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CHAPTER VII - THE MESSENGERS
The door opened, and through it came Jacob Meyer, followed by three
natives. Benita did not see or hear them; her soul was far away. There
at the head of the room, clad all in white, for she wore no mourning
save in her heart, illuminated by the rays of the lamp that hung above
her, she stood still and upright, for she had risen; on the face and
in her wide, dark eyes a look that was very strange to see. Jacob
Meyer perceived it and stopped; the three natives perceived it also
and stopped. There they stood, all four of them, at the end of the
long sitting-room, staring at the white Benita and at her haunted
eyes.
One of the natives pointed with his thin finger to her face, and
whispered to the others. Meyer, who understood their tongue, caught
the whisper. It was:
"Behold the Spirit of the Rock!"
"What spirit, and what rock?" he asked in a low voice.
"She who haunts Bambatse; she whom our eyes have seen," answered the
man, still staring at Benita.
Benita heard the whispering, and knew it was about herself, though not
one word of it did she catch. With a sigh she shook herself free from
her visions and sat down in a chair close by. Then one by one the
messengers drew near to her, and each, as he came, made a profound
obeisance, touching the floor with his finger-tips, and staring at her
face. But her father they only saluted with an uplifted hand. She
looked at them with interest, and indeed they were interesting in
their way; tall, spare men, light coloured, with refined, mobile
faces. Here was no negro-blood, but rather that of some ancient people
such as Egyptians or Phœnicians: men whose forefathers had been wise
and civilized thousands of years ago, and perchance had stood in the
courts of Pharaoh or of Solomon.
Their salutations finished, the three men squatted in a line upon the
floor, drawing their fur karosses, or robes, about them, and waited in
silence. Jacob Meyer thought a while, then said:
"Clifford, will you translate to your daughter, so that she may be
sure she is told exactly what passes?"
Next he turned and addressed the natives.
"Your names are Tamas, Tamala, and Hoba, and you, Tamas, are the son
of the Molimo of Bambatse, who is called Mambo, and you, Tamala and
Hoba, are his initiated councillors. Is it so?"
They bowed their heads.
"Good. You, Tamas, tell the story and give again your message that
this lady, the lady Benita, may hear it, for she has a part in the
matter."
"We understand that she has a part," answered Tamas. "We read in her
face that she has the greatest part. Doubtless it is of her that the
Spirit told my father. These, spoken by my mouth, are the words of the
Molimo, my father, which we have travelled so far to deliver.
"'When you two white men visited Bambatse four years ago, you asked of
me, Mambo, to be admitted to the holy place, that you might look for
the treasure there which the Portuguese hid in the time of my ancestor
in the sixth generation. I refused to allow you to look, or even to
enter the holy place, because I am by birth the guardian of that
treasure, although I know not where it lies. But now I am in a great
strait. I have news that Lobengula the usurper, who is king of the
Matabele, has taken offence against me for certain reasons, among them
that I did not send him a sufficient tribute. It is reported to me
that he purposes next summer to despatch an impi to wipe me and my
people out, and to make my kraal black as the burnt veld. I have
little strength to resist him who is mighty, and my people are not
warlike. From generation to generation they have been traders,
cultivators of the land, workers in metal, and men of peace, who
desire not to kill or be killed. Also they are few. Therefore I have
no power to stand against Lobengula.
"'I remember the guns that you and your companion brought with you,
which can kill things from far away. If I had a supply of those guns
from behind my walls I might defy the impi of Lobengula, whose
warriors use the assegai. If you will bring me a hundred good guns and
plenty of powder and bullets for them, it is revealed to me that it
will be lawful for me to admit you to the secret, holy place, where
you may look for the buried gold for as long as you wish, and if you
can find it, take it all away without hindrance from me or my people.
But I will be honest with you. That gold will never be found save by
the one appointed. The white lady said so in the time of my
forefather; he heard it with his ears, and I have heard it from his
descendants with my ears, and so it shall be. Still, if you bring the
guns you can come and see if either of you is that one appointed. But
I do not think that any man is so appointed, for the secret is hid in
woman. But of this you can learn for yourselves. I do but speak as I
am bidden.
"'This is my message spoken by my mouth, Tamas, son of my body, and my
councillors who go with him will bear witness that he speaks the
truth. I, Mambo, the Molimo of Bambatse, send you greeting, and will
give you good welcome and fulfil my promise, if you come with the far-
shooting guns, ten times ten of them, and the powder, and the bullets
wherewith I may drive off the Matabele, but not otherwise. My son,
Tamas, and my councillors will drive your waggon into my country but
you must bring no strange servants. The Spirit of the white woman who
killed herself before the eyes of my forefather has been seen of late
standing upon the point of rock; also she has visited me at night in
my secret place where her companions died. I do not know all that this
portends, but I think that amongst other things she wished to tell me
that the Matabele are about to attack us. I await the decree of the
Heavens. I send you two karosses as a gift, and a little ancient gold,
since ivory is too heavy for my messengers to carry, and I have no
waggon. Farewell.'"
