This repository has been archived by the owner on Mar 8, 2021. It is now read-only.
-
Notifications
You must be signed in to change notification settings - Fork 298
/
The Wizard 2893.txt
6340 lines (5105 loc) · 313 KB
/
The Wizard 2893.txt
1
2
3
4
5
6
7
8
9
10
11
12
13
14
15
16
17
18
19
20
21
22
23
24
25
26
27
28
29
30
31
32
33
34
35
36
37
38
39
40
41
42
43
44
45
46
47
48
49
50
51
52
53
54
55
56
57
58
59
60
61
62
63
64
65
66
67
68
69
70
71
72
73
74
75
76
77
78
79
80
81
82
83
84
85
86
87
88
89
90
91
92
93
94
95
96
97
98
99
100
101
102
103
104
105
106
107
108
109
110
111
112
113
114
115
116
117
118
119
120
121
122
123
124
125
126
127
128
129
130
131
132
133
134
135
136
137
138
139
140
141
142
143
144
145
146
147
148
149
150
151
152
153
154
155
156
157
158
159
160
161
162
163
164
165
166
167
168
169
170
171
172
173
174
175
176
177
178
179
180
181
182
183
184
185
186
187
188
189
190
191
192
193
194
195
196
197
198
199
200
201
202
203
204
205
206
207
208
209
210
211
212
213
214
215
216
217
218
219
220
221
222
223
224
225
226
227
228
229
230
231
232
233
234
235
236
237
238
239
240
241
242
243
244
245
246
247
248
249
250
251
252
253
254
255
256
257
258
259
260
261
262
263
264
265
266
267
268
269
270
271
272
273
274
275
276
277
278
279
280
281
282
283
284
285
286
287
288
289
290
291
292
293
294
295
296
297
298
299
300
301
302
303
304
305
306
307
308
309
310
311
312
313
314
315
316
317
318
319
320
321
322
323
324
325
326
327
328
329
330
331
332
333
334
335
336
337
338
339
340
341
342
343
344
345
346
347
348
349
350
351
352
353
354
355
356
357
358
359
360
361
362
363
364
365
366
367
368
369
370
371
372
373
374
375
376
377
378
379
380
381
382
383
384
385
386
387
388
389
390
391
392
393
394
395
396
397
398
399
400
401
402
403
404
405
406
407
408
409
410
411
412
413
414
415
416
417
418
419
420
421
422
423
424
425
426
427
428
429
430
431
432
433
434
435
436
437
438
439
440
441
442
443
444
445
446
447
448
449
450
451
452
453
454
455
456
457
458
459
460
461
462
463
464
465
466
467
468
469
470
471
472
473
474
475
476
477
478
479
480
481
482
483
484
485
486
487
488
489
490
491
492
493
494
495
496
497
498
499
500
501
502
503
504
505
506
507
508
509
510
511
512
513
514
515
516
517
518
519
520
521
522
523
524
525
526
527
528
529
530
531
532
533
534
535
536
537
538
539
540
541
542
543
544
545
546
547
548
549
550
551
552
553
554
555
556
557
558
559
560
561
562
563
564
565
566
567
568
569
570
571
572
573
574
575
576
577
578
579
580
581
582
583
584
585
586
587
588
589
590
591
592
593
594
595
596
597
598
599
600
601
602
603
604
605
606
607
608
609
610
611
612
613
614
615
616
617
618
619
620
621
622
623
624
625
626
627
628
629
630
631
632
633
634
635
636
637
638
639
640
641
642
643
644
645
646
647
648
649
650
651
652
653
654
655
656
657
658
659
660
661
662
663
664
665
666
667
668
669
670
671
672
673
674
675
676
677
678
679
680
681
682
683
684
685
686
687
688
689
690
691
692
693
694
695
696
697
698
699
700
701
702
703
704
705
706
707
708
709
710
711
712
713
714
715
716
717
718
719
720
721
722
723
724
725
726
727
728
729
730
731
732
733
734
735
736
737
738
739
740
741
742
743
744
745
746
747
748
749
750
751
752
753
754
755
756
757
758
759
760
761
762
763
764
765
766
767
768
769
770
771
772
773
774
775
776
777
778
779
780
781
782
783
784
785
786
787
788
789
790
791
792
793
794
795
796
797
798
799
800
801
802
803
804
805
806
807
808
809
810
811
812
813
814
815
816
817
818
819
820
821
822
823
824
825
826
827
828
829
830
831
832
833
834
835
836
837
838
839
840
841
842
843
844
845
846
847
848
849
850
851
852
853
854
855
856
857
858
859
860
861
862
863
864
865
866
867
868
869
870
871
872
873
874
875
876
877
878
879
880
881
882
883
884
885
886
887
888
889
890
891
892
893
894
895
896
897
898
899
900
901
902
903
904
905
906
907
908
909
910
911
912
913
914
915
916
917
918
919
920
921
922
923
924
925
926
927
928
929
930
931
932
933
934
935
936
937
938
939
940
941
942
943
944
945
946
947
948
949
950
951
952
953
954
955
956
957
958
959
960
961
962
963
964
965
966
967
968
969
970
971
972
973
974
975
976
977
978
979
980
981
982
983
984
985
986
987
988
989
990
991
992
993
994
995
996
997
998
999
1000
Produced by John Bickers; Dagny
THE WIZARD
by H. Rider Haggard
DEDICATION
To the Memory of the Child
Nada Burnham,
who "bound all to her" and, while her father cut his way through the
hordes of the Ingobo Regiment, perished of the hardships of war
at Buluwayo on 19th May, 1896, I dedicate these tales--and more
particularly the last, that of a Faith which triumphed over savagery and
death.
H. Rider Haggard.
Ditchingham.
AUTHOR'S NOTE
Of the three stories that comprise this volume[*], one, "The Wizard," a
tale of victorious faith, first appeared some years ago as a Christmas
Annual. Another, "Elissa," is an attempt, difficult enough owing to the
scantiness of the material left to us by time, to recreate the life of
the ancient Poenician Zimbabwe, whose ruins still stand in Rhodesia,
and, with the addition of the necessary love story, to suggest
circumstances such as might have brought about or accompanied its fall
at the hands of the surrounding savage tribes. The third, "Black Heart
and White Heart," is a story of the courtship, trials and final union of
a pair of Zulu lovers in the time of King Cetywayo.
