King Solomon's Mine

By H. Rider Haggard

Now, in 1907, on the occasion of the issue of this edition, I can only add how glad I am that my romance should continue to please so many readers. Imagination has been verified by fact; the King Solomon's Mines I dreamed of have been discovered, and are putting out their gold once more, and, according to the latest reports, their diamonds also; the Kukuanas or, rather, the Matabele, have been tamed by the white man's bullets, but still there seem to be many who find pleasure in these simple pages. That they may continue so to do, even to the third and fourth generation, or perhaps longer still, would, I am sure, be the hope of our old and departed friend, Allan Quatermain.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Lulu.com
• Release date: Jun 3, 2015
• ISBN: 9781329188143

H. Rider Haggard

Sir Henry Rider Haggard, (1856-1925) commonly known as H. Rider Haggard was an English author active during the Victorian era. Considered a pioneer of the lost world genre, Haggard was known for his adventure fiction. His work often depicted African settings inspired by the seven years he lived in South Africa with his family. In 1880, Haggard married Marianna Louisa Margitson and together they had four children, one of which followed her father’s footsteps and became an author. Haggard is still widely read today, and is celebrated for his imaginative wit and impact on 19th century adventure literature.

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King Solomon's Mine

KING SOLOMON'S MINES

By

H. RIDER HAGGARD

DEDICATION

This faithful but unpretending record

of a remarkable adventure

is hereby respectfully dedicated

by the narrator,

ALLAN QUATERMAIN,

to all the big and little boys

who read it.

Published by Axum Publications & Preservation Foundation Decatur Illinois 2015

PREPARER'S NOTE

This was typed from a 1907 edition published by Cassell and Company, Limited.

AUTHOR'S NOTE

The author ventures to take this opportunity to thank his readers for the kind reception they have accorded to the successive editions of this tale during the last twelve years. He hopes that in its present form it will fall into the hands of an even wider public, and that in years to come it may continue to afford amusement to those who are still young enough at heart to love a story of treasure, war, and wild adventure.

Ditchingham,

11 March, 1898.

POST SCRIPTUM

Now, in 1907, on the occasion of the issue of this edition, I can only add how glad I am that my romance should continue to please so many readers. Imagination has been verified by fact; the King Solomon's Mines I dreamed of have been discovered, and are putting out their gold once more, and, according to the latest reports, their diamonds also; the Kukuanas or, rather, the Matabele, have been tamed by the white man's bullets, but still there seem to be many who find pleasure in these simple pages. That they may continue so to do, even to the third and fourth generation, or perhaps longer still, would, I am sure, be the hope of our old and departed friend, Allan Quatermain.

H. Rider Haggard.

Ditchingham, 1907.

INTRODUCTION

Now that this book is printed, and about to be given to the world, a sense of its shortcomings both in style and contents, weighs very heavily upon me. As regards the latter, I can only say that it does not pretend to be a full account of everything we did and saw. There are many things connected with our journey into Kukuanaland that I should have liked to dwell upon at length, which, as it is, have been scarcely alluded to. Amongst these are the curious legends which I collected about the chain armour that saved us from destruction in the great battle of Loo, and also about the Silent Ones or Colossi at the mouth of the stalactite cave. Again, if I had given way to my own impulses, I should have wished to go into the differences, some of which are to my mind very suggestive, between the Zulu and Kukuana dialects. Also a few pages might have been given up profitably to the consideration of the indigenous flora and fauna of Kukuanaland.[1] Then there remains the most interesting subject—that, as it is, has only been touched on incidentally—of the magnificent system of military organisation in force in that country, which, in my opinion, is much superior to that inaugurated by Chaka in Zululand, inasmuch as it permits of even more rapid mobilisation, and does not necessitate the employment of the pernicious system of enforced celibacy. Lastly, I have scarcely spoken of the domestic and family customs of the Kukuanas, many of which are exceedingly quaint, or of their proficiency in the art of smelting and welding metals. This science they carry to considerable perfection, of which a good example is to be seen in their tollas, or heavy throwing knives, the backs of these weapons being made of hammered iron, and the edges of beautiful steel welded with great skill on to the iron frames. The fact of the matter is, I thought, with Sir Henry Curtis and Captain Good, that the best plan would be to tell my story in a plain, straightforward manner, and to leave these matters to be dealt with subsequently in whatever way ultimately may appear to be desirable. In the meanwhile I shall, of course, be delighted to give all information in my power to anybody interested in such things.

