CHAPTER XXII OF THE SPIRIT OF BAMBATSE by H. RYDER HAGGARD This LibriVox recording is in the public domain. THE VOICE OF THE LIVING Mr Clifford was awake again now. Where have you been? he asked, quarreellously, in a thin voice. I wanted you. Then as the light when the candle shone upon it, he noted the change that had come over her pale face, and added, What has happened? Ismae are dead, are we free? Benita shook her head. He was alive a few hours ago, for I could hear him raving and shouting outside the wall we built. But Father, it has all come back to me. I believe that I have found it. What has come back? What have you found?  What something told me when I was in the trance, which afterwards I forgot, but now remember. And I have found the passage which leads to where they hid the gold. It begins behind the crucifix, where no one ever thought of looking. This matter of the gold did not seem to interest Mr Clifford. In his state, all the wealth beneath the soil of Africa would not have appealed to him. Moreover, he hated the name of that accursed treasure which was bringing them to such a miserable end. Where does the passage run? Have you looked? he asked. Not yet, but the voice in me said. I mean, I dreamed, that it goes down to the riverside. If you leaned on me, do you think that you could walk? Not one inch, he answered. Here, where I am, I shall die. No, no, don't talk like that. We may be saved now that I have found a way. Oh, if only you could, if only you could walk, or if I had the strength to carry you. And she wrung her hands, and began to weep, so weak was she. Her father looked at her, searchingly. Then he said, Well, love, I cannot, so there's an end. But you can, and you had better go.  Yes, and leave me. Look, there is but a little oil left, and only a few candles. The biscuits are done, and neither of us can swallow that builtong any more. I suppose that I am dying, and your health and strength are failing you quickly in this darkness. If you stop here, you must soon follow me. And what is the alternative? That madman outside, that is, if you could find strength to pull down the wall, which I doubt. You had best go, Benita. But still she said she would not. Do not see, he added, that it is my only chance of life. If you go, you may be able to bring me help, before the end comes. Should there be a passage, the probability is that although they know nothing of it, it finishes somewhere by the wall of the first enclosure where the Makalanga are. If so, you may find the Mollimo, or if he is dead, Tama saw one of the others, and they will help us. Go, Benita, go at once. I never thought of that, she answered in a changed voice. Of course, it may be so, if the passage goes down at all. Well, at least I can look and come back to tell you. Then Benita placed the remainder of the oil close by her father's side, so that he could fill the lamp, for the use of his hands still remained to him. Also she set there such crumbs of biscuits as were left, some of the Biltong, a flask of Hollands, and a pail of water. This done she put on her long cloak, filled one of its pockets with Biltong, and the other with matches, and three of the four remaining candles. The fourth she insisted on leaving beside her father's bed. When everything was ready, she knelt down at his side, kissed him, and from her heart put up a prayer that they might both live to meet again, although she knew well that this they could scarcely hope to do. Had two people ever been in a more dreadful situation, she wondered, as she looked at her father lying there, whom she must leave to fight with death alone in that awful place, while she went forth to meet him, in the unknown bowels of the earth. Mr. Clifford read her thoughts. Yes, he said, it is a strange parting, and a wild errand, but who knows, it may please Providence to take you through, and if not, why, our troubles will soon be over. Then once more they kissed, and not daring to try to speak, Benita tore herself away. Going into the passage whereof the lower part of the crucifix formed the door, she paused for a moment to examine it, and to place a fragment of rock in such fashion that it could not shut again behind her. Her idea was that it worked by aid of some spring, but now she saw that this was not so, as the whole mass hung upon three stone hinges, beautifully concealed. The dust and corrosion of ages which had made this door so hard to open, by filling up the tiny spaces between it and its framework, had also rendered these cracks utterly imperceptible to the eye. So accurately was it fashioned indeed that no one who did not know its secret would have discovered it if they searched for months or years, though at the time Benita took little note of such details. The passage beyond and the stair descending from it showed the same perfect workmanship. Evidently this secret way dated not from the Portuguese period, but from that of the Phoenicians or other ancients, to whose treasure chamber it was the approach, opening as it did from their holy of holies to which none were admitted save the head priests. The passage, which was about seven feet high, by four wide, had been hewn out of the live rock of the mountain, the thousands of little marks left by the workman's chisels were still discernible upon its walls. So it was with the stair that had been but little used and remained fresh as the day when it was finished. Down the steps, candle in hand flitted Benita, counting them as she went. The thirtieth brought her to a landing. Here it was that she saw the first traces of that treasure which they had suffered so much to find. Something glittered at her feet, she picked it up. It was a little bar of gold weighing two or three ounces that doubtless had been dropped there. Throwing it down again she looked in front of her and to her dismay saw a door of wood with iron bolts, but the bolts had never been shot and when she pulled at it the door creaked upon its rusty hinges and opened. Two more steps and she found herself in the treasure chamber. It was square and of the size of a small room, packed on either side almost to the low vaulted roof, with small bags of raw hide, carelessly arranged. Quite near to the