STORIES By English Authors in Africa(旅非英国作家的故事)

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STORIES

by English Authors in Africa

STORIES

THE MYSTERY OF SASASSA

VALLEY

BY A. CONAN DOYLE

Do I know why Tom Donahue is called "Lucky Tom"? Yes, I do; and

that is more than one in ten of those who call him so can say. I have

knocked about a deal in my time, and seen some strange sights, but none

stranger than the way in which Tom gained that sobriquet, and his fortune

with it. For I was with him at the time. Tell it? Oh, certainly; but it is a

longish story and a very strange one; so fill up your glass again, and light

another cigar, while I try to reel it off. Yes, a very strange one; beats some

fairy stories I have heard; but it's true, sir, every word of it. There are men

alive at Cape Colony now who'll remember it and confirm what I say.

Many a time has the tale been told round the fire in Boers' cabins from

Orange state to Griqualand; yes, and out in the bush and at the diamond-

fields too.

I'm roughish now, sir; but I was entered at the Middle Temple once,

and studied for the bar. Tom--worse luck!--was one of my fellow- students;

and a wildish time we had of it, until at last our finances ran short, and we

were compelled to give up our so-called studies, and look about for some

part of the world where two young fellows with strong arms and sound

constitutions might make their mark. In those days the tide of emigration

had scarcely begun to set in toward Africa, and so we thought our best

chance would be down at Cape Colony. Well,--to make a long story short,-

-we set sail, and were deposited in Cape Town with less than five pounds

in our pockets; and there we parted. We each tried our hands at many

things, and had ups and downs; but when, at the end of three years, chance

led each of us up-country and we met again, we were, I regret to say, in

almost as bad a plight as when we started.

Well, this was not much of a commencement; and very disheartened

we were, so disheartened that Tom spoke of going back to England and

getting a clerkship. For you see we didn't know that we had played out all

our small cards, and that the trumps were going to turn up. No; we thought

STORIES

our "hands" were bad all through. It was a very lonely part of the country

that we were in, inhabited by a few scattered farms, whose houses were

stockaded and fenced in to defend them against the Kaffirs. Tom Donahue

and I had a little hut right out in the bush; but we were known to possess

nothing, and to be handy with our revolvers, so we had little to fear. There

we waited, doing odd jobs, and hoping that something would turn up. Well,

after we had been there about a month something did turn up upon a

certain night, something which was the making of both of us; and it's

about that night, sir, that I'm going to tell you. I remember it well. The

wind was howling past our cabin, and the rain threatened to burst in our

rude window. We had a great wood fire crackling and sputtering on the

hearth, by which I was sitting mending a whip, while Tom was lying in his

bunk groaning disconsolately at the chance which had led him to such a

place.

"Cheer up, Tom--cheer up," said I. "No man ever knows what may be

awaiting him."

"Ill luck, ill luck, Jack," he answered. "I always was an unlucky dog.

Here have I been three years in this abominable country; and I see lads

fresh from England jingling the money in their pockets, while I am as poor

as when I landed. Ah, Jack, if you want to keep your head above water, old

friend, you must try your fortune away from me."

"Nonsense, Tom; you're down in your luck to-night. But hark! Here's

some one coming outside. Dick Wharton, by the tread; he'll rouse you, if

any man can."

Even as I spoke the door was flung open, and honest Dick Wharton,

with the water pouring from him, stepped in, his hearty red face looming

through the haze like a harvest-moon. He shook himself, and after greeting

us sat down by the fire to warm himself.

"Where away, Dick, on such a night as this?" said I. "You'll find the

rheumatism a worse foe than the Kaffirs, unless you keep more regular

hours."

Dick was looking unusually serious, almost frightened, one would say,

if one did not know the man. "Had to go," he replied--"had to go. One of

Madison's cattle was seen straying down Sasassa Valley, and of course

STORIES

none of our blacks would go down /that/ valley at night; and if we had

waited till morning, the brute would have been in Kaffirland."

"Why wouldn't they go down Sasassa Valley at night?" asked Tom.

"Kaffirs, I suppose," said I.

"Ghosts," said Dick.

We both laughed.

"I suppose they didn't give such a matter-of-fact fellow as you a sight

of their charms?" said Tom, from the bunk.

"Yes," said Dick, seriously, "yes; I saw what the niggers talk about;

and I promise you, lads, I don't want ever to see it again."

Tom sat up in his bed. "Nonsense, Dick; you're joking, man! Come,

tell us all about it; the legend first, and your own experience afterward.

