The Project Gutenberg eBook, Allan Quatermain, by H. Rider Haggard
#1 in our series by H. Rider Haggard

This eBook is for the use of anyone anywhere at no cost and with
almost no restrictions whatsoever. You may copy it, give it away or
re-use it under the terms of the Project Gutenberg License included
with this eBook or online at www.gutenberg.net

Title: Allan Quatermain

Author: by H. Rider Haggard

Release Date: November 18, 2004 [eBook #711]
[Date last updated: October 5, 2005]

Language: English

Character set encoding: ASCII

***START OF THE PROJECT GUTENBERG EBOOK ALLAN QUATERMAIN***

Typed by Ng E-Ching, Singapore <e-ching@geocities.com>

I inscribe this book of adventure to my son ARTHUR JOHN RIDER
HAGGARD in the hope that in days to come he, and many other
boys whom I shall never know, may, in the acts and thoughts of
Allan Quatermain and his companions, as herein recorded,
find something to help him and them to reach to what, with Sir
Henry Curtis, I hold to be the highest rank whereto we can
attain -- the state and dignity of English gentlemen.

CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION
I THE CONSUL'S YARN
II THE BLACK HAND
III THE MISSION STATION
IV ALPHONSE AND HIS ANNETTE
V UMSLOPOGAAS MAKES A PROMISE
VI THE NIGHT WEARS ON
VII A SLAUGHTER GRIM AND GREAT
VIII ALPHONSE EXPLAINS
IX INTO THE UNKNOWN
X THE ROSE OF FIRE
XI THE FROWNING CITY
XII THE SISTER QUEENS
XIII ABOUT THE ZU-VENDI PEOPLE
XIV THE FLOWER TEMPLE
XV SORAIS' SONG
XVI BEFORE THE STATUE
XVII THE STORM BREAKS
XVIII WAR! RED WAR!
XIX A STRANGE WEDDING
XX THE BATTLE OF THE PASS
XXI AWAY! AWAY!
XXII HOW UMSLOPOGAAS HELD THE STAIR
XXIII I HAVE SPOKEN

INTRODUCTION

December 23

'I have just buried my boy, my poor handsome boy of whom I was
so proud, and my heart is broken. It is very hard having only
one son to lose him thus, but God's will be done. Who am I that
I should complain? The great wheel of Fate rolls on like a Juggernaut,
and crushes us all in turn, some soon, some late -- it does not
matter when, in the end, it crushes us all. We do not prostrate
ourselves before it like the poor Indians; we fly hither and
thither -- we cry for mercy; but it is of no use, the black Fate
thunders on and in its season reduces us to powder.

'Poor Harry to go so soon! just when his life was opening to
him. H