While we were engaged in recovering from our fright, and in examining
the grisly wonders of the Place of Death, Gagool had been differently
occupied. Somehow or other--for she was marvellously active when she
chose--she had scrambled on to the great table, and made her way to
where our departed friend Twala was placed, under the drip, to see,
suggested Good, how he was "pickling," or for some dark purpose of her
own. Then, after bending down to kiss his icy lips as though in
affectionate greeting, she hobbled back, stopping now and again to
address the remark, the tenor of which I could not catch, to one or
other of the shrouded forms, just as you or I might welcome an old
acquaintance. Having gone through this mysterious and horrible
ceremony, she squatted herself down on the table immediately under the
White Death, and began, so far as I could make out, to offer up
prayers. The spectacle of this wicked creature pouring out
supplications, evil ones no doubt, to the arch enemy of mankind, was so
uncanny that it caused us to hasten our inspection.

"Now, Gagool," said I, in a low voice--somehow one did not dare to
speak above a whisper in that place--"lead us to the chamber."

The old witch promptly scrambled down from the table.

"My lords are not afraid?" she said, leering up into my face.

"Lead on."

"Good, my lords;" and she hobbled round to the back of the great Death.
"Here is the chamber; let my lords light the lamp, and enter," and she
placed the gourd full of oil upon the floor, and leaned herself against
the side of the cave. I took out a match, of which we had still a few
in a box, and lit a rush wick, and then looked for the doorway, but
there was nothing before us except the solid rock. Gagool grinned. "The
way is there, my lords. _Ha! ha! ha!_"

"Do not jest with us," I said sternly.

"I jest not, my lords. See!" and she pointed at the rock.

As she did so, on holding up the lamp we perceived that a mass of stone
was rising slowly from the floor and vanishing into the rock above,
where doubtless there is a cavity prepared to receive it. The mass was
of the width of a good-sized door, about ten feet high and not less
than five feet thick. It must have weighed at least twenty or thirty
tons, and was clearly moved upon some simple balance principle of
counter-weights, probably the same as that by which the opening and
shutting of an ordinary modern window is arranged. How the principle
was set in motion, of course none of us saw; Gagool was careful to
avoid this; but I have little doubt that there was some very simple
lever, which was moved ever so little by pressure at a secret spot,
thereby throwing additional weight on to the hidden counter-balances,
and causing the monolith to be lifted from the ground.

Very slowly and gently the great stone raised itself, till at last it
had vanished altogether, and a dark hole presented itself to us in the
place which the door had filled.

Our excitement was so intense, as we saw the way to Solomon's treasure
chamber thrown open at last, that I for one began to tremble and shake.
Would it prove a hoax after all, I wondered, or was old Da Silvestra
right? Were there vast hoards of wealth hidden in that dark place,
hoards which would make us the richest men in the whole world? We
should know in a minute or two.

"Enter, white men from the Stars," said Gagool, advancing into the
doorway; "but first hear your servant, Gagool the old. The bright
stones that ye will see were dug out of the pit over which the Silent
Ones are set, and stored here, I know not by whom, for that was done
longer ago than even I remember. But once has this place been entered
since the time that those who hid the stones departed in haste, leaving
them behind. The report of the treasure went down indeed among the
people who lived in the country from age to age, but none knew where
the chamber was, nor the secret of the door. But it happened that a
white man reached this country from over the mountains--perchance he
too came 'from the Stars'--and was well received by the king of that
day. He it is who sits yonder," and she pointed to the fifth king at
the table of the Dead. "And it came to pass that he and a woman of the
country who was with him journeyed to this place, and that by chance
the woman learnt the secret of the door--a thousand years might ye
search, but ye should never find that secret. Then the white man
entered with the woman, and found the stones, and filled with stones
the skin of a small goat, which the woman had with her to hold food.
And as he was going from the chamber he took up one more stone, a large
one, and held it in his hand."

Here she paused.

"Well," I asked, breathless with interest as we all were, "what
happened to Da Silvestra?"

The old hag started at the mention of the name.

"How knowest thou the dead man's name?" she asked sharply; and then,
without waiting for an answer, went on--

"None can tell what happened; but it came about that the white man was
frightened, for he flung down the goat-skin, with the stones, and fled
out with only the one stone in his hand, and that the king took, and it
is the stone which thou, Macumazahn, didst take from Twala's brow."

"Have none entered here since?" I asked, peering again down the dark
passage.

"None, my lords. Only the secret of the door has been kept, and every
king has opened it, though he has not entered. There is a saying, that
those who enter there will die within a moon, even as the white man
died in the cave upon the mountain, where ye found him, Macumazahn, and
therefore the kings do not enter. _Ha! ha!_ mine are true words."

Our eyes met as she said it, and I turned sick and cold. How did the
old hag know all these things?

"Enter, my lords. If I speak truth, the goat-skin with the stones will
lie upon the floor; and if there is truth as to whether it is death to
enter here, that ye will learn afterwards. _Ha! ha! ha!_" and she
hobbled through the doorway, bearing the light with her; but I confess
that once more I hesitated about following.

"Oh, confound it all!" said Good; "here goes. I am not going to be
frightened by that old devil;" and followed by Foulata, who, however,
evidently did not at all like the business, for she was shivering with
fear, he plunged into the passage after Gagool--an example which we
quickly followed.

A few yards down the passage, in the narrow way hewn out of the living
rock, Gagool had paused, and was waiting for us.

"See, my lords," she said, holding the light before her, "those who
stored the treasure here fled in haste, and bethought them to guard
against any who should find the secret of the door, but had not the
time," and she pointed to large square blocks of stone, which, to the
height of two courses (about two feet three), had been placed across
the passage with a view to walling it up. Along the side of the passage
were similar blocks ready for use, and, most curious of all, a heap of
mortar and a couple of trowels, which tools, so far as we had time to
examine them, appeared to be of a similar shape and make to those used
by workmen to this day.

Here Foulata, who had been in a state of great fear and agitation
throughout, said that she felt faint and could go no farther, but would
wait there. Accordingly we set her down on the unfinished wall, placing
the basket of provisions by her side, and left her to recover.

Following the passage for about fifteen paces farther, we came suddenly
to an elaborately painted wooden door. It was standing wide open.
Whoever was last there had either not found the time to shut it, or had
forgotten to do so.

_Across the threshold of this door lay a skin bag, formed of a
goat-skin, that appeared to be full of pebbles._

"_Hee! hee!_ white men," sniggered Gagool, as the light from the lamp
fell upon it. "What did I tell you, that the white man who came here
fled in haste, and dropped the woman's bag--behold it! Look within also
and ye will find a water-gourd amongst the stones."