"We have heard you," said Meyer, when Mr. Clifford had finished
translating, "and we wish to ask you a question. What do you mean when
you say that the Spirit of the white woman has been seen?"
"I mean what I say, white man," answered Tamas. "She was seen by all
three of us, standing upon the pinnacle at the dawn; also my father
saw and spoke with her alone in his sleep at night. This is the third
time in my father's day that she has appeared thus, and always before
some great event."
"What was she like?" asked Meyer.
"Like? Oh! like the lady who sits yonder. Yes, quite the same, or so
it seemed to us. But who knows? We have seen no other white women, and
we were not very near. Let the lady come and stand side by side with
the Spirit, so that we can examine them both, and we shall be able to
answer better. Do you accept the offer of the Molimo?"
"We will tell you to-morrow morning," replied Meyer. "A hundred rifles
are many to find, and will cost much money. Meanwhile, for you there
is food and a sleeping-place."
The three men seemed disappointed at his answer, which they evidently
believed to be preliminary to a refusal. For a moment or two they
consulted together, then Tamas put his hand into a pouch and drew from
it something wrapped in dry leaves, which he undid, revealing a quaint
and beautiful necklace, fashioned of twisted gold links, wherein were
set white stones, that they had no difficulty in recognising as uncut
diamonds of considerable value. From this necklace also hung a
crucifix moulded in gold.
"We offer this gift," he said, "on behalf of Mambo, my father, to the
lady yonder, to whom the karosses and the rough gold are of no use.
The chain has a story. When the Portuguese lady hurled herself into
the river she wore it about her neck. As she fell into the river she
struck against a little point of rock which tore the chain away from
her--see where it is broken and mended with gold wire. It remained
upon the point of rock, and my forefather took it thence. It is a gift
to the lady if she will promise to wear it."
"Accept it," muttered Mr. Clifford, when he had finished translating
this, "or you will give offence."
So Benita said: "I thank the Molimo, and accept his gift."
Then Tamas rose, and, advancing, cast the ancient, tragic thing over
her head. As it fell upon her shoulders, Benita knew that it was a
chain of destiny drawing her she knew not where, this ornament that
had last been worn by that woman, bereaved and unhappy as herself, who
could find no refuge from her sorrow except in death. Had she felt it
torn from her breast, she wondered, as she, the living Benita of
to-day, felt it fall upon her own?
The three envoys rose, bowed, and went, leaving them alone. Jacob
Meyer lifted his head as though to address her, then changed his mind
and was silent. Both the men waited for her to speak, but she would
not, and in the end it was her father who spoke first.
"What do you say, Benita?" he asked anxiously.
"I? I have nothing to say, except that I have heard a very curious
story. This priest's message is to you and Mr. Meyer, father, and must
be answered by you. What have I to do with it?"
"A great deal, I think, my dear, or so those men seemed to believe. At
any rate, I cannot go up there without you, and I will not take you
there against your wish, for it is a long way off, and a queer
business. The question is, will you go?"
She thought a space, while the two men watched her anxiously.
"Yes," she answered at length, in a quiet voice. "I will go if you
wish to go, not because I want to find treasure, but because the story
and the country where it happened interest me. Indeed, I don't believe
much in the treasure. Even if they are superstitious and afraid to
look for it themselves, I doubt whether they would allow you to look
if they thought it could be found. To me the journey does not seem a
good business speculation, also there are risks."
"We think it good enough," broke in Meyer decidedly. "And one does not
expect to get millions without trouble."
"Yes, yes," said her father; "but she is right--there are risks, great
risks--fever, wild beasts, savages, and others that one cannot
foresee. Have I a right to expose her to them? Ought we not to go
alone?"
"It would be useless," answered Meyer. "Those messengers have seen
your daughter, and mixed her up with their superstitious story of a
ghost, of which I, who know that there are no such things, believe
nothing. Without her now we shall certainly fail."
"As for the risks, father," said Benita, "personally I take no account
of them, for I am sure that what is to happen will happen, and if I
knew that I was to die upon the Zambesi, it would make no difference
to me who do not care. But as it chances, I think--I cannot tell you
why--that you and Mr. Meyer are in more danger than I am. It is for
you to consider whether you will take the risks."
Mr. Clifford smiled. "I am old," he said; "that is my answer."
"And I am accustomed to such things," said Meyer, with a shrug of his
shoulders. "Who would not run a little danger for the sake of such a
glorious chance? Wealth, wealth, more wealth than we can dream of, and
with it, power--power to avenge, to reward, to buy position, and
pleasure, and all beautiful things which are the heritage of the very
rich alone," and he spread out his hands and looked upwards, as though
in adoration of this golden god.
