“No,” answered Leo. “He says that the country is all swamp behind, and full of snakes, especially pythons, and game, and that no man lives there. But then there is a belt of swamp all along the East African coast, so that does not go for much.”
“Yes,” I said, “it does—it goes for malaria. You see what sort of an opinion these gentry have of the country. Not one of them will come with us. They think that we are mad, and upon my word I believe that they are right. If ever we see old England again I shall be astonished. However, it does not greatly matter to me at my age, but I am anxious for you, Leo, and for Job. It’s a Tom Fool’s business, my boy.”
“All right, Uncle Horace. So far as I am concerned, I am willing to take my chance. Look! What is that cloud?” and he pointed to a dark blotch upon the starry sky some miles astern of us.
“Go and ask the man at the tiller,” I said.
He rose, stretched his arms, and went. Presently he returned.
“He says it is a squall, but that it will pass far on one side of us.”
Just then Job came up, looking very stout and English in his shooting-suit of brown flannel, and with a sort of perplexed appearance upon his honest round face that had been very common with him since he sailed into these strange waters.
“Please, sir,” he said, touching his sun hat, which was stuck on to the back of his head in a somewhat ludicrous fashion, “as we have got all those guns and things in the whale-boat astern, to say nothing of the provisions in the lockers, I think it would be best if I slipped down and slept in her. I don’t like the looks” (here he dropped his voice to a portentous whisper) “of these black gentry; they have such a wonderful thievish way about them. Supposing now that some of them were to sneak into the boat at night and cut the cable, and make off with her? That would be a pretty go, that would.”
The whale-boat, I may explain, was one specially built for us at Dundee, in Scotland. We had brought it with us as we knew that this coast is a network of creeks, and that we might require something in which to navigate them. She was a beautiful boat, thirty feet in length, with a centre-board for sailing, copper-bottomed to keep the worm out of her, and full of water-tight compartments. The captain of the dhow had told us that when we reached the rock, which he knew, and that appeared to be identical with the one described upon the sherd and by Leo’s father, he would probably not be able to run up to it on account of the shallows and breakers. Therefore we had employed three hours that very morning, whilst we were totally becalmed, the wind having dropped at sunrise, in transferring most of our goods and chattels to the whale-boat, and placing the guns, ammunition, and preserved provisions in the water-tight lockers specially prepared for them, so that when we did sight the fabled rock we should have nothing to do but get into the boat, and run her ashore. Another reason that induced us to take this precautionary step was that Arab captains are apt to run past the point which they are making, either from carelessness or owing to a mistake in its identity. Now, as sailors know, it is quite impossible for a dhow that is only rigged to run before the monsoon to beat back against it. Therefore we made our boat ready to row for the rock at any moment.
“Yes, Job,” I said, “perhaps it would be as well. There are plenty of blankets there, only be careful to keep out of the moon, as it may turn your head or blind you.”
“Lord, sir! I don’t think it would much matter if it did, it is that turned already with the sight of these blackamoors and their filthy, thieving ways. They are only fit for muck, they are; and they smell bad enough for it already.”
Job, it will be perceived, was no admirer of the manners and customs of our dark-skinned brothers.
Accordingly we hauled up the boat by the tow-rope till it was right under the stern of the dhow, and Job bundled into her with all the grace of a falling sack of potatoes. Then we returned and sat down on the deck again, and smoked and talked in little gusts and jerks. The night was so lovely, and our brains were so full of suppressed excitement of one sort and another, that we did not feel inclined to turn in. For nearly an hour we sat thus, and then, I think, we both dozed off. At least I have a faint recollection of Leo sleepily explaining that the head was not a bad place to hit a buffalo, if you could catch him exactly between the horns, or send your bullet down his throat, or some nonsense of the sort.