Good stooped down and lifted it. It was heavy and jingled.

"By Jove! I believe it's full of diamonds," he said, in an awed
whisper; and, indeed, the idea of a small goat-skin full of diamonds is
enough to awe anybody.

"Go on," said Sir Henry impatiently. "Here, old lady, give me the
lamp," and taking it from Gagool's hand, he stepped through the doorway
and held it high above his head.

We pressed in after him, forgetful for the moment of the bag of
diamonds, and found ourselves in King Solomon's treasure chamber.

At first, all that the somewhat faint light given by the lamp revealed
was a room hewn out of the living rock, and apparently not more than
ten feet square. Next there came into sight, stored one on the other to
the arch of the roof, a splendid collection of elephant-tusks. How many
of them there were we did not know, for of course we could not see to
what depth they went back, but there could not have been less than the
ends of four or five hundred tusks of the first quality visible to our
eyes. There, alone, was enough ivory to make a man wealthy for life.
Perhaps, I thought, it was from this very store that Solomon drew the
raw material for his "great throne of ivory," of which "there was not
the like made in any kingdom."

On the opposite side of the chamber were about a score of wooden boxes,
something like Martini-Henry ammunition boxes, only rather larger, and
painted red.

"There are the diamonds," cried I; "bring the light."

Sir Henry did so, holding it close to the top box, of which the lid,
rendered rotten by time even in that dry place, appeared to have been
smashed in, probably by Da Silvestra himself. Pushing my hand through
the hole in the lid I drew it out full, not of diamonds, but of gold
pieces, of a shape that none of us had seen before, and with what
looked like Hebrew characters stamped upon them.

"Ah!" I said, replacing the coin, "we shan't go back empty-handed,
anyhow. There must be a couple of thousand pieces in each box, and
there are eighteen boxes. I suppose this was the money to pay the
workmen and merchants."

"Well," put in Good, "I think that is the lot; I don't see any
diamonds, unless the old Portuguese put them all into his bag."

"Let my lords look yonder where it is darkest, if they would find the
stones," said Gagool, interpreting our looks. "There my lords will find
a nook, and three stone chests in the nook, two sealed and one open."

Before translating this to Sir Henry, who carried the light, I could
not resist asking how she knew these things, if no one had entered the
place since the white man, generations ago.

"Ah, Macumazahn, the watcher by night," was the mocking answer, "ye who
dwell in the stars, do ye not know that some live long, and that some
have eyes which can see through rock? _Ha! ha! ha!_"

"Look in that corner, Curtis," I said, indicating the spot Gagool had
pointed out.

"Hullo, you fellows," he cried, "here's a recess. Great heavens! see
here."

We hurried up to where he was standing in a nook, shaped something like
a small bow window. Against the wall of this recess were placed three
stone chests, each about two feet square. Two were fitted with stone
lids, the lid of the third rested against the side of the chest, which
was open.

"_See!_" he repeated hoarsely, holding the lamp over the open chest. We
looked, and for a moment could make nothing out, on account of a
silvery sheen which dazzled us. When our eyes grew used to it we saw
that the chest was three-parts full of uncut diamonds, most of them of
considerable size. Stooping, I picked some up. Yes, there was no doubt
of it, there was the unmistakable soapy feel about them.

I fairly gasped as I dropped them.

"We are the richest men in the whole world," I said. "Monte Christo was
a fool to us."

"We shall flood the market with diamonds," said Good.

"Got to get them there first," suggested Sir Henry.

We stood still with pale faces and stared at each other, the lantern in
the middle and the glimmering gems below, as though we were
conspirators about to commit a crime, instead of being, as we thought,
the most fortunate men on earth.

"_Hee! hee! hee!_" cackled old Gagool behind us, as she flitted about
like a vampire bat. "There are the bright stones ye love, white men, as
many as ye will; take them, run them through your fingers, _eat_ of
them, _hee! hee! drink_ of them, _ha! ha!_"

At that moment there was something so ridiculous to my mind at the idea
of eating and drinking diamonds, that I began to laugh outrageously, an
example which the others followed, without knowing why. There we stood
and shrieked with laughter over the gems that were ours, which had been
found for _us_ thousands of years ago by the patient delvers in the
great hole yonder, and stored for _us_ by Solomon's long-dead overseer,
whose name, perchance, was written in the characters stamped on the
faded wax that yet adhered to the lids of the chest. Solomon never got
them, nor David, or Da Silvestra, nor anybody else. _We_ had got them:
there before us were millions of pounds' worth of diamonds, and
thousands of pounds' worth of gold and ivory only waiting to be taken
away.

Suddenly the fit passed off, and we stopped laughing.

"Open the other chests, white men," croaked Gagool, "there are surely
more therein. Take your fill, white lords! _Ha! ha!_ take your fill."

Thus adjured, we set to work to pull up the stone lids on the other
two, first--not without a feeling of sacrilege--breaking the seals that
fastened them.

Hoorah! they were full too, full to the brim; at least, the second one
was; no wretched burglarious Da Silvestra had been filling goat-skins
out of that. As for the third chest, it was only about a fourth full,
but the stones were all picked ones; none less than twenty carats, and
some of them as large as pigeon-eggs. A good many of these bigger ones,
however, we could see by holding them up to the light, were a little
yellow, "off coloured," as they call it at Kimberley.

What we did _not_ see, however, was the look of fearful malevolence
that old Gagool favoured us with as she crept, crept like a snake, out
of the treasure chamber and down the passage towards the door of solid
rock.

      *      *      *      *      *

Hark! Cry upon cry comes ringing up the vaulted path. It is Foulata's
voice!

"_Oh, Bougwan! help! help! the stone falls!_"

"Leave go, girl! Then--"

"_Help! help! she has stabbed me!_"

By now we are running down the passage, and this is what the light from
the lamp shows us. The door of the rock is closing down slowly; it is
not three feet from the floor. Near it struggle Foulata and Gagool. The
red blood of the former runs to her knee, but still the brave girl
holds the old witch, who fights like a wild cat. Ah! she is free!
Foulata falls, and Gagool throws herself on the ground, to twist like a
snake through the crack of the closing stone. She is under--ah! god!
too late! too late! The stone nips her, and she yells in agony. Down,
down it comes, all the thirty tons of it, slowly pressing her old body
against the rock below. Shriek upon shriek, such as we have never
heard, then a long sickening _crunch_, and the door was shut just as,
rushing down the passage, we hurled ourselves against it.

It was all done in four seconds.

Then we turned to Foulata. The poor girl was stabbed in the body, and I
saw that she could not live long.

