“Then he began to wander again, and in an hour it was all over.
“God rest him! he died very quietly, and I buried him deep, with big boulders on his breast; so I do not think that the jackals can have dug him up. And then I came away.”
“Ay, but the document?” said Sir Henry, in a tone of deep interest.
“Yes, the document; what was in it?” added the captain.
“Well, gentlemen, if you like I will tell you. I have never showed it to anybody yet except to a drunken old Portuguese trader who translated it for me, and had forgotten all about it by the next morning. The original rag is at my home in Durban, together with poor Dom Jose’s translation, but I have the English rendering in my pocket- book, and a facsimile of the map, if it can be called a map. Here it is.”
[MAP OMITTED]
“I, Jose da Silvestra, who am now dying of hunger in the little cave here no snow is on the north side of the nipple of the southernmost of the two mountains I have named Sheba’s Breasts, write this in the year 1590 with a cleft bone upon a remnant of my raiment, my blood being the ink. If my slave should find it when he comes, and should bring it to Delagoa, let my friend (name illegible) bring the matter to the knowledge of the king, that he may send an army which, if they live through the desert and the mountains, and can overcome the brave Kukuanes and their devilish arts, to which end many priests should be brought, will make him the richest king since Solomon. With my own eyes I have seen the countless diamonds stored in Solomon’s treasure chamber behind the white Death; but through the treachery of Gagool the witch-finder I might bring nought away, scarcely my life. Let him who comes follow the map, and climb the snow of Sheba’s left breast till he reaches the nipple, on the north side of which is the great road Solomon made, from whence three days’ journey to the King’s Palace. Let him kill Gagool. Pray for my soul. Farewell.
Jose da Silvestra.”[*]
[*] Eu Jose da Silvestra que estou morrendo de fome na pequena cova onde nao ha neve ao lado norte do bico mais ao sul das duas montanhas que chamei scio de Sheba; escrevo isto no anno 1590; escrevo isto com um pedaco d’osso n’ um farrapo de minha roupa e com sangue meu por tinta; se o meu escravo der com isto quando venha ao levar para Lourenzo Marquez, que o meu amigo ——— leve a cousa ao conhecimento d’ El Rei, para que possa mandar um exercito que, se desfiler pelo deserto e pelas montonhas e mesmo sobrepujar os bravos Kukuanes e suas artes diabolicas, pelo que se deviam trazer muitos padres Far o Rei mais rico depois de Salomao Com meus proprios olhos ve os di amantes sem conto guardados nas camaras do thesouro de Salomao a traz da morte branca, mas pela traicao de Gagoal a feiticeira achadora, nada poderia levar, e apenas a minha vida. Quem vier siga o mappa e trepe pela neve de Sheba peito a esquerda ate chegar ao bica, do lado norte do qual esta a grande estrada do Solomao por elle feita, donde ha tres dias de jornada ate ao Palacio do Rei. Mate Gagoal. Reze por minha alma. Adeos. Jose da Silvestra.
When I had finished reading the above, and shown the copy of the map, drawn by the dying hand of the old Dom with his blood for ink, there followed a silence of astonishment.
“Well,” said Captain Good, “I have been round the world twice, and put in at most ports, but may I be hung for a mutineer if ever I heard a yarn like this out of a story book, or in it either, for the matter of that.”
“It’s a queer tale, Mr. Quatermain,” said Sir Henry. “I suppose you are not hoaxing us? It is, I know, sometimes thought allowable to take in a greenhorn.”
“If you think that, Sir Henry,” I said, much put out, and pocketing my paper–for I do not like to be thought one of those silly fellows who consider it witty to tell lies, and who are for ever boasting to newcomers of extraordinary hunting adventures which never happened– “if you think that, why, there is an end to the matter,” and I rose to go.