I remember no more; till quite suddenly—a frightful roar of wind, a shriek of terror from the awakening crew, and a whip-like sting of water in our faces. Some of the men ran to let go the halyards and lower the sail, but the parrel jammed and the yard would not come down. I sprang to my feet and hung on to a rope. The sky aft was dark as pitch, but the moon still shone brightly ahead of us and lit up the blackness. Beneath its sheen a huge white-topped breaker, twenty feet high or more, was rushing on to us. It was on the break—the moon shone on its crest and tipped its foam with light. On it rushed beneath the inky sky, driven by the awful squall behind it. Suddenly, in the twinkling of an eye, I saw the black shape of the whale-boat cast high into the air on the crown of the breaking wave. Then—a shock of water, a wild rush of boiling foam, and I was clinging for my life to the shroud, ay, swept straight out from it like a flag in a gale.
We were pooped.
The wave passed. It seemed to me that I was under water for minutes—really it was seconds. I looked forward. The blast had torn out the great sail, and high in the air it was fluttering away to leeward like a huge wounded bird. Now for a moment there was comparative calm, and in it I heard Job’s voice yelling wildly, “Come here to the boat!”
Bewildered and half drowned as I was, I had the sense to rush aft. I felt the dhow sinking beneath me—she was full of water. Under her counter the whale-boat was tossing furiously, and I saw the Arab Mahomed, who had been steering, leap into her. I gave one desperate pull at the taut tow-rope to bring her alongside. Wildly I sprang also, Job caught me by one arm, and I rolled into the bottom of the boat. Down went the dhow bodily, and as she sank Mahomed drew his curved knife and severed the fibre rope by which we were fast to her, and in another second we were driving before the storm over the place where the dhow had been.
“Great Heaven!” I shrieked, “where is Leo? Leo! Leo!”
“He’s gone, sir, God help him!” roared Job into my ear; and such was the fury of the squall that his voice sounded like a whisper.
I wrung my hands in agony. Leo was drowned, and I was left alive to mourn him.
“Look out,” yelled Job; “here comes another.”
I turned; a second huge wave was overtaking us, which I half hoped would drown me. With a curious fascination I watched its awful advent. The moon was nearly hidden now by the wreaths of the rushing storm, but a little light still caught the crest of the devouring breaker. There was something dark on it—a piece of wreckage. It was on us now, and the boat was nearly full of water. But she was built in air-tight compartments—Heaven bless the man who invented them!—and lifted up through it like a swan. Amidst the foam and turmoil I saw the black thing on the wave hurrying right at me. I put out my right arm to ward it from me, and my hand closed on another arm, the wrist of which my fingers gripped like a vice. I am a very strong man, and had something to hold to, but my shoulder was nearly torn from its socket by the strain and weight of the floating body. Had the rush lasted another two seconds I must either have let go or gone with it. But it passed, leaving us up to our knees in water.
“Bail out! bail out!” shouted Job, suiting the action to the word.
But I could not bail just then, for as the moon went out and left us in total darkness, one faint, flying ray of light lit upon the face of the man I had gripped, who was now half lying, half floating in the bottom of the boat.
It was Leo. Leo brought back by the wave—back, dead or alive, from the very jaws of Death.
“Bail out! bail out!” yelled Job, “or we shall founder.”
I seized a large tin bowl with a handle to it, which was fixed under one of the seats, and the three of us
bailed away for dear life. The furious tempest drove over and round us, flinging the boat this way and that, the wind and the storm wreaths and the sheets of stinging spray blinded and bewildered us, but through it all we worked like demons with the wild exhilaration of despair, for even despair can exhilarate. One minute! three minutes! six minutes! The boat began to lighten, and no fresh wave swamped us. Five minutes more, and she was almost clear. Then, suddenly, above the awful shriekings of the hurricane came a duller, deeper roar. Great Heavens! It was the voice of breakers!
At that instant the moon began to shine forth again—this time behind the path of the squall. Out far across the torn bosom of the ocean shot the ragged arrows of her light, and there, half a mile ahead of us, ran a white line of foam, then a little space of open-mouthed blackness, and beyond another streak of white. It was the breakers, and their roar sounded clearer and yet more clear as we sped down upon them like a swallow. There they were, boiling up in snowy spouts of spray, smiting and gnashing their crests together like the gleaming teeth of hell.
