Allan and the Holy Flower by H. Rider Haggard (online e reader TXT) 📗

“Baas, it is this. Between us we have learned everything. The Arabs know all about you and what men you have. Hassan has sent them orders to kill you. It is well that you did not go to visit them, for certainly you would have been murdered. We crept near and overheard their talk. They purpose to attack us at dawn to-morrow morning unless we leave this place before, which they will know of as we are being watched.”

“And if so, what then?” I asked.

“Then, Baas, they will attack as we are making up the caravan, or immediately afterwards as we begin to march.”

“Indeed. Anything more, Hans?”

“Yes, Baas. These two men crept among the slaves and spoke with them. They are very sad, those slaves, and many of them have died of heart-pain because they have been taken from their homes and do not know where they are going. I saw one die just now; a young woman. She was talking to another woman and seemed quite well, only tired, till suddenly she said in a loud voice, ‘I am going to die, that I may come back as a spirit and bewitch these devils till they are spirits too.’ Then she called upon the fetish of her tribe, put her hands to her breast and fell down dead. At least,” added Hans, spitting reflectively, “she did not fall quite down because the slave-stick held her head off the ground. The Arabs were very angry, both because she had cursed them and was dead. One of them came and kicked her body and afterwards shot her little boy who was sick, because the mother had cursed them. But fortunately he did not see us, because we were in the dark far from the fire.”

“Anything more, Hans?”

“One thing, Baas. These two men lent the knives you gave them to two of the boldest among the slaves that they might cut the cords of the slave-sticks and the other cords with which they were tied, and then pass them down the lines, that their brothers might do the same. But perhaps the Arabs will find it out, and then the Mazitu and the other must lose their knives. That is all. Has the Baas a little tobacco?”

“Now, Stephen,” I said when Hans had gone and I had explained everything, “there are two courses open to us. Either we can try to give these gentlemen the slip at once, in which case we must leave the woman and child to their fate, or we can stop where we are and wait to be attacked.”

“I won’t run,” said Stephen sullenly; “it would be cowardly to desert that poor creature. Also we should have a worse chance marching. Remember Hans said that they are watching us.”

“Then you would wait to be attacked?”

“Isn’t there a third alternative, Quatermain? To attack them?”

“That’s the idea,” I said. “Let us send for Mavovo.”

Presently he came and sat down in front of us, while I set out the case to him.

“It is the fashion of my people to attack rather than to be attacked, and yet, my father, in this case my heart is against it. Hans” (he called him Inblatu, a Zulu word which means Spotted Snake, that was the Hottentot’s Kaffir name) “says that there are quite sixty of the yellow dogs, all armed with guns, whereas we have not more than fifteen, for we cannot trust the slave men. Also he says that they are within a strong fence and awake, with spies out, so that it will be difficult to surprise them. But here, father, we are in a strong fence and cannot be surprised. Also men who torture and kill women and children, except in war must, I think, be cowards, and will come on faintly against good shooting, if indeed they come at all. Therefore, I say, ‘Wait till the buffalo shall either charge or run.’ But the word is with you, Macumazana, wise Watcher-by-Night, not with me, your hunter. Speak, you who are old in war, and I will obey.”

“You argue well,” I answered; “also another reason comes to my mind. Those Arab brutes may get behind the slaves, of whom we should butcher a lot without hurting them. Stephen, I think we had better see the thing through here.”

“All right, Quatermain. Only I hope that Mavovo is wrong in thinking that those blackguards may change their minds and run away.”

“Really, young man, you are becoming very blood-thirsty—for an orchid grower,” I remarked, looking at him. “Now, for my part, I devoutly hope that Mavovo is right, for let me tell you, if he isn’t it may be a nasty job.”

“I’ve always been peaceful enough up to the present,” replied Stephen. “But the sight of those unhappy wretches of slaves with their heads cut open, and of the woman tied to a tree to starve——”

“Make you wish to usurp the functions of God Almighty,” I said. “Well, it is a natural impulse and perhaps, in the circumstances, one that will not displease Him. And now, as we have made up our minds what we are going to do, let’s get to business so that these Arab gentlemen may find their breakfast ready when they come to call.”