Allan Quatermain
CHAPTER XXIV
BY ANOTHER HAND
A year has elapsed since our most dear friend Allan
Quatermain wrote the words 'I have spoken' at the end of his record
of our adventures. Nor should I have ventured to make any additions to the
record had it not happened that by a most strange accident a chance has
arisen of its being conveyed to England. The chance is but a faint one, it
is true; but, as it is not probable that another will arise in our
lifetimes, Good and myself think that we may as well avail ourselves of it,
such as it is. During the last six months several Frontier Commissions
have been at work on the various boundaries of Zu-Vendis, with a view of
discovering whether there exists any possible means of ingress or egress
from the country, with the result that a channel of communication with the
outer world hitherto overlooked has been discovered. This channel,
apparently the only one (for I have discovered that it was by it that the
native who ultimately reached Mr Mackenzie's mission station, and whose
arrival in the country, together with the fact of his expulsion -- for he
did arrive about three years before ourselves -- was for reasons of
their own kept a dead secret by the priests to whom he was brought), is
about to be effectually closed. But before this is done, a messenger is to
be despatched bearing with him this manuscript, and also one or two letters
from Good to his friends, and from myself to my brother George, whom it
deeply grieves me to think I shall never see again, informing them, as our
next heirs, that they are welcome to our effects in England, if the Court
of Probate will allow them to take them 22,
inasmuchas we have made up our minds never to return to Europe. Indeed, it
would be impossible for us to leave Zu-Vendis even if we wished to do
so.
The messenger who is to go -- and I wish him joy of his
journey -- is Alphonse. For a long while he has been wearied to death of
Zu-Vendis and its inhabitants. 'Oh, oui, c'est beau,' he says, with an
expressive shrug; 'mais je m'ennuie; ce n'est pas chic.' Again, he
complains dreadfully of the absence of cafes and theatres, and moans
continually for his lost Annette, of whom he says he dreams three times a
week. But I fancy his secret cause of disgust at the country, putting
aside the homesickness to which every Frenchman is subject, is that the
people here laugh at him so dreadfully about his conduct on the occasion of
the great battle of the Pass about eighteen months ago, when he hid beneath
a banner in Sorais's tent in order to avoid being sent forth to fight,
which he says would have gone against his conscience. Even the little boys
call out at him in the streets, thereby offending his pride and making his
life unbearable. At any rate, he has determined to brave the horrors of a
journey of almost unprecedented difficulty and danger, and also to run the
risk of falling into the hands of the French police to answer for a certain
little indiscretion of his own some years old (though I do not consider
that a very serious matter), rather than remain in ce triste pays. Poor
Alphonse! we shall be very sorry to part with him; but I sincerely trust,
for his own sake and also for the sake of this history, which is, I think,
worth giving to the world, that he may arrive in safety. If he does, and
can carry the treasure we have provided him with in the shape of bars of
solid gold, he will be, comparatively speaking, a rich man for life, and
well able to marry his Annette, if she is still in the land of the living
and willing to marry her Alphonse.
Anyhow, on the chance, I may as well add a word or two
to dear old Quatermain's narrative.
He died at dawn on the day following that on which he
wrote the last words of the last chapter. Nyleptha, Good and myself were
present, and a most touching and yet in its way beautiful scene it was. An
hour before the daybreak it became apparent to us that he was sinking, and
our distress was very keen. Indeed, Good melted into tears at the idea --
a fact that called forth a last gentle flicker of humour from our dying
friend, for even at that hour he could be humorous. Good's emotion had, by
loosening the muscles, naturally caused his eyeglass to fall from its
accustomed place, and Quatermain, who always observed everything, observed
this also.
'At last,' he gasped, with an attempt at a smile, 'I
have seen Good without his eyeglass.'
After that he said no more till the day broke, when he
asked to be lifted up to watch the rising of the sun for the last time.
'In a very few minutes,' he said, after gazing earnestly
at it, 'I shall have passed through those golden gates.'
Ten minutes afterwards he raised himself and looked us
fixedly in the face.
'I am going a stranger journey than any we have ever
taken together. Think of me sometimes,' he murmured. 'God bless you all. I
shall wait for you.' And with a sigh he fell back dead.