"Ah! Bougwan, I die!" gasped the beautiful creature. "She crept
out--Gagool; I did not see her, I was faint--and the door began to
fall; then she came back, and was looking up the path--I saw her come
in through the slowly falling door, and caught her and held her, and
she stabbed me, and _I die_, Bougwan!"

"Poor girl! poor girl!" Good cried in his distress; and then, as he
could do nothing else, he fell to kissing her.

"Bougwan," she said, after a pause, "is Macumazahn there? It grows so
dark, I cannot see."

"Here I am, Foulata."

"Macumazahn, be my tongue for a moment, I pray thee, for Bougwan cannot
understand me, and before I go into the darkness I would speak to him a
word."

"Say on, Foulata, I will render it."

"Say to my lord, Bougwan, that--I love him, and that I am glad to die
because I know that he cannot cumber his life with such as I am, for
the sun may not mate with the darkness, nor the white with the black.

"Say that, since I saw him, at times I have felt as though there were a
bird in my bosom, which would one day fly hence and sing elsewhere.
Even now, though I cannot lift my hand, and my brain grows cold, I do
not feel as though my heart were dying; it is so full of love that it
could live ten thousand years, and yet be young. Say that if I live
again, mayhap I shall see him in the Stars, and that--I will search
them all, though perchance there I should still be black and he
would--still be white. Say--nay, Macumazahn, say no more, save that I
love--Oh, hold me closer, Bougwan, I cannot feel thine arms--_oh! oh!_"

"She is dead--she is dead!" muttered Good, rising in grief, the tears
running down his honest face.

"You need not let that trouble you, old fellow," said Sir Henry.

"Eh!" exclaimed Good; "what do you mean?"

"I mean that you will soon be in a position to join her. _Man, don't
you see that we are buried alive?_"

Until Sir Henry uttered these words I do not think that the full horror
of what had happened had come home to us, preoccupied as we were with
the sight of poor Foulata's end. But now we understood. The ponderous
mass of rock had closed, probably for ever, for the only brain which
knew its secret was crushed to powder beneath its weight. This was a
door that none could hope to force with anything short of dynamite in
large quantities. And we were on the wrong side!

For a few minutes we stood horrified, there over the corpse of Foulata.
All the manhood seemed to have gone out of us. The first shock of this
idea of the slow and miserable end that awaited us was overpowering. We
saw it all now; that fiend Gagool had planned this snare for us from
the first.

It would have been just the jest that her evil mind would have rejoiced
in, the idea of the three white men, whom, for some reason of her own,
she had always hated, slowly perishing of thirst and hunger in the
company of the treasure they had coveted. Now I saw the point of that
sneer of hers about eating and drinking the diamonds. Probably somebody
had tried to serve the poor old Dom in the same way, when he abandoned
the skin full of jewels.

"This will never do," said Sir Henry hoarsely; "the lamp will soon go
out. Let us see if we can't find the spring that works the rock."

We sprang forward with desperate energy, and, standing in a bloody
ooze, began to feel up and down the door and the sides of the passage.
But no knob or spring could we discover.

"Depend on it," I said, "it does not work from the inside; if it did
Gagool would not have risked trying to crawl underneath the stone. It
was the knowledge of this that made her try to escape at all hazards,
curse her."

"At all events," said Sir Henry, with a hard little laugh, "retribution
was swift; hers was almost as awful an end as ours is likely to be. We
can do nothing with the door; let us go back to the treasure room."

We turned and went, and as we passed it I perceived by the unfinished
wall across the passage the basket of food which poor Foulata had
carried. I took it up, and brought it with me to the accursed treasure
chamber that was to be our grave. Then we returned and reverently bore
in Foulata's corpse, laying it on the floor by the boxes of coin.

Next we seated ourselves, leaning our backs against the three stone
chests which contained the priceless treasure.

"Let us divide the food," said Sir Henry, "so as to make it last as
long as possible." Accordingly we did so. It would, we reckoned, make
four infinitesimally small meals for each of us, enough, say, to
support life for a couple of days. Besides the "biltong," or dried
game-flesh, there were two gourds of water, each of which held not more
than a quart.

"Now," said Sir Henry grimly, "let us eat and drink, for to-morrow we
die."

We each ate a small portion of the "biltong," and drank a sip of water.
Needless to say, we had but little appetite, though we were sadly in
need of food, and felt better after swallowing it. Then we got up and
made a systematic examination of the walls of our prison-house, in the
faint hope of finding some means of exit, sounding them and the floor
carefully.

There was none. It was not probable that there would be any to a
treasure chamber.

The lamp began to burn dim. The fat was nearly exhausted.

"Quatermain," said Sir Henry, "what is the time--your watch goes?"

I drew it out, and looked at it. It was six o'clock; we had entered the
cave at eleven.

"Infadoos will miss us," I suggested. "If we do not return to-night he
will search for us in the morning, Curtis."

"He may search in vain. He does not know the secret of the door, nor
even where it is. No living person knew it yesterday, except Gagool.
To-day no one knows it. Even if he found the door he could not break it
down. All the Kukuana army could not break through five feet of living
rock. My friends, I see nothing for it but to bow ourselves to the will
of the Almighty. The search for treasure has brought many to a bad end;
we shall go to swell their number."

The lamp grew dimmer yet.

Presently it flared up and showed the whole scene in strong relief, the
great mass of white tusks, the boxes of gold, the corpse of the poor
Foulata stretched before them, the goat-skin full of treasure, the dim
glimmer of the diamonds, and the wild, wan faces of us three white men
seated there awaiting death by starvation.

Then the flame sank and expired.

I can give no adequate description of the horrors of the night which
followed. Mercifully they were to some extent mitigated by sleep, for
even in such a position as ours wearied nature will sometimes assert
itself. But I, at any rate, found it impossible to sleep much. Putting
aside the terrifying thought of our impending doom--for the bravest man
on earth might well quail from such a fate as awaited us, and I never
made any pretensions to be brave--the _silence_ itself was too great to
allow of it. Reader, you may have lain awake at night and thought the
quiet oppressive, but I say with confidence that you can have no idea
what a vivid, tangible thing is perfect stillness. On the surface of
the earth there is always some sound or motion, and though it may in
itself be imperceptible, yet it deadens the sharp edge of absolute
silence. But here there was none. We were buried in the bowels of a
huge snow-clad peak. Thousands of feet above us the fresh air rushed
over the white snow, but no sound of it reached us. We were separated
by a long tunnel and five feet of rock even from the awful chamber of
the Dead; and the dead make no noise. Did we not know it who lay by
poor Foulata's side? The crashing of all the artillery of earth and
heaven could not have come to our ears in our living tomb. We were cut
off from every echo of the world--we were as men already in the grave.

