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King Solomon's Mines
King Solomon's Mines
King Solomon's Mines
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King Solomon's Mines

Rating: 4 out of 5 stars

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In H. Rider Haggard’s 1885 debut novel, “King Solomon’s Mines”, adventurer Allan Quatermain is approached by aristocrat Sir Henry Curtis and his friend Captain Good to join them on an expedition into the heart of Africa. In search of Sir Henry’s brother who disappeared looking for King Solomon’s lost mines, the trio overcome tremendous odds to stumble upon a lost civilization that holds the key to unimaginable treasure. Considered to be the first of the “Lost World” genre of popular novels, Haggard wrote the book to win a bet with his brother that he couldn’t write a book “half as good as Robert Louis Stevenson’s Treasure Island”.
LanguageEnglish
Release dateDec 11, 2018
ISBN9781974908691
Author

H. Rider Haggard

H. Rider Haggard (1856–1925) was an English adventure novelist. Haggard studied law, but rather than pursuing a legal career took a secretarial position in what is now South Africa. His time there provided the inspiration for some of his most popular novels, including She (1887), an early classic of the lost world fantasy genre and one of the bestselling books of all time.

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Rating: 3.8983050847457625 out of 5 stars
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  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    "Truly wealth, which men spend all their lives in acquiring, is a valueless thing at the last."Allan Quatermain is an ageing hunter based in South Africa. One day he meets Sir Henry Curtis and Captain Good, who want his help in searching for Curtis’s brother, who disappeared whilst searching for the legendary King Solomon’s Mines. By coincidence Quatermain has a sketchy map of the mines location and despite reservations about their likely survival agrees to lead an expedition to discover the fabled biblical King's source of wealth taking along with them a Zulu servant, Umbopa. After nearly dying crossing a desert they reach the border of Kukuanaland and the ancient road that leads to the mines only to find the country is ruled by a brutal despotic king and a witch who guard the treasure. Quatermain must use all his cunning if they are to survive.This novel was written in the late nineteenth century and as such conforms with the norms and tastes of Victorian Britain and features imperialist, racist and sexist views that readers today would find offensive. Equally much of the writing style feels clichéd to modern readers but we must remember that this book was written at a time, before aeroplanes, television and the internet, when there were still large parts of the world which were unknown to the wider world. As such these clichés were not clichés when they were written. Rather this novel became part of the very popular, at the time, 'lost world' genre which later evolved into the 'sci-fi' genre. As such this becomes a forerunner of much that we read to day and therefore modern readers have to make a few allowances for it which is sometimes easier said than done. Today this book is seen as a 'children's classic' but would have been mainstream in it's heyday.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    I like a good adventure, but Good Lord they killed off a helluva lot of people in this one and the disposable nature of the African warriors just got on my last nerve. I know this was from a different time, but YIKES!! I'm not sure that I would have finished it had it not been for the character of Good.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Sometimes a classic is a classic just because it provides so much entertainment to readers over the years. This is just a good fun read. Don't look for any deep social comment. Just take it as a fun entertaining story in which every guy can think " I am Allan Quartermain." This has obviously been the inspiration for so many of the adventure stories that have been written since King Solomon's Mines publications in the late 19th century. Just read it and have fun.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    I have owned a copy of "King Solomon's Mines" since I was a little girl. I specifically remember picking one up at a library sale around the age of 11. So, for ten years, this book has been carted around with me through 11 moves, 5 states, 4 different bookshelves, and who knows what else. Besides being a classic, I owed it to this particular copy to finally read it.I'm glad that I did (sorry it took me so long, Quatermain), because this is a fun, exciting adventure. I wish I had read it the day I took it home from that book sale as a kid, because this book reminded me of childhood adventure stories. There is a small group of people setting out on a dangerous journey, in which of course all sorts of dangers occur, but in the end through bravery and luck, everything turns out happily. It was familiar, but satisfying. The plot is that Allan Quatermain, a wild game hunter in 1800's Africa, is recruited by two other men to search for lost treasure - a diamond mine of unimaginable wealth. Apparently, others have gone before them searching for the same diamonds (including a brother of one of the men in the party) but no one has ever survived. Or, that's what we have to assume, since no one ever came back. Quatermain and his two friends, joined by an African bushman, journey across mountains and deserts, surviving thirst, hunger, murderous native tribes, witch doctors, and other such perils.I really loved that this book was set in South Africa, as my boyfriend is from there. In fact, he is from Durban, in the KwaZulu-Natal region, which is the most specific setting that the book ever offers us. I've been slowly learning Afrikaans from my boyfriend over the past 2 years, but rarely - in fact, never ever - have I found any use for it. So I can't describe how delighted I was to come across quite a few words I recognized.Haggard throws some dashes of comedy into the story, too. I thought that their first encounter with the natives was absolutely hilarious. Hunter tribesman come upon the group when Good is in the middle of dressing and shaving. He also has false teeth and glasses, leading the natives to think that he is a god. They think that he grows hair on only one side of his face, and assume that there must be some deep significance to the fact that he goes about with his legs bare. When he later attempts to put pants on, they say "Would my lord cover up his beautiful white legs?" So for the rest of the time he is with the natives, Good must