“ | I make no apology for detailing it at length, for every experienced hunter will know how vital a proper supply of guns and ammunition is to the success of an expedition.
— Allan Quatermain
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Allan Quatermain is the protagonist of H. Rider Haggard's 1885 novel King Solomon's Mines, its one sequel Allan Quatermain (1887), twelve prequel novels and four prequel short stories, totalling eighteen works. The character of Quatermain is an English-born professional big game hunter and occasional trader living in South Africa. An outdoorsman who finds English cities and climate unbearable, he prefers to spend most of his life in Africa, where he grew up under the care of his widower father, a Christian missionary. Throughout his adventures, Quatermain has participated in a number of tribal and colonial wars, as well as expeditions into lost cities and civilizations. His physicality, experience, and gritty exterior has led him to be employed as a guide. Contrary to Europeans of his time, Quatermain was a conservatist, philanthropist, and liberal. He actually disliked hunting, only doing so because he had no other means of making a living, and he's friendly and respective of Africans, even finding them better humans than his own race. Allan Quatermain would be portrayed by many great actors, and influenced much of the adventure genre, eventually inspiring characters like Indiana Jones.
Battle vs. Tarzan (by Jon memeing)[]
There was an eerie silence in a small British colony somewhere in the border between Central and South Africa. The sun was high in the sky and its searing heat dried up whatever moisture was present. The heat, the environment, the lack of life and civilization themselves made it seem like the gates of Hell had opened up, releasing all the torturous evils of the world in the form of mother nature itself.
The people in the colony felt this evil as they gripped their rifles nervously. Their small town was surrounded by a makeshift barrier made up of wagons and furniture. All of them huddled behind some cover — some hiding behind the barriers, some inside their homes and peaking through their windows, while others were up above their adobe houses sitting on their rooftops and watching their the outside world like eagles and hawks.
An old hunter by the name of Allan Quatermain served as their guardian. He clutched his elephant gun and wiped his forehead with a handkerchief. For three days, he and his people — men, women, and children — remained besieged inside this colony. For three days they remained helpless as the bodies of their fallen comrades, scattered outside of the town, were scavenged upon by the beasts of the Earth. For three days, they rationed their food, saved their water, and kept their defenses up. They knew their enemy was out there, amassing an army of his own, preparing to congregate into their town and slaughter every living being inside.
Behind the trees, all sorts of animals waited and watched. There were apes, big cats, and elephants hidden in the trees and the foliage. Their leader, their alpha, the lord of the jungle himself, Tarzan, kept to the trees and observed. His extraordinary senses allowed him to spot and keep track of all the watchtowers and eagle eyes that would be the first to spot them if they attack. He remembered every rotation, of how many would be replaced and how many would replace them. He could see the strongest warriors and the weakest links among them; both the vigilant and the fatigued, both the brave and the terrified. He also kept in his sights the old man with the slouch hat whom these people seemed to ask advice from. He didn’t look much, at least, according to Tarzan. What could an old man like that possibly do?
For some time, all Tarzan could do was observe, and maybe kill off anyone foraging out of the colony or sending out his nocturnal predators to harass and terrorize the townspeople. Although these were small skirmishes, it was useful to drag out a few screaming two-legged meals to try and thin out the enemy’s number. It was vital for this colony to disintegrate. Tarzan had lived with these people long enough to learn their greedy imperialistic ways; their manifest dynasty white man’s burden hogwash. These people brought nothing but destruction and death to his beloved jungle in the name of their so-called civilized society.
Finally, the hour had arrived, and the sun was at its highest peak. It wouldn’t be long before a new batch of refreshed sentries would replace the ones currently guarding the wooden walls. But it was what Tarzan was eager for. It was the perfect strike; to attack while all of them were weary, dehydrated, and impatiently awaiting to be relieved. And as their replacement was still on their way, it was the bestest moment for Tarzan.
