CHAPTER XX.
TO WHAT END!
"The Sign of the Spider!" Laurence Stanninghame lying there, hisfaculties half dazed by the shock of his fall and the pain of his wound,hearing the words--uttered as they were in pure Zulu--almost persuadedhimself that the terrible events of that day had been a dream. But no,it was real enough. His half-unclosed eyes took in the sea of grim, darkfaces pressing forward to gaze upon him. "The Sign of the Spider?" Whatdid it--what could it mean, that it should be all-powerful to stay thosedevouring spears, to avert from him the grisly death of blood, whosebitterness even then was already past? Then, as for the first time, hesuffered his glance to follow the direction of theirs. He saw a strangething.
The metal box had come forth, either jerked from its resting-placeduring his fall, or unconsciously plucked thence by his own hand in thelast moment of his extremity, and now, still secured by the steel chain,it lay upon his breast. And oh! marvel of marvels! Gazing thus upon it,focussed by his half-closed eyelids and confused senses--the stragglingmonogram with its quaint turns and flourishes, lying brown upon the moreshining metal, seemed to take exactly the form and aspect of a greatsprawling tarantula. "The Sign of the Spider" had been their cry! Andthese were "The People of the Spider!" What magic, what mystery wasthis? Lilith's last gift, Lilith's image; even her very name! It hadindeed acted as a talisman, as a "charm" to stand between him and themost deadly of peril, as her aspiration had worded it. Verily, again hadLilith's love availed to stand between himself and a swift, sure, andbloody death! A marvel, and a stupendous one.
All this flashed through his mind as the Ba-gcatya crowded up aroundhim, the hubbub of their excited voices sinking into an awestruck murmuras they gazed upon the man who wore "The Sign of the Spider." No wonderthis man should have come forth alive from the ring of death, theydecided,--he alone,--wearing that sign. And he alone had come forth.
All sounds of conflict had now ceased, giving way to the exultant shoutsand bass laughter of the victorious savages looting the property of theslavers. Not a man was left alive up there, Laurence knew only too well.He alone was spared, as the bearer of that mysterious sign; was spared,miraculously indeed--but to what end?
Now he became conscious of a movement among the crowd, which partedquickly, respectfully. Through the opening thus effected there advancedtwo men. Both were fine, tall warriors, elderly of aspect, for theirshort, crisp beards were turning gray, but apparently in the very primeof athletic strength and vigour. In outward adornment their appearancediffered little from that of the bulk of the Ba-gcatya. Their shavenheads were surmounted by the _isicoco_, or ring, exactly after the Zulufashion, and on either side of this, but fastened so as not tointerfere with it, nodded a tuft of magnificent white ostrich plumes.Laurence, who had now raised himself to a sitting posture, felt no doubtbut that in these he beheld the two principal war-chiefs of theBa-gcatya army.
"Who art thou, stranger, who wearest the Sign of the Spider?" began oneof these in pure Zulu, after gazing upon him for a moment in silence.
Laurence at first thought to affect ignorance of the language, of which,indeed, he possessed considerable knowledge. He would the more readilyget at their plans and intentions that way. But then it occurred to himhe could hardly sustain his character as one to be favoured of thePeople of the Spider if professing an ignorance of their tongue, and heintended to work that fortunate incident for all it would carry. So hereplied courteously:
"You see me, father. I alone am alive of those who fought up yonder.Even the spear which would slay me refused its work. It was turnedaside," showing the wound in his shoulder, of which he realized he mustmake light, though, as a matter of fact, it was giving him considerablepain.
A deep murmur from the vast and increasing audience convinced thespeaker that he had scored a point in making this statement. The chiefcontinued:
"Rest now, while we rest, O stranger, and eat, for the way is far whichlies before us."
"And whither does that way lie, O brave ones who command the valiant?"asked Laurence.
"Where dwelleth the Strong Wind that burns from the North." And withthis darkly enigmatical rejoinder the speaker and his brother chiefturned away, as a sign that the conference need proceed no further atpresent.
