Across the Cameroons: A Story of War and Adventure

The following morning Harry awoke at daybreak. He was anxious to push on without loss of time. There was no knowing where von Hardenberg and the sheikh were. Perhaps they had already gained the caves.

As soon as they had breakfasted, Harry and his party continued on their way. The two boys, led by the guides, crossed the valley and then ascended the mountain opposite by way of a bridle-path, worn smooth by the feet of pilgrims. Throughout the ages, devout men had journeyed to the caves from the deserts of northern Africa and Arabia-by way of the caravan routes that extend in all directions across these arid wastes.

The path grew steeper as they approached the entrance to the caves, and presently they found themselves at the foot of a flight of steps. A heavy mist still wrapped the mountain in a kind of shroud. The steps ascended, one above the other, into the very heart of the mist which completely obscured the entrance.

These steps were like "Jacob's Ladder", mounting, as it seemed, to the very zenith of the heavens; and on either side of them, as far as Harry could see, were ranged strange statues-of lions with eagles' wings, of men with the heads of foxes, and great dragons that lay crouching like watch-dogs, guarding the treasure that lay beyond. All were graven in the same rough mountain stone.

For centuries the lightning had played upon the rocks about them, the hail and the rain had lashed these mute, immobile sentinels, so that in many cases they were broken and corroded like the gargoyles on a Norman church.

To mount that flight of nearly a thousand steps in the mists of morning, between these weird and hideous images, was an experience that bordered on the uncanny. On every hand a mighty stillness reigned in the heart of the mountains.

Indeed, it was as if this wild, forgotten country was some colossal graveyard of the past, where the wisdom of the Medes and Persians lay buried to the end of time, where the rugged mountain-tops stood forth like tombstones, piercing the very clouds.

At last they came to the entrance. The steps widened and they stood upon a great stone terrace, level as a table-top, on the farther side of which arose the side of the mountain, formidably smooth and perpendicular, the moisture on its surface glistening in the sunlight that struggled through the mist. It was like a wall of polished steel.

The entrance to the caves was wide enough to allow four men to pass abreast, and about ten feet in height. Black as Erebus it yawned in the savage cliff. On either side, carved in stone, protruding from the rock, were the figures of two enormous giants, armless, with great beards that extended to their waists, and those huge conical helmets on their heads which one has learnt to associate with the Persians, the Assyrians, and the Medes.

Fernando walked to the threshold of the entrance and then turned sharp to Harry.

"I am a Spaniard," said he, "and the Spanish are a superstitious race-at least, that is how you would express it. Some speak of superstition, others of prescience-or foreknowledge of coming events. Call it what you like, I have the sense of a calamity impending. I am quite sure of that."

"How do you mean?" asked Harry.

"It is like this," Fernando went on; "we have come to a tragedy. The curtain is about to be raised."

"Do you fear to enter the caves?"

"No. But I will not go first. Lead, if you like, I am quite prepared to follow."

This was a new trait in the character of the half-caste. He had never shown fear or hesitation before.

Harry turned to Jim.

"Come," said he, and led the way beneath the darkened archway. Cortes and Fernando followed at their heels.

But Harry Urquhart had not taken ten paces forward when he stood transfixed in wonderment at the solemn magnificence and beauty of the Caves of Zoroaster.

The place was like a great cathedral. It was divided into three aisles by two lines of pillars. These pillars were extraordinarily massive. They had not been built up from the floor to the ceiling, but were part of the living rock, joining the roof to the floor. In other words, the aisles had been hollowed out by human labour, and the rounded pillars left at regular intervals to support the immense weight above.

The cave was lighted from above by several shafts that pierced the mountain, and which threw convergent beams of light across the shadows. Giving upon each of the side aisles were three doors constructed of wood, but barred with iron and studded with scores of nails. Above these doors, around three sides of the cave, was a kind of gallery, connected with the roof by a series of smaller and more frequent pillars.

At the far end, upon an altar, a single oil-lamp was burning. Behind the altar, and about twenty paces distant, was a wall of rock which immediately attracted the attention of the boys.