[*] This text was prepared from a volume published in 1900
titled "Black Heart and White Heart, and Other Stories."--
JB.
THE WIZARD
CHAPTER I
THE DEPUTATION
Has the age of miracle quite gone by, or is it still possible to the
Voice of Faith calling aloud upon the earth to wring from the dumb
heavens an audible answer to its prayer? Does the promise uttered by the
Master of mankind upon the eve of the end--"Whoso that believeth in Me,
the works that I do he shall do also . . . and whatsoever ye shall ask
in My name, that will I do;"--still hold good to such as do ask and do
believe?
Let those who care to study the history of the Rev. Thomas Owen, and
of that strange man who carried on and completed his work, answer this
question according to their judgment.
*****
The time was a Sunday afternoon in summer, and the place a church in
the Midland counties. It was a beautiful church, ancient and spacious;
moreover, it had recently been restored at great cost. Seven or eight
hundred people could have found sittings in it, and doubtless they
had done so when Busscombe was a large manufacturing town, before the
failure of the coal supply and other causes drove away its trade. Now
it was much what it had been in the time of the Normans, a little
agricultural village with a population of 300 souls. Out of this
population, including the choir boys, exactly thirty-nine had elected to
attend church on this particular Sunday; and of these, three were fast
asleep and four were dozing.
The Rev. Thomas Owen counted them from his seat in the chancel, for
another clergyman was preaching; and, as he counted, bitterness and
disappointment took hold of him. The preacher was a "Deputation," sent
by one of the large missionary societies to arouse the indifferent to
a sense of duty towards their unconverted black brethren in Africa, and
incidentally to collect cash to be spent in the conversion of the
said brethren. The Rev. Thomas Owen himself suggested the visit of the
Deputation, and had laboured hard to secure him a good audience. But
the beauty of the weather, or terror of the inevitable subscription,
prevailed against him. Hence his disappointment.
"Well," he thought, with a sigh, "I have done my best, and I must make
it up out of my own pocket."
Then he settled himself to listen to the sermon.
The preacher, a battered-looking individual of between fifty and sixty
years of age, was gaunt with recent sickness, patient and unimaginative
in aspect. He preached extemporarily, with the aid of notes; and it
cannot be said that his discourse was remarkable for interest, at any
rate in its beginning. Doubtless the sparse congregation, so prone to
slumber, discouraged him; for offering exhortations to empty benches is
but weary work. Indeed he was meditating the advisability of bringing
his argument to an abrupt conclusion when, chancing to glance round, he
became aware that he had at least one sympathetic listener, his host,
the Rev. Thomas Owen.
From that moment the sermon improved by degrees, till at length it
reached a really high level of excellence. Ceasing from rhetoric, the
speaker began to tell of his own experience and sufferings in the Cause
amongst savage tribes; for he himself was a missionary of many years
standing. He told how once he and a companion had been sent to a
nation, who named themselves the Sons of Fire because their god was the
lightning, if indeed they could be said to boast any gods other than
the Spear and the King. In simple language he narrated his terrible
adventures among these savages, the murder of his companion by command
of the Council of Wizards, and his own flight for his life; a tale
so interesting and vivid that even the bucolic sleepers awakened and
listened open-mouthed.
"But this is by the way," he went on; "for my Society does not ask you
to subscribe towards the conversion of the Children of Fire. Until that
people is conquered--which very likely will not be for generations,
seeing that they live in Central Africa, occupying a territory that
white men do not desire--no missionary will dare again to visit them."
At this moment something caused him to look a second time at Thomas
Owen. He was leaning forward in his place listening eagerly, and a
strange light filled the large, dark eyes that shone in the pallor of
his delicate, nervous face.
"There is a man who would dare, if he were put to it," thought the
Deputation to himself. Then he ended his sermon.
That evening the two men sat at dinner in the rectory. It was a very
fine rectory, beautifully furnished; for Owen was a man of taste which
he had the means to gratify. Also, although they were alone, the dinner
was good--so good that the poor broken-down missionary, sipping his
unaccustomed port, a vintage wine, sighed aloud in admiration and
involuntary envy.
"What is the matter?" asked Owen.
"Nothing, Mr. Owen;" then, of a sudden thawing into candour, he
added: "that is, everything. Heaven forgive me; but I, who enjoy your
hospitality, am envious of you. Don't think too hardly of me; I have a
large family to support, and if only you knew what a struggle my life
is, and has been for the last twenty years, you would not, I am sure.
But you have never experienced it, and could not understand. 'The
labourer is worthy of his hire.' Well, my hire is under two hundred a
year, and eight of us must live--or starve--on it. And I have worked,
ay, until my health is broken. A labourer indeed! I am a very hodman, a
spiritual Sisyphus. And now I must go back to carry my load and roll
my stone again and again among those hopeless savages till I die of
it--till I die of it!"
"At least it is a noble life and death!" exclaimed Owen, a sudden fire
of enthusiasm burning in his dark eyes.
"Yes, viewed from a distance. Were you asked to leave this living of two
thousand a year--I see that is what they put it at in Crockford--with
its English comforts and easy work, that you might lead that life and
attain that death, then you would think differently. But why should
I bore you with such talk? Thank Heaven that your lines are cast in
pleasant places. Yes, please, I will take one more glass; it does me
good."
"Tell me some more about that tribe you were speaking of in your sermon,
the 'Sons of Fire' I think you called them," said Owen, as he passed him
the decanter.
So, with an eloquence induced by the generous wine and a quickened
imagination, the Deputation told him--told him many strange things and
terrible. For this people was an awful people: vigorous in mind
and body, and warriors from generation to generation, but
superstition-ridden and cruel. They lived in the far interior, some
months' journey by boat and ox-waggon from the coast, and of white men
and their ways they knew but little.
"How many of them are there?" asked Owen.
