Chapter Twenty Eight.
The Face of Rock.
“It won’t be long before they attack us, will it?” asked Webster quietly; “the main body may be two miles away, or perhaps three, allowing for the roughness of the ground. They will learn where we are in half an hour. We’ve got an hour—plenty of time to build a circular wall from the base of the cliff.”
“We three are left,” murmured Laura; “and if we are to die, let us die together.”
“Don’t let us talk of dying,” said Hume, who had been in a brown study.
“We’ve beaten them off before, and we’ll do it again,” continued Webster; “but we must have our bulwarks high and stanch. Let us begin.”
“There is no necessity; at least, I hope so. Wait until I return,” and he cautiously went down the ridge.
“What’s in the wind now?” muttered Webster, as the two looked anxiously at each other, and then stood waiting in silence while they searched the ground in vain for any sign of him. At last, after a torturing interval, they saw him reach the scene of the fight, saw him a moment, and then underwent the same suspense. It might have been an hour after he left them that he suddenly appeared below them from behind a bush, and his face told its tale before he cried, “It is all right.”
“How,” they said, “can it be right? Surely there were two men killed, and the others escaped?”
“Yes,” said Hume, rubbing his knees, for he had crawled for many a yard; “but the two men killed were our enemies.”
“But why, then, did our men leave us?”
“Be sure they have some good reason. When I saw the two retreat after the fight, I thought, with you, that Sirayo and Klaas had been killed; but I could not understand how a man like Sirayo could fall before a foe not armed with a gun, and something in their walk aroused my hopes. When they entered the reeds, I was convinced they were our men; for, naturally, the others, if they had escaped, would have run on at once to the main body.”
“Shake, old man,” said Webster; “you’ve put me in good heart again;” and the two brown and sinewy hands came together in an iron grasp.
“Don’t leave me out,” she whispered, and with the first laugh that had left their lips for some time, the three crossed hands. Then, seating themselves on the long grass between the rocks, they watched the Zulus right through the morning, and into the afternoon. There was no movement until the sun was on the downward slope, and the shadow of the mountain had lengthened out, when, the warriors fell into four companies, and entered upon what, from the deep-throated shouts that marked time to their antics, was evidently a war-dance.
“See!” said Hume anxiously, “they are preparing to attack; there can be no doubting that dance. Can it be possible that they know we are here?”
“If our men have told them,” said Webster gloomily. “But,” he added grimly, “let them come, and have done with this suspense.”
“They are moving now!”
“And coming this way!”
“Yes, by heavens!”
“Hark,” said Laura, “what booming noise is that?”
The two men looked at her, at the wild gleam in her eyes, at the parted lips and heaving breast, and the dew stood in beads on their foreheads at the awful thought that her mind had given way.
“Why do you look at me so? Do you not hear it—there!”
Hume started, and bent his eyes to the top of the krantz.
“I have it!” he almost shouted, “they are not coming to attack us; that noise you hear is made by the people above sounding the alarm with their horns.”
“But the Zulus are coming this way,” said Webster.
“They may turn off before they reach the ridge.”
On came the band of warriors, walking in column of six abreast, with their Indunas on their left. A ribbon of white ran down the dark line, made by the mark on their shields, and presently the nodding plumes could be seen. Suddenly they wheeled to the left and wound their way up to a spur of the mountain, until the long column of about six hundred men was marching parallel to the ridge where the fugitives hid, and bars of light shone between the ranks. As the shadows darkened the column was hidden by the rising ground, and, except for an occasional horn blast echoing from the mountain, there was nothing to tell of the presence of savages near.
So the long day drew to its close, leaving the three uneasy and wearied in spirit from the recurring strains, and they waited with fresh suspense for the return of Sirayo and Klaas. Happily, however, they were not kept long waiting, for soon after the night had fallen a low whistle sounded below them, and Hume responding, the two suddenly appeared out of the darkness.
They were overwhelmed with questions, for the joy of the three at their safe return broke down the barriers of reserve observed in intercourse between them.