Pass him over the bottle, Jack."

"Well, as to the legend," began Dick. "It seems that the niggers have

had it handed down to them that Sasassa Valley is haunted by a frightful

fiend. Hunters and wanderers passing down the defile have seen its

glowing eyes under the shadows of the cliff; and the story goes that

whoever has chanced to encounter that baleful glare has had his after-life

blighted by the malignant power of this creature. Whether that be true or

not," continued Dick, ruefully, "I may have an opportunity of judging for

myself."

"Go on, Dick--go on," cried Tom. "Let's hear about what you saw."

"Well, I was groping down the valley, looking for that cow of

Madison's, and I had, I suppose, got half-way down, where a black craggy

cliff juts into the ravine on the right, when I halted to have a pull at my

flask. I had my eye fixed at the time upon the projecting cliff I have

mentioned, and noticed nothing unusual about it. I then put up my flask

and took a step or two forward, when in a moment there burst, apparently

from the base of the rock, about eight feet from the ground and a hundred

yards from me, a strange, lurid glare, flickering and oscillating, gradually

dying away and then reappearing again. No, no; I've seen many a glow-

worm and firefly--nothing of that sort. There it was, burning away, and I

suppose I gazed at it, trembling in every limb, for fully ten minutes. Then I

took a step forward, when instantly it vanished, vanished like a candle

STORIES

blown out. I stepped back again; but it was some time before I could find

the exact spot and position from which it was visible. At last, there it was,

the weird reddish light, flickering away as before. Then I screwed up my

courage, and made for the rock; but the ground was so uneven that it was

impossible to steer straight; and though I walked along the whole base of

the cliff, I could see nothing. Then I made tracks for home; and I can tell

you, boys, that, until you remarked it, I never knew it was raining, the

whole way along. But hollo! what's the matter with Tom?"

What indeed? Tom was now sitting with his legs over the side of the

bunk, and his whole face betraying excitement so intense as to be almost

painful. "The fiend would have two eyes. How many lights did you see,

Dick? Speak out!"

"Only one."

"Hurrah!" cried Tom, "that's better." Whereupon he kicked the blankets

into the middle of the room, and began pacing up and down with long

feverish strides. Suddenly he stopped opposite Dick, and laid his hand

upon his shoulder. "I say, Dick, could we get to Sasassa Valley before

sunrise?"

"Scarcely," said Dick.

"Well, look here; we are old friends, Dick Wharton, you and I. Now

don't you tell any other man what you have told us, for a week. You'll

promise that, won't you?"

I could see by the look on Dick's face as he acquiesced that he

considered poor Tom to be mad; and indeed I was myself completely

mystified by his conduct. I had, however, seen so many proofs of my

friend's good sense and quickness of apprehension that I thought it quite

possible that Wharton's story had had a meaning in his eyes which I was

too obtuse to take in.

All night Tom Donahue was greatly excited, and when Wharton left he

begged him to remember his promise, and also elicited from him a

description of the exact spot at which he had seen the apparition, as well

as the hour at which it appeared. After his departure, which must have

been about four in the morning, I turned into my bunk and watched Tom

sitting by the fire splicing two sticks together, until I fell asleep. I suppose

STORIES

I must have slept about two hours; but when I awoke Tom was still sitting

working away in almost the same position. He had fixed the one stick

across the top of the other so as to form a rough T, and was now busy in

fitting a smaller stick into the angle between them, by manipulating which,

the cross one could be either cocked up or depressed to any extent. He had

cut notches, too, in the perpendicular stick, so that, by the aid of the small

prop, the cross one could be kept in any position for an indefinite time.

"Look here, Jack!" he cried, when he saw that I was awake. "Come

and give me your opinion. Suppose I put this cross-stick pointing straight

at a thing, and arranged this small one so as to keep it so, and left it, I

could find that thing again if I wanted it--don't you think I could, Jack--

don't you think so?" he continued, nervously, clutching me by the arm.

"Well," I answered, "it would depend on how far off the thing was, and

how accurately it was pointed. If it were any distance, I'd cut sights on

your cross-stick; then a string tied to the end of it, and held in a plumb-line

forward, would lend you pretty near what you wanted. But surely, Tom,

you don't intend to localise the ghost in that way?"

"You'll see to-night, old friend--you'll see to-night. I'll carry this to the

Sasassa Valley. You get the loan of Madison's crowbar, and come with me;

but mind you tell no man where you are going, or what you want it for."