door one of these bags had slipped down and burst open. It was filled with gold, some in ingots and some in raw nuggets, for there they lay in a shining scattered heap. Where she stooped to look it came into the mind of Benita that her father had said that in her trance she had told them that one of the bags of treasure was burst and that the skin of which it had been made was black and red. Behold, before her lay the burst bag and the colour of the hide was black and red. She shivered. The thing was uncanny, terrible, and uncanny was it also to see in the thick dust which in the course of twenty or more of centuries had gathered on the floor the mark of footprints, those of the last persons who had visited this place. There had been two of them, a man and a woman, and they were no savages for they wore shoes. Benita placed her foot in the print left by that dead woman. It filled it exactly, it might have been her own. Perhaps she thought to herself that other Benita had descended here with her father after the Portuguese had hidden away their wealth that she might be shown where it was and of what it consisted. One more glance at all this priceless, misery-working gold, and on she went, she who was seeking the gold of life and liberty for herself and him who lay above. Suppose that stairway ended there. She stopped, she looked round but could find no door. To see the better she halted and opened the glass of her lantern. Still she could perceive nothing, and her heart sank, yet why did the candle flicker so fiercely, and why was the air in this deep place so fresh? She walked forward a pace or two, then noticed suddenly that those footprints of the dead that she was following disappeared immediately in front of her, and she stopped. It was but just in time, one step more and she would have fallen down the mouth of a deep pit. Once it had been covered with a stone, but this stone was removed and had never been replaced. Look, there it stood against the wall of the chamber. Well was this for Benita, since her frail strength would not have sufficed to stir that massive block, even if she had discovered its existence beneath the dust. Now she saw that down the pit ran another ladder like a stair of stone, very narrow and precipitous. Without hesitating she began its descent. Down she went and down, one hundred steps, two hundred steps, two hundred and seventy-five steps, and all the way, wherever the dust had gathered, the man's and the woman's footprints ran before her. There was a double line of them, one line going down and the other line returning. Those that returned were the last, for often they appeared over those that descended. Why had these dead people returned, Benita wondered. The stair had ended. Now she was in a kind of natural cave, for its sides and roof were rugged. Moreover water trickled and dripped from them. It was not very large and it smelt horribly of mud and other things. Again she searched by the feeble light of her candle, but could see no exit. Suddenly she saw something else, however, for stepping on what she took to be a rock. To her horror it moved beneath her. She heard a snap as of jaws, a violet blow upon the leg nearly knocked her off her feet, and as she staggered backwards she caught glimpses of a huge and loathsome shape rushing away into the darkness. The rock that she had trodden on was a crocodile, which had its den here. With a little scream she retreated to her stair. Death she had expected but to be eaten by crocodiles. Yet as Benita stood there panting, her blessed hope rose in her breast. If a crocodile came in there it must also get out, and where such a great creature could go a woman would be able to follow. Also she must be near the water, since otherwise it could never have chosen this hole for its habitation. She collected her courage and having clapped her hands and waved the lantern about to scare any alligators that might still be lurking there. Hearing and seeing nothing more she descended to where she had trodden upon the reptile. Evidently this was its bed, for its long body had left an impress upon the mud, and all about lay the remains of creatures that it had brought in for food. Moreover a path ran outwards, its well-worn trail distinct even in that light. She followed this path which ended apparently in a blank wall. Then it was that Benita guessed why these dead folks footprints had returned. For here had been a doorway which in some past age those who used it built up with blocks of stone and cement. How then did the crocodile get out? Stooping down she searched and perceived a few yards to the right of the door, a hole that looked as though it were water-worn. Now Benita thought that she understood. The rock was softer here, and centuries of flood had eaten it away, leaving a crack in the stratum which the crocodiles had found out and enlarged. Down she went on her hands and knees and thrusting the lantern in front of her, crept along that noisome drain, but this was what it resembled. And now, oh, now she felt air blowing in her face, and heard the sound of reeds whispering and water running, and saw hanging like a lamp in the blue sky, a star, the morning star. Benita could have wept, she could have worshipped it, yet she pushed on between rocks so she found herself among tall reeds and standing in water. She had gained the banks of the Zambezi. Instantly, by instinct as it were, Benita extinguished her candle, fearing lest it should betray her, for constant danger had made her very cunning. The dawn had not yet broken, but the waning moon and the stars gave a good light. She paused to look. There above her towered the outermost wall of Bambatse, against which the river washed, except at such times as present when it was very low. So she was not in the fortress as she had hoped, but without it. And oh, what should she do? Go back again. How would that serve her father or herself? Go on. Then she might fall into the hands of the Matabili, whose camp was a little lower down. As from her perch upon the top of the cone she had seen that poor white man do. Ah, the white man! If only he lived and she could reach him! Perhaps they had not killed him after all. It was a madness, yet she would try to discover. Something impelled her to take the risk. If she failed and escaped, perhaps then she might call to the Makalanga, and they would let down a rope and draw her up the wall before the Matabili caught her.  