“We have not eaten,” said Klaas practically.
“We may build a fire,” said Sirayo, and throwing down their assegais, they were about to bring in wood and water.
“Rest,” said Hume; “we will do this,” and very soon a fire was made under the shelter of a rock, the kettle was put on, and the food brought out.
The two natives were left to their repast, and when at last they filled their pipes they were again questioned.
“We went into the reeds,” said Sirayo, “as you saw.”
“We thought at first you had been killed.”
“Yoh! we each smote our man, for they were startled; then we took their shields, called to the other four to throw them off their guard, and entered the reeds. We went through them till we came abreast of the impi. Then we lay and watched. There were four Indunas and two white men. They ate and slept, and in the afternoon took medicine from the amapakati, a big man whom the Gaika had seen before.”
“Eweh,” interposed Klaas, whose eyes gleamed through the dark, “the same who came to the kraal, and who last night crept in upon us.”
“They took medicine and danced. Then they marched, and we thought at first they were going to eat you up. I saw the people on the mountain. They took alarm; the horns sounded, and I knew the impi was not on your spoor. They have made their fires high up, and in the morning will ascend. It is well. Our path will be clear.”
“And the white men?”
“One I have seen before,” said Klaas, “a small man with a yellow skin. The other I know not, but his arm is hurt. It was he the baas hit when we were at the waggon.”
“You have done good service, and we will remember. They will have their hands full with the mountain people.”
“Oh, ayi, and with the people beyond if they enter the valley.”
“Then our chances improve,” said Hume, turning to Webster, “for while they are fighting we may slip through undetected.”
“I suppose there can be little doubt that this is Lieutenant Gobo, and that he has somehow possessed himself of the secret of the Rock.”
“And he has lost much time in his efforts to put us out of the way. We’ll be before him yet, unless we take this opportunity of escaping.”
“No, no,” cried Laura; “we have already undergone in imagination the terror of violent death, and we must continue. I have watched you to-day, and saw how anxiety has left its mark on your faces. Imagine how it has been with me. I can feel that there are grey hairs on my forehead, that my cheeks have thinned, my mind is stored with the memory of alarms, and if we retired there would be nothing for me but the bitterness of disappointment and of failure. I must reach this Golden Rock, and then the future will once more brighten before me. This mission stands for me in place of everything I have lost, and you know what that loss has been.”
“Do you recall how the Swift leapt at the great sides of the cruiser through a fury of shot?” asked Webster slowly, his mind going back to that one great tragedy of their lives.
“Yes,” said Hume softly, “and I think we said we would do something for the relatives of the gallant fellows who went to their death with Captain Pardoe.”
“Then we advance,” said Laura. “When?”
“Well, we must wait until the Zulus have broken camp, then we must strike across their line of march, and continue south, about six miles, I should say, from my recollection of the map, to bring us opposite that bend in the mountain where the Rock may be seen from. I cannot understand why Gobo, if he is in search of the treasure, should approach the mountain at the spot selected.”
They continued to discuss this absorbing subject for some time before seeking rest. In the morning a sharp outlook was kept on the movements of the Zulus from the top of the krantz, and they were seen to be afoot soon after dawn; and as the clouds lifted later on it was also seen that the people on the mountain had gathered in small bodies. When the last of the Zulus had been swallowed up in the deep gorges which scarred the face of the granite mass, the little party set out on a course parallel with the base of the mountain. This presently took them across the wide track beaten down in the grass by the naked feet of the warriors, and, taking advantage of the shelter, they pushed on until noon, when the mountain dipped round to the south. Before this they had heard the sound of firing reverberating from the deep ravines, but the shoulder of the mountain now concealed them. They paused now for a rest after their sharp burst, and to prepare for the arduous labour of the ascent in search of the Eye in the face of rock.
Above them towered the great mass, bare of trees, and grim with scars and fissures cut by the sharp teeth of the wind and rain. As is the case with many African mountains, the summit was rimmed with a sheer precipice that seemed from far below quite impassable. They traced the contour of the upper rim for sign of profiles, which are often fantastically outlined by the rock, but without success, and, having sufficiently rested, began the ascent.
