



Produced by Nick Hodson of London, England






PREFACE.

No one ever reads prefaces now-a-days; why, therefore, should I write
one? may be fairly asked.  Simply, I reply, to tell the reader that the
tale imperfectly related in these volumes is not a mere work of fiction.
It is based on a document sent to me by my brother, to whom I have
dedicated this work, and who has for many years been a resident of the
frontiers of Zulu Land.

The paper alluded to was transmitted by me, according to my brother's
desire, to His Imperial Majesty the Emperor of the French, together with
a map of Zulu Land, which had been exhibited in the Natal section of the
great Paris Exhibition of 1867.  Both were graciously accepted and
acknowledged by His Imperial Majesty.

The country traversed by the daring men, whose adventures are related in
the following pages, is still to be explored.  The ruins of the Fort of
Sofala, even now, lie buried in the sand, on the beach of the far away
Indian Ocean.  The Arabs still search there for the smelted lumps of
gold, buried or lost by those of whose existence no other trace remains.

The mysterious slabs still exist, encrusted with the dirt and grime of
ages, on the mountain land of Gorongoza, and should my tale induce any
adventurous spirit to make an attempt to clear away the veil of mystery
which yet shrouds the remains of the Ruined Cities of Zulu Land, I can
only refer him to Captain Walmsley, from whom the primary information
contained herein was first gleaned, before whom the Missionary's
depositions were made, and who, for more than fifteen years of his life,
has well and honourably filled the difficult and dangerous position of
Government Agent, Magistrate, and Resident on the wild frontier of
savage Zulu Land.

Volume 1, Chapter I.

BELLARY FORT.

There are few hotter places, and few more unhealthy ones, among our
Indian up-country stations than Bellary, in the Madras Presidency,
garrisoned in the year 1856 by Her Majesty's 150th Regiment of Infantry.
Let the reader imagine the lines of a fort drawn round a bare
sugar-loaf hill, on which an Indian sun pours its rays for months.
Thoroughly heated by this process of roasting, the arid rock gives out
all night the caloric absorbed during the day, and a three years'
residence in the Fort of Bellary, such as had been passed by the
officers and men of the 150th Regiment, was about equivalent to the same
period in a baker's oven.  Years passed, and the English Government had
at last perceived that it was madness to keep troops within the lines of
the old fort when a rich and well-timbered plain lay around it.
Barracks had been built outside; and about three-quarters of a mile
distant from the main gate of Bellary, white bungalows, with their green
verandahs and their well-kept compounds, lay scattered here and there
among the trees, while far away, under the moon's rays, on the night
when our tale opens, a beautiful one in December, stretched the rich
plain, with its piles of rock rising like huge black molehills here and
there, giving welcome shelter to the wild-cats, jackals, and hyenas,
whose cries might be heard from time to time ringing over the plain.
The mess-house of the regiment consisted of the usual large commodious
building, with its many outhouses or godowns, the whole surrounded by a
low wall, and that again protected by a strong hedge of the prickly
pear.  A broad verandah ran round the main building, and a flight of
steps led up to the house, where some half-dozen of the officers of the
corps, dressed in white, with nothing to distinguish them except the
forage-cap bearing the number of the regiment, were seated, chatting and
smoking.  The day had been very hot, but a pleasant breeze was blowing
over the plain; the click of the billiard-balls was heard from an
adjoining room, whose windows, thrown wide open, cast a stream of light
into the compound, and the hum of voices from the messroom told of the
dinner only just finished, and of the party of seasoned old soldiers who
were even then loth to quit the pleasures of the table and the bottle of
Madeira which had crossed the line four times, and for which particular
wine the 150th had long been justly famous.

"I am half sorry that my leave has arrived, just as we are expecting the
route," said an officer, puffing out a long spiral wreath of smoke as he
spoke, and reaching out his hand towards the tumbler of weak brandy
pawnee standing on a small table by his side.

"Hear him, the impostor!" laughed a second.  "Two years of leave, after
nearly nine of foreign service, and he talks of regret."

The first speaker was rather a slight figure, but withal strongly built;
thin and wiry, he showed no superfluous flesh.  The rather prominent
forehead was tanned to a deep brown, save where the line of the
forage-cap showed the white skin of the European; the cheeks were
sunken, and bore the sallow tinge of sickness, while the aquiline nose,
the well-cut mouth, and the rather heavy under jaw, spoke of
determination and vigour of character.  Nearly six feet in height, he
lay languidly back in his chair, the dark masses of hair curling under
the forage-cap, and the large black eyes giving a still more marked
appearance of illness to his features.