Then the irony of the situation forced itself upon me. There around us
lay treasures enough to pay off a moderate national debt, or to build a
fleet of ironclads, and yet we would have bartered them all gladly for
the faintest chance of escape. Soon, doubtless, we should be rejoiced
to exchange them for a bit of food or a cup of water, and, after that,
even for the privilege of a speedy close to our sufferings. Truly
wealth, which men spend their lives in acquiring, is a valueless thing
at the last.

And so the night wore on.

"Good," said Sir Henry's voice at last, and it sounded awful in the
intense stillness, "how many matches have you in the box?"

"Eight, Curtis."

"Strike one and let us see the time."

He did so, and in contrast to the dense darkness the flame nearly
blinded us. It was five o'clock by my watch. The beautiful dawn was now
blushing on the snow-wreaths far over our heads, and the breeze would
be stirring the night mists in the hollows.

"We had better eat something and keep up our strength," I suggested.

"What is the good of eating?" answered Good; "the sooner we die and get
it over the better."

"While there is life there is hope," said Sir Henry.

Accordingly we ate and sipped some water, and another period of time
elapsed. Then Sir Henry suggested that it might be well to get as near
the door as possible and halloa, on the faint chance of somebody
catching a sound outside. Accordingly Good, who, from long practice at
sea, has a fine piercing note, groped his way down the passage and set
to work. I must say that he made a most diabolical noise. I never heard
such yells; but it might have been a mosquito buzzing for all the
effect they produced.

After a while he gave it up and came back very thirsty, and had to
drink. Then we stopped yelling, as it encroached on the supply of water.

So we sat down once more against the chests of useless diamonds in that
dreadful inaction which was one of the hardest circumstances of our
fate; and I am bound to say that, for my part, I gave way in despair.
Laying my head against Sir Henry's broad shoulder I burst into tears;
and I think that I heard Good gulping away on the other side, and
swearing hoarsely at himself for doing so.

Ah, how good and brave that great man was! Had we been two frightened
children, and he our nurse, he could not have treated us more tenderly.
Forgetting his own share of miseries, he did all he could to soothe our
broken nerves, telling stories of men who had been in somewhat similar
circumstances, and miraculously escaped; and when these failed to cheer
us, pointing out how, after all, it was only anticipating an end which
must come to us all, that it would soon be over, and that death from
exhaustion was a merciful one (which is not true). Then, in a diffident
sort of way, as once before I had heard him do, he suggested that we
should throw ourselves on the mercy of a higher Power, which for my
part I did with great vigour.

His is a beautiful character, very quiet, but very strong.

And so somehow the day went as the night had gone, if, indeed, one can
use these terms where all was densest night, and when I lit a match to
see the time it was seven o'clock.

Once more we ate and drank, and as we did so an idea occurred to me.

"How is it," said I, "that the air in this place keeps fresh? It is
thick and heavy, but it is perfectly fresh."

"Great heavens!" said Good, starting up, "I never thought of that. It
can't come through the stone door, for it's air-tight, if ever a door
was. It must come from somewhere. If there were no current of air in
the place we should have been stifled or poisoned when we first came
in. Let us have a look."

It was wonderful what a change this mere spark of hope wrought in us.
In a moment we were all three groping about on our hands and knees,
feeling for the slightest indication of a draught. Presently my ardour
received a check. I put my hand on something cold. It was dead
Foulata's face.

For an hour or more we went on feeling about, till at last Sir Henry
and I gave it up in despair, having been considerably hurt by
constantly knocking our heads against tusks, chests, and the sides of
the chamber. But Good still persevered, saying, with an approach to
cheerfulness, that it was better than doing nothing.

"I say, you fellows," he said presently, in a constrained sort of
voice, "come here."

Needless to say we scrambled towards him quickly enough.

"Quatermain, put your hand here where mine is. Now, do you feel
anything?"

"I _think_ I feel air coming up."

"Now listen." He rose and stamped upon the place, and a flame of hope
shot up in our hearts. _It rang hollow._

With trembling hands I lit a match. I had only three left, and we saw
that we were in the angle of the far corner of the chamber, a fact that
accounted for our not having noticed the hollow sound of the place
during our former exhaustive examination. As the match burnt we
scrutinised the spot. There was a join in the solid rock floor, and,
great heavens! there, let in level with the rock, was a stone ring. We
said no word, we were too excited, and our hearts beat too wildly with
hope to allow us to speak. Good had a knife, at the back of which was
one of those hooks that are made to extract stones from horses' hoofs.
He opened it, and scratched round the ring with it. Finally he worked
it under, and levered away gently for fear of breaking the hook. The
ring began to move. Being of stone it had not rusted fast in all the
centuries it had lain there, as would have been the case had it been of
iron. Presently it was upright. Then he thrust his hands into it and
tugged with all his force, but nothing budged.

"Let me try," I said impatiently, for the situation of the stone, right
in the angle of the corner, was such that it was impossible for two to
pull at once. I took hold and strained away, but no results.

Then Sir Henry tried and failed.

Taking the hook again, Good scratched all round the crack where we felt
the air coming up.

"Now, Curtis," he said, "tackle on, and put your back into it; you are
as strong as two. Stop," and he took off a stout black silk
handkerchief, which, true to his habits of neatness, he still wore, and
ran it through the ring. "Quatermain, get Curtis round the middle and
pull for dear life when I give the word. _Now._"

Sir Henry put out all his enormous strength, and Good and I did the
same, with such power as nature had given us.

"Heave! heave! it's giving," gasped Sir Henry; and I heard the muscles
of his great back cracking. Suddenly there was a grating sound, then a
rush of air, and we were all on our backs on the floor with a heavy
flag-stone upon the top of us. Sir Henry's strength had done it, and
never did muscular power stand a man in better stead.

"Light a match, Quatermain," he said, so soon as we had picked
ourselves up and got our breath; "carefully, now."

I did so, and there before us, Heaven be praised! was the _first step
of a stone stair._

"Now what is to be done?" asked Good.

"Follow the stair, of course, and trust to Providence."

"Stop!" said Sir Henry; "Quatermain, get the bit of biltong and the
water that are left; we may want them."

I went, creeping back to our place by the chests for that purpose, and
as I was coming away an idea struck me. We had not thought much of the
diamonds for the last twenty-four hours or so; indeed, the very idea of
diamonds was nauseous, seeing what they had entailed upon us; but,
reflected I, I may as well pocket some in case we ever should get out
of this ghastly hole. So I just put my fist into the first chest and
filled all the available pockets of my old shooting-coat and trousers,
topping up--this was a happy thought--with a few handfuls of big ones
from the third chest. Also, by an afterthought, I stuffed Foulata's
basket, which, except for one water-gourd and a little biltong, was
empty now, with great quantities of the stones.