"Who can say?" he answered. "Nearly half-a-million, perhaps; at least
they pretend that they can put sixty thousand men under arms."
"And did they treat you badly when you first visited them?"
"Not at first. They received us civilly enough; and on a given day we
were requested to explain to the king and the Council of Wizards the
religion which we came to teach. All that day we explained and all
the next--or rather my friend did, for I knew very little of the
language--and they listened with great interest. At last the chief of
the wizards and the first prophet to the king rose to question us. He
was named Hokosa, a tall, thin man, with a spiritual face and terrible
calm eyes.
"'You speak well, son of a White Man,' he said, 'but let us pass from
words to deeds. You tell us that this God of yours, whom you desire that
we should take as our God, so that you may become His chief prophets in
the land, was a wizard such as we are, though grater than we are; for
not only did He know the past and the future as we do, but also He could
cure those who were smitten with hopeless sickness, and raise those
who were dead, which we cannot do. You tell us, moreover, that by faith
those who believe on Him can do works as great as He did, and that you
do believe on Him. Therefore we will put you to the proof. Ho! there,
lead forth that evil one.'
"As he spoke a man was placed before us, one who had been convicted of
witchcraft or some other crime.
"'Kill him!' said Hokosa.
"There was a faint cry, a scuffle, a flashing of spears, and the man lay
still before us.
"'Now, followers of the new God,' said Hokosa, 'raise him from the dead
as your Master did!'
"In vain did we offer explanations.
"'Peace!' said Hokosa at length, 'your words weary us. Look now, either
you have preached to us a false god and are liars, or you are traitors
to the King you preach, since, lacking faith in Him, you cannot do such
works as He gives power to do to those who have faith in Him. Out of
your own mouths are you judged, White Men. Choose which horn of the bull
you will, you hang to one of them, and it shall pierce you. This is
the sentence of the king, I speak it who am the king's mouth: That you,
White Man, who have spoken to us and cheated us these two weary days,
be put to death, and that you, his companion who have been silent, be
driven from the land.'
"I can hardly bear to tell the rest of it, Mr. Owen. They gave my poor
friend ten minutes to 'talk to his Spirit,' then they speared him before
my face. After it was over, Hokosa spoke to me, saying:--
"'Go back, White Man, to those who sent you, and tell them the words of
the Sons of Fire: That they have listened to the message of peace,
and though they are a people of warriors, yet they thank them for that
message, for in itself it sounds good and beautiful in their ears, if it
be true. Tell them that having proved you liars, they dealt with you as
all honest men seek that liars should be dealt with. Tell them that they
desire to hear more of this matter, and if one can be sent to them who
has no false tongue; who in all things fulfills the promises of his
lips, that they will hearken to him and treat him well, but that for
such as you they keep a spear.'"
"And who went after you got back?" asked Owen, who was listening with
the deepest interest.
"Who went? Do you suppose that there are many mad clergymen in Africa,
Mr. Owen? Nobody went."
"And yet," said Owen, speaking more to himself than to his guest, "the
man Hokosa was right, and the Christian who of a truth believes the
promises of our religion should trust to them and go."
"Then perhaps you would like to undertake the mission, Mr. Owen," said
the Deputation briskly; for the reflection stung him, unintentional as
it was.
Owen started.
"That is a new idea," he said. "And now perhaps you wish to go to bed;
it is past eleven o'clock."
CHAPTER II
THOMAS OWEN
Thomas Owen went to his room, but not to bed. Taking a Bible from the
table, he consulted reference after reference.
"The promise is clear," he said aloud presently, as he shut the
book; "clear and often repeated. There is no escape from it, and no
possibility of a double meaning. If it is not true, then it would seem
that nothing is true, and that every Christian in the world is tricked
and deluded. But if it is true, why do we never hear of miracles?
The answer is easy: Because we have not faith enough to work them. The
Apostles worked miracles; for they had seen, therefore their faith was
perfect. Since their day nobody's faith has been quite perfect; at least
I think not. The physical part of our nature prevents it. Or perhaps the
miracles still happen, but they are spiritual miracles."
Then he sat down by the open window, and gazing at the dreamy beauty of
the summer night, he thought, for his soul was troubled. Once before
it had been troubled thus; that was nine years ago, for now he was but
little over thirty. Then a call had come to him, a voice had seemed to
speak to his ears bidding him to lay down great possessions to follow
whither Heaven should lead him. Thomas Owen had obeyed the voice;
though, owing to circumstances which need not be detailed, to do so he
was obliged to renounce his succession to a very large estate, and to
content himself with a younger son's portion of thirty thousand pounds
and the reversion to the living which he had now held for some five
years.
Then and there, with singular unanimity and despatch, his relations came
to the conclusion that he was mad. To this hour, indeed, those who stand
in his place and enjoy the wealth and position that were his by right,
speak of him as "poor Thomas," and mark their disapprobation of his
peculiar conduct by refusing with an unvarying steadiness to subscribe
even a single shilling to a missionary society. How "poor Thomas" speaks
of them in the place where he is we may wonder, but as yet we cannot
know--probably with the gentle love and charity that marked his every
action upon earth. But this is by the way.
He had entered the Church, but what had he done in its shadow? This was
the question which Owen asked himself as he sat that night by the open
window, arraigning his past before the judgment-seat of conscience. For
three years he had worked hard somewhere in the slums; then this living
had fallen to him. He had taken it, and from that day forward his record
was very much of a blank. The parish was small and well ordered; there
was little to do in it, and the Salvation Army had seized upon and
reclaimed two of the three confirmed drunkards it could boast.
His guest's saying echoed in his brain like the catch of a tune--"that
you might lead that life and attain that death." Supposing that
he were bidden so to do now, this very night, would he indeed "think
differently"? He had become a priest to serve his Maker. How would it be
were that Maker to command that he should serve Him in this extreme and
heroic fashion? Would he flinch from the steel, or would he meet it as
the martyrs met it of old?
