.

[2] It often puzzled all of us to understand how it was possible that
Ignosi's mother, bearing the child with her, should have survived the
dangers of her journey across the mountains and the desert, dangers
which so nearly proved fatal to ourselves. It has since occurred to me,
and I give the idea to the reader for what it is worth, that she must
have taken this second route, and wandered out like Hagar into the
wilderness. If she did so, there is no longer anything inexplicable
about the story, since, as Ignosi himself related, she may well have
been picked up by some ostrich hunters before she or the child was
exhausted, was led by them to the oasis, and thence by stages to the
fertile country, and so on by slow degrees southwards to Zululand.--A.Q.


And now I come to perhaps the strangest adventure that happened to us
in all this strange business, and one which shows how wonderfully
things are brought about.

I was walking along quietly, some way in front of the other two, down
the banks of the stream which runs from the oasis till it is swallowed
up in the hungry desert sands, when suddenly I stopped and rubbed my
eyes, as well I might. There, not twenty yards in front of me, placed
in a charming situation, under the shade of a species of fig-tree, and
facing to the stream, was a cosy hut, built more or less on the Kafir
principle with grass and withes, but having a full-length door instead
of a bee-hole.

"What the dickens," said I to myself, "can a hut be doing here?" Even
as I said it the door of the hut opened, and there limped out of it a
_white man_ clothed in skins, and with an enormous black beard. I
thought that I must have got a touch of the sun. It was impossible. No
hunter ever came to such a place as this. Certainly no hunter would
ever settle in it. I stared and stared, and so did the other man, and
just at that juncture Sir Henry and Good walked up.

"Look here, you fellows," I said, "is that a white man, or am I mad?"

Sir Henry looked, and Good looked, and then all of a sudden the lame
white man with a black beard uttered a great cry, and began hobbling
towards us. When he was close he fell down in a sort of faint.

With a spring Sir Henry was by his side.

"Great Powers!" he cried, "_it is my brother George!_"

At the sound of this disturbance, another figure, also clad in skins,
emerged from the hut, a gun in his hand, and ran towards us. On seeing
me he too gave a cry.

"Macumazahn," he halloed, "don't you know me, Baas? I'm Jim the hunter.
I lost the note you gave me to give to the Baas, and we have been here
nearly two years." And the fellow fell at my feet, and rolled over and
over, weeping for joy.

"You careless scoundrel!" I said; "you ought to be well
_sjambocked_"--that is, hided.

Meanwhile the man with the black beard had recovered and risen, and he
and Sir Henry were pump-handling away at each other, apparently without
a word to say. But whatever they had quarrelled about in the past--I
suspect it was a lady, though I never asked--it was evidently forgotten
now.

"My dear old fellow," burst out Sir Henry at last, "I thought you were
dead. I have been over Solomon's Mountains to find you. I had given up
all hope of ever seeing you again, and now I come across you perched in
the desert, like an old _assvoegel_."[1]

"I tried to cross Solomon's Mountains nearly two years ago," was the
answer, spoken in the hesitating voice of a man who has had little
recent opportunity of using his tongue, "but when I reached here a
boulder fell on my leg and crushed it, and I have been able to go
neither forward nor back."

Then I came up. "How do you do, Mr. Neville?" I said; "do you remember
me?"

"Why," he said, "isn't it Hunter Quatermain, eh, and Good too? Hold on
a minute, you fellows, I am getting dizzy again. It is all so very
strange, and, when a man has ceased to hope, so very happy!"

That evening, over the camp fire, George Curtis told us his story,
which, in its way, was almost as eventful as our own, and, put shortly,
amounted to this. A little less than two years before, he had started
from Sitanda's Kraal, to try to reach Suliman's Berg. As for the note I
had sent him by Jim, that worthy lost it, and he had never heard of it
till to-day. But, acting upon information he had received from the
natives, he headed not for Sheba's Breasts, but for the ladder-like
descent of the mountains down which we had just come, which is clearly
a better route than that marked out in old Dom Silvestra's plan. In the
desert he and Jim had suffered great hardships, but finally they
reached this oasis, where a terrible accident befell George Curtis. On
the day of their arrival he was sitting by the stream, and Jim was
extracting the honey from the nest of a stingless bee which is to be
found in the desert, on the top of a bank immediately above him. In so
doing he loosened a great boulder of rock, which fell upon George
Curtis's right leg, crushing it frightfully. From that day he had been
so lame that he found it impossible to go either forward or back, and
had preferred to take the chances of dying in the oasis to the
certainty of perishing in the desert.