Better perish here in the sweet air and beneath the stars, even if it were upon a Matabili spear, or by a bullet from her own pistol. She looked about her to take her bearings in case it should ever be necessary for her to return to the entrance of the cave. This proved easy, for a hundred feet or so above her, where the sheer face of the cliff jutted out a little, at that very spot indeed on which tradition said that the body of the Signore da Ferreira had struck in its fall, and the necklace beneath her wore today was torn from her. A stunted mimosa grew in some cleft of the rock. To mark the crocodile run itself, she bent down a bunch of reeds, and having first lit a few tannistic or brimstone matches, and thrown them about inside of it, that the smell of them might scare the beast should it wish to return, she set her lantern behind a stone near to the mouth of the hole. Then Bonita began her journey, which, when the river was high, it would not have been possible for her to make except by swimming. As it was, a margin of marsh was left between her and the steep rocky side of the mount, from which the Great Wall rose, and through this she made her way. Never was she likely to forget that walk, the tall reeds dripped their dew upon her till she was soaked. Long black-tailed finches, saccabulas, the natives call them, flew up disturbed, and lobbed away across the river. Owls flitted past, and bitons boomed at the coming of the dawn. Great fish splashed also in the shallows, and were they crocodiles? Bonita hoped not, for one day she had seen enough of crocodiles. It was all very strange. Could she be the same woman, she wondered, who not a year before had been walking with her cousins down Westworn Grove, and studying whitely's windows? What would these cousins say now if they could see her, white-faced, to large-eyed, desperate, splashing through the mud upon the unknown banks of the Zambezi, flying from death to death? On she struggled above her the pearly sky in which the stars were fading, around her the wet reeds, and pervading all the heavy low-lying mists of dawn. She was past the round of the walls, and at length stood upon dry ground, where the matabili had made their camp. But in that fog she saw no matabili, probably their fires were out, and she chanced to pass between the centuries. Instinctively, more than by reason, she headed for that hillock upon which she had seen the white man's wagon in the vague hope that it might still be there. On she struggled, still on, till at length she blundered against something soft and warm, and perceived that it was an ox tied to a treck-toe, beyond which were other oxen and a white wagon-cap. So it was still there. But the white man, where was he? Through the dense mist, Benita crept to the distal-bomb. Then, seeing and hearing nothing, she climbed to the fork-easy, and kneeling on it, separated the tent-flaps, and peered into the wagon. Still she could see nothing because of the mist. Yet she heard something, a man breathing in his sleep. Somehow she thought that it was a white man. A café did not breathe like that. She did not know what to do, so remained kneeling there. It seemed as though the man, who was asleep, began to feel her presence, for he muttered to himself. Surely the words were English! Then, quite suddenly, he struck a match and lit a candle which stood in a beer-bottle by his side. She could not see his face while he lit the match, for his arm hid it, and the candle burned up slowly. Then the first thing she saw was the barrel of a revolver, pointing straight at her. Now, my black friend, said a pleasant voice, down you go, or I shoot. One, two. Oh, my God! The candle burned up.  It shone in her great eyes. Still, she could see nothing, for it dazzled her. Oh, my God! said the voice again. Benita! Benita! Have you come to tell me that I must join you? Well, I am ready, my sweet, my sweet. Now I shall hear your answer. Yes, she whispered, and crawling forward down the cartel. Benita fell upon his breast, for she knew him at last. Dead or living, she cared not.  Your answer, Benita! Robert said dreamily, for to him this thing seemed a dream. Have I not given it months ago? Oh, I remember, it was only in my heart, not on my lips, when that blow fell on me. Then afterwards I heard what you had done, and I nearly died. I wish that I might die to be with you, but I could not. I was too strong. Now I understand the reason. Well, it seems that we are both living, and whatever happens, here is my answer, if it's worth anything to you. Once and for all, I love you. I'm not ashamed to say it, because very soon we may be separated for the last time. But I cannot talk now. I have come here to save my father. Where is he, Benita? Dying in a cave, up at the top of that fortress. I got down by a secret way. Are the matter-beauties still here? Very much so, he answered. But something has happened. My guard walked me an hour ago to say that a messenger had arrived from their king, Lubengula, and now they are talking over the message. This is how you came to get through. Otherwise the sentries would have assigued you, the brutes. And he drew her to him, and kissed her passionately for the first time. Ben, as though ashamed of himself, let her go. Have you anything to eat? she asked. I am starving. I didn't feel it before, but now. Starving? You starving? Well, I—look, here is some fresh meat which I could not get down last night, and put by for the cafes. Great heavens, that I should feed you with cafes' leavings. But is this good? Eat it. Benita took the stuff in her fingers and swallowed it greedily. She, who for days had lived on nothing but a little biscuit and bill-tongue. It tasted delicious to her. Never had she eaten anything so good, and all the while he watched her with glowing eyes. How can you look at me? she said at length. I must be horrible. I have been living in the dark and crawling through mud. I trod upon a crocodile, and she shuddered. Wherever you are, I never want to see you different, he answered slowly. To me you are most beautiful. Even then, wreck as she was, the poor girl flushed, and there was a mist in her eyes as she looked up and said, Thank you. I don't care now what happens to me, and what has happened doesn't matter at all. But can we get away? I don't know, he answered. But I doubt it. Go and sit on the wagon-box for a few minutes while I dress, and we will see. Benita went. The mist was thinning now, and through it she saw a sight at which her heart sank, for between her and the Mount Bambatsi, but Abili were pouring towards their camp on the river's edge.  