Physically he was little suited to such an enterprise, for in appearance
he was slight and pale, and in constitution delicate. Also, there was
another reason against the thing. High Church and somewhat ascetic in
his principles, in the beginning he had admired celibacy, and in secret
dedicated himself to that state. But at heart Thomas was very much a
man, and of late he had come to see that which is against nature is
presumably not right, though fanatics may not hesitate to pronounce
it wrong. Possibly this conversion to more genial views of life was
quickened by the presence in the neighbourhood of a young lady whom
he chanced to admire; at least it is certain that the mere thought of
seeing her no more for ever smote him like a sword of sudden pain.
*****
That very night--or so it seemed to him, and so he believed--the Angel
of the Lord stood before him as he was wont to stand before the men of
old, and spoke a summons in his ear. How or in what seeming that summons
came Thomas Owen never told, and we need not inquire. At the least he
heard it, and, like the Apostles, he arose and girded his loins to obey.
For now, in the hour of trial, it proved that this man's faith partook
of the nature of their faith. It was utter and virgin; it was not
clogged with nineteenth-century qualifications; it had never dallied
with strange doctrines, or kissed the feet of pinchbeck substitutes for
God. In his heart he believed that the Almighty, without intermediary,
but face to face, had bidden him to go forth into the wilderness there
to perish. So he bowed his head and went.
On the following morning at breakfast Owen had some talk with his friend
the Deputation.
"You asked me last night," he said quietly, "whether I would undertake
a mission to that people of whom you were telling me--the Sons of Fire.
Well, I have been thinking it over, and come to the conclusion that I
will do so----"
At this point the Deputation, concluding that his host must be mad,
moved quietly but decidedly towards the door.
"Wait a moment," went on Owen, in a matter-of-fact voice, "the dog-cart
will not be round for another three-quarters of an hour. Tell me, if it
were offered to you, and on investigation you proved suitable, would you
care to take over this living?"
"Would I care to take over this living?" gasped the astonished
Deputation. "Would I care to walk down that garden and find myself in
Heaven? But why are you making fun of me?"
"I am not making fun of you. If I go to Africa I must give up the
living, of which I own the advowson, and it occurred to me that it might
suit you--that is all. You have done your share; your health is broken,
and you have many dependent upon you. It seems right, therefore, that
you should rest, and that I should work. If I do no good yonder, at the
least you and yours will be a little benefited."
*****
That same day Owen chanced to meet the lady who has been spoken of as
having caught his heart. He had meant to go away without seeing her, but
fortune brought them together. Hitherto, whilst in reality leading him
on, she had seemed to keep him at a distance, with the result that he
did not know that it was her fixed intention to marry him. To her,
with some hesitation, he told his plans. Surprised and frightened into
candour, the lady reasoned with him warmly, and when reason failed to
move him she did more. By some subtle movement, with some sudden word,
she lifted the veil of her reserve and suffered him to see her heart.
"If you will not stay for aught else," said her troubled eyes, "then,
love, stay for me."
For a moment he was shaken. Then he answered the look straight out, as
was his nature.
"I never guessed," he said. "I did not presume to hope--now it is too
late! Listen! I will tell you what I have told no living soul, though
thereafter you may think me mad. Weak and humble as I am, I believe
myself to have received a Divine mission. I believe that I shall execute
it, or bring about its execution, but at the ultimate cost of my own
life. Still, in such a service two are better than one. If you--can care
enough--if you----"
But the lady had already turned away, and was murmuring her farewell in
accents that sounded like a sob. Love and faith after this sort were not
given to her.
Of all Owen's trials this was the sharpest. Of all his sacrifices this
was the most complete.
CHAPTER III
THE TEMPTATION
Two years have gone by all but a few months, and from the rectory in a
quiet English village we pass to a scene in Central, or South Central,
Africa.
On the brow of a grassy slope dotted over with mimosa thorns, and close
to a gushing stream of water, stands a house, or rather a hut, built
of green brick and thatched with grass. Behind this hut is a fence of
thorns, rough but strong, designed to protect all within it from the
attacks of lions and other beasts of prey. At present, save for a
solitary mule eating its provender by the wheel of a tented ox-waggon,
it is untenanted, for the cattle have not yet been kraaled for the
night. Presently Thomas Owen enters this enclosure by the back door of
the hut, and having attended to the mule, which whinnies at the sight
of him, goes to the gate and watches there till he sees his native boys
driving the cattle up the slope of the hill. At length they arrive, and
when he has counted them to make sure that none are missing, and in a
few kind words commended the herds for their watchfulness, he walks
to the front of the house and, seating himself upon a wooden stool set
under a mimosa tree that grows near the door, he looks earnestly towards
the west.
The man has changed somewhat since last we saw him. To begin with, he
has grown a beard, and although the hot African sun has bronzed it
into an appearance of health, his face is even thinner than it was, and
therein the great spiritual eyes shine still more strangely.
At the foot of the slope runs a wide river, just here broken into rapids
where the waters make an angry music. Beyond this river stretches a
vast plain bounded on the horizon by mountain ranges, each line of them
rising higher than the other till their topmost and more distant peaks
melt imperceptibly into the tender blue of the heavens. This is the land
of the Sons of Fire, and yonder amid the slopes of the nearest hills is
the great kraal of their king, Umsuka, whose name, being interpreted,
means The Thunderbolt.
In the very midst of the foaming rapids, and about a thousand yards
from the house lies a space of rippling shallow water, where, unless it
chances to be in flood, the river can be forded. It is this ford that
Owen watches so intently.
"John should have been back twelve hours ago," he mutters to himself. "I
pray that no harm has befallen him at the Great Place yonder."
Just then a tiny speck appears far away on the plain. It is a man
travelling towards the water at a swinging trot. Going into the hut,
Owen returns with a pair of field-glasses, and through them scrutinises
the figure of the man.
"Heaven be praised! It is John," he mutters, with a sigh of relief.
"Now, I wonder what answer he brings?"
Half an hour later John stands before him, a stalwart native of the
tribe of the Amasuka, the People of Fire, and with uplifted hand salutes
him, giving him titles of honour.
"Praise me not, John," said Owen; "praise God only, as I have taught you
to do. Tell me, have you seen the king, and what is his word?"