As for food, however, they got on pretty well, for they had a good
supply of ammunition, and the oasis was frequented, especially at
night, by large quantities of game, which came thither for water. These
they shot, or trapped in pitfalls, using the flesh for food, and, after
their clothes wore out, the hides for clothing.

"And so," George Curtis ended, "we have lived for nearly two years,
like a second Robinson Crusoe and his man Friday, hoping against hope
that some natives might come here to help us away, but none have come.
Only last night we settled that Jim should leave me, and try to reach
Sitanda's Kraal to get assistance. He was to go to-morrow, but I had
little hope of ever seeing him back again. And now _you_, of all people
in the world, _you_, who, as I fancied, had long ago forgotten all
about me, and were living comfortably in old England, turn up in a
promiscuous way and find me where you least expected. It is the most
wonderful thing that I have ever heard of, and the most merciful too."

Then Sir Henry set to work, and told him the main facts of our
adventures, sitting till late into the night to do it.

"By Jove!" said George Curtis, when I showed him some of the diamonds:
"well, at least you have got something for your pains, besides my
worthless self."

Sir Henry laughed. "They belong to Quatermain and Good. It was a part
of the bargain that they should divide any spoils there might be."

This remark set me thinking, and having spoken to Good, I told Sir
Henry that it was our joint wish that he should take a third portion of
the diamonds, or, if he would not, that his share should be handed to
his brother, who had suffered even more than ourselves on the chance of
getting them. Finally, we prevailed upon him to consent to this
arrangement, but George Curtis did not know of it until some time
afterwards.

      *      *      *      *      *

Here, at this point, I think that I shall end my history. Our journey
across the desert back to Sitanda's Kraal was most arduous, especially
as we had to support George Curtis, whose right leg was very weak
indeed, and continually threw out splinters of bone. But we did
accomplish it somehow, and to give its details would only be to
reproduce much of what happened to us on the former occasion.

Six months from the date of our re-arrival at Sitanda's, where we found
our guns and other goods quite safe, though the old rascal in charge
was much disgusted at our surviving to claim them, saw us all once more
safe and sound at my little place on the Berea, near Durban, where I am
now writing. Thence I bid farewell to all who have accompanied me
through the strangest trip I ever made in the course of a long and
varied experience.

P.S.--Just as I had written the last word, a Kafir came up my avenue of
orange trees, carrying a letter in a cleft stick, which he had brought
from the post. It turned out to be from Sir Henry, and as it speaks for
itself I give it in full.

  October 1, 1884.
  Brayley Hall, Yorkshire.

  My Dear Quatermain,

  I send you a line a few mails back to say that the three of us,
  George, Good, and myself, fetched up all right in England. We got
  off the boat at Southampton, and went up to town. You should have
  seen what a swell Good turned out the very next day, beautifully
  shaved, frock coat fitting like a glove, brand new eye-glass,
  etc., etc. I went and walked in the park with him, where I met
  some people I know, and at once told them the story of his
  "beautiful white legs."

  He is furious, especially as some ill-natured person has printed
  it in a Society paper.

  To come to business, Good and I took the diamonds to Streeter's to
  be valued, as we arranged, and really I am afraid to tell you what
  they put them at, it seems so enormous. They say that of course it
  is more or less guess-work, as such stones have never to their
  knowledge been put on the market in anything like such quantities.
  It appears that (with the exception of one or two of the largest)
  they are of the finest water, and equal in every way to the best
  Brazilian stones. I asked them if they would buy them, but they
  said that it was beyond their power to do so, and recommended us
  to sell by degrees, over a period of years indeed, for fear lest
  we should flood the market. They offer, however, a hundred and
  eighty thousand for a very small portion of them.

  You must come home, Quatermain, and see about these things,
  especially if you insist upon making the magnificent present of
  the third share, which does _not_ belong to me, to my brother
  George. As for Good, he is _no good_. His time is too much
  occupied in shaving, and other matters connected with the vain
  adorning of the body. But I think he is still down on his luck
  about Foulata. He told me that since he had been home he hadn't
  seen a woman to touch her, either as regards her figure or the
  sweetness of her expression.