keep shaving one side of his face and banish any pants. Quatermain also furthers the natives assumptions by telling them great stories about how they are from the stars. It was pretty funny.Besides adventure and comedy, a few parts in the book also got quite detailed, in a Jules Verne type of manner. Our narrator goes into great detail about the supplies they are taking with them, and then goes on to tell us all about the wagons that will be holding the supplies, and the oxen that will be pulling these wagons. He even launches into a few paragraphs about how to immunize oxen against disease - tips for anyone traveling the wilds of Africa, I suppose.I know that others would see it as tedious, but I just love tiny little insignificant details like that.As for the negative, I didn't like Quatermain's disrespect toward animals and his occasional racist quips, though the racist part wasn't exactly unexpected, as this was written by a man of 1800's British Africa. Quatermain has a habit of describing natives and animals with negative words like "brutes" and "wretches" for no apparent reason. The African people are there for him to dismiss as beneath him, and the beautiful African animals are there for him to slaughter.In the old tradition, Quatermain begins the narrative by telling us that he is speaking about his experiences and is relating the tale for his son. He never addresses his son in any part of the book, so I felt that this "fireside story" was pretty pointless. If anything, all that it does is tell the reader that Quatermain is going to get out of everything okay, because he lives to tell the story, after all. And even worse, another reason he gives in the beginning for writing the book is that his two traveling companions, Good and Curtis, want him to. Alright, great, now we know that not only the main character, but ALL THREE of the main characters will survive. It made the climatic scenes just a bit less suspenseful.Quatermain never really came alive as a character for me. I think that from what I have seen, Haggard is better at writing vivid, exotic settings than grounded, realistic people. Quatermain describes himself a few times in the beginning chapters as a "timid, cautious man," but his past and future experiences make me wonder what would ever make him say this. He's an elephant and lion hunter on a deadly journey through the African wilderness, after all! Maybe he's just a bad describer, going back to the whole pointlessly calling gazelles "brutes" thing. My main problem with Quatermain, far more hindering to the story than mislabeling some gazelles, was that he seemed so lacking in passion and personality. When Good and Curtis try to get him to come with them on their journey, he agrees without ever giving a reason. Is he a thrill-seeker? Loves an adventure? Is bored with life and wants something new? Seeking treasure? Lover of mysterious African lore? Something... Anything?Well, no. None of those options. Or maybe all of them. We just never know.Quatermain agrees to go, but never gives a reason. In fact he appears to just agree right on the spot without even thinking it over, but tells the two men only minutes later that he does not believe they will find any diamonds, and that they will probably die. At least they're starting their journey off on a realistic note, I suppose!Quatermain remains icy cool and calm in the most hopeless of situations, and the only traces of humanity we ever see in him are some slight nostalgia or appreciation over the untamed beauty of the African landscape. Needless to say, noting a sunset here and a birdcall there are far from enough to fill him out as a character.Hopefully, the next books in the series will provide a more likable Quatermain, but even if they don't, I'll still read them."King Solomon's Mines" was a fun adventure that I got through quite quickly. Or... quite slowly, if you count the 10 lamentable years it has sat on my shelf (shelves) untouched.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Great white hunter and guide Allan Quartermaine has been hired by Sir Henry Curtis to aid in the search for his missing brother who disappeared in a remote region of Africa. There, it is rumored, that the source of King Solomon's legendary wealth can be found. Curtis and Quartermaine are joined by Captain Good.This, of course, is the tale of their journey, and the hazards and wonders they experienced.King Solomon's Mines was the prototype of Indiana Jones type adventure stories, and was great fun to read!
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    I came across this for the first time when I was only in the second year of secondary school, and is one of the few books I've actually read twice - I think.There are still echoes of Britain's imperial past on every page of this adventure story; it is a document of the time in which it was written, and as such is very enlightening, if a little disturbing.The adventure itself is quite the exotic one - Africa, in the time of real exploration and the English gentleman abroad; treasure; tribes; guns and so forth.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    This is, I think, the longest I have gone between re-reading of books -- more than 25 years ago I first read Haggard at a (horrible) sleep-away camp. (I think I also read "Starman Jones" while I was there, and I know I borrowed the "Pelman the Powershaper" series from one of the counselors). Some very small things I remembered: the chain-mail, the hag's trap. Almost all else had passed. A vivid adventure, and with a prose style so much better than we expect from genre fiction now. "A sharp spear," runs the Kukuana saying, "needs no polish"
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    If nothing else reading classics such as this reminds us how far we have come since the Victorian society in which this book is set. For one thing, there can't be a square mile of land on earth that hasn't been thoroughly mapped and almost as thoroughly explored. Nowadays in order to make a treasure hunt realistic it would have to be set on a distant planet or deep under the sea. Also, the way in which people of colour are portrayed is now far different from the noble savages and humble servants of this book. I think it is good to look back now and then to what is not that long ago. It doesn't hurt that this is a cracking good adventure story.Alan Quatermain is an elephant hunter in southern Africa who manages to get by financially but never gets wealthy. He meets Sir Henry Curtis who is searching for his brother who came to Africa to look for the fabled mines of King Solomon and has not been heard from in two years. Sir Henry asks Quatermain to accompany him on his search promising him a share of any treasure they find. Quatermain agrees although he thinks the likelihood of surviving, let alone finding treasure, is slight because Sir Henry promises to set up a fund to support Quatermain's son regardless of the outcome.This book is on the 1001 Books to Read before you Die list and I can understand why since it was one of the first adventure stories. It's an easy read and diverting if you can ignore the elephant slaughter and the bloody deaths that are depicted.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    I listened to an audiobook version of this from Librivox. Being a story about a bunch of white guys wandering around Africa in the 19th century, it's unsurprisingly quite amazingly racist in parts, but the whole epic-quest aspect was fun. I liked the bit when they were trapped in a cave full of diamonds, and sat around going "lol irony! you can't eat diamonds! woe."
