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on the slope of the incline。
One of my tomb explorations in 1887 nearly proved my last adventure。 Opposite Assouan some great caverns had just been discovered。 Into one of these I crept through a little hole； for the sand was almost up to the top of the doorway。 I found it full of hundreds of dead； or at least there seemed to be hundreds； most of which had evidently been buried without coffins； for they were but skeletons； although mixed up with them was the mummy of a lady and the fragments of her painted mummy case。 As I contemplated these gruesome remains in the dim light I began to wonder how it came about that there were so many of them。 Then I recollected that about the time of Christ the town； which is now Assouan； had been almost depopulated by a fearful plague； and it occurred to me that doubtless at this time these old burying…places had been reopened and filled up with the victims of the scourge — also that the germ of plague is said to be very long…lived！ Incautiously I shouted to my panions who were outside that I was ing out； and set to work to crawl along the hole which led to the doorway。 But the echoes of my voice reverberating in that place had caused the sand to begin to pour down between the cracks of the masonry from above； so that the weight of it； falling upon my back； pinned me fast。 In a flash I realised that in another few seconds I too should be buried。 Gathering all my strength I made a desperate effort and succeeded in reaching the mouth of the hole just before it was too late； for my friends had wandered off to some distance and y plight。
One of these； a young fellow named Brownrigg； had a worse because a more prolonged experience。 He； I and a lady were contemplating the second Pyramid； when suddenly he announced that he was going to climb up it as far as the granite cap which still remains for something over a hundred feet at the top。
As he was a splendid athlete； with a very good head； this did not surprise us。 Up he went while we sat and watched him； till he came to the cap； which at that time only eight or nine white people had ever ascended； of course with the help of guides。 To our astonishment here we suddenly saw him take off his boots。 The next thing we saw was Brownrigg climbing up the polished granite of the cap。 Up he went from crack to crack till at last he reached the top in safety； and there proceeded to execute a war dance of triumph。 Then after a rest he began to descend。
I noticed from the desert； some hundreds of feet below； that although he menced his descent with face outwards； which is the right method； presently he turned so that it was against the sloping pyramid。 Then I began to grow frightened。 When he had done about thirty or forty feet of the descent I saw him stretch down his stockinged foot seeking some cranny； and draw it up again — because he could not reach the cranny without falling backwards。 Twice or thrice he did this； and then remained quite still upon the cap with outstretched arms like one crucified。 Evidently he could move neither up nor down。
While I stared； horrified — we three were quite alone in the place — a white…robed Arab rushed past me。 He was the Sheik of the Pyramids； which without a word he began to climb with the furious activity of a frightened cat。 Up he went over the lower and easy part onto the cap； which seemed to present no difficulties to him； for he knew exactly where to set his toes and had the head of an eagle or a mountain goat。 Now he was just underneath Brownrigg and saying something to him。 And now from that great height came a still small voice。
“If you touch me I’ll knock you down！” said the voice。
Yes； crucified there upon this awful cap he declared in true British fashion that he would knock his saviour down。
I shut my eyes； and when I looked again the sheik had got Brownrigg’s foot down into the crack below； how I never discovered。 Well； the rest of the sickening descent was acplished in safety； thanks to that splendid sheik。 In a few more minutes a very pale and shaking Brownrigg was gasping on the sand beside us； while the Arab； streaming with perspiration； danced round and objurgated him and us in his native tongue until he was appeased with large baksheesh。 Brownrigg； who will never be nearer to a dreadful death than he was that day； told me afterwards that； strong as his head was； he found it impossible to attempt the descent face outwards； since the thickness of the cap hid the sides of the pyramid from his sight； so that all he saw beneath him was some three hundred feet of empty space。 Therefore he turned and soon found himself quite helpless； since he could neither find any foothold beneath him； nor could he reascend。 Had not the watchful Arab seen him and his case； in another few minutes he must have fallen and been dashed to pieces at our feet。 The memory of that scene still makes my back feel cold and my flesh creep。 I have tried to reproduce it in “Ayesha；” where Holly falls from the rock to the ice…covered river far beneath。
From Egypt I sailed to Cyprus in a tub of a ship； where a rat had its nest behind my bunk。 It was my first visit to that delightful and romantic isle； over which all the civilisations have poured in turn； wave by wave； till at length came the Turk； beneath whose foot “the grass does not grow；” and； by the special mercy of Providence； after the Turk the English。
Here I was the guest of my old chief； Sir Henry Bulwer； who at that time was High missioner for the island。
From Government House at Nicosia I made various delightful expeditions in the pany of Mrs。 Caldwell； Sir Henry Bulwer’s sister； and her daughters。 For instance we visited Famagusta； that marvellous mediaeval； walled town； built and fortified by the Veians； that the Turks took after a terrible siege； for the details of which I will refer the reader to my book； “A Winter Pilgrimage；” written many years later after a second visit to Cyprus。
In 1887； strange as it may seem； the debris of this siege were still very much in evidence。 Thus after about three centuries the balls fired by the Turkish cannon lay all over the place。 I hold one of them in my hand as I write； slightly pit…marked by the passage of time； or more probably by flaws in the casting。
Here in this beautiful island of Venus I trusted； before turning to my tasks again； to have a little real holiday after a good many years of very hard work。 But； as it happened； holidays have never been for me。 At the age of nieen； to say nothing of the preliminary toils of education； I began to labour； and at the age of fifty…six I still find myself labouring with the firm and； so far as I can judge； well…grounded prospect that I shall continue to labour on public and private business till health and intelligence fail me； or； as I hope； death overtakes me while these still remain。
Here I must go back a little。 In the winter of 1886； as I remember very much against my own will； I was worried into writing an article about “Fiction” for the Contemporary Review。
It is almost needless for me to say that for a young writer who had suddenly e into some kind of fame to spring a dissertation of this kind upon the literary world over his own name was very little short of madness。 Such views must necessarily make him enemies； secret or declared； by the hundred。 There are two bits of advice which I will offer to the youthful author of the future。 Never preach about your trade； and； above all； never criticise other practitioners of that trade； however profoundly you may disagree with them。 Heaven knows there are critics enough without your taking a hand in the business。 Do your work as well as you can and leave other people to do theirs； and the public to judge between them。 Secondly； unless you are absolutely driven to it； as of course may happen sometimes； never enter into a controversy with a newspaper。
To return： this unfortunate article about “Fiction” made me plenty of enemies； and the mere fact of my remarkable success made me plenty more。 Through no fault of mine； also； these foes found a very able leader in the person of Mr。 Stead； who at that time was the editor of the Pall Mall Gazette。 I should say； however； that of late years Mr。 Stead has quite changed his attitude towards me and has indeed bee very plimentary； both with reference to my literary and to my public work。 For my part； too； I have long ago forgiven his onslaughts； as I can honestly say I have forgiven everybody else for every harm that they have done； or tried to do me。
To go back to “Jess。” Being somewhat piqued by the frequent descriptions of myself as “a mere writer of romances and boys’ books；” I determined to try my hand at another novel （if one es to think of it “Dawn” and “The Witch’s Head” were novels； but these had been obliterated by “King Solomon’s Mines”）。 So after I had finished “Allan Quatermain” I set to as I have already described； and wrote “Jess。”
It is a gloomy story and painful to an Englishman； so gloomy and painful that Lang could scarcely read it； having a nature susceptible as a sensitive plant。 I feel this myself； for except when I went through it some fifteen years ago to correct it for a new illustrated edition； I too have never reread it； and I think tha