"Father," he answered, "I journeyed to the great town, as you bade me,
and I was admitted before the majesty of the king; yes, he received me
in the courtyard of the House of Women. With his guards, who stood at
a distance out of hearing, there were present three only; but oh! those
three were great, the greatest in all the land after the king. They were
Hafela, the king that is to come, the prince Nodwengo, his brother, and
Hokosa the terrible, the chief of the wizards; and I tell you, father,
that my blood dried up and my heart shrivelled when they turned their
eyes upon me, reading the thoughts of my heart."
"Have I not told you, John, to trust in God, and fear nothing at the
hands of man?"
"You told me, father, but still I feared," answered the messenger
humbly. "Yet, being bidden to it, I lifted my forehead from the dust
and stood upon my feet before the king, and delivered to him the message
which you set between my lips."
"Repeat the message, John."
"'O King,' I said, 'beneath those footfall the whole earth shakes, whose
arms stretch round the world and whose breath is the storm, I, whose
name is John, am sent by the white man whose name is Messenger'--for by
that title you bade me make you known--'who for a year has dwelt in the
land that your spears have wasted beyond the banks of the river. These
are the words which he spoke to me, O King, that I pass on to you with
my tongue: "To the King Umsuka, lord of the Amasuka, the Sons of Fire,
I, Messenger, who am the servant and the ambassador of the King of
Heaven, give greeting. A year ago, King, I sent to you saying that the
message which was brought by that white man whom you drove from your
land had reached the ears of Him whom I serve, the High and Holy One,
and that, speaking in my heart, He had commanded me to take up the
challenge of your message. Here am I, therefore, ready to abide by the
law which you have laid down; for if guile or lies be found in me, then
let me travel from your land across the bridge of spears. Still, I would
dwell a little while here where I am before I pass into the shadow of
your rule and speak in the ears of your people as I have been bidden.
Know, King, that first I would learn your tongue, and therefore I demand
that one of your people may be sent to dwell with me and to teach me
that tongue. King, you heard my words and you sent me a man to dwell
with me, and that man has taught me your tongue, and I also have taught
him, converting him to my faith and giving him a new name, the name of
John. King, now I seek your leave to visit you, and to deliver into your
ears the words with which I, Messenger, am charged. I have spoken."'
"Thus I, John, addressed the great ones, my father, and they listened
in silence. When I had done they spoke together, a word here and a word
there. Then Hokosa, the king's mouth, answered me, telling the thought
of the king: 'You are a bold man, you whose name is John, but who once
had another name--you, my servant, who dare to appear before me, and to
make it known to me that you have been turned to a new faith and serve
another king than I. Yet because you are bold, I forgive you. Go back
now to that white man who is named Messenger and who comes upon an
embassy to me from the Lord of Heaven, and bid him come in peace. Yet
warn him once again that here also we know something of the Powers that
are not seen, here also we have our wizards who draw wisdom from the
air, who tame the thunderbolt and compel the rain, and that he must
show himself greater than all of these if he would not pass hence by the
bridge of spears. Let him, therefore, take counsel with his heart and
with Him he serves, if such a One there is, and let him come or let him
stay away as it shall please him.'"
"So be it," said Owen; "the words of the king are good, and to-morrow we
will start for the Great Place."
John heard and assented, but without eagerness.
"My father," he said, in a doubtful and tentative voice, "would it not
perhaps be better to bide here awhile first?"
"Why?" asked Owen. "We have sown, and now is the hour to reap."
"It is so, my father, but as I ran hither, full of the king's words, it
came into my mind that now is not the time to convert the Sons of Fire.
There is trouble brewing at the Great Palace, father. Listen, and I will
tell you; as I have heard, so I will tell you. You know well that our
King Umsuka has two sons, Hafela and Nodwengo; and of these Hafela is
the heir-apparent, the fruit of the chief wife of the king, and Nodwengo
is sprung from another wife. Now Hafela is proud and cruel, a warrior of
warriors, a terrible man, and Nodwengo is gentle and mild, like to his
mother whom the king loves. Of late it has been discovered that Hafela,
weary of waiting for power, has made a plot to depose his father and to
kill Nodwengo, his brother, so that the land and those who dwell in it
may become his without question. This plot the king knows--I had it from
one of his women, who is my sister--and he is very wroth, yet he dare do
little, for he grows old and timid, and seeks rest, not war. Yet he is
minded, if he can find the heart, to go back upon the law and to
name Nodwengo as his heir before all the army at the feast of the
first-fruits, which shall be held on the third day from to-night. This
Hafela knows, and Nodwengo knows it also, and each of them has summoned
his following, numbering thousands and tens of thousands of spears, to
attend this feast of the first-fruits. That feast may well be a feast
of vultures, my father, and when the brothers and their regiments rush
together fighting for the throne, what will chance to the white man who
comes at such a moment to preach a faith of peace, and to his servant,
one John, who led him there?"
"I do not know," answered Owen, "and it troubles me not at all. I go to
carry out my mission, and in this way or in that it will be carried out.
John, if you are fearful or unbelieving leave me to go alone."
"Nay, father, I am not fearful; yet, father, I would have you
understand. Yonder there are men who can work wizardry. Wow! I know,
for I have seen it, and they will demand from you magic greater than
their magic."
"What of it, John?"
"Only this, my father, that if they ask and you fail to give, they will
kill you. You teach beautiful things, but say, are you a wizard? When
the child of a woman yonder lay dead, you could not raise it as did the
Christ; when the oxen were sick with the pest, you could not cure them;
or at least, my father, you did not, although you wept for the child and
were sorry at the loss of the oxen. Now, my father, if perchance
they ask you to do such things as these yonder, or die, say what will
happen?"
"One of two things, John: either I shall die or I shall do the things."
"But"--hesitated John--"surely you do not believe that----" and he broke
off.
Owen turned round and looked at his disciple with kindling eyes. "I do
believe, O you of little faith!" he said. "I do believe that yonder I
have a mission, and that He Whom I serve will give me power to carry
out that mission. You are right, I can work no miracles; but He can work
miracles Whom everything in heaven and earth obeys, and if there is need
He will work them through me, His instrument. Or perhaps He will
not work them, and I shall die, because thus His ends will best be
forwarded. At the least I go in faith, fearing nothing, for what has he
to fear who knows the will of God and does it? But to you who doubt, I
say--leave me!"
