Chapter Twenty Two.A Solomon—in the Zulu.Suddenly Arlo, who had been trotting along placidly beside the waggons stopped short, looking backward, and emitting low growls, which soon changed to a deep-toned, booming bark. We followed his glance. The Zulus were on the crest of the ridge about half a mile behind. I at once gave orders to the drivers to resume their normal pace. Further flight—as flight—was useless and impolitic.“Put the dog into the tent waggon and tie him there,” I said to Falkner. “He knows you better than he does me, and might give me trouble. We don’t want him damaged at any rate.”Even Falkner found it by no means easy to work his will with the now infuriated animal, which with hackles erect was facing in the direction of the impending aggression, making the air resound with his roaring bark; and only he managed it by his characteristically drastic methods in the shape of a doublereimwell laid on. As it was I thought the dog would have pinned him. However he managed to get him into the tent waggon and securely tied. Hardly had he rejoined me when the whole crowd was upon us, shouting and roaring as they surrounded the waggons, bringing them to a standstill.“I see you!” I said, coldly sarcastic. “Well, and what is it you want now?”For I had recognised several who had taken part in the former riot, what time Dolf Norbury had appeared upon the scene.“Want? What we want is the dog—the white dog,” came the reply. “The dog which you have stolen, Abelungu.”“The white dog. The dog which we have stolen,” I repeated sarcastically. “But the dog belongs to our people on the other side—and we are taking him back. If he has been stolen it is from them.”“From them. Ha! That is a lie, Umlungu. Give us the dog, or we will take him and everything you have got besides.”“I think not,” I said. “But as I cannot talk with a number at once, I must talk with one. Where is that one?”The clamour redoubled but of it I took no notice. I filled my pipe deliberately, and handed the pouch to Falkner.“What are they saying?” he asked. I told him.“Well, we ain’t going to give up the dog,” he said. “I’ll see them damned first,” and in his excitement he appended a great deal more that it is not expedient to reproduce.“I’m with you there,” I said. “And now,” relapsing into the vernacular, as a ringed man came forward—he was an evil-looking rascal, and I recognised him as having been among those who had troubled us before. “And now to begin with—who claims him?”“Udolfu.”“Udolfu? Well how long has he had him, and where did he get him?”“That is nothing to you, Umlungu. He is Udolfu’s dog, and we are come for him. So give him to us.”“Do you think you could take him yourselves and alive?” I said banteringly, for the savage and frenzied barks of Arlo within the waggon pretty well drowned our talk.“We will take him, I say. Bring him out.”“Bring him out—bring him out,” roared the crowd, brandishing assegais and rapping their shields, in an indescribable clamour.“Hau!Umfane! I will cut thee into little pieces,” cried one fellow, seizing my boy Tom by the throat and brandishing a big assegai as though he would rip him up.“Have done!” I said pulling my revolver and covering the savage. “See. We hold plenty of lives here.”Falkner too had drawn his and was eagerly expecting the word from me to let go.“Hold!” roared the spokesman, in such wise as to cause the aggressive one to fall back. “Now, Umlungu, give us the dog.”“First of all,” I said, “if the dog belongs to Udolfu, why is not Udolfu here himself to claim him? Is he afraid?”“He is not afraid, Umlungu,” answered the man, with a wave of the hand. “For—here he is.”A man on horseback came riding furiously up. With him were a lot more armed Zulus running hard to keep pace with him. In a twinkling I recognised we were in a hard tight place, for the number around us already I estimated at a couple of hundred. He was armed this time, for he carried a rifle and I could see a business-like six-shooter peeping out of a side pocket. It was our old friend, Dolf Norbury.“Hallo, you two damned slinking dog thieves,” he sung out, as the crowd parted to make way for him. “Here we are again you see. Not yet within British jurisdiction, eh?”There was a banging report at my ear, and lo, Dolf Norbury and his horse were mixed up in a kicking struggling heap.“I don’t take that sort of talk from any swine, especially outside British jurisdiction,” growled Falkner, hurriedly jamming in a cartridge to replace the one he had fired.There was a rush to extricate the fallen man, and ascertain damages. It turned out that he had not been hit but his horse was killed. He himself however seemed half stunned as he staggered to his feet. Then up went his rifle but the bullet sang high over our heads in the unsteadiness of his aim.“Put up your hands!” I sung out, covering him before he could draw his pistol. “Hands up, or you’re dead, by God!”He obeyed. Clearly he had been under fire enough.“Go in and take his pistol, Sewin,” I said, still covering him steadily. “If he moves he’s dead.”It was a tense moment enough, as Falkner walked coolly between the rows of armed savages, for to drive half a dozen spears through him, and massacre the lot of us would have been the work of a moment to them, but I realised that boldness was the only line to adopt under the circumstances. Even then I don’t know how the matter would have ended, but some sort of diversion seemed to be in the air, for heads were turned, and murmurs went up. Still no weapon was raised against us.“I’ve drawn his teeth now, at any rate, the sweep!” said Falkner with a grin, as he returned and threw down the discomfited man’s weapons. “I say Dolf, old sportsman,” he sung out banteringly. “Feel inclined for another spar? Because if so, come on. Or d’you feel too groggy in the nut?”But now I had taken in the cause of the diversion. The opposite ridge—that between us and the river—was black with Zulus. On they came, in regular rapid march, hundreds and hundreds of them. They carried war shields and the largeumkontoor broad stabbing spear, but had no war adornments except theisityoba, or leglet of flowing cow-hair.Those of our molesters who had been most uproarious were silent now, watching the approach of the newcomers. Dolf Norbury sat stupidly staring. The roaring bark of Arlo tied within the waggon rose strangely weird above the sudden silence.“I say,” broke out Falkner. “Have we got to fight all these? Because if so, the odds ain’t fair.”For all that he looked as if he was willing to undertake even this. Whatever his faults, Falkner Sewin was a good man to have beside one in a tight place.“No,” I said. “There’s no more fight here, unless I’m much mistaken. This is a King’s impi.”It was a fine sight to see them approach, that great dark phalanx. Soon they halted just before the waggons, and a shout ofsibongowent up from the turbulent crowd who had been mobbing and threatening us but a little while since.The two chiefs in command I knew well, Untúswa, a splendid old warrior and very friendly to the whites, and Mundúla, both indunas of the King.“Who are these?” said the first, sternly, when we had exchanged greetings. “Are they here to trade, Iqalaqala?”“Not so, Right Hand of the Great Great One,” I answered. “They are here to threaten and molest us—and it is not the first time some of them have visited us on the same errand. We are peaceful traders in the land of Zulu, and assuredly there are many here who know that this is not the first time I have come into the land as such.”A hum of assent here went up from the warriors in the background. Those I had thus denounced looked uncommonly foolish. Still I would not spare them. It is necessary to keep up one’s prestige and if those who are instrumental in trying to lower it suffer, why that is their lookout, not mine.“He is a liar, chief,” interrupted Dolf Norbury, savagely. “These two have stolen my dog and I and my people have come to recover him. Before they came in to try and steal my trade. That is where we quarrelled before.”Untúswa heard him but coldly. As I have said, Dolf Norbury was not in favour with the more respectable chiefs of Zululand at that time. Quickly I put our side of the case before this one.“This I will look into,” he said. “It is not often we have to settle differences between white people, especially Amangisi (English). But the Great Great One, that Elephant who treads the same path as the Queen, will have order in the land—wherefore are we here,” with a wave of his hand towards his armed warriors; from whom deep-toned utterances ofsibongowent up at the naming of the royal titles. “With the matter of the trade, I have nothing to do. But, Iqalaqala, Udolfu says you have stolen his dog, though had it been his lion he had said, I think he would have uttered no lie, for in truth we could hear his roars while yet far away,” added the old induna with a comical laugh all over his fine face. “Now bring forth this wonderful beast, for we would fain see him.”“Get out the dog, Sewin,” I said. “The chief wants to see him.”“Yes, but what the devil has all the jaw been about? It’s all jolly fine for you, but I’m not in the fun,” he growled.“Never mind. I’ll tell you presently. Leave it all to me now. You’ve got to, in fact.”Falkner climbed into the waggon, and in a moment reappeared with Arlo, still holding him in his improvised leash. At sight of him the warriors in the impi set up a murmur of admiration.“Loose him,” said Untúswa.I translated this to Falkner, and he complied. The dog walked up and down, growling and suspicious.“See now, Udolfu,” said Untúswa, who had been watching the splendid beast with some admiration. “This is your dog. Now call him, and take him away with you.”“Arno!” called Norbury. “Here, Arno, old chap. Come along home. Good dog.”But the “good dog” merely looked sideways at him and growled the harder.“Arno. D’you hear? Come here, sir. Damn you. D’you hear!”The growls increased to a sort of thunder roll.“Whau!” said Mundúla. “That is a strange sort of dog to own—a dog that will not come, but growls at his master when he calls him instead.”“I have not had him long enough to know me thoroughly,” said Dolf. “Those two, who stole him from me, have taught him better.”“Call him in the other direction, Falkner,” I said.This he did, and the dog went frisking after him as he ran a little way out over the veldt, and back again, both on the best understanding with each other in the world.“Au! the matter is clear enough,” pronounced Untúswa. “The dog himself has decided it. He is not yours, Udolfu. Yet, Iqalaqala, may it not be that those with whom you last saw the dog may have sold him?”“That is quite impossible, leader of the valiant,” I answered. “From those who own him no price would buy him. No, not all the cattle in the kraals of the Great Great One. Further, he has not even got the sound of the dog’s name right,” and I made clear the difference between the “l” and the “n” which the other had substituted for it.“Au! That is a long price to pay for one dog, fine though he is,” said Untúswa with the same comical twinkle in his eyes. “Well, it is clear to whom the dog belongs. You,” with a commanding sweep of the hand towards the riotous crowd who had first molested us, “go home.”There was no disputing the word of an induna of the King. The former rioters saluted submissively and melted away. Dolf Norbury, however, remained.“Will the chief ask them,” he said, cunningly, “why they had to leave Majendwa’s country in a hurry, and why they are bringing back about half their trade goods?”“We did not leave in a hurry,” I answered, “and as for trade goods, the people seemed not willing to trade. For the rest, we have plenty of cattle, which are even now crossing Inncome, driven by boys whom Muntisi the son of Majendwa sent with us.”“That is a lie,” responded Norbury. “They had too many eyes, and looked too closely into what did not concern them. They had to fly, and now they will carry strange stories to the English about the doings on the Zulu side.”This, I could see, made some impression upon the warriors. However, I confined myself simply to contradicting it. Then Norbury asked the chief to order the return of his weapons.“I need no such order,” I said. “I am willing to return them, but—I must have all the cartridges in exchange.”He was obliged to agree, which he did sullenly. As he threw down the bandolier and emptied his pockets of his pistol cartridges he said:“Glanton, my good friend—if you value your life I warn you not to come to this section of the Zulu country any more. If it hadn’t been for this crowd happening up, you’d both have been dead meat by now. You can take my word for that.”“Oh no, I don’t,” I answered. “I’ve always been able to take care of myself, and I fancy I’ll go on doing it. So don’t you bother about that. Here are your shooting-irons.”“What about my horse? You’ve shot my horse you know. What are you going to stand for him?”“Oh blazes take you and your impudence,” struck in Falkner. “I’m only sorry it wasn’t you I pinked instead of the gee. Outside British jurisdiction, you know,” he added with an aggravating grin. “Stand? Stand you another hammering if you like to stand up and take it. You won’t? All right. Good-bye. We’ve no time to waste jawing with any blighted dog-stealer like you.”The expression of the other’s face was such that I felt uncommonly glad I had insisted on taking his cartridges; and at the same time only trusted he had not an odd one left about him. But the only weapon available was a string of the direst threats of future vengeance, interspersed with the choicest blasphemies, at which Falkner laughed.“You came along like a lion, old cock,” he said, “and it strikes me you’re going back like a lamb. Ta-ta.”I talked a little further with the two chiefs, and then we resumed our way, they walking with us as far as the drift. As to the state of the border Untúswa shook his head.“See now, Iqalaqala,” he said. “One thing you can tell your people, and that is that any trouble you may have met with in the land where the Great Great One rules has not been at the hands of his people but at those of your own.”This was in reference to all sorts of reports that were being circulated with regard to the so-called enormities of Cetywayo, and the hostility of his people; and the point of it I, of course, fully recognised.I made the chiefs a liberal present, out of the remnant of the things we were taking back with us. We took leave of them at the drift, and the whole impi, gathered on the rising ground, watched us cross and raised a sonorous shout of farewell. Under all the circumstances I was not sorry to be back over the border, but I decided to trek on a good bit before outspanning lest Dolf Norbury should yet find means to play us some bad trick.And then—for home!