A couple of minutes later, Robert joined her, and as he came, she looked at him anxiously in the growing light. He seemed older than when they had parted on the Zanzibar. Changed too, for now his face was serious. Moreover, he had grown a beard. Also, he appeared to limp. I'm afraid there is an end, she said, pointing to the matabili below.  And he took her hand in his, adding, Let us be happy while we can, if only for a few minutes. They will be here presently. What are you? she asked. Prisoner. That's it. I was following you when they captured me, for I have been here before and knew the way. They were going to kill me on general principles, only it occurred to one of them who was more intelligent than the rest, that I, being a white man, might be able to show them how to storm the place. Now I was sure that you were there, for I saw you standing on that point, though they thought you were the spirit of Bambatsi. So I wasn't anxious to help them, but then you know what happens when the matabili are the stormers. But as you still lived, I wasn't anxious to die either, so I set them to work to dig a hole with their asagais and sharp tools through granite. They have completed exactly 20 feet of it, and I reckon that there are 140 to go. Last night they got tired of that tunnel and talked of killing me again unless I could show them a better plan. Now all the fat is in the fire, and I don't know what is to happen. Hello, here they come, hide in the wagon quick. Benita obeyed, and from undercover of the tent, where the matabili could not see her, watched and listened. The party that approached consisted of a chief and about 20 men, who marched behind him as a guard. Benita knew that chief. He was the captain Maduna, he of the royal blood whose life she had saved. By his side was a Natal Zulu, Robert Seymour's driver who could speak English and acted as interpreter. White man said Maduna, a message has reached us from our king. Lobengula makes a great war and has need of us. He summons us back from this petty fray, this fight against cowards who hide behind walls, whom otherwise we would have killed. Everyone, yes, if we sat here till we grew old. So for this time we leave them alone. Robert answered politely that he was glad to hear it, and wished them a good journey. Wish yourself a good journey, white man, was the stern reply. Why, do you desire that I should accompany you to Lobengula? No, you go before us to the Kral of the Black One, who is even greater than the child of Moselikatsi, to that king who is called Death. Robert crossed his arms and said, Say on, White man, I promised you your life if you would show us how to pierce or climb those walls. But you have made fools of us, you have set us to cut through rock with spears and axes. Yes, to hoe at rock as though it were soil. You, who with the wisdom of your people, could have taught us some better way.  Come down now, that we may kill you quietly, and learn whether or know you are a brave man. Then it was, while her lover's hand was moving towards the pistol, hidden beneath his coat, that Benita, with a quick movement, emerged from the wagon in which she crouched, and stood up at his side upon the driving box.  How came she here? Surely this is great magic.  And they stared at her, amazed. What does it matter how I came, Chief Maduna? she answered in Zulu. Yet I will tell you why I came.  Answer me now, who gave you and your brother yonder your lives within that wall, when the Makalanga would have torn you limb from limb, as hyenas tear a buck? Was it I or another? In Kozikas, Chieftanes, replied the great captain, raising his broad spear in salute, it was you and no other. And what did you promise me then, Prince Maduna? Maiden of high berth, I promised you your life and your goods, should you ever fall into my power. Does a leader of the Amanda Billy, one of the royal blood, lie like a Mashauna or a Makalanga slave? Does he do worse, tell half the truth only, like a cheat who buys and keeps back half the price? she asked contemptuously. Maduna, you promised me not one life, but two, two lives and the goods that belong to both. Ask of your brother there, who was witness of the words. Great heavens, muttered Robert Seymour to himself, as he looked at Benita, standing with outstretched hand and flashing eyes. Who would have thought that a starved woman could play such a part, with death on the hazard? It is as the daughter of White Chief says, answered the man to whom she had appealed. When she freed us from the fangs of those dogs, you promised her two lives, my brother, one for yours and one for mine. Hear him, went on Benita. He promised me two lives, and how did this prince of the royal blood keep his promise? When I and the old man, my father, wrote hence in peace. He loosed his spears upon us, he hunted us. Yet, it was the hunters who fell into the trap, not the hunted. Maiden, replied Maduna, in a shamed voice. That was your fault, not mine. If you had appealed to me, I would have let you go.  And ere I knew who you were, my runners were out of call. Little time had I to ask your mercy. But so be it, said Benita. I accept your word, and I forgive you that offence. Now, fulfil your oath, be gone, and leave us in peace. Still, Maduna hesitated. I must make report to the king, he said. What is this white man to you that I should spare him?  If he were your father or your brother, it would be otherwise. But he is a stranger, and belongs to me, not to you. Madonna, she asked, do women such as I am, share the wagon of a stranger? This man is more to me than father or brother.  