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    Childish at times, but a fun reading.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    This was a great read and I would reconment it to any teen that enjoys quest and adventure stories. Just because it is old (classic) does not mean its not great!
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    This book started out OK for me but was then sunk by racist references and appalling animal slaughter. Even if I were willing to give those drawbacks a pass as merely a time capsule of the views at the time the book was written, I couldn't forgive the lengthy and incredibly boring time spent on battles in the middle of the book. I kept listening to the audio book in the hope that the protagonists would eventually reach the mines. When they finally got to the mines, the story picked up for me, but I still wish that I had skipped this book.
  • Rating: 2 out of 5 stars
    2/5
    I found it interesting at first, but the storyline started to drag a bit and became more predictable for me when they got near the place they sought.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    A rip-roaring boys own adventure!
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    Classic adventure story, a secret map and hidden treasure, only involving a trek across the desert to become fabulously rich. Told with a, at the time reasonable, white man's view of black africans. It comes across very perculiar to modern tastes. However later chapters when the tribesmen are found do rectify the balance somewhat.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    Three Englishman, a hunter, a soldier, and a gentleman, go off through the wilds of Africa in search of a lost brother, who was in search of the lost diamond mines of King Solomon. The adventurers encounter many obstacles, from the formidible terrain, to malicious animals, to native warriors. The version I listened too had Patrick Tull as the narrator, he had the perfect voice, he sounded just like you'd expect a crusty English hunter from the late 1800's to sound. Haggard's storytelling is superb, and I loved the way he had his narrator put in his little observation and asides. I highly recommend this adventure tale to anyone who loves suspense.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    It is seldom that a book, even a classic, grabs me like this one. I am in love!Story construction, narrator's voice, elegant turn of phrase, wonderful characters. It's all there. I'm sorry it took me so long to find it.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Before reading A League of Extraordinary Gentlemen I’d never heard of Allan Quatermain. So I went into this with low expectations and was more than pleasantly surprised at what I found. This adventure story is more about friendship than treasure. Sir Henry Curtis (Incubu) is searching for his last brother who was last scene on his way to find the illusive King Solomon’s Mines, which are allegedly filled with diamonds. Curtis hires Quatermain (Macumazahn) to travel with him with the stipulation that if Quatermain dies, which he fully expects to, Curtis will provide for his son. Curtis’ friend Captain John Good (Bougwan) will also embark on the quest. As the three men begin their journey they have no idea what’s in store for them; harsh desserts, elephant hunting, a war between tribes and so much more. Though parts of the story were predictable, they were still entertaining and the plot never lags. The adventure story had real heart, which made it stand apart from more generic versions. I loved Quatermain’s honesty. There are moments when he says he doesn’t want to fight because it’s senseless, courage be damned. He’s honorable and sincere, a true friend to the end. I absolutely thing he deserves a spot in the League of Extraordinary Gentlemen.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    From my TBR, King Solomon’s Mines, written in 1886, is a masterpiece of adventure as described by the New York Times in 1972 (the year of printing for my edition). H. Rider Haggard is described as the ne’er-do-well son of a properous English Family in the inner page of my Laurel-Leaf-Library book. He wa sent off to South Africa at the age of 19. This book is an adventure story most likely appealing to young men back in the day but mostly unheard of now. It is dated by it’s language, racism but it is free of bad language and bad sex and that is something to be said. I also felt that like most English literature set in colonialism but the author also had many respectful things to say about various people of Africa. This adventures story has 3 Englishmen and some locals traveling over desert and mountains to find a missing brother of one of the Englishmen. On the was, they become embroiled in a war to unseat the false king of the peoples, they walk on a Roman road, they find the treasures of Solomon. There are themes of good and evil. It earned its place on the 1001 books as the first of the adventure stories set in the lost worlds of Africa. I did not like the shooting of the elephants for their tusks. That was the part of book I liked the least.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    King Solomon’s Mines is a one of the first books considered a young man’s novel, one of the late Victorian classics of that genre and introduces us to Allan Quartermain. The novel starts with a party of three in search of adventure as well as locating one of the adventurer’s brothers, who had been estranged across long distances due to some brotherly rivalry. Part of the novel is a travelogue of their trek into ever more remote African territory. Then the novel takes an interesting political turn and shows a civil war among an ancient people related to the Zulu before going into the mines themselves.

