It is a curious thing that at my age--fifty-five last birthday--I
should find myself taking up a pen to try to write a history. I wonder
what sort of a history it will be when I have finished it, if ever I
come to the end of the trip! I have done a good many things in my life,
which seems a long one to me, owing to my having begun work so young,
perhaps. At an age when other boys are at school I was earning my
living as a trader in the old Colony. I have been trading, hunting,
fighting, or mining ever since. And yet it is only eight months ago
that I made my pile. It is a big pile now that I have got it--I don't
yet know how big--but I do not think I would go through the last
fifteen or sixteen months again for it; no, not if I knew that I should
come out safe at the end, pile and all. But then I am a timid man, and
dislike violence; moreover, I am almost sick of adventure. I wonder why
I am going to write this book: it is not in my line. I am not a
literary man, though very devoted to the Old Testament and also to the
"Ingoldsby Legends." Let me try to set down my reasons, just to see if
I have any.

First reason: Because Sir Henry Curtis and Captain John Good asked me.

Second reason: Because I am laid up here at Durban with the pain in my
left leg. Ever since that confounded lion got hold of me I have been
liable to this trouble, and being rather bad just now, it makes me limp
more than ever. There must be some poison in a lion's teeth, otherwise
how is it that when your wounds are healed they break out again,
generally, mark you, at the same time of year that you got your
mauling? It is a hard thing when one has shot sixty-five lions or more,
as I have in the course of my life, that the sixty-sixth should chew
your leg like a quid of tobacco. It breaks the routine of the thing,
and putting other considerations aside, I am an orderly man and don't
like that. This is by the way.

Third reason: Because I want my boy Harry, who is over there at the
hospital in London studying to become a doctor, to have something to
amuse him and keep him out of mischief for a week or so. Hospital work
must sometimes pall and grow rather dull, for even of cutting up dead
bodies there may come satiety, and as this history will not be dull,
whatever else it may be, it will put a little life into things for a
day or two while Harry is reading of our adventures.

Fourth reason and last: Because I am going to tell the strangest story
that I remember. It may seem a queer thing to say, especially
considering that there is no woman in it--except Foulata. Stop, though!
there is Gagaoola, if she was a woman, and not a fiend. But she was a
hundred at least, and therefore not marriageable, so I don't count her.
At any rate, I can safely say that there is not a _petticoat_ in the
whole history.

Well, I had better come to the yoke. It is a stiff place, and I feel as
though I were bogged up to the axle. But, "_sutjes, sutjes_," as the
Boers say--I am sure I don't know how they spell it--softly does it. A
strong team will come through at last, that is, if they are not too
poor. You can never do anything with poor oxen. Now to make a start.

I, Allan Quatermain, of Durban, Natal, Gentleman, make oath and
say--That's how I headed my deposition before the magistrate about poor
Khiva's and Ventvoegel's sad deaths; but somehow it doesn't seem quite
the right way to begin a book. And, besides, am I a gentleman? What is
a gentleman? I don't quite know, and yet I have had to do with
niggers--no, I will scratch out that word "niggers," for I do not like
it. I've known natives who _are_, and so you will say, Harry, my boy,
before you have done with this tale, and I have known mean whites with
lots of money and fresh out from home, too, who _are not_.

At any rate, I was born a gentleman, though I have been nothing but a
poor travelling trader and hunter all my life. Whether I have remained
so I known not, you must judge of that. Heaven knows I've tried. I have
killed many men in my time, yet I have never slain wantonly or stained
my hand in innocent blood, but only in self-defence. The Almighty gave
us our lives, and I suppose He meant us to defend them, at least I have
always acted on that, and I hope it will not be brought up against me
when my clock strikes. There, there, it is a cruel and a wicked world,
and for a timid man I have been mixed up in a great deal of fighting. I
cannot tell the rights of it, but at any rate I have never stolen,
though once I cheated a Kafir out of a herd of cattle. But then he had
done me a dirty turn, and it has troubled me ever since into the
bargain.

Well, it is eighteen months or so ago since first I met Sir Henry
Curtis and Captain Good. It was in this way. I had been up elephant
hunting beyond Bamangwato, and had met with bad luck. Everything went
wrong that trip, and to top up with I got the fever badly. So soon as I
was well enough I trekked down to the Diamond Fields, sold such ivory
as I had, together with my wagon and oxen, discharged my hunters, and
took the post-cart to the Cape. After spending a week in Cape Town,
finding that they overcharged me at the hotel, and having seen
everything there was to see, including the botanical gardens, which
seem to me likely to confer a great benefit on the country, and the new
Houses of Parliament, which I expect will do nothing of the sort, I
determined to go back to Natal by the _Dunkeld_, then lying at the
docks waiting for the _Edinburgh Castle_ due in from England. I took my
berth and went aboard, and that afternoon the Natal passengers from the
_Edinburgh Castle_ transhipped, and we weighed and put to sea.

Among these passengers who came on board were two who excited my
curiosity. One, a gentleman of about thirty, was perhaps the
biggest-chested and longest-armed man I ever saw. He had yellow hair, a
thick yellow beard, clear-cut features, and large grey eyes set deep in
his head. I never saw a finer-looking man, and somehow he reminded me
of an ancient Dane. Not that I know much of ancient Danes, though I
knew a modern Dane who did me out of ten pounds; but I remember once
seeing a picture of some of those gentry, who, I take it, were a kind
of white Zulus. They were drinking out of big horns, and their long
hair hung down their backs. As I looked at my friend standing there by
the companion-ladder, I thought that if he only let his grow a little,
put one of those chain shirts on to his great shoulders, and took hold
of a battle-axe and a horn mug, he might have sat as a model for that
picture. And by the way it is a curious thing, and just shows how the
blood will out, I discovered afterwards that Sir Henry Curtis, for that
was the big man's name, is of Danish blood.[1] He also reminded me
strongly of somebody else, but at the time I could not remember who it
was.

The other man, who stood talking to Sir Henry, was stout and dark, and
of quite a different cut. I suspected at once that he was a naval
officer; I don't know why, but it is difficult to mistake a navy man. I
have gone shooting trips with several of them in the course of my life,
and they have always proved themselves the best and bravest and nicest
fellows I ever met, though sadly given, some of them, to the use of
profane language. I asked a page or two back, what is a gentleman? I'll
answer the question now: A Royal Naval officer is, in a general sort of
way, though of course there may be a black sheep among them here and
there. I fancy it is just the wide seas and the breath of God's winds
that wash their hearts and blow the bitterness out of their minds and
make them what men ought to be.

Well, to return, I proved right again; I ascertained that the dark man
_was_ a naval officer, a lieutenant of thirty-one, who, after seventeen
years' service, had been turned out of her Majesty's employ with the
barren honour of a commander's rank, because it was impossible that he
should be promoted. This is what people who serve the Queen have to
expect: to be shot out into the cold world to find a living just when
they are beginning really to understand their work, and to reach the
prime of life. I suppose they don't mind it, but for my own part I had
rather earn my bread as a hunter. One's halfpence are as scarce
perhaps, but you do not get so many kicks.

The officer's name I found out--by referring to the passengers'
lists--was Good--Captain John Good. He was broad, of medium height,
dark, stout, and rather a curious man to look at. He was so very neat
and so very clean-shaved, and he always wore an eye-glass in his right
eye. It seemed to grow there, for it had no string, and he never took
it out except to wipe it. At first I thought he used to sleep in it,
but afterwards I found that this was a mistake. He put it in his
trousers pocket when he went to bed, together with his false teeth, of
which he had two beautiful sets that, my own being none of the best,
have often caused me to break the tenth commandment. But I am
anticipating.

Soon after we had got under way evening closed in, and brought with it
very dirty weather. A keen breeze sprung up off land, and a kind of
aggravated Scotch mist soon drove everybody from the deck. As for the
_Dunkeld_, she is a flat-bottomed punt, and going up light as she was,
she rolled very heavily. It almost seemed as though she would go right
over, but she never did. It was quite impossible to walk about, so I
stood near the engines where it was warm, and amused myself with
watching the pendulum, which was fixed opposite to me, swinging slowly
backwards and forwards as the vessel rolled, and marking the angle she
touched at each lurch.

"That pendulum's wrong; it is not properly weighted," suddenly said a
somewhat testy voice at my shoulder. Looking round I saw the naval
officer whom I had noticed when the passengers came aboard.

"Indeed, now what makes you think so?" I asked.

"Think so. I don't think at all. Why there"--as she righted herself
after a roll--"if the ship had really rolled to the degree that thing
pointed to, then she would never have rolled again, that's all. But it
is just like these merchant skippers, they are always so confoundedly
careless."

Just then the dinner-bell rang, and I was not sorry, for it is a
dreadful thing to have to listen to an officer of the Royal Navy when
he gets on to that subject. I only know one worse thing, and that is to
hear a merchant skipper express his candid opinion of officers of the
Royal Navy.

Captain Good and I went down to dinner together, and there we found Sir
Henry Curtis already seated. He and Captain Good were placed together,
and I sat opposite to them. The captain and I soon fell into talk about
shooting and what not; he asking me many questions, for he is very
inquisitive about all sorts of things, and I answering them as well as
I could. Presently he got on to elephants.

"Ah, sir," called out somebody who was sitting near me, "you've reached
the right man for that; Hunter Quatermain should be able to tell you
about elephants if anybody can."

Sir Henry, who had been sitting quite quiet listening to our talk,
started visibly.

"Excuse me, sir," he said, leaning forward across the table, and
speaking in a low deep voice, a very suitable voice, it seemed to me,
to come out of those great lungs. "Excuse me, sir, but is your name
Allan Quatermain?"

I said that it was.

The big man made no further remark, but I heard him mutter "fortunate"
into his beard.

Presently dinner came to an end, and as we were leaving the saloon Sir
Henry strolled up and asked me if I would come into his cabin to smoke
a pipe. I accepted, and he led the way to the _Dunkeld_ deck cabin, and
a very good cabin it is. It had been two cabins, but when Sir Garnet
Wolseley or one of those big swells went down the coast in the
_Dunkeld_, they knocked away the partition and have never put it up
again. There was a sofa in the cabin, and a little table in front of
it. Sir Henry sent the steward for a bottle of whisky, and the three of
us sat down and lit our pipes.