This rock was rough, as in its natural state, whereas elsewhere in the cave-on the floor, the ceiling, and the pillars-the rock was so smooth that it resembled masonry. Moreover, the aisles were of grey limestone; but the rock behind the altar was of red granite, in which the quartz and mica crystals glittered in the flickering light of the lamp.

By the side of the granite rock was something which Harry Urquhart recognized at once. On a single axis, supported at each end by grooves cut in the pillars, were nine enormous wheels of bronze. On the outside-or what would correspond to the "tyres" – of each of these wheels, were hundreds of strange cuneiform characters.

There was no doubt that beyond the red granite rock lay the vault which contained the treasure, and these wheels composed the Bramah lock by sole means of which the vault itself could be opened.

But without the Sunstone the wheels were useless. On the obverse side of the Sunstone was the explanation, or solution, of the riddle.

Harry walked up to the great bronze wheels and turned them at random, first this way and then that. Each revolved independently of the others, and could be turned either backwards or forwards.

From what his uncle had told him, he knew that each wheel must be turned until the characters visible along a given line corresponded to those upon the Sunstone. There could be no doubt as to where this line was, for, across the wheels, at about the height of a man's eyes, a bar of gold extended.

Whilst Harry and Jim were examining the wheels, Cortes was exploring the side aisles beneath the gallery. Presently he came towards his companions on tiptoe, with a finger raised to his lips.

"Come here!" said he in a whisper, beckoning to Harry.

Harry did so, and was conducted to one of the iron-bound doors, where the guide motioned him to stoop down and listen.

With his ear to the door, Urquhart could hear nothing for some seconds. Then there came to his ears a sound that was unearthly.

It was a low, continuous, moaning sound, like the howl of a dog in the distance. It grew louder gradually until at last it was close at hand, on the other side of the door.

There was something in the vastness of the place, in its stillness and its gloom, that was at once depressing and alarming. Harry Urquhart felt that he was rapidly losing confidence in himself. The great flight of steps without, the stone statues, the two carved giants at the entrance, the shadowy vault of the cave, pierced by shafts of light, and the solitary burning lamp-all these were mystical and weird.

The boy was well able to face danger, to take his life in his hands, but here he was confronted by what was suggestive of the supernatural. A feeling of fear possessed him-he knew not why. He drew back, shuddering, and turned quickly to the guide.

"Someone is coming!" he whispered.

At that moment there came a loud rapping on the other side of the door, which shook and trembled under the blows of someone who seemed like a maniac. They heard a bolt drawn sharply back. And then a voice let out a kind of shriek that ended quite abruptly. As one man, they turned and fled without shame or hesitation.

CHAPTER XXVI-The White Madman

They ran in all haste towards the entrance to the cave. The two guides led the way. If the boys were alarmed, the men were even more so.

The brothers had proved that they did not mind danger in the ordinary acceptation of the term, but, in their thinking, in this place they trespassed upon the precincts of the other world.

Cortes was about to make his escape to the terrace outside the entrance, when Harry called him back.

"Here!" cried the boy. "This way!"

In the semi-darkness he had caught sight of a narrow flight of stone steps which led to the gallery above. He was not so frightened that he had not a natural curiosity to see who approached on the other side of the door.

All this time a noise continued that echoed ceaselessly in the vastness of the cave. It was a noise of bolts withdrawn, chains jangling, locks unfastened, whilst a voice that was hardly human was continuously uplifted in a long, plaintive moan.

In the semi-darkness of the gallery the four trespassers knelt down, hiding behind the pillars in such position that they could see into the central aisle below. Their eyes were fixed upon the door whence issued these strange, uncanny sounds.

Presently the door opened, and there came forth into the light of the lamp the most extraordinary apparition it had ever been the lot of any one of them to see.

It was a madman. Moreover, one who was terrible in his madness. He was of a great age, for the hair of his beard and of his head was white as snow. And yet he was very tall of stature, and had the appearance of a man of colossal strength.