    This is a satisfying novel on many levels. It has intriguing historical speculations, great plots and characters, and a worldview that manages to defend the importance of family, loyalty, honesty and decency while also showing respect and providing dignity to men and women of a wide variety of ethnic origins. It's a novel, that for its time, was quite enlightened. The action scenes are intense and the reader feels like a spectator desperate for our three heroes to be come out victorious.

    This is an action packed novel with excellent characters, a good prose style that avoids too many extraneous details. The views expressed in King Solomon's Mines may seem politically incorrect to our modern eyes but were typical of the era. If you are looking for a reasonably brisk and worthwhile work of classic adventure novel, this is a very satisfying read for readers of all ages.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    A classic adventure story that still has the power to grab you. Chocked full of humour, Alan and his friends battle across the desert hunting elephants, dying of hunger, duping the natives and getting themselves in scrapes. Complete with happy ending. Marvellous.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    Such a fun book this is! Combine a long and arduous journey, rumors of a fabulous treasure, deadly danger, fabled history, ferocious battles, political intrigue, and an exotic locale and you'll get Henry Rider Haggard's classic adventure story, King Solomon's Mines. And when it's all told by a perceptive, honest, and humorous narrator like Allen Quartermain, it only increases the enjoyment. First published in 1885, this novel has earned a place as one of the more entertaining of the adventure story genre.Allen Quartermain is a tough old hunter in the African bush who is hired by a rich Englishman, Sir Henry Curtis, to cross the desert to a mysterious land where he believes his estranged brother has gone in quest of treasure. The legendary diamonds of King Solomon's mines have never quite left the memory and imagination of the area, and many a man had gone to seek them, never to return. But Quartermain has some secret information of his own, and on this slender hope the men set out. Accompanying them is Captain John Goode, of the false teeth and eyeglass that play such a memorable part once they arrive at their destination. When they do finally reach the land beyond the desert, they find an isolated African culture that has survived untouched by the outside world for many hundreds of years. Before they can begin their search for Sir Henry's brother (and those fabled diamonds, along the way), they are swept into a civil war in which a faction seeks to depose the wicked king in favor of the rightful heir. These intrigues and battles make up the bulk of the story, and when they finally get to the treasure hunt it seems a bit of an anticlimax. Still, the story carries on and the suspense picks up again with the ancient mines dug for King Solomon and the unimaginable treasure—and danger—they hold for the travelers.Early on Quartermain tells us that there are "no women" in the tale, but this isn't strictly true. There's a lovely native woman named Foulata who has a part to play. But she is overshadowed by another female character—this one a femme fatale in Gagool, the ancient witch who helped set the current king on the throne. Gagool's grotesque appearance and behavior almost de-sex her as an anomalous monster, not a woman at all. And to further emphasize my point that the story is not devoid of aspects of the feminine, the two mountains at the entry of the country are called by the racy name of "Sheba's Breasts." I must say I found this a bit shocking, especially in light of the story's original date of publication. We can't really talk about this book without mentioning race relations. Initially I was impressed by Quarterman's deliberate decision to use the word "native" rather than "nigger," but he does show a careless, casual disrespect toward the Africans (calling a native man "quite clever for a native" and addressing him as "boy"). But anything else would be entirely unnatural for the period. Also, Quartermain provides a home/job for one of his native hunters who was wounded too badly to hunt again. As the story develops, you can seethe increasing respect he has for Umbopa, their native guide and an impressive man in his own right. At several points Quartermain compares Umbopa to Sir Henry, observing how each is a perfect specimen of his race and a fine sight seen with the other. Modern readers may also be put off by the casual and occasionally detailed descriptions of hunting elephants for their ivory. I understand this is quite accurate to the period, and I don't have a problem with hunting non-endangered animals. But I was still glad when the story moved on. I listened to this on audiobook, read by Simon Prebble, and it really was a pleasure. Perhaps it is not as highbrow as Joseph Conrad's Heart of Darkness which I also recently finished, but infinitely more enjoyable. Recommended.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    A man looking for his missing brother recruits elephant hunter Allan Quatermain to lead a search that will take them through an uninhabitable desert. The brother was headed for a region said to be the location of the biblical King Solomon's mines. The odds are that the search party will not survive their mission, but the possibility of riches is enough to tip the scales in favor of the quest. Quatermain, the brother of the missing man, a retired naval officer, and two African guides set out on what soon becomes a page-turning adventure across the desert, over the mountains, and into an unknown kingdom.I was pleasantly surprised by the humor in the book. The story is laced with laugh-out-loud passages like this one:As those who read this history will probably long ago have gathered, I am, to be honest, a bit of a coward, and certainly in no way given to fighting, though somehow it has often been my lot to get into unpleasant positions, and to be obliged to shed man's blood. But I have always hated it, and kept my own blood as undiminished in quantity as possible, sometimes by a judicious use of my heels.Haggard's style reminds me of Mark Twain, and the plot bears some similarities to parts of A Connecticut Yankee in King Arthur's Court. Haggard's book came first, and it would seem that it had some influence on Twain. This is a book I've wanted to read ever since reading Elizabeth Peters' The Last Camel Died at Noon a couple of years ago. Now I know why Peters was a fan. The book will also appeal to readers who love adventure movies like the Indiana Jones series and the National Treasure films.
  • Rating: 5 out of 5 stars
    5/5
    An excellent story in the ripping yarns / lost world genre! Very easy to read with a great storyline but you can tell it's from a different era, wouldn't get past the self censorship today.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    This is the first Rider Haggard novel I've read, and it was a hoot. Ripping adventure in the fictional wilds of Africa, leavened by some surprisingly lyrical descriptive and even contemplative passages. Recommended.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    An exciting fast paced book; but the reader should beware that the book was published in 1885 and does reflect the racist attitudes of the time. Lovers of animals might also be offended by the wholesale slaughter of elephants etc within. That said however, the work is well written,with a good plot and plenty of interesting dialogue.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    King Solomon's Mines was reputedly written on a wager, with H. Rider Haggard betting a friend that he could write a better adventure novel than Robert Louis Stevenson's Treasure Island. It's a classic adventure novel, with three stiff upper lip Englishmen venturing into the South African veldt in search of a lost brother and the fabled treasures of King Solomon's mines.I haven't read Treasure Island, but if it's anything like Stevenson's Kidnapped, which I read and enjoyed a few weeks ago, I would personally say that Haggard failed his bet. King Solomon's Mines contains all the elements of a proper adventure novel - kitting up for an expedition, nearly dying in the wilderness, uncovering a Lost World kingdom, huge battles, restoring a rightful king, beiing trapped in a treasure chamber etc. - it's almost as though he's following a recipe. I found myself quite bored throughout, particularly during the wooden and lifeless battle scenes. This is fairly typical of 19th century novels, as far as I'm concerned, and it was more that Kidnapped pleasantly surprised me than that King Solomon's Mines let me down. But Stevenson is certainly the better writer; he has a wit and a charm about him that is wholly lacking in Haggard, which is unsurprising, given that the latter wrote a formulaic novel just to win five pounds.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    Written in slightly old-fashioned prose, it is the story of a search for a lost brother. It will take them through the desert, through cold mountain reaches, to meet the evil King on the other side of the mountain, and to involve themselves in a war. It is one desperate adventure after another. Shockingly for the modern day reader, the ideas of the time period are highlighted, and the reader will probably recoil from the hunting of elephants, and the deaths of so many characters during the course of the story. It has parts that are bloody, gruesome, and unsavory.If nothing else, however, it's a good, classic story to have under the belt for all those references to it in other stories, shows, and movies.
  • Rating: 4 out of 5 stars
    4/5
    This a classic rip-roaring adventure yarn about a group of men heading into deepest darkest Africa on the hunt for a lost brother and treasure. This book is most definitely a product of its times, with all the racism and chauvinism which that entails, but despite that it actually manages in some ways to be a more sympathetic treatment of "the natives" than many other books of a similar era. Just don't go in expecting enlightened attitudes!The story is engaging, and the voice of the "narrator" of the piece shows a writer at the full peak of his talent. He manages to maintain the line between Quatermain's natural voice and the voice of someone attempting to write a proper narrative for others to read, which maintains the fiction of Quatermain writing about his experiences very well. The humour is often unexpected, the story is well-paced, and the action is well-written. It's not a deep read, but it's a thoroughly engaging one.
  • Rating: 3 out of 5 stars
    3/5
    Classic adventure book, great for young boys or anyone that likes a straight forward adventure.