"If I could shake off this feeling of illness, Harris," he replied, "get
rid of this terrible Bellary fever, you may depend upon it.  I would
throw up my leave.  One's regiment becomes one's family after nearly
twelve years' service, nine of which have been passed in India."

"And you are only captain," replied the other.  "A pretty look-out for
me, an ensign yet.  You had better stop and give me a lift, by making a
death vacancy.  Do, Hughes, there's a good fellow."

Captain Hughes laughed.

"We shall have the route to-morrow; and if the march to Secunderabad be
anything like what ours was from Madras, you won't want for death
vacancies."

"Was it such a terrible one?" asked the other, in a serious tone.

"Terrible," replied Major Ashley, who had just left the table, and was
lighting his third cigar since dinner, "why, a march up-country in India
is always terrible work, as you'll find out before you are many weeks
older.  There was some dispute about our destination when we were
ordered up here three years since," continued the Major, "and so we were
detained until the hot weather set in, and cholera caught us up.  The
road we took may even yet be traced by the mounds of stones which cover
our dead."

"It was a fearful time," said Captain Hughes.  "When we arrived in sight
of the walls of yonder fort, the men were dropping fast, the sentries
over the hospital had often to be changed from outside to inside the
tent, the surgeon and assistant-surgeon had to be carried to see their
sick, so worn were they with fatigue, while round our lines all night
long the wailing of the camp followers was to be heard, for they
perished by hundreds, the dead being found, when the grey light of
morning broke, lying stiff and stark among the tent ropes."

"But you reached the fort at last?" asked the Ensign.

"Yes, we did reach it at last, didn't we, Hughes?" answered Major
Ashley.  "Do you remember the day an orderly rode into our lines,
bearing an order from General Black Jack, as we used to call him,
forbidding us to enter the fort; and how, for the sake of doing
something, we marched short marches daily round yonder walls, until at
last our colonel saw that the men were growing mutinous, and told Black
Jack that he would storm the fort if not allowed to enter?"

"I remember it well; and he gave way.  The gates were thrown open, and
the scourge left us.  But it's late; and if we are to have any chance of
the tiger, you had better get your rifles, and we will have the sheep
picketed.  See, they are closing the messroom doors, and putting out the
lights."

"So they are," returned a third, yawning; "I shall wish you luck, and
turn in."

"I say, Harris, mind you don't make a vacancy in the Light Company
yourself," said a captain of Grenadiers, as a group of the late
billiard-players went laughing and talking down the steps into the
moonlight.  "I don't believe you ever saw a tiger, or know anything
about a rifle."

"Never fear for me, Hunt; an ensign's not worth a tiger's trouble.  If
you would consent, now, to be picketed instead of the sheep, Captain--"

"Go to the devil!  Good-night, Hughes."  And "Good-night--a pleasant
journey," rang out cheerily from one after another as they crossed the
mess-compound, and took their way to their respective quarters.

"You are an old hand, Hughes," said the Ensign, after a short pause.
"Do you remember the Rajah who was a prisoner on the top of Bellary
rock?"

"Don't I!" replied the Captain.  "I say, Curtis," he continued,
addressing a lieutenant of his own company, "you relieved the man who so
nearly let the old Rajah loose."

"Ay, poor old fellow; he's dead now, and can't ask his old, well-known
question."

"What was it, Curtis?  What did he ask, and who was he?"

"Well, wait till I have lit this cigar, and I'll tell you," answered
Curtis.  "We have an hour yet before the moon gets low, and those black
palkywallers are making such a row."

The cigar was lighted, the brandy-and-water carefully mixed and placed
on an adjoining table within reach, and comfortably settling himself on
his seat, Lieutenant Curtis began his history.

"On the top of yonder sugar-loaf hill, in the centre of Bellary Fort, a
prisoner was confined, and the daily duty of the officer of the guard
was to visit him.  He was an old, worn-out man, whose hair had grown
grey a captive, and I can tell you, Harris, it was no joke to have to
plod up the steps cut in the face of the rock every morning, to ask the
old man the stereotyped question, `Did he want anything?'

"He had been a sovereign of some petty State, and our people wanted the
land, so they took it, and to keep its former owner quiet, confined him
to the top of yon granite rock; so daily the subaltern on guard mounted
the steps, and asked the usual question, every time receiving the same
reply,--

"`Yes, I want my liberty and the land you stole from me, nothing else!'"