How, said the spokesman of the audience, we understand now. She is his wife, and has a right to him. If she were not his wife, she would not be in his wagon. It is plain that she speaks the truth, though how she came here we do not know, unless, as we think, she is a witch. And he smiled at his own cleverness. In cosy cas, said Madonna, you have persuaded me.  And he looked at Robert rothbly. I give him to you, and all his belongings. Now, is there anything else that you would ask? Yes, replied Benita Cooley, you have many oxen there which you took from the other Macalanga. Mine are eaten, and I need cattle to draw my wagon. I ask a present of twenty of them. And, she added, by an afterthought, two cows with young calves, for my father is sick yonder, and must have milk. Oh, give them to her, give them to her, said Madonna, with a tragic gesture, that in any other circumstances would have made Benita laugh. Give them to her, and see that they are good ones, before she asks our shields and spears also, for after all, she saved my life. So men departed to fetch those cows and oxen, which presently were driven in. While this talk was in progress, the great impie of the Matabili was massing for the march on the flat ground a little to the right of them. Now they began to come past in companies, preceded by the lads who carried the mats and cooking pots, and drove the captured sheep and cattle. By this time, the story of Benita, the white witch-woman whom they could not kill, and who had mysteriously flown from the top of the peak into their prisoner's wagon, had spread among them. They knew also that it was she who had saved their general from the Macalanga, and those who had heard her admired the wit and courage with which she had pleaded and won her cause. Therefore, as they marched past in their companies, singing a song of abuse and defiance of the Macalanga, who peered at them from the top of the wall, they lifted their great spears in salutation to Benita, standing upon the wagon-box.  That length all were gone except Maduna and a bodyguard of 200 men. He walked to the front of the wagon and addressed Robert Seymour. Listen, you fox who set us to whole granite, he said indignantly, you have outwitted us this time, but if ever I meet you again, then you die. Now I have given you your life. But, he added almost pleadingly, if you are really brave as white men are said to be, will you not come down and fight me, man to man, for honor's sake? I think not, answered Robert, when he understood this challenge, for what chance should I have against so brave a warrior? Also, this lady, my wife, needs my help on her journey home. Maduna turned from him contemptuously to Benita. I go, he said, and fear not, you will meet no matabile on that journey. Have you more words for me, O beautiful one, with a tongue of oil and a witz that cuts like steel? Yes, answered Benita, you have dealt well with me, and in reward I give you of my good luck.  Ah, said Maduna, now I understand how you flew from the mountaintop into this man's wagon.  You have said it, and with such it is not well to war. Great lady of magic, spirit of old, I salute you, and I thank you for your gifts of life and fortune. Farewell. Then he too stalked away at the head of his guard, so that presently, save for the three Zulu servants, and the herd of cattle, Robert and Benita were left utterly alone. Now her parts played and the victory won, Benita burst into tears and fell upon her lover's breast. Presently she remembered and freed herself from his arms. I am a selfish wretch, she said. How dare I be so happy when my father is dead or dying! We must go at once. Go where? asked the bewildered Robert. To the top of the mountain, of course, which I came from. Oh, don't stop to question me. I'll tell you as we walk. Stay! and she called to the Zulu driver, who, with an air of utter amazement, was engaged in milking one of the gift cows to fill two bottles with the milk. Had we not better shout to the Macalanga to let us in, suggested Robert, while this was being done. Benita wrapped some cooked meat in a cloth. No, no, they will think I am what I said I was, the witch of Bambatse, whose appearance heralds misfortune and fear a trap. Besides, we could not climb the top wall. You must follow my road, and if you can trust them, bring two of those men with you with lanterns. The lad can stop to herd the cattle. Three minutes later, followed by the two Zulus, they were walking, or rather running, along the banks of the Zambezi. Why do you not come quicker? she asked impatiently. Oh, I beg your pardon. You are lame, Robert. What made you lame? And oh, why are you not dead, as they all swore you were? You, you hero, for I know that part of the story.  When that kafir took the watch from me, I was insensible, that's all. The sun brought me to life afterwards. Then some natives turned up, good people in their way, although I could not understand a word they said. They made a stretcher of bows, and carried me for some miles to their kral in land. It's hurt awfully, for my thigh was broken, but I arrived at last. There a kafir doctor set my leg in his own fashion. It has left it an inch shorter than the other, but that's better than nothing. In that place I lay for two solid months, for there was no white man within a hundred miles. And if there had been, I could not have communicated with him. Afterwards I spent another month limping up towards Natal until I could buy a horse. The rest is very short. I found out that I was dead, and came as fast as I could to your father's farm, Vroy Krantz, where I learned from the old frau sali that you had taken to treasure hunting, the same treasure that I told you of on the Zanzibar. So I followed your spore, met the servants whom you had sent back, who told me all about you, and in due course, after many adventures, as they say in a book, walked into the camp of our friends, the Matabili. They were going to kill me at once, when suddenly you appeared upon that point of rock, glittering like, like the angel of the dawn.  But the Matabili all thought that it was the spirit of Bambatsi, who has a great reputation in these parts.  