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so moved。 I print it practically as it left his hands。
There are other MSS。 also； one of which； headed 〃Child of Storm；〃
relates the moving history of a beautiful and； I fear I must add； wicked
Zulu girl named Mameena who did much evil in her day and went
unrepentant from the world。
Another； amongst other things； tells the secret story of the causes of
the defeat of Cetewayo and his armies by the English in 1879； which
happened not long before Quatermain met Sir Henry Curtis and Captain
Good。
These three narratives are； indeed； more or less connected with each
other。 At least； a certain aged dwarf； called Zikali； a witch…doctor
and an terrible man； has to do with all of them； although in the first；
〃Marie；〃 he is only vaguely mentioned in connection with the massacre of
Retief； whereof he was doubtless the primary instigator。 As 〃Marie〃
comes first in chronological order； and was placed on the top of the
pile by its author； I publish it first。 With the others I hope to deal
later on； as I may find time and opportunity。
But the future must take care of itself。 We cannot control it； and its
events are not in our hand。 Meanwhile； I hope that those who in their
youth have read of King Solomon's Mines and Zuvendis； and perhaps some
others who are younger； may find as much of interest in these new
chapters of the autobiography of Allan Quatermain as I have done myself。
CONTENTS
I。 ALLAN LEARNS FRENCH
II。 THE ATTACK ON MARAISFONTEIN
III。 THE RESCUE
IV。 HERNANDO PEREIRA
V。 THE SHOOTING MATCH
VI。 THE PARTING
VII。 ALLAN'S CALL
VIII。 THE CAMP OF DEATH
IX。 THE PROMISE
X。 VROUW PRINSLOO SPEAKS HER MIND
XI。 THE SHOT IN THE KLOOF
XII。 DINGAAN'S BET
XIII。 THE REHEARSAL
XIV。 THE PLAY
XV。 RETIEF ASKS A FAVOUR
XVI。 THE COUNCIL
XVII。 THE MARRIAGE
XVIII。 THE TREATY
XIX。 DEPART IN PEACE
XX。 THE COURT…MARTIAL
XXI。 THE INNOCENT BLOOD
CHAPTER I
ALLAN LEARNS FRENCH
Although in my old age I； Allan Quatermain； have taken to writingafter
a fashionnever yet have I set down a single word of the tale of my
first love and of the adventures that are grouped around her beautiful
and tragic history。 I suppose this is because it has always seemed to
me too holy and far…off a matteras holy and far…off as is that heaven
which holds the splendid spirit of Marie Marais。 But now； in my age；
that which was far…off draws near again； and at night； in the depths
between the stars； sometimes I seem to see the opening doors through
which I must pass； and leaning earthwards across their threshold； with
outstretched arms and dark and dewy eyes； a shadow long forgotten by all
save methe shadow of Marie Marais。
An old man's dream； doubtless； no more。 Still； I will try to set down
that history which ended in so great a sacrifice； and one so worthy of
record； though I hope that no human eye will read it until I also am
forgotten； or； at any rate； have grown dim in the gathering mists of
oblivion。 And I am glad that I have waited to make this attempt； for it
seems to me that only of late have I come to understand and appreciate
at its true value the character of her of whom I tell； and the
passionate affection which was her bounteous offering to one so utterly
unworthy as myself。 What have I done； I wonder； that to me should have
been decreed the love of two such women as Marie and that of Stella；
also now long dead； to whom alone in the world I told all her tale？ I
remember I feared lest she should take it ill； but this was not so。
Indeed； during our brief married days； she thought and talked much of
Marie； and some of her last words to me were that she was going to seek
her； and that they would wait for me together in the land of love； pure
and immortal。
So with Stella's death all that side of life came to an end for me；
since during the long years which stretch between then and now I have
never said another tender word to woman。 I admit； however； that once；
long afterwards； a certain little witch of a Zulu did say tender words
to me； and for an hour or so almost turned my head； an art in which she
had great skill。 This I say because I wish to be quite honest； although
itI mean my head； for there was no heart involved in the mattercame
straight again at once。 Her name was Mameena； and I have set down her
remarkable story elsewhere。
To return。 As I have already written in another book； I passed my youth