"And did he ever get it?" asked Harris.

"He very nearly did," replied Captain Hughes.  "But go on with your
tale, Curtis."

The officer addressed took a steady pull at the brandy pawnee by his
side, puffed out a heavy cloud of smoke, and continued--

"One day the old man received by stealth a considerable sum of money,
and with this and the promise of more he succeeded in bribing an officer
of a native regiment, then doing duty with us in the fort.  The officer
went up with his palky several times pretexting illness, and no notice
was taken of it; at last, one day the bearers, who had been also well
paid, felt by the weight that the prisoner was inside.  They took up the
palky, which had been standing near the gate, and lazily followed by the
sick officer, who inspected the sergeant's guard as he passed, took
their way down.

"It was well contrived, but old Sergeant Flack of ours noticed the
weight of the empty palky, and as soon as he had turned in his guard,
went to his prisoner's quarters to find the bird flown.

"The subaltern and the palanquin with its bearers parted company at the
foot of the hill, he taking his way to the main guard, a richer, but
dishonoured man; the poor prisoner, his heart beating wildly at the now
sure prospect of liberty, was borne along towards the gates of the fort.
An armed party of his former subjects waited him; so once outside and
mounted he would be safe, and if it had not been for Flack he would have
been.

"Just as he neared the gate, the old Sergeant came up breathless, and
the loud cry of `Guard, turn out!' was heard, while the next moment the
palanquin was surrounded by the bayonets of our fellows, and the poor
grey-headed Rajah found himself half-an-hour later once more seated in
the quarters assigned him on the top of the rock."

"Poor fellow! and what became of him?" asked Harris.

"He never again made an attempt to escape, but, native-like, bowed
submissively to his fate, and every morning gave the reply I have
already repeated to the officer of the guard.  It was his only revenge,
and until he died this little solace seemed agreeable to him."

"And the officer who connived at the escape?" asked Curtis.

"It could never be proved against him," answered the other.  "The old
Rajah always sternly denied having had any collusion with him.  The
bearers had bolted in the confusion; and though he was sent down to
Madras and tried by court-martial, he was not convicted, for there was
no proof."

"Ay, but he resigned his commission at once, left for England, and from
a poor man, rose into one of fair moderate means," remarked Captain
Hughes.  "But see, the moon is low now, your fellow has picketed the
sheep, and if we are to do any good, silence must be the order of the
night."

A tiger had lately committed some ravages within the lines of the 150th,
and the night before had actually entered the mess-compound of the
corps.  It was a man-eater, too, and when once these ferocious animals
take to preying on the human species, they acquire a love for the food,
which never leaves them.  Lieutenant Curtis and the Ensign had
volunteered to kill it, while Captain Hughes, who was to start for
Madras on two years' leave, had gladly joined the party.

Silence now fell on the watchers, the moonlight grew more and more
feeble, the red ends of the cigars gleamed under the shadow of the
verandah, in one corner of which stood the Captain's palanquin, its
bearers thrown down on the chenam floor beside it, sleeping soundly.
The stars were shining brightly, and the cries of the hyenas on the
plain beyond were answered from time to time by the bleat of the sheep,
picketed in the centre of the yard.  Hour passed after hour, and the
moon had quite disappeared.  The youngest of the party, unused to the
long watch, had fallen fast asleep, and his head being thrown back in an
uneasy position, was snoring loudly.

"Confound that fellow, he is enough to frighten a Bengal tiger; just
<DW8> him up, Hughes, will you!" said Curtis, in an undertone.

The Ensign's rifle leaned against one of the pillars of the verandah.
Those of the other two lay across their knees, and Hughes, giving two or
three pokes with the muzzle of his, between the sleeping lad's ribs,
tried to wake him.  Worn out with the heat and watching, the boy
muttered some unintelligible words, and, turning, was again fast asleep
in a moment.

"And you don't mean to go to England?" continued Curtis, speaking in a
guarded tone.

"No, I don't," returned Hughes, in the same low voice.  "You and I,
Curtis, are the crack shots of the regiment, and my rifle at least shall
be heard on the plains and by the rivers of South Africa."

"How I wish I could start with you, old fellow," said Curtis, with a
sigh.

"How I wish you could; but it's no use wishing, Curtis.  You have had so
much leave of late that you can't ask, and if you did, your application
would not be forwarded."

"No, I suppose not.  Colonel Desmond's a good fellow; but I should not
like to ask him.  Have you any one you know in South Africa?"