And now it only remains for me to offer apologies for my blunt way of writing. I can but say in excuse of it that I am more accustomed to handle a rifle than a pen, and cannot make any pretence to the grand literary flights and flourishes which I see in novels—for sometimes I like to read a novel. I suppose they—the flights and flourishes—are desirable, and I regret not being able to supply them; but at the same time I cannot help thinking that simple things are always the most impressive, and that books are easier to understand when they are written in plain language, though perhaps I have no right to set up an opinion on such a matter. A sharp spear, runs the Kukuana saying, needs no polish; and on the same principle I venture to hope that a true story, however strange it may be, does not require to be decked out in fine words.

Allan Quatermain.

[1] I discovered eight varieties of antelope, with which I was previously totally unacquainted, and many new species of plants, for the most part of the bulbous tribe.—A.Q.

CONTENTS

KING SOLOMON'S MINES

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 Gagaoola, 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 known 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

Reviews for King Solomon's Mine

[antiquary_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

By common consent one of the greatest adventure novels ever written. Much better than the very silly racist movie with Sharon Stone. Haggard knew Africa and shows real respect for his African characters, notably Ignosi --in fact, in some ways Ignosi seems to maneuver European explorers into taking him back to claim his thron.

[edgeworth_1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

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.

[ben_a_11 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

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"

[cmbohn · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

Themes: Exploration and conquest, hunting, long lost heirs, missing brothers, starcrossed lovers, witchcraft, raceSetting: South Africa about 1890 maybe?Yes, this has some graphic descriptions of an elephant hunt. In fact, the main character, Allan Quartermain is a hunter. That's how he makes his living, killing animals, especially elephants, for their hides and their ivory. Yes, there is a lot of racism in the book. Some racial epithets, but even more a feeling of white man's superiority that permeates the whole book. By the end of the book, I think that the white folks are more tolerant of the black, but there is still a gap. So if that is going to keep you from enjoying the book, I'm warning you now not to pick it up.But I loved it. I'm not sure what it says about me that I could overlook that, if that means there are some deep hidden character flaws or if it means that I am more shallow than the rest or what, but I stinking loved this book. It was a kick butt adventure yarn. Elephant stampedes, Sheba's Breasts (that made me giggle), treasure maps, missing brothers, diamond mines, evil witch doctor ladies, it totally has it all. And I got it for free for my Kindle. You absolutely can't beat that. Now I'm going to find more by this author and save them for when I'm having a really rotten day and need something absorbing and fun to make me feel better. 5 stars.

[morryb_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

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.

[chrishall57_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

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.

[collingsruth · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

THE Victorian boy's adventure novel. Interesting plot that will remind readers of Indiana Jones. Actually, pretty much any male hero adventurer with a slightly supernatural bent. Unlike so many of these, though, Alan Quartermain is short, unattractive, a coward, and ultimately pragmatic above all else. Maybe one of my new favourite characters. Though the entire story takes place in Africa, this actually isn't as completely racist as it could be. That seems like faint praise, but Haggard definitely treats the various African tribes much better than, say, John Smith does Native Americans. They are still definitely considered less civilized than the Europeans, but never mocked or called devils. Their skills in various areas are often praised. At the end of the day Quartermain becomes BFFs with a few men of a fictional tribe as equals, even if there are quite a few not so nice mentions of the fact that relationships between blacks and whites were not a good idea. There is a definite slight tang of Orientalism (yes I know Africa isn't the Orient you know what I mean).All in all a very enjoyable read and very few cringe-worthy moments. An interesting side-note, it is mentioned that the tsetse fly kills cattle and livestock, but not humans. I wonder if that was because the sleeping sickness hadn't arrived in humans yet or if the association just hadn't been made.

[2wondery_1 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

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.

[dreamlikecheese · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

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.

[mromano_95 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

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.

[tronella_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

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."

[katie_h_11 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

I love classic adventure stories, and this one did not disappoint! It wasn't an epic, like Count of Monte Cristo, but it offered the reader plenty of continuous excitement and action on par with an Indiana Jones movie. The novel tells of Allan Quartermain, a 19th century elephant hunter in Southern Africa, who is convinced by two English men (Curtis & Good) to help search for Curtis's brother and hopefully find overflowing riches at the elusive mines of King Solomon on the way. The group is joined by Umbopa, an African porter who, as it turns out, has a surprising secret. Many challenges hinder their road to fortune ... witches, tribal warfare, desert dehydration, angry elephants... the thrills just don't stop. Can they find the elusive diamonds and still have their lives to show for it?