Beating his chest and roaring his battle cry, Tarzan signalled his beastly army to charge. “Fight!” Tarzan yelled at the top of his lungs. "Fight for our jungle!"
This spooked the settlers. They were expecting a big fight, but could not believe that it was actually happening right now. They begin to dread, to fear, and tried to fire at whatever animal was in front of them. They released fusillade after fusillade of rifle fire. Quatermain himself prepared his elephant gun, and told the settlers, “Hold your ground and don’t let them pass! Remember why we are fighting! Remember your children!”
This half-man and half-beast needed to be stopped. Quatermain had heard tales of this white demon of the Congo, who killed off many sorts of jungle dwellers and African tribes. He was the one who caused so much trouble and misery for both white and blacks alike. Such an dangerous accidental abomination was nothing more than an invasive species that rocked this ecosystem to its core. As a white man, Quatermain himself knew the brutality his race wrought. But a white man raised savagely rather than civilly? It was an ungodly combination that would send this world into madness. He was human but had no allegiance to humankind. He was a danger and a menace. A mass murderer that needed to be put down.
Tarzan rode on top of his elephant and fired his bow and arrow. He shot a settler and pinned his body on a wagon. He shot another settler in the chest, who then cried in pain before falling off his rooftop. Even those hiding behind windows were not safe. He shot them all right between the eyes. He then directed his elephant to charge straight into the wooden barricades. The pachyderm tanked just enough of the small caliber bullets to smash through the barrier like they were made of wafer. Quatermain saw this and aimed his rifle. A huge slug tore through the elephant’s skull, turning its brain into mush, and putting it down deader than Tutankhamen. Tarzan too fell but managed to roll off the ground safely.
“My steed!” Tarzan said, gritting his teeth. “Soon, I will avenge you!”
Quatermain then adjusted his aim. He fired at a panther, hitting it in the torso and almost cutting it in two. Before he could reload, a large golden lion then lunged at him. As its claws reached Quatermain’s face, the old hunter fell on his back, caught the lion on his feet, and kicked it away to the side. As the lion got up, Quatermain took out his shotgun and fired both barrels at its face, making it explode like it was watermelon. Large primates began pouring into the breach, screaming, grabbing, and smashing whatever human they came across. Quatermain took his winchester rifle and fired again and again and again, emptying his tube on the ape army, and managing to drive them off back to the jungle.
However, he failed to notice Tarzan who appeared from behind him and stabbed his spear right through Quatermain’s shoulder. The old man screamed before going down. A settler then came to his rescue and fired his rifle, but Tarzan easily dodged it before slicing his throat open with his knife. Several other settlers pounced on him, but Tarzan swung his knife with precision akin to that of a sashimi chef, easily slitting their throats.
The old white hunter managed to regain his composure just in time as Tarzan fought in front of him. He pulled his pistol, got up, and fired at Tarzan’s torso. A bullet ripped through Tarzan’s gut, and though feeling the burning metal roasted his insides, Tarzan turned around and tried to stab Quatermain with an overhead strike. “Die you filthy colonizer!” Tarzan yelled.
“You first, horrible heathen!” replied Quatermain.
Quatermain dodged his strike and sent a hook that knocked Tarzan down, putting him in a daze. Quatermain then grabbed Tarzan’s long hair and kneed his face. The ape man tried to scratch and swipe at the hunter, but the latter blocked his attempts with his arms. It was like a professional boxer battling a flailing monkey. Quatermain then kicked Tarzan to the ground, and finishing him off by emptying his pistol on the ape man’s chest.
The battle was over and only Allan Quatermain remained.
Expert's Opinion[]
Allan Quatermain won because he carried the better arsenals and skills. Although Tarzan was physically superior and could command beasts to his bidding, he felt short of Quatermain’s advantage in long range and military tactics. Tarzan ultimately had to get close and try to penetrate Quatermain’s defenses, while the latter could just put up a defensive position, stay put, and let his quarry come to him.