Chapter Thirty Five.
At Bay!
When Sirayo left, Webster, chafing at the narrow limits of the stifling den, knocked away the loose stone and wriggled through into the inner chamber, where they had passed the previous night in a stupor of sodden sleep. The Gaika presently glided to his side, and Laura soon struggled out to drink in the fresher air. The two men went along the passage, still bearing its ghastly burdens.
She leant against the rough wall, with her white face to the stars, weary in body and mind, worn out by the unequal struggle against the accumulating horrors and dangers, in which there was no wild dash of romance. She was beaten. Her courage had lost its resolution; her pride had been burnt out.
“Where have you gone?” asked Hume, with a touch of reproach in his tones.
She shuddered, but did not move or speak.
“It is very dark,” he muttered, as he groped about with his hands until he came upon the opening, when he thrust his head through, moving it helplessly from side to side.
“Don’t!” she gasped; “you frighten me.”
“I am sorry,” he said.
“For heaven’s sake!” whispered Webster as he hurried up, “keep quiet, man. Someone has entered, and is coming along the passage.”
With a low cry, Laura placed her hands before her face.
“I will protect you!” murmured Webster passionately, and Hume silently withdrew his head, a feeling of fierce despair at his heart.
He stood in the narrow den, hoping in his bitterness that death would free him from his torture, when the old woman suddenly clicked with her tongue angrily, then muttered to the wounded chief. He rose up, and she supported him to the hole, calling on the Gaika to help him through. She followed, and said a few words to Klaas, who, with a stifled exclamation, began tapping the sanded floor with the butt of his assegai.
“What are you doing?” demanded Webster.
“Wait, sieur;” and the tapping of the assegai continued. “This is the place;” and Klaas with his naked foot pushed the sand away, leaving bare a flat stone in the centre of the room. With the point of his assegai he prised up the stone and then started back, for there was a yawning pit disclosed, out of which came a rush of damp and sickly air.
“Where does that lead?” asked Webster.
“I don’t know, sieur. The old woman will say.”
She spoke rapidly, pointing with skinny forefinger at the pit, and turning her gleaming eyes from face to face.
“She says we must go down,” said Klaas; “but I am afraid.”
“Hark!” said Laura; “I hear voices.”
The old woman drew Umkomaas to the hole, then, seizing Laura by the arm, pulled her violently forward.
“What the deuce does the old witch mean?” growled Webster impatiently.
“I think,” said Klaas, “she say this is the last place of hiding; and the Amazulus will find us if we stay here.”
“Go down, then.”
“Neh, sieur. It is too dark.”
“It is no blacker than a ship’s hold. Stand away;” and, dropping his feet through, Webster lowered himself till he touched ground, when immediately Umkomaas almost fell on top of him, and he was obliged to catch the helpless chief and stagger back with him.
Before she could utter a word of protest, Laura was seized by wiry arms and dropped into the pit, and the Gaika, with a grunt of anger at such treatment of his mistress, followed her. Then the old woman quickly slid the stone over the opening, rapidly spread the sand above, and stood listening.
Hume had heard the exclamations, the excited whispers, and a muffled cry from Webster calling his name, and in the silence which suddenly cut short this commotion he read some fresh calamity, and stood for a moment trembling violently. Then he groped once more to the hole, and, thrusting his head through, called softly:
“Laura!”
No answer came to the murmur.
“Webster!” he cried, a little louder. “Jim! are you there?”
“Ssh! be still,” came a suppressed cry in the native tongue.
“I have been still too long—where are you?”
“Listen. The men know that hiding-place. I heard two come and retreat. They will return in greater numbers. Be not afraid for your people; they are safe with Umkomaas, my chief, under the ground here;” and she stamped with her feet.
“They are safe,” he muttered—“safe, you say? Why did they leave me?”
“You must stay there and tell the Amazulus that your people have fled.”
“And then?”
“They will kill you. Your strength has gone; it is well.”
“Good heavens!” he gasped in horror; “did they know that? No, no, no! It is a lie. They would not leave me. Jim!”
“Ssh!” she hissed, then swiftly climbed the wild vine and crouched flat on the wall.
“My God!” he cried, “my God! and is this the end, to be left in a hole, blind, helpless, and alone? And I lost my sight for them! would have lost my life to save them”—he paused—“ay,” he continued softly, “may do so yet.” There was the ring of metal against stones, and he drew in his head instinctively and grasped his rifle. “Good!” he muttered fiercely; “I hope there are many, so that even a blind man may strike home.”
