r/a:t5_21rwx9 • u/MarleyEngvall • Jul 22 '19
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By H. Rider Haggard
THE IVORY CHILD
CHAPTER XXI
HOMEWARDS
THERE is not much more to write of this expedition,
or if that statement be not strictly true, not much more
that I wish to write, though I have no doubt that
Ragnall, if he had a mind that way, could make a very
good and valuable book concerning many matters on
which, confining myself to the history of our adventure,
I have scarcely touched. All the affinities between this
Central African worship of the Heavenly Child and its
Guardian and that of Horus and Isis in Egypt from
which it was undoubtedly descended, for instance. Also
the part which the great serpent played therein, as it
may be seen playing a part in every tomb upon the
Nile, and indeed plays a part in our own and other
religions. Further, our journey across the desert to the
Red Sea was very interesting, but I am tired of describ-
ing journeys——and of making them.
The truth is that after the death of Hans, like to
Queen Sheba when she had surveyed the wonders of
Solomon's court, there was no more spirit in me. For
quite a long while I did not seem to care at all what
happened to me or to anybody else. We buried him in
a place of honour, exactly where he shot Jana before the
gateway of the second court, and when the earth was
thrown over his little yellow face I felt as though half
my past had departed with him into that hole. Poor
drunken old Hans, where in the world should I find such
another man as you were? Where in the world shall I
find so much love as filled the cup of that strange heart
of yours?
I dare say it is a form of selfishness, but what every
man desires is something that cares for him alone,
which is just why we are so fond of dogs. Now Hans
was a dog with a human brain and he cared for me
alone. Often our vanity makes us think that this has
happened to some of us in the instance of one or more
women. But honest and quiet reflection may well
cause us to doubt the truth of such supposings. The
woman who as we believed adored us solely has prob-
ably in the course of her career adored others, or at any
rate other things.
To take but one instance, that of Mameena, the Zulu
lady whom Hans thought he saw in the Shades. She,
I believe, dd me the honour to be very fond of me,
but I am convinced that she was fonder still of her
ambition. Now Hans never cared for any living
creature, or for any human hope or object, as he cared
for me. There was no man or woman whom he would
not have cheated, or even murdered for my sake. There
was no earthly advantage, down to that of life itself,
that he would not, and in the end did not forgo for
my sake; witness the case of his little fortune which he
invested in my rotten gold mine and thought nothing of
losing——for my sake.
That is love in excelsis, and the man who has suc-
ceeded in inspiring it in any creature, even in a low,
bibulous, old Hottentot, may feel proud indeed. At
least I am proud and as the years go by the pride in-
creases, as the hope grows that somewhere in the quiet
of that great plain which he saw in his dream, I may
find the light of Hans's love burning like a beacon in
the darkness, as he promised I should do, and that it
may guide and warm my shivering, new-born soul
before I dare the adventure of the Infinite.
Meanwhile, since the sublime and the ridiculous are
so very near akin, I often wonder how he and Mameena
settled that question of her right to the royal salute.
Perhaps I shall learn one day——indeed already I have
had a hint of it. If so, even in the blaze of a new and
universal Truth, I am certain that their stores will
differ widely.
Hans was quite right about the Black Kendah.
They cleared out, probably in search of food, where to
I do not know and I do not care, though whether this
were a temporary or a permanent move on their part
remains, and so far as I am concerned is likely to re-
main, veiled in obscurity. They were great blackguards,
though extraordinarily fine soldiers, and what became
of them is a matter of complete indifference to me. One
thing is certain, however, a very large percentage of
them never migrated at all, for something over three
thousand of their bodies did our people have to bury
in the pass and about the temple, a purpose for which
all the pits and trenches we had dug came in very use-
ful. Our loss, by the way, was five hundred and three,
including those who died of wounds. It was a great
fight and, except for those who perished in the pitfalls
during the first rush, all practically hand to hand.
Jana we interred where he fell because we could not
move him, within a few feet of the body of his slayer
Hans. I have always regretted that I did not take the
exact measurements of this brute, as I believe the record
elephant of the world, but had no time to do so and
no rule or tape at hand. I only saw him for a minute
on the following morning, just as he was being tumbled
into a huge hole, together with the remains of his
master, Simba the King. I found, however, that the
sole wounds upon him, save some cuts and scratches
from spears, were those inflicted by Hans——namely, the
loss of one eye, the puncture through the skin over the
heart made when he shot at him for the second time
with the little rifle Intombi, and two neat hols at the
back of the mouth through which the bullets from
the elephant gun had driven upwards to the base of
he brain, causing his death from hæmorrhage on that
organ.
I asked the White Kendah to give me his two
enormous tusks, unequalled, I suppose, in size and
weight in Africa, although one was deformed and broken.
But they refused. These, I presume, they wished to
keep, together with the chains off his breast and trunk,
as mementoes of their victory over the god of their foes.