Some of those who had heard now beckoned Laurence forward, and, as hemoved among that terrible host, many and strange were the glances whichwere cast at him. He, for his part, was not unmoved. This was anexperience clean outside any he had ever known. The might and stature ofthese formidable warriors, lingering around in immense groups, many ofthem bleeding from ghastly wounds, yet devouring the dried food theycarried, the while comrades were treating their hurts after a fashionwhich would have caused the civilized being to shriek aloud with agony;the ferocious volubility wherewith they discussed and fought the battleover again; and away beyond their lines, the earth black with corpses ofthe slain; while up yonder, though this he could not see, the rockcircle was literally piled with those who had been his friends orfollowers for many a long day. All this impressed him to an extent whichhe had hardly deemed possible, though of any outward evidence thereof hegave no sign.
"Are all dead up yonder?" he asked some of the Ba-gcatya, as he joinedthem in their frugal fare.
A laugh, derisive but not discourteous to himself, greeted the question.
"_Au!_ The bite of The Spider does not need repeating twice," was thereply. "None who have once felt it live."
The Ba-gcatya, heavy as had been their losses, were in high good-humourover their victory. After all, it was a victory, and a hard-fought one.They only lived for such. Losses were nothing to them. The spoils of theslavers' caravan--arms, ammunition, goods of all sorts, were distributedfor transport among the younger regiments of the _impi_, which, itsallotted period of rest over, at a mandate from its chiefs prepared fordeparture. And now the solitary white man in its midst--captive orguest, he himself was hardly certain which--had an opportunity ofadmiring the stern and iron discipline of this splendid army of savages.That of the Zulu troops under the rule of Cetywayo, or even under thatof Tshaka, might have equalled it, but could not possibly have surpassedit. Each company fell into rank with machine-like precision andcelerity. The dead were left as they fell; those who were too grievouslywounded to move received death from the swift, sure spear-stroke of acomrade; then, marching in five columns, the great army set forth on itsreturn, striking a course to the northward.
Laurence Stanninghame's feelings were passing strange as he foundhimself thus carried captive, he knew not whither, by this mighty nationwhich had hitherto been to him but a name, as to whose very existence hehad been until quite recently more than half sceptical. Hazon had notexaggerated its strength or prowess; no, not one whit. Of that he hadhad abundant testimony. And Hazon himself? That strange individual, withhis marked-out personality, his cold-blooded ruthlessness and dauntlesscourage? Well, his career was done. He lay in yonder circle, buriedbeneath the slain, fighting to the last with fierce and consistentvalour. And Holmes? Even Laurence's hardened nature felt soft as hethought of the comrade with whom he had been so closely linked duringthese years of lawless and perilous enterprise. Well, they were gone,and he was spared, but--to what end?
Then the spirit of the true adventurer reasserted itself. What laybefore him? What were the chances opening out to him in the dim, unknownland whither they were speeding? "You will return wealthy, or--you willnot return at all," had been Hazon's words; and now their utterer wouldutter no more words of any kind--but he, Laurence, would he return atall? Would he?
And now, as they gained the edge of the great plain, the whole _impi_raised a mighty battle-song, improvised to celebrate their triumph. Itsfierce strophes rolled like thunder along the ranks to the tread ofmarching feet, and the multitude of hide shields dappled the plain farand near, and the wavy lines of spear-points flashed and sparkled in thesunlight.
And already over the wizard ring of the rock circle, piled with itsslain, immense clouds of vultures
were wheeling beneath the blue vaultor swooping down upon their abundant feast. And the sun, flaming downupon the torrid earth, seemed to shed a pitiless, brassy glare upon thisawful hecatomb, whose annals should ever remain unrecorded, swallowed upin the grim and gloomy mysteries of that region of cruelty and of blood.