Book preview

King Solomon's Mines - H. Rider Haggard

CHAPTER I.

I MEET SIR HENRY CURTIS

It is a curious thing that at my age—fifty-five last birthday—I should find myself taking up a pen to try to write a history. I wonder what sort of a history it will be when I have finished it, if ever I come to the end of the trip! I have done a good many things in my life, which seems a long one to me, owing to my having begun work so young, perhaps. At an age when other boys are at school I was earning my living as a trader in the old Colony. I have been trading, hunting, fighting, or mining ever since. And yet it is only eight months ago that I made my pile. It is a big pile now that I have got it—I don't yet know how big—but I do not think I would go through the last fifteen or sixteen months again for it; no, not if I knew that I should come out safe at the end, pile and all. But then I am a timid man, and dislike violence; moreover, I am almost sick of adventure. I wonder why I am going to write this book: it is not in my line. I am not a literary man, though very devoted to the Old Testament and also to the Ingoldsby Legends. Let me try to set down my reasons, just to see if I have any.

First reason: Because Sir Henry Curtis and Captain John Good asked me.

Second reason: Because I am laid up here at Durban with the pain in my left leg. Ever since that confounded lion got hold of me I have been liable to this trouble, and being rather bad just now, it makes me limp more than ever. There must be some poison in a lion's teeth, otherwise how is it that when your wounds are healed they break out again, generally, mark you, at the same time of year that you got your mauling? It is a hard thing when one has shot sixty-five lions or more, as I have in the course of my life, that the sixty-sixth should chew your leg like a quid of tobacco. It breaks the routine of the thing, and putting other considerations aside, I am an orderly man and don't like that. This is by the way.

Third reason: Because I want my boy Harry, who is over there at the hospital in London studying to become a doctor, to have something to amuse him and keep him out of mischief for a week or so. Hospital work must sometimes pall and grow rather dull, for even of cutting up dead bodies there may come satiety, and as this history will not be dull, whatever else it may be, it will put a little life into things for a day or two while Harry is reading of our adventures.