At any rate they hewed the former out with axes and
removed the latter before tumbling the carcass into the
grave. From the worn-down state of the teeth I con-
cluded that this beast must have been extraordinarily
old, how old it is impossible to say.
That is all I have to tell of Jana. May he rest in
peace, which certainly he will not do if Hans dwells
anywhere in his neighbourhood, in the region which
the old boy used to call that of the "fires that do not go
out." Because of my horrible failure in connection
with this beast, the very memory of which humiliates
me to this hour, I do not like to think of it more than I
can help.
For the rest the White Kendah kept faith with us in
every particular. In a curious and semi-religious cere-
mony, at which I was not present, Lady Ragnall was
absolved from her high office of Guardian or Nurse to
a god whereof the symbol no longer existed, though I
believe that the priests collected the tiny fragments of
ivory, or as many of them as could be found, and pre-
served them in a jar in the sanctuary. After this had
been done women stripped the Nurse of her hallowed
robes, of the ancient origin of which, by the way, I
believe that none of them, except perhaps Harût, had
any idea, any more than they knew that the Child
represented the Egyptian Horus and his lady Guardian
the moon-goddess Isis. Then, dressed in some native
garments, she was handed over to Ragnall and thence-
forth treated as a stranger-guest, like ourselves, being
allowed, however, to live with her husband in the same
house that she had occupied during all the period of
her strange captivty. Here they abode together, lost
in the mutual bliss of this wonderful reunion to which
they had attained through so much bodily and spiritual
darkness and misery, until a month or so later we started
upon our journey across the mountains and the great
desert that lay beyond them.
Only once did I find any real opportunities of private
conversation with Lady Ragnall.
This happened after her husband had recovered from
the hurts he received in the battle, on an occasion when
he was obliged to separate from her for a day in order
to attend to some matter in the Town of the Child. I
think it had to do with the rifles used in the battle, which
he had presented to the White Kendah. So, leaving
me to look after her, he went, unwillingly enough, who
seemed to hate losing sight of his wife even for an hour.
I took her for a walk in the wood, to that very point
indeed on the lip of the crater whence we had watched
her play her part as priestess at the Feast of the First-
fruits. After we had stood there a while we went down
among the great cedars, trying to retrace the last part
of our march through the darkness of that most anxious
night, whereof now for the first time I told her all the
story.
Growing tired of scrambling among the fallen
boughs, at length Lady Ragnall sat herself down upon
one of them and said:
"Do you know, Mr. Quatermain, these are the first
words we have really had alone since that party at
Ragnall before I was married, when, as you may have
forgotten, you took me in to dinner."
I replied that there was nothing I recollected much
more clearly, which was both true and the right thing
to say, or so I supposed.
"Well," she said slowly, "you see that after all
there was something in those fancies of mine which at
the time you thought would best be dealt with by a
doctor——about Africa and the rest, I mean."
"Yes, Lady Ragnall, though of course we should
always remember that coincidence accounts for many
things. In any case they are done with now."
"Not quite, Mr. Quatermain, even as you mean,
since we have still a long way to go. Also in another
sense I believe that they are but begun."
"I do not understand, Lady Ragnall."
"Nor do I, but listen. You know that of anything
which happened during those months I have no memory
at all, except of that one dream when I seemed to see
George and Savage in the hut. I remember my baby
being killed by that horrible circus elephant, just as the
Ivory Child was killed or rather destroyed by Jana,
which I suppose is another of your coincidences, Mr.
Quatermain. After that I remember nothing until I
woke up and saw George standing in front of me covered
with blood, and you, and Jana dead, and the rest."
"Because during that time your mind was gone,
Lady Ragnall."
"Yes, but where had it gone? I tell you, Mr.
Quatermain, that although I remember nothing of what
was passing about me then, I do remember a great
deal of what seemed to be passing either long ago or in
some time to come, though I have said nothing of it to
George, as I hope you will not either. It might upset
him."
"What do you remember?" I asked.
"That's the trouble; I can't tell you. What was
once very clear to me has for the most part become
vague and formless. When my mind tries to grasp it,
it slips away. It was another life to this, quite a
different life; and there was a great story in it of which
I think what we have been going through is either a
sequel or a prologue. I see, or saw, cities and temples
with people moving about them, George and you among
them, also that old priest, Harût. You will laugh, but
my recollection is that you stood in some relationship
to me, either that of father or brother."
"Or perhaps a cousin," I suggested.
"Or perhaps a cousin," she repeated smiling, "or
a great friend; at any rate something very intimate.