"I say, you fellows," I sang out, "won't you take some diamonds with
you? I've filled my pockets and the basket."

"Oh, come on, Quatermain! and hang the diamonds!" said Sir Henry. "I
hope that I may never see another."

As for Good, he made no answer. He was, I think, taking his last
farewell of all that was left of the poor girl who had loved him so
well. And curious as it may seem to you, my reader, sitting at home at
ease and reflecting on the vast, indeed the immeasurable, wealth which
we were thus abandoning, I can assure you that if you had passed some
twenty-eight hours with next to nothing to eat and drink in that place,
you would not have cared to cumber yourself with diamonds whilst
plunging down into the unknown bowels of the earth, in the wild hope of
escape from an agonising death. If from the habits of a lifetime, it
had not become a sort of second nature with me never to leave anything
worth having behind if there was the slightest chance of my being able
to carry it away, I am sure that I should not have bothered to fill my
pockets and that basket.

"Come on, Quatermain," repeated Sir Henry, who was already standing on
the first step of the stone stair. "Steady, I will go first."

"Mind where you put your feet, there may be some awful hole
underneath," I answered.

"Much more likely to be another room," said Sir Henry, while he
descended slowly, counting the steps as he went.

When he got to "fifteen" he stopped. "Here's the bottom," he said.
"Thank goodness! I think it's a passage. Follow me down."

Good went next, and I came last, carrying the basket, and on reaching
the bottom lit one of the two remaining matches. By its light we could
just see that we were standing in a narrow tunnel, which ran right and
left at right angles to the staircase we had descended. Before we could
make out any more, the match burnt my fingers and went out. Then arose
the delicate question of which way to go. Of course, it was impossible
to know what the tunnel was, or where it led to, and yet to turn one
way might lead us to safety, and the other to destruction. We were
utterly perplexed, till suddenly it struck Good that when I had lit the
match the draught of the passage blew the flame to the left.

"Let us go against the draught," he said; "air draws inwards, not
outwards."

We took this suggestion, and feeling along the wall with our hands,
whilst trying the ground before us at every step, we departed from that
accursed treasure chamber on our terrible quest for life. If ever it
should be entered again by living man, which I do not think probable,
he will find tokens of our visit in the open chests of jewels, the
empty lamp, and the white bones of poor Foulata.

When we had groped our way for about a quarter of an hour along the
passage, suddenly it took a sharp turn, or else was bisected by
another, which we followed, only in course of time to be led into a
third. And so it went on for some hours. We seemed to be in a stone
labyrinth that led nowhere. What all these passages are, of course I
cannot say, but we thought that they must be the ancient workings of a
mine, of which the various shafts and adits travelled hither and
thither as the ore led them. This is the only way in which we could
account for such a multitude of galleries.

At length we halted, thoroughly worn out with fatigue and with that
hope deferred which maketh the heart sick, and ate up our poor
remaining piece of biltong and drank our last sup of water, for our
throats were like lime-kilns. It seemed to us that we had escaped Death
in the darkness of the treasure chamber only to meet him in the
darkness of the tunnels.

As we stood, once more utterly depressed, I thought that I caught a
sound, to which I called the attention of the others. It was very faint
and very far off, but it _was_ a sound, a faint, murmuring sound, for
the others heard it too, and no words can describe the blessedness of
it after all those hours of utter, awful stillness.

"By heaven! it's running water," said Good. "Come on."

Off we started again in the direction from which the faint murmur
seemed to come, groping our way as before along the rocky walls. I
remember that I laid down the basket full of diamonds, wishing to be
rid of its weight, but on second thoughts took it up again. One might
as well die rich as poor, I reflected. As we went the sound became more
and more audible, till at last it seemed quite loud in the quiet. On,
yet on; now we could distinctly make out the unmistakable swirl of
rushing water. And yet how could there be running water in the bowels
of the earth? Now we were quite near it, and Good, who was leading,
swore that he could smell it.

"Go gently, Good," said Sir Henry, "we must be close." _Splash!_ and a
cry from Good.

He had fallen in.

"Good! Good! where are you?" we shouted, in terrified distress. To our
intense relief an answer came back in a choky voice.

"All right; I've got hold of a rock. Strike a light to show me where
you are."

Hastily I lit the last remaining match. Its faint gleam discovered to
us a dark mass of water running at our feet. How wide it was we could
not see, but there, some way out, was the dark form of our companion
hanging on to a projecting rock.

"Stand clear to catch me," sung out Good. "I must swim for it."

Then we heard a splash, and a great struggle. Another minute and he had
grabbed at and caught Sir Henry's outstretched hand, and we had pulled
him up high and dry into the tunnel.

"My word!" he said, between his gasps, "that was touch and go. If I
hadn't managed to catch that rock, and known how to swim, I should have
been done. It runs like a mill-race, and I could feel no bottom."

We dared not follow the banks of the subterranean river for fear lest
we should fall into it again in the darkness. So after Good had rested
a while, and we had drunk our fill of the water, which was sweet and
fresh, and washed our faces, that needed it sadly, as well as we could,
we started from the banks of this African Styx, and began to retrace
our steps along the tunnel, Good dripping unpleasantly in front of us.
At length we came to another gallery leading to our right.

"We may as well take it," said Sir Henry wearily; "all roads are alike
here; we can only go on till we drop."

Slowly, for a long, long while, we stumbled, utterly exhausted, along
this new tunnel, Sir Henry now leading the way. Again I thought of
abandoning that basket, but did not.

Suddenly he stopped, and we bumped up against him.

"Look!" he whispered, "is my brain going, or is that light?"

We stared with all our eyes, and there, yes, there, far ahead of us,
was a faint, glimmering spot, no larger than a cottage window pane. It
was so faint that I doubt if any eyes, except those which, like ours,
had for days seen nothing but blackness, could have perceived it at all.

With a gasp of hope we pushed on. In five minutes there was no longer
any doubt; it _was_ a patch of faint light. A minute more and a breath
of real live air was fanning us. On we struggled. All at once the
tunnel narrowed. Sir Henry went on his knees. Smaller yet it grew, till
it was only the size of a large fox's earth--it was _earth_ now, mind
you; the rock had ceased.

A squeeze, a struggle, and Sir Henry was out, and so was Good, and so
was I, dragging Foulata's basket after me; and there above us were the
blessed stars, and in our nostrils was the sweet air. Then suddenly
something gave, and we were all rolling over and over and over through
grass and bushes and soft, wet soil.