  I want you to come home, my dear old comrade, and to buy a house
  near here. You have done your day's work, and have lots of money
  now, and there is a place for sale quite close which would suit
  you admirably. Do come; the sooner the better; you can finish
  writing the story of our adventures on board ship. We have refused
  to tell the tale till it is written by you, for fear lest we shall
  not be believed. If you start on receipt of this you will reach
  here by Christmas, and I book you to stay with me for that. Good
  is coming, and George; and so, by the way, is your boy Harry
  (there's a bribe for you). I have had him down for a week's
  shooting, and like him. He is a cool young hand; he shot me in the
  leg, cut out the pellets, and then remarked upon the advantages of
  having a medical student with every shooting party!

  Good-bye, old boy; I can't say any more, but I know that you will
  come, if it is only to oblige

  Your sincere friend,
  Henry Curtis.

  P.S.--The tusks of the great bull that killed poor Khiva have now
  been put up in the hall here, over the pair of buffalo horns you
  gave me, and look magnificent; and the axe with which I chopped
  off Twala's head is fixed above my writing-table. I wish that we
  could have managed to bring away the coats of chain armour. Don't
  lose poor Foulata's basket in which you brought away the diamonds.

  H.C.

To-day is Tuesday. There is a steamer going on Friday, and I really
think that I must take Curtis at his word, and sail by her for England,
if it is only to see you, Harry, my boy, and to look after the printing
of this history, which is a task that I do not like to trust to anybody
else.


ALLAN QUATERMAIN.


[1] Vulture.