Suddenly Arlo, who had been trotting along placidly beside the waggons stopped short, looking backward, and emitting low growls, which soon changed to a deep-toned, booming bark. We followed his glance. The Zulus were on the crest of the ridge about half a mile behind. I at once gave orders to the drivers to resume their normal pace. Further flight—as flight—was useless and impolitic.
“Put the dog into the tent waggon and tie him there,” I said to Falkner. “He knows you better than he does me, and might give me trouble. We don’t want him damaged at any rate.”
Even Falkner found it by no means easy to work his will with the now infuriated animal, which with hackles erect was facing in the direction of the impending aggression, making the air resound with his roaring bark; and only he managed it by his characteristically drastic methods in the shape of a doublereimwell laid on. As it was I thought the dog would have pinned him. However he managed to get him into the tent waggon and securely tied. Hardly had he rejoined me when the whole crowd was upon us, shouting and roaring as they surrounded the waggons, bringing them to a standstill.
“I see you!” I said, coldly sarcastic. “Well, and what is it you want now?”
For I had recognised several who had taken part in the former riot, what time Dolf Norbury had appeared upon the scene.
“Want? What we want is the dog—the white dog,” came the reply. “The dog which you have stolen, Abelungu.”
“The white dog. The dog which we have stolen,” I repeated sarcastically. “But the dog belongs to our people on the other side—and we are taking him back. If he has been stolen it is from them.”
“From them. Ha! That is a lie, Umlungu. Give us the dog, or we will take him and everything you have got besides.”
“I think not,” I said. “But as I cannot talk with a number at once, I must talk with one. Where is that one?”
The clamour redoubled but of it I took no notice. I filled my pipe deliberately, and handed the pouch to Falkner.
“What are they saying?” he asked. I told him.
“Well, we ain’t going to give up the dog,” he said. “I’ll see them damned first,” and in his excitement he appended a great deal more that it is not expedient to reproduce.
“I’m with you there,” I said. “And now,” relapsing into the vernacular, as a ringed man came forward—he was an evil-looking rascal, and I recognised him as having been among those who had troubled us before. “And now to begin with—who claims him?”
“Udolfu.”
“Udolfu? Well how long has he had him, and where did he get him?”
“That is nothing to you, Umlungu. He is Udolfu’s dog, and we are come for him. So give him to us.”
“Do you think you could take him yourselves and alive?” I said banteringly, for the savage and frenzied barks of Arlo within the waggon pretty well drowned our talk.
“We will take him, I say. Bring him out.”
“Bring him out—bring him out,” roared the crowd, brandishing assegais and rapping their shields, in an indescribable clamour.
“Hau!Umfane! I will cut thee into little pieces,” cried one fellow, seizing my boy Tom by the throat and brandishing a big assegai as though he would rip him up.
“Have done!” I said pulling my revolver and covering the savage. “See. We hold plenty of lives here.”
Falkner too had drawn his and was eagerly expecting the word from me to let go.
“Hold!” roared the spokesman, in such wise as to cause the aggressive one to fall back. “Now, Umlungu, give us the dog.”
“First of all,” I said, “if the dog belongs to Udolfu, why is not Udolfu here himself to claim him? Is he afraid?”
“He is not afraid, Umlungu,” answered the man, with a wave of the hand. “For—here he is.”
A man on horseback came riding furiously up. With him were a lot more armed Zulus running hard to keep pace with him. In a twinkling I recognised we were in a hard tight place, for the number around us already I estimated at a couple of hundred. He was armed this time, for he carried a rifle and I could see a business-like six-shooter peeping out of a side pocket. It was our old friend, Dolf Norbury.
“Hallo, you two damned slinking dog thieves,” he sung out, as the crowd parted to make way for him. “Here we are again you see. Not yet within British jurisdiction, eh?”
There was a banging report at my ear, and lo, Dolf Norbury and his horse were mixed up in a kicking struggling heap.
“I don’t take that sort of talk from any swine, especially outside British jurisdiction,” growled Falkner, hurriedly jamming in a cartridge to replace the one he had fired.
There was a rush to extricate the fallen man, and ascertain damages. It turned out that he had not been hit but his horse was killed. He himself however seemed half stunned as he staggered to his feet. Then up went his rifle but the bullet sang high over our heads in the unsteadiness of his aim.
“Put up your hands!” I sung out, covering him before he could draw his pistol. “Hands up, or you’re dead, by God!”
He obeyed. Clearly he had been under fire enough.
“Go in and take his pistol, Sewin,” I said, still covering him steadily. “If he moves he’s dead.”
It was a tense moment enough, as Falkner walked coolly between the rows of armed savages, for to drive half a dozen spears through him, and massacre the lot of us would have been the work of a moment to them, but I realised that boldness was the only line to adopt under the circumstances. Even then I don’t know how the matter would have ended, but some sort of diversion seemed to be in the air, for heads were turned, and murmurs went up. Still no weapon was raised against us.
“I’ve drawn his teeth now, at any rate, the sweep!” said Falkner with a grin, as he returned and threw down the discomfited man’s weapons. “I say Dolf, old sportsman,” he sung out banteringly. “Feel inclined for another spar? Because if so, come on. Or d’you feel too groggy in the nut?”
But now I had taken in the cause of the diversion. The opposite ridge—that between us and the river—was black with Zulus. On they came, in regular rapid march, hundreds and hundreds of them. They carried war shields and the largeumkontoor broad stabbing spear, but had no war adornments except theisityoba, or leglet of flowing cow-hair.
Those of our molesters who had been most uproarious were silent now, watching the approach of the newcomers. Dolf Norbury sat stupidly staring. The roaring bark of Arlo tied within the waggon rose strangely weird above the sudden silence.
“I say,” broke out Falkner. “Have we got to fight all these? Because if so, the odds ain’t fair.”
For all that he looked as if he was willing to undertake even this. Whatever his faults, Falkner Sewin was a good man to have beside one in a tight place.
“No,” I said. “There’s no more fight here, unless I’m much mistaken. This is a King’s impi.”
It was a fine sight to see them approach, that great dark phalanx. Soon they halted just before the waggons, and a shout ofsibongowent up from the turbulent crowd who had been mobbing and threatening us but a little while since.
The two chiefs in command I knew well, Untúswa, a splendid old warrior and very friendly to the whites, and Mundúla, both indunas of the King.
“Who are these?” said the first, sternly, when we had exchanged greetings. “Are they here to trade, Iqalaqala?”
“Not so, Right Hand of the Great Great One,” I answered. “They are here to threaten and molest us—and it is not the first time some of them have visited us on the same errand. We are peaceful traders in the land of Zulu, and assuredly there are many here who know that this is not the first time I have come into the land as such.”
A hum of assent here went up from the warriors in the background. Those I had thus denounced looked uncommonly foolish. Still I would not spare them. It is necessary to keep up one’s prestige and if those who are instrumental in trying to lower it suffer, why that is their lookout, not mine.
“He is a liar, chief,” interrupted Dolf Norbury, savagely. “These two have stolen my dog and I and my people have come to recover him. Before they came in to try and steal my trade. That is where we quarrelled before.”
Untúswa heard him but coldly. As I have said, Dolf Norbury was not in favour with the more respectable chiefs of Zululand at that time. Quickly I put our side of the case before this one.
“This I will look into,” he said. “It is not often we have to settle differences between white people, especially Amangisi (English). But the Great Great One, that Elephant who treads the same path as the Queen, will have order in the land—wherefore are we here,” with a wave of his hand towards his armed warriors; from whom deep-toned utterances ofsibongowent up at the naming of the royal titles. “With the matter of the trade, I have nothing to do. But, Iqalaqala, Udolfu says you have stolen his dog, though had it been his lion he had said, I think he would have uttered no lie, for in truth we could hear his roars while yet far away,” added the old induna with a comical laugh all over his fine face. “Now bring forth this wonderful beast, for we would fain see him.”
“Get out the dog, Sewin,” I said. “The chief wants to see him.”
“Yes, but what the devil has all the jaw been about? It’s all jolly fine for you, but I’m not in the fun,” he growled.
“Never mind. I’ll tell you presently. Leave it all to me now. You’ve got to, in fact.”
Falkner climbed into the waggon, and in a moment reappeared with Arlo, still holding him in his improvised leash. At sight of him the warriors in the impi set up a murmur of admiration.
“Loose him,” said Untúswa.
I translated this to Falkner, and he complied. The dog walked up and down, growling and suspicious.
“See now, Udolfu,” said Untúswa, who had been watching the splendid beast with some admiration. “This is your dog. Now call him, and take him away with you.”
“Arno!” called Norbury. “Here, Arno, old chap. Come along home. Good dog.”
But the “good dog” merely looked sideways at him and growled the harder.
“Arno. D’you hear? Come here, sir. Damn you. D’you hear!”
The growls increased to a sort of thunder roll.
