CHAPTER 2. THE LEGEND OF SOLOMON'S MINES

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"What was it that you heard about my brother's journey at Bamangwato?"

asked Sir Henry, as I paused to fill my pipe before replying to

Captain Good.

"I heard this," I answered, "and I have never mentioned it to a soul

till to-day. I heard that he was starting for Solomon's Mines."

"Solomon's Mines?" ejaculated both my hearers at once. "Where are

they?"

"I don't know," I said; "I know where they are said to be. Once I saw

the peaks of the mountains that border them, but there were a hundred

and thirty miles of desert between me and them, and I am not aware

that any white man ever got across it save one. But perhaps the best

thing I can do is to tell you the legend of Solomon's Mines as I know

it, you passing your word not to reveal anything I tell you without my

permission. Do you agree to that? I have my reasons for asking."

Sir Henry nodded, and Captain Good replied, "Certainly, certainly."

"Well," I began, "as you may guess, generally speaking, elephant

hunters are a rough set of men, who do not trouble themselves with

much beyond the facts of life and the ways of Kafirs. But here and

there you meet a man who takes the trouble to collect traditions from

the natives, and tries to make out a little piece of the history of

this dark land. It was such a man as this who first told me the legend

of Solomon's Mines, now a matter of nearly thirty years ago. That was

when I was on my first elephant hunt in the Matalebe country. His name

was Evans, and he was killed the following year, poor fellow, by a

wounded buffalo, and lies buried near the Zambesi Falls. I was telling

Evans one night, I remember, of some wonderful workings I had found

whilst hunting koodoo and eland in what is now the Lydenburg district

of the Transvaal. I see they have come across these workings again

lately in prospecting for gold, but I knew of them years ago. There is

a great wide wagon road cut out of the solid rock, and leading to the

mouth of the working or gallery. Inside the mouth of this gallery are

stacks of gold quartz piled up ready for roasting, which shows that

the workers, whoever they were, must have left in a hurry. Also, about

twenty paces in, the gallery is built across, and a beautiful bit of

masonry it is.

"'Ay,' said Evans, 'but I will spin you a queerer yarn than that'; and

he went on to tell me how he had found in the far interior a ruined

city, which he believed to be the Ophir of the Bible, and, by the way,

other more learned men have said the same long since poor Evans's

time. I was, I remember, listening open-eared to all these wonders,

for I was young at the time, and this story of an ancient civilisation

and of the treasures which those old Jewish or Phœnician adventurers

used to extract from a country long since lapsed into the darkest

barbarism took a great hold upon my imagination, when suddenly he said

to me, 'Lad, did you ever hear of the Suliman Mountains up to the

north-west of the Mushakulumbwe country?' I told him I never had. 'Ah,

well,' he said, 'that is where Solomon really had his mines, his

diamond mines, I mean.'

"'How do you know that?' I asked.

"'Know it! why, what is "Suliman" but a corruption of Solomon?[*]

Besides, an old Isanusi or witch doctoress up in the Manica country

told me all about it. She said that the people who lived across those

mountains were a "branch" of the Zulus, speaking a dialect of Zulu,

but finer and bigger men even; that there lived among them great

wizards, who had learnt their art from white men when "all the world

was dark," and who had the secret of a wonderful mine of "bright

stones."'

[*] Suliman is the Arabic form of Solomon.--Editor.

"Well, I laughed at this story at the time, though it interested me,

for the Diamond Fields were not discovered then, but poor Evans went

off and was killed, and for twenty years I never thought any more of

the matter. However, just twenty years afterwards--and that is a long

time, gentlemen; an elephant hunter does not often live for twenty

years at his business--I heard something more definite about Suliman's

Mountains and the country which lies beyond them. I was up beyond the

Manica country, at a place called Sitanda's Kraal, and a miserable

place it was, for a man could get nothing to eat, and there was but

little game about. I had an attack of fever, and was in a bad way

generally, when one day a Portugee arrived with a single companion--a

half-breed. Now I know your low-class Delagoa Portugee well. There is

no greater devil unhung in a general way, battening as he does upon

human agony and flesh in the shape of slaves. But this was quite a

different type of man to the mean fellows whom I had been accustomed

to meet; indeed, in appearance he reminded me more of the polite doms

I have read about, for he was tall and thin, with large dark eyes and

curling grey mustachios. We talked together for a while, for he could

speak broken English, and I understood a little Portugee, and he told

me that his name was José Silvestre, and that he had a place near

Delagoa Bay. When he went on next day with his half-breed companion,

he said 'Good-bye,' taking off his hat quite in the old style.