"Mr. Quatermain," said Sir Henry Curtis, when the man had brought the
whisky and lit the lamp, "the year before last about this time, you
were, I believe, at a place called Bamangwato, to the north of the
Transvaal."

"I was," I answered, rather surprised that this gentleman should be so
well acquainted with my movements, which were not, so far as I was
aware, considered of general interest.

"You were trading there, were you not?" put in Captain Good, in his
quick way.

"I was. I took up a wagon-load of goods, made a camp outside the
settlement, and stopped till I had sold them."

Sir Henry was sitting opposite to me in a Madeira chair, his arms
leaning on the table. He now looked up, fixing his large grey eyes full
upon my face. There was a curious anxiety in them, I thought.

"Did you happen to meet a man called Neville there?"

"Oh, yes; he outspanned alongside of me for a fortnight to rest his
oxen before going on to the interior. I had a letter from a lawyer a
few months back, asking me if I knew what had become of him, which I
answered to the best of my ability at the time."

"Yes," said Sir Henry, "your letter was forwarded to me. You said in it
that the gentleman called Neville left Bamangwato at the beginning of
May in a wagon with a driver, a voorlooper, and a Kafir hunter called
Jim, announcing his intention of trekking if possible as far as Inyati,
the extreme trading post in the Matabele country, where he would sell
his wagon and proceed on foot. You also said that he did sell his
wagon, for six months afterwards you saw the wagon in the possession of
a Portuguese trader, who told you that he had bought it at Inyati from
a white man whose name he had forgotten, and that he believed the white
man with the native servant had started off for the interior on a
shooting trip."

"Yes."

Then came a pause.

"Mr. Quatermain," said Sir Henry suddenly, "I suppose you know or can
guess nothing more of the reasons of my--of Mr. Neville's journey to
the northward, or as to what point that journey was directed?"

"I heard something," I answered, and stopped. The subject was one which
I did not care to discuss.

Sir Henry and Captain Good looked at each other, and Captain Good
nodded.

"Mr. Quatermain," went on the former, "I am going to tell you a story,
and ask your advice, and perhaps your assistance. The agent who
forwarded me your letter told me that I might rely on it implicitly, as
you were," he said, "well known and universally respected in Natal, and
especially noted for your discretion."

I bowed and drank some whisky and water to hide my confusion, for I am
a modest man--and Sir Henry went on.

"Mr. Neville was my brother."

"Oh," I said, starting, for now I knew of whom Sir Henry had reminded
me when first I saw him. His brother was a much smaller man and had a
dark beard, but now that I thought of it, he possessed eyes of the same
shade of grey and with the same keen look in them: the features too
were not unlike.

"He was," went on Sir Henry, "my only and younger brother, and till
five years ago I do not suppose that we were ever a month away from
each other. But just about five years ago a misfortune befell us, as
sometimes does happen in families. We quarrelled bitterly, and I
behaved unjustly to my brother in my anger."

Here Captain Good nodded his head vigorously to himself. The ship gave
a big roll just then, so that the looking-glass, which was fixed
opposite us to starboard, was for a moment nearly over our heads, and
as I was sitting with my hands in my pockets and staring upwards, I
could see him nodding like anything.

"As I daresay you know," went on Sir Henry, "if a man dies intestate,
and has no property but land, real property it is called in England, it
all descends to his eldest son. It so happened that just at the time
when we quarrelled our father died intestate. He had put off making his
will until it was too late. The result was that my brother, who had not
been brought up to any profession, was left without a penny. Of course
it would have been my duty to provide for him, but at the time the
quarrel between us was so bitter that I did not--to my shame I say it
(and he sighed deeply)--offer to do anything. It was not that I grudged
him justice, but I waited for him to make advances, and he made none. I
am sorry to trouble you with all this, Mr. Quatermain, but I must to
make things clear, eh, Good?"

"Quite so, quite so," said the captain. "Mr. Quatermain will, I am
sure, keep this history to himself."

"Of course," said I, for I rather pride myself on my discretion, for
which, as Sir Henry had heard, I have some repute.

"Well," went on Sir Henry, "my brother had a few hundred pounds to his
account at the time. Without saying anything to me he drew out this
paltry sum, and, having adopted the name of Neville, started off for
South Africa in the wild hope of making a fortune. This I learned
afterwards. Some three years passed, and I heard nothing of my brother,
though I wrote several times. Doubtless the letters never reached him.
But as time went on I grew more and more troubled about him. I found
out, Mr. Quatermain, that blood is thicker than water."

"That's true," said I, thinking of my boy Harry.

"I found out, Mr. Quatermain, that I would have given half my fortune
to know that my brother George, the only relation I possess, was safe
and well, and that I should see him again."

"But you never did, Curtis," jerked out Captain Good, glancing at the
big man's face.

"Well, Mr. Quatermain, as time went on I became more and more anxious
to find out if my brother was alive or dead, and if alive to get him
home again. I set enquiries on foot, and your letter was one of the
results. So far as it went it was satisfactory, for it showed that till
lately George was alive, but it did not go far enough. So, to cut a
long story short, I made up my mind to come out and look for him
myself, and Captain Good was so kind as to come with me."

"Yes," said the captain; "nothing else to do, you see. Turned out by my
Lords of the Admiralty to starve on half pay. And now perhaps, sir, you
will tell us what you know or have heard of the gentleman called
Neville."

[1] Mr. Quatermain's ideas about ancient Danes seem to be rather
confused; we have always understood that they were dark-haired people.
Probably he was thinking of Saxons.--Editor.

Allan Quatermain opens his account by giving his reasons for recording it: first, because Sir Henry Curtis and Captain John Good have asked him; second, because he is recuperating from a lion attack which has injured his leg, and has nothing else to do; third, to entertain his son Harry, who is studying medicine in London; and fourth, because it is a strange tale and deserves to be told. After some minor digressions, Quatermain explains how he was aboard the Dunkeld and met Sir Henry Curtis and Captain John Good. The two men know of Quatermain from his reputation as an elephant hunter. Sir Henry inquires as to Quatermain's knowledge of the legendary mines of King Solomon and of a man named Neville, whom Sir Henry reveals is his brother

Allan Quatermain presents himself as a man of experience, "fifty-five last birthday," who has only now begun an attempt at writing down his personal history.  Haggard thereby establishes Quatermain as the first-person narrator, but one who is uncouth with the pen.  In contrast to the prevalent novels of the time, Haggard's narrator is unschooled: "At an age when other boys are at school, I was earning my living as a trader in the old Colony" .  This fact signals the reader that the tale which follows will not be a drawing-room romance, but the account of a man's own wild adventures.  Haggard himself had lived in South Africa, and it is his detail concerning the setting which lends more credence to Quatermain's account.  The "untutored narrator" is also a convention that allows Haggard to make mistakes in his rush to write  while blaming any stylistic errors on the narrator's unlettered past.  At times throughout the narrative, and especially here in the first chapter, Quatermain rambles and meanders off-topic briefly in his account, lending a more friendly tone to the narrative than could be found in many of the novels of manners available to readers of the time. In addition, Quatermain mentions the only two literary works he has spent any time reading, the Ingoldsby Legends and the Old Testament, thereby foreshadowing both his frequent allusions to both works, and his own adventures in a world lost to a distant past. Sir Henry Curtis and Captain Good are also introduced in this first chapter.  Sir Henry at first seems familiar to Quatermain, a fact borne out by Quatermain's earlier acquaintance with Sir Henry's brother.  Sir Henry is described in heroic terms by Quatermain as "one of the biggest-chested and longest-armed men I eve saw" .  He goes on to say that Sir Henry "reminded me of an ancient Dane" .  Captain Good is also described in glowing terms, but is set up as a foil for Quatermain.  Whereas Quatermain is a rough product of the hunting and trading life, Good is a "gentleman," a Royal Navy officer.  To Quatermain, Naval officers are of a higher caliber than ordinary men, and Good is a proper officer.  Good's fastidiousness, which will play a larger  part in their later adventures, is hinted at by Quatermain: "He was so very neat and so very clean shaved, and he always wore an eye-glass in his right eye" . In telling the legend of King Solomon's diamond mines, Haggard makes several uses of creative verisimilitude to firmly entrench the reader in the reality of this amazing tale.  Quatermain tells the legend of the Mines rather than Good or Sir Henry, thus leading the reader into an automatic acceptance of the tale. Quatermain recounts the tale as he has heard it from others, lending a sense of history to the account, while various editorial details support the reality of the story, such as a Spanish-language "original" of Jose da Silvestra's letter and the footnote that "Suliman" is Arabic for "Solomon." Sir Henry Curtis and Captain Good offer Quatermain the traditional "call to adventure" of many heroic quest stories.  Curtis draws out of Quatermain his acquaintance with Neville, Curtis' brother, and the desperate plight the older brother must be in.  Good evokes Quatermain's sense of honor and adventure in focusing on the need to rescue a fellow man  or aid a fellow man , but also by bringing the riches of King Solomon's Mines to the fore.  Quatermain, in true heroic tradition, is reluctant to join the quest immediately, but sets some conditions evocative of Odysseus  before he will consider the matter.


"What was it that you heard about my brother's journey at Bamangwato?"
asked Sir Henry, as I paused to fill my pipe before replying to Captain
Good.

"I heard this," I answered, "and I have never mentioned it to a soul
till to-day. I heard that he was starting for Solomon's Mines."

"Solomon's Mines?" ejaculated both my hearers at once. "Where are they?"

"I don't know," I said; "I know where they are said to be. Once I saw
the peaks of the mountains that border them, but there were a hundred
and thirty miles of desert between me and them, and I am not aware that
any white man ever got across it save one. But perhaps the best thing I
can do is to tell you the legend of Solomon's Mines as I know it, you
passing your word not to reveal anything I tell you without my
permission. Do you agree to that? I have my reasons for asking."

Sir Henry nodded, and Captain Good replied, "Certainly, certainly."