“Whau!” said Mundúla. “That is a strange sort of dog to own—a dog that will not come, but growls at his master when he calls him instead.”
“I have not had him long enough to know me thoroughly,” said Dolf. “Those two, who stole him from me, have taught him better.”
“Call him in the other direction, Falkner,” I said.
This he did, and the dog went frisking after him as he ran a little way out over the veldt, and back again, both on the best understanding with each other in the world.
“Au! the matter is clear enough,” pronounced Untúswa. “The dog himself has decided it. He is not yours, Udolfu. Yet, Iqalaqala, may it not be that those with whom you last saw the dog may have sold him?”
“That is quite impossible, leader of the valiant,” I answered. “From those who own him no price would buy him. No, not all the cattle in the kraals of the Great Great One. Further, he has not even got the sound of the dog’s name right,” and I made clear the difference between the “l” and the “n” which the other had substituted for it.
“Au! That is a long price to pay for one dog, fine though he is,” said Untúswa with the same comical twinkle in his eyes. “Well, it is clear to whom the dog belongs. You,” with a commanding sweep of the hand towards the riotous crowd who had first molested us, “go home.”
There was no disputing the word of an induna of the King. The former rioters saluted submissively and melted away. Dolf Norbury, however, remained.
“Will the chief ask them,” he said, cunningly, “why they had to leave Majendwa’s country in a hurry, and why they are bringing back about half their trade goods?”
“We did not leave in a hurry,” I answered, “and as for trade goods, the people seemed not willing to trade. For the rest, we have plenty of cattle, which are even now crossing Inncome, driven by boys whom Muntisi the son of Majendwa sent with us.”
“That is a lie,” responded Norbury. “They had too many eyes, and looked too closely into what did not concern them. They had to fly, and now they will carry strange stories to the English about the doings on the Zulu side.”
This, I could see, made some impression upon the warriors. However, I confined myself simply to contradicting it. Then Norbury asked the chief to order the return of his weapons.
“I need no such order,” I said. “I am willing to return them, but—I must have all the cartridges in exchange.”
He was obliged to agree, which he did sullenly. As he threw down the bandolier and emptied his pockets of his pistol cartridges he said:
“Glanton, my good friend—if you value your life I warn you not to come to this section of the Zulu country any more. If it hadn’t been for this crowd happening up, you’d both have been dead meat by now. You can take my word for that.”
“Oh no, I don’t,” I answered. “I’ve always been able to take care of myself, and I fancy I’ll go on doing it. So don’t you bother about that. Here are your shooting-irons.”
“What about my horse? You’ve shot my horse you know. What are you going to stand for him?”
“Oh blazes take you and your impudence,” struck in Falkner. “I’m only sorry it wasn’t you I pinked instead of the gee. Outside British jurisdiction, you know,” he added with an aggravating grin. “Stand? Stand you another hammering if you like to stand up and take it. You won’t? All right. Good-bye. We’ve no time to waste jawing with any blighted dog-stealer like you.”
The expression of the other’s face was such that I felt uncommonly glad I had insisted on taking his cartridges; and at the same time only trusted he had not an odd one left about him. But the only weapon available was a string of the direst threats of future vengeance, interspersed with the choicest blasphemies, at which Falkner laughed.
“You came along like a lion, old cock,” he said, “and it strikes me you’re going back like a lamb. Ta-ta.”
I talked a little further with the two chiefs, and then we resumed our way, they walking with us as far as the drift. As to the state of the border Untúswa shook his head.
“See now, Iqalaqala,” he said. “One thing you can tell your people, and that is that any trouble you may have met with in the land where the Great Great One rules has not been at the hands of his people but at those of your own.”
This was in reference to all sorts of reports that were being circulated with regard to the so-called enormities of Cetywayo, and the hostility of his people; and the point of it I, of course, fully recognised.
I made the chiefs a liberal present, out of the remnant of the things we were taking back with us. We took leave of them at the drift, and the whole impi, gathered on the rising ground, watched us cross and raised a sonorous shout of farewell. Under all the circumstances I was not sorry to be back over the border, but I decided to trek on a good bit before outspanning lest Dolf Norbury should yet find means to play us some bad trick.
And then—for home!
Chapter Twenty Three.“Welcome Home!”I envied Falkner as he parted company with me, for he wanted to go straight home, and my store was all out of his way in the other direction. We had returned by the same route as that by which we had gone, skirting the border and re-crossing by Rorke’s Drift; and no further incident worthy of note had befallen us.“See here, Falkner,” I said, as he would have left me in cool offhand fashion. “We’ve made this trip and taken its ups and downs together, and more than once I’ve had reason to be glad that you were along. But if we haven’t got on as well as we might during the last part of it, really I can’t see that it is altogether my fault. Nor need we bear each other any ill-will,” and I put out my hand.He stared, then shook it, but not cordially, mumbling something in a heavy, sullen sort of way. Then he rode off.It had been a temptation to accompany him, and he had even suggested it, but I saw through his ill-concealed relief when I declined. I had plenty to attend to on first arriving home again, and it struck me that neglect of one’s business was hardly a recommendation in the eyes of anybody.Yes, I had plenty to attend to. The waggons had to be off-loaded and kraals knocked into repair for holding the trade cattle, and a host of other things. I paid off Mfutela and his son, and sent them back well contented, and with something over. But Jan Boom, when it came to his turn, seemed not eager to go.Then he put things plainly. Would I not keep him? He would like to remain with me, and I should find him useful. There were the trade cattle to be looked after, to begin with, and then, there was nothing he could not turn his hand to. He would not ask for high wages, and was sure I should find him worth them—yes, well worth them, he added. Had he not been worth his pay so far?I admitted readily that this was so, and the while I was wondering why he should be so anxious to remain? There seemed some meaning underlying the manner in which he almost begged me to keep him, and this set me wondering. Going back over our trip I could not but remember that he had proved an exceedingly willing, handy and good-tempered man, and my earlier prejudice against him melted away.“I will keep you then, Jan Boom,” I said, after thinking the matter out for a few minutes.“Nkose! There is only one thing I would ask,” he said, “and that is that you will tell me when three moons are dead whether you regret having kept me on or not.”I thought the request strange, and laughed as I willingly gave him that promise. I still held to my theory that he had broken gaol somewhere or other, and had decided that he had now found a tolerably secure hiding-place; and if such were so, why from my point of interest that was all the better, if only that it would keep him on his best behaviour.All the morning of the day following on my return I was busy enough, but by the early afternoon felt justified in starting to pay my first visit to the Sewins.As I took my way down the bush path I had plenty of time for thought, and gave myself up to the pleasures of anticipation. Those last words: “You will come and see us directly you return. I shall look forward to it,” were ringing in a kind of melody in my mind, as my horse stepped briskly along. And now, what would my reception be? It must not be supposed that I had not thought, and thought a great deal, as to the future during the couple of months our trip had lasted. Hour after hour under the stars, I had lain awake thinking out everything. If all was as I hardly dared to hope, I would give up my present knockabout life, and take a good farm somewhere and settle down. If not—well I hardly cared to dwell upon that. Of Falkner in the light of any obstacle, strange to say I thought not at all.From one point of the path where it rounded a spur the homestead became momentarily visible. Reining in I strained my eyes upon it, but it showed no sign of life—no flutter of light dresses about the stoep or garden. Well, it was early afternoon, hot and glowing. Likely enough no one would be willingly astir. Then a thought came that filled my mind with blank—if speculative—dismay. What if the family were away from home? The stillness about the place now took on a new aspect. Well, that sort of doubt could soon be set at rest one way or another, and I gave my horse a touch of the spur that sent him floundering down the steep and stony path with a snort of surprised indignation.We had got on to the level now and the ground was soft and sandy. As we dived down into a dry drift something rushed at us from the other side with open-mouthed and threatening growl, which however subsided at once into a delighted whine. It was Arlo—and there on the bank above sat Arlo’s mistress.She had a drawing block in her hand and a colour box beside her. Quickly she rose, and I could have sworn I saw a flush of pleasure steal over the beautiful face. I was off my horse in a twinkling. The tall, graceful form came easily forward to meet me.“Welcome home,” she said, as our hands clasped. “I am so glad to see you again. And you have kept your promise indeed. Why we hardly expected you before to-morrow or the day after.”“It was a great temptation to me to come over with Falkner yesterday,” I answered. “But, a man must not neglect his business.”“Of course not. It is so good of you to have come now.”“Good of me! I seem to remember that you would look forward to it—that last night I was here,” I answered, a bit thrown off my balance by the manner of her greeting. That “welcome home,” and the spontaneous heartiness of it, well it would be something to think about.“Well, and that is just what I have been doing,” she answered gaily. “There! Now I hope you feel duly flattered.”“I do indeed,” I answered gravely.“And I am so glad we have met like this,” she continued, “because now we shall be able to have a good long talk. The others are all more or less asleep, but I didn’t feel lazy, so came down here to reduce that row of stiff euphorbia to paper. I have taken up my drawing again, and there are delightful little bits for water-colour all round here.”The spot was as secluded and delightful as one could wish. The high bank and overhanging bushes gave ample shade, and opposite, with the scarlet blossoms of a Kafir bean for foreground, rose a small cliff, its brow fringed with the organ pipe stems of a line of euphorbia.“Lie down, Arlo,” she enjoined. “What a fortunate thing it was you were able to recover him. I don’t know how to thank you.”“Of course you don’t, because no question of thanking me comes in,” I said. “I would sooner have found him as we did, than make anything at all out of the trip, believe me.”“And your trip was not a great success after all, Falkner tells us?”“Oh we did well enough, though I have done better. But to return to Arlo. The mystery to me—to both of us—was how on earth he ever managed to let himself be stolen.”“Ah. That dreadful witch doctor must have been at the bottom of it. I only know that one morning he—Arlo not Ukozi—had disappeared, and no inquiry of ours could get at the faintest trace of him. His disappearance, in fact, was as complete as that of that poor Mr Hensley.”“Old Hensley hasn’t turned up again, then?” I said.“No. Mr Kendrew is getting more and more easy in his mind. He’s a shocking boy, you know, and says he’s too honest to pretend to be sorry if he comes into a fine farm to end his days on,” she said, with a little smile, that somehow seemed to cast something of a damper on the delight of the present situation.“Confound Kendrew,” I thought to myself. “Who the deuce wants to talk of Kendrew now?”“Tell me, Mr Glanton,” she went on, after a slight pause. “You got my letter I know, because Falkner has told us how he got the one mother wrote him. Did you think me very weak and foolish for allowing myself to get frightened as I did?”“You know I did not,” I answered, with quite unnecessary vehemence. “Why I was only too proud and flattered that you should have consulted me at all. But, of course it was all somewhat mysterious. Is Ukozi about here now?”