He heard the soft sound of men brushing against the stones, heard their exclamations of fury as they kicked against the bodies of dead Zulus, and knew they had reached the inner chamber.
“Is this the place?” said one harshly, in Portuguese.
“This is the place, Captain,” answered a deep voice that seemed familiar to Hume.
“And where are those robbers hidden?”
“In the wall there. See! there is the gap by which they entered.”
“Hark ye,” said the first man, raising his voice, and speaking in English, “you who are hidden in there. I will lay a train of powder and blow the walls in upon you if you so much as lift a finger upon us. Do you hear?”
“I hear,” said Hume sternly; “and I warn you also that I will shoot you like the dog you are if you attempt to injure one of us.”
There was a laugh, and a third man, whom Hume judged to be Lieutenant Gobo, said: “Would it not be better to blow them in now, Captain?”
“What! and kill the girl you rave about?” said the Captain in Portuguese. “We’ll get her first—moreover, we have no time to waste; the people across the river may yet show fight. Hark to their singing! Blow them up when we have finished this job.”
The deep chant of Chanda’s regiment rolled from beyond.
“Now,” said the man who had been addressed as Captain, “let us begin. Ferrara, which is the entrance to this hidden treasure? It must be in the centre. Where is that witch-doctor—ah, you thief of night, come here! Now, Ferrara, tell him to point out the place.”
As the witch-doctor stepped forward, a loud hiss arrested his steps.
“What in the devil’s name was that?”
“Look!” said Gobo, trembling; “there is something moving on the wall. Is it a snake?”
“Serpent or not, here goes.” A report rang out, followed by a wild cry, the rustling of leaves, and the fall of a heavy body.
“Carrambo! What have we here? A woman—a witch. Gobo, here is your serpent;” and the Captain laughed. “Do you hear that, you inside? If you do not keep quiet you will be served in the same way.”
The old woman, with a last effort, called to Hume: “Keep watch; they look for the secret place of hiding.”
“Be silent!” cried the Captain; “and, Ferrara, show us this place of treasure, if you have not lied.”
“I do not lie,” replied a deep voice, “and you have done wrong to shoot that woman. She has given warning of our search.”
“And what then? Are we afraid of a parcel of sick men? By the saints! I will give them this old witch for company.”
“Stay; here is the place. Yes—see the crack! Your knife, Captain, to force it open.”
Hume heard the scrape of the knife, the thud of the stone as it fell back.
“Carrambo!” exclaimed the Captain. “What a hole of night! Who goes down first? I will lead. A light—give me a light.”
There was a light, a flash of red flame from the hole in the wall, as Hume, who had listened, with nerves all quivering, fired blindly to save his friends.
“Bayate!” gasped the old woman. “It is well done, O Mole.”
There was a sound of rushing feet, followed by a storm of curses from the passage, where the men had rushed for shelter. Hume drew his revolver, and, with his arm out of the hole, fired in the direction of the voices.
“The powder!” roared the Captain, hoarse with fury. “Give me the powder, and I will blow in the wall on their heads.”
“Nay!” said Ferrara; “the falling stones may crush in the secret chamber below. Let two of us fire into the hole while the other descends.”
“No, the powder! That bullet grazed my head. I will lay it against the wall. Good! here is a projecting stone. Get back, all of you, to the inner curve.”
Hume, listening, heard the men retreat.
“Listen in there! In one minute you will be crushed. I have laid the train”—there was a scratch—“I have fired it—good-bye!”
Hume stood a moment; then felt wildly for a hole, struggled through, and as he fell free of the wall he heard the spluttering of the powder. The next instant he was hurled aside, and in his ears there roared the heavy blast of the explosion, coupled with the hollow rumble of falling stones, while the floor beneath him shook and trembled to the shock. He remained for a time on his face motionless, almost stunned by the noise of the explosion and by the force with which he was flung aside. Then, as his senses returned, he heard a murmur of voices as though afar off—then more clearly a man speaking:
“By the saints! that is well done. They have had decent burial, Captain.”
“Ay, too good; now we can get to work at our ease. But what a dust! First let it settle; it chokes me.”
