________________________________________________
_ 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, *{Of course the Court of Probate would
allow nothing of the sort. --EDITOR.} 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 ever 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, thought
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
AUTHORITIES
A novelist is not usually asked, like a historian, for his
'Quellen'. As I have, however, judging from certain experiences
in the past, some reason to anticipate such a demand, I wish to
acknowledge my indebtedness to Mr Thomson's admirable history of
travel 'Through Masai Land' for much information as to the habits
and customs of the tribes inhabiting that portion of the East
Coast, and the country where they live; also to my brother, John
G. Haggard, RN, HBM's consul at Madagascar, and formerly consul
at Lamu, for many details furnished by him of the mode of life
and war of those engaging people the Masai; also to my
sister-in-law, John Haggard, who kindly put the lines of p. 183
into rhyme for me; also to an extract in a review from some book
of travel of which I cannot recollect the name, to which I owe
the idea of the great crabs in the valley of the subterranean
river. *{It is suggested to me that this book is The Cruise of
the "Falcon", with which work I am personally unacquainted.} But
if I remember right, the crabs in the book when irritated
projected their eyes quite out of their heads. I regret that I
was not able to 'plagiarize' this effect, but I felt that,
although crabs may, and doubtless do, behave thus in real life,
in romance they 'will not do so.'
There is an underground river in 'Peter Wilkins', but at the time
of writing the foregoing pages I had not read that quaint but
entertaining work.
It has been pointed out to me that there exists a similarity
between the scene of Umslopogaas frightening Alphonse with his
axe and a scene in Far from the Madding Crowd. I regret this
coincidence, and believe that the talented author of that work
will not be inclined to accuse me of literary immorality on its
account.
Finally, I may say that Mr Quatermain's little Frenchman appears
to belong to the same class of beings as those English ladies
whose long yellow teeth and feet of enormous size excite our
hearty amusement in the pages of the illustrated Gallic press.
THE WRITER OF 'ALLAN QUATERMAIN'
THE END.
Allan Quatermain, by H. Rider Haggard (Sir Henry Rider Haggard). _
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