Chapter 3

We were in Mariannakookaland. We had been there a month travelling on, ever on, over the parching wastes, under the scorching African sun which all but burnt us in our _treks_. Our _Veldt_ slippers were worn out, and our pace was consequently reduced to the merest _Kraal_. At rare intervals during our adventurous march, we had seen Stars and heard of Echoes, but now not a single _Kopje_ was left, and we were trudging along mournfully with our blistered _tongas_ protruding from our mouths.

Suddenly Sir HENRY spoke--"SMALLUN, my old friend," he said, "do you see anything in the distance?"

I looked intently in the direction indicated, but could see nothing but the horizon. "Look again," said Sir HENRY. I swept the distance with my glance. It was a sandy, arid distance, and, naturally enough, a small cloud of dust appeared. Then a strange thing happened. The cloud grew and grew. It came rolling towards us with an unearthly noise. Then it seemed to be cleft in two, as by lightning, and from its centre came marching towards us a mighty army of Amazonian warriors, in battle-array, chanting the war-song of the Mariannakookas. I must confess that my first instinct was to fly, my second to run, my third, and best, to remain rooted to the spot. When the army came within ten yards of us, it stopped, as if by magic, and a stout Amazon, of forbidding aspect, who seemed to be the Commander-in-Chief, advanced to the front. On her head she wore an immense native jelibag, tricked out with feathers; her breast was encased in a huge silver _tureene_. Her waist was encircled with a broad girdle, in which were stuck all manner of deadly arms, _stuhpans, sorspans, spîhts_, and _deeshecloutz_. In her left hand she carried a deadly-looking _kaster_, while in her right she brandished a massive _rolinpin_, a frightful weapon, which produces internal wounds of the most awful kind. Her regiments were similarly armed, save that, in their case, the breast-covering was made of inferior metal, and they wore no feathers in their head-dress. The Commander held up her hand. Instantly the war-song ceased. Then the Commander addressed us, and her voice sounded like the song of them that address the _butchaboys_ in the morning. And this was the _torque_ she hurled at us,--