So much for preliminaries, now for the story.
The eighteen months had gone by, bringing with them to me their
share of adventure, weal and woe, with all of which at present I
have no concern. Behold me arriving very hot and tired in the
post-cart from Kimberley, whither I had gone to invest what I had
saved out of my Matabeleland contract in a very promising
speculation whereof, today, the promise remains and no more. I had
been obliged to leave Kimberly in a great hurry, before I ought
indeed, because of the silly bargain which I have just recorded. Of
course I was sure that I should never see Mr. Anscombe again,
especially as I had heard nothing of him during all this while, and
had no reason to suppose that he was in Africa. Still I had taken
his #50 and he might come. Also I have always prided
myself upon keeping an appointment.
The post-cart halted with a jerk in front of the European Hotel,
and I crawled, dusty and tired, from its interior, to find myself
face to face with Anscombe, who was smoking a pipe upon the
"Hullo, Quatermain," he said in his pleasant, drawling voice,
"here you are, up to time. I have been making bets with these five
gentlemen," and he nodded at a group of loungers on the stoep," as
to whether you would or would not appear, I putting ten to one on
you in drinks. Therefore you must now consume five whiskies and
sodas, which will save them from consuming fifty and a subsequent
appearance at the Police Court."
I laughed and said I would be their debtor to the extent of one,
which was duly produced.
After it was drunk Anscombe and I had a chat. He said that he
had been to India, shot, or shot at whatever game he meant to kill
there, visited his relations in England and thence proceeded to
keep his appointment with me in Africa. At Durban he had fitted
himself out in a regal way with two wagons, full teams, and some
spare oxen, and trekked to Pretoria where he had arrived a few days
before. Now he was ready to start for the Lydenburg district and
look for those buffalo.
"But," I said, "the buffalo probably long ago departed. Also
there has been a war with Sekukuni, the Basuto chief who rules all
that country, which remains undecided, although I believe some kind
of a peace has been patched up. This may make hunting in this
neighborhood dangerous. Why not try some other ground, to the north
of the Transvaal, for instance?"
"Quatermain," he answered, "I have come all the way from
England, I will not say to kill, but to try to kill buffalo in the
Lydenburg district, with you if possible, if not, without you, and
thither I am going. If you think it unsafe to accompany me, don't
come; I will get on as best I can alone, or with some other skilled
person if I can find one."
"If you put it like that I shall certainly come," I replied,
"with the proviso that should the buffalo prove to be non-existent
or the pursuit of them impossible, we either give up the trip, or
go somewhere else, perhaps to the country at the back of Delagoa
"Agreed," he said; after which we discussed terms, he paying me
my salary in advance.
On further consideration we determined, as two were quite
unnecessary for a trip of the sort, to leave one of my wagons and
half the cattle in charge of a very respectable man, a farmer who
lived about five miles from Pretoria just over the pass near to the
famous Wonder-boom tree which is one of the sights of the place.
Should we need this wagon it could always be sent for; or, if we
found the Lydenburg hunting-ground, which he was so set upon
visiting, unproductive or impossible, we could return to Pretoria
over the high-veld and pick it up before proceeding elsewhere.
These arrangements took us a couple of days or so. On the third
we started, without seeing you, my friend, or any one else that I
knew, since just at that time every one seemed to be away from
Pretoria. You, I remember, had by now become the Master of the High
Court and were, they informed me at your office, absent on
The morning of our departure was particularly lovely and we
trekked away in the best of spirits, as so often happens to people
who are marching into trouble. Of our journey there is little to
say as everything went smoothly, so that we arrived at the edge of
the high-veld feeling as happy as the country which has no history
is reported to do. Our road led us past the little mining
settlement of Pilgrim's Rest where a number of adventurous spirits,
most of them English, were engaged in washing for gold, a job at
which I once took a turn near this very place without any startling
success. Of the locality I need only say that the mountainous
scenery is among the most beautiful, the hills are the steepest and
the roads are, or were, the worst that I have ever travelled over
in a wagon.
However, "going softly" as the natives say, we negotiated them
without accident and, leaving Pilgrim's Rest behind us, began to
descend towards the low-veld where I was informed a herd of buffalo
could still be found, since, owing to the war with Sekukuni, no one
had shot at them of late. This war had been suspended for a while,
and the Land-drost at Pilgrim's Rest told me he thought it would be
safe to hunt on the borders of that Chief's country, though he
should not care to do so himself.
Game of the smaller sort began to be plentiful about here, so
not more than a dozen miles from Pilgrim's Rest we outspanned early
in the afternoon to try to get a blue wildebeeste or two, for I had
seen the spoor of these creatures in a patch of soft ground, or
failing them some other buck. Accordingly, leaving the wagon by a
charming stream that wound and gurgled over a bed of granite, we
mounted our salted horses, which were part of Anscombe's outfit,
and set forth rejoicing. Riding through the scattered thorns and
following the spoor where I could, within half an hour we came to a
little glade. There, not fifty yards away, I caught of a single
blue wildebeeste bull standing in the shadow of the trees on the
further side of the glade, and pointed out the ugly beast, for it
is the most grotesque of all the antelopes, to Anscombe.