And so passed away a character that I consider went as
near perfection as any it has ever been my lot to encounter.
Tender, constant, humorous, and possessing of many of
the qualities that go to make a poet, he was yet almost unrivalled as a man
of action and a citizen of the world. I never knew any one so competent to
form an accurate judgment of men and their motives. 'I have studied human
nature all my life,' he would say, 'and I ought to know something about
it,' and he certainly did. He had but two faults -- one was his excessive
modesty, and the other a slight tendency which he had to be jealous of
anybody on whom he concentrated his affections. As regards the first of
these points, anybody who reads what he has written will be able to form
his own opinion; but I will add one last instance of it.
As the reader will doubtless remember, it is a favourite
trick of his to talk of himself as a timid man, whereas really, though very
cautious, he possessed a most intrepid spirit, and, what is more, never
lost his head. Well, in the great battle of the Pass, where he got the
wound that finally killed him, one would imagine from the account which he
gives of the occurrence that it was a chance blow that fell on him in the
scrimmage. As a matter of fact, however, he was wounded in a most gallant
and successful attempt to save Good's life, at the risk and, as it
ultimately turned out, at the cost of his own. Good was down on the
ground, and one of Nasta's highlanders was about to dispatch him, when
Quatermain threw himself on to his prostrate form and received the blow on
his own body, and then, rising, killed the soldier.
As regards his jealousy, a single instance which I give
in justice to myself and Nyleptha will suffice. The reader will, perhaps,
recollect that in one or two places he speaks as though Nyleptha
monopolized me, and he was left by both of us rather out in the cold. Now
Nyleptha is not perfect, any more than any other woman is, and she may be a
little exigeante at times, but as regards Quatermain the whole thing is
pure imagination. Thus when he complains about my not coming to see him
when he is ill, the fact was that, in spite of my entreaties, the doctors
positively forbade it. Those little remarks of his pained me very much
when I read them, for I loved Quatermain as dearly as though he were my own
father, and should never have dreamed of allowing my marriage to interfere
with that affection. But let it pass; it is, after all, but one little
weakness, which makes no great show among so many and such lovable
virtues.
Well, he died, and Good read the Burial Service over him
in the presence of Nyleptha and myself; and then his remains were, in
deference to the popular clamour, accorded a great public funeral, or
rather cremation. I could not help thinking, however, as I marched in that
long and splendid procession up to the Temple, how he would have hated the
whole thing could he have been there to see it, for he had a horror of
ostentation.
And so, a few minutes before sunset, on the third night
after his death, they laid him on the brazen flooring before the altar, and
waited for the last ray of the setting sun to fall upon his face.
Presently it came, and struck him like a golden arrow, crowning the pale
brows with glory, and then the trumpets blew, and the flooring revolved,
and all that remained of our beloved friend fell into the furnace
below.
We shall never see his like again if we live a hundred
years. He was the ablest man, the truest gentleman, the firmest friend, the
finest sportsman, and, I believe, the best shot in all Africa.
And so ended the very remarkable and adventurous life of
Hunter Quatermain.
Since then things have gone very well with us. Good has
been, and still is, busily employed in the construction of a navy on Lake
Milosis and another of the large lakes, by means of which we hope to be
able to increase trade and commerce, and also to overcome some very
troublesome and warlike sections of the population who live upon their
borders. Poor fellow! he is beginning to get over the sad death of that
misguided but most attractive woman, Sorais, but it is a sad blow to him,
for he was really deeply attached to her. I hope, however, that he will in
time make a suitable marriage and get that unhappy business out of his
head. Nyleptha has one or two young ladies in view, especially a daughter
of Nasta's (who was a widower), a very fine imperial-looking girl, but with
too much of her father's intriguing, and yet haughty, spirit to suit my
taste.