The man spread out his hands in deprecation; his thick lips trembled a
little, and something like a tear appeared at the corners of his eyes.
"Father," he said, "am I a coward that you should talk to me thus?
I, who for twenty years have been a soldier of my king and for ten a
captain in my regiment? These scars show whether or no I am a coward,"
and he pointed to his breast, "but of them I will not speak. I am no
coward, else I had not gone upon that errand of yours. Why, then, should
you reproach me because my ears are not so open as yours, as my heart
has not understanding? I worship that God of Whom you have taught me,
but He never speaks to me as He does to you. I never meet Him as I walk
at night; He leaves me quite alone. Therefore it is that I fear that
when the hour of trial comes He may desert you; and unless He covers you
with His shield, of this I am sure, that the spear is forged which shall
blush red in your heart, my father. It is for you that I fear, who are
so gentle and tender; not for myself, who am well accustomed to look in
the eyes of Death, and who expect no more than death."
"Forgive me," said Owen hastily, for he was moved; "and be sure that
the shield will be over us till the time comes for us to pass whither we
shall need none."
*****
That night Owen rose from the task at which he was labouring slowly and
painfully--a translation of passages from the Gospel of St. John into
the language of the Amasuka--and going to the open window-place of the
hut, he rested his elbows upon it and thought, staring with empty eyes
into the blackness of the night. Now it was as he sat thus that a great
agony of doubt took possession of his soul. The strength which hitherto
had supported him seemed to be withdrawn, and he was left, as John
had said, "quite alone." Strange voices seemed to whisper in his ears,
reproaching and reviling him; temptations long ago trampled under foot
rose again in might, alluring him.
"Fool," said the voices, "get you hence before it is too late. You have
been mad; you who dreamed that for your sake, to satisfy your pride, the
Almighty will break His silence and strain His law. Are you then better,
or greater, or purer than millions who have gone before you, that for
you and you alone this thing should be done? Why, were it not that you
are mad, you would be among the chief of sinners; you who dare to ask
that the Powers of Heaven should be set within your feeble hand, that
the Angels of Heaven should wait upon your mortal breath. Worm that you
are, has God need of such as you? If it is His will to turn the heart
of yonder people He will do it, but not by means of you. You and the
servant whom you are deluding to his death will perish miserably, and
this alone shall be the fruit of your presumptuous sin. Get you back out
of this wilderness before the madness takes you afresh. You are still
young, you have wealth; look where She stands yonder whom you desire.
Get you back, and forget your folly in her arms."
These thoughts, and many others of like nature, tore Owen's soul in
that hour of strange and terrible temptation. He seemed to see himself
standing before the thousands of the savage nation he went to save, and
to hear the mocking voices of their witch-finders commanding him, if he
were a true man and the servant of that God of Whom he prated, to
give them a sign, only a little sign; perhaps to move a stone without
touching it with his hand, or to cause a dead bough to blossom.
Then he would beseech Heaven with frantic prayers, and in vain, till at
length, amidst a roar of laughter, he, the false prophet and the liar,
was led out to his doom. He saw the piteous wondering look of the
believer whom he had betrayed to death; he saw the fierce faces and
the spears on high. Seeing all this his spirit broke, and, just as the
little clock in the room behind him struck the first stroke of midnight,
with a great and bitter cry to God to give him back the faith and
strength that he had lost, Owen's head fell forward and he sank into a
swoon there upon the window-place.
CHAPTER IV
THE VISION
Was it swoon or sleep?
At least it seemed to Owen that presently once again he was gazing into
the dense intolerable blackness of the night. Then a marvel came to
pass, for the blackness opened, or rather on it, framed and surrounded
by it, there appeared a vision. It was the vision of a native town,
having a great bare space in the centre of it encircled by hundreds or
thousands of huts. But there was no one stirring about the huts, for
it was night--not this his night of trial indeed, since now the sky was
strewn with innumerable stars. Everything was silent about that town,
save that now and again a dog barked or a fretful child wailed within
a hut, or the sentries as they passed saluted each other in the name of
the king.
Among all those hundreds of huts, to Owen it seemed that his attention
was directed to one which stood apart surrounded with a fence. Now the
interior of the hut opened itself to him. It was not lighted, yet with
his spirit sense he could see its every detail: the polished floor, the
skin rugs, the beer gourds, the shields and spears, the roof-tree of red
wood, and the dried lizard hanging from the thatch, a charm to ward off
evil. In this hut, seated face to face halfway between the centre-post
and the door-hole, were two men. The darkness was deep about them, and
they whispered to each other through it; but in his dream this was no
bar to Owen's sight. He could discern their faces clearly.
One of them was that of a man of about thirty-five years of age. In
stature he was almost a giant. He wore a kaross of leopard skins, and on
his wrists and ankles were rings of ivory, the royal ornaments. His face
was fierce and powerful; his eyes, which were set far apart, rolled
so much that at times they seemed all white; and his fingers played
nervously with the handle of a spear that he carried in his right hand.
His companion was of a different stamp; a person of more than fifty
years, he was tall and spare in figure, with delicately shaped hands
and feet. His hair and little beard were tinged with grey, his face was
strikingly handsome, nervous and expressive, and his forehead both broad
and high. But more remarkable still were his eyes, which shone with a
piercing brightness, almost grey in colour, steady as the flame of a
well-trimmed lamp, and so cold that they might have been precious stones
set in the head of a statue.
"Must I then put your thoughts in words?" said this man in a clear
quick whisper. "Well, so be it; for I weary of sitting here in the dark
waiting for water that will not flow. Listen, Prince; you come to talk
to me of the death of a king--is it not so? Nay do not start. Why are
you affrighted when you hear upon the lips of another the plot that
these many months has been familiar to your breast?"