You know the rest, don't you? Yes, answered Benita softly, I know the rest. Then they plunged into the reeds, and were obliged to stop talking, since they must walk in single file. Presently, Benita looked up, and saw that she was under the thorn which grew in the cleft of rock. Also, with some trouble, she found the bunch of reeds that she had bent down, to mark the inconspicuous hole through which she had crept, and by it her lantern. It seemed weak, since she had left it there. Now, she said, light your candles, and if you see a crocodile, please shoot. End of Chapter 23 Chapter 24 Of the Spirit of Bambatsi, by H. Rider Haggard This Librivox recording is in the public domain. The True Gold Let me go first, said Robert. No, answered Benita, I know the way, but please do watch for that horrible crocodile. Then she knelt down and crept into the hole, while after her came Robert, and after him the two Zulus, who protested that they were not ant-bears to burrow underground. Lifting the lantern, she searched the cave, and as she could see no signs of the crocodile, walked on boldly to where the stairs began. Be quick, she whispered to Robert, for in that place it seemed natural to speak low. My father is above, and near his death. I am dreadfully afraid lest we should be too late. So they toiled up the endless steps, a very strange procession, for the two Zulus, bold many enough outside, were shaking with fright, till at length Benita clambered out of the trapped door onto the floor of the treasure chamber, and turned to help Robert, whose lameness made him somewhat slow and awkward. What's all that? he asked, pointing to the high sacks, while they waited for the two scared kaphiers to join them. Oh! she answered indifferently. Gold, I believe. Look, there is some of it on the floor, over Benita de Ferreira's footsteps. Gold? Why, it must be worth. And who on earth is Benita de Ferreira? I will tell you afterwards. She has been dead two or three hundred years. It was her gold, or her peoples, and those are her footprints in the dust.  Never mind the hateful stuff. Come on, quickly. So they passed the door, which she had opened that morning, and clambered up the remaining stairway. So full was Benita of terrors that she could never remember how she climbed them. Suppose that the foot of the crucifix had swung too. Suppose that her father were dead. Suppose that Jacob Meir had broken into the cave. Well, for herself, she was no longer afraid of Jacob Meir. Oh! they were there. The heavy door had begun to close, but mercifully her bit of rock kept it ajar. Father, father! she cried, running towards the tent. No answer came. She threw aside the flap, held down her lantern, and looked. There he lay, white and still. She was too late. He's dead! He's dead! she wailed. Robert snelt down at her side and examined the old man, while she waited in an agony. He ought to be, he said slowly. But, Benita, I don't think he is. I can feel his heart stir. No, don't stop to talk. Pour out some of that square face, and here, mix it with this milk.  At first it ran out again, then almost automatically he swallowed some, and they knew that he was alive and thanked heaven. Ten minutes later, Mr Clifford was sitting up, staring at them, with dull and wandering eyes, while outside the two Zulus, whose nerves had now utterly broken down, were contemplating the pile of skeletons in the corner, and the white towering crucifix, and loudly lamenting that they should have been brought to perish in this place of bones and ghosts. Is it Jacob, Mayor, who makes that noise? asked Mr Clifford faintly. And Benita, where have you been so long, and who is this gentleman with you? I seem to remember his face. He is the white man who is in the wagon, Father, an old friend, come to life again. Robert, can't you stop the howling of those cafes? Though I am sure I don't wonder that they howl. I should have liked to do so for days. Oh, Father, Father, don't you understand me? We are saved, yes, snatched out of hell, and the jaws of death. Is Jacob, Mayor, dead then? he asked. I don't know where he is, or what has happened to him, and I don't care, but perhaps we are better find out. Robert, there is a madman outside. Make the cafes, pull down that wall, will you, and catch him? What wall? What madman? he asked, staring at her. Oh, of course you don't know that either. You know nothing, I'll show you, and you must be prepared, for probably he will shoot at us. It all sounds a little risky, doesn't it? asked Robert doubtfully. Yes, but we must take the risk. We cannot carry my father down that place, and unless we can get him into light and air soon, he will certainly die. The man outside is Jacob, Mayor, his partner. You remember him? All these weeks of hardship and treasure hunting have sent him off his head, and he wanted to mesmerise me, and and what make love to you? She nodded, then went on. So when he could not get his way about the mesmerism and so forth, he threatened to murder my father, and that is why we had to hide in this cave and build ourselves up, till at last I found the way out. Amiable gentleman, Mr. Jacob, Mayor, now is always, said Robert, flushing, to think that you should have been in the power of a scoundrel like that. Well, I hope to come square with him. Don't hurt him, dear, unless you are obliged. Remember, he is not responsible. He thought he saw a ghost here the other day. Unless he behaves himself, he is likely to see a good many soon, muttered Robert. Then they went down the cave, and as silently as possible began to work at the wall, destroying in a few minutes what had been built up with so much labour. When it was nearly down, the Zulus were told that there was an enemy outside, and that they must help to catch him if necessary, but were not to harm him. They assented gladly enough.  