Fourth reason and last: Because I am going to tell the strangest story that I remember. It may seem a queer thing to say, especially considering that there is no woman in it—except Foulata. Stop, though! there is Gagool, if she was a woman, and not a fiend. But she was a hundred at least, and therefore not marriageable, so I don't count her. At any rate, I can safely say that there is not a petticoat in the whole history.

Well, I had better come to the yoke. It is a stiff place, and I feel as though I were bogged up to the axle. But "sutjes, sutjes," as the Boers say—I am sure I don't know how they spell it—softly does it. A strong team will come through at last, that is, if they are not too poor. You can never do anything with poor oxen. Now to make a start.

I, Allan Quatermain, of Durban, Natal, Gentleman, make oath and say—That's how I headed my deposition before the magistrate about poor Khiva's and Ventvögel's sad deaths; but somehow it doesn't seem quite the right way to begin a book. And, besides, am I a gentleman? What is a gentleman? I don't quite know, and yet I have had to do with niggers—no, I will scratch out that word niggers, for I do not like it. I've known natives who are, and so you will say, Harry, my boy, before you have done with this tale, and I have known mean whites with lots of money and fresh out from home, too, who are not.

At any rate, I was born a gentleman, though I have been nothing but a poor travelling trader and hunter all my life. Whether I have remained so I know not, you must judge of that. Heaven knows I've tried. I have killed many men in my time, yet I have never slain wantonly or stained my hand in innocent blood, but only in self-defence. The Almighty gave us our lives, and I suppose He meant us to defend them, at least I have always acted on that, and I hope it will not be brought up against me when my clock strikes. There, there, it is a cruel and a wicked world, and for a timid man I have been mixed up in a great deal of fighting. I cannot tell the rights of it, but at any rate I have never stolen, though once I cheated a Kafir out of a herd of cattle. But then he had done me a dirty turn, and it has troubled me ever since into the bargain.

Well, it is eighteen months or so ago since first I met Sir Henry Curtis and Captain Good. It was in this way. I had been up elephant hunting beyond Bamangwato, and had met with bad luck. Everything went wrong that trip, and to top up with I got the fever badly. So soon as I was well enough I trekked down to the Diamond Fields, sold such ivory as I had, together with my wagon and oxen, discharged my hunters, and took the post-cart to the Cape. After spending a week in Cape Town, finding that they overcharged me at the hotel, and having seen everything there was to see, including the botanical gardens, which seem to me likely to confer a great benefit on the country, and the new Houses of Parliament, which I expect will do nothing of the sort, I determined to go back to Natal by the Dunkeld, then lying at the docks waiting for the Edinburgh Castle due in from England. I took my berth and went aboard, and that afternoon the Natal passengers from the Edinburgh Castle transhipped, and we weighed and put to sea.

Among these passengers who came on board were two who excited my curiosity. One, a gentleman of about thirty, was perhaps the biggest-chested and longest-armed man I ever saw. He had yellow hair, a thick yellow beard, clear-cut features, and large grey eyes set deep in his head. I never saw a finer-looking man, and somehow he reminded me of an ancient Dane. Not that I know much of ancient Danes, though I knew a modern Dane who did me out of ten pounds; but I remember once seeing a picture of some of those gentry, who, I take it, were a kind of white Zulus. They were drinking out of big horns, and their long hair hung down their backs. As I looked at my friend standing there by the companion-ladder, I thought that if he only let his grow a little, put one of those chain shirts on to his great shoulders, and took hold of a battle-axe and a horn mug, he might have sat as a model for that picture. And by the way it is a curious thing, and just shows how the blood will out, I discovered afterwards that Sir Henry Curtis, for that was the big man's name, is of Danish blood.[1] He also reminded me strongly of somebody else, but at the time I could not remember who it was.

The other man, who stood talking to Sir Henry, was stout and dark, and of quite a different cut. I suspected at once that he was a naval officer; I don't know why, but it is difficult to mistake a navy man. I have gone shooting trips with several of them in the course of my life, and they have always proved themselves the best and bravest and nicest fellows I ever met, though sadly given, some of them, to the use of profane language. I asked a page or two back, what is a gentleman? I'll answer the question now: A Royal Naval officer is, in a general sort of way, though of course there may be a black sheep among them here and there. I fancy it is just the wide seas and the breath of God's winds that wash their hearts and blow the bitterness out of their minds and make them what men ought to be.

Well, to return, I proved right again; I ascertained that the dark man was a naval officer, a lieutenant of thirty-one, who, after seventeen years' service, had been turned out of her Majesty's employ with the barren honour of a commander's rank, because it was impossible that he should be promoted. This is what people who serve the Queen have to expect: to be shot out into the cold world to find a living just when they are beginning really to understand their work, and to reach the prime of life. I suppose they don't mind it, but for my own part I had rather earn my bread as a hunter. One's halfpence are as scarce perhaps, but you do not get so many kicks.

The officer's name I found out—by referring to the passengers' lists—was Good—Captain John Good. He was broad, of medium height, dark, stout, and rather a curious man to look at. He was so very neat and so very clean-shaved, and he always wore an eye-glass in his right eye. It seemed to grow there, for it had no string, and he never took it out except to wipe it. At first I thought he used to sleep in it, but afterwards I found that this was a mistake. He put it in his trousers pocket when he went to bed, together with his false teeth, of which he had two beautiful sets that, my own being none of the best, have often caused me to break the tenth commandment. But I am anticipating.