"'Good-bye, senör,' he said; 'if ever we meet again I shall be the

richest man in the world, and I will remember you.' I laughed a little

--I was too weak to laugh much--and watched him strike out for the

great desert to the west, wondering if he was mad, or what he thought

he was going to find there.

"A week passed, and I got the better of my fever. One evening I was

sitting on the ground in front of the little tent I had with me,

chewing the last leg of a miserable fowl I had bought from a native

for a bit of cloth worth twenty fowls, and staring at the hot red sun

sinking down over the desert, when suddenly I saw a figure, apparently

that of a European, for it wore a coat, on the slope of the rising

ground opposite to me, about three hundred yards away. The figure

crept along on its hands and knees, then it got up and staggered

forward a few yards on its legs, only to fall and crawl again. Seeing

that it must be somebody in distress, I sent one of my hunters to help

him, and presently he arrived, and who do you suppose it turned out to

be?"

"José Silvestre, of course," said Captain Good.

"Yes, José Silvestre, or rather his skeleton and a little skin. His

face was a bright yellow with bilious fever, and his large dark eyes

stood nearly out of his head, for all the flesh had gone. There was

nothing but yellow parchment-like skin, white hair, and the gaunt

bones sticking up beneath.

"'Water! for the sake of Christ, water!' he moaned and I saw that his

lips were cracked, and his tongue, which protruded between them, was

swollen and blackish.

"I gave him water with a little milk in it, and he drank it in great

gulps, two quarts or so, without stopping. I would not let him have

any more. Then the fever took him again, and he fell down and began to

rave about Suliman's Mountains, and the diamonds, and the desert. I

carried him into the tent and did what I could for him, which was

little enough; but I saw how it must end. About eleven o'clock he grew

quieter, and I lay down for a little rest and went to sleep. At dawn I

woke again, and in the half light saw Silvestre sitting up, a strange,

gaunt form, and gazing out towards the desert. Presently the first ray

of the sun shot right across the wide plain before us till it reached

the faraway crest of one of the tallest of the Suliman Mountains more

than a hundred miles away.

"'There it is!' cried the dying man in Portuguese, and pointing with

his long, thin arm, 'but I shall never reach it, never. No one will

ever reach it!'

"Suddenly, he paused, and seemed to take a resolution. 'Friend,' he

said, turning towards me, 'are you there? My eyes grow dark.'

"'Yes,' I said; 'yes, lie down now, and rest.'

"'Ay,' he answered, 'I shall rest soon, I have time to rest--all

eternity. Listen, I am dying! You have been good to me. I will give

you the writing. Perhaps you will get there if you can live to pass

the desert, which has killed my poor servant and me.'

"Then he groped in his shirt and brought out what I thought was a Boer

tobacco pouch made of the skin of the Swart-vet-pens or sable

antelope. It was fastened with a little strip of hide, what we call a

rimpi, and this he tried to loose, but could not. He handed it to me.

'Untie it,' he said. I did so, and extracted a bit of torn yellow

linen on which something was written in rusty letters. Inside this rag

was a paper.

"Then he went on feebly, for he was growing weak: 'The paper has all

that is on the linen. It took me years to read. Listen: my ancestor, a

political refugee from Lisbon, and one of the first Portuguese who

landed on these shores, wrote that when he was dying on those

mountains which no white foot ever pressed before or since. His name

was José da Silvestra, and he lived three hundred years ago. His

slave, who waited for him on this side of the mountains, found him

dead, and brought the writing home to Delagoa. It has been in the

family ever since, but none have cared to read it, till at last I did.

And I have lost my life over it, but another may succeed, and become

the richest man in the world--the richest man in the world. Only give

it to no one, senör; go yourself!'

"Then he began to wander again, and in an hour it was all over.

"God rest him! he died very quietly, and I buried him deep, with big

boulders on his breast; so I do not think that the jackals can have

dug him up. And then I came away."

"Ay, but the document?" said Sir Henry, in a tone of deep interest.

"Yes, the document; what was in it?" added the captain.