“Take the tiller, Mahomed!” I roared in Arabic. “We must try and shoot them.” At the same moment I seized an oar, and got it out, motioning to Job to do likewise.
Mahomed clambered aft, and took hold of the tiller, and with some difficulty Job, who had at times pulled a tub upon the homely Cam, shipped his oar. In another minute the boat’s head was straight on to the ever-nearing foam, towards which she plunged and tore with the speed of a racehorse. Just in front of us the first line of breakers seemed a little thinner than to the right or left, for here was a gap of rather deeper water. I turned and pointed to it.
“Steer for your life, Mahomed!” I yelled. He was a skilful steersman, and well acquainted with the dangers of this most perilous coast, and I saw him grip the tiller, bend his heavy frame forward, and stare at the foaming terror till his big round eyes looked as though they would start out of his head. The send of the sea was driving the boat’s head round to starboard. If we struck the line of breakers fifty yards to starboard of the gap we must sink, for there was a great field of twisting, spouting waves. Mahomed planted his foot against the seat before him, and, glancing at him, I saw his brown toes spread out like a hand beneath the weight he put upon them as he took the strain of the tiller. She came round a bit, but not enough. I roared to Job to back water, whilst I dragged and laboured at my oar. She answered now, and not too soon.
4.1 “Steer for your life, Mahomed!”
Heavens, we were in them! And then followed a couple of minutes of heart-breaking excitement such as I cannot hope to describe. All that I remember is a shrieking sea of foam, out of which the billows rose here, there, and everywhere like avenging ghosts from their ocean grave. Once we were whirled right round, but either by chance, or through Mahomed’s skilful steering, the boat’s head came straight again before a breaker filled us. One more—a monster. We were through it or over it—more through than over—and then, with a wild yell of exultation from the Arab, we shot out between the teeth-like lines of gnashing waves into the comparatively smooth water of the mouth of sea.
But we were nearly full of water again, and not more than half a mile ahead raved the second line of breakers. Again we set to and bailed furiously. Fortunately the storm had now quite gone by, and the moon shone brightly, revealing a rocky headland running half a mile or more out into the sea, of which point these breakers appeared to be a continuation. At any rate, they boiled around its foot. Probably the ridge that formed the headland pushed out into the ocean, only at a lower level, and made the reef also. This bluff terminated in a curious peak that seemed to be not more than a mile away from us. Just as we bailed the boat clear for the second time, Leo, to my immense relief, opened his eyes, remarking that the clothes had tumbled off his bed, and that he supposed it was time to get up for chapel. I told him to shut his eyes and keep quiet, which he did without in the slightest degree realising the position. As for myself, his reference to chapel made me reflect, with a sort of sick longing, on my comfortable rooms at Cambridge. Why had I been such a fool as to leave them? This is a reflection that has often recurred to me since that night, and with an ever-increasing force.
But now again we were drifting down on the breakers, though with lessened speed, for the wind had fallen, and only the current or the tide (it afterwards proved to be the tide) was driving us.
Another minute, and with a dismal howl to Allah from the Arab, a pious ejaculation from myself, and something that was not pious from Job, we were in them. Thereon the performance, down to our final escape, repeated itself, only not quite so violently. Mahomed’s skilful steering and the airtight compartments saved our lives. In five minutes we were through, and drifting—for we were too exhausted to do anything to help ourselves except keep the boat’s head straight—with the most startling rapidity round the headland which I have described.
Round we went with the tide, until we got well under the lee of the point, when suddenly the speed slackened, we ceased to make way, and finally appeared to be in dead water. The storm had passed, leaving a calm, clean-washed sky behind it; the headland intercepted the heavy sea that was occasioned by the squall, and the tide, which had been running so fiercely up the river (for we were now in the mouth of a river), was sluggish as it turned, so we floated at peace, and before the moon went down managed to bail out the boat thoroughly and get her a little ship-shape. Leo was sleeping profoundly, and on the whole I judged it wise not to wake him. It was true he was lying in wet clothes, but the night was now so warm that I thought (and so did Job) that this was not likely to injure a man of his unusually vigorous constitution. Besides, we had no dry change at hand.