As for myself, I should scarcely know where to begin if
I set to work to describe my doings, so I had best leave them undescribed,
and content myself with saying that, on the whole, I am getting on very
well in my curious position of King-Consort -- better, indeed, than I had
any right to expect. But, of course, it is not all plain sailing, and I
find the responsibilities very heavy. Still, I hope to be able to do some
good in my time, and I intend to devote myself to two great ends -- namely,
to the consolidation of the various clans which together make up the
Zu-Vendi people, under one strong central government, and to the sapping of
the power of the priesthood. The first of these reforms will, if it can be
carried out, put an end to the disastrous civil wars that have for
centuries devastated this country; and the second, besides removing a
source of political danger, will pave the road for the introduction of true
religion in the place of this senseless Sun worship. I yet hope to see the
shadow of the Cross of Christ lying on the golden dome of the Flower
Temple; or, if I do not, that my successors may.
There is one more thing that I intend to devote myself
to, and that is the total exclusion of all foreigners from Zu-Vendis. Not,
indeed, that any more are ever likely to get here, but if they do, I warn
them fairly that they will be shown the shortest way out of the country. I
do not say this from any sense of inhospitality, but because I am convinced
of the sacred duty that rests upon me of preserving to this, on the whole,
upright and generous-hearted people the blessings of comparative barbarism.
Where would all my brave army be if some enterprising rascal were to attack
us with field-guns and Martini-Henrys? I cannot see that gunpowder,
telegraphs, steam, daily newspapers, universal suffrage, etc., etc., have
made mankind one whit the happier than they used to be, and I am certain
that they have brought many evils in their train. I have no fancy for
handing over this beautiful country to be torn and fought for by
speculators, tourists, politicians and teachers, whose voice is as the
voice of Babel, just as those horrible creatures in the valley of the
underground river tore and fought for the body of the wild swan; nor will I
endow it with the greed, drunkenness, new diseases, gunpowder, and general
demoralization which chiefly mark the progress of civilization amongst
unsophisticated peoples. If in due course it pleases Providence to throw
Zu-Vendis open to the world, that is another matter; but of myself I will
not take the responsibility, and I may add that Good entirely approves of
my decision. Farewell.
Henry Curtis
December 15, 18--.
PS -- I quite forgot to say that about nine months ago
Nyleptha (who is very well and, in my eyes at any rate, more beautiful than
ever) presented me with a son and heir. He is a regular curly-haired,
blue-eyed young Englishman in looks, and, though he is destined, if he
lives, to inherit the throne of Zu-Vendis, I hope I may be able to bring
him up to become what an English gentleman should be, and generally is --
which is to my mind even a prouder and a finer thing than being born heir
apparent to the great House of the Stairway, and, indeed, the highest rank
that a man can reach upon this earth.
H. C.
NOTE BY GEORGE CURTIS, Esq.
The MS of this history, addressed to me in the
handwriting of my dear brother Henry Curtis, whom we had given up for dead,
and bearing the Aden postmark, reached me in safety on December 20, 18--,
or a little more than two years after it left his hands in the far centre
of Africa, and I hasten to give the astonishing story it contains to the
world. Speaking for myself, I have read it with very mixed feelings; for
though it is a great relief to know that he and Good are alive and
strangely prosperous, I cannot but feel that for me and for all their
friends they might as well be dead, since we can never hope to see them
more.
They have cut themselves off from old England and from
their homes and their relations for ever, and perhaps, under the
circumstances, they were right and wise to do so.
How the MS came to be posted I have been quite unable to
discover; but I presume, from the fact of its being posted at all, that the
little Frenchman, Alphonse, accomplished his hazardous journey in safety.
I have, however, advertised for him and caused various inquiries to be made
in Marseilles and elsewhere with a view of discovering his whereabouts, but
so far without the slightest success. Possibly he is dead, and the packet
was posted by another hand; or possibly he is now happily wedded to his
Annette, but still fears the vengeance of the law, and prefers to remain
incognito. I cannot say, I have not yet abandoned my hopes of finding him,
but I am bound to say that they grow fainter day by day, and one great
obstacle to my search is that nowhere in the whole history does Mr
Quatermain mention his surname. He is always spoken of as 'Alphonse', and
there are so many Alphonses. The letters which my brother Henry says he is
sending with the packet of manuscript have never arrived, so I presume that
they are lost or destroyed.
George Curtis