"Except such trifles as health and happiness," commented Benita, not
without sarcasm, for this man and his material desires disgusted her
somewhat, especially when she contrasted him with another man who was
lost to her, though it was true that /his/ past had been idle and
unproductive enough. Yet they interested her also, for Benita had
never met anyone like Mr. Meyer, so talented, so eager, and so
soulless.
"Then I understand it is settled?" she said.
Mr. Clifford hesitated, but Meyer answered at once:
"Yes, settled as far as anything can be."
She waited a moment for her father to speak, but he said nothing; his
chance had gone by.
"Very well. Now we shall not need to trouble ourselves with further
doubts or argument. We are going to Bambatse on the Zambesi, a distant
place, to look for buried gold, and I hope, Mr. Meyer, that if you
find it, the results will come up to your expectations, and bring you
all sorts of good luck. Good-night, father dear, good-night."
"My daughter thinks it will bring us ill-luck," said Mr. Clifford,
when the door had closed behind her. "That is her way of saying so."
"Yes," answered Meyer gloomily; "she thinks that, and she is one of
those who have vision. Well, she may be wrong. Also, the question is,
shall we seize our opportunity and its dangers, or remain here and
breed bad horses all our lives, while she who is not afraid laughs at
us? I am going to Bambatse."
Again Mr. Clifford made no direct answer, only asked a question:
"How long will it take to get the guns and ammunition, and what will
they cost?"
"About a week from Wakkerstroom," replied Meyer. "Old Potgieter, the
trader there, has just imported a hundred Martinis and a hundred
Westley-Richards falling-blocks. Fifty of each, with ten thousand
rounds of cartridges, will cost about £600, and we have as much as
that in the bank; also we have the new waggon, and plenty of good oxen
and horses. We can take a dozen of the horses with us, and sell them
in the north of the Transvaal for a fine price, before we get into the
tetsefly belt. The oxen will probably carry us through, as they are
most of them salted."
"You have thought it all out, Jacob, I see; but it means a lot of
money one way and another, to say nothing of other things."
"Yes, a lot of money, and those rifles are too good for Kaffirs.
Birmingham gas-pipes would have done for them, but there are none to
be had. But what is the money, and what are the guns, compared to all
they will bring us?"
"I think you had better ask my daughter, Jacob. She seems to have her
own ideas upon the subject."
"Miss Clifford has made up her mind, and it will not change. I shall
ask her no more," replied Meyer.
Then he, too, left the room, to give orders about the journey to
Wakkerstroom that he must take upon the morrow. But Mr. Clifford sat
there till past midnight, wondering whether he had done right, and if
they would find the treasure of which he had dreamed for years, and
what the future had in store for them.
If only he could have seen!
When Benita came to breakfast the next morning, she asked where Mr.
Meyer was, and learned that he had already departed for Wakkerstroom.
"Certainly he is in earnest," she said with a laugh.
"Yes," answered her father; "Jacob is always in earnest, though,
somehow, his earnestness has not brought him much good so far. If we
fail, it will not be want of thought and preparation on his part."
Nearly a week went by before Meyer returned again, and meanwhile
Benita made ready for her journey. In the intervals of her simple
preparations also she talked a good deal, with the help of her father,
to the three sturdy-looking Makalanga, who were resting thankfully
after their long journey. Their conversation was general, since by
tacit consent no further mention was made of the treasure or of
anything to do with it, but it enabled her to form a fair opinion of
them and their people. She gathered that although they spoke a dialect
of Zulu, they had none of the bravery of the Zulus, and indeed lived
in deadly terror of the Matabele, who are bastard Zulus--such terror,
in fact, that she greatly doubted whether the hundred rifles would be
of much use to them, should they ever be attacked by that tribe.
They were what their fathers had been before them, agriculturists and
workers in metals--not fighting men. Also she set herself to learn
what she could of their tongue, which she did not find difficult, for
Benita had a natural aptitude for languages, and had never forgotten
the Dutch and Zulu she used to prattle as a child, which now came back
to her very fast. Indeed, she could already talk fairly in either of
those languages, especially as she spent her spare hours in studying
their grammar, and reading them.
So the days went on, till one evening Jacob Meyer appeared with two
Scotch carts laden with ten long boxes that looked like coffins, and
other smaller boxes which were very heavy, to say nothing of a
multitude of stores. As Mr. Clifford prophesied, he had forgotten
nothing, for he even brought Benita various articles of clothing, and
a revolver for which she had not asked.
Three days later they trekked away from Rooi Krantz upon a peculiarly
beautiful Sunday morning in the early spring, giving it out that they
were going upon a trading and shooting expedition in the north of the
Transvaal. Benita looked back at the pretty little stead and the
wooded kloof behind it over which she had nearly fallen, and the
placid lake in front of it where the nesting wildfowl wheeled, and
sighed. For to her, now that she was leaving it, the place seemed like
home, and it came into her mind that she would never see it any more.
Content of CHAPTER VII - THE MESSENGERS [H. Rider Haggard's novel: Benita]
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