Hume rallied his senses, and softly rolled over, feeling for his rifle, which he had dropped. Then he put his hand to his eyes, to feel that the bandage had been torn away by the rush, of air. With his fingers he pushed back the lids, which by long pressure remained as though gummed down. With his eyes blinking at the falling dust, he sat in hopeless darkness; then a sharp cry escaped his lips, for it seemed to him that the darkness was not so black. He shut his eyes tightly, then opened them wide, and before him there was a yellow blur. A brilliant spark flashed through it; then it changed to a deep violet, and from his trembling lips there leapt a cry, for he saw the looming dark walls, and above caught the sparkle of innumerable stars.
“I can see!” he cried. “My God! I can see!”
“Hark! It is one of them crying out.”
“It was a fearful voice,” whispered Gobo. “The men say this place is possessed.”
Hume saw the sheen of something bright, and, with his heart beating, softly drew his rifle to him. He shut his eyes, and opened them with a joy he could scarce restrain; then, gently cocking the hammer, he rose to his feet.
“Curse this dust!” growled the Captain; “one can neither see nor hear. But we cannot remain here like a lot of children frightened by a sound. Come.”
“Stop!” shouted Hume sternly. “I can see you—ay, I can see you well; and if a man moves I will shoot him.”
“If you can see in this light, you have good eyes, my friend,” said the Captain, with a nervous laugh. “But who in the devil’s name are you?”
“Stand aside, Captain,” whispered Gobo.
“Stand where you are,” said Hume fiercely. “Now give an account of yourselves. You have hunted us, keeping yourselves, like the shabbiest curs, well out of danger; and now, when you have brought us to bay, you have taken the last damnable measure of cowardice against us—thinking, too, there was a lady here. I see that third man move—by heavens! I will shoot.”
“Be calm, my friend,” said the Captain in his hoarse voice; “we do not wish to harm you. Now, can’t you make some agreement with us? You are perhaps alone?”
“Thanks to you,” said Hume grimly.
“Alone—one man against two hundred. What can you do? Just think: you may kill one of us; but then you are yourself killed, or perhaps wounded and given over as a plaything to the Zulus, who are like tigers because of their friends who died.”
“Well, what do you propose?” said Hume, listening to the louder cry of Chanda’s regiment, and to a confused murmur that quivered through the fresh morning air.
“You know why we are here, as we know why you have come. We have been racing against each other for a hidden treasure, and you would not accept the warnings we gave you to desist. There are three of us; let us sink all differences, and do you come in, taking fourth share.”
“And my friends?”
“Your friends? It was the fortune of war that—”
“War do you call it? The better name would be murder.”
“We need not split hairs,” said the Captain impatiently. “But why speak of your friends, since they are dead?”
“You lie! they live. The treasure is not for you. They have already secured it, and are in safety with the people beyond the river. Fools! while you slept they marched away, and Sirayo is now leading an army against your men.”
“You lie yourself, dog of an Englishman!” cried the Captain.
“Listen!”
The distant murmur increased to a hoarse roar, threatening, and nearer rose the shouts of Zulus calling to each other.
Behind the three men in the passage were some Zulus, who had remained silent; but now they broke out in fierce excitement, all speaking together.
“What do they say?” shouted the Captain shrilly.
“They say there is a fight where the greatest number of our men are, and the enemy have gathered also by the river, where our second force is stationed. This man speaks truly. The people would not fight unless they had a fresh leader, and who can that leader be but Sirayo? But as for the treasure, those feeble people could not have carried it away.”
“Carrambo!” said Gobo, “I recognise this fellow now.”
“We met before at Madeira,” said Hume grimly; and as the light increased the scowling faces of the three men stood out.
“Mother of God! what a sight! His eyes are red and look out from a black mask.”
“He is like a devil,” muttered Gobo; and, with his gun at his hip, he pressed the trigger.
“Baleka!” cried a warrior, pushing in. “Sirayo eats our men up by the lone rock, and men are swarming across the river for this place.”
“To the mountain!” cried Gobo, turning to fly.
“Not I!” cried the Captain furiously.
“Nor I!” said Ferrara.
And the two dashed at Hume.
He fired and the Captain fell; but Ferrara gripped him by the throat, and the two reeled about in a fierce struggle, and in their ears, though without conveying much meaning, there came the sound of shouting beyond the walls. As they stood for a spell, gasping for breath to renew the struggle, they heard the Zulus calling to each other to fly, and Ferrara by a terrific effort hurled Hume away, sent him staggering, to fall heavily over the heap of fallen stones, then himself vanished into the underground passage, a moment before the little son of Umkomaas dashed into the ruined chamber at the head of his victorious warriors.