"Well," I began, "as you may guess, generally speaking, elephant
hunters are a rough set of men, who do not trouble themselves with much
beyond the facts of life and the ways of Kafirs. But here and there you
meet a man who takes the trouble to collect traditions from the
natives, and tries to make out a little piece of the history of this
dark land. It was such a man as this who first told me the legend of
Solomon's Mines, now a matter of nearly thirty years ago. That was when
I was on my first elephant hunt in the Matabele country. His name was
Evans, and he was killed the following year, poor fellow, by a wounded
buffalo, and lies buried near the Zambesi Falls. I was telling Evans
one night, I remember, of some wonderful workings I had found whilst
hunting koodoo and eland in what is now the Lydenburg district of the
Transvaal. I see they have come across these workings again lately in
prospecting for gold, but I knew of them years ago. There is a great
wide wagon road cut out of the solid rock, and leading to the mouth of
the working or gallery. Inside the mouth of this gallery are stacks of
gold quartz piled up ready for roasting, which shows that the workers,
whoever they were, must have left in a hurry. Also, about twenty paces
in, the gallery is built across, and a beautiful bit of masonry it is."

"'Ay,' said Evans, 'but I will spin you a queerer yarn than that'; and
he went on to tell me how he had found in the far interior a ruined
city, which he believed to be the Ophir of the Bible, and, by the way,
other more learned men have said the same long since poor Evans's time.
I was, I remember, listening open-eared to all these wonders, for I was
young at the time, and this story of an ancient civilisation and of the
treasures which those old Jewish or Phoenician adventurers used to
extract from a country long since lapsed into the darkest barbarism
took a great hold upon my imagination, when suddenly he said to me,
'Lad, did you ever hear of the Suliman Mountains up to the north-west
of the Mushakulumbwe country?' I told him I never had. 'Ah, well,' he
said, 'that is where Solomon really had his mines, his diamond mines, I
mean.'

"'How do you know that?' I asked.

"'Know it! why, what is "Suliman" but a corruption of Solomon?[1]
Besides, an old Isanusi or witch doctoress up in the Manica country
told me all about it. She said that the people who lived across those
mountains were a "branch" of the Zulus, speaking a dialect of Zulu, but
finer and bigger men even; that there lived among them great wizards,
who had learnt their art from white men when "all the world was dark,"
and who had the secret of a wonderful mine of "bright stones."'

"Well, I laughed at this story at the time, though it interested me,
for the Diamond Fields were not discovered then, but poor Evans went
off and was killed, and for twenty years I never thought any more of
the matter. However, just twenty years afterwards--and that is a long
time, gentlemen; an elephant hunter does not often live for twenty
years at his business--I heard something more definite about Suliman's
Mountains and the country which lies beyond them. I was up beyond the
Manica country, at a place called Sitanda's Kraal, and a miserable
place it was, for a man could get nothing to eat, and there was but
little game about. I had an attack of fever, and was in a bad way
generally, when one day a Portugee arrived with a single companion--a
half-breed. Now I know your low-class Delagoa Portugee well. There is
no greater devil unhung in a general way, battening as he does upon
human agony and flesh in the shape of slaves. But this was quite a
different type of man to the mean fellows whom I had been accustomed to
meet; indeed, in appearance he reminded me more of the polite doms I
have read about, for he was tall and thin, with large dark eyes and
curling grey mustachios. We talked together for a while, for he could
speak broken English, and I understood a little Portugee, and he told
me that his name was Jose Silvestre, and that he had a place near
Delagoa Bay. When he went on next day with his half-breed companion, he
said 'Good-bye,' taking off his hat quite in the old style.

"'Good-bye, senor,' he said; 'if ever we meet again I shall be the
richest man in the world, and I will remember you.' I laughed a
little--I was too weak to laugh much--and watched him strike out for
the great desert to the west, wondering if he was mad, or what he
thought he was going to find there.

"A week passed, and I got the better of my fever. One evening I was
sitting on the ground in front of the little tent I had with me,
chewing the last leg of a miserable fowl I had bought from a native for
a bit of cloth worth twenty fowls, and staring at the hot red sun
sinking down over the desert, when suddenly I saw a figure, apparently
that of a European, for it wore a coat, on the slope of the rising
ground opposite to me, about three hundred yards away. The figure crept
along on its hands and knees, then it got up and staggered forward a
few yards on its legs, only to fall and crawl again. Seeing that it
must be somebody in distress, I sent one of my hunters to help him, and
presently he arrived, and who do you suppose it turned out to be?"

"Jose Silvestre, of course," said Captain Good.

"Yes, Jose Silvestre, or rather his skeleton and a little skin. His
face was a bright yellow with bilious fever, and his large dark eyes
stood nearly out of his head, for all the flesh had gone. There was
nothing but yellow parchment-like skin, white hair, and the gaunt bones
sticking up beneath.

"'Water! for the sake of Christ, water!' he moaned and I saw that his
lips were cracked, and his tongue, which protruded between them, was
swollen and blackish.

"I gave him water with a little milk in it, and he drank it in great
gulps, two quarts or so, without stopping. I would not let him have any
more. Then the fever took him again, and he fell down and began to rave
about Suliman's Mountains, and the diamonds, and the desert. I carried
him into the tent and did what I could for him, which was little
enough; but I saw how it must end. About eleven o'clock he grew
quieter, and I lay down for a little rest and went to sleep. At dawn I
woke again, and in the half light saw Silvestre sitting up, a strange,
gaunt form, and gazing out towards the desert. Presently the first ray
of the sun shot right across the wide plain before us till it reached
the faraway crest of one of the tallest of the Suliman Mountains more
than a hundred miles away.

"'There it is!' cried the dying man in Portuguese, and pointing with
his long, thin arm, 'but I shall never reach it, never. No one will
ever reach it!'

"Suddenly, he paused, and seemed to take a resolution. 'Friend,' he
said, turning towards me, 'are you there? My eyes grow dark.'

"'Yes,' I said; 'yes, lie down now, and rest.'

"'Ay,' he answered, 'I shall rest soon, I have time to rest--all
eternity. Listen, I am dying! You have been good to me. I will give you
the writing. Perhaps you will get there if you can live to pass the
desert, which has killed my poor servant and me.'

"Then he groped in his shirt and brought out what I thought was a Boer
tobacco pouch made of the skin of the Swart-vet-pens or sable antelope.
It was fastened with a little strip of hide, what we call a rimpi, and
this he tried to loose, but could not. He handed it to me. 'Untie it,'
he said. I did so, and extracted a bit of torn yellow linen on which
something was written in rusty letters. Inside this rag was a paper.

"Then he went on feebly, for he was growing weak: 'The paper has all
that is on the linen. It took me years to read. Listen: my ancestor, a
political refugee from Lisbon, and one of the first Portuguese who
landed on these shores, wrote that when he was dying on those mountains
which no white foot ever pressed before or since. His name was Jose da
Silvestra, and he lived three hundred years ago. His slave, who waited
for him on this side of the mountains, found him dead, and brought the
writing home to Delagoa. It has been in the family ever since, but none
have cared to read it, till at last I did. And I have lost my life over
it, but another may succeed, and become the richest man in the
world--the richest man in the world. Only give it to no one, senor; go
yourself!'

"Then he began to wander again, and in an hour it was all over.

"God rest him! he died very quietly, and I buried him deep, with big
boulders on his breast; so I do not think that the jackals can have dug
him up. And then I came away."

"Ay, but the document?" said Sir Henry, in a tone of deep interest.

"Yes, the document; what was in it?" added the captain.

"Well, gentlemen, if you like I will tell you. I have never showed it
to anybody yet except to a drunken old Portuguese trader who translated
it for me, and had forgotten all about it by the next morning. The
original rag is at my home in Durban, together with poor Dom Jose's
translation, but I have the English rendering in my pocket-book, and a
facsimile of the map, if it can be called a map. Here it is."

[Illustration: MAP]

  "I, Jose da Silvestra, who am now dying of hunger in the little
  cave where no snow is on the north side of the nipple of the
  southernmost of the two mountains I have named Sheba's Breasts,
  write this in the year 1590 with a cleft bone upon a remnant of my
  raiment, my blood being the ink. If my slave should find it when
  he comes, and should bring it to Delagoa, let my friend (name
  illegible) bring the matter to the knowledge of the king, that he
  may send an army which, if they live through the desert and the
  mountains, and can overcome the brave Kukuanes and their devilish
  arts, to which end many priests should be brought, will make him
  the richest king since Solomon. With my own eyes I have seen the
  countless diamonds stored in Solomon's treasure chamber behind the
  white Death; but through the treachery of Gagool the witch-finder
  I might bring nought away, scarcely my life. Let him who comes
  follow the map, and climb the snow of Sheba's left breast till he
  reaches the nipple, on the north side of which is the great road
  Solomon made, from whence three days' journey to the King's
  Palace. Let him kill Gagool. Pray for my soul. Farewell.

Jose da Silvestra."[2]

When I had finished reading the above, and shown the copy of the map,
drawn by the dying hand of the old Dom with his blood for ink, there
followed a silence of astonishment.

"Well," said Captain Good, "I have been round the world twice, and put
in at most ports, but may I be hung for a mutineer if ever I heard a
yarn like this out of a story book, or in it either, for the matter of
that."

"It's a queer tale, Mr. Quatermain," said Sir Henry. "I suppose you are
not hoaxing us? It is, I know, sometimes thought allowable to take in a
greenhorn."

"If you think that, Sir Henry," I said, much put out, and pocketing my
paper--for I do not like to be thought one of those silly fellows who
consider it witty to tell lies, and who are for ever boasting to
newcomers of extraordinary hunting adventures which never happened--"if
you think that, why, there is an end to the matter," and I rose to go.

Sir Henry laid his large hand upon my shoulder. "Sit down, Mr.
Quatermain," he said, "I beg your pardon; I see very well you do not
wish to deceive us, but the story sounded so strange that I could
hardly believe it."

"You shall see the original map and writing when we reach Durban," I
answered, somewhat mollified, for really when I came to consider the
question it was scarcely wonderful that he should doubt my good faith.

"But," I went on, "I have not told you about your brother. I knew the
man Jim who was with him. He was a Bechuana by birth, a good hunter,
and for a native a very clever man. That morning on which Mr. Neville
was starting I saw Jim standing by my wagon and cutting up tobacco on
the disselboom.

"'Jim,' said I, 'where are you off to this trip? It is elephants?'

"'No, Baas,' he answered, 'we are after something worth much more than
ivory.'

"'And what might that be?' I said, for I was curious. 'Is it gold?'

"'No, Baas, something worth more than gold,' and he grinned.