They had carefully marked off their position by the map, and, in the excitement of nearing their goal, had completely forgotten the neighbourhood of rivals and enemies in the field. They went on from spur to spur, and whenever they topped a ridge the face of the mountain took fresh shape, and they would pause to scan its rugged front.
At last, after one of these halts, there suddenly opened before them, and above, a narrow fissure in the mountain; and at the very top, sharply defined against the sky, stood out the profile of a human face, the forehead sloping back to the very sky-line of the mountain, the nose straight and clear-cut, the lips full, the chin with a bold and sweeping curve, and the neck clearly defined before it joined the parent rock. This profile would have been accounted something curious, but not unusual, if it had not been for the marvel of the eye, which seemed actually to sparkle with a look of mortal intelligence. The eyebrow was clearly marked—the lines beneath as well; but what gave to the feature its magic touch of realism was a spark of light from the retina. This lent majesty to the face. The eye seemed to follow them as they moved, and they could not suppress a feeling that there was some living and awful power bending its gaze in severe displeasure upon them.
Hume drew a long breath, and then began, in his excitement, to fill his pipe, while, with a smile of triumph, he stood looking at the face.
“By Jove,” he said, “the old man was right after all!”
“It is wonderful,” said Laura, with a shiver; “but I wish it had not such a human look.”
“There is something in it,” said Webster, in a low voice, “that reminds me of an eye shining through a layer of still clouds.”
After an exclamation that broke from their lips at the first shock of startled surprise, the two natives turned their backs to this mysterious and threatening portent.
Hume alone was not oppressed. Whether because he was free from superstition, and had little imagination, he regarded the face as merely a natural curiosity, and was moved only because it did exist.
“Come,” he said cheerily, “let us reach it before nightfall. See, the ravine before us leads right up, and though the mountain rises to the face apparently in a straight wall, there is no doubt a way up. Take your bearings, Webster.”
They looked at the face, and then at the points around that were most conspicuous, and then they looked at each other, startled and dismayed.
When their gaze again returned to the face, the eye was no longer there, and the face itself, deprived of that living spark, seemed not the same.
“Never mind,” said Hume, with a strange laugh, “we have seen it. Forward!”
Somewhat reluctantly, they moved on, casting questioning glances above; but when presently the face was hidden by an intervening ridge, they shook off their fear, to be revived again when they entered the ravine. This cut deeply into the heart of a mountain, a vast and gloomy fissure where the sun scarcely entered, the haunt of the owl, but of no other living creature. Lofty walls towered above them, and the bottom was covered with a litter of loose stones and gigantic boulders. At each step the stones clattered away, and the sounds echoed and re-echoed.
They did not speak above a whisper, for a loudly uttered word was tossed back from side to side and rolled up in deep mutterings. And then the gloom was so deep, especially when a slight bend to the left shut out the opening behind, that it seemed as if night had already fallen, and one of them looking up, saw pale stars appear out of the blue. Still they plodded on, with many rests, as the incline grew rapidly steeper, and Hume affirmed that in an hour they would reach the top.
“It only wants that time to sunset,” said Webster, “and before then it will be too dark in this wolfs throat to see a yard.”
“At any rate, let us get as near the top as we can, so that we can reach the face before sunrise.”
“If it is there still,” muttered Webster gloomily.
Again they advanced, the darkness deepening, and the walls narrowing in upon them, until Hume, who was leading, uttered a sharp cry.
“What is it now, in Heaven’s name?”
“The way is barred. We’re in a cul-de-sac!”
They went up to Hume and stood against a great wall, which, as they could dimly see, stretched right across.
All sank to the ground with a first feeling of relief that they had to go no further, except Hume, and he went from side to side, feeling with his hands for some way over this obstacle.
“It is no good,” he cried; “we must halt here and try again to-morrow.”