"Truly, Hokosa, you are the best of wizards, or the worst," answered
the great man huskily. "Yet this once you are mistaken," he added with a
change of voice. "I came but to ask you for a charm to turn my father's
heart----"
"To dust? Prince, if I am mistaken, why am I the best of wizards, or the
worst, and why did your jaw drop and your face change at my words, and
why do you even now touch your dry lips with your tongue? Yes, I know
that it is dark here, yet some can see in it, and I am one of them. Ay,
Prince, and I can see your mind also. You would be rid of your father:
he has lived too long. Moreover his love turns to Nodwengo, the good and
gentle; and perhaps--who can say?--it is even in his thought, when all
his regiments are about him two days hence, to declare that you, Prince,
are deposed, and that your brother, Nodwengo, shall be king in your
stead. Now, Nodwengo you cannot kill; he is too well loved and too well
guarded. If he died suddenly, his dead lips would call out 'Murder!' in
the ears of all men; and, Prince, all eyes would turn to you, who alone
could profit by his end. But if the king should chance to die--why he is
old, is he not? and such things happen to the old. Also he grows feeble,
and will not suffer the regiments to be doctored for war, although day
by day they clamour to be led to battle; for he seeks to end his years
in peace."
"I say that you speak folly," answered the prince with vehemence.
"Then, Son of the Great One, why should you waste time in listening to
me? Farewell, Hafela the Prince, first-born of the king, who in a day to
come shall carry the shield of Nodwengo; for he is good and gentle, and
will spare your life--if I beg it of him."
Hafela stretched out his hand through the darkness, and caught Hokosa by
the wrist.
"Stay," he whispered, "it is true. The king must die; for if he does not
die within three days, I shall cease to be his heir. I know it through
my spies. He is angry with me; he hates me, and he loves Nodwengo
and the mother of Nodwengo. But if he dies before the last day of the
festival, then that decree will never pass his lips, and the regiments
will never roar out the name of Nodwengo as the name of the king to
come. He must die, I tell you, Hokosa, and--by your hand."
"By my hand, Prince! Nay; what have you to offer me in return for such
a deed as this? Have I not grown up in Umsuka's shadow, and shall I cut
down the tree that shades me?"
"What have I to offer you? This: that next to myself you shall be the
greatest in the land, Hokosa."
"That I am already, and whoever rules it, that I must always be. I, who
am the chief of wizards; I, the reader of men's hearts; I, the hearer
of men's thoughts! I, the lord of the air and the lightning; I, the
invulnerable. If you would murder, Prince, then do the deed; do it
knowing that I have your secret, and that henceforth you who rule shall
be my servant. Nay, you forget that I can see in the dark; lay down that
assegai, or, by my spirit, prince as you are, I will blast you with a
spell, and your body shall be thrown to the kites, as that of one who
would murder his king and father!"
The prince heard and shook, his cheeks sank in, the muscles of his great
form seemed to collapse, and he grovelled on the floor of the hut.
"I know your magic," he groaned; "use it for me, not against me! What
is there that I can offer you, who have everything except the throne,
whereon you cannot sit, seeing that you are not of the blood-royal?"
"Think," said Hokosa.
For a while the prince thought, till presently his form straightened
itself, and with a quick movement he lifted up his head.
"Is it, perchance, my affianced wife?" he whispered; "the lady Noma,
whom I love, and who, according to our custom, I shall wed as the queen
to be after the feast of first-fruits? Oh! say it not, Hokosa."
"I say it," answered the wizard. "Listen, Prince. The lady Noma is the
only child of my blood-brother, my friend, with whom I was brought up,
he who was slain at my side in the great war with the tribes of the
north. She was my ward: she was more; for through her--ah! you know
not how--I held my converse with the things of earth and air, the very
spirits that watch us now in this darkness, Hafela. Thus it happened,
that before ever she was a woman, her mind grew greater than the mind
of any other woman, and her thought became my thought, and my thought
became her thought, for I and no other am her master. Still I waited
to wed her till she was fully grown; and while I waited I went upon an
embassy to the northern tribes. Then it was that you saw the maid in
visiting at my kraal, and her beauty and her wit took hold of you; and
in the council of the king, as you have a right to do, you named her as
your head wife, the queen to be.
"The king heard and bowed his head; he sent and took her, and placed her
in the House of the Royal Women, there to abide till this feast of the
first-fruits, when she shall be given to you in marriage. Yes, he sent
her to that guarded house wherein not even I may set my foot. Although
I was afar, her spirit warned me, and I returned, but too late; for she
was sealed to you of the blood-royal, and that is a law which may not be
broken.
"Hafela, I prayed you to return her to me, and you mocked me. I would
have brought you to your death, but it could not have availed me: for
then, by that same law, which may not be broken, she who was sealed to
you must die with you; and though thereafter her spirit would sit with
me till I died also, it was not enough, since I who have conquered all,
yet cannot conquer the fire that wastes my heart, nor cease to long by
night and day for a woman who is lost to me. Then it was, Hafela, that
I plotted vengeance against you. I threw my spell over the mind of the
king, till he learnt to hate you and your evil deeds; and I, even I,
have brought it about that your brother should be preferred before you,
and that you shall be the servant in his house. This is the price that
you must pay for her of whom you have robbed me; and by my spirit and
her spirit you shall pay! Yet listen. Hand back the girl, as you may
do--for she is not yet your wife--and choose another for your queen, and
I will undo all that I have done, and I will find you a means, Hafela,
to carry out your will. Ay, before six suns have set, the regiments
rushing past you shall hail you King of the Nation of the Amasuka, Lord
of the ancient House of Fire!"
"I cannot," groaned the prince; "death were better than this!"
"Ay, death were better; but you shall not die, you shall live a servant,
and your name shall become a mockery, a name for women to make rhymes
on."
Now the prince sprang up.
"Take her!" he hissed; "take her! you, who are an evil ghost; you,
beneath whose eyes children wail, and at whose passing the hairs on the
backs of hounds stand up! Take her, priest of death and ill; but take my
curse with her! Ah! I also can prophecy; and I tell you that this
woman whom you have taught, this witch of many spells, whose glance can
shrivel the hearts of men, shall give you to drink of your own medicine;
ay, she shall dog you to the death, and mock you while you perish by an
end of shame!"