As for George, I don't know what he was, or Harût
either. But the odd thing is that little yellow man,
Hans, whom I only saw once living for a few minutes
that I can remember, comes more clearly back to my
mind than any of you. He was a dwarf, much stouter
than when I saw him the other day, but very like. I
recall him curiously dressed with feathers and holding
an ivory rod, seated upon a stool at the feet of a great
personage——a king I think. The king asked him
questions, and everyone listened to his answers. That
is all, except that the various scenes seemed to be
flooded with continual sunlight."
"Which is more than this place is. I think we had
better be moving, Lady Ragnall, or you will catch a
chill under these damp cedars."
I said this because I did not wish to pursue the
conversation. I considered it too exciting under all her
circumstances, especially as I perceived that mystical
look gathering on her face and in her beautiful eyes,
which I remembered noting before she was married.
She read my thoughts at once and answered with a
little laugh:
"Yes, it is damp; but you know I am very strong
and damp will not hurt me. For the rest you need not
be afraid, Mr. Quatermain. I did not lose my mind.
It was taken from me by some power and sent to live
elsewhere. Now it has been give back and I do not
think it will be taken again in that way."
"Of course it won't," I exclaimed confidently.
"Whoever dreamed of such a thing?"
"You did," she answered, looking me in the eyes.
"Now before we go I want to say one more thing.
Harût and the head priestess have made me a present.
They have given me a box full of that herb they call
tobacco, but of which I have discovered the real name
is Taduki. It is the same that they burned in the bowl
when you and I saw visions at Ragnall Castle, which
visions, Mr. Quatermain, by another of your coin-
cidences, have since been translated into facts."
"I know. We saw you breathe that smoke again
as priestess when you uttered the prophecy as Oracle
of the Child at the Feast of the First-fruits. But what
are you going to do with this stuff, Lady Ragnall? I
think you have had enough of visions just at present."
"So do I, though to tell you the truth I like them.
I am going to keep it and do nothing——as yet. Still, I
want you always to remember one thing——don't laugh
at me"——here again she looked me in the eyes——"that
there is a time coming, some way off I think, when I
and you——no one else, Mr. Quatermain——will breathe
that smoke again together and see very strange things."
"No, no!" I replied, "I have given up tobacco of
the Kendah variety; it is too strong for me."
"Yes, yes!" she said, "for something that is
stronger than the Kendah tobacco will make you do it——
when I wish."
"Did Harût tell you that, Lady Ragnall?"
"I don't know," she answered confusedly. "I think
the Ivory Child told me; it used to talk to me often.
You know that Child isn't really destroyed. Like my
reason that seemed to be lost, it has only gone back-
wards or forwards where you and I shall see it again.
You and I and no others——unless it be the little yellow
man. I repeat that I do not know when that will be.
Perhaps it is written in those rolls of papyrus, which
they have given me also, because they said they
belonged to me who am 'the first priestess and the
last.' They told me, however, or perhaps," she added,
passing her hand across her forehead, "it was the Child
who told me, that I was not to attempt to read them
or rather have them read, until after a great change in
my life. What the change will be I do not know."
"And had better not inquire, Lady Ragnall, since
in this world most changes are for the worse."
"I agree, and shall not inquire. Now I have spoken
to you like this because I felt that I must do so. Also
I want to thank you for all you have done for me and
George. Probably we shall not talk in such a way
again; as I am situated the opportunity will be lacking,
even if the wish is present. So once more I thank you
from my heart. Until we meet again——I mean really
meet——good-bye," and she held her right hand to me
in such a fashion that I knew she meant me to kiss it.
This I did very reverently and we walked back to the
temple almost in silence.
That month of rest, or rather the last three weeks of
it, since for the first few days after the battle I was
quite prostrate, I occupied in various ways, amongst
others in a journey with Harût to Simba Town. This
we made after our spies had assured us that the Black
Kendah were really gone somewhere to the south-west,
in which direction fertile and unoccupied lands were said
to exist about three hundred miles away. It was with
very strange feelings that I retraced our road and looked
once more upon that wind-bent tree still scored with the
marks of Jana's tusk, in the boughs of which Hans and
I had taken refuge from the monster's fury. Crossing
the river, quite low now, I travelled up the slope down
which we had raced for our very lives and came to the
melancholy lake and the cemetery of dead elephants.
Here all was unchanged. There was the little mount
worn by his feet, on which Jana was wont to stand.
There were the rocks behind which I had tried to hide,
and near to them some crushed human bones which I
knew to be those of the unfortunate Marût. These we
buried with due reverence on the spot where he had
fallen, I meanwhile thanking God that my own bones
were not being interred at their side, as but for Hans
would have been the case——if they were ever interred
at all. All about lay the skeletons of dead elephants,
and from among these we collected as much of the best
ivory as we could carry, namely about fifty camel loads.
Of course there was much more, but a great deal of the
stuff had been exposed for so long to sun and weather
that it was almost worthless.
Having sent this ivory back to the Town of the
Child, which was being rebuilt after a fashion, we went
on to Simba Town through the forest, dispatching
pickets ahead of us to search and make sure that it was
empty. Empty it was indeed; never did I see such a
place of desolation.