The basket caught in something and I stopped. Sitting up I halloed
lustily. An answering shout came from below, where Sir Henry's wild
career had been checked by some level ground. I scrambled to him, and
found him unhurt, though breathless. Then we looked for Good. A little
way off we discovered him also, hammed in a forked root. He was a good
deal knocked about, but soon came to himself.

We sat down together, there on the grass, and the revulsion of feeling
was so great that really I think we cried with joy. We had escaped from
that awful dungeon, which was so near to becoming our grave. Surely
some merciful Power guided our footsteps to the jackal hole, for that
is what it must have been, at the termination of the tunnel. And see,
yonder on the mountains the dawn we had never thought to look upon
again was blushing rosy red.

Presently the grey light stole down the slopes, and we saw that we were
at the bottom, or rather, nearly at the bottom, of the vast pit in
front of the entrance to the cave. Now we could make out the dim forms
of the three Colossi who sat upon its verge. Doubtless those awful
passages, along which we had wandered the livelong night, had been
originally in some way connected with the great diamond mine. As for
the subterranean river in the bowels of the mountain, Heaven only knows
what it is, or whence it flows, or whither it goes. I, for one, have no
anxiety to trace its course.

Lighter it grew, and lighter yet. We could see each other now, and such
a spectacle as we presented I have never set eyes on before or since.
Gaunt-cheeked, hollow-eyed wretches, smeared all over with dust and
mud, bruised, bleeding, the long fear of imminent death yet written on
our countenances, we were, indeed, a sight to frighten the daylight.
And yet it is a solemn fact that Good's eye-glass was still fixed in
Good's eye. I doubt whether he had ever taken it out at all. Neither
the darkness, nor the plunge in the subterranean river, nor the roll
down the slope, had been able to separate Good and his eye-glass.

Presently we rose, fearing that our limbs would stiffen if we stopped
there longer, and commenced with slow and painful steps to struggle up
the sloping sides of the great pit. For an hour or more we toiled
steadfastly up the blue clay, dragging ourselves on by the help of the
roots and grasses with which it was clothed. But now I had no more
thought of leaving the basket; indeed, nothing but death should have
parted us.

At last it was done, and we stood by the great road, on that side of
the pit which is opposite to the Colossi.

At the side of the road, a hundred yards off, a fire was burning in
front of some huts, and round the fire were figures. We staggered
towards them, supporting one another, and halting every few paces.
Presently one of the figures rose, saw us and fell on to the ground,
crying out for fear.

"Infadoos, Infadoos! it is we, thy friends."

He rose; he ran to us, staring wildly, and still shaking with fear.

"Oh, my lords, my lords, it is indeed you come back from the
dead!--come back from the dead!"

And the old warrior flung himself down before us, and clasping Sir
Henry's knees, he wept aloud for joy.

While the explorers recover from their fright at the sights before them, Gagool busies herself by climbing atop the large table and addressing the dead Twala. Then she makes her way around the room to address the other fallen kings, but her words are unintelligible to the others. Gagool then squats beneath the figure of the White Death, presumably praying to it. Quatermain reminds Gagool to lead them to the treasure chamber. Gagool taunts them by asking whether or not they are afraid. She leads them to an apparently blank wall, and she secretly trips a switch that causes the rock face of the wall to ascent into the ceiling above. Before letting them enter, Gagool tells the men of another traveler whom "Gagaoola the old" led into this chamber long ago. Quatermain identifies the treasure-seeker as da Silvestra, surprising Gagool. She continues the tale, in which the man and his female companion entered the treasure chamber with a goat skin bag Gagool told them about, confirming the witch's story. The sight of the skin full of diamonds awes the men for a moment. Sir Henry takes the lamp from Gagool, and the men enter the chamber. Within the chamber they find a ceiling-high stack of elephant tusks, extending back beyond sight into the chamber. On the opposite side of the chamber they see about twenty wooden boxes, each one full of gold coins with Hebrew letters stamped on them. At first they find no other diamonds than the ones in the goat skin, but Gagool directs them to a nook in which rest three stone chests, two sealed and one open. Investigating, the men find the open chest mostly full of uncut diamonds. Opening the second and third chests, the men find the second full to the top with diamonds and the third only partially full, but of the largest diamonds of the lot. Awed by their newfound wealth, the men do not notice Gagool's hasty departure. Only Foulata's cry of warning alerts them that she is escaping and has set the stone doorway to closing. Foulata attempts to stop Gagool's exit, but Gagool stabs her. Nonetheless, Foulata's efforts delay Gagool long enough that the witch does not make it through the door before the tons of stone drop upon her, killing her instantly. The fatally injured Foulata asks Quatermain to translate her dying words to Good. Quatermain does so, and Foulata declares her love and her understanding that Good's own adoration of her was not destined to last long; nevertheless, she is grateful for her time with him. Foulata dies and Good is upset, but he does not see the impending doom until Quatermain points out that Good's own death will likely follow Foulata's soon, for they are buried alive. The men take stock of their grim situation. They console themselves that Gagool has met with justice, but are nonetheless disheartened at their own apparent doom. They know Infadoos will search for them eventually, but know that he is not going to find the secret to opening a hidden door that he is not even aware exists. The men somberly divide their food and prepare for their deaths. Their lamp-flame suddenly grows brighter, illuminating Foulata's dead body, and goes out completely. Quatermain, Sir Henry, and Good settle into a state of despair over their situation. The utter darkness and complete silence unnerve them. They clutch at straws for hope in their dire circumstances, even going so far as sending Good to cry out at the stone doorway in the hope that Infadoos will hear them. There is no response, of course, so they divide up their food and eat a slight amount to sustain their seeming last hours. Overcome by desolation, Quatermain and Good rest their heads on Sir Henry's shoulders and weep. Sir Henry, mindless of his own despair, comforts them by telling them stories of men who had escaped from near-death circumstances and, when those fail to relieve their misery, reminds them that everyone dies some time and it is only the anticipation of that moment that is dreadful. Hours later, Quatermain observes that the air in this sealed chamber remains fresh; therefore there must be some way for air to enter. Seizing on this hope, the men scramble through the dark chamber in search of the airway. Sir Henry and Quatermain give up after several minor injuries, but Good locates the air flow. Lighting a match, the men find a stone ring inset into the floor. Sir Henry, with help from Quatermain and Good, pulls the stone ring up, revealing a stone trap door with stairs beneath. The men gather their remaining food and water and venture into the unknown depths. On their way out of the chamber, Quatermain grabs two handfuls of diamonds and places them in his coat pockets; Good and Sir Henry are too focused on survival to care about such things. At the bottom of the stairs the men find a tunnel extending both right and left. They decide to go against the flow of air, reasoning that air flows from the outside in and not the other way around. For a long time they follow the winding tunnel, fearful that it will only lead them back where they started. Then they hear the sound of running water and become excited at the prospect of escape. In the darkness, Good takes a misstep and falls into the underground river. Sir Henry pulls Good out, but Good's experience has convinced him that the river is too dangerous to be used as a means of escape. They retrace their steps and find a tunnel stretching out to the right. Resigned at the hopelessness of making a reasonable choice of direction, the men follow the tunnel. Soon they spy a glimmer of light ahead and make haste toward it. The hewn tunnel gives way to earth, and the find the light comes through a small hole, probably dug by some animal. They widen the hole and in a matter of minutes escape the dark tunnels into the bright world outside. When the Kukuanas see them rise from the earth, they are awed and frightened at these seemingly supernatural beings. Only after the men address Infadoos and explain who they are do the Kukuanas relax and help the men be restored from their perilous adventure.