[hemlokgang · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Basically, this was a wonderful adventure story and morality tale all in one. It has all the pitfalls of gender bias, stereotyping, blah, blah, blah.....they are a given in literature of a certain era. Taking all that into account, it was just plain a wonderful adventure. Questions it raised: What is wealth? What is wisdom? What is courage?

[john5918 · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

A classic adventure yarn, set in 19th-century southern Africa, and written in 1885. Although it takes liberties, and reflects the limited knowledge of the interior of Africa at that time, it is at least written by someone who lived in Africa and had some idea what he was talking about. His view of the "natives" reflects contemporary views, but he comes over as relatively progressive for his times. Very British, very manly and patriarchal, but well worth reading

[mrtall_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

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.

[bcquinnsmom · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

King Solomon's Mines is a very fun book, and one I very highly recommend. If you like adventure stories, stories set in British Africa, stories about lost treasures or brave explorers, then I recommend it to you. Considering it was written well over a hundred years ago, it still is worthwhile to read, and I'm glad I did.The basic story:Allen Quatermain has made his home in Africa, and while on a ship back to his home, he enters into conversation with two men, one of whom has decided to go and look for his brother whom he has not seen in some time and whom he fears to be lost. It turns out that his brother may have gone to seek the lost diamond mines of King Solomon, and on hearing this, Quartermain tells of an old map which has come into his possession, telling the location of this alleged treasure. The three set out with a Zulu native, who has his own reasons (untold to the group) as to why he wants to accompany them. Along the way they have some strange encounters, none the least of which is an evil witch. Very very fun, and you can almost hear the theme song to the Indiana Jones movies as you read!

[reading_fox · Rating: 5 out of 5 stars]

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.

[autumnesf · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Classic adventure book, great for young boys or anyone that likes a straight forward adventure.

[bookworm12_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

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.

[doxtator · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

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.

[shadowofthewind · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Great adventure story, one of the first of its genre. Lost diamonds, biblical legendary, forgotten peoples, war, and the restoration of a king. A search for lost diamonds turns into an amazing adventure. My modern day sensibilities had trouble with what was acceptable over 100 years ago (elephant hunters and they even eat Giraffe steaks!) Even from this adventure novel there are great life lessons:"What is life? Tell me, O white men, who awise, who know the secrets of the world, and the world of the stars, and the world that lies above and around the stars; who flash your words from afar without a voice: tell me, white men, the secret of our life--whither it goes and whence it comes!You cannot answer me: you know not, Listen, I will answer. Out of the dark we came, into the dark we go. Like a storm-driven bird at night we fly out of Nowhere; for a moment our wings are sen in the light of the fire, and lo we are gone again into the Nowhere. Life is nothing. Life is all. It is the Hand with which we hold off Death. It is the glow-worm that shines in the night-time and is black in the morning. It is the white breath of the oxen in winter; it is the little shadow that runs across the grass and loses itself at sunset." p 65

[mrslee_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Whelp, yet another adventure classic I thought I had either read, or seen the movie of, but was confusing with a different story of the same type and era. In this case, the other story was The Man Who Would be King, by Rudyard Kipling. So, this isn't that.An English gentleman, in the late 1800s, is trying to find his estranged brother who has left on a fool's dream of finding the lost mines of Solomon. He encounters Alan Quartermain who is telling this tale. They also have an ex-naval officer along for the trip. These three determine to brave the desert and sure death to find the lost brother. They have some natives for help, including one who does not have the subservient demeanor of most natives. Guess where this is going?As an adventure story of that era, in that place, it was better than I thought it would be. There is some charming humor in it, one of my favorite bits being: When the adventurers were trying to gain esteem by darkening the moon (lunar eclipse), the two who were quoting poetry and the Bible run out of words, but the naval officer is able to go on for a good ten minutes shouting foul language without repeating himself! Non of the words are listed though.As for how it reads to modern sensibilities, well, if your sensibilities allow you to take into consideration as a scientist the attitudes of the day in which this was written, I believe you will find that it is rather more broad than most similar literature of its day. An inter-racial relationship is present, although doomed. The natives are treated more as individuals, some respect-worthy and proud, some deceitful and wicked, some kind, some not, etc. As a present day story, it would not pass muster, as a looking-glass to the past, it was okay.I confess, I became bored with some of the traveling. That was perhaps me and not the story. The author excelled himself when describing the mountains called "Sheba's Breasts." He could have given Solomon a run for his money in descriptive language.