He was clothed in rags-rags which hung together by mere threads, so that his dark skin was visible upon his arms and back. The hair of his head was so long that it reached to his waist, a great beard spread over his chest. At his side he carried an enormous sword-a two-handed sword such as was used by warriors in ancient days. In one hand he held a staff.

He came forward, singing a wild song that somehow was reminiscent of the desert and the East. He approached the altar where burned the lamp, and there flung himself upon the ground, tearing his hair, gnashing his teeth, and actually foaming at the mouth.

From time to time he lifted his voice in a howl, dismal and prolonged, breaking off in his singing to beat himself upon the chest. It was all terrible to behold. It was like a scene in some majestic Bedlam. This white madman, the semi-darkness of the cave, the flickering light, the enormous pillars-all seemed not of the world we know, but to belong rather to one of the worlds of which we sometimes dream.

Harry, turning to Fernando, whispered in his ear.

"Who is this man?" said he.

"He is Guardian of the Cave. He is said to be a hundred years of age. He has lived here all his life."

The old man rose to his feet and stretched forth his arms. Then, lifting his voice, he uttered an endless string of words that were incomprehensible to both boys. As far as Harry could make out, the man either uttered some fearful curse or else he prayed in anguish.

"What is he saying?" asked the boy.

"I am not sure," answered Fernando; "I know little of the Maziri language. I think he says that the Sunstone has been stolen these many years, but this very day it will return. He says the vault will be opened before nightfall. He says that he himself is about to die."

"How does he pretend to know these things?"

"I cannot say," said the guide. "These men have the wisdom of the ancients, who could read the stars and knew of many things long since forgotten. It is supposed by the Maziris themselves that by means of fasting and penance and self-inflicted torture he has gained such holiness that he can see into the future, that he can read from the Book of Fate."

They could not move their eyes from the Guardian of the Cave. He now stood erect and motionless before the altar like one transfigured into a kind of deity. There was little about him that suggested what we know as human.

He was straight of back, his bare arms folded upon his chest, his head a little lowered. And the shafts of daylight from either side of the cave converged upon the whiteness of his head, so that he was like a saint, solemn and magnificent, surrounded by the all-pervading gloom.

Suddenly he let out a shout that was half a shriek-louder than before; and then they saw that his madness was not feigned. Like a wild beast he hurled himself upon the wheels and set them all in motion, some revolving one way, some the other. And even as the wheels were turning he shook his fist at the entrance to the vault-the red granite rock at the extremity of the cave.

"Open!" he cried, in the strange Maziri language. "Open in the name of Zoroaster!"

Again and again, he cried to the vault to open, as though that which was inanimate would heed his infuriated words. The spokes of the great bronze wheels reflected the light from the lamp, but there came no answer to the man's cries but the echoes of his own voice in the dimness of the cavern.

Once again he flung himself upon the ground, and prayed in a loud voice that the spirit of Zoroaster might descend and show him how to open the vault. According to Fernando, he asked the gods to grant him one of two favours-either that the secret of the Sunstone might be conveyed to him then and there, or that the Sunstone itself might be returned to the cave.

And suddenly he stopped in the midst of his prayer, springing sharply to his feet. For some seconds he stood quite motionless, in the attitude of one who listens.

Then he spoke slowly and distinctly and less loudly than before.

"My prayer has been heard," said he. "Glory to Zoroaster!"

At that he lifted a hand to an ear and turned his head towards the entrance to the cave.

Those in the gallery listened, too. Sure enough, footsteps were approaching.

A little after, the daylight at the entrance was obscured by a figure-the figure of a tall and slender man dressed in the clothes of a European. For a moment he stood quite motionless, shading his eyes with a hand.

It was apparent that, newly come from the daylight, the new-comer was unable to see in the half-light of the cavern. Neither could he himself be recognized by those in the gallery.

Presently he came forward until he stood before the Guardian of the Cave, and the light from the burning lamp fell full upon his face.

Harry Urquhart caught his breath, and his hand went quickly to the handle of his revolver, when he recognized von Hardenberg, who had come to his journey's end.

CHAPTER XXVII-The Black Dog Bites

For some moments the two men stood facing one another. Neither spoke nor moved.