For many days thus they journeyed--making rapid, but not forced marches.The aspect of the country, too, varied,--open, wavy plains, wheregiraffe and buffalo were plentiful, and were hunted in great numbers forthe supply of the _impi_--then gloomy forest tracts, which seemed todepress the Ba-gcatya, who hurried through them with all possible speed.Broad rivers, too, swarming with crocodiles and hippopotami,--and thesethe warriors would dash through in a mass, making the most hideousyelling and splashing. But even the ground seemed gradually to ascend,and certain white peaks, for some time visible on the far sky line, weredrawing nearer, growing larger with every march.
It may seem strange how readily Laurence Stanninghame adapted himself tothis new turn in the tide of his affairs--and indeed now and again hewould faintly wonder at it himself. He had fought against theseformidable savages in the most determined and bloody hand-to-handconflict that had ever befallen his lot, or, in all probability, everwould again. They had overwhelmed and massacred his comrades and wholefollowing; sparing himself alone, and that by a miracle. And now notonly was he subjected to no ill-treatment or indignity, but moved freelyamong them, and was even suffered to retain his arms. Yet there was asort of stand-offishness about most of them, in which he thought todescry a mingling of awe and repulsion.
Now and again, however, a thought would occur to him,--a thoughtproductive of a cold shiver. To what end was he thus spared? Was it tobe sacrificed in some hideous and gruesome rite? The thought was not apleasant one, and it would intrude more and more. The hot African glow,the adventurous life, replete with every phase of weird and depressingincident, had strangely affected this man's temperament. With all hiscoolness in emergencies--his readiness of resource--in times of rest hewould grow moody and high-strung. A sort of surcharged, mesmericproperty seemed to hold him at such times, and he would wonder whetherthe hideous experiences and iron self-repression which he had passedthrough of late had not begun, unknown to himself, actually to affecthis brain.
Now during the heat of the midday halt, he would withdraw and sit aloneby the hour, contemplating the metal box, and at times its contents.More and more, since his wonderful escape, was it assuming in his eyesthe properties of an amulet, or charm. It would reassure him, too, whattime unpleasant thoughts would weigh upon him as to the end to which hehad been reserved. Twice had Lilith's love stood between him and death.Would it not again? In truth the metal box was a possession beyondprice.
All unconsciously his frequent and rapt contemplation of this object wasstanding him in valuable stead. The Ba-gcatya, furtively beholding himthus engaged,--for he was never beyond their watchful gaze,--werestrengthened in their belief that he was a magician of the Spider, andfeared him the more. He was thus, unconsciously, keeping up hischaracter as such.
Yet, vivid as recollection was, as conjured up by the metal box, inother respects the old life seemed far away as a dream; misty, shadowy,vanishing. All its old conventionalities, its abstract notions of rightand wrong, what were they? Dust. Even now, whither was he wending? Wouldhe ever again behold a white face? It might be never.
"Have no white people ever visited your country, Silawayo?" he said oneday while he and the two war-chiefs were talking together during themarch.
"One only," was the reply, given with a shade of hesitation.
"And what became of him?"
"_Au!_ He went to---- Well, he went----" answered the chief, with acurious look.
The reply smote upon Laurence with a cold fear. What grim and gruesomeform of mysterious doom did it not point to? "One only," Silawayo hadsaid. He himself was the second. It seemed ominous. But it would neverdo to manifest curiosity, let alone apprehension, on his own account, sohe forebore further query as to the mystery, whatever it might be. Yethe thought it no harm to say:
"And what was this white man, Silawayo?"
"He was _Umfundisi_" (a preacher), answered the other chief, Ngumunye."The king loves not such."
Well, the king need have no objections to himself on that score, at anyrate, thought Laurence, with a dash of grim humour. But he only said:
"The king? Tell me about your king, _Izinduna_. How does he look? Whatis his name?"
"_Hau!_ Is it possible, O stranger, that you have never heard the nameof the king?" said Ngumunye, turning upon Laurence a blankly astonishedface.