“We haven’t seen him for some days. Do you know, I can’t help connecting his non-appearance with your return in some way. He must have known you would soon be here. Father is quite irritable and angry about it. He says the witch doctor promised to let him into all sorts of things. Now he pronounces him an arrant humbug.”“That’s the best sign of all,” I said, “and I hope he’ll continue of that opinion. When elderly gentlemen take up fads bearing upon the occult especially, why, it isn’t good for them. You don’t mind my saying this?”“Mind? Of course I don’t mind. Why should I have bothered you with my silly fears and misgivings—at a time too when you had so much else to think about—if I were to take offence at what you said? And it seems so safe now that you are near us again.”What was this? Again a sort of shadow seemed to come over our talk. Was it only on account of some imaginary protection my presence might afford that she had been so cordially and unfeignedly glad to welcome me?“I think you may make your mind quite easy now,” I said. “This Ukozi had some end of his own to serve, possibly that of stealing the dog, which he knew he could trade for a good price in Zululand, and probably did. I suppose Falkner gave you a full, true and particular account of how we bested the precious specimen who claimed him.”She laughed.“Oh, he’s been bragging about that, and all your adventures—or rather his—up there, in quite his own style.”“Well, there was nothing for either of us to brag about in the way we recovered Arlo,” I said. “If the King’s impi hadn’t happened along in the nick of time I own frankly we might never have been able to recover him at all. It was a hundred to one, you understand.”Again she laughed, significantly, and I read into the laugh the fact that she did not quite accept Falkner’s narratives at precisely Falkner’s own valuation.“How did Falkner behave himself?” she went on.“Oh, he was all right. He was always spoiling for a fight and on one occasion he got it. I daresay he has told you about that.”“Yes,” she said, with the same significant laugh. “He gave us a graphic account of it.”“Well he has plenty of pluck and readiness, and a man might have many a worse companion in an emergency.”“It’s nice of you to say that. I don’t believe he was a bit nice to you.”“Oh, only a boy’s sulks,” I said airily. “Nothing to bother oneself about in that.”“But was that all?” she rejoined, lifting her clear eyes to my face.“Perhaps not,” I answered, then something in her glance moved me to add: “May I tell you then, what it was that caused our differences, who it was, rather?” And I put forth my hand.“Yes,” she said, taking it. “Tell me.”“It was yourself.”“Myself?”“Yes. Do you remember what you said that last evening I was here? I do. I’ve treasured every word of it since. You said I was to come and see you directly I returned, and that you would look forward to it.”She nodded, smiling softly.“Yes. And I have. And—what did you answer?”“I answered that I would look forward to it every day until it came. And I have.”“And is the result disappointing?”“You know it is not.”I have stated elsewhere that I seldom err in my reading of the human countenance, and now it seemed that all Paradise was opening before my eyes as I noticed a slight accession of colour to the beautiful face, a deepening of the tender smile which curved the beautiful lips. Then words poured forth in a torrent. What was I saying? For the life of me I could not tell, but one thing was certain. I was saying what I meant. Then again her hand reached forth to mine, and its pressure, while maddening me, told that whatever I was saying, it at any rate was not unacceptable when—Arlo, who had been lying at our feet, sprang up and growled, then subsided immediately, wagging his tail and whining as he snuffed in the direction of the sound of approaching footsteps.“Hallo, Glanton,” sung out a gruff voice. “You taking lessons in high art? They’re wondering where you’ve got to, Aïda. They’re going to have tea.”“Well, tell them not to wait. I’ll be in directly when I’m ready.”“Oh no. No hurry about that,” answered Falkner with an evil grin, flinging himself on the ground beside us, and proceeding leisurely to fill his pipe. “We’ll all stroll back together—eh, Glanton?”I am ashamed to remember how I hated Falkner Sewin at that moment. Had he heard what I had been saying, or any part of it? But he had thrust his obnoxious presence between it and the answer, and that sort of opportunity does not readily recur, and if it does, why the repetition is apt to fall flat.He lay there, maliciously watching me—watching us—and the expression of his face was not benevolent, although he grinned. He noted his cousin’s slight confusion, and delighted to add to it by keeping his glance fixed meaningly upon her face. Then he would look from the one to the other of us, and his grin would expand. There was a redeeming side to his disgust at the situation from his point of view. He was annoying us both—annoying us thoroughly—and he knew it.She, for her part, showed no sign of it as she continued her painting serenely. Further exasperated, Falkner began teasing Arlo, and this had the effect of wearying Aïda of the situation. She got up and announced her intention of returning to the house.And Falkner, walking on the other side of her, solaced himself with making objectionable remarks, in an objectionable tone, knowing well that the same stopped just short of anything one could by any possibility take up.
I envied Falkner as he parted company with me, for he wanted to go straight home, and my store was all out of his way in the other direction. We had returned by the same route as that by which we had gone, skirting the border and re-crossing by Rorke’s Drift; and no further incident worthy of note had befallen us.
“See here, Falkner,” I said, as he would have left me in cool offhand fashion. “We’ve made this trip and taken its ups and downs together, and more than once I’ve had reason to be glad that you were along. But if we haven’t got on as well as we might during the last part of it, really I can’t see that it is altogether my fault. Nor need we bear each other any ill-will,” and I put out my hand.
He stared, then shook it, but not cordially, mumbling something in a heavy, sullen sort of way. Then he rode off.
It had been a temptation to accompany him, and he had even suggested it, but I saw through his ill-concealed relief when I declined. I had plenty to attend to on first arriving home again, and it struck me that neglect of one’s business was hardly a recommendation in the eyes of anybody.
Yes, I had plenty to attend to. The waggons had to be off-loaded and kraals knocked into repair for holding the trade cattle, and a host of other things. I paid off Mfutela and his son, and sent them back well contented, and with something over. But Jan Boom, when it came to his turn, seemed not eager to go.
Then he put things plainly. Would I not keep him? He would like to remain with me, and I should find him useful. There were the trade cattle to be looked after, to begin with, and then, there was nothing he could not turn his hand to. He would not ask for high wages, and was sure I should find him worth them—yes, well worth them, he added. Had he not been worth his pay so far?
I admitted readily that this was so, and the while I was wondering why he should be so anxious to remain? There seemed some meaning underlying the manner in which he almost begged me to keep him, and this set me wondering. Going back over our trip I could not but remember that he had proved an exceedingly willing, handy and good-tempered man, and my earlier prejudice against him melted away.
“I will keep you then, Jan Boom,” I said, after thinking the matter out for a few minutes.
“Nkose! There is only one thing I would ask,” he said, “and that is that you will tell me when three moons are dead whether you regret having kept me on or not.”
I thought the request strange, and laughed as I willingly gave him that promise. I still held to my theory that he had broken gaol somewhere or other, and had decided that he had now found a tolerably secure hiding-place; and if such were so, why from my point of interest that was all the better, if only that it would keep him on his best behaviour.
All the morning of the day following on my return I was busy enough, but by the early afternoon felt justified in starting to pay my first visit to the Sewins.
As I took my way down the bush path I had plenty of time for thought, and gave myself up to the pleasures of anticipation. Those last words: “You will come and see us directly you return. I shall look forward to it,” were ringing in a kind of melody in my mind, as my horse stepped briskly along. And now, what would my reception be? It must not be supposed that I had not thought, and thought a great deal, as to the future during the couple of months our trip had lasted. Hour after hour under the stars, I had lain awake thinking out everything. If all was as I hardly dared to hope, I would give up my present knockabout life, and take a good farm somewhere and settle down. If not—well I hardly cared to dwell upon that. Of Falkner in the light of any obstacle, strange to say I thought not at all.
From one point of the path where it rounded a spur the homestead became momentarily visible. Reining in I strained my eyes upon it, but it showed no sign of life—no flutter of light dresses about the stoep or garden. Well, it was early afternoon, hot and glowing. Likely enough no one would be willingly astir. Then a thought came that filled my mind with blank—if speculative—dismay. What if the family were away from home? The stillness about the place now took on a new aspect. Well, that sort of doubt could soon be set at rest one way or another, and I gave my horse a touch of the spur that sent him floundering down the steep and stony path with a snort of surprised indignation.
We had got on to the level now and the ground was soft and sandy. As we dived down into a dry drift something rushed at us from the other side with open-mouthed and threatening growl, which however subsided at once into a delighted whine. It was Arlo—and there on the bank above sat Arlo’s mistress.
She had a drawing block in her hand and a colour box beside her. Quickly she rose, and I could have sworn I saw a flush of pleasure steal over the beautiful face. I was off my horse in a twinkling. The tall, graceful form came easily forward to meet me.
“Welcome home,” she said, as our hands clasped. “I am so glad to see you again. And you have kept your promise indeed. Why we hardly expected you before to-morrow or the day after.”
“It was a great temptation to me to come over with Falkner yesterday,” I answered. “But, a man must not neglect his business.”
“Of course not. It is so good of you to have come now.”
“Good of me! I seem to remember that you would look forward to it—that last night I was here,” I answered, a bit thrown off my balance by the manner of her greeting. That “welcome home,” and the spontaneous heartiness of it, well it would be something to think about.
“Well, and that is just what I have been doing,” she answered gaily. “There! Now I hope you feel duly flattered.”
“I do indeed,” I answered gravely.
“And I am so glad we have met like this,” she continued, “because now we shall be able to have a good long talk. The others are all more or less asleep, but I didn’t feel lazy, so came down here to reduce that row of stiff euphorbia to paper. I have taken up my drawing again, and there are delightful little bits for water-colour all round here.”
The spot was as secluded and delightful as one could wish. The high bank and overhanging bushes gave ample shade, and opposite, with the scarlet blossoms of a Kafir bean for foreground, rose a small cliff, its brow fringed with the organ pipe stems of a line of euphorbia.
“Lie down, Arlo,” she enjoined. “What a fortunate thing it was you were able to recover him. I don’t know how to thank you.”
“Of course you don’t, because no question of thanking me comes in,” I said. “I would sooner have found him as we did, than make anything at all out of the trip, believe me.”
“And your trip was not a great success after all, Falkner tells us?”
“Oh we did well enough, though I have done better. But to return to Arlo. The mystery to me—to both of us—was how on earth he ever managed to let himself be stolen.”
“Ah. That dreadful witch doctor must have been at the bottom of it. I only know that one morning he—Arlo not Ukozi—had disappeared, and no inquiry of ours could get at the faintest trace of him. His disappearance, in fact, was as complete as that of that poor Mr Hensley.”
“Old Hensley hasn’t turned up again, then?” I said.
“No. Mr Kendrew is getting more and more easy in his mind. He’s a shocking boy, you know, and says he’s too honest to pretend to be sorry if he comes into a fine farm to end his days on,” she said, with a little smile, that somehow seemed to cast something of a damper on the delight of the present situation.
“Confound Kendrew,” I thought to myself. “Who the deuce wants to talk of Kendrew now?”
