Rider Haggard Finished

1. Auflage 2015
ISBN: 978-1-5080-2433-0
Verlag: Dead Dodo Presents Rider Haggard
Format: EPUB
Kopierschutz: 0 - No protection

E-Book, Englisch, 481 Seiten

Reihe: H. Rider Haggard Collection

Dodo Collections brings you another classic from H. Rider Haggard, 'Finished.'
 
A curious effect of Haggard's successful emulation of the terse, pithy style of saga prose is that the idiom of this novel actually seems rather less dated in the early 21st century than Haggard's other work or the general run of Victorian adventure fiction. Improvements in our understanding of the Viking period have done surprisingly little to falsify Haggard's imagination of its setting, and the book should still hold appeal to any reader interested in the period.
 
Sir Henry Rider Haggard was an English writer of adventure novels set in exotic locations, predominantly Africa, and the creator of the Lost World literary genre. His stories, situated at the lighter end of the scale of Victorian literature, continue to be popular and influential. He was also involved in agricultural reform and improvement in the British Empire. 


His breakout novel was King Solomon's Mines(1885), which was to be the first in a series telling of the multitudinous adventures of its protagonist, Allan Quatermain.


Haggard was made a Knight Bachelor in 1912 and a Knight Commander of the Order of the British Empire in 1919. He stood unsuccessfully for Parliament as a Conservative candidate for the Eastern division of Norfolk in 1895. The locality of Rider, British Columbia, was named in his memory.

Autoren/Hrsg.

Rider Haggard, H.