Presently the moon went down, and we were left floating on the waters, now only heaving like some troubled woman’s breast, with leisure to reflect upon all that we had gone through and all that we had escaped. Job stationed himself at the bow, Mahomed kept his post at the tiller, and I sat on a seat in the middle of the boat close to where Leo was lying.
The moon went slowly down in loveliness; she departed into the depth of the horizon, and long veil-like shadows crept up the sky through which the stars appeared. Soon, however, they too began to pale before a splendour in the east, and the advent of the dawn declared itself in the new-born blue of heaven. Quieter and yet more quiet grew the sea, quiet as the soft mist that brooded on her bosom, and covered up her troubling, as in our tempestuous life the transitory wreaths of sleep brood upon a pain-racked soul, causing it to forget its sorrow. From the east to the west sped those angels of the Dawn, from sea to sea, from mountain-top to mountain-top, scattering light from breast and wing. On they sped out of the darkness, perfect, glorious; on, over the quiet sea, over the low coast-line, and the swamps beyond, and the mountains above them; over those who slept in peace and those who woke in sorrow; over the evil and the good; over the living and the dead; over the wide world and all that breathes or has breathed thereon.
It was a beautiful sight, and yet a sad one, perhaps because of its excess of beauty. The arising sun; the setting sun! There we have the symbol and the type of humanity, and of all things with which humanity has to do. On that morning this came home to me with a peculiar force. The sun that rose to-day for us had set last night for eighteen of our fellow-voyagers!—had set everlastingly for eighteen whom we knew!
The dhow had gone down with them; they were tossing among the rocks and seaweed, so much human drift on the great ocean of Death! And we four were saved!
V
THE HEAD OF THE ETHIOPIAN
At length the heralds and forerunners of the royal sun had done their work, and, searching out the shadows, caused them to flee away. Then up he came in glory from his ocean bed, and flooded the earth with warmth and light. I sat there in the boat listening to the gentle lapping of the water and watched him rise, till presently the slight drift of the boat brought the odd-shaped rock, or peak, at the end of the promontory which we had weathered with so much peril, between m
e and the majestic sight, blotting it from my view. I still continued, however, to stare at the rock, absently enough, till presently it became edged with the fire of the growing light behind it. Then I started, as well I might, for I perceived that the top of the peak, which was about eighty feet high by one hundred and fifty thick at its base, was shaped like a negro’s head and face, whereon was stamped a most fiendish and terrifying expression. There was no doubt about it; before me were the thick lips, fat cheeks, and squat nose standing out with startling clearness against that flaming background. There, too, was the round skull, washed into shape perhaps by thousands of years of wind and weather, and, to complete the resemblance, there was a scrubby growth of weeds or lichen upon it, which against the sun looked for all the world like the wool on a colossal negro’s head. Certainly it was very odd; so odd that now I believe this is not a mere freak of nature but a gigantic monument fashioned, like the well-known Egyptian Sphinx, by a forgotten people out of a pile of rock that lent itself to their design, perhaps as an emblem of warning and defiance to any enemies who approached the harbour. Unfortunately, we were never able to ascertain whether or not this was the case, inasmuch as the rock is difficult of access both from the land and the waterside, and we had other things to attend to. To-day, considering the matter in the light of what we saw afterwards, I believe that it was fashioned by man; but however this may be, there the effigy stands, and stares from age to age across the changing ocean—there it stood two thousand years and more ago, when Amenartas, the Egyptian princess, and the wife of Leo’s remote ancestor Kallikrates, gazed upon its devilish face—and there I have no doubt it will still stand when as many centuries as are numbered between her day and our own are added to the year which bore us to oblivion.
“What do you think of that, Job?” I asked of our retainer, who was seated on the edge of the boat, trying to absorb as much sunshine as possible, and generally looking very wretched, and I pointed to the fiery and demoniacal head.