His words were met by a sound of weeping as Laura, tired out, for the first time gave way to a spasm of sobs which shook her frame and awoke echoes the most melancholy in that profound abyss. This sign of womanly weakness at once restored to the men courage to face this new trouble with cheerfulness, and, deeming it best to leave her to the relief of tears, they busied themselves in making for her a comfortable couch, finding material in a mass of fern which grew at one spot where water oozed from the rock. The dried ferns also served for fuel, and presently the flames flickered up, casting fantastic shadows. They made light of their position, being rewarded by seeing Laura take her coffee, and tasteless damper and tough biltong, with the relish of hunger. Pipes were lit, she rolled a cigarette, and they leant back to gaze up at the stars, now out in all their brilliancy, increased by the darkness from which they looked.
Then, rolling themselves in their blankets, they fell into a profound sleep, in spite of the hard rocks, and were not disturbed until far into the night, when they were aroused by the sound of the wind moaning down the ravine. They drew their covering tighter to shut out the cold, but the noise coming and going in a manner weird beyond the power of words to express, they sat up to listen. Then they found there was no breath of air stirring about them, and that the noise came intermittently in blasts from one direction, being caught up by the echoes and sent booming from side to side. When the echoes rolled away there would be a fresh blast, a wailing note, a gasp as if the wind were struggling in some long funnel, and, mingled with this sound, they fancied there was some human note.
“There is a mystery here,” said Hume, rising.
“It is the wizard of the mountain,” said Klaas, shivering. “His breath will wither your flesh.”
“Oh, hang the wizard!” growled Hume, as he moved off away from the barrier; but the sound came again, rising from a moan to a shrill screech.
They stood to their arms, driven to a pitch of fury by the disturbing noise, until there was light enough to reveal objects at hand, when they peered up at the walls above.
Suddenly the Gaika yelled aloud, and covered his eyes.
“What do you see?” asked Hume sternly.
“The white breath of the wizard, sieur!”
Hume stood by Klaas, and looked up just as from a point about fifty feet above a puff of white darted from the rock, followed by the now familiar wail. He laughed at the sight.
“Here is our tormentor,” he cried; “a blast of wind blowing through a natural funnel,” and he pointed to the spot.
They gathered near him, and Webster, with a quick glance at the rock, began to climb. From point to point he went with seeming ease, until, reaching a ledge, he stood before the aperture.
“By Jove,” he cried, “there’s a gale of wind blowing through!” then, after a pause, while his face was at the opening: “A light! I can see through. Hume, suppose this is the way after all.”
“Is the opening large enough for a man to pass through?”
“I will see.”
They saw dimly his body disappear, and waited anxiously while the moments slipped swiftly by.
“He is a long time,” muttered Hume.
“He is in danger,” said Laura, in a low voice, coming close to his side; “I feel it.”
“I will see,” he said.
“Yes,” she whispered; “I suppose you must,” but she laid a trembling hand on his arm, while her face looked ghastly white.
Sirayo let slip the blanket from his shoulders, and with a piece of fat rubbed his skin until it shone. Then quickly he scaled the rock and disappeared.
And the three left behind stood there looking up at the hole, while across the cleft above struck a broad fan of light, making a silver track along the rocks on their right, and by the pale reflection they saw the opening more clearly, and were startled by the sudden appearance of the chief. Hume placed his hand on Laura’s shoulder.
“Have you found him?” asked Hume quietly.
“Yebo. But it is bad. He is dead!”
“Dead!” they muttered; “dead!”
“He lies here in the passage.”
“Let us go to him,” said Laura, shaking off her fears at once.
“Is the way easy?” asked Hume.
“It is easy.”
She sprang to the rock, and Sirayo came down to help her, while Hume saw that her footing was secure. They entered a tunnel, which for some distance was quite round, and through which, one at a time, they crawled. Then there was more room, and, guided by the light of day ahead, they went on where the tunnel opened out on a wide ledge. Here lay their comrade with his face to the sky, and blood oozing from a wound on his head.
About fifty yards to their right and above them was the Face!