"Off you get," I whispered. "It's a lovely shot, you can't miss
"Oh, can't I!" replied Anscombe. "Do you shoot."
I refused, so he dismounted, giving me his horse to hold, and
kneeling down solemnly and slowly covered the bull. Bang went his
rifle, and I saw a bough about a yard above the wildebeeste fall on
to its back. Off it went like lightning, whereon Anscombe let drive
with the left barrel of the Express, almost at hazard as it seemed
to me, and by some chance hit it above the near fore-knee, breaking
"That was a good shot," he cried, jumping on to his horse.
"Excellent," I answered. "But what are you going to do?"
"Catch it. It is cruel to leave a wounded animal," and off he
Of course I had to follow, but the ensuing ride remains among
the more painful of my hunting memories. We tore through thorn
trees that scratched my face and damaged my clothes; we struck a
patch of antbear holes, into one of which my horse fell so that my
stomach bumped against its head; we slithered down granite koppies,
and this was the worst of it, at the end of each chapter, so to
speak, always caught sight of that accursed bull which I fondly
hoped would have vanished into space. At length after half an hour
or so of this game we reached a stretch of open, rolling ground,
and there not fifty yards ahead of us was the animal still going
like a hare, though how it could do so on three legs I am sure I do
not know. We coursed it like greyhounds, till at last Anscombe,
whose horse was the faster, came alongside of the exhausted
creature, whereon it turned suddenly and charged.
Anscombe held out his rifle in his right hand and pulled the
trigger, which, as he had forgotten to reload it, was a mere
theatrical performance. Next second there was such a mix-up that
for a while I could not distinguish which was Anscombe, which was
the wildebeeste, and which the horse. They all seemed to be going
round and round in a cloud of dust. When things settled themselves
a little I discovered the horse rolling on the ground, Anscombe on
his back with his hands up in an attitude of prayer and the
wildebeeste trying to make up its mind which of them it should
finish first. I settled the poor thing's doubts by shooting it
through the heart, which I flatter myself was rather clever of me
under the circumstances. Then I dismounted to examine Anscombe,
who, I presumed, was done for. Not a bit of it. There he sat upon
the ground blowing like a blacksmith's bellows and panting out—
"What a glorious gallop. I finished it very well, didn't I? You
couldn't have made a better shot yourself."
"Yes," I answered, "you finished it very well as you will find
out if you will take the trouble to open your rifle and count your
cartridges. I may add that if we are going to hunt together I hope
you will never lead me such a fool's chase again."
He rose, opened the rifle and saw that it was empty, for
although he had never re-loaded he had thrown out the two
cartridges which he had discharged in the glen.
"By Jingo," he said, "you must have shot it, though I could have
sworn that it was I. Quatermain, has it ever struck you what a
strange thing is the human imagination?"
"Drat the human imagination," I answered, wiping away the blood
that was trickling into my eye from a thorn scratch. "Let's look at
your horse. If it is lamed you will have to ride Imagination back
to the wagon which must be six miles away, that is if we can find
it before dark."
Sighing out something about a painfully practical mind, he
obeyed, and when the beast was proved to be nothing more than blown
and a little bruised, made remarks as to the inadvisability of
dwelling on future evil events, which I reminded him had already
been better summed up in the New Testament.
After this we contemplated the carcasse of the wildebeeste which
it seemed a pity to leave to rot. Just then Anscombe, who had moved
a few yards to the right out of the shadow of an obstructing tree,
"I say, Quatermain, come here and tell me if I have been knocked
silly, or if I really see a quite uncommon kind of house built in
ancient Greek style set in a divine landscape."
"Temple to Diana, I expect," I remarked as I joined him on the
further side of the tree.
I looked and rubbed my eyes. There, about half a mile away,
situated in a bay of the sweeping hills and overlooking the
measureless expanse of bush-veld beneath, was a remarkable house,
at least for those days and that part of Africa. To begin with the
situation was superb. It stood on a green and swelling mound behind
which was a wooded kloof where ran a stream that at last
precipitated itself in a waterfall over a great cliff. Then in
front was that glorious view of the bush-veld, at which a man might
look for a lifetime and not grow tired, stretching away to the
Oliphant's river and melting at last into the dim line of the
The house itself also, although not large, was of a kind new to
me. It was deep, but narrow fronted, and before it were four
columns that carried the roof which projected so as to form a wide
verandah. Moreover it seemed to be built of marble which glistened
like snow in the setting sun. In short in that lonely wilderness,
at any rate from this distance, it did look like the deserted
shrine of some forgotten god.