"I asked no more questions, for I did not like to lower my dignity by
seeming inquisitive, but I was puzzled. Presently Jim finished cutting
his tobacco.

"'Baas,' said he.

"I took no notice.

"'Baas,' said he again.

"'Eh, boy, what is it?' I asked.

"'Baas, we are going after diamonds.'

"'Diamonds! why, then, you are steering in the wrong direction; you
should head for the Fields.'

"'Baas, have you ever heard of Suliman's Berg?'--that is, Solomon's
Mountains, Sir Henry.

"'Ay!'

"'Have you ever heard of the diamonds there?'

"'I have heard a foolish story, Jim.'

"'It is no story, Baas. Once I knew a woman who came from there, and
reached Natal with her child, she told me:--she is dead now.'

"'Your master will feed the assvoegels'--that is, vultures--'Jim, if he
tries to reach Suliman's country, and so will you if they can get any
pickings off your worthless old carcass,' said I.

"He grinned. 'Mayhap, Baas. Man must die; I'd rather like to try a new
country myself; the elephants are getting worked out about here.'

"'Ah! my boy,' I said, 'you wait till the "pale old man" gets a grip of
your yellow throat, and then we shall hear what sort of a tune you
sing.'

"Half an hour after that I saw Neville's wagon move off. Presently Jim
came back running. 'Good-bye, Baas,' he said. 'I didn't like to start
without bidding you good-bye, for I daresay you are right, and that we
shall never trek south again.'

"'Is your master really going to Suliman's Berg, Jim, or are you lying?'

"'No,' he answered, 'he is going. He told me he was bound to make his
fortune somehow, or try to; so he might as well have a fling for the
diamonds.'

"'Oh!' I said; 'wait a bit, Jim; will you take a note to your master,
Jim, and promise not to give it to him till you reach Inyati?' which
was some hundred miles off.

"'Yes, Baas.'

"So I took a scrap of paper, and wrote on it, 'Let him who comes . . .
climb the snow of Sheba's left breast, till he reaches the nipple, on
the north side of which is Solomon's great road.'

"'Now, Jim,' I said, 'when you give this to your master, tell him he
had better follow the advice on it implicitly. You are not to give it
to him now, because I don't want him back asking me questions which I
won't answer. Now be off, you idle fellow, the wagon is nearly out of
sight.'

"Jim took the note and went, and that is all I know about your brother,
Sir Henry; but I am much afraid--"

"Mr. Quatermain," said Sir Henry, "I am going to look for my brother; I
am going to trace him to Suliman's Mountains, and over them if
necessary, till I find him, or until I know that he is dead. Will you
come with me?"

I am, as I think I have said, a cautious man, indeed a timid one, and
this suggestion frightened me. It seemed to me that to undertake such a
journey would be to go to certain death, and putting other
considerations aside, as I had a son to support, I could not afford to
die just then.

"No, thank you, Sir Henry, I think I had rather not," I answered. "I am
too old for wild-goose chases of that sort, and we should only end up
like my poor friend Silvestre. I have a son dependent on me, so I
cannot afford to risk my life foolishly."

Both Sir Henry and Captain Good looked very disappointed.

"Mr. Quatermain," said the former, "I am well off, and I am bent upon
this business. You may put the remuneration for your services at
whatever figure you like in reason, and it shall be paid over to you
before we start. Moreover, I will arrange in the event of anything
untoward happening to us or to you, that your son shall be suitably
provided for. You will see from this offer how necessary I think your
presence. Also if by chance we should reach this place, and find
diamonds, they shall belong to you and Good equally. I do not want
them. But of course that promise is worth nothing at all, though the
same thing would apply to any ivory we might get. You may pretty well
make your own terms with me, Mr. Quatermain; and of course I shall pay
all expenses."

"Sir Henry," said I, "this is the most liberal proposal I ever had, and
one not to be sneezed at by a poor hunter and trader. But the job is
the biggest I have come across, and I must take time to think it over.
I will give you my answer before we get to Durban."

"Very good," answered Sir Henry.

Then I said good-night and turned in, and dreamt about poor long-dead
Silvestre and the diamonds.

[1] Suliman is the Arabic form of Solomon.--Editor.

[2] Eu Jose da Silvestra que estou morrendo de fome na pequena cova
    onde nao ha neve ao lado norte do bico mais ao sul das duas
    montanhas que chamei scio de Sheba; escrevo isto no anno 1590;
    escrevo isto com um pedaco d'osso n' um farrapo de minha roupa e
    com sangue meu por tinta; se o meu escravo der com isto quando
    venha ao levar para Lourenzo Marquez, que o meu amigo ---------
    leve a cousa ao conhecimento d' El Rei, para que possa mandar um
    exercito que, se desfiler pelo deserto e pelas montonhas e mesmo
    sobrepujar os bravos Kukuanes e suas artes diabolicas, pelo que se
    deviam trazer muitos padres Far o Rei mais rico depois de Salomao
    Com meus proprios olhos ve os di amantes sem conto guardados nas
    camaras do thesouro de Salomao a traz da morte branca, mas pela
    traicao de Gagoal a feiticeira achadora, nada poderia levar, e
    apenas a minha vida. Quem vier siga o mappa e trepe pela neve de
    Sheba peito a esquerda ate chegar ao bica, do lado norte do qual
    esta a grande estrada do Solomao por elle feita, donde ha tres
    dias de jornada ate ao Palacio do Rei. Mate Gagoal. Reze por minha
    alma. Adeos.                                Jose da Silvestra.

Sir Henry Curtis asks Quatermain what he knows of Neville. Quatermain states that he had heard Neville was heading off to find King Solomon's mines. Astonished at this knowledge, Sir Henry and Captain Good ask Quatermain what he has heard about King Solomon's mines. Quatermain relates the story of another elephant hunter, Evans, who told Quatermain the legend of the diamond mines. Evan had gained the information from natives of the Transvaal, including a witch-doctor, Isanusi, who connected the Suliman Mountains to Solomon's mines. Suliman" is assumed to be a corruption of "Solomon," but is noted by the editor to be the Arabic form of the name. Twenty years later, Quatermain was laid low by a fever when he met another traveler, Jose Silvestre, who speaks briefly with Quatermain and bids him farewell, stating, "If we ever meet again, I shall be the richest man in the world, and I shall remember you. A week later, having recovered from his fever, Quatermain is hunting with his companions when they come across a man nearly dead from exposure to the elements. This is none other than Jose Silvestre, whom Quatermain and his men nurse back to a modicum of health. Knowing he will die soon, Silvestre bequeaths his link to King Solomon's mines, a document written by his ancestor, Jose da Silvestra, detailing in obscure terms the location of the fabled mines. Captain Good and Sir Henry are astonished at Quatermain's story, and the latter takes their amazement as disbelief and nearly quits their company. The two men assure Quatermain that they believe his story. In fact, upon learning of Quatermain's acquaintance with both the legend and the man, Sir Henry seeks Quatermain's assistance in locating his brother, who had gone off in a quest to find the diamond mines. He is so concerned for his brother's welfare that he offers to split the diamonds of King Solomon's mines equally between Quatermain and Captain Good, as all he desires is the safety of his only brother


It takes from four to five days, according to the speed of the vessel
and the state of the weather, to run up from the Cape to Durban.
Sometimes, if the landing is bad at East London, where they have not
yet made that wonderful harbour they talk so much of, and sink such a
mint of money in, a ship is delayed for twenty-four hours before the
cargo boats can get out to take off the goods. But on this occasion we
had not to wait at all, for there were no breakers on the Bar to speak
of, and the tugs came out at once with the long strings of ugly
flat-bottomed boats behind them, into which the packages were bundled
with a crash. It did not matter what they might be, over they went
slap-bang; whether they contained china or woollen goods they met with
the same treatment. I saw one case holding four dozen of champagne
smashed all to bits, and there was the champagne fizzing and boiling
about in the bottom of the dirty cargo boat. It was a wicked waste, and
evidently so the Kafirs in the boat thought, for they found a couple of
unbroken bottles, and knocking off the necks drank the contents. But
they had not allowed for the expansion caused by the fizz in the wine,
and, feeling themselves swelling, rolled about in the bottom of the
boat, calling out that the good liquor was "tagati"--that is,
bewitched. I spoke to them from the vessel, and told them it was the
white man's strongest medicine, and that they were as good as dead men.
Those Kafirs went to the shore in a very great fright, and I do not
think that they will touch champagne again.

Well, all the time that we were steaming up to Natal I was thinking
over Sir Henry Curtis's offer. We did not speak any more on the subject
for a day or two, though I told them many hunting yarns, all true ones.
There is no need to tell lies about hunting, for so many curious things
happen within the knowledge of a man whose business it is to hunt; but
this is by the way.

At last, one beautiful evening in January, which is our hottest month,
we steamed past the coast of Natal, expecting to make Durban Point by
sunset. It is a lovely coast all along from East London, with its red
sandhills and wide sweeps of vivid green, dotted here and there with
Kafir kraals, and bordered by a ribbon of white surf, which spouts up
in pillars of foam where it hits the rocks. But just before you come to
Durban there is a peculiar richness about the landscape. There are the
sheer kloofs cut in the hills by the rushing rains of centuries, down
which the rivers sparkle; there is the deepest green of the bush,
growing as God planted it, and the other greens of the mealie gardens
and the sugar patches, while now and again a white house, smiling out
at the placid sea, puts a finish and gives an air of homeliness to the
scene. For to my mind, however beautiful a view may be, it requires the
presence of man to make it complete, but perhaps that is because I have
lived so much in the wilderness, and therefore know the value of
civilisation, though to be sure it drives away the game. The Garden of
Eden, no doubt, looked fair before man was, but I always think that it
must have been fairer when Eve adorned it.

To return, we had miscalculated a little, and the sun was well down
before we dropped anchor off the Point, and heard the gun which told
the good folks of Durban that the English Mail was in. It was too late
to think of getting over the Bar that night, so we went comfortably to
dinner, after seeing the Mails carried off in the life-boat.