As they stood thus, a third person entered, swiftly, silently, without being seen either by von Hardenberg or the Guardian of the Cave. Those in the gallery saw who it was: the man was the sheikh, the Black Dog of the Cameroons.

Of the scene that followed the watchers in the gallery were amazed and horrified spectators. It seems that Captain von Hardenberg had not been idle during the time the Sunstone had been in his possession; with Teuton thoroughness and industry he had even learnt to speak in the Maziri tongue.

"Who are you?" said he to the old man, so strange and terrible to behold.

"I do not ask who you may be," answered the other, "because I know."

Word by word, the following conversation was afterwards repeated to Harry by Fernando.

"You know!" cried von Hardenberg. "What do you know?"

"I know that you are he who bears the Sunstone on your person. I order you to deliver it up!"

Von Hardenberg drew back a pace. The Black Dog was crouching like a tiger behind one of the pillars, unseen by either of the speakers.

"Who told you?" cried von Hardenberg. "Who told you I have the Sunstone?"

"These things," said the old man in a great, solemn voice, "these things I know because I am one who holds converse with the gods. Me you cannot deceive. A short time ago I was asleep, and in my sleep I dreamed a dream-that the Sunstone had returned."

"You are mad!" cried the Prussian in brutal derision.

"Aye," said the man, "I am mad; but I am wiser than those who are sane. Deliver up the Sunstone!"

"By what right?"

"By every right. I am the Guardian of the Cave. I have lived five score years, and never once have I ventured beyond the entrance of the Caves of Zoroaster. Come, deliver up the Sunstone."

"And if I refuse?" asked von Hardenberg.

"If you refuse," said the man, "you die!"

Von Hardenberg looked about him with a quick, furtive glance. Softly his hand crept to his belt, where he carried the holster of his revolver.

What happened next was the work of a few seconds. Those in the gallery had no time to interfere. As for the sheikh, he evidently intended that the tragedy should be played out to its end, to the falling of the curtain.

The old man, seeing von Hardenberg's action, lifted his great two-handed sword and flourished it on high. Then, with a spring like that of a tiger, he hurled himself upon the Prussian.

Three shots rang out in quick succession. There were three flashes of fire, like jets of flame, and then three puffs of smoke. The cave was filled with an echo that went on and on as if it would never cease.

And when the smoke cleared, there was the old man lying upon his face upon the floor, silent and still. A century had rolled above his head, for a hundred years he had stood guardian of the Caves of Zoroaster-and now his task was ended.

Harry sprang to his feet, and would have fired then and there at von Hardenberg had not Cortes held him down by force.

"It was murder!" he whispered.

"If you fire, we are lost," cried Cortes. "It is too dark to shoot straight, and the Black Dog will escape us."

Harry resumed his kneeling position and waited.

A horrid silence reigned in the great, domed chamber. The scene was more tragic, more fantastic than ever. The shafts of light from above struck the body of the murdered man; the lamp still flickered before the altar. Even yet, the echoes of the shots were murmuring in the deeper recesses of the place.

Captain von Hardenberg stood stock-still, his revolver in his hand, thin wreaths of smoke issuing from the muzzle. From out of the heart of the stillness there came a chuckle: the Black Dog was pleased to laugh.

Murder was nothing to him. He had dealt for years in human lives. He was implacable, relentless. And even at that same moment he himself contemplated a greater crime, for the commission of which he was hiding in the darkness like a snake, biding his time to strike.

Captain von Hardenberg took two steps towards the body and turned it over with his foot.

"He is dead," said he in German.

The old man, who had been so terrible in life by reason of his madness, now looked sane and beautiful in death. The worn, agonized expression had gone altogether from his features, which were now calm and wholly at peace. With his white hair and ragged clothes, he was like one of the patriarchs of old.

Captain von Hardenberg was not himself. It was plain to see that it was all that he could do to control within him a feeling that was akin to terror. He looked about him with widely opened eyes-at the vast pillars, at the darkened corners of the aisles, at the shafts of sunlight that pierced the darkness like the blades of swords.