"Did not Silawayo but now say that only one white man had visited yourcountry--and even he had not returned?" said Laurence, in nativefashion answering one query with another.
"Ha!" cried both chiefs, whom an idea seemed to strike. Then Ngumunyewent on impressively:
"Look around, O bearer of the Sign of the Spider. For days we have seenno man,--the remains of huts have we seen, but of people none. You toowere remarking upon it but yesterday."
"That is so," assented Laurence.
"The remains of huts, but of people none," repeated the induna, with awave of his hand. "Well, stranger, that is the name of the king, theGreat Great One."
"The name of the king?"
"I'Tyisandhlu!"
"I'Tyisandhlu? The Strong Wind that burns from the North?" repeatedLaurence, translating the name.
"_E-he!_" assented the chiefs emphatically. "Now say,--hath not a broadbelt around the land of the People of the Spider been burned flat?" witha wave of the hand which took in the desolated region.
They had gained the great mountain range whose snowy summits had beendrawing nearer for days, and a noble range indeed it was apparently,moreover, of immense altitude. Laurence Stanninghame, who was wellacquainted with the Alps, now gazed in wonder and admiration upon thesesnow-capped Titans whose white heads seemed to support the blue vault ofheaven itself, to such dizzy heights did they soar. Walls of blackcliff, overhung with cornices even as with gigantic white eyebrows,towered up from dazzling snow slope, and higher still riven crags, splitinto all fantastic shapes, frowned forth as though to menace the world.And all around, clinging about the feet of these stupendous heights,soft, luxuriant forests, tuneful with the murmur of innumerable glacierstreams. A very Paradise of beauty and grandeur side by side, thoughtLaurence--amid which the shields and spears, the marching column of thesavage host seemed strangely out of keeping.
"How are they called, those mountains, Silawayo?" he said.
"Beyond them lies the land of the People of the Spider," answered theinduna evasively. And the other understood that he must not look forexuberant information on topographical subjects just then.
They entered the mountains by a deep, black defile which pierced therange. For a day and night they wound through this, hardly pausing torest, for it had become piercingly cold. Moreover, as Silawayoexplained, even when the weather was at its highest stage of sultrinesselsewhere, in the mountains the changes were sudden and great. To besnowed up in this pass was too serious a matter to risk.
"Was it the only gate by which the country of the Ba-gcatya was entered,then?"
But Silawayo did not seem to hear this question. He descanted learnedlyon the suddenness of the mountain storms, and told tales of more thanone _impi_ which had set forth in all its warlike ardour, and had foundhere a stiff and frozen bed whereon its people might rest for all time.
The while keenly alert to take in all the features of the route,Laurence affected the greatest interest in the conversation of thosearound him. But there was that about the dark ruggedness of thisstupendous pass that weighed heavily upon his mind--that depressed,well-nigh appalled him. It was as though he were passing through someblack and gloomy gate which should shut him forever from the outsideworld, as they wound their way now where the cliffs beetled overhead soas to shut out the heavens, now along some dizzy ledge, with the dullroar of the mountain stream wafted u
p on icy gusts from far below. Hesuffered severely from the cold too, he who had breathed the moist,torrid heat of equatorial forests for so long,--and his wound becamecongealed and stiff. Yet he bore himself heroically, even as theBa-gcatya themselves, who, their scanty clothing notwithstanding, seemedto feel the cold not one whit, chatting and laughing and singing whilethey marched. Finally the ground descended once more, and atlength--while he was nodding in slumber at the dawn of day, during oneof their brief rests--Ngumunye touched him on the shoulder and beckonedthat he should accompany him. Laurence complied, and when they hadgained the brow of a gently rising ridge beyond, an exclamation ofwonder and admiration burst from his lips.
"Lo!" said the induna, pointing down with his knob-stick. "Lo! therelies the land of the People of the Spider; there rests the throne of theStrong Wind that burns from the North. Lo! his dwelling,--Imvungayo."
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