When we came up again the moon was out, and shining so brightly over
sea and shore that she almost paled the quick, large flashes from the
lighthouse. From the shore floated sweet spicy odours that always
remind me of hymns and missionaries, and in the windows of the houses
on the Berea sparkled a hundred lights. From a large brig lying near
also came the music of the sailors as they worked at getting the anchor
up in order to be ready for the wind. Altogether it was a perfect
night, such a night as you sometimes get in Southern Africa, and it
threw a garment of peace over everybody as the moon threw a garment of
silver over everything. Even the great bulldog, belonging to a sporting
passenger, seemed to yield to its gentle influences, and forgetting his
yearning to come to close quarters with the baboon in a cage on the
foc'sle, snored happily at the door of the cabin, dreaming no doubt
that he had finished him, and happy in his dream.

We three--that is, Sir Henry Curtis, Captain Good, and myself--went and
sat by the wheel, and were quiet for a while.

"Well, Mr. Quatermain," said Sir Henry presently, "have you been
thinking about my proposals?"

"Ay," echoed Captain Good, "what do you think of them, Mr. Quatermain?
I hope that you are going to give us the pleasure of your company so
far as Solomon's Mines, or wherever the gentleman you knew as Neville
may have got to."

I rose and knocked out my pipe before I answered. I had not made up my
mind, and wanted an additional moment to decide. Before the burning
tobacco had fallen into the sea I had decided; just that little extra
second did the trick. It is often the way when you have been bothering
a long time over a thing.

"Yes, gentlemen," I said, sitting down again, "I will go, and by your
leave I will tell you why, and on what conditions. First for the terms
which I ask.

"1. You are to pay all expenses, and any ivory or other valuables we
may get is to be divided between Captain Good and myself.

"2. That you give me L500 for my services on the trip before we start,
I undertaking to serve you faithfully till you choose to abandon the
enterprise, or till we succeed, or disaster overtakes us.

"3. That before we trek you execute a deed agreeing, in the event of my
death or disablement, to pay my boy Harry, who is studying medicine
over there in London, at Guy's Hospital, a sum of L200 a year for five
years, by which time he ought to be able to earn a living for himself
if he is worth his salt. That is all, I think, and I daresay you will
say quite enough too."

"No," answered Sir Henry, "I accept them gladly. I am bent upon this
project, and would pay more than that for your help, considering the
peculiar and exclusive knowledge which you possess."

"Pity I did not ask it, then, but I won't go back on my word. And now
that I have got my terms I will tell you my reasons for making up my
mind to go. First of all, gentlemen, I have been observing you both for
the last few days, and if you will not think me impertinent I may say
that I like you, and believe that we shall come up well to the yoke
together. That is something, let me tell you, when one has a long
journey like this before one.

"And now as to the journey itself, I tell you flatly, Sir Henry and
Captain Good, that I do not think it probable we can come out of it
alive, that is, if we attempt to cross the Suliman Mountains. What was
the fate of the old Dom da Silvestra three hundred years ago? What was
the fate of his descendant twenty years ago? What has been your
brother's fate? I tell you frankly, gentlemen, that as their fates were
so I believe ours will be."

I paused to watch the effect of my words. Captain Good looked a little
uncomfortable, but Sir Henry's face did not change. "We must take our
chance," he said.

"You may perhaps wonder," I went on, "why, if I think this, I, who am,
as I told you, a timid man, should undertake such a journey. It is for
two reasons. First I am a fatalist, and believe that my time is
appointed to come quite without reference to my own movements and will,
and that if I am to go to Suliman's Mountains to be killed, I shall go
there and shall be killed. God Almighty, no doubt, knows His mind about
me, so I need not trouble on that point. Secondly, I am a poor man. For
nearly forty years I have hunted and traded, but I have never made more
than a living. Well, gentlemen, I don't know if you are aware that the
average life of an elephant hunter from the time he takes to the trade
is between four and five years. So you see I have lived through about
seven generations of my class, and I should think that my time cannot
be far off, anyway. Now, if anything were to happen to me in the
ordinary course of business, by the time my debts are paid there would
be nothing left to support my son Harry whilst he was getting in the
way of earning a living, whereas now he will be set up for five years.
There is the whole affair in a nutshell."

"Mr. Quatermain," said Sir Henry, who had been giving me his most
serious attention, "your motives for undertaking an enterprise which
you believe can only end in disaster reflect a great deal of credit on
you. Whether or not you are right, of course time and the event alone
can show. But whether you are right or wrong, I may as well tell you at
once that I am going through with it to the end, sweet or bitter. If we
are to be knocked on the head, all I have to say is, that I hope we get
a little shooting first, eh, Good?"

"Yes, yes," put in the captain. "We have all three of us been
accustomed to face danger, and to hold our lives in our hands in
various ways, so it is no good turning back now. And now I vote we go
down to the saloon and take an observation just for luck, you know."
And we did--through the bottom of a tumbler.

Next day we went ashore, and I put up Sir Henry and Captain Good at the
little shanty I have built on the Berea, and which I call my home.
There are only three rooms and a kitchen in it, and it is constructed
of green brick with a galvanised iron roof, but there is a good garden
with the best loquot trees in it that I know, and some nice young
mangoes, of which I hope great things. The curator of the botanical
gardens gave them to me. It is looked after by an old hunter of mine
named Jack, whose thigh was so badly broken by a buffalo cow in
Sikukunis country that he will never hunt again. But he can potter
about and garden, being a Griqua by birth. You will never persuade a
Zulu to take much interest in gardening. It is a peaceful art, and
peaceful arts are not in his line.

Sir Henry and Good slept in a tent pitched in my little grove of orange
trees at the end of the garden, for there was no room for them in the
house, and what with the smell of the bloom, and the sight of the green
and golden fruit--in Durban you will see all three on the tree
together--I daresay it is a pleasant place enough, for we have few
mosquitos here on the Berea, unless there happens to come an unusually
heavy rain.

Well, to get on--for if I do not, Harry, you will be tired of my story
before ever we fetch up at Suliman's Mountains--having once made up my
mind to go I set about making the necessary preparations. First I
secured the deed from Sir Henry, providing for you, my boy, in case of
accidents. There was some difficulty about its legal execution, as Sir
Henry was a stranger here, and the property to be charged is over the
water; but it was ultimately got over with the help of a lawyer, who
charged L20 for the job--a price that I thought outrageous. Then I
pocketed my cheque for L500.

Having paid this tribute to my bump of caution, I purchased a wagon and
a span of oxen on Sir Henry's behalf, and beauties they were. It was a
twenty-two-foot wagon with iron axles, very strong, very light, and
built throughout of stink wood; not quite a new one, having been to the
Diamond Fields and back, but, in my opinion, all the better for that,
for I could see that the wood was well seasoned. If anything is going
to give in a wagon, or if there is green wood in it, it will show out
on the first trip. This particular vehicle was what we call a
"half-tented" wagon, that is to say, only covered in over the after
twelve feet, leaving all the front part free for the necessaries we had
to carry with us. In this after part were a hide "cartle," or bed, on
which two people could sleep, also racks for rifles, and many other
little conveniences. I gave L125 for it, and think that it was cheap at
the price.

Then I bought a beautiful team of twenty Zulu oxen, which I had kept my
eye on for a year or two. Sixteen oxen is the usual number for a team,
but I took four extra to allow for casualties. These Zulu cattle are
small and light, not more than half the size of the Africander oxen,
which are generally used for transport purposes; but they will live
where the Africanders would starve, and with a moderate load can make
five miles a day better going, being quicker and not so liable to
become footsore. What is more, this lot were thoroughly "salted," that
is, they had worked all over South Africa, and so had become proof,
comparatively speaking, against red water, which so frequently destroys
whole teams of oxen when they get on to strange "veldt" or grass
country. As for "lung sick," which is a dreadful form of pneumonia,
very prevalent in this country, they had all been inoculated against
it. This is done by cutting a slit in the tail of an ox, and binding in
a piece of the diseased lung of an animal which has died of the
sickness. The result is that the ox sickens, takes the disease in a
mild form, which causes its tail to drop off, as a rule about a foot
from the root, and becomes proof against future attacks. It seems cruel
to rob the animal of his tail, especially in a country where there are
so many flies, but it is better to sacrifice the tail and keep the ox
than to lose both tail and ox, for a tail without an ox is not much
good, except to dust with. Still it does look odd to trek along behind
twenty stumps, where there ought to be tails. It seems as though Nature
made a trifling mistake, and stuck the stern ornaments of a lot of
prize bull-dogs on to the rumps of the oxen.

Next came the question of provisioning and medicines, one which
required the most careful consideration, for what we had to do was to
avoid lumbering the wagon, and yet to take everything absolutely
necessary. Fortunately, it turned out that Good is a bit of a doctor,
having at some point in his previous career managed to pass through a
course of medical and surgical instruction, which he has more or less
kept up. He is not, of course, qualified, but he knows more about it
than many a man who can write M.D. after his name, as we found out
afterwards, and he had a splendid travelling medicine chest and a set
of instruments. Whilst we were at Durban he cut off a Kafir's big toe
in a way which it was a pleasure to see. But he was quite nonplussed
when the Kafir, who had sat stolidly watching the operation, asked him
to put on another, saying that a "white one" would do at a pinch.

There remained, when these questions were satisfactorily settled, two
further important points for consideration, namely, that of arms and
that of servants. As to the arms I cannot do better than put down a
list of those which we finally decided on from among the ample store
that Sir Henry had brought with him from England, and those which I
owned. I copy it from my pocket-book, where I made the entry at the
time.

"Three heavy breech-loading double-eight elephant guns, weighing about
fifteen pounds each, to carry a charge of eleven drachms of black
powder." Two of these were by a well-known London firm, most excellent
makers, but I do not know by whom mine, which is not so highly
finished, was made. I have used it on several trips, and shot a good
many elephants with it, and it has always proved a most superior
weapon, thoroughly to be relied on.

"Three double-500 Expresses, constructed to stand a charge of six
drachms," sweet weapons, and admirable for medium-sized game, such as
eland or sable antelope, or for men, especially in an open country and
with the semi-hollow bullet.

"One double No. 12 central-fire Keeper's shot-gun, full choke both
barrels." This gun proved of the greatest service to us afterwards in
shooting game for the pot.

"Three Winchester repeating rifles (not carbines), spare guns.

"Three single-action Colt's revolvers, with the heavier, or American
pattern of cartridge."

