Allan's Wife. Генри Райдер Хаггард

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       H. Rider Haggard

      Allan's Wife

      Published by Good Press, 2019

       [email protected]

      EAN 4057664653994

Table of Contents

       ALLAN’S WIFE

       CHAPTER I

       EARLY DAYS

       CHAPTER II

       THE FIRE-FIGHT

       CHAPTER III

       NORTHWARDS

       CHAPTER IV

       THE ZULU IMPI

       CHAPTER V

       THE END OF THE LAAGER

       CHAPTER VI

       STELLA

       CHAPTER VII

       THE BABOON-WOMAN

       CHAPTER VIII

       THE MARBLE KRAALS

       CHAPTER IX

       “LET US GO IN, ALLAN!”

       CHAPTER X

       HENDRIKA PLOTS EVIL

       CHAPTER XI

       GONE!

       CHAPTER XII

       THE MAGIC OF INDABA-ZIMBI

       CHAPTER XIII

       WHAT HAPPENED TO STELLA

       CHAPTER XIV

       FIFTEEN YEARS AFTER

       DEDICATION

       My Dear Macumazahn,

       It was your native name which I borrowed at the christening

       of that Allen who has become as well known to me as any

       other friend I have. It is therefore fitting that I should

       dedicate to you this, his last tale—the story of his wife,

       and the history of some further adventures which befell him.

       They will remind you of many an African yarn—that with the

       baboons may recall an experience of your own which I did not

       share. And perhaps they will do more than this. Perhaps they

       will bring back to you some of the long past romance of days

       that are lost to us. The country of which Allan Quatermain

       tells his tale is now, for the most part, as well known and

       explored as are the fields of Norfolk. Where we shot and

       trekked and galloped, scarcely seeing the face of civilized

       man, there the gold-seeker builds his cities. The shadow of

       the flag of Britain has, for a while, ceased to fall on the

       Transvaal plains; the game has gone; the misty charm of the

       morning has become the glare of day. All is changed. The

       blue gums that we planted in the garden of the “Palatial”

       must be large trees by now, and the “Palatial” itself has

       passed from us. Jess sat in it waiting for her love after we

       were gone. There she nursed him back to life. But Jess is

       dead, and strangers own it, or perhaps it is a ruin.

       For us too, Macumazahn, as for the land we loved, the

       mystery and promise of the morning are outworn; the mid-day

       sun burns overhead, and at times the way is weary. Few of

       those we knew are left. Some are victims to battle and

       murder, their bones strew the veldt; death has taken some in

       a more gentle fashion; others are hidden from us, we know

       not where. We might well fear to return to that land lest we

       also should see ghosts. But though we walk apart to-day, the

       past yet looks upon us with its unalterable eyes. Still we

       can remember many a boyish enterprise and adventure, lightly

       undertaken, which now would strike us as hazardous indeed.

       Still we can recall the long familiar line of the Pretoria

       Horse, the face of war and panic, the weariness of midnight

       patrols; aye, and hear the roar of guns echoed from the

       Shameful Hill.

       To you then, Macumazahn, in perpetual memory of those

       eventful years of youth which we passed together in the

       African towns and on the African veldt, I dedicate these

       pages, subscribing myself now as always,

       Your sincere friend,

       Indanda.