Now there was a hole right through the wall, and Robert's Bade Benita stand to one side. Then, as soon as his eyes became accustomed to the little light that penetrated there, he drew his revolver and beckoned the kaphiers to follow. Down the passage they crept, slowly, lest they should be blinded when they came to the glare of the sunshine, while Benita waited with a beating heart. A little time went by, she never knew how long, so suddenly a rifle shot rang through the stillness. Benita was able to bear no more. She rushed down the winding passage, and presently, just beyond its mouth, in a blurred and indistinct fashion, saw that the two white men were rolling together on the ground, while the kaphiers sprang round, watching for an opportunity to seize one of them. At that moment they succeeded, and Robert rose, dusting his hands and knees. Ameable gentleman, Mr. Jacob Mayer, he repeated, I could have killed him as his back was towards me, but didn't because you asked me not.  Look, that he showed her where the bullet had cut his ear. Luckily I got hold of him before he could loose off another. Benita could find no words. Her heart was too full of thankfulness. Only she seized Robert's hand and kissed it. Then she looked at Jacob. He was lying upon the broad of his back, the two big zulus holding his arms and legs. His lips were cracked, blue and swollen. His face was almost black, but his eyes still shone bright with insanity and hate. I know you, he screamed hoarsely to Robert.   Yes, Mr. Mayer, Seymour answered. I am a ghost. Now, you boys, here's a bit of rope. Tie his hands behind his back and search him. There is a pistol in that pocket. They obeyed and presently Mayer was disarmed and bound fast to a tree. Water, he moaned. For days I have had nothing but the dew I could lick off the leaves. Pitting his plight, Benita ran into the cave and returned presently with a tin of water. One of the kaphiers held it to his lips and he drank greedily. Then, leaving one zulu to watch him, Robert, Benita and the other zulu went back, and as gently as they could carried out Mr. Clifford on his mattress, placing him in the shade of a rock where he lay, blessing them feebly, because they had brought him into the light again. At the sight of the old man, Mayer's rage blazed up afresh. Ah, he screamed. If only I had killed you long ago. She for me mine now, not that fellows. It was you who stood between us.  Then Jacob understood and was silent. They gave him more water and food to eat, some of the meat that they had brought with them, which he devoured ravenously. Are you sensible now? asked Robert when he had done. Then listen to me, I have some good news for you. The treasure you have been hunting for has been found. We are going to give you your half of it, one of the wagons and some oxen, and clear you out of this place.  You lie, said Mayer sullenly. You want to turn me out into the wilderness, to be murdered by the Macalanga or the Matabele. Very well, said Robert, untie him, boys, and bring him along. I will show him whether I lie. There are they taking me too, asked Mayer. Not into the cave, I won't go into the cave, it is haunted. If it hadn't been for the ghost there, I would have broken down their wall long ago and killed that old snake before her eyes. Then ever I went near that wall, I saw it watching me. First time I ever heard of a ghost being useful, remarked Robert, bring him along.  So the lights were lit and the two stalwart Zulus hailed Jacob forward, Robert and Benita following. At first he struggled violently, then, on finding that he could not escape, went on, his teeth chattering with fear. It is cruel, remonstrated Benita. A little cruelty will not do him any harm, Robert answered. He has plenty to spare for other people. Besides, he is going to get what he has been looking for so long. They led Jacob to the foot of the Crucifix, where a paroxysm seemed to seize him, then pushed him through the swinging doorway beneath, and down the steep stairs. Till once more, they all stood in the treasure chamber. Luke, said Robert, and drawing his hunting knife, he slashed one of the hide bags, whereon instantly there flowed out a stream of beads and nuggets. Now, my friend, am I a liar? he asked. At this wondrous sight, Jacob's terror seemed to depart from him, and he grew cunning. Beautiful, beautiful, he said. Mores and I thought, sacks and sacks of gold, I shall be a king indeed. No, no, it is all a dream, like the rest. I don't believe it's there. Loose my arms, and let me feel it. Untie him, said Robert, at the same time drawing his pistol and covering the man. He can't do us any hurt. The cafes obeyed, and Jacob, springing at the slashed bag, plunged his thin hands into it. No lie, he screamed. No lie! As he dragged the stuff out and smelt at it, gold, gold, gold, hundreds of thousands of pounds worth of gold. Let's make a bargain, Englishman, and I won't kill you as I meant to do. You take the girl, and give me all the gold.  A new version of the tale of Danny began Robert in a sarcastic voice. Then suddenly paused, for a change had come over Jacob's face, a terrible change. It turned ashen beneath the tan, his eyes grew large and round. He put up his hands as though to thrust something from him. His whole frame shivered, and his hair seemed to erect itself. Slowly he retreated backwards, and would have fallen down the unclosed trap-hole, had not one of the cafes pushed him away. Back he went, still back, till he struck the further wall, and stood there, perhaps for half a minute. He lifted his hand, and pointed first to those ancient footprints, some of which still remained in the dust of the floor, and next, as they thought, at Benita. His lips moved fast. He seemed to be pleading, remonstrating, yet, and this was the ghastliest part of it. From them there came no sound. Lastly his eyes rolled up, until only the whites of them were visible. His face became wet as the water had been poured over it, and still without a sound he fell forward, and moved no more. So terrible was the scene, that with a howl of fear the two cafes turned, and fled up the stairway. Robert sprang to the Jew, dragged him over onto his back, put his hand upon his breast, and lifted his eyelids. Dead, he said. Stone dead. Privation, brain excitements, heart failure, that's the story. Perhaps, answered Benita faintly, but really, I think that I begin to believe in ghosts also. Look, I never noticed them before, and I didn't walk there, but those footsteps seemed to lead right up to him. Then she turned too, and fled. Another week had gone by. The wagons were laden