[lisamaria_c · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This is an old fashioned adventure yarn and its hero, Alan Quatermain, is a direct ancestor of Indiana Jones. I'm not going to claim that Haggard even at his best is the same order of classic as the best by Charles Dickens, the Brontes, George Eliot or Thomas Hardy. But like fellow Victorians Arthur Conan Doyle or Robert Louis Stevenson or Rudyard Kipling, Haggard really could spin a good yarn. Ten of his books are on my bookshelves. I gobbled those up in my teens and most I remember very, very well even decades later. My favorite of his novels involved Ayesha, known as She-Who-Must-Be-Obeyed, especially the book Wisdom's Daughter. King Solomon's Mines is his most famous novel though, probably helped by the film of that title. It does have humor, some unforgettable scenes and images, and lots of adventure and daring do. Yet I could list several novels by Haggard I liked better. And I think that has to do with Quatermain himself, the epitome of the "Great White Hunter" with the kind of casual racism of the age and glory in bagging game you might expect. I prefer Haggard's Eric, the Viking from Eric Brighteyes. Or Olaf from The Wanderer's Necklace. Or his Odysseus from his Homer homage written with Andrew Lang, The World's Desire. And above all his indomitable Ayesha, one of the great heroines of Victorian literature. So while this is Haggard's best known work, I don't think it's necessarily his best or the one a contemporary reader would enjoy the most.

[john257hopper · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

A rattling adventure story that, if anything, I found rather too fast to read. It lacked some of the depth of the author's other classic, She. Quite a dramatic final section.

[brakketh-1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

An enjoyable 'lost world' adventure story that was a touch more progressive about the 'natives' than I expected.

[narellej_3 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

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!

[jenniferrobb · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

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.

[crazymamie · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

This book is not politically correct - nor should one expect it to be because it was written in 1885 by a British man, back when colonialism was all the rage. Set in Africa, the main character Allan Quatermain finds himself leading a search and rescue mission being financed by Sir Henry Curtis. Sir Henry is looking for his brother, who was last seen headed for King's Soloman's Mines. Sir Henry's good friend-literally, his name is Captain Good, is along for the adventure. Quatermain is a hunter by trade, and so along the way there is, you guessed it, hunting. For ivory, for sport, for food - Quatermain has been promised that he and Good can split whatever financial gain and treasure they acquire during their travels. In addition, Sir Henry has made provisions for Quatermain's son in the event that they do not return from their mission. This is a great adventure story told in first person narrative that set the stage for a new genre in literature - the "Lost World" genre that was a precursor to our modern day equivalents such as the Indiana Jones stories. There is also a lot of humor in this book. For example, when the Kukuanas discover Quatermain's party on their land, the penalty would have been death if not for the fact that Captain Good is so fastidious. Caught in the middle of his "elaborate toilet" Good rises to stand before the natives half dressed, half shaved, wearing a monocle, and in his nervousness, he pulls his false teeth out of place and then returns them to their proper position."How is it, O strangers," asked the old man solemnly, "that this fat man (pointing to Good, who was clad in nothing but boots and a flannel shirt, and has only half finished his shaving), whose body is clothed, and whose legs are bare, who grows hair on one side of his sickly face and not on the other, and who wears one shining and transparent eye- how is it, I ask, that he has teeth which move of themselves, coming away from the jaws and returning of their own will?"Quatermain convinces the Kukuanas that they are "white men from the stars" and thus, their lives are spared. Captain Good, however, must now keep up his charade and is not allowed to have his pants back. The rest of the story is one rolling adventure - tribal war, treasure beyond the imagination, betrayal....I debated between 3.5 and 4 stars for this book because the story is a 4, but the book does drag a bit in places. In the end, I decided on 4 stars because the slow bits are more than made up for by all of the fun.

[jen6e6moore · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

Well. This has plenty of value as a historical artifact - ancestor of Indiana Jones and all the other pulp adventure fiction like it - but it's so tremendously racist and misogynist that I really can't see the value in reading it for entertainment, not when there are so many things now that are so much better.

[aliceanna-1 · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

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.