The tone of Chapter 17 foreshadows the formula for Saturday matinee serials, which usually ended on a cliffhanger between episodes.  The treacherous villain, the discovery of treasure, the botched escape by the killer, the sacrifice of the innocent woman, and the impending doom on the protagonists are all used by later authors and film-makers as integral parts of adventure thrillers.  Haggard was not the first or only writer to use these motifs, but he did become the most popular--and therefore the most influential--writer of adventure tales in his time. Gagool experiences a moment of surprise when Quatermain correctly identifies Silvestra.  His knowledge, she must admit, can sometimes be a match for her own.  However, she still maintains the superior position in her knowledge of the secret entrance to the treasure chamber.  Information is the key to Gagool's power, but she has been displaced from influencing the king of all Kukuanaland to attempting to save her own life.  Her treachery casts her in the most evil light of all the characters--even Twala would not kill these men through deceit--but also results in her own destruction.  The innocent and beautiful Foulata is the agent of Gagool's death.  Her inability to keep up with the men proves fortunate, as she alone sees Gagool's hasty departure.  Her struggle with the crone keep Gagool from making her way through the door in time--the wise woman is crushed by her own deadly device. Just as honor and right conquered Twala in the previous battle, so does beauty and innocence crush the wicked Gagool. That the men did not noticed Gagool's escape at first is a testimony to her craftiness, but also an indication of the men's love of wealth.  They are distracted by the diamonds of King Solomon's mines--to busy picturing what they might do with such wealth to keep their eyes on the situation before them.  The next chapter will further develop the problem of material possessions for the men. Quatermain reiterates his own self-evaluation given their seemingly hopeless situation:  "The bravest man on earth might well quail from such a fate as awaited us--and I never had any great pretensions to be brave" .  All three men are given to despair at their imminent death by starvation of asphyxiation, but Sir Henry is able to rally himself and comfort the other two.  In an unusual and touching scene, Sir Henry attempts to assuage the two weeping men's fears:  "Had we been two frightened children, and he our nurse, he could not have treated us more tenderly.  Forgetting his own share of miseries, he did all he could to soothe our broken nerves." .  Sir Henry's paternal treatment of the other two men leads Quatermain to declare, "His is a beautiful character, very quiet, but very strong" .  Since Sir Henry Curtis has been established as the ideal of manhood in the novel, this moment of nurturing shows another facet to the "true man" Haggard wishes to present.  Sir Henry is willing and able to fight when necessary--even to kill for a righteous cause--but he is equally able to put aside his own despair to tenderly care for others in pain.  In this moment Sir Henry changes from the two-dimensional warrior-hero into a more fully rounded character. Although the men panic and give in to depression at their plight, in the end, their own minds offer them the key to escape.  Through an application of basic science--identifying that there must be a source of air and then searching for it--the men find the passage out of the treasure chamber and to possible freedom.  Again, European scientific thinking has triumphed where sinister and secretive knowledge sought to prevail. The previous chapter and this one together form the "belly of the whale" or "journey to the underworld" phase of the heroic quest for Quatermain and his companions.  The men literally descend into the darkness under the earth, and then emerge through an animal's burrow.  The imagery is clearly one of rebirth, as the men leave the womb of earth and are born anew into the world of fresh air and starlight.  They have died--figuratively--and now have a second chance at a new life.  Quatermain, however, holds on to his old life in at least one aspect:  before leaving the treasure chamber, he grabs a handful of diamonds and secreted them in his coat pocket.


Ten days from that eventful morning found us once more in our old
quarters at Loo; and, strange to say, but little the worse for our
terrible experience, except that my stubbly hair came out of the
treasure cave about three shades greyer than it went in, and that Good
never was quite the same after Foulata's death, which seemed to move
him very greatly. I am bound to say, looking at the thing from the
point of view of an oldish man of the world, that I consider her
removal was a fortunate occurrence, since, otherwise, complications
would have been sure to ensue. The poor creature was no ordinary native
girl, but a person of great, I had almost said stately, beauty, and of
considerable refinement of mind. But no amount of beauty or refinement
could have made an entanglement between Good and herself a desirable
occurrence; for, as she herself put it, "Can the sun mate with the
darkness, or the white with the black?"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"Thou art aged," said Ignosi.

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

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

"Ay, my lord the king!"

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

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

"She is no more; she is dead."

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

"Go!"

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

"It was even so, Macumazahn."

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

We went in silence.

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

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

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

"Speak on," he answered.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

With a spring Sir Henry was by his side.

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

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

      *      *      *      *      *

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

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

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

  October 1, 1884.
  Brayley Hall, Yorkshire.

  My Dear Quatermain,

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

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

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

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

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

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

  Your sincere friend,
  Henry Curtis.

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

  H.C.

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

ALLAN QUATERMAIN.

[1] Vulture.