"Well, gentlemen, if you like I will tell you. I have never showed it

to anybody yet except to a drunken old Portuguese trader who

translated it for me, and had forgotten all about it by the next

morning. The original rag is at my home in Durban, together with poor

Dom José's translation, but I have the English rendering in my pocket-

book, and a facsimile of the map, if it can be called a map. Here it

is."

[MAP OMITTED]

"I, José da Silvestra, who am now dying of hunger in the little

cave here no snow is on the north side of the nipple of the

southernmost of the two mountains I have named Sheba's Breasts,

write this in the year 1590 with a cleft bone upon a remnant of my

raiment, my blood being the ink. If my slave should find it when

he comes, and should bring it to Delagoa, let my friend (name

illegible) bring the matter to the knowledge of the king, that he

may send an army which, if they live through the desert and the

mountains, and can overcome the brave Kukuanes and their devilish

arts, to which end many priests should be brought, will make him

the richest king since Solomon. With my own eyes I have seen the

countless diamonds stored in Solomon's treasure chamber behind the

white Death; but through the treachery of Gagool the witch-finder

I might bring nought away, scarcely my life. Let him who comes

follow the map, and climb the snow of Sheba's left breast till he

reaches the nipple, on the north side of which is the great road

Solomon made, from whence three days' journey to the King's

Palace. Let him kill Gagool. Pray for my soul. Farewell.

José da Silvestra."[*]

[*] Eu José da Silvestra que estou morrendo de fome ná pequena cova

onde não ha neve ao lado norte do bico mais ao sul das duas

montanhas que chamei scio de Sheba; escrevo isto no anno 1590;

escrevo isto com um pedaço d'ôsso n' um farrapo de minha roupa e

com sangue meu por tinta; se o meu escravo dêr com isto quando

venha ao levar para Lourenzo Marquez, que o meu amigo ---------

leve a cousa ao conhecimento d' El Rei, para que possa mandar um

exercito que, se desfiler pelo deserto e pelas montonhas e mesmo

sobrepujar os bravos Kukuanes e suas artes diabolicas, pelo que se

deviam trazer muitos padres Far o Rei mais rico depois de Salomão

Com meus proprios olhos vé os di amantes sem conto guardados nas

camaras do thesouro de Salomão a traz da morte branca, mas pela

traição de Gagoal a feiticeira achadora, nada poderia levar, e

apenas a minha vida. Quem vier siga o mappa e trepe pela neve de

Sheba peito à esquerda até chegar ao bica, do lado norte do qual

està a grande estrada do Solomão por elle feita, donde ha tres

dias de jornada até ao Palacio do Rei. Mate Gagoal. Reze por minha

alma. Adeos. José da Silvestra.

When I had finished reading the above, and shown the copy of the map,

drawn by the dying hand of the old Dom with his blood for ink, there

followed a silence of astonishment.

"Well," said Captain Good, "I have been round the world twice, and put

in at most ports, but may I be hung for a mutineer if ever I heard a

yarn like this out of a story book, or in it either, for the matter of

that."

"It's a queer tale, Mr. Quatermain," said Sir Henry. "I suppose you

are not hoaxing us? It is, I know, sometimes thought allowable to take

in a greenhorn."

"If you think that, Sir Henry," I said, much put out, and pocketing my

paper--for I do not like to be thought one of those silly fellows who

consider it witty to tell lies, and who are for ever boasting to

newcomers of extraordinary hunting adventures which never happened--

"if you think that, why, there is an end to the matter," and I rose to

go.

Sir Henry laid his large hand upon my shoulder. "Sit down, Mr.

Quatermain," he said, "I beg your pardon; I see very well you do not

wish to deceive us, but the story sounded so strange that I could

hardly believe it."

"You shall see the original map and writing when we reach Durban," I

answered, somewhat mollified, for really when I came to consider the

question it was scarcely wonderful that he should doubt my good faith.

"But," I went on, "I have not told you about your brother. I knew the

man Jim who was with him. He was a Bechuana by birth, a good hunter,

and for a native a very clever man. That morning on which Mr. Neville

was starting I saw Jim standing by my wagon and cutting up tobacco on

the disselboom.

"'Jim,' said I, 'where are you off to this trip? It is elephants?'

"'No, Baas,' he answered, 'we are after something worth much more than

ivory.'

"'And what might that be?' I said, for I was curious. 'Is it gold?'