All day Tom was walking up and down the room, or working hard at

the apparatus. His eyes were glistening, his cheeks hectic, and he had all

the symptoms of high fever. "Heaven grant that Dick's diagnosis be not

correct!" I thought, as I returned with the crowbar; and yet, as evening

drew near, I found myself imperceptibly sharing the excitement.

About six o'clock Tom sprang to his feet and seized his sticks. "I can

stand it no longer, Jack," he cried; "up with your crowbar, and hey for

Sasassa Valley! To-night's work, my lad, will either make us or mar us!

Take your six-shooter, in case we meet the Kaffirs. I daren't take mine,

Jack," he continued, putting his hands upon my shoulders-- "I daren't take

mine; for if my ill luck sticks to me to-night, I don't know what I might not

do with it."

Well, having filled our pockets with provisions, we set out, and, as we

took our wearisome way toward the Sasassa Valley, I frequently attempted

STORIES

to elicit from my companion some clue as to his intentions. But his only

answer was: "Let us hurry on, Jack. Who knows how many have heard of

Wharton's adventure by this time! Let us hurry on, or we may not be first

in the field!"

Well, sir, we struggled on through the hills for a matter of ten miles;

till at last, after descending a crag, we saw opening out in front of us a

ravine so sombre and dark that it might have been the gate of Hades itself;

cliffs many hundred feet shut in on every side the gloomy boulder-studded

passage which led through the haunted defile into Kaffirland. The moon,

rising above the crags, threw into strong relief the rough, irregular

pinnacles of rock by which they were topped, while all below was dark as

Erebus.

"The Sasassa Valley?" said I.

"Yes," said Tom.

I looked at him. He was calm now; the flush and feverishness had

passed away; his actions were deliberate and slow. Yet there was a certain

rigidity in his face and glitter in his eye which showed that a crisis had

come.

We entered the pass, stumbling along amid the great boulders.

Suddenly I heard a short, quick exclamation from Tom. "That's the crag!"

he cried, pointing to a great mass looming before us in the darkness. "Now,

Jack, for any favour use your eyes! We're about a hundred yards from that

cliff, I take it; so you move slowly toward one side and I'll do the same

toward the other. When you see anything, stop and call out. Don't take

more than twelve inches in a step, and keep your eye fixed on the cliff

about eight feet from the ground. Are you ready?"

"Yes." I was even more excited than Tom by this time. What his

intention or object was I could not conjecture, beyond that he wanted to

examine by daylight the part of the cliff from which the light came. Yet the

influence of the romantic situation and my companion's suppressed

excitement was so great that I could feel the blood coursing through my

veins and count the pulses throbbing at my temples.

"Start!" cried Tom; and we moved off, he to the right, I to the left, each

with our eyes fixed intently on the base of the crag. I had moved perhaps

STORIES

twenty feet, when in a moment it burst upon me. Through the growing

darkness there shone a small, ruddy, glowing point, the light from which

waned and increased, flickered and oscillated, each change producing a

more weird effect than the last. The old Kaffir superstition came into my

mind, and I felt a cold shudder pass over me. In my excitement I stepped a

pace backward, when instantly the light went out, leaving utter darkness in

its place; but when I advanced again, there was the ruddy glare glowing

from the base of the cliff. "Tom, Tom!" I cried.

"Ay, ay!" I heard him exclaim, as he hurried over toward me.

"There it is--there, up against the cliff!"

Tom was at my elbow. "I see nothing," said he.

"Why, there, there, man, in front of you!" I stepped to the right as I

spoke, when the light instantly vanished from my eyes.

But from Tom's ejaculations of delight it was clear that from my

former position it was visible to him also. "Jack," he cried, as he turned

and wrung my hand--"Jack, you and I can never complain of our luck

again. Now heap up a few stones where we are standing. That's right. Now

we must fix my sign-post firmly in at the top. There! It would take a

strong wind to blow that down; and we only need it to hold out till

morning. O Jack, my boy, to think that only yesterday we were talking of

becoming clerks, and you saying that no man knew what was awaiting

him, too! By Jove, Jack, it would make a good story!"

By this time we had firmly fixed the perpendicular stick in between

the two large stones; and Tom bent down and peered along the horizontal

one. For fully a quarter of an hour he was alternately raising and

depressing it, until at last, with a sigh of satisfaction, he fixed the prop into

the angle, and stood up. "Look along, Jack," he said. "You have as straight

an eye to take a sight as any man I know of."

I looked along. There beyond the farther sight was the ruddy,

scintillating speck, apparently at the end of the stick itself, so accurately

had it been adjusted.

