Finding a convenient place by a stream we camped for the night, but as it was so fine, did not pitch the tents. Afterwards I was sorry that we had not gone further from the water, since the mosquitoes bred by millions in the marshes bordering the stream gave us a dreadful time. On poor Stephen, fresh from England, they fell with peculiar ferocity, with the result that in the morning what between the bruises left by Hassan and their bites, he was a spectacle for men and angels. Another thing that broke our rest was the necessity of keeping a strict watch in case the slave-traders should elect to attack us in the hours of darkness; also to guard against the possibility of our bearers running away and perhaps stealing the goods. It is true that before they went to sleep I explained to them very clearly that any of them who attempted to give us the slip would certainly be seen and shot, whereas if they remained with us they would be treated with every kindness. They answered through the two Mazitu that they had nowhere to go, and did not wish to fall again into the power of Hassan, of whom they spoke literally with shudders, pointing the while to their scarred backs and the marks of the slave yokes upon their necks. Their protestations seemed and indeed proved to be sincere, but of this of course we could not then be sure.
As I was engaged at sunrise in making certain that the donkeys had not strayed and generally that all was well, I noted through the thin mist a little white object, which at first I thought was a small bird sitting on an upright stick about fifty yards from the camp. I went towards it and discovered that it was not a bird but a folded piece of paper stuck in a cleft wand, such as natives often use for the carrying of letters. I opened the paper and with great difficulty, for the writing within was bad Portuguese, read as follows:
“English Devils.—Do not think that you have escaped me. I know
where you are going, and if you live through the journey it will
be but to die at my hands after all. I tell you that I have at my
command three hundred brave men armed with guns who worship Allah
and thirst for the blood of Christian dogs. With these I will
follow, and if you fall into my hands alive, you shall learn what
it is to die by fire or pinned over ant-heaps in the sun. Let us
see if your English man-of-war will help you then, or your false
God either. Misfortune go with you, white-skinned robbers of
honest men!”
This pleasing epistle was unsigned, but its anonymous author was not hard to identify. I showed it to Stephen who was so infuriated at its contents that he managed to dab some ammonia with which he was treating his mosquito bites into his eye. When at length the pain was soothed by bathing, we concocted this answer:
“Murderer, known among men as Hassan-ben-Mohammed—Truly we sinned
in not hanging you when you were in our power. Oh! wolf who grows
fat upon the blood of the innocent, this is a fault that we shall
not commit again. Your death is near to you and we believe at our
hands. Come with all your villains whenever you will. The more
there are of them the better we shall be pleased, who would rather
rid the world of many fiends than of a few,
“Till we meet again, Allan Quatermain,
Stephen Somers.”
“Neat, if not Christian,” I said when I had read the letter over.
“Yes,” replied Stephen, “but perhaps just a little bombastic in tone. If that gentleman did arrive with three hundred armed men—eh?”
“Then, my boy,” I answered, “in this way or in that we shall thrash him. I don’t often have an inspiration, but I’ve got one now, and it is to the effect that Mr. Hassan has not very long to live and that we shall be intimately connected with his end. Wait till you have seen a slave caravan and you will understand my feelings. Also I know these gentry. That little prophecy of ours will get upon his nerves and give him a foretaste of things. Hans, go and set this letter in that cleft stick. The postman will call for it before long.”
As it happened, within a few days we did see a slave caravan, some of the merchandise of the estimable Hassan.
We had been making good progress through a beautiful and healthy country, steering almost due west, or rather a little to the north of west. The land was undulating and rich, well-watered and only bush-clad in the neighbourhood of the streams, the higher ground being open, of a park-like character, and dotted here and there with trees. It was evident that once, and not very long ago, the population had been dense, for we came to the remains of many villages, or rather towns with large market-places. Now, however, these were burned with fire, or deserted, or occupied only by a few old bodies who got a living from the overgrown gardens. These poor people, who sat desolate and crooning in the sun, or perhaps worked feebly at the once fertile fields, would fly screaming at our approach, for to them men armed with guns must of necessity be slave-traders.