"Well, I'm bothered!" I said.
"So am I," answered Anscombe, "to know the name of the Lydenburg
district architect whom I should like to employ; though I suspect
it is the surroundings that make the place look so beautiful.
Hullo! here comes somebody, but he doesn't look like an architect;
he looks like a wicked baronet disguised as a Boer."
True enough, round a clump of bush appeared an unusual looking
person, mounted on a very good horse. He was tall, thin and old, at
least he had a long white beard which suggested age, although his
figure, so far as it could be seen beneath his rough clothes,
seemed vigorous. His face was clean cut and handsome, with a rather
hooked nose, and his eyes were grey, but as I saw when he came up
to us, somewhat bloodshot at the corners. His general aspect was
refined and benevolent, and as soon as he opened his mouth I
perceived that he was a person of gentle breeding.
And yet there was something about him, something in his
atmosphere, so to speak, that I did not like. Before we parted that
evening I felt sure that in one way or another he was a wrong-doer,
not straight; also that he had a violent temper.
He rode up to us and asked in a pleasant voice, although the
manner of his question, which was put in bad Dutch, was not
"Who gave you leave to shoot on our land?"
"I did not know that any leave was required; it is not customary
in these parts," I answered politely in English. "Moreover, this
buck was wounded miles away."
"Oh!" he exclaimed in the same tongue, "that makes a difference,
though I expect it was still on our land, for we have a lot; it is
cheap about here." Then after studying a little, he added
apologetically, "You mustn't think me strange, but the fact is my
daughter hates things to be killed near the house, which is why
there's so much game about."
"Then pray make her our apologies," said Anscombe, "and say that
it shall not happen again."
He stroked his long beard and looked at us, for by now he had
dismounted, then said—
"Might I ask you gentlemen your names?"
"Certainly," I replied. "I am Allan Quatermain and my friend is
the Hon. Maurice Anscombe."
He started and said—
"Of Allan Quatermain of course I have heard. The natives told me
that you were trekking to those parts; and if you, sir, are one of
Lord Mountford's sons, oddly enough I think I must have known your
father in my youth. Indeed I served with him in the Guards."
"How very strange," said Anscombe. "He's dead now and my brother
is Lord Mountford. Do you like life here better than that in the
Guards? I am sure I should."
"Both of them have their advantages," he answered evasively, "of
which, if, as I think, you are also a soldier, you can judge for
yourself. But won't you come up to the house? My daughter Heda is
away, and my partner Mr. Rodd" (as he mentioned this name I saw a
blue vein, which showed above his cheek bone, swell as though under
pressure of some secret emotion) "is a retiring sort of a
man—indeed some might think him sulky until they came to know him.
Still, we can make you comfortable and even give you a decent
bottle of wine."
"No, thank you very much," I answered, "we must get back to the
wagon or our servants will think that we have come to grief.
Perhaps you will accept the wildebeeste if it is of any use to
"Very well," he said in a voice that suggested regret struggling
with relief. To the buck he made no allusion, perhaps because he
considered that it was already his own property. "Do you know your
way? I believe your wagon is camped out there to the east by what
we call the Granite stream. If you follow this Kaffir path," and he
pointed to a track near by, "it will take quite close."
"Where does the path run to?" I asked. "There are no kraals
about, are there?"
"Oh! to the Temple, as my daughter calls our house. My partner
and I are labour agents, we recruit natives for the Kimberley
Mines," he said in explanation, adding, "Where do you propose to
I told him.
"Isn't that rather a risky district?" he said. "I think that
Sekukuni will soon be giving more trouble, although there is a
truce between him and the English. Still he might send a regiment
to raid that way."
I wondered how our friend knew so much of Sekukuni's possible
intentions, but only answered that I was accustomed to deal with
natives and did not fear them.
"Ah!" he said, "well, you know your own business best. But if
you should get into any difficulty, make straight for this place.
The Basutos will not interfere with you here."
Again I wondered why the Basutos should look upon this
particular spot as sacred, but thinking it wisest to ask no
questions, I only answered—
"Thank you very much. We'll bear your invitation in mind,
"Marnham," I repeated after him. "Good-bye and many thanks for
"One question," broke in Anscombe, "if you will not think me
rude. What is the name of the architect who designed that most
romantic-looking house of yours which seems to be built of
My daughter designed it, or at least I think she copied it from
some old drawing of a ruin. Also it is marble; there's a
whole hill of the stuff not a hundred yards from the door, so it
was cheaper to use than anything else. I hope you will come and see
it on your way back, though it is not as fine as it appears from a
distance. It would be very pleasant after all these years to talk
to an English gentleman again."