with a burden more precious perhaps, than wagons have often borne before. In one of them, on a veritable bed of gold, slept Mr Clifford, still very weak and ill, but somewhat better than he had been, and with a good prospect of recovery at any rate for a while. They were to trek a little after dawn, and already Robert and Benita were up and waiting. She touched his arm and said to him, come with me, I have a fancy to see that place once more, for the last time. So they climbed the hill, and the steep steps in the topmost wall that Maya had blocked, reopened now, and reaching the mouth of the cave, lit the lamps which they had brought with them, and entered. There were the fragments of the barricade that Benita had built with desperate hands. There was the altar of sacrifice, standing cold and grey, as it had stood for perhaps three thousand years. There was the tomb of the old monk, who had a companion now, but in it, Jacob Maya lay with him, his bones covered by the debris that he himself had dug out in his mad search for wealth, and there the white Christ hung awful on his cross. Only the skeletons of the Portuguese were gone, for with the help of his cafes, Robert had moved them, everyone, into the empty treasure chamber, closing the trap beneath, and building up the door above, so that there they might lie in peace at last. In this melancholy place they tarried but a little while, then, turning their backs upon it forever, went out and climbed the granite cone to watch the sun rise over the broad Zambezi, up its claiming glory, that same sun which had shone upon the despairing Benita de Ferreira, and upon the English Benita, when she had stood here in utter hopelessness, and seen the white man captured by the Matabele. Now, different was their state indeed, and there in that high place, whence perhaps many a wretched creature had been cast to death, when certainly the Portuguese maiden had sought to death. These two happy beings were not ashamed to give thanks to heaven for the joy which it had vouchsafed to them, and for their hopes of life full and long to be travelled hand in hand. Behind them was the terror of the cave, beneath them were the mists of the valley, but about them the light shone and rolled and sparkled, and above them stretched the eternal sky. They descended the pillar, and near the foot of it saw an old man sitting. It was Mambo, the mollimo of the Macalanga. Even when they were still far away from him, they knew his snow-white head and thin, ascetic face. As they drew near, Benita perceived that his eyes were closed, and whispered to Robert that he was asleep. Yet he had heard them coming, and even guessed her thought. Maiden, he said in his gentle voice, Maiden, who shall soon be a wife. I do not sleep, although I dream of you, as I have dreamt before. What did I say to you that day, when we first met? That for you I had good tidings, that though death was all about you, you need not fear, that in this place you who had known great sorrow should find happiness and rest. Yet Maiden, you would not believe the words of the Munwali, spoken by his prophet's lips, as he at your side, who shall be your husband, would not believe me in years past, when I told him that we should meet again. Father, she answered, I thought your rest was that which we find only in the grave. You would not believe, he went on, without heeding her, and therefore you tried to fly, and therefore your heart was torn with terror and with agony, when it should have waited for the end in confidence and peace. Father, my trial was very sore. Maiden, I know it, and because it was so sore, that patient spirit of Bambatse bore with you, and through it all guided your feet right. Yes, with you has that spirit gone, by day, by night, in the morning, and in the evening. Who was it that smote the man who lies dead yonder, with horror and with madness, when he would have bent your will to his, and made you a wife to him? Who was it that told you the secret of the treasure pit, and what footsteps went before you down its stair?  Yes, with you it has gone, and with you it will go. No more shall the white witch stand upon the pillar-point at the rising of the sun, or in the shining of the moon. Father, I have never understood you, and I do not understand you now, said Benita. What has this spirit to do with me? He smiled a little, then answered slowly. That I may not tell you. That you shall learn one day, but never hear. When you also have entered into silence, then you shall learn. But I say to you, that this shall not be till your hair is as white as mine, and your years are as many. Ah, you thought that I had deserted you, when, fearing for your father's life, you wept and prayed in the darkness of the cave. Yet it was not so, for I did but suffer the doom which I had read, to fulfil itself as it must do. He rose to his feet, and rising on his staff, laid one withered hand upon the head of Benita. Maiden, he said, we meet no more beneath the sun, yet because you have brought deliverance to my people, because you are sweet and pure and true. Take with you the blessing of Munwali, spoken by the mouth of his servant Mambo, the old Molymore of Bambatse. Though from time to time you must know tears, and walk in the shade of sorrows, long and happy shall be your days with him whom you have chosen. Children shall spring up about you, and children's children, and with them also shall the blessing go. The gold you white folk love is yours, and it shall multiply and give food to the hungry, and raiment to those that are a cold. Yet in your own heart lies a richer store that cannot melt away, the countless treasure of mercy and of love. When you sleep and when you wake, love shall take you by the hand, till at length he leads you through life's dark cave, to that eternal house of purest gold, which soon or late those that seek it shall inherit. And with his staff he pointed to the glowing morning sky, wherein, one by one, little rosy clouds floated upwards and were lost. To Robert and to Benita's misty eyes, they looked like bright-winged angels, throwing wide the black portals of the night, and heralding that conquering sun, at whose advent, despair, and darkness flee away.