This was our total armament, and doubtless the reader will observe that
the weapons of each class were of the same make and calibre, so that
the cartridges were interchangeable, a very important point. I make no
apology for detailing it at length, as every experienced hunter will
know how vital a proper supply of guns and ammunition is to the success
of an expedition.

Now as to the men who were to go with us. After much consultation we
decided that their number should be limited to five, namely, a driver,
a leader, and three servants.

The driver and leader I found without much difficulty, two Zulus, named
respectively Goza and Tom; but to get the servants proved a more
difficult matter. It was necessary that they should be thoroughly
trustworthy and brave men, as in a business of this sort our lives
might depend upon their conduct. At last I secured two, one a Hottentot
named Ventvoegel, or "windbird," and one a little Zulu named Khiva, who
had the merit of speaking English perfectly. Ventvoegel I had known
before; he was one of the most perfect "spoorers," that is, game
trackers, I ever had to do with, and tough as whipcord. He never seemed
to tire. But he had one failing, so common with his race, drink. Put
him within reach of a bottle of gin and you could not trust him.
However, as we were going beyond the region of grog-shops this little
weakness of his did not so much matter.

Having secured these two men I looked in vain for a third to suit my
purpose, so we determined to start without one, trusting to luck to
find a suitable man on our way up country. But, as it happened, on the
evening before the day we had fixed for our departure the Zulu Khiva
informed me that a Kafir was waiting to see me. Accordingly, when we
had done dinner, for we were at table at the time, I told Khiva to
bring him in. Presently a tall, handsome-looking man, somewhere about
thirty years of age, and very light-coloured for a Zulu, entered, and
lifting his knob-stick by way of salute, squatted himself down in the
corner on his haunches, and sat silent. I did not take any notice of
him for a while, for it is a great mistake to do so. If you rush into
conversation at once, a Zulu is apt to think you a person of little
dignity or consequence. I observed, however, that he was a "Keshla" or
ringed man; that is, he wore on his head the black ring, made of a
species of gum polished with fat and worked up in the hair, which is
usually assumed by Zulus on attaining a certain age or dignity. Also it
struck me that his face was familiar to me.

"Well," I said at last, "What is your name?"

"Umbopa," answered the man in a slow, deep voice.

"I have seen your face before."

"Yes; the Inkoosi, the chief, my father, saw my face at the place of
the Little Hand"--that is, Isandhlwana--"on the day before the battle."

Then I remembered. I was one of Lord Chelmsford's guides in that
unlucky Zulu War, and had the good fortune to leave the camp in charge
of some wagons on the day before the battle. While I was waiting for
the cattle to be inspanned I fell into conversation with this man, who
held some small command among the native auxiliaries, and he had
expressed to me his doubts as to the safety of the camp. At the time I
told him to hold his tongue, and leave such matters to wiser heads; but
afterwards I thought of his words.

"I remember," I said; "what is it you want?"

"It is this, 'Macumazahn.'" That is my Kafir name, and means the man
who gets up in the middle of the night, or, in vulgar English, he who
keeps his eyes open. "I hear that you go on a great expedition far into
the North with the white chiefs from over the water. Is it a true word?"

"It is."

"I hear that you go even to the Lukanga River, a moon's journey beyond
the Manica country. Is this so also, 'Macumazahn?'"

"Why do you ask whither we go? What is it to you?" I answered
suspiciously, for the objects of our journey had been kept a dead
secret.

"It is this, O white men, that if indeed you travel so far I would
travel with you."

There was a certain assumption of dignity in the man's mode of speech,
and especially in his use of the words "O white men," instead of "O
Inkosis," or chiefs, which struck me.

"You forget yourself a little," I said. "Your words run out unawares.
That is not the way to speak. What is your name, and where is your
kraal? Tell us, that we may know with whom we have to deal."

"My name is Umbopa. I am of the Zulu people, yet not of them. The house
of my tribe is in the far North; it was left behind when the Zulus came
down here a 'thousand years ago,' long before Chaka reigned in
Zululand. I have no kraal. I have wandered for many years. I came from
the North as a child to Zululand. I was Cetewayo's man in the
Nkomabakosi Regiment, serving there under the great Captain,
Umslopogaasi of the Axe,[1] who taught my hands to fight. Afterwards I
ran away from Zululand and came to Natal because I wanted to see the
white man's ways. Next I fought against Cetewayo in the war. Since then
I have been working in Natal. Now I am tired, and would go North again.
Here is not my place. I want no money, but I am a brave man, and am
worth my place and meat. I have spoken."

I was rather puzzled by this man and his way of speech. It was evident
to me from his manner that in the main he was telling the truth, but
somehow he seemed different from the ordinary run of Zulus, and I
rather mistrusted his offer to come without pay. Being in a difficulty,
I translated his words to Sir Henry and Good, and asked them their
opinion.

Sir Henry told me to ask him to stand up. Umbopa did so, at the same
time slipping off the long military great coat which he wore, and
revealing himself naked except for the moocha round his centre and a
necklace of lions' claws. Certainly he was a magnificent-looking man; I
never saw a finer native. Standing about six foot three high he was
broad in proportion, and very shapely. In that light, too, his skin
looked scarcely more than dark, except here and there where deep black
scars marked old assegai wounds. Sir Henry walked up to him and looked
into his proud, handsome face.

"They make a good pair, don't they?" said Good; "one as big as the
other."

"I like your looks, Mr. Umbopa, and I will take you as my servant,"
said Sir Henry in English.

Umbopa evidently understood him, for he answered in Zulu, "It is well";
and then added, with a glance at the white man's great stature and
breadth, "We are men, thou and I."

[1] For the history of Umslopogaasi and his Axe, the reader is referred
to the books called "Allan Quatermain" and "Nada the Lily."--Editor.

The Dunkeld arrives in the port of Durban, but so late in the day that the passengers remain on board for the night. Allan Quatermain gives Sir Henry his terms: all expenses are to be paid by Sir Henry, any ivory obtained along the way is to be divided equally between Quatermain and Good, Sir Henry is to pay Quatermain 500 English pounds as a retainer for his service throughout expedition, and Sir Henry is to approve a deed guaranteeing 200 pounds annually for five years to Quatermain's son Harry should misfortune befall Quatermain in the expedition. Sir Henry readily agrees to these terms. Quatermain then explains his reasoning for these specific terms of hire. He has not been able to make provision for his son's time at medical school to guarantee the boy will be able to complete his studies and acquire a livelihood. Furthermore, Quatermain believes he is living on borrowed time, as he has outlived most elephant hunters five times over, so he knows his time of death draws near. Finally, he believes the expedition to the Suliman Mountains will end in disaster, as the previous three known explorers died without having found their goal. Sir Henry is not daunted by Quatermain's fatalism, so driven is he to find his brother. Upon disembarking to Durban, the three men immediately take care of the deed required for Quatermain's service. Once that is legally approved, Quatermain sets about outfitting the expedition. He buys a sturdy wagon and a team of oxen, and then supplies it from Sir Henry's cache of weapons and local goods. Quatermain readily finds a Zulu driver, Goza, and a Zulu leader, Tom. In search of three servants, Quatermain at first only finds two likely candidates: Ventvogel, a Hottentot tracker, and Khiva, a Zulu who speaks English. Quatermain decides to leave the third servant position to be filled as they begin their journey. However, the evening before they set out, the mysterious Umbopa comes to Quatermain and requests to enter his service on the expedition. Quatermain recalls that he made Umbopa's acquaintance briefly during the Zulu Wars. Umbopa has spoken out that his side of the conflict was ill-fated that day, just prior to their defeat. Umbopa explains that he is a man without a kraal who wishes to use his skills in this endeavor. Quatermain believes Umbopa to be an honorable man who is not telling the whole truth. Sir Henry, however, wholeheartedly approves of Umbopa when he sees how tall and strong he is. Umbopa notes, as he stands beside the equally powerfully-built Sir Henry, "We are men, you and I."

Haggard continues evoking the concept of a reluctant hero in Quatermain's grudging acceptance of Sir Henry's offer.  He cites his own impecunious circumstances and his son's upcoming financial needs as his rationale for accepting the quest.  Haggard draws a parallel to Odysseus' own reluctant acceptance of the mission to sack Troy, wherein the Ithacan king was forced to give up his deception of madness in order to spare his baby son's life. In the person of Umbopa, Haggard introduces the lost-son motif common to many adventure tales and heroic quests.  Umbopa is taken to be a Zulu by Quatermain, but he is "very light-coloured for a Zulu" .  Quatermain takes notice that Umbopa is a "ringed man," meaning that he wears a black ring worked into his hair "usually assumed by Zulus on attaining a certain age or dignity" .  Umbopa's air of equality with Sir Henry annoys Quatermain, but hints to the reader that Umbopa may be more than a mere Zulu guide and hunter looking for work. Quatermain's frustration at Umbopa's attitude belies a deeper conviction of the ignorance, and therefore inferiority, of the African peoples to Europeans.  This sense of European, white superiority arises throughout King Solomon's Mines, and is not limited merely to a comparison between Europe and Africa.  Earlier in the chapter, noting the abuse the luggage is taking at the hands of Kafir porters, Quatermain tells the Kafirs that the champagne they have just drunk--after having broken it in their negligent handling--is "the white man's strongest medicine, and that they were as good as dead men" .  Inexperienced with the bubbling of champagne, the Kafirs believe him. Haggard's personal views on racial relations are harder to pin down from this novel, for Quatermain is already established as an unreliable narrator.  The future fate of Umbopa, too, indicates a higher respect for the African people than is present in many of Haggard's contemporaries.  Ultimately, the reader sees that Quatermain reflects a somewhat liberal view common to the white men of nineteenth-century England.  This mixture of respect and patronizing will be seen in later chapters.


Now I do not propose to narrate at full length all the incidents of our
long travel up to Sitanda's Kraal, near the junction of the Lukanga and
Kalukwe Rivers. It was a journey of more than a thousand miles from
Durban, the last three hundred or so of which we had to make on foot,
owing to the frequent presence of the dreadful "tsetse" fly, whose bite
is fatal to all animals except donkeys and men.

We left Durban at the end of January, and it was in the second week of
May that we camped near Sitanda's Kraal. Our adventures on the way were
many and various, but as they are of the sort which befall every
African hunter--with one exception to be presently detailed--I shall
not set them down here, lest I should render this history too wearisome.