“Tell me, Mr Glanton,” she went on, after a slight pause. “You got my letter I know, because Falkner has told us how he got the one mother wrote him. Did you think me very weak and foolish for allowing myself to get frightened as I did?”
“You know I did not,” I answered, with quite unnecessary vehemence. “Why I was only too proud and flattered that you should have consulted me at all. But, of course it was all somewhat mysterious. Is Ukozi about here now?”
“We haven’t seen him for some days. Do you know, I can’t help connecting his non-appearance with your return in some way. He must have known you would soon be here. Father is quite irritable and angry about it. He says the witch doctor promised to let him into all sorts of things. Now he pronounces him an arrant humbug.”
“That’s the best sign of all,” I said, “and I hope he’ll continue of that opinion. When elderly gentlemen take up fads bearing upon the occult especially, why, it isn’t good for them. You don’t mind my saying this?”
“Mind? Of course I don’t mind. Why should I have bothered you with my silly fears and misgivings—at a time too when you had so much else to think about—if I were to take offence at what you said? And it seems so safe now that you are near us again.”
What was this? Again a sort of shadow seemed to come over our talk. Was it only on account of some imaginary protection my presence might afford that she had been so cordially and unfeignedly glad to welcome me?
“I think you may make your mind quite easy now,” I said. “This Ukozi had some end of his own to serve, possibly that of stealing the dog, which he knew he could trade for a good price in Zululand, and probably did. I suppose Falkner gave you a full, true and particular account of how we bested the precious specimen who claimed him.”
She laughed.
“Oh, he’s been bragging about that, and all your adventures—or rather his—up there, in quite his own style.”
“Well, there was nothing for either of us to brag about in the way we recovered Arlo,” I said. “If the King’s impi hadn’t happened along in the nick of time I own frankly we might never have been able to recover him at all. It was a hundred to one, you understand.”
Again she laughed, significantly, and I read into the laugh the fact that she did not quite accept Falkner’s narratives at precisely Falkner’s own valuation.
“How did Falkner behave himself?” she went on.
“Oh, he was all right. He was always spoiling for a fight and on one occasion he got it. I daresay he has told you about that.”
“Yes,” she said, with the same significant laugh. “He gave us a graphic account of it.”
“Well he has plenty of pluck and readiness, and a man might have many a worse companion in an emergency.”
“It’s nice of you to say that. I don’t believe he was a bit nice to you.”
“Oh, only a boy’s sulks,” I said airily. “Nothing to bother oneself about in that.”
“But was that all?” she rejoined, lifting her clear eyes to my face.
“Perhaps not,” I answered, then something in her glance moved me to add: “May I tell you then, what it was that caused our differences, who it was, rather?” And I put forth my hand.
“Yes,” she said, taking it. “Tell me.”
“It was yourself.”
“Myself?”
“Yes. Do you remember what you said that last evening I was here? I do. I’ve treasured every word of it since. You said I was to come and see you directly I returned, and that you would look forward to it.”
She nodded, smiling softly.
“Yes. And I have. And—what did you answer?”
“I answered that I would look forward to it every day until it came. And I have.”
“And is the result disappointing?”
“You know it is not.”
I have stated elsewhere that I seldom err in my reading of the human countenance, and now it seemed that all Paradise was opening before my eyes as I noticed a slight accession of colour to the beautiful face, a deepening of the tender smile which curved the beautiful lips. Then words poured forth in a torrent. What was I saying? For the life of me I could not tell, but one thing was certain. I was saying what I meant. Then again her hand reached forth to mine, and its pressure, while maddening me, told that whatever I was saying, it at any rate was not unacceptable when—
Arlo, who had been lying at our feet, sprang up and growled, then subsided immediately, wagging his tail and whining as he snuffed in the direction of the sound of approaching footsteps.
“Hallo, Glanton,” sung out a gruff voice. “You taking lessons in high art? They’re wondering where you’ve got to, Aïda. They’re going to have tea.”
“Well, tell them not to wait. I’ll be in directly when I’m ready.”
“Oh no. No hurry about that,” answered Falkner with an evil grin, flinging himself on the ground beside us, and proceeding leisurely to fill his pipe. “We’ll all stroll back together—eh, Glanton?”
I am ashamed to remember how I hated Falkner Sewin at that moment. Had he heard what I had been saying, or any part of it? But he had thrust his obnoxious presence between it and the answer, and that sort of opportunity does not readily recur, and if it does, why the repetition is apt to fall flat.
He lay there, maliciously watching me—watching us—and the expression of his face was not benevolent, although he grinned. He noted his cousin’s slight confusion, and delighted to add to it by keeping his glance fixed meaningly upon her face. Then he would look from the one to the other of us, and his grin would expand. There was a redeeming side to his disgust at the situation from his point of view. He was annoying us both—annoying us thoroughly—and he knew it.
She, for her part, showed no sign of it as she continued her painting serenely. Further exasperated, Falkner began teasing Arlo, and this had the effect of wearying Aïda of the situation. She got up and announced her intention of returning to the house.
And Falkner, walking on the other side of her, solaced himself with making objectionable remarks, in an objectionable tone, knowing well that the same stopped just short of anything one could by any possibility take up.
Chapter Twenty Four.“The Answer is—Yes.”Nothing could exceed the warmth and cordiality of the reception I experienced at the hands of the rest of the family. I might have been one of themselves so rejoiced they all seemed at having me in their midst again—all of course save Falkner. But among the feminine side of the house I thought to detect positive relief, as though my return had dispelled some shadowy and haunting apprehension. There was something about the old Major, however, that convinced me he was cherishing an idea in the back ground, an idea upon which he would invite my opinion at the earliest opportunity. And that opportunity came.“Let’s stroll down and look at the garden, Glanton,” he began, presently. “I want to show you what I’ve been doing while you were away.”And without giving anyone an opportunity of joining us, even if they had wanted to, he led the way forth.I listened as he expatiated upon the improvements he had been making, even as I had listened many a time before, but it struck me his explanations were a little incoherent, a little flurried, like the speech of a man who is not talking of that which lies uppermost in his mind. He continued thus until we had reached the furthest limit of the cultivated ground, where a high bush fence shut this off from possible depredations on the part of bucks or other nocturnal marauders. It was a secluded spot, and there was no sign of any of the others intending to join us.“Try one of these cigars, Glanton,” he began, tendering his case. Then, after one final look round to make sure we were not only alone, but likely to remain so, he went on: “Let’s sit down here and have a quiet smoke. There’s something I want to get your opinion about. You know this witch doctor chap, Ukozi?”“Of course I do. What has he been up to?”“Up to? Oh, nothing. But the fact is I have taken a liking to the fellow. He interests me. He’s been showing me some queer things of late—yes, devilish queer things. And he’s promised to show me some more.”“What sort of queer things, Major?” I struck in.“All sorts. Well, the finding of Aïda’s lost coin was a queer enough thing in itself. Now wasn’t it?”“Yes. But—it’s mere conjuring. You’d probably be surprised to know how the trick was done.”“No doubt. But—do you know?” This somewhat eagerly.“No, I don’t. I doubt though, whether it’s worth knowing. Well, Major, you’ve got bitten with a sort of inclination towards occultism, and Ukozi comes in handy as a means of showing you a thing or two. Isn’t that it?”“Well yes. But—Glanton, I seem to have heard you admit that these fellows can do a good deal. Yet, now you make light of this one?”“To speak frankly, Major, I think the less you have to do with him, or any of his kidney, the better. By the way, how the dickens do you manage to talk to him? Have you learnt?”“Oh, I work that through Ivondwe. That’s a treasure you’ve found for us, Glanton. Yes sir, a real treasure. He takes all the bother and anxiety of the place clean off my hands.”“That’s good,” I said. But at the same time I was not at all sure that it was. I recalled to mind what Aïda had said in her letter with regard to “an influence” under which they seemed to be drawn, this old man especially. No, it was not good that he should be on such terms with natives, and one of them his own servant. For the first time I began to distrust Ivondwe, though as yet I was groping entirely in the dark. For one thing, I could see no adequate motive. Motive is everything, bearing in mind what an essentially practical animal your savage invariably is; and here there was none.“Well?” said the Major expectantly, impatient under my silence. The truth was I found myself in something of a quandary. Old gentlemen—notably those of the Anglo-Indian persuasion—were, I knew, prone to exceeding impatience under criticism of their latest fad, and for reasons which scarcely need guessing never was there a time when I felt less inclined to incur the resentment of this one.“I can only repeat what I said before, Major?” I answered. “Candidly I think you’d better leave Ukozi, and his occultism, alone.”“But it interests me, man. I tell you it interests me. Why shouldn’t I be allowed to make interesting investigations if I have a mind to? Answer me that.”“Look here,” I said. “I know these people, Major, and you don’t. I have a good many ‘eyes and ears’—as they would put it—scattered about among them, and I’ll try and find out what Ukozi’s game is. He hasn’t started in to fleece you any, you say?”“No. That he certainly hasn’t.”“All the more reason why he needs looking after. Well now don’t you have anything more to say to him, at any rate until you hear from me again.”“He won’t give me the chance. I haven’t seen him for quite a long time. He’s never been away for so long a time before.”In my own mind I could not but connect Ukozi’s sudden absenteeism in some way with my return.“Here come the others,” went on the Major. “And Glanton,” he added hurriedly, “don’t let on to the women about what I’ve been telling you, there’s a good fellow.”I was rather glad to be spared the necessity of making or avoiding any promise. It was near sundown, and as they joined us for a stroll in the cool of the evening I thought to catch a significant flash in Aïda’s eyes, as though she were fully aware of the burden of her father’s conversation with me. Falkner was away at the kraals, for it was counting in time, and I for one did not regret his absence.Yes, it was a ray of Paradise that sunset glow, as we walked among the flowers in the dew of the evening, for although we two were not alone together yet there was a sweet subtle understanding between us which was infinitely restful. Falkner’s interruption, however unwelcome, had not been altogether inopportune, for it had occurred too late; too late, that is, to prevent a very real understanding, though precluding anything more definite. That would come with the next opportunity.“The usual storm,” remarked Mrs Sewin, looking up, as a low, heavy boom sounded from a black pile of cloud beyond the river valley. “We get one nearly every day now, and, oh dear, I never can get used to them, especially at night.”“Pooh!” said the Major. “There’s no harm in them, and we’ve got two new conductors on the house. We’re right as trivets, eh, Glanton?”“Absolutely, I should say,” I answered. We had completed our stroll and had just returned to the house. It would soon be dinner time and already was almost dark.We were very merry that evening I remember. The Major, glad of someone else to talk to, was full of jokes and reminiscences, while I, happy in the consciousness of the presence beside me, joined heartily in the old man’s mirth, and we were all talking and laughing round the table as we had never talked and laughed before. Only Falkner was sulky, and said nothing; which was rather an advantage, for his remarks would certainly have been objectionable had he made any. Then suddenly in the middle of some comic anecdote, came a crash which seemed to shake the house to its very foundations, setting all the glasses and crockery on the table rattling. Mrs Sewin uttered a little scream.“Mercy! We’re struck!” she gasped.“Not we,” returned the Major. “But that was a blazer, by Jingo!”“Pretty near,” growled Falkner.“Oh, it’s horrid,” said Mrs Sewin, “and there’s no getting away from it.”“No, there isn’t,” I said. “If you were in London now you might get away from it by burrowing underground. I knew a man there whose wife was so mortally scared of thunder and lightning that whenever a storm became imminent she used to make him take her all round the Inner Circle. She could neither see nor hear anything of it in the Underground train.”“That was ingenious. Did you invent that story, Mr Glanton?” said Edith Sewin, mischievously.Another crash drowned the laugh that followed, and upon the ensuing silence, a strange hollow roar was audible.“The river’s down, by Jove!” growled Falkner.“No. It isn’t the river. It’s a tremendously heavy rain shower,” I said, listening.“Let’s go outside and see what it looks like,” he went on pushing back his chair.We had done dinner, and this proposal seemed to find favour, for a move was made accordingly. We went out we four, for Mrs Sewin was afraid to stir and the Major remained in with her. Nearer and nearer the roar of the rain cloud approached, though as yet not a drop had fallen over us. Again the blue lightning leaped forth, simultaneously with another appalling crash, cutting short a wrangle which had got up between Falkner and Edith Sewin, and ending it in a little squeal on the part of the latter. But already I had seized my opportunity, under cover of the racket.“That question I was asking you to-day when we were interrupted,” I whispered to my companion. “It was not answered.”Then came the flash. In the blue gleam, bright as noon-day, I could see the beautiful, clear cut face turned upwards, as though watching the effect, with calm serenity. Through the thunder roar that followed I could still catch the words.“The answer is—Yes. Will that satisfy you?”And a hand found mine in a momentary pressure.Thus amid black darkness and lightning and storm our troth was plighted. An ill omen? I thought not. On the contrary, it seemed appropriate to my case; for in it much of a hard but healthy life had been passed amid rude exposure to the elements, and that I should have secured the happiness—the great happiness—of my life amid the battling forces of the said elements seemed not unfitting.The vast rain cloud went whooping along the river-bed, gleaming in starry sparkle as the lightning beams stabbed it, but not a drop fell upon us. The storm had passed us by.