With trembling hands he attempted to unbutton his coat. His nerves were so shaken, and he in such feverish haste, that he could not at first succeed. In the end, as if grown desperate, he took a knife from his pocket, opened the largest blade, and cut off the buttons one by one. Then he ripped open his waistcoat, and, a moment after, drew forth the Sunstone and placed it on the altar by the side of the burning lamp.

And next he did a strange thing indeed. He burst suddenly into loud laughter-laughter that was hysterical, delirious.

He had gone through so much; he had faced so many dangers; he had been guilty of a score of crimes; he had lost everything-good name and honour and position-in order to possess himself of the treasure that lay beyond the red granite rock.

And now that all this wealth was as good as his, he could do little else but laugh, in a kind of wild delirium, whilst tear-drops in quick succession coursed down his cheeks.

After a while he mastered himself a little, but not completely. He went to the nine wheels and turned them all ways in a fever of excitement.

Then he remembered what he had to do. He studied the wheels and took notice of the cuneiform writing on the "tyres". At that he returned for the Sunstone and brought it to the Bramah lock.

But, since it was too dark there to see the writing on the stone, he took it back to the altar, and laid it down once more before the lamp. Then he studied the character in the first segment, and, having committed it to memory, he went back to the wheels.

Slowly he turned the first wheel, noting each character as it appeared above the golden bar. At last he appeared satisfied. The cuneiform figure, or character, which lay immediately above the golden bar corresponded to that upon the Sunstone.

Then, in a like manner, he turned the second wheel. Always when he got the wheel in the correct position he compared the two characters-that upon the Sunstone and that upon the wheel-to make sure they were the same.

Finally, he came to the ninth wheel. His excitement was now so great that those in the gallery could see that he was trembling violently in every limb.

He troubled no longer with the Sunstone. He turned the wheel very slowly, with his eyes fixed upon the red granite rock. Presently there was a "click" like the sound of the turning of an enormous lock. Captain von Hardenberg held the wheel quite still.

There came another "click" even louder than that which had gone before. And then slowly, like some great living monster, the rock began to turn, as if it revolved upon a pivot.

It turned evenly, slowly, noiselessly, and, as it turned, the light from the lamp caused the quartz and mica and felspar in the granite to glisten like a thousand fire-flies on a summer's evening.

And then, in the moving rock itself, appeared a narrow archway about four feet across; and when this was immediately opposite the altar there was another "click" and the whole rock was still.

Those in the gallery sprang to their feet and looked on with bated breath. The thing was like a miracle. As for von Hardenberg, he gave vent to a cry that was half a cheer and half a sob. Then, snatching the lamp from the altar, he rushed through the archway into the darkness beyond.

From the gallery they could see the light grow smaller and fainter as the Prussian descended a narrow flight of steps. Then the light went out, and there came up from the vault beyond a faint cry of exultation. Captain von Hardenberg had attained the treasure of Zoroaster.

And it was at that cry that the Black Dog glided from his hiding-place. Now that the lamp had gone, the cave was darker than before. But by the light that came from above, and through the entrance, those in the gallery could see his white robes as the man glided noiselessly across the hall.

He went straight to the altar, picked up the Sunstone, raised it to his lips, and kissed it. For a moment he gazed at it, long and lovingly, before he thrust it into a pocket.

He moved on tiptoe towards the wheels. As he did so he passed through one of the shafts of light, and his features were illumined. On his face there was an expression that was diabolical. It was the face of a beast of prey, a tiger that stalks its victims. His white robes contrasted strangely with the swarthiness of his countenance. His eyes were very bright and now looked yellow like those of a cat.

When he reached the wheels, he let out a great shout that filled the vastness of the cave.

"Die!" he cried. "Die the death you merit!"

At that he set the wheels in motion, and immediately the great granite rock revolved again. And Captain Carl von Hardenberg was buried alive in the midst of the treasure that was his.

The sheikh passed rapidly down the centre aisle. Half-way to the entrance he stopped, looked back, and shook his fist at the rock.

"Lie there," he cried, "and rot! In my own good time I will return."