At Inyati, the outlying trading station in the Matabele country, of
which Lobengula (a great and cruel scoundrel) is king, with many
regrets we parted from our comfortable wagon. Only twelve oxen remained
to us out of the beautiful span of twenty which I had bought at Durban.
One we lost from the bite of a cobra, three had perished from "poverty"
and the want of water, one strayed, and the other three died from
eating the poisonous herb called "tulip." Five more sickened from this
cause, but we managed to cure them with doses of an infusion made by
boiling down the tulip leaves. If administered in time this is a very
effective antidote.

The wagon and the oxen we left in the immediate charge of Goza and Tom,
our driver and leader, both trustworthy boys, requesting a worthy
Scotch missionary who lived in this distant place to keep an eye on
them. Then, accompanied by Umbopa, Khiva, Ventvoegel, and half a dozen
bearers whom we hired on the spot, we started off on foot upon our wild
quest. I remember we were all a little silent on the occasion of this
departure, and I think that each of us was wondering if we should ever
see our wagon again; for my part I never expected to do so. For a while
we tramped on in silence, till Umbopa, who was marching in front, broke
into a Zulu chant about how some brave men, tired of life and the
tameness of things, started off into a vast wilderness to find new
things or die, and how, lo and behold! when they had travelled far into
the wilderness they found that it was not a wilderness at all, but a
beautiful place full of young wives and fat cattle, of game to hunt and
enemies to kill.

Then we all laughed and took it for a good omen. Umbopa was a cheerful
savage, in a dignified sort of way, when he was not suffering from one
of his fits of brooding, and he had a wonderful knack of keeping up our
spirits. We all grew very fond of him.

And now for the one adventure to which I am going to treat myself, for
I do dearly love a hunting yarn.

About a fortnight's march from Inyati we came across a peculiarly
beautiful bit of well-watered woodland country. The kloofs in the hills
were covered with dense bush, "idoro" bush as the natives call it, and
in some places, with the "wacht-een-beche," or "wait-a-little thorn,"
and there were great quantities of the lovely "machabell" tree, laden
with refreshing yellow fruit having enormous stones. This tree is the
elephant's favourite food, and there were not wanting signs that the
great brutes had been about, for not only was their spoor frequent, but
in many places the trees were broken down and even uprooted. The
elephant is a destructive feeder.

One evening, after a long day's march, we came to a spot of great
loveliness. At the foot of a bush-clad hill lay a dry river-bed, in
which, however, were to be found pools of crystal water all trodden
round with the hoof-prints of game. Facing this hill was a park-like
plain, where grew clumps of flat-topped mimosa, varied with occasional
glossy-leaved machabells, and all round stretched the sea of pathless,
silent bush.

As we emerged into this river-bed path suddenly we started a troop of
tall giraffes, who galloped, or rather sailed off, in their strange
gait, their tails screwed up over their backs, and their hoofs rattling
like castanets. They were about three hundred yards from us, and
therefore practically out of shot, but Good, who was walking ahead, and
who had an express loaded with solid ball in his hand, could not resist
temptation. Lifting his gun, he let drive at the last, a young cow. By
some extraordinary chance the ball struck it full on the back of the
neck, shattering the spinal column, and that giraffe went rolling head
over heels just like a rabbit. I never saw a more curious thing.

"Curse it!" said Good--for I am sorry to say he had a habit of using
strong language when excited--contracted, no doubt, in the course of
his nautical career; "curse it! I've killed him."

"_Ou_, Bougwan," ejaculated the Kafirs; "_ou! ou!_"

They called Good "Bougwan," or Glass Eye, because of his eye-glass.

"Oh, 'Bougwan!'" re-echoed Sir Henry and I, and from that day Good's
reputation as a marvellous shot was established, at any rate among the
Kafirs. Really he was a bad one, but whenever he missed we overlooked
it for the sake of that giraffe.

Having set some of the "boys" to cut off the best of the giraffe's
meat, we went to work to build a "scherm" near one of the pools and
about a hundred yards to its right. This is done by cutting a quantity
of thorn bushes and piling them in the shape of a circular hedge. Then
the space enclosed is smoothed, and dry tambouki grass, if obtainable,
is made into a bed in the centre, and a fire or fires lighted.

By the time the "scherm" was finished the moon peeped up, and our
dinners of giraffe steaks and roasted marrow-bones were ready. How we
enjoyed those marrow-bones, though it was rather a job to crack them! I
know of no greater luxury than giraffe marrow, unless it is elephant's
heart, and we had that on the morrow. We ate our simple meal by the
light of the moon, pausing at times to thank Good for his wonderful
shot; then we began to smoke and yarn, and a curious picture we must
have made squatting there round the fire. I, with my short grizzled
hair sticking up straight, and Sir Henry with his yellow locks, which
were getting rather long, were rather a contrast, especially as I am
thin, and short, and dark, weighing only nine stone and a half, and Sir
Henry is tall, and broad, and fair, and weighs fifteen. But perhaps the
most curious-looking of the three, taking all the circumstances of the
case into consideration, was Captain John Good, R.N. There he sat upon
a leather bag, looking just as though he had come in from a comfortable
day's shooting in a civilised country, absolutely clean, tidy, and well
dressed. He wore a shooting suit of brown tweed, with a hat to match,
and neat gaiters. As usual, he was beautifully shaved, his eye-glass
and his false teeth appeared to be in perfect order, and altogether he
looked the neatest man I ever had to do with in the wilderness. He even
sported a collar, of which he had a supply, made of white gutta-percha.

"You see, they weigh so little," he said to me innocently, when I
expressed my astonishment at the fact; "and I always like to turn out
like a gentleman." Ah! if he could have foreseen the future and the
raiment prepared for him.

Well, there we three sat yarning away in the beautiful moonlight, and
watching the Kafirs a few yards off sucking their intoxicating "daccha"
from a pipe of which the mouthpiece was made of the horn of an eland,
till one by one they rolled themselves up in their blankets and went to
sleep by the fire, that is, all except Umbopa, who was a little apart,
his chin resting on his hand, and thinking deeply. I noticed that he
never mixed much with the other Kafirs.

Presently, from the depths of the bush behind us, came a loud "_woof_,
_woof_!" "That's a lion," said I, and we all started up to listen.
Hardly had we done so, when from the pool, about a hundred yards off,
we heard the strident trumpeting of an elephant. "_Unkungunklovo_!
_Indlovu_!" "Elephant! Elephant!" whispered the Kafirs, and a few
minutes afterwards we saw a succession of vast shadowy forms moving
slowly from the direction of the water towards the bush.

Up jumped Good, burning for slaughter, and thinking, perhaps, that it
was as easy to kill elephant as he had found it to shoot giraffe, but I
caught him by the arm and pulled him down.

"It's no good," I whispered, "let them go."

"It seems that we are in a paradise of game. I vote we stop here a day
or two, and have a go at them," said Sir Henry, presently.

I was rather surprised, for hitherto Sir Henry had always been for
pushing forward as fast as possible, more especially since we
ascertained at Inyati that about two years ago an Englishman of the
name of Neville _had_ sold his wagon there, and gone on up country. But
I suppose his hunter instincts got the better of him for a while.

Good jumped at the idea, for he was longing to have a shot at those
elephants; and so, to speak the truth, did I, for it went against my
conscience to let such a herd as that escape without a pull at them.

"All right, my hearties," said I. "I think we want a little recreation.
And now let's turn in, for we ought to be off by dawn, and then perhaps
we may catch them feeding before they move on."

The others agreed, and we proceeded to make our preparations. Good took
off his clothes, shook them, put his eye-glass and his false teeth into
his trousers pocket, and folding each article neatly, placed it out of
the dew under a corner of his mackintosh sheet. Sir Henry and I
contented ourselves with rougher arrangements, and soon were curled up
in our blankets, and dropping off into the dreamless sleep that rewards
the traveller.

Going, going, go--What was that?

Suddenly, from the direction of the water came sounds of violent
scuffling, and next instant there broke upon our ears a succession of
the most awful roars. There was no mistaking their origin; only a lion
could make such a noise as that. We all jumped up and looked towards
the water, in the direction of which we saw a confused mass, yellow and
black in colour, staggering and struggling towards us. We seized our
rifles, and slipping on our veldtschoons, that is shoes made of
untanned hide, ran out of the scherm. By this time the mass had fallen,
and was rolling over and over on the ground, and when we reached the
spot it struggled no longer, but lay quite still.

Now we saw what it was. On the grass there lay a sable antelope
bull--the most beautiful of all the African antelopes--quite dead, and
transfixed by its great curved horns was a magnificent black-maned
lion, also dead. Evidently what had happened was this: The sable
antelope had come down to drink at the pool where the lion--no doubt
the same which we had heard--was lying in wait. While the antelope
drank, the lion had sprung upon him, only to be received upon the sharp
curved horns and transfixed. Once before I saw a similar thing happen.
Then the lion, unable to free himself, had torn and bitten at the back
and neck of the bull, which, maddened with fear and pain, had rushed on
until it dropped dead.

As soon as we had examined the beasts sufficiently we called the
Kafirs, and between us managed to drag their carcases up to the scherm.
After that we went in and lay down, to wake no more till dawn.

With the first light we were up and making ready for the fray. We took
with us the three eight-bore rifles, a good supply of ammunition, and
our large water-bottles, filled with weak cold tea, which I have always
found the best stuff to shoot on. After swallowing a little breakfast
we started, Umbopa, Khiva, and Ventvoegel accompanying us. The other
Kafirs we left with instructions to skin the lion and the sable
antelope, and to cut up the latter.

We had no difficulty in finding the broad elephant trail, which
Ventvoegel, after examination, pronounced to have been made by between
twenty and thirty elephants, most of them full-grown bulls. But the
herd had moved on some way during the night, and it was nine o'clock,
and already very hot, before, by the broken trees, bruised leaves and
bark, and smoking droppings, we knew that we could not be far from them.