Nothing could exceed the warmth and cordiality of the reception I experienced at the hands of the rest of the family. I might have been one of themselves so rejoiced they all seemed at having me in their midst again—all of course save Falkner. But among the feminine side of the house I thought to detect positive relief, as though my return had dispelled some shadowy and haunting apprehension. There was something about the old Major, however, that convinced me he was cherishing an idea in the back ground, an idea upon which he would invite my opinion at the earliest opportunity. And that opportunity came.
“Let’s stroll down and look at the garden, Glanton,” he began, presently. “I want to show you what I’ve been doing while you were away.”
And without giving anyone an opportunity of joining us, even if they had wanted to, he led the way forth.
I listened as he expatiated upon the improvements he had been making, even as I had listened many a time before, but it struck me his explanations were a little incoherent, a little flurried, like the speech of a man who is not talking of that which lies uppermost in his mind. He continued thus until we had reached the furthest limit of the cultivated ground, where a high bush fence shut this off from possible depredations on the part of bucks or other nocturnal marauders. It was a secluded spot, and there was no sign of any of the others intending to join us.
“Try one of these cigars, Glanton,” he began, tendering his case. Then, after one final look round to make sure we were not only alone, but likely to remain so, he went on: “Let’s sit down here and have a quiet smoke. There’s something I want to get your opinion about. You know this witch doctor chap, Ukozi?”
“Of course I do. What has he been up to?”
“Up to? Oh, nothing. But the fact is I have taken a liking to the fellow. He interests me. He’s been showing me some queer things of late—yes, devilish queer things. And he’s promised to show me some more.”
“What sort of queer things, Major?” I struck in.
“All sorts. Well, the finding of Aïda’s lost coin was a queer enough thing in itself. Now wasn’t it?”
“Yes. But—it’s mere conjuring. You’d probably be surprised to know how the trick was done.”
“No doubt. But—do you know?” This somewhat eagerly.
“No, I don’t. I doubt though, whether it’s worth knowing. Well, Major, you’ve got bitten with a sort of inclination towards occultism, and Ukozi comes in handy as a means of showing you a thing or two. Isn’t that it?”
“Well yes. But—Glanton, I seem to have heard you admit that these fellows can do a good deal. Yet, now you make light of this one?”
“To speak frankly, Major, I think the less you have to do with him, or any of his kidney, the better. By the way, how the dickens do you manage to talk to him? Have you learnt?”
“Oh, I work that through Ivondwe. That’s a treasure you’ve found for us, Glanton. Yes sir, a real treasure. He takes all the bother and anxiety of the place clean off my hands.”
“That’s good,” I said. But at the same time I was not at all sure that it was. I recalled to mind what Aïda had said in her letter with regard to “an influence” under which they seemed to be drawn, this old man especially. No, it was not good that he should be on such terms with natives, and one of them his own servant. For the first time I began to distrust Ivondwe, though as yet I was groping entirely in the dark. For one thing, I could see no adequate motive. Motive is everything, bearing in mind what an essentially practical animal your savage invariably is; and here there was none.
“Well?” said the Major expectantly, impatient under my silence. The truth was I found myself in something of a quandary. Old gentlemen—notably those of the Anglo-Indian persuasion—were, I knew, prone to exceeding impatience under criticism of their latest fad, and for reasons which scarcely need guessing never was there a time when I felt less inclined to incur the resentment of this one.
“I can only repeat what I said before, Major?” I answered. “Candidly I think you’d better leave Ukozi, and his occultism, alone.”
“But it interests me, man. I tell you it interests me. Why shouldn’t I be allowed to make interesting investigations if I have a mind to? Answer me that.”
“Look here,” I said. “I know these people, Major, and you don’t. I have a good many ‘eyes and ears’—as they would put it—scattered about among them, and I’ll try and find out what Ukozi’s game is. He hasn’t started in to fleece you any, you say?”
“No. That he certainly hasn’t.”
“All the more reason why he needs looking after. Well now don’t you have anything more to say to him, at any rate until you hear from me again.”
“He won’t give me the chance. I haven’t seen him for quite a long time. He’s never been away for so long a time before.”
In my own mind I could not but connect Ukozi’s sudden absenteeism in some way with my return.
“Here come the others,” went on the Major. “And Glanton,” he added hurriedly, “don’t let on to the women about what I’ve been telling you, there’s a good fellow.”
I was rather glad to be spared the necessity of making or avoiding any promise. It was near sundown, and as they joined us for a stroll in the cool of the evening I thought to catch a significant flash in Aïda’s eyes, as though she were fully aware of the burden of her father’s conversation with me. Falkner was away at the kraals, for it was counting in time, and I for one did not regret his absence.
Yes, it was a ray of Paradise that sunset glow, as we walked among the flowers in the dew of the evening, for although we two were not alone together yet there was a sweet subtle understanding between us which was infinitely restful. Falkner’s interruption, however unwelcome, had not been altogether inopportune, for it had occurred too late; too late, that is, to prevent a very real understanding, though precluding anything more definite. That would come with the next opportunity.
“The usual storm,” remarked Mrs Sewin, looking up, as a low, heavy boom sounded from a black pile of cloud beyond the river valley. “We get one nearly every day now, and, oh dear, I never can get used to them, especially at night.”
“Pooh!” said the Major. “There’s no harm in them, and we’ve got two new conductors on the house. We’re right as trivets, eh, Glanton?”
“Absolutely, I should say,” I answered. We had completed our stroll and had just returned to the house. It would soon be dinner time and already was almost dark.
We were very merry that evening I remember. The Major, glad of someone else to talk to, was full of jokes and reminiscences, while I, happy in the consciousness of the presence beside me, joined heartily in the old man’s mirth, and we were all talking and laughing round the table as we had never talked and laughed before. Only Falkner was sulky, and said nothing; which was rather an advantage, for his remarks would certainly have been objectionable had he made any. Then suddenly in the middle of some comic anecdote, came a crash which seemed to shake the house to its very foundations, setting all the glasses and crockery on the table rattling. Mrs Sewin uttered a little scream.
“Mercy! We’re struck!” she gasped.
“Not we,” returned the Major. “But that was a blazer, by Jingo!”
“Pretty near,” growled Falkner.
“Oh, it’s horrid,” said Mrs Sewin, “and there’s no getting away from it.”
“No, there isn’t,” I said. “If you were in London now you might get away from it by burrowing underground. I knew a man there whose wife was so mortally scared of thunder and lightning that whenever a storm became imminent she used to make him take her all round the Inner Circle. She could neither see nor hear anything of it in the Underground train.”
“That was ingenious. Did you invent that story, Mr Glanton?” said Edith Sewin, mischievously.
Another crash drowned the laugh that followed, and upon the ensuing silence, a strange hollow roar was audible.
“The river’s down, by Jove!” growled Falkner.
“No. It isn’t the river. It’s a tremendously heavy rain shower,” I said, listening.
“Let’s go outside and see what it looks like,” he went on pushing back his chair.
We had done dinner, and this proposal seemed to find favour, for a move was made accordingly. We went out we four, for Mrs Sewin was afraid to stir and the Major remained in with her. Nearer and nearer the roar of the rain cloud approached, though as yet not a drop had fallen over us. Again the blue lightning leaped forth, simultaneously with another appalling crash, cutting short a wrangle which had got up between Falkner and Edith Sewin, and ending it in a little squeal on the part of the latter. But already I had seized my opportunity, under cover of the racket.
“That question I was asking you to-day when we were interrupted,” I whispered to my companion. “It was not answered.”
Then came the flash. In the blue gleam, bright as noon-day, I could see the beautiful, clear cut face turned upwards, as though watching the effect, with calm serenity. Through the thunder roar that followed I could still catch the words.
“The answer is—Yes. Will that satisfy you?”
And a hand found mine in a momentary pressure.
Thus amid black darkness and lightning and storm our troth was plighted. An ill omen? I thought not. On the contrary, it seemed appropriate to my case; for in it much of a hard but healthy life had been passed amid rude exposure to the elements, and that I should have secured the happiness—the great happiness—of my life amid the battling forces of the said elements seemed not unfitting.
The vast rain cloud went whooping along the river-bed, gleaming in starry sparkle as the lightning beams stabbed it, but not a drop fell upon us. The storm had passed us by.