Ten days after escaping the dark chambers of Solomon's treasure store, Quatermain, Sir Henry, and Good find themselves back in Loo. After having rested for two days, the men had tried to find the secret entrance to the treasure chamber, but to no avail. Giving up, they returned to Loo and prepared for their longer journey back to their own country. Ignosi finds their intent to leave disturbing, going so far as to question Quatermain's priorities in loving the precious diamonds more than their friendship. Quatermain replies that, just as Ignosi longed for his homeland when he joined the men in their quest, so do the white men long for their own homes. Somewhat mollified, Ignosi declares that Quatermain, Sir Henry, and Good are the only white men who will ever enter Kukuanaland; he warns the men that any other whites who approach will not be welcomed, and if they do not leave of their own accord they will be driven off or killed. He then declares the names of the three men--their "African" names, will be remembered as the names of gods among the Kukuanas, passed on for generations but never uttered aloud. Just before they leave, Good is approached by a young Kukuana woman bearing flowers. She eagerly desires to see Good's "beautiful white legs" before he leaves. At first Good balks at the prospect of showing his legs, but the cajoling of Sir Henry and Quatermain lead him to roll his pants-leg up to the knee. The woman and several other onlookers stare in awe at Good's white leg before Good makes his departure. The men learn of an alternate--and less perilous--route away from Kukuanaland, along which there is said to be an oasis. The men readily choose this path over the dangers of thirst and wild animals. Infadoos and a group of Kukuanas escort the men as far as the borders of Kukuanaland, then bid them farewell. Before leaving, Good makes Infadoos a gift of his spare monocle, giving the old Kukuana a token of his esteem and a physical badge of honor among the Kukuanas. Three days later the men reach the oasis and make camp by its refreshing waters. As Quatermain surveys the oasis, he comes across a hut . A white man clothed in animal skins, comes out of the hut and looks upon him. Quatermain asks his companions to verify that he is not hallucinating, when Sir Henry recognizes the white man as his brother George. When the men cry out in delight, another figure--this time a black man--exits the hut and addresses Quatermain. This is Jim, whom Quatermain had sent to deliver a note to George over two years ago. As it turns out, George had attempted to reach King Solomon's mines by this route rather than the more dangerous desert way. While camping at the oasis and preparing to head into Kukuanaland, a boulder fell and crushed his leg. Unable to climb the mountains or return the way he came, George settled in to survive at the oasis as long as he could. With Jim's help he built the hut and hunted game, which provided both food and clothing for the men. For two years they have lived this way, never anticipating seeing another human face, let alone these familiar faces. Sir Henry relates his own adventures to his brother, and he concludes with Quatermain showing George the diamonds retrieved from Solomon's treasure chamber. George declares that at least the men have gotten some benefit from their expedition, but Sir Henry insists that the diamonds belong to Quatermain and Good--he only sought to find his brother. Quatermain and Good secretly decide between them to give Sir Henry a third of the diamonds or, if he will not take them, to give them to George, whom they believe has suffered even more than they in his pursuit of King Solomon's Mines. Sir Henry reluctantly agrees. The men make their return journey, taking turns bearing the limping George back to Durban. There Quatermain takes his leave of the other men as they return to England. As Quatermain is writing the final lines of his narrative, a letter arrives from Sir Henry. Sir Henry urges Quatermain to come to England and take up residence near him; a house has recently gone up for sale and the proceeds from selling off a few of the diamonds will pay for the residence. To further entice Quatermain, Sir Henry has had Quatermain's son Harry visit and quite enjoys the young man's company. Quatermain is touched by Sir Henry's desire to have his friend nearby, and ends the narrative declaring his intention to return to England.

Good's gift to Infadoos is reminiscent of the cargo cult, in which artifacts from a strange culture are made objects of admiration or even worship by another culture.  Good's "glass eye" had fascinated the Kukuanas from the first moment they saw him.  By giving Infadoos a spare monocle, Good imparts to Infadoos a level of respect among the Kukuanas.  Although often an object of humor, it is Good who seems to be most connected to the Kukuanas. The three white men are deified among the Kukuanas.  Their practice of remembering the men's names by never uttering them aloud is strange to the men, but reflects the sanctity with which they regard these men.  However, even as he honors them, Ignosi tells the white men that no other whites will be allowed in Kukuanaland.  Ignosi has seen their influence, and does not wish it to continue among his people.  This final closing of the borders by Ignosi is interesting in that the new king sees the dangers of allowing white/European culture to infiltrate his land.  Just as he owes his throne to the three white men to some extent, so does he recognize that an imperialistic nation could use force, guile, or technology to place their own favored man on the throne at any time.  Ignosi chooses instead to keep the Kukuanas insular and avoid the negative influence of Europe. At the same time, Ignosi holds these three specific white men in high regard.  When they tell him of their desire to depart, Ignosi says, "It is the bright stones that ye love more than me, your friend" .  In response to this charge of materialism, Quatermain replies that just as Ignosi longed for his homeland, so too do these men long to return to their own nation.  This assuages Ignosi, but it leaves the reader with a sense that the diamonds have become disproportionately valuable to the men--even Sir Henry Curtis has not mentioned his brother lately--and thus the pretext for their adventure has become an empty goal. Haggard leaves no loose ends in his novel.  The purpose of Sir Henry's quest--to find his brother or news of him--is finally achieved, although somewhat by accident.  Sir Henry had become convinced that Neville died en route to Solomon's Mines.  What he did not foresee was that Neville would become incapacitated on the way and never complete the journey, yet still live.  Also, George Neville took a different route than that indicated by da Silvestra's map, and so the evidence of his journey could not be found along the path of Sir Henry's expedition. Although the finding of Sir Henry's brother feels a bit like convenient coincidence, the details of his story mesh well with the events of Quatermain's narrative.  The lack of evidence  and information regarding Neville left Sir Henry in despair, but the lack was not due to his death in the wilderness, but due to his taking a different route and meeting an unexpected obstacle. Although George Neville denies it, the blame for his injury is in some part the fault of Jim, the African hunter of Quatermain's acquaintance.  Although probably intended as a plot device, it is interesting to note that George's injury and Sir Henry's subsequent anxiety and trials are partially the fault of an African native.  Haggard could not have George simply meet with an accident--thus making the man incompetent and no fit brother for the mighty Sir Henry Curtis.  He had to place the burden of the mistake upon another character--a minor African character--in order to meet the expectations of his readership. The issue of materialism is again raised.  Quatermain and Good readily agree to share a third of their diamonds with Sir Henry and, when he refuses, with George Neville as recompense for his suffering in quest for them.  Neville accepts where Sir Henry did not.  Again, Sir Henry Curtis is the ideal hero--brave, compassionate--and in this case content with his station in life and his income level.  Quatermain is no hero--he wants the money, but mostly for his son--but he is human, and thus makes a better point of view character for the novel than would Sir Henry. The story finishes with a letter.  Sir Henry has already made the acquaintance of Quatermain's son and likes the young many very much.  He wants Quatermain to join him and Good in England, where a nearby house has recently opened up.  In this way, the three bachelors can live in luxury and peace for their remaining days.  Quatermain, although restless and a born hunter and explorer, considers taking Sir Henry up on the offer.  He wants to see his son grow up and succeed, and it is in England that he can best achieve that goal.  Like Odysseus, Quatermain is now in a position to retire and finish his son's training in manhood, knowing that his legacy is secure.