Presently we caught sight of the herd, which numbered, as Ventvoegel had
said, between twenty and thirty, standing in a hollow, having finished
their morning meal, and flapping their great ears. It was a splendid
sight, for they were only about two hundred yards from us. Taking a
handful of dry grass, I threw it into the air to see how the wind was;
for if once they winded us I knew they would be off before we could get
a shot. Finding that, if anything, it blew from the elephants to us, we
crept on stealthily, and thanks to the cover managed to get within
forty yards or so of the great brutes. Just in front of us, and
broadside on, stood three splendid bulls, one of them with enormous
tusks. I whispered to the others that I would take the middle one; Sir
Henry covering the elephant to the left, and Good the bull with the big
tusks.

"Now," I whispered.

Boom! boom! boom! went the three heavy rifles, and down came Sir
Henry's elephant dead as a hammer, shot right through the heart. Mine
fell on to its knees and I thought that he was going to die, but in
another moment he was up and off, tearing along straight past me. As he
went I gave him the second barrel in the ribs, and this brought him
down in good earnest. Hastily slipping in two fresh cartridges I ran
close up to him, and a ball through the brain put an end to the poor
brute's struggles. Then I turned to see how Good had fared with the big
bull, which I had heard screaming with rage and pain as I gave mine its
quietus. On reaching the captain I found him in a great state of
excitement. It appeared that on receiving the bullet the bull had
turned and come straight for his assailant, who had barely time to get
out of his way, and then charged on blindly past him, in the direction
of our encampment. Meanwhile the herd had crashed off in wild alarm in
the other direction.

For awhile we debated whether to go after the wounded bull or to follow
the herd, and finally deciding for the latter alternative, departed,
thinking that we had seen the last of those big tusks. I have often
wished since that we had. It was easy work to follow the elephants, for
they had left a trail like a carriage road behind them, crushing down
the thick bush in their furious flight as though it were tambouki grass.

But to come up with them was another matter, and we had struggled on
under the broiling sun for over two hours before we found them. With
the exception of one bull, they were standing together, and I could
see, from their unquiet way and the manner in which they kept lifting
their trunks to test the air, that they were on the look-out for
mischief. The solitary bull stood fifty yards or so to this side of the
herd, over which he was evidently keeping sentry, and about sixty yards
from us. Thinking that he would see or wind us, and that it would
probably start them off again if we tried to get nearer, especially as
the ground was rather open, we all aimed at this bull, and at my
whispered word, we fired. The three shots took effect, and down he went
dead. Again the herd started, but unfortunately for them about a
hundred yards further on was a nullah, or dried-out water track, with
steep banks, a place very much resembling the one where the Prince
Imperial was killed in Zululand. Into this the elephants plunged, and
when we reached the edge we found them struggling in wild confusion to
get up the other bank, filling the air with their screams, and
trumpeting as they pushed one another aside in their selfish panic,
just like so many human beings. Now was our opportunity, and firing
away as quickly as we could load, we killed five of the poor beasts,
and no doubt should have bagged the whole herd, had they not suddenly
given up their attempts to climb the bank and rushed headlong down the
nullah. We were too tired to follow them, and perhaps also a little
sick of slaughter, eight elephants being a pretty good bag for one day.

So after we were rested a little, and the Kafirs had cut out the hearts
of two of the dead elephants for supper, we started homewards, very
well pleased with our day's work, having made up our minds to send the
bearers on the morrow to chop away the tusks.

Shortly after we re-passed the spot where Good had wounded the
patriarchal bull we came across a herd of eland, but did not shoot at
them, as we had plenty of meat. They trotted past us, and then stopped
behind a little patch of bush about a hundred yards away, wheeling
round to look at us. As Good was anxious to get a near view of them,
never having seen an eland close, he handed his rifle to Umbopa, and,
followed by Khiva, strolled up to the patch of bush. We sat down and
waited for him, not sorry of the excuse for a little rest.

The sun was just going down in its reddest glory, and Sir Henry and I
were admiring the lovely scene, when suddenly we heard an elephant
scream, and saw its huge and rushing form with uplifted trunk and tail
silhouetted against the great fiery globe of the sun. Next second we
saw something else, and that was Good and Khiva tearing back towards us
with the wounded bull--for it was he--charging after them. For a moment
we did not dare to fire--though at that distance it would have been of
little use if we had done so--for fear of hitting one of them, and the
next a dreadful thing happened--Good fell a victim to his passion for
civilised dress. Had he consented to discard his trousers and gaiters
like the rest of us, and to hunt in a flannel shirt and a pair of
veldt-schoons, it would have been all right. But as it was, his
trousers cumbered him in that desperate race, and presently, when he
was about sixty yards from us, his boot, polished by the dry grass,
slipped, and down he went on his face right in front of the elephant.

We gave a gasp, for we knew that he must die, and ran as hard as we
could towards him. In three seconds it had ended, but not as we
thought. Khiva, the Zulu boy, saw his master fall, and brave lad as he
was, turned and flung his assegai straight into the elephant's face. It
stuck in his trunk.

With a scream of pain, the brute seized the poor Zulu, hurled him to
the earth, and placing one huge foot on to his body about the middle,
twined its trunk round his upper part and _tore him in two_.

We rushed up mad with horror, and fired again and again, till presently
the elephant fell upon the fragments of the Zulu.

As for Good, he rose and wrung his hands over the brave man who had
given his life to save him, and, though I am an old hand, I felt a lump
grow in my throat. Umbopa stood contemplating the huge dead elephant
and the mangled remains of poor Khiva.

"Ah, well," he said presently, "he is dead, but he died like a man!"

Quatermain relates how the newly formed party journeys from Durban to Sitanda's Kraal, a trek of over a thousand miles. The journey takes nearly four months, during which they encounter events common to such an expedition. By the time they reach Inyata, they are forced to leave their wagon since eight of the twenty oxen have perished or been lost. The wagon is left in the care of the two Zulu servants, Goza and Tom, who are instructed to seek out a Scottish missionary in the area to take care of the wagon. The hunting party of Quatermain, Sir Henry, Captain Good, Umbopa, Khiva and Ventvogel--along with several bearers carrying their belongings--continue their trip. Along the way, Umbopa further proves his value by chanting an upbeat Zulu song promising a good end to the journey. About two weeks' march from Inyata, the party enters a beautiful area full of wild giraffes. As the giraffes gallop away, Captain Good tries for a shot at them on a whim; to his surprise, he manages to hit a distant giraffe in the spine and kill it with his single shot. Although Quatermain declares the shot lucky and not characteristic of Good's usual hunting prowess in his narrative, he nonetheless relates how this amazing shot gives Good a reputation for accuracy among the rest of the hunting party. The men camp that night and, prior to sleep, hear the low growl of a lion nearby. They also hear an elephant; this leads Sir Henry to consider pausing in their quest for his lost brother long enough to hunt for a day or two. During the night they are awakened by a fearful noise and splashing from the nearby river--they discover it to be the lion and his would-be prey, an antelope, locked in the throes of their death-struggle. Both animals die, killed by the ferocity or fear of each other, and Quatermain's party reaps the benefit of their animosity by skinning both animals and filleting the antelope for food. The next day the party encounters a herd of elephants, which they fire upon. Sir Henry fells his elephant in one shot. Quatermain's target runs away after being struck, forcing the hunter to pursue it to take it down. Captain Good hits the bull elephant, but instead of fleeing it turns on its attacker and charges Good. Once the bull has passed, the party chooses to follow the herd rather than the wounded bull elephant. In all, Quatermain's party collects eight elephants. In the meantime, Captain Good has run afoul of the wounded bull elephant. Quatermain and his fellows hear the enraged elephant, then see it crashing through the greenery in hot pursuit of Captain Good and Khiva. Good falls--slipping on his over-"civilized" polished boots--and is nearly done for, but Khiva draws the bull's attention by throwing his spear at it. The bull elephant turns its ire on Khiva, crushing him under one foot while pulling him in half with its trunk. Captain Good is moved to anguish by Khiva's sacrifice, and Quatermain almost weeps, but the implacable Umbopa stares thoughtfully at Khiva's remains and states "he is dead, but he died like a man."

The mixed European attitude toward Africans is again expressed through Quatermain's account, particularly touching on the actions of Umbopa.  When Umpoba begins the chant which keeps the weary travelers' moral high, Quatermain says of him, "He was a cheerful savage, was Umpoba, in a dignified sort of way, when he had not got one of his fits of brooding, and had  wonderful knack of keeping one's spirits up.  We all got very fond of him" .  This combination of dignity, cheer, and brooding continues to mystify Quatermain  throughout the rest of the journey.  By connecting the word "dignity" to Umbopa again , Haggard sets the reader up for the future reveal of Umbopa's true heritage. The incident of the elephant hunt establishes the danger of Quatermain's usual line of work, thus giving credence to his motivations for taking the money offered by Sir Henry to establish his son's medical practice.  Quatermain attempts to live his life knowing that he will one day die--but cannot prevent it--and so he lives it to its fullest, doing what he knows how to do well. The problem of Colonialism may be symbolized in the seemingly random incident of the lion and the antelope.  Quatermain and the others see: On the grass there lay a sable antelope bull--the most beautiful of all the African antelopes--quite dead, and transfixed by its great curved horns was a magnificent black-maned lion, also dead.  what had happened evidently was this.  The sable antelope had come down to drink at the pool where the lion--no doubt the same we had heard--had been lying in wait.  While the antelope was drinking the lion had sprung upon him, but was received upon the sharp curved horns and transfixed.  I once saw the same thing happen before.  The lion, unable to free himself, had torn and bitten at the back and neck of the bull, which, maddened with fear and pain, had rushed on till it dropped dead. While easily counted as merely an interesting detail pulled from Haggard's own life, it is telling that the lion is one of the symbols associated with England, while the antelope--a prominent species in Africa--is sable .  The one has attacked the other to get what it wants from it, but in the process has let itself become entangled with the would-be prey and killed along with it.  The similarities to George Orwell's later work "Shooting an Elephant" are striking. Quatermain's seeming jealousy at Captain Good's "lucky" shot further contrasts the two men:  Quatermain is a rugged, world-worn hunter of many years' hard experience, while Good is a fastidious Naval officer who has no business making expert shots in Quatermain's demesne. Quatermain notes specifically how "Good fell a victim to his passion for civilized dress"  when attempting to evade the charging bull elephant, pointing out how seriously out of his element the Captain truly is. However, Good's medical skills are brought to the fore, giving the over-dignified Briton a more practical function on the journey, particularly in Quatermain's eyes.