Chapters 19 and 20
Ten days after escaping the dark chambers of Solomon's treasure store, Quatermain, Sir Henry, and Good find themselves back in Loo. After having rested for two days, the men had tried to find the secret entrance to the treasure chamber, but to no avail. Giving up, they returned to Loo and prepared for their longer journey back to their own country. Ignosi finds their intent to leave disturbing, going so far as to question Quatermain's priorities in loving the precious diamonds more than their friendship. Quatermain replies that, just as Ignosi longed for his homeland when he joined the men in their quest, so do the white men long for their own homes. Somewhat mollified, Ignosi declares that Quatermain, Sir Henry, and Good are the only white men who will ever enter Kukuanaland; he warns the men that any other whites who approach will not be welcomed, and if they do not leave of their own accord they will be driven off or killed. He then declares the names of the three men--their "African" names, will be remembered as the names of gods among the Kukuanas, passed on for generations but never uttered aloud. Just before they leave, Good is approached by a young Kukuana woman bearing flowers. She eagerly desires to see Good's "beautiful white legs" before he leaves. At first Good balks at the prospect of showing his legs, but the cajoling of Sir Henry and Quatermain lead him to roll his pants-leg up to the knee. The woman and several other onlookers stare in awe at Good's white leg before Good makes his departure. The men learn of an alternate--and less perilous--route away from Kukuanaland, along which there is said to be an oasis. The men readily choose this path over the dangers of thirst and wild animals. Infadoos and a group of Kukuanas escort the men as far as the borders of Kukuanaland, then bid them farewell. Before leaving, Good makes Infadoos a gift of his spare monocle, giving the old Kukuana a token of his esteem and a physical badge of honor among the Kukuanas. Three days later the men reach the oasis and make camp by its refreshing waters. As Quatermain surveys the oasis, he comes across a hut . A white man clothed in animal skins, comes out of the hut and looks upon him. Quatermain asks his companions to verify that he is not hallucinating, when Sir Henry recognizes the white man as his brother George. When the men cry out in delight, another figure--this time a black man--exits the hut and addresses Quatermain. This is Jim, whom Quatermain had sent to deliver a note to George over two years ago. As it turns out, George had attempted to reach King Solomon's mines by this route rather than the more dangerous desert way. While camping at the oasis and preparing to head into Kukuanaland, a boulder fell and crushed his leg. Unable to climb the mountains or return the way he came, George settled in to survive at the oasis as long as he could. With Jim's help he built the hut and hunted game, which provided both food and clothing for the men. For two years they have lived this way, never anticipating seeing another human face, let alone these familiar faces. Sir Henry relates his own adventures to his brother, and he concludes with Quatermain showing George the diamonds retrieved from Solomon's treasure chamber. George declares that at least the men have gotten some benefit from their expedition, but Sir Henry insists that the diamonds belong to Quatermain and Good--he only sought to find his brother. Quatermain and Good secretly decide between them to give Sir Henry a third of the diamonds or, if he will not take them, to give them to George, whom they believe has suffered even more than they in his pursuit of King Solomon's Mines. Sir Henry reluctantly agrees. The men make their return journey, taking turns bearing the limping George back to Durban. There Quatermain takes his leave of the other men as they return to England. As Quatermain is writing the final lines of his narrative, a letter arrives from Sir Henry. Sir Henry urges Quatermain to come to England and take up residence near him; a house has recently gone up for sale and the proceeds from selling off a few of the diamonds will pay for the residence. To further entice Quatermain, Sir Henry has had Quatermain's son Harry visit and quite enjoys the young man's company. Quatermain is touched by Sir Henry's desire to have his friend nearby, and ends the narrative declaring his intention to return to England.
Good's gift to Infadoos is reminiscent of the cargo cult, in which artifacts from a strange culture are made objects of admiration or even worship by another culture.  Good's "glass eye" had fascinated the Kukuanas from the first moment they saw him.  By giving Infadoos a spare monocle, Good imparts to Infadoos a level of respect among the Kukuanas.  Although often an object of humor, it is Good who seems to be most connected to the Kukuanas. The three white men are deified among the Kukuanas.  Their practice of remembering the men's names by never uttering them aloud is strange to the men, but reflects the sanctity with which they regard these men.  However, even as he honors them, Ignosi tells the white men that no other whites will be allowed in Kukuanaland.  Ignosi has seen their influence, and does not wish it to continue among his people.  This final closing of the borders by Ignosi is interesting in that the new king sees the dangers of allowing white/European culture to infiltrate his land.  Just as he owes his throne to the three white men to some extent, so does he recognize that an imperialistic nation could use force, guile, or technology to place their own favored man on the throne at any time.  Ignosi chooses instead to keep the Kukuanas insular and avoid the negative influence of Europe. At the same time, Ignosi holds these three specific white men in high regard.  When they tell him of their desire to depart, Ignosi says, "It is the bright stones that ye love more than me, your friend" .  In response to this charge of materialism, Quatermain replies that just as Ignosi longed for his homeland, so too do these men long to return to their own nation.  This assuages Ignosi, but it leaves the reader with a sense that the diamonds have become disproportionately valuable to the men--even Sir Henry Curtis has not mentioned his brother lately--and thus the pretext for their adventure has become an empty goal. Haggard leaves no loose ends in his novel.  The purpose of Sir Henry's quest--to find his brother or news of him--is finally achieved, although somewhat by accident.  Sir Henry had become convinced that Neville died en route to Solomon's Mines.  What he did not foresee was that Neville would become incapacitated on the way and never complete the journey, yet still live.  Also, George Neville took a different route than that indicated by da Silvestra's map, and so the evidence of his journey could not be found along the path of Sir Henry's expedition. Although the finding of Sir Henry's brother feels a bit like convenient coincidence, the details of his story mesh well with the events of Quatermain's narrative.  The lack of evidence  and information regarding Neville left Sir Henry in despair, but the lack was not due to his death in the wilderness, but due to his taking a different route and meeting an unexpected obstacle. Although George Neville denies it, the blame for his injury is in some part the fault of Jim, the African hunter of Quatermain's acquaintance.  Although probably intended as a plot device, it is interesting to note that George's injury and Sir Henry's subsequent anxiety and trials are partially the fault of an African native.  Haggard could not have George simply meet with an accident--thus making the man incompetent and no fit brother for the mighty Sir Henry Curtis.  He had to place the burden of the mistake upon another character--a minor African character--in order to meet the expectations of his readership. The issue of materialism is again raised.  Quatermain and Good readily agree to share a third of their diamonds with Sir Henry and, when he refuses, with George Neville as recompense for his suffering in quest for them.  Neville accepts where Sir Henry did not.  Again, Sir Henry Curtis is the ideal hero--brave, compassionate--and in this case content with his station in life and his income level.  Quatermain is no hero--he wants the money, but mostly for his son--but he is human, and thus makes a better point of view character for the novel than would Sir Henry. The story finishes with a letter.  Sir Henry has already made the acquaintance of Quatermain's son and likes the young many very much.  He wants Quatermain to join him and Good in England, where a nearby house has recently opened up.  In this way, the three bachelors can live in luxury and peace for their remaining days.  Quatermain, although restless and a born hunter and explorer, considers taking Sir Henry up on the offer.  He wants to see his son grow up and succeed, and it is in England that he can best achieve that goal.  Like Odysseus, Quatermain is now in a position to retire and finish his son's training in manhood, knowing that his legacy is secure.