Now I, Allan Quatermain, come to the story of what was, perhaps, one of thestrangest of all the adventures which have befallen me in the course of a lifethat so far can scarcely be called tame or humdrum.
Amongst many other things it tells of the war against the Black Kendah peopleand the death of Jana, their elephant god. Often since then I have wondered ifthis creature was or was not anything more than a mere gigantic beast of theforest. It seems improbable, even impossible, but the reader of future days mayjudge of this matter for himself.
Also he can form his opinion as to the religion of the White Kendah and theirpretensions to a certain degree of magical skill. Of this magic I will makeonly one remark: If it existed at all, it was by no means infallible. To take asingle instance, Harût and Marût were convinced by divination that I, and Ionly, could kill Jana, which was why they invited me to Kendahland. Yet in theend it was Hans who killed him. Jana nearly killed me!
Now to my tale.
In another history, called “The Holy Flower,” I have told how Icame to England with a young gentleman of the name of Scroope, partly to seehim safely home after a hunting accident, and partly to try to dispose of aunique orchid for a friend of mine called Brother John by the white people, andDogeetah by the natives, who was popularly supposed to be mad, but, in fact,was very sane indeed. So sane was he that he pursued what seemed to be anabsolutely desperate quest for over twenty years, until, with some humbleassistance on my part, he brought it to a curiously successful issue. But allthis tale is told in “The Holy Flower