"Yes, I've a relation who has been for many years Government Agent on
the Zulu frontier, and he promises me a fit out, and a letter to Panda,
the King of the Zulus."

"Won't you have splendid elephant hunting, and, may be, join again with
a Kaffir wife."

Hughes laughed.  "How that sheep bleats; and hush, Curtis--there's a
skurry among the jackals.  Do you hear?  Hush!"

Hardly had he spoken when the sharp click of the rifle-locks was heard,
as their owners brought them to full cock, and almost at the same
moment, with a loud growl, a dark, massive form topped the low wall, and
with one blow of his powerful fore-arm the man-eater struck down its
prey.  The tiger turned to fly, carrying with it the dead sheep, but the
rope by which it was tied to the stake stopped it.  With a low growl of
anger the brute glanced round, as though not understanding the reason of
the check.  The starlight streamed over his painted hide, and the
simultaneous reports of the two rifles rang out on the air.  Hard hit,
the tiger turned, dashed at the wall, clearing it once more, but as he
did so received the contents of the two remaining barrels of the rifles,
disappearing with a howl of pain and rage.

Harris, worn out by heat he was little accustomed to, had dropped into
that dead sleep which invariably overpowers Europeans not broken to an
Indian climate.  Awoke suddenly by the growl of the tiger, closely
followed by the reports of the rifles, it took him some seconds to
realise the situation.  Even then his faculties seemed confused, for,
seizing his rifle, he dashed, without speaking a word, through the gate,
in the low compound wall, followed by the loud laughter of his comrades.

"Hallo! stop, you sleepy hunter of tigers!" shouted Curtis, as soon as
he could speak for laughter.  A fierce growl from the other side of the
compound was heard, a long snarl of mingled anger and pain dying away
into a deep moan, the report of a rifle ringing loudly on the night air,
and all was still.

The two officers looked at each other for a second, then, their emptied
pieces in their hands, they also dashed through the gateway, followed at
a cautious distance however by the now thoroughly awakened bearers, who
had been sleeping beside the palanquin.

The starlight showed the tiger lying dead, and beside it in a half
sitting posture, Ensign Harris, with his rifle across his knees.

The wounded brute, after clearing the low wall, had fallen, then dragged
itself heavily forward, just passing the gateway, when Harris, at top
speed, dashed out, to pitch head foremost over the writhing body in its
death struggle.  The rifle fell from his hand, and the tiger, though
dying, eager for revenge, struck out at the youth's body, as he rolled
over and over, carried on by the speed at which he had been running.

"By Jove you've had a narrow escape, my boy.  It's not every fellow
clears a tiger that way," exclaimed Hughes, as the two stood leaning on
their rifles by the carcase of the dead animal.

"I haven't got clear," replied the Ensign, rising to one knee, and
wincing with pain as he did so; "but you will find my ball in the
tiger's head, and so I have fairly earned the skin."

"Here, you fellows, fetch the palky," cried Curtis.  "It is a question
of your own skin, not the tiger's.  Wounds are never so easily cured
under the sun of India as at home."

"Oh, it's only a scratch, Curtis," said the brave lad, as the palanquin
came up, and his comrades placed him in it.

"I tell you there's no such thing as only a scratch here.  If you will
go with him to his quarters, Hughes, I'll send Chapman."

The Ensign's bungalow was close by; Chapman, the assistant-surgeon of
the regiment, was soon awoke, the wound found to be a severe but not
dangerous one, the tiger, having struck forward like a huge cat, with
its powerful fore-arm just catching the youngster's leg, scoring deeply
into the flesh, and tearing off the light shoe.  The wounds were
bandaged, and Ensign Harris's name placed on the sick list.

"Good-night, Hughes, and a pleasant journey to you," said Curtis, as the
two shook hands at the entrance of the compound.

The air was fresh and cool, the "Southern Cross" was just dipping
towards the distant horizon, the long mournful howl of a far-away hyena
came across the plain, and on the white dusty road stood the
dark-looking palanquin, with its group of dusky bearers, as, wringing
his brother officer's hand, Captain Hughes stepped into it, and with a
sing-song chaunt the palkywallers shouldered their burden, and moved
away on the first stage, which was to lead to the broad plains and
well-stocked prairies of that Shikaree's heaven, the hunting-fields of
South Africa.

Volume 1, Chapter II.

THE "HALCYON" BRIG.

"Sail ho!" shouted the look-out in the foretop of the merchant brig, the