Then we parted, I rather offended because he did not seem to
include me in the description, he calling after us—
"Stick close to the path through the patch of big trees, for the
ground is rather swampy there and it's getting dark."
Presently we came to the place he mentioned where the timber,
although scattered, was quite large for South Africa, of the
yellow-wood species, and interspersed wherever the ground was dry
with huge euphorbias, of which the tall finger-like growths and sad
grey colouring looked unreal and ghostlike in the waning light.
Following the advice given to us, we rode in single file along the
narrow path, fearing lest otherwise we should tumble into some bog
hole, until we came to higher land covered with the scattered
thorns of the country.
"Did that bush give you any particular impression?" asked
Anscombe a minute or two later.
"Yes," I answered, "it gave me the impression that we might
catch fever there. See the mist that lies over it," and turning in
my saddle I pointed with the rifle in my hand to what looked like a
mass of cotton wool over which, without permeating it, hung the
last red glow of sunset, producing a curious and indeed rather
unearthly effect. "I expect that thousands of years ago there was a
lake yonder, which is why trees grow so big in the rich soil."
"You are curiously mundane, Quatermain," he answered. "I ask you
of spiritual impressions and you dilate to me of geological
formations and the growth of timber. You felt nothing in the
"I felt nothing except a chill," I answered, for I was tired and
hungry. "What the devil are you driving at?"
"Have you got that flask of Hollands about you, Quatermain?"
"Oh! those are the spirits you are referring to," I remarked
with sarcasm as I handed it to him.
He took a good pull and replied—
"Not at all, except in the sense that bad spirits require good
spirits to correct them, as the Bible teaches. To come to facts,"
he added in a changed voice, "I have never been in a place that
depressed me more than that thrice accursed patch of bush."
"Why did it depress you?" I asked, studying him as well as I
could in the fading light. To tell the truth I feared lest he had
knocked his head when the wildebeeste upset him, and was suffering
from delayed concussion.
"Can't tell you, Quatermain. I don't look like a criminal, do I?
Well, I entered those trees feeling a fairly honest man, and I came
out of them feeling like a murderer. It was as though something
terrible had happened to me there; it was as though I had killed
someone there. Ugh!" and he shivered and took another pull at the
"What bosh!" I said. "Besides, even if it were to come true, I
am sorry to say I've killed lots of men in the way of business and
they don't bother me overmuch."
"Did you ever kill one to win a woman?"
"Certainly not. Why, that would be murder. How can you ask me
such a thing? But I have killed several to win cattle," I reflected
aloud, remembering my expedition with Saduko against the chief
Bangu, and some other incidents in my career.
"I appreciate the difference, Quatermain. If you kill for cows,
it is justifiable homicide; if you kill for women, it is
"Yes," I replied, "that is how it seems to work out in Africa.
You see, women are higher in the scale of creation than cows,
therefore crimes committed for their sake are enormously greater
than those committed for cows, which just makes the difference
between justifiable homicide and murder."
"Good lord! what an argument," he exclaimed and relapsed into
silence. Had he been accustomed to natives and their ways he would
have understood the point much better than he did, though I admit
it is difficult to explain.
In due course we reached the wagon without further trouble.
While we were shielding our pipes after an excellent supper I asked
Anscombe his impressions of Mr. Marnham.
"Queer cove, I think," he answered. "Been a gentleman, too, and
still keeps the manners, which isn't strange if he is one of the
Marnhams, for they are a good family. I wonder he mentioned having
served with my father."
"It slipped out of him. Men who live a lot alone are apt to be
surprised into saying things they regret afterwards, as I noticed
he did. But why do you wonder?"
"Because is it happens, although I have only just recalled it,
my father used to tell some story about a man named Marnham in his
regiment. I can't remember the details, but it had to do with cards
when high stakes were being played for, and with the striking of a
superior officer in the quarrel that ensued, as a result of which
the striker was requested to send in his papers."
"It may not have been the same man."
"Perhaps not, for I believe that more than one Marnham served in
that regiment. But I remember my father saying, by way of excuse
for the person concerned, that he had a most ungovernable temper. I
think he added, that he left the country and took service in some
army on the Continent. I should rather like to clear the thing
"It isn't probable that you will, for even if you should ever
meet this Marnham again, I fancy you would find he held his tongue
about his acquaintance with your father."
"I wonder what Miss Heda is like," went on Anscombe after a
pause. "I am curious to see a girl who designs a house on the model
of an ancient ruin."
"Well, you won't, for she's away somewhere. Besides we are
looking for buffalo, not girls, which is a good thing as they are
I spoke thus decisively because I had taken a dislike to Mr.
Marnham and everything to do with him, and did not wish to
encourage the idea of further meetings.
"No, never, I suppose. And yet I feel as though I were certainly
destined to see that accursed yellow-wood swamp again."
"Nonsense," I replied as I rose to turn in. Ah! if I had but