with my old father； a Church of England clergyman； in what is now the
Cradock district of the Cape Colony。
Then it was a wild place enough； with a very small white population。
Among our few neighbours was a Boer farmer of the name of Henri Marais；
who lived about fifteen miles from our station； on a fine farm called
Maraisfontein。 I say he was a Boer； but； as may be guessed from both
his Christian and surname； his origin was Huguenot； his forefather； who
was also named Henri Maraisthough I think the Marais was spelt rather
differently thenhaving been one of the first of that faith who
emigrated to South Africa to escape the cruelties of Louis XIV。 at the
time of the revocation of the Edict of Nantes。
Unlike most Boers of similar descent； these particular Maraisfor； of
course； there are many other families so callednever forgot their
origin。 Indeed； from father to son； they kept up some knowledge of the
French tongue； and among themselves often spoke it after a fashion。 At
any rate； it was the habit of Henri Marais； who was excessively
religious； to read his chapter of the Bible （which it is； or was； the
custom of the Boers to spell out every morning； should their learning
allow them to do so）； not in the 〃taal〃 or patois Dutch； but in good old
French。 I have the very book from which he used to read now； for；
curiously enough； in after years； when all these events had long been
gathered to the past； I chanced to buy it among a parcel of other works
at the weekly auction of odds and ends on the market square of
Maritzburg。 I remember that when I opened the great tome； bound over
the original leather boards in buckskin； and discovered to whom it had
belonged； I burst into tears。 There was no doubt about it； for； as was
customary in old days； this Bible had sundry fly…leaves sewn up with it
for the purpose of the recording of events important to its owner。
The first entries were made by the original Henri Marais； and record how
he and his compatriots were driven from France； his father having lost
his life in the religious persecutions。 After this comes a long list of
births； marriages and deaths continued from generation to generation；
and amongst them a few notes telling of such matters as the change of
the dwelling…places of the family； always in French。 Towards the end of
the list appears the entry of the birth of the Henri Marais whom I knew；
alas！ too well； and of his only sister。 Then is written his marriage to
Marie Labuschagne； also； be it noted； of the Huguenot stock。 In the
next year follows the birth of Marie Marais； my Marie； and； after a long
interval； for no other children were born； the death of her mother。
Immediately below appears the following curious passage：
〃Le 3 Janvier； 1836。 Je quitte ce pays voulant me sauver du maudit
gouvernement Britannique comme mes ancetres se sont sauves de ce
diableLouis XIV。
〃A bas les rois et les ministres tyrannique！ Vive la liberte！〃
Which indicates very clearly the character and the opinions of Henri
Marais； and the feeling among the trek…Boers at that time。
Thus the record closes and the story of the Marais endsthat is； so far
as the writings in the Bible go； for that branch of the family is now
extinct。
Their last chapter I will tell in due course。
There was nothing remarkable about my introduction to Marie Marais。 I
did not rescue her from any attack of a wild beast or pull her out of a
raging river in a fashion suited to romance。 Indeed； we interchanged
our young ideas across a small and extremely massive table； which； in
fact； had once done duty as a block for the chopping up of meat。 To
this hour I can see the hundreds of lines running criss…cross upon its
surface； especially those opposite to where I used to sit。
One day； several years after my father had emigrated to the Cape； the
Heer Marais arrived at our house in search； I think； of some lost oxen。
He was a thin； bearded man with rather wild； dark eyes set close
together； and a quick nervous manner； not in the least like that of a
Dutch Boeror so I recall him。 My father received him courteously and
asked him to stop to dine； which he did。
They talked together in French； a tongue that my father knew well；
although he had not used it for years； Dutch he could not； or； rather；
would not； speak if he could help it； and Mr。 Marais preferred not to
talk English。 To meet som