Chapter Twenty Five.The Witch Doctor Again.From the moment that Aïda Sewin and I had become engaged life was, to me, almost too good to live. As I have said, I was no longer young, and now it seemed to me that my life up till now had been wasted, and yet not, for I could not but feel intensely thankful that I had kept it for her. I might have been “caught young,” and have made the utter mess of life in consequence that I had seen in the case of many of my contemporaries, but I had not, and so was free to drink to the full of this new found cup of happiness. And full it was, and running over.Of course I didn’t intend to remain on at Isipanga. The trading and knockabout days were over now. I would buy a good farm and settle down, and this resolve met with Aïda’s entire approval. She had no more taste for a town life than I had myself. The only thing she hoped was that I should find such a place not too far from her people.“The fact is I don’t know how they’ll ever get on without you,” she said one day when we were talking things over. “They are getting old, you see, and Falkner isn’t of much use, between ourselves. I doubt if he ever will be.”This made me laugh, remembering Falkner’s aspirations and the cocksure way in which he had “warned me off” that night in Majendwa’s country. But I was as willing to consider her wishes in this matter, as I was in every other.Falkner had accepted the situation, well—much as I should have expected him to, in that he had sulked, and made himself intensely disagreeable for quite a long time. I was sorry for him, but not so much as I might have been, for I felt sure that it was his conceit which had received the wound rather than his feelings. Which sounds ill natured.Tyingoza was not particularly elated when I broke the news of my intended departure.“So you are going to build a new hut at last, Iqalaqala,” he said, with a chuckle.“I am, but not here.”“Not here?”“No. I am going to leave trading, and raise cattle instead.”“The people will be sorry, Iqalaqala, for we have been friends.Au! is it not ever so in life? You hold a man by the hand, and lo, a woman takes hold of his other hand, and—he holds yours no more.”“But in this case we still hold each other by the hand, Tyingoza,” I said. “For I am not going into another country nor does the whole world lie between Isipanga and where I shall be.”“The people will be sorry,” he repeated.It was not long before Kendrew found his way over.“Heard you were back, Glanton,” he said. “Well and how did you get on with Sewin up-country?”“Middling. He has his uses, and—he hasn’t.”“Well, I shouldn’t find any use for him for long. It’s all I can do to stand that dashed commandeering way of his, and ‘haw-haw’ swagger, as it is. Been down there since you got back? But of course you have,” he added with a knowing laugh. “I say though, but doesn’t it seem a sin to bury two splendid looking girls in an out-of-the-way place like this?”“Don’t know about that. At any rate I propose to bury one of them in just such an out-of-the-way place,” I answered. “I believe it’s the thing to offer congratulations on these occasions, so congratulate away, Kendrew. I’ll try and take it calmly.”“Eh—what the dev— Oh I say, Glanton—You don’t mean—?”“Yes, I do mean. Compose yourself, Kendrew. You look kind of startled.”“Which of them is it?”“Guess,” I said, on mischief intent, for I detected a note of eagerness in his tone and drew my own conclusions.“The eldest of course?”“Right,” I answered after a moment of hesitation intended to tease him a little longer.“Why then, I do congratulate you, old chap,” he said with a heartiness in which I thought his own relief found vent. “I say though. You haven’t lost much time about it.”“No? Well you must allow for the hastiness of youth.”And then he fired off a lot more good wishes, and soon suggested we should ride over to the Sewins together as he was so near. And reading his motive I sympathised with him and agreed.Two months had gone by since my engagement to Aïda Sewin and they had gone by without a cloud. If I were to say that a larger proportion of them was spent by me at her father’s place than at my own, decidedly I should not be exaggerating. But we learnt to know each other very thoroughly in that time, and the more I learnt to know her the more did I marvel what I had done to deserve one hundredth part of the happiness that henceforth was to irradiate my life. Truly our sky was without a cloud.I had found a farm that seemed likely to suit me. It was now only a question of price, and the owner was more than likely to come down to mine. The place was distant by only a few hours’ easy ride, and that was a consideration.“Everything seems to favour us,” Aïda said. “You know, dear, it is such a relief to me to know that we need not be far away from the old people after all. I would of course go to the other ends of the earth with you if necessity required it, but at the same time I am deeply thankful it does not. And then, you know, you needn’t be afraid of any of the ‘relations-in-law’ bugbear; because they look up to you so. In fact we have come to look upon you as a sort of Providence. While you were away, if anything went wrong, father would fume a bit and always end by saying: ‘I wish to Heaven Glanton was back. It would be all right if Glanton were here!’ mother, too, would say much the same. So you see you will have very amenable relations-in-law after all.”“Oh, I’m not afraid of that in the least,” I answered. “As a matter of fact, as you know, I don’t think your father was at all well advised in coming out here to set up farming at his age and with his temperament. But now he is here we must pull him through, and we’ll do it all right, never fear. But Aïda, if it was a wrong move on his part think what it has resulted in for me.”“And for me,” she said softly.I have set out in this narrative deliberately to spare the reader detailed accounts of love passages between myself and this beautiful and peerless woman whose love I had so strangely won; for I hold that such are very far too sacred to be imparted to a third person, or put down in black and white for the benefit of the world at large. Suffice it that the most exacting under the circumstances could have had no reason to complain of any lack of tenderness on her part—ah, no indeed!This conversation took place during a long walk which we had been taking. Aïda was fond of walking, and, except for long distances, preferred it to riding; wherein again our tastes coincided. She was observant too and keenly fond of Nature; plants, insects, birds, everything interested her; and if she saw anything she wanted to look at she could do it far better, she said, on foot than on horseback. So we had taken to walking a good deal. This afternoon we had been to a certain point on the river which she had wanted to sketch, and now were returning leisurely through the bush, picking our way along cattle or game paths. Arlo, for once, was not with us. Falkner had taken him in the other direction. He wanted to train him as a hunting dog, he said, and now he had gone after a bush-buck.The glory of the slanting sun rays swept wide and golden over the broad river valley as the sinking disc touched the green gold line of the further ridge, then sank beneath it, leaving the sweep of bush-clad mound and lower lying level first lividly clear, then indistinct in the purple afterglow. Birds had ceased to pipe farewell to the last light of falling day, and here and there along the river bank a jackal was shrilly baying. But if the light of day had failed, with it another lamp had been lighted in the shape of a broad moon approaching its full, its globe reddening into an increasing glow with the twilight darkening of the sky.“We shall pass by the waterhole,” I said. “You are not afraid.”“Afraid? With you? But it is an uncanny place. We have rather avoided it since that time we first saw that weird thing in it. But we have been there since in the daytime with Falkner, and father, and whatever the thing may have been we have never seen it since.”“Well, we’ll have a look at it in this grand moonlight. Perhaps the bogey may condescend to appear again.”“Hark!” exclaimed Aïda suddenly. “What is that?” Then listening—“Why, it’s a lamb or a kid that must have strayed or been left out.”A shrill bleat came to our ears—came from the bush on the further side of the hole to us, but still a little way beyond it.“Couldn’t we manage to catch it?” she went on. “It’ll be eaten by the jackals, poor little thing.”“Instead of by us,” I laughed. “Well, it doesn’t make much difference to it though it does to its owner. Wait—Don’t speak,” I added in a whisper, for my ears had caught a sound which hers had missed.We stood motionless. We were on high ground not much more than twenty yards above the pool, every part of which we could see as it lay, its placid surface showing like a dull, lack-lustre eye in the moonlight. In the gloom of the bush we were completely hidden, but through the sprays we could see everything that might take place.Again the bleat went forth shrilly, this time much nearer. But—it ceased suddenly, as if it had been choked off in the middle.A dark figure stood beside the pool, on the very brink, the figure of a man—a native—and in his hands he held something white—something that struggled. It was a half-bred Angora kid—the little animal whose bleat we had heard. I could see the glint of the man’s head-ring in the moonlight; then for a moment, as he turned it upward, I could see his face, and it was that of Ukozi, the one-eyed witch doctor. An increased pressure on my arm told that my companion had seen it too. I dared not speak, for I was curious to see what he was about to do. I could only motion her to preserve the strictest silence.The witch doctor stood waving the kid—held in both hands by the fore and hind feet—high over his head, and chanting a deep-toned incantation; yet in such “dark” phraseology was this couched that even I couldn’t make head or tail of it. It seemed to call upon some “Spirit of the Dew” whatever that might be, and was so wrapped up in “dark” talk as to be unintelligible failing a key. Then, as we looked, there arose a splashing sound. The surface of the pool was disturbed. A sinuous undulation ran through it in a wavy line, right across the pool, and then—and then—a mighty length rose glistening from the water, culminating in a hideous head whose grisly snout and sunken eye were those of the python species. This horror glided straight across to where the witch doctor stood, and as it reached him its widely-opened jaws seemed to champ down upon his head. Not upon it, however, did they close, but upon the body of the white kid which he had deftly placed there, quickly springing back at the same time. Then it turned, and as it glided back, the wretched little animal kicking and bleating frantically in its jaws, it seemed as if the hideous brute were rushing straight for us. Aïda’s face was white as death, and I had to repress in her a panic longing to turn and fly. My firm touch however sufficed to calm her, and we crouched motionless, watching Ukozi on the further side. The serpent had disappeared from our view.The whole thing was horrible and eerie to a degree. The witch doctor now was in a species of frenzy, walking up and down, with a half-dancing movement, as he called out, thick and fast, thesibongoof the serpent. It was a nasty, uncanny, heathenish performance, and revolted me; although through it there shone one redeeming—even humorous—side. We had sat and watched it while Ukozi was blissfully ignorant of our presence. He, the great witch doctor, had no inspiration or inkling that he was being watched! One day I would twit him with it.Not long, however, did he stay there, and on Aïda’s account I was glad to see the last of him. Had I been alone I might have gone after him and asked the meaning of the performance. As it was, she had better forget it. For a time we sat there in the dead silence of the moonlight.“What does it mean?” she whispered, when we had allowed Ukozi sufficient time to make himself scarce.“Oh, some Mumbo Jumbo arrangement all his own,” I answered. “Well that certainly is a whacking big python—the very biggest I’ve ever seen. If I had anything in the shape of a gun I’d be inclined to try and sneak the brute wherever he’s lying.”“Wouldn’t it be in the water then?”“No. Lying up somewhere under the banks. In hot weather they’re fond of lying in a waterhole, but on a cool night like this—not. I must come and stalk the brute another night though; and yet, do you know, it seems strange, but I don’t like interfering with anything that bears a sort of religious significance to anybody. And the snake does come in that way with Zulus.”She thought a moment. Then:“You remember, dear, how I told you that one of the things this man was going to show father was the mystery of the waterhole. Now supposing that horror had suddenly seized him?”An uncomfortable wave swept through me. The fact is that no white man, however well he is known to natives, ever gets really to the bottom of the darker mysteries of their superstitions, which indeed remain utterly unsuspected in most cases, so well are they concealed. Who could say what might underlie this one! However I answered:“I don’t think there would have been danger of that sort. Ukozi would have shown him the performance we have witnessed, as something very wonderful. As a matter of fact it isn’t wonderful at all, in that it resolves itself into a mere question of snake charming. Ukozi has half trained this brute by feeding it periodically as we have seen. That’s all. Hallo!”Well might I feel amazement, but the exclamation had escaped me involuntarily. We had come round the pool now, and here, very near the spot whereon Ukozi had gone through his strange performance—instinctively we had kept a little back from the water—an odour struck upon my nostrils, and it was the same sickly overpowering effluvium that had filled the air when my horse had refused to proceed on that memorable night I had intended to ride back from Kendrew’s.“What is it?” exclaimed Aïda, with a start.“Nothing. Nothing at all. I’ve frightened you, and you are a little wound up already by that uncanny performance,” I answered.“Frightened? No. I don’t believe I could be that when I’m with you. I always feel so safe. Otherwise it would seem strange that this witch doctor whom we have not seen for so long, and in fact whom we thought had left this part of the country, should have been here right in our midst all the time.”“He may not have been. He may only just have returned,” I said. “Worthies of his profession are inclined to be somewhat sporadic in their movements. Meanwhile if I were you, I wouldn’t say anything about what we’ve just seen until I’ve had time to make a few inquiries.”She promised, of course, and as we took our way homeward in the splendour of the clear African night we thought no more of the uncanny episode we had just witnessed, except as something out of the common which had lent an element of unexpected excitement to our walk.