"'No, Baas, something worth more than gold,' and he grinned.

"I asked no more questions, for I did not like to lower my dignity by

seeming inquisitive, but I was puzzled. Presently Jim finished cutting

his tobacco.

"'Baas,' said he.

"I took no notice.

"'Baas,' said he again.

"'Eh, boy, what is it?' I asked.

"'Baas, we are going after diamonds.'

"'Diamonds! why, then, you are steering in the wrong direction; you

should head for the Fields.'

"'Baas, have you ever heard of Suliman's Berg?'--that is, Solomon's

Mountains, Sir Henry.

"'Ay!'

"'Have you ever heard of the diamonds there?'

"'I have heard a foolish story, Jim.'

"'It is no story, Baas. Once I knew a woman who came from there, and

reached Natal with her child, she told me:--she is dead now.'

"'Your master will feed the assvögels'--that is, vultures--'Jim, if he

tries to reach Suliman's country, and so will you if they can get any

pickings off your worthless old carcass,' said I.

"He grinned. 'Mayhap, Baas. Man must die; I'd rather like to try a new

country myself; the elephants are getting worked out about here.'

"'Ah! my boy,' I said, 'you wait till the "pale old man" gets a grip

of your yellow throat, and then we shall hear what sort of a tune you

sing.'

"Half an hour after that I saw Neville's wagon move off. Presently Jim

came back running. 'Good-bye, Baas,' he said. 'I didn't like to start

without bidding you good-bye, for I daresay you are right, and that we

shall never trek south again.'

"'Is your master really going to Suliman's Berg, Jim, or are you

lying?'

"'No,' he answered, 'he is going. He told me he was bound to make his

fortune somehow, or try to; so he might as well have a fling for the

diamonds.'

"'Oh!' I said; 'wait a bit, Jim; will you take a note to your master,

Jim, and promise not to give it to him till you reach Inyati?' which

was some hundred miles off.

"'Yes, Baas.'

"So I took a scrap of paper, and wrote on it, 'Let him who comes . . .

climb the snow of Sheba's left breast, till he reaches the nipple, on

the north side of which is Solomon's great road.'

"'Now, Jim,' I said, 'when you give this to your master, tell him he

had better follow the advice on it implicitly. You are not to give it

to him now, because I don't want him back asking me questions which I

won't answer. Now be off, you idle fellow, the wagon is nearly out of

sight.'

"Jim took the note and went, and that is all I know about your

brother, Sir Henry; but I am much afraid--"

"Mr. Quatermain," said Sir Henry, "I am going to look for my brother;

I am going to trace him to Suliman's Mountains, and over them if

necessary, till I find him, or until I know that he is dead. Will you

come with me?"

I am, as I think I have said, a cautious man, indeed a timid one, and

this suggestion frightened me. It seemed to me that to undertake such

a journey would be to go to certain death, and putting other

considerations aside, as I had a son to support, I could not afford to

die just then.

"No, thank you, Sir Henry, I think I had rather not," I answered. "I

am too old for wild-goose chases of that sort, and we should only end

up like my poor friend Silvestre. I have a son dependent on me, so I

cannot afford to risk my life foolishly."

Both Sir Henry and Captain Good looked very disappointed.

"Mr. Quatermain," said the former, "I am well off, and I am bent upon

this business. You may put the remuneration for your services at

whatever figure you like in reason, and it shall be paid over to you

before we start. Moreover, I will arrange in the event of anything

untoward happening to us or to you, that your son shall be suitably

provided for. You will see from this offer how necessary I think your

presence. Also if by chance we should reach this place, and find

diamonds, they shall belong to you and Good equally. I do not want

them. But of course that promise is worth nothing at all, though the

same thing would apply to any ivory we might get. You may pretty well

make your own terms with me, Mr. Quatermain; and of course I shall pay

all expenses."

"Sir Henry," said I, "this is the most liberal proposal I ever had,

and one not to be sneezed at by a poor hunter and trader. But the job

is the biggest I have come across, and I must take time to think it

over. I will give you my answer before we get to Durban."

"Very good," answered Sir Henry.

Then I said good-night and turned in, and dreamt about poor long-dead

Silvestre and the diamonds.

Read next: CHAPTER 3. UMBOPA ENTERS OUR SERVICE

Read previous: CHAPTER 1. I MEET SIR HENRY CURTIS

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