Leseproben

CHAPTER I: ALLAN QUATERMAIN MEETS ANSCOMBE
……………… YOU, MY FRIEND, INTO WHOSE hand, if you live, I hope these scribblings of mine will pass one day, must well remember the 12th of April of the year 1877 at Pretoria. Sir Theophilus Shepstone, or Sompseu, for I prefer to call him by his native name, having investigated the affairs of the Transvaal for a couple of months or so, had made up his mind to annex that country to the British Crown. It so happened that I, Allan Quatermain, had been on a shooting and trading expedition at the back of the Lydenburg district where there was plenty of game to be killed in those times. Hearing that great events were toward I made up my mind, curiosity being one of my weaknesses, to come round by Pretoria, which after all was not very far out of my way, instead of striking straight back to Natal. As it chanced I reached the town about eleven o’clock on this very morning of the 12th of April and, trekking to the Church Square, proceeded to outspan there, as was usual in the Seventies. The place was full of people, English and Dutch together, and I noted that the former seemed very elated and were talking excitedly, while the latter for the most part appeared to be sullen and depressed. Presently I saw a man I knew, a tall, dark man, a very good fellow and an excellent shot, named Robinson. By the way you knew him also, for afterwards he was an officer in the Pretoria Horse at the time of the Zulu war, the corps in which you held a commission. I called to him and asked what was up. “A good deal, Allan,” he said as he shook my hand. “Indeed we shall be lucky if all isn’t up, or something like it, before the day is over. Shepstone’s Proclamation annexing the Transvaal is going to be read presently.” I whistled and asked, “How will our Boer friends take it? They don’t look very pleased.” “That’s just what no one knows, Allan. Burgers the President is squared, they say. He is to have a pension; also he thinks it the only thing to be done. Most of the Hollanders up here don’t like it, but I doubt whether they will put out their hands further than they can draw them back. The question is—what will be the line of the Boers themselves? There are a lot of them about, all armed, you see, and more outside the town.” “What do you think?” “Can’t tell you. Anything may happen. They may shoot Shepstone and his staff and the twenty-five policemen, or they may just grumble and go home. Probably they have no fixed plan.” “How about the English?” “Oh! we are all crazy with joy, but of course there is no organization and many have no arms. Also there are only a few of us.” “Well,” I answered, “I came here to look for excitement, life having been dull for me of late, and it seems that I have found it. Still I bet you those Dutchmen do nothing, except protest. They are slim and know that the shooting of an unarmed mission would bring England on their heads.” “Can’t say, I am sure. They like Shepstone who understands them, and the move is so bold that it takes their breath away. But as the Kaffirs say, when a strong wind blows a small spark will make the whole veld burn. It just depends upon whether the spark is there. If an Englishman and a Boer began to fight for instance, anything might happen. Goodbye, I have got a message to deliver. If things go right we might dine at the European tonight, and if they don’t, goodness knows where we shall dine.” I nodded sagely and he departed. Then I went to my wagon to tell the boys not to send the oxen off to graze at present, for I feared lest they should be stolen if there were trouble, but to keep them tied to the trek-tow. After this I put on the best coat and hat I had, feeling that as an Englishman it was my duty to look decent on such an occasion, washed, brushed my hair—with me a ceremony without meaning, for it always sticks up—and slipped a loaded Smith & Wesson revolver into my inner poacher pocket. Then I started out to see the fun, and avoiding the groups of surly-looking Boers, mingled with the crowd that I saw was gathering in front of a long, low building with a broad stoep, which I supposed, rightly, to be one of the Government offices. Presently I found myself standing by a tall, rather loosely-built man whose face attracted me. It was clean-shaven and much bronzed by the sun, but not in any way good-looking; the features were too irregular and the nose was a trifle too long for good looks. Still the impression it gave was pleasant and the steady blue eyes had that twinkle in them which suggests humour. He might have been thirty or thirty-five years of age, and notwithstanding his rough dress that consisted mainly of a pair of trousers held up by a belt to which hung a pistol, and a common flannel shirt, for he wore no coat, I guessed at once that he was English-born. For a while neither of us said anything after the taciturn habit of our people even on the veld, and indeed I was fully occupied in listening to the truculent talk of a little party of mounted Boers behind us. I put my pipe into my mouth and began to hunt for my tobacco, taking the opportunity to show the hilt of my revolver, so that these men might see that I was armed. It was not to be found, I had left it in the wagon. “If you smoke Boer tobacco,” said the stranger, “I can help you,” and I noted that the voice was as pleasant as the face, and knew at once that the owner of it was a gentleman. “Thank you, Sir. I never smoke anything else,” I answered, whereon he produced from his trousers pocket a pouch made of lion skin of unusually dark colour. “I never saw a lion as black as this, except once beyond Buluwayo on the borders of Lobengula’s country,” I said by way of making conversation. “Curious,” answered the stranger, “for that’s where I shot the brute a few months ago. I tried to keep the whole skin but the white ants got at it.” “Been trading up there?” I asked. “Nothing so useful,” he said. “Just idling and shooting. Came to this country because it was one of the very few I had never seen, and have only been here a year. I think I have had about enough of it, though. Can you tell me of any boats running from Durban to India? I should like to see those wild sheep in Kashmir.” I told him that I did not know for certain as I had never taken any interest in India, being an African elephant-hunter and trader, but I thought they did occasionally. Just then Robinson passed by and called to me— “They’ll be here presently, Quatermain, but Sompseu isn’t coming himself.” “Does your name happen to be Allan Quatermain?” asked the stranger. “If so I have heard plenty about you up in Lobengula’s country, and of your wonderful shooting.” “Yes,” I replied, “but as for the shooting, natives always exaggerate.” “They never exaggerated about mine,” he said with a twinkle in his eye. “Anyhow I am very glad to see you in the flesh, though in the spirit you rather bored me because I heard too much of you. Whenever I made a particularly bad miss, my gun-bearer, who at some time seems to have been yours, would say, ‘Ah! if only it had been the Inkosi Macumazahn, how different would have been the end!’ My name is Anscombe, Maurice Anscombe,” he added rather shyly. (Afterwards I discovered from a book of reference that he was a younger son of Lord Mountford, one of the richest peers in England.) Then we both laughed and he said— “Tell me, Mr. Quatermain, if you will, what those Boers are saying behind us. I am sure it is something unpleasant, but as the only Dutch I know is ‘Guten Tag’ and ‘Vootsack’ (Good-day and Get out) that takes me no forwarder.” “It ought to,” I answered, “for the substance of their talk is that they object to be ‘vootsacked’ by the British Government as represented by Sir Theophilus Shepstone. They are declaring that they won the land ‘with their blood’ and want to keep their own flag flying over it.” “A very natural sentiment,” broke in Anscombe. “They say that they wish to shoot all damned Englishmen, especially Shepstone and his people, and that they would make a beginning now were they not afraid that the damned English Government, being angered, would send thousands of damned English rooibatjes, that is, red-coats, and shoot them out of evil revenge.” “A very natural conclusion,” laughed Anscombe again, “which I should advise them to leave untested. Hush! Here comes the show.” I looked and saw a body of blackcoated gentlemen with one officer in the uniform of a Colonel of Engineers, advancing slowly. I remember that it reminded me of a funeral procession following the corpse of the Republic that had gone on ahead out of sight. The procession arrived upon the stoep opposite to us and began to sort itself out, whereon the English present raised a cheer and the Boers behind us cursed audibly. In the middle appeared an...