"And now, my boy," said Tom, "let's have some supper and a sleep.

There's nothing more to be done to-night; but we'll need all our wits and

strength to-morrow. Get some sticks and kindle a fire here, and then we'll

STORIES

be able to keep an eye on our signal-post, and see that nothing happens to

it during the night."

Well, sir, we kindled a fire, and had supper with the Sasassa demon's

eye rolling and glowing in front of us the whole night through. Not always

in the same place, though; for after supper, when I glanced along the sights

to have another look at it, it was nowhere to be seen. The information did

not, however, seem to disturb Tom in any way. He merely remarked, "It's

the moon, not the thing, that has shifted;" and coiling himself up, went to

sleep.

By early dawn we were both up, and gazing along our pointer at the

cliff; but we could make out nothing save the one dead, monotonous, slaty

surface, rougher perhaps at the part we were examining than elsewhere,

but otherwise presenting nothing remarkable.

"Now for your idea, Jack!" said Tom Donahue, unwinding a long thin

cord from round his waist. "You fasten it, and guide me while I take the

other end." So saying, he walked off to the base of the cliff, holding one

end of the cord, while I drew the other taut, and wound it round the middle

of the horizontal stick, passing it through the sight at the end. By this

means I could direct Tom to the right or left, until we had our string

stretching from the point of attachment, through the sight, and on to the

rock, which it struck about eight feet from the ground. Tom drew a chalk

circle of about three feet diameter round the spot, and then called to me to

come and join him. "We've managed this business together, Jack," he said,

"and we'll find what we are to find, together." The circle he had drawn

embraced a part of the rock smoother than the rest, save that about the

centre there were a few rough protuberances or knobs. One of these Tom

pointed to with a cry of delight. It was a roughish, brownish mass about

the size of a man's closed fist, and looking like a bit of dirty glass let into

the wall of the cliff. "That's it!" he cried--"that's it!"

"That's what?"

"Why, man, /a diamond/, and such a one as there isn't a monarch in

Europe but would envy Tom Donahue the possession of. Up with your

crowbar, and we'll soon exorcise the demon of Sasassa Valley!"

I was so astounded that for a moment I stood speechless with surprise,

STORIES

gazing at the treasure which had so unexpectedly fallen into our hands.

"Here, hand me the crowbar," said Tom. "Now, by using this little

round knob which projects from the cliff here as a fulcrum, we may be

able to lever it off. Yes; there it goes. I never thought it could have come

so easily. Now, Jack, the sooner we get back to our hut and then down to

Cape Town, the better."

We wrapped up our treasure, and made our way across the hills toward

home. On the way, Tom told me how, while a law student in the Middle

Temple, he had come upon a dusty pamphlet in the library, by one Jans

van Hounym, which told of an experience very similar to ours, which had

befallen that worthy Dutchman in the latter part of the seventeenth century,

and which resulted in the discovery of a luminous diamond. This tale it

was which had come into Tom's head as he listened to honest Dick

Wharton's ghost-story, while the means which he had adopted to verify his

supposition sprang from his own fertile Irish brain.

"We'll take it down to Cape Town," continued Tom, "and if we can't

dispose of it with advantage there, it will be worth our while to ship for

London with it. Let us go along to Madison's first, though; he knows

something of these things, and can perhaps give us some idea of what we

may consider a fair price for our treasure."

We turned off from the track accordingly, before reaching our hut, and

kept along the narrow path leading to Madison's farm. He was at lunch

when we entered; and in a minute we were seated at each side of him,

enjoying South African hospitality.

"Well," he said, after the servants were gone, "what's in the wind now?

I see you have something to say to me. What is it?"

Tom produced his packet, and solemnly untied the handkerchiefs

which enveloped it. "There!" he said, putting his crystal on the table;

"what would you say was a fair price for that?"

Madison took it up and examined it critically. "Well," he said, laying it

down again, "in its crude state about twelve shillings per ton."

"Twelve shillings!" cried Tom, starting to his feet. "Don't you see what

it is?"

"Rock-salt!"

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STORIES1STORIESbyEnglishAuthorsinAfricaSTORIES2THEMYSTERYOFSASASSAVALLEYBYA.CONANDOYLEDoIknowwhyTomDonahueiscalled"LuckyTom"?Yes,Ido;andthatismorethanoneintenofthosewhocallhimsocansay.Ihaveknockedaboutadealinmytime,andseensomestrangesights,butnonestrangerthanthewayinwhichTomgainedthatsobriquet,andhi...

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