Soon after we had got under way evening closed in, and brought with it very dirty weather. A keen breeze sprung up off land, and a kind of aggravated Scotch mist soon drove everybody from the deck. As for the Dunkeld, she is a flat-bottomed punt, and going up light as she was, she rolled very heavily. It almost seemed as though she would go right over, but she never did. It was quite impossible to walk about, so I stood near the engines where it was warm, and amused myself with watching the pendulum, which was fixed opposite to me, swinging slowly backwards and forwards as the vessel rolled, and marking the angle she touched at each lurch.

That pendulum's wrong; it is not properly weighted, suddenly said a somewhat testy voice at my shoulder. Looking round I saw the naval officer whom I had noticed when the passengers came aboard.

Indeed, now what makes you think so? I asked.

Think so. I don't think at all. Why there—as she righted herself after a roll—if the ship had really rolled to the degree that thing pointed to, then she would never have rolled again, that's all. But it is just like these merchant skippers, they are always so confoundedly careless.

Just then the dinner-bell rang, and I was not sorry, for it is a dreadful thing to have to listen to an officer of the Royal Navy when he gets on to that subject. I only know one worse thing, and that is to hear a merchant skipper express his candid opinion of officers of the Royal Navy.

Captain Good and I went down to dinner together, and there we found Sir Henry Curtis already seated. He and Captain Good were placed together, and I sat opposite to them. The captain and I soon fell into talk about shooting and what not; he asking me many questions, for he is very inquisitive about all sorts of things, and I answering them as well as I could. Presently he got on to elephants.

Ah, sir, called out somebody who was sitting near me, you've reached the right man for that; Hunter Quatermain should be able to tell you about elephants if anybody can.

Sir Henry, who had been sitting quite quiet listening to our talk, started visibly.

Excuse me, sir, he said, leaning forward across the table, and speaking in a low deep voice, a very suitable voice, it seemed to me, to come out of those great lungs. Excuse me, sir, but is your name Allan Quatermain?

I said that it was.

The big man made no further remark, but I heard him mutter fortunate into his beard.

Presently dinner came to an end, and as we were leaving the saloon Sir Henry strolled up and asked me if I would come into his cabin to smoke a pipe. I accepted, and he led the way to the Dunkeld deck cabin, and a very good cabin it is. It had been two cabins, but when Sir Garnet Wolseley or one of those big swells went down the coast in the Dunkeld, they knocked away the partition and have never put it up again. There was a sofa in the cabin, and a little table in front of it. Sir Henry sent the steward for a bottle of whisky, and the three of us sat down and lit our pipes.

Mr. Quatermain, said Sir Henry Curtis, when the man had brought the whisky and lit the lamp, the year before last about this time, you were, I believe, at a place called Bamangwato, to the north of the Transvaal.

I was, I answered, rather surprised that this gentleman should be so well acquainted with my movements, which were not, so far as I was aware, considered of general interest.

You were trading there, were you not? put in Captain Good, in his quick way.

I was. I took up a wagon-load of goods, made a camp outside the settlement, and stopped till I had sold them.

Sir Henry was sitting opposite to me in a Madeira chair, his arms leaning on the table. He now looked up, fixing his large grey eyes full upon my face. There was a curious anxiety in them, I thought.

Did you happen to meet a man called Neville there?

Oh, yes; he outspanned alongside of me for a fortnight to rest his oxen before going on to the interior. I had a letter from a lawyer a few months back, asking me if I knew what had become of him, which I answered to the best of my ability at the time.

Yes, said Sir Henry, your letter was forwarded to me. You said in it that the gentleman called Neville left Bamangwato at the beginning of May in a wagon with a driver, a voorlooper, and a Kafir hunter called Jim, announcing his intention of trekking if possible as far as Inyati, the extreme trading post in the Matabele country, where he would sell his wagon and proceed on foot. You also said that he did sell his wagon, for six months afterwards you saw the wagon in the possession of a Portuguese trader, who told you that he had bought it at Inyati from a white man whose name he had forgotten, and that he believed the white man with the native servant had started off for the interior on a shooting trip.

Yes.

Then came a pause.

Mr. Quatermain, said Sir Henry suddenly, I suppose you know or can guess nothing more of the reasons of my—of Mr. Neville's journey to the northward, or as to what point that journey was directed?

I heard something, I answered, and stopped. The subject was one which I did not care to discuss.

Sir Henry and Captain Good looked at each other, and Captain Good nodded.

Mr. Quatermain, went on the former, I am going to tell you a story, and ask your advice, and perhaps your assistance. The agent who forwarded me your letter told me that I might rely on it implicitly, as you were, he said, well known and universally respected in Natal, and especially noted for your discretion.

I bowed and drank some whisky and water to hide my confusion, for I am a modest man—and Sir Henry went on.

Mr. Neville was my brother.

Oh, I said, starting, for now I knew of whom Sir Henry had reminded me when first I saw him. His brother was a much smaller man and had a dark beard, but now that I thought of it, he possessed eyes of the same shade of grey and with the same keen look in them: the features too were not unlike.

He was, went on Sir Henry, my only and younger brother, and till five years ago I do not suppose that we were ever a month away from each other. But just about five years ago a misfortune befell us, as sometimes does happen in families. We quarrelled bitterly, and I behaved unjustly to my brother in my anger.