"What," laughed the wizard, "have I a rival in my own arts? Nay, Hafela,
if you would learn the trade, pay me well and I will give you lessons.
Yet I counsel you not; for you are flesh, nothing but flesh, and he who
would rule the air must cultivate the spirit. Why, I tell you, Prince,
that even the love for her who is my heart, the lady whom we both would
wed, partaking of the flesh as, alas! it does, has cost me half my
powers. Now let us cease from empty scoldings, and strike our bargain.
"Listen. On the last day of the feast, when all the regiments are
gathered to salute the king there in his Great Place according to
custom, you shall stand forth before the king and renounce Noma, and she
shall pass back to the care of my household. You yourself shall bring
her to where I stand, and as I take her from you I will put into your
hand a certain powder. Then you shall return to the side of the
king, and after our fashion shall give him to drink the bowl of the
first-fruits; but as you stir the beer, you will let fall into it that
powder which I have given you. The king will drink, and what he leaves
undrunk you will throw out upon the dust.
"Now he will rise to give out to the people his royal decree, whereby,
Prince, you are to be deposed from your place as heir, and your brother,
Nodwengo, is to be set in your seat. But of that decree never a word
shall pass his lips; if it does, recall your saying and take back the
lady Noma from where she stands beside me. I tell you that never a word
will pass his lips; for even as he rises a stroke shall take him, such
a stroke as often falls upon the fat and aged, and he will sink to the
ground snoring through his nostrils. For a while thereafter--it may be
six hours, it may be twelve--he shall lie insensible, and then a cry
will arise that the king is dead!"
"Ay," said Hafela, "and that I have poisoned him!"
"Why, Prince? Few know what is in your father's mind, and with those,
being king, you will be able to deal. Also this is the virtue of the
poison which I choose, that it is swift, yet the symptoms of it are the
symptoms of a natural sickness. But that your safety and mine may be
assured, I have made yet another plan, though of this there will be
little need. You were present two days since when a runner came from the
white man who sojourns beyond our border, he who seeks to teach us, the
Children of Fire, a new faith, and gives out that he is the messenger of
the King of heaven. This runner asked leave for the white man to visit
the Great Place, and, speaking in the king's name, I gave him leave. But
I warned his servant that if his master came, a sign should be required
of him to show that he was a true man, and had of the wisdom of the King
of Heaven; and that if he failed therein, then that he should die as
that white liar died who visited us in bygone years.
"Now I have so ordered that this white man, passing through the Valley
of Death yonder, shall reach the Great Place not long before the king
drinks of the cup of the first-fruits. Then if any think that something
out of nature has happened to the king, they will surely think also that
this strange prayer-doctor has wrought the evil. Then also I will call
for a sign from the white man, praying of him to recover the king of his
sickness; and when he fails, he shall be slain as a worker of spells and
the false prophet of a false god, and so we shall be rid of him and
his new faith, and you shall be cleared of doubt. Is not the plan good,
Prince?"
"It is very good, Hokosa--save for one thing only."
"For what thing?"
"This: the white man who is named Messenger might chance to be a true
prophet of a true God, and to recover the king."
"Oho, let him do it, if he can; but to do it, first he must know the
poison and its antidote. There is but one, and it is known to me only
of all men in this land. When he has done that, then I, yes, even I,
Hokosa, will begin to inquire concerning this God of his, who shows
Himself so mighty in person of His messenger." And he laughed low and
scornfully.
"Prince, farewell! I go forth alone, whither you dare not follow at this
hour, to seek that which we shall need. One word--think not to play
me false, or to cheat me of my price; for whate'er betides, be sure of
this, that hour shall be the hour of your dooming. Hail to you, Son of
the King! Hail! and farewell." Then, removing the door-board, the wizard
passed from the hut and was gone.
*****
The vision changed. Now there appeared a valley walled in on either side
with sloping cliffs of granite; a desolate place, sandy and, save for a
single spring, without water, strewn with boulders of rock, some of them
piled fantastically one upon the other. At a certain spot this valley
widened out, and in the mouth of the space thus formed, midway between
the curved lines of the receding cliffs, stood a little hill or koppie,
also built up of boulders. It was a place of death; for all around the
hill, and piled in hundreds between the crevices of its stones, lay the
white bones of men.
Nor was this all. Its summit was flat, and in the midst of it stood
a huge tree. Even had it not been for the fruit which hung from its
branches, the aspect of that tree must have struck the beholder as
uncanny, even as horrible. The bark on its great bole was leprous white;
and from its gaunt and spreading rungs rose branches that subdivided
themselves again and again, till at last they terminated in round green
fingers, springing from grey, flat slabs of bark, in shape not unlike
that of a human palm. Indeed, from a little distance this tree,
especially if viewed by moonlight, had the appearance of bearing on
it hundreds or thousands of the arms and hands of men, all of them
stretched imploringly to Heaven.
Well might they seem to do so, seeing that to its naked limbs hung the
bodies of at least twenty human beings who had suffered death by order
of the king or his captains, or by the decree of the company of wizards,
whereof Hokosa was the chief. There on the Hill of Death stood the Tree
of Death; and that in its dank shade, or piled upon the ground beneath
it, hung and lay the pitiful remnants of the multitudes who for
generations had been led thither to their doom.
Now, in Owen's vision a man was seen approaching by the little pathway
that ran up the side of the mount--the Road of Lost Footsteps it was
called. It was Hokosa the wizard. Outside the circle of the tree he
halted, and drawing a tanned skin from a bundle of medicines which he
carried, he tied it about his mouth; for the very smell of that tree is
poisonous and must not be suffered to reach the lungs.
Presently he was under the branches, where once again he halted; this
time it was to gaze at the body of an old man which swung to and fro in
the night breeze.
"Ah! friend," he muttered, "we strove for many years, but it seems that
I have conquered at the last. Well, it is just; for if you could have
had your way, your end would have been my end."
Then very leisurely, as one who is sure that he will not be interrupted,
Hokosa began to climb the tree, till at length some of the green fingers
were within his reach. Resting his back against a bough, one by one he