“‘White man,’ he said, ‘have you seen?’
“‘I have seen,’ I replied, and with much difficulty conquered the tendency toward sickness that again came upon me.
“‘Good!’ said he. ‘Now I give you your choice. Either leave this village, now, just as you are, without wagon, oxen, weapons, or goods of any kind, promising never to return; or—’
“‘I will leave,’ said I. And I did, there and then, more than thankful, I can tell you, that the alternative had been given me.
“I couldn’t tell you—there are no words strong enough to describe it—what I endured while making my journey home from Mashonaland. I had no weapons wherewith to procure food, and I was obliged to live upon just what I could pick up, chiefly roots. But twice I was fortunate enough to come upon the partially devoured ‘kill’ of a lion—once it was a zebra, and the other time it was a giraffe—still comparatively fresh; and if it had not been for them I believe I should not have survived, for I was literally at the end of my tether when I came upon them. And I had no means of making a fire, you will understand. I struggled along, however, as best I could, losing all count of dates, and crazy as a loon more than half the time; and ultimately, a few miles on the other side of the Orange River, I fell in with an elephant hunter named King, who took care of me and finally handed me over to some friends of mine who at that time lived in Cape Town. But although I told King—and a good many other people, for that matter—what happened to me in Mashonaland, and how I came to be in such a terrible plight, I always omitted that part about the gold; and you, Ned, are the first and the only one to whom I have ever mentioned it. And I would not have mentioned it to you if I had not felt convinced that you possess all the qualities necessary to enable you to go up there, get a load, and safely bring it back with you.”
Chapter Four.
I start upon my great Adventure.
In the privacy of my own room that night, after I had parted from the major, I gave my most careful consideration to the suggestion which he had thrown out; and despite the gruesome fate of the Dutchman, Van Raalte, at the hands of the Mashonas, which my host had hinted at rather than described, the project decidedly appealed to me. It is true that I possessed no personal knowledge of the Mashonas, but I had an idea that, in essentials, they would probably resemble pretty closely the Zulus, of whom I knew something; and, if so, I could understand not only their treatment of Van Raalte—and of my friend Henderson too, as Van Raalte’s companion and partner—but also that it might be quite possible for a white man possessed of a certain amount of tact and a tolerably comprehensive knowledge of the nature of the South African savage to enter their country and leave it again in safety.