It may be well to state that the incident of the “Thing that bites”recorded in this tale is not an effort of the imagination. On the contrary, itis “plagiarized.” Mandara, a well-known chief on the east coast ofAfrica, has such an article, and uses it. In the same way the wickedconduct attributed to Wambe is not without a precedent. T’Chaka, the ZuluNapoleon, never allowed a child of his to live. Indeed he went further, for ondiscovering that his mother, Unandi, was bringing up one of his sons in secret,like Nero he killed her, and with his own hand.
One day—it was about a week after Allan Quatermain told me his story ofthe “Three Lions,” and of the moving death of Jim-Jim—he andI were walking home together on the termination of a day’s shooting. Heowned about two thousand acres of shooting round the place he had bought inYorkshire, over a hundred of which were wood. It was the second year of hisoccupation of the estate, and already he had reared a very fair head ofpheasants, for he was an all-round sportsman, and as fond of shooting with ashot-gun as with an eight-bore rifle. We were three guns that day, Sir HenryCurtis, Old Quatermain, and myself; but Sir Henry was obliged to leave in themiddle of the afternoon in order to meet his agent, and inspect an outlyingfarm where a new shed was wanted. However, he was coming back to dinner, andgoing to bring Captain Good with him, for Brayley Hall was not more than twomiles from the Grange.
We had met with very fair sport, considering that we were only going throughoutlying cover for cocks. I think that we had killed twenty-seven, a woodcockand a leash of partridges which we secured out of a driven covey. On our wayhome there lay a long narrow spinney, which was a very favourite“lie” for woodcocks, and generally held a pheasant or two as well.
“Well, what do you say?” said old Quatermain, “shall we beatthrough this for a finish?”
I assented, and he called to the keeper who was following with a little knot ofbeaters, and told him to beat the spinney.
“Very well, sir,” answered the man, “but it’s gettingwonderful dark, and the wind’s rising a gale. It will take you all yourtime to hit a woodcock if the spinney holds one.”
“You show us the woodcocks, Jeffries,” answered Quatermain quickly,for he never liked being crossed in anything to do with sport, “and wewill look after shooting them.”
The man turned and went rather sulkily. I heard him say to the under-keeper,“He’s pretty good, the master is, I’m not saying heisn’t, but if he kills a wood