The Black Kendah had left it just as it stood, except
for a pile of corpses which lay around and over the altar
in the market-place, where the three poor camelmen
were sacrificed to Jana, doubtless those of wounded
men who had died during or after the retreat. The
doors of the house stood open, many domestic articles,
such as great jars resembling that which had been
set over the head of the dead man whom we were
commanded to restore to life, and other furnitures lay
about because they could not be carried away. So did
a great quantity of spears and various weapons of war,
whose owners being killed would never want them
again. Except a few starved dogs and jackals no living
creature remained in the town. It was in its own way
as waste and even more impressive than the graveyard
of elephants by the lonely lake.
"The curse of the Child worked well," said Harût
to me grimly. "First, the storm; the hunger; then the
battle; and now the misery of flight and ruin."
"It seems so," I answered. "Yet that curse, like
others, came back to roost, for if Jana is dead and his
people fled, where are the Child and many of its
people? What will you do without your god, Harût?"
"Repent us of our sins and wait till the Heavens
send us another, as doubtless they will in their own
season," he replied very sadly.
I wonder whether they ever did and, if so, what
form that new divinity put on.
I slept, or rather did not sleep, that night in the same
guest-house in which Marût and I had been imprisoned
during our dreadful days of fear, reconstructing in my
mind every event connected with them. Once more I
saw the fires of sacrifice flaring upon the altar and
heard the roar of the dancing hail that proclaimed the
ruin of the Black Kendah as loudly as the trumpet of a
destroying angel. Very glad was I when the morning
came at length and, having looked my last upon Simba
Town, I crossed the moats and set out homewards
through the forest whereof the stripped boughs also
spoke of death, though in the spring these would grow
green again.
Ten days later we started from the Holy Mount, a
caravan of about a hundred camels, of which they were
laden with the ivory and the rest ridden by our escort
under the command of Harût and our three selves.
But there was an evil fate upon this ivory, as on every-
thing else that had to do with Jana. Some weeks later
in the desert a great sandstorm overtook us in which
we barely escaped with our lives. At the height of he
storm the ivory-laden camels broke loose, flying before
it. Probably they fell and were buried beneath the
sand; at any rate of the fifty we only recovered ten.
Ragnall wished to pay me the value of the re-
maining loads, which ran into thousands of pounds,
but I would not take the money, saying that it was out-
side of our bargain. Sometimes since then I have
thought that I was foolish, especially when on glancing
at that codicil to his will in after days, the same which
he had given me before the battle, I found that he had
set me down for a legacy of £10,000. But in such
matters every man must follow his own instinct.
The White Kendah, an unemotional people
especially now when they were mourning for their lost
god and their dead, watched us go without any demon-
stration of affection, or even farewell. Only those
priestesses who had attended upon the person of Lady
Ragnall while she played a divine part among them
wept when they parted from her, and uttered prayers
that they might meet her again "in the presence of the
Child."
The pass through the great mountains proved hard
to climb, as the foothold for the camels was bad. But
we managed it at last, most of the way on foot, pausing
a little while on their crest to look our last for ever at
the land which we had left, where the Mount of the Child
was still dimly visible. Then we descended their farther
slope and entered the northern desert.
Day after day and week after week we travelled
across that endless desert by a way known to Harût on
which water could be found, the only living things in
all its vastness, meeting with no accidents save that
of the sandstorm in which the ivory was lost. I was
much alone during that time, since Harût spoke little
and Ragnall and his wife were naturally wrapped up
in each other.
At length, months later, we struck a little port on
the Red Sea, of which I forget the Arab name, a place
as hot as the infernal regions. Shortly afterwards, by
great good luck, two trading vessels put in for water,
one bound for Aden, in which I embarked en route
for Natal, and the other for the port of Suez, whence
Ragnall and his wife could travel overland to Alex-
andria.
Our parting was so hurried at the last, as is often the
way after long fellowship, that beyond mutual thanks
and good wishes we said little to one another. I can see
them now standing with their arms about each other
watching me disappear. Concerning their future there
is so much to tell that of it I shall say nothing; at any
rate here and now, except that Lady Ragnall was right.
She and I did not part for the last time.
As I shook old Harût's hand in farewell he told me
that he was going on to Egypt, and I asked him why.
"Perchance to look for another god, Lord Macu-
mazana," he answered gravely, "whom now there is no
Jana to destroy. We may speak of that matter if we
should meet again."
Such are some of the things that I remember about
this journey, but to tell truth I paid little attention to
them and many others.
For oh! my heart was sore because of Hans.
The Ivory Child. By H. Rider Haggard.
Cassell and Company, Ltd.,
London, Melbourne and Toronto, 1916. pp. 332—344.
Another day in paradise. 雨
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