Here Captain Good nodded his head vigorously to himself. The ship gave a big roll just then, so that the looking-glass, which was fixed opposite us to starboard, was for a moment nearly over our heads, and as I was sitting with my hands in my pockets and staring upwards, I could see him nodding like anything.

As I daresay you know, went on Sir Henry, if a man dies intestate, and has no property but land, real property it is called in England, it all descends to his eldest son. It so happened that just at the time when we quarrelled our father died intestate. He had put off making his will until it was too late. The result was that my brother, who had not been brought up to any profession, was left without a penny. Of course it would have been my duty to provide for him, but at the time the quarrel between us was so bitter that I did not—to my shame I say it (and he sighed deeply)—offer to do anything. It was not that I grudged him justice, but I waited for him to make advances, and he made none. I am sorry to trouble you with all this, Mr. Quatermain, but I must to make things clear, eh, Good?

Quite so, quite so, said the captain. Mr. Quatermain will, I am sure, keep this history to himself.

Of course, said I, for I rather pride myself on my discretion, for which, as Sir Henry had heard, I have some repute.

Well, went on Sir Henry, my brother had a few hundred pounds to his account at the time. Without saying anything to me he drew out this paltry sum, and, having adopted the name of Neville, started off for South Africa in the wild hope of making a fortune. This I learned afterwards. Some three years passed, and I heard nothing of my brother, though I wrote several times. Doubtless the letters never reached him. But as time went on I grew more and more troubled about him. I found out, Mr. Quatermain, that blood is thicker than water.

That's true, said I, thinking of my boy Harry.

I found out, Mr. Quatermain, that I would have given half my fortune to know that my brother George, the only relation I possess, was safe and well, and that I should see him again.

But you never did, Curtis, jerked out Captain Good, glancing at the big man's face.

Well, Mr. Quatermain, as time went on I became more and more anxious to find out if my brother was alive or dead, and if alive to get him home again. I set inquiries on foot, and your letter was one of the results. So far as it went it was satisfactory, for it showed that till lately George was alive, but it did not go far enough. So, to cut a long story short, I made up my mind to come out and look for him myself, and Captain Good was so kind as to come with me.

Yes, said the captain; nothing else to do, you see. Turned out by my Lords of the Admiralty to starve on half pay. And now perhaps, sir, you will tell us what you know or have heard of the gentleman called Neville.


[1] Mr. Quatermain's ideas about ancient Danes seem to be rather confused; we have always understood that they were dark-haired people. Probably he was thinking of Saxons.—Editor.

CHAPTER II.

THE LEGEND OF SOLOMON'S MINES

What was it that you heard about my brother's journey at Bamangwato? asked Sir Henry, as I paused to fill my pipe before replying to Captain Good.

I heard this, I answered, and I have never mentioned it to a soul till today. I heard that he was starting for Solomon's Mines.

Solomon's Mines? ejaculated both my hearers at once. Where are they?

I don't know, I said; I know where they are said to be. Once I saw the peaks of the mountains that border them, but there were a hundred and thirty miles of desert between me and them, and I am not aware that any white man ever got across it save one. But perhaps the best thing I can do is to tell you the legend of Solomon's Mines as I know it, you passing your word not to reveal anything I tell you without my permission. Do you agree to that? I have my reasons for asking.

Sir Henry nodded, and Captain Good replied, Certainly, certainly.

Well, I began, as you may guess, generally speaking, elephant hunters are a rough set of men, who do not trouble themselves with much beyond the facts of life and the ways of Kafirs. But here and there you meet a man who takes the trouble to collect traditions from the natives, and tries to make out a little piece of the history of this dark land. It was such a man as this who first told me the legend of Solomon's Mines, now a matter of nearly thirty years ago. That was when I was on my first elephant hunt in the Matabele country. His name was Evans, and he was killed the following year, poor fellow, by a wounded buffalo, and lies buried near the Zambesi Falls. I was telling Evans one night, I remember, of some wonderful workings I had found whilst hunting koodoo and eland in what is now the Lydenburg district of the Transvaal. I see they have come across these workings again lately in prospecting for gold, but I knew of them years ago. There is a great wide wagon road cut out of the solid rock, and leading to the mouth of the working or gallery. Inside the mouth of this gallery are stacks of gold quartz piled up ready for roasting, which shows that the workers, whoever they were, must have left in a hurry. Also, about twenty paces in, the gallery is built across, and a beautiful bit of masonry it is.

"'Ay,' said Evans, 'but I will spin you a queerer yarn than that'; and he went on to tell me how he had found in the far interior a ruined city, which he believed to be the Ophir of the Bible, and, by the way, other more learned men have said the same long since poor Evans's time. I was, I remember, listening open-eared to all these wonders, for I was young at the time, and this story of an ancient civilisation and of the treasures which those old Jewish or Phoenician adventurers used to extract from a country long since lapsed into the darkest barbarism took a great hold upon my imagination, when suddenly he said to me, 'Lad, did you ever hear of the Suliman Mountains up to the north-west of the Mushakulumbwe country?' I told him I never had. 'Ah, well,' he said, 'that is where Solomon really

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