The Witch's Head

by H. Rider Haggard

For the rest, Ernest had some vague recollection of helping to drive his newly found friend home in a wheelbarrow that would persist in upsetting in every “sluit” or ditch, especially if it had running water in it; and that was about all he did remember.

In the morning he woke up, or rather first became conscious of pain in his head, in a little double-bedded room attached to the hotel. On the pillow of the bed opposite to him lay Jeremy’s battered face.

For a while Ernest could make nothing of all this. Why was Jeremy there? Where were they? Everything turned round and seemed phantasmagorial; the only real, substantial thing was that awful pain in the head. But presently things began to come back to him, and the sight of Jeremy’s bruised face recalled the fight, and the fight recalled the dinner, and the dinner brought back a vague recollection of Jeremy’s speech and of something he had said about Eva. What could it have been? Ah, Eva! Perhaps Jeremy knew something about her; perhaps he had brought the letter that had been so long in coming. O, how his heart went out towards her! But how came Jeremy there in bed before him? how came he to be in South Africa at all?

At that moment his reflections were interrupted by the entry of Mazooku, bearing the coffee which it is the national habit in South Africa to drink early in the morning.

The martial-looking Zulu, who seemed curiously out of place carrying cups of coffee, seeing that his master was awake, saluted him with the customary “Koos,” lifting one of the cups of coffee to give emphasis to the word, and nearly upsetting it in the effort.

“Mazooku,” said Ernest, severely, “how did we get here?”

The substance of the retainer’s explanation was as follows: When the moon was getting low—vanishing, indeed, behind the “horned house” yonder (the Dutch church with pinnacles on it), it occurred to him, waiting on the verandah, that his master must be weary; and as most had departed from the “dance” in the “tin house” (restaurant), evidently made happy by the “twala” (drink), he entered into the tin house to look for him, and found him overcome by sleep under the table, lying next to the “Lion-who-threw-oxen-over-his-shoulder” (i.e., Jeremy), so overcome by sleep, indeed, that it was quite impossible to conduct him to the waggon. This being so, he (Mazooku) considered what was his duty under the circumstances, and he came to the accurate conclusion that the best thing to do was to put them into the white man’s bed, since he knew that his master did not love the floor to lie on. Accordingly, having discovered that this was a room of beds, he and another Zulu entered, but were perplexed to find the beds already occupied by two white men, who had lain down to rest with their clothes on. But, under all these circumstances, he and the other Zulu, considering that their first thought should be towards their own master, had taken the liberty of lifting up the two white men, who were slumbering profoundly after the “dance,” by the head and by the heels, and putting them out in the sweet cool air of the night, leaving thus “made a place,” they then conveyed first Ernest, and having removed his clothes, put him into one bed, and next, in consideration of his undoubted greatness, they ventured to take the “Lion-who, &c.,” himself, and put him in the other. He was a very great man, the “Lion,” and his art of throwing greater men over his shoulder could only be attributed to witchcraft. He himself (Mazooku) had tried it on that morning with a Basutu, with whom he had a slight difference of opinion, but the result had not been all that could be desired, inasmuch as the Basutu had kicked him in the stomach, and forced him to drop him.

Ernest laughed as heartily as his headache would allow at this story, and in doing so woke up Jeremy, who at once clapped his hands to his head and looked round; whereupon Mazooku, having saluted the awakened “Lion-who, &c.,” with much fervour, and spilled a considerable quantity of hot coffee over him in doing so, took his departure abashed, and at length the two friends were left alone. Thereupon, rising from their respective pallets, they took a step in all the glory of their undress uniform into the middle of the little room, and, after the manner of Englishmen, shook hands and called each other “old fellow.” Then they went back to bed and began to converse.

“I say, old fellow, what on earth brought you out here?”

“Well, you see, I came out to look you up. You did not write any letters, and they began to get anxious about you at home, so I packed up my duds and started. Your uncle stands unlimited tin, so I am travelling like a prince in a waggon of my own. I heard of you down in Maritzburg, and guessed that I had best make for Pretoria; and here I am and there you are, and I am devilish glad to see you again, old chap. By Jove, what a head I have! But, I say, why didn’t you write? Doll half broke her heart about it, and so did your uncle, only he would not say so.”