There was none. It was not probable that there
would be any to a treasure chamber.
The lamp began to burn dim. The fat was nearly
exhausted.
“Quatermain,” said Sir Henry, “what
is the time—your watch goes?”
I drew it out, and looked at it. It was six o’clock;
we had entered the cave at eleven.
“Infadoos will miss us,” I suggested.
“If we do not return to-night he will search
for us in the morning, Curtis.”
“He may search in vain. He does not know
the secret of the door, nor even where it is.
No living person knew it yesterday, except Gagool.
To-day no one knows it. Even if he found the door
he could not break it down. All the Kukuana army
could not break through five feet of living rock.
My friends, I see nothing for it but to bow ourselves
to the will of the Almighty. The search for treasure
has brought many to a bad end; we shall go to swell
their number.”
The lamp grew dimmer yet.
Presently it flared up and showed the whole scene
in strong relief, the great mass of white tusks, the
boxes of gold, the corpse of the poor Foulata stretched
before them, the goat-skin full of treasure, the dim
glimmer of the diamonds, and the wild, wan faces of
us three white men seated there awaiting death by
starvation.
Then the flame sank and expired.
WE ABANDON HOPE
I can give no adequate description of the horrors
of the night which followed. Mercifully they
were to some extent mitigated by sleep, for even in
such a position as ours wearied nature will sometimes
assert itself. But I, at any rate, found it impossible
to sleep much. Putting aside the terrifying thought
of our impending doom—for the bravest man
on earth might well quail from such a fate as awaited
us, and I never made any pretensions to be brave—the
silence itself was too great to allow of it.
Reader, you may have lain awake at night and thought
the quiet oppressive, but I say with confidence that
you can have no idea what a vivid, tangible thing
is perfect stillness. On the surface of the earth
there is always some sound or motion, and though it
may in itself be imperceptible, yet it deadens the
sharp edge of absolute silence. But here there
was none. We were buried in the bowels of a huge
snow-clad peak. Thousands of feet above us the
fresh air rushed over the white snow, but no sound
of it reached us. We were separated by a long
tunnel and five feet of rock even from the awful chamber
of the Dead; and the dead make no noise. Did we
not know it who lay by poor Foulata’s side?
The crashing of all the artillery of earth and heaven
could not have come to our ears in our living tomb.
We were cut off from every echo of the world—we
were as men already in the grave.
Then the irony of the situation forced itself upon
me. There around us lay treasures enough to pay
off a moderate national debt, or to build a fleet
of ironclads, and yet we would have bartered them all
gladly for the faintest chance of escape. Soon,
doubtless, we should be rejoiced to exchange them
for a bit of food or a cup of water, and, after that,
even for the privilege of a speedy close to our sufferings.
Truly wealth, which men spend their lives in acquiring,
is a valueless thing at the last.