From the moment that Aïda Sewin and I had become engaged life was, to me, almost too good to live. As I have said, I was no longer young, and now it seemed to me that my life up till now had been wasted, and yet not, for I could not but feel intensely thankful that I had kept it for her. I might have been “caught young,” and have made the utter mess of life in consequence that I had seen in the case of many of my contemporaries, but I had not, and so was free to drink to the full of this new found cup of happiness. And full it was, and running over.
Of course I didn’t intend to remain on at Isipanga. The trading and knockabout days were over now. I would buy a good farm and settle down, and this resolve met with Aïda’s entire approval. She had no more taste for a town life than I had myself. The only thing she hoped was that I should find such a place not too far from her people.
“The fact is I don’t know how they’ll ever get on without you,” she said one day when we were talking things over. “They are getting old, you see, and Falkner isn’t of much use, between ourselves. I doubt if he ever will be.”
This made me laugh, remembering Falkner’s aspirations and the cocksure way in which he had “warned me off” that night in Majendwa’s country. But I was as willing to consider her wishes in this matter, as I was in every other.
Falkner had accepted the situation, well—much as I should have expected him to, in that he had sulked, and made himself intensely disagreeable for quite a long time. I was sorry for him, but not so much as I might have been, for I felt sure that it was his conceit which had received the wound rather than his feelings. Which sounds ill natured.
Tyingoza was not particularly elated when I broke the news of my intended departure.
“So you are going to build a new hut at last, Iqalaqala,” he said, with a chuckle.
“I am, but not here.”
“Not here?”
“No. I am going to leave trading, and raise cattle instead.”
“The people will be sorry, Iqalaqala, for we have been friends.Au! is it not ever so in life? You hold a man by the hand, and lo, a woman takes hold of his other hand, and—he holds yours no more.”
“But in this case we still hold each other by the hand, Tyingoza,” I said. “For I am not going into another country nor does the whole world lie between Isipanga and where I shall be.”
“The people will be sorry,” he repeated.
It was not long before Kendrew found his way over.
“Heard you were back, Glanton,” he said. “Well and how did you get on with Sewin up-country?”
“Middling. He has his uses, and—he hasn’t.”
“Well, I shouldn’t find any use for him for long. It’s all I can do to stand that dashed commandeering way of his, and ‘haw-haw’ swagger, as it is. Been down there since you got back? But of course you have,” he added with a knowing laugh. “I say though, but doesn’t it seem a sin to bury two splendid looking girls in an out-of-the-way place like this?”
“Don’t know about that. At any rate I propose to bury one of them in just such an out-of-the-way place,” I answered. “I believe it’s the thing to offer congratulations on these occasions, so congratulate away, Kendrew. I’ll try and take it calmly.”
“Eh—what the dev— Oh I say, Glanton—You don’t mean—?”
“Yes, I do mean. Compose yourself, Kendrew. You look kind of startled.”
“Which of them is it?”
“Guess,” I said, on mischief intent, for I detected a note of eagerness in his tone and drew my own conclusions.
“The eldest of course?”
“Right,” I answered after a moment of hesitation intended to tease him a little longer.
“Why then, I do congratulate you, old chap,” he said with a heartiness in which I thought his own relief found vent. “I say though. You haven’t lost much time about it.”
“No? Well you must allow for the hastiness of youth.”
And then he fired off a lot more good wishes, and soon suggested we should ride over to the Sewins together as he was so near. And reading his motive I sympathised with him and agreed.
Two months had gone by since my engagement to Aïda Sewin and they had gone by without a cloud. If I were to say that a larger proportion of them was spent by me at her father’s place than at my own, decidedly I should not be exaggerating. But we learnt to know each other very thoroughly in that time, and the more I learnt to know her the more did I marvel what I had done to deserve one hundredth part of the happiness that henceforth was to irradiate my life. Truly our sky was without a cloud.
I had found a farm that seemed likely to suit me. It was now only a question of price, and the owner was more than likely to come down to mine. The place was distant by only a few hours’ easy ride, and that was a consideration.
“Everything seems to favour us,” Aïda said. “You know, dear, it is such a relief to me to know that we need not be far away from the old people after all. I would of course go to the other ends of the earth with you if necessity required it, but at the same time I am deeply thankful it does not. And then, you know, you needn’t be afraid of any of the ‘relations-in-law’ bugbear; because they look up to you so. In fact we have come to look upon you as a sort of Providence. While you were away, if anything went wrong, father would fume a bit and always end by saying: ‘I wish to Heaven Glanton was back. It would be all right if Glanton were here!’ mother, too, would say much the same. So you see you will have very amenable relations-in-law after all.”
“Oh, I’m not afraid of that in the least,” I answered. “As a matter of fact, as you know, I don’t think your father was at all well advised in coming out here to set up farming at his age and with his temperament. But now he is here we must pull him through, and we’ll do it all right, never fear. But Aïda, if it was a wrong move on his part think what it has resulted in for me.”
“And for me,” she said softly.
I have set out in this narrative deliberately to spare the reader detailed accounts of love passages between myself and this beautiful and peerless woman whose love I had so strangely won; for I hold that such are very far too sacred to be imparted to a third person, or put down in black and white for the benefit of the world at large. Suffice it that the most exacting under the circumstances could have had no reason to complain of any lack of tenderness on her part—ah, no indeed!
This conversation took place during a long walk which we had been taking. Aïda was fond of walking, and, except for long distances, preferred it to riding; wherein again our tastes coincided. She was observant too and keenly fond of Nature; plants, insects, birds, everything interested her; and if she saw anything she wanted to look at she could do it far better, she said, on foot than on horseback. So we had taken to walking a good deal. This afternoon we had been to a certain point on the river which she had wanted to sketch, and now were returning leisurely through the bush, picking our way along cattle or game paths. Arlo, for once, was not with us. Falkner had taken him in the other direction. He wanted to train him as a hunting dog, he said, and now he had gone after a bush-buck.
The glory of the slanting sun rays swept wide and golden over the broad river valley as the sinking disc touched the green gold line of the further ridge, then sank beneath it, leaving the sweep of bush-clad mound and lower lying level first lividly clear, then indistinct in the purple afterglow. Birds had ceased to pipe farewell to the last light of falling day, and here and there along the river bank a jackal was shrilly baying. But if the light of day had failed, with it another lamp had been lighted in the shape of a broad moon approaching its full, its globe reddening into an increasing glow with the twilight darkening of the sky.
“We shall pass by the waterhole,” I said. “You are not afraid.”
“Afraid? With you? But it is an uncanny place. We have rather avoided it since that time we first saw that weird thing in it. But we have been there since in the daytime with Falkner, and father, and whatever the thing may have been we have never seen it since.”
“Well, we’ll have a look at it in this grand moonlight. Perhaps the bogey may condescend to appear again.”
“Hark!” exclaimed Aïda suddenly. “What is that?” Then listening—“Why, it’s a lamb or a kid that must have strayed or been left out.”
A shrill bleat came to our ears—came from the bush on the further side of the hole to us, but still a little way beyond it.
“Couldn’t we manage to catch it?” she went on. “It’ll be eaten by the jackals, poor little thing.”
“Instead of by us,” I laughed. “Well, it doesn’t make much difference to it though it does to its owner. Wait—Don’t speak,” I added in a whisper, for my ears had caught a sound which hers had missed.
We stood motionless. We were on high ground not much more than twenty yards above the pool, every part of which we could see as it lay, its placid surface showing like a dull, lack-lustre eye in the moonlight. In the gloom of the bush we were completely hidden, but through the sprays we could see everything that might take place.
Again the bleat went forth shrilly, this time much nearer. But—it ceased suddenly, as if it had been choked off in the middle.
A dark figure stood beside the pool, on the very brink, the figure of a man—a native—and in his hands he held something white—something that struggled. It was a half-bred Angora kid—the little animal whose bleat we had heard. I could see the glint of the man’s head-ring in the moonlight; then for a moment, as he turned it upward, I could see his face, and it was that of Ukozi, the one-eyed witch doctor. An increased pressure on my arm told that my companion had seen it too. I dared not speak, for I was curious to see what he was about to do. I could only motion her to preserve the strictest silence.
The witch doctor stood waving the kid—held in both hands by the fore and hind feet—high over his head, and chanting a deep-toned incantation; yet in such “dark” phraseology was this couched that even I couldn’t make head or tail of it. It seemed to call upon some “Spirit of the Dew” whatever that might be, and was so wrapped up in “dark” talk as to be unintelligible failing a key. Then, as we looked, there arose a splashing sound. The surface of the pool was disturbed. A sinuous undulation ran through it in a wavy line, right across the pool, and then—and then—a mighty length rose glistening from the water, culminating in a hideous head whose grisly snout and sunken eye were those of the python species. This horror glided straight across to where the witch doctor stood, and as it reached him its widely-opened jaws seemed to champ down upon his head. Not upon it, however, did they close, but upon the body of the white kid which he had deftly placed there, quickly springing back at the same time. Then it turned, and as it glided back, the wretched little animal kicking and bleating frantically in its jaws, it seemed as if the hideous brute were rushing straight for us. Aïda’s face was white as death, and I had to repress in her a panic longing to turn and fly. My firm touch however sufficed to calm her, and we crouched motionless, watching Ukozi on the further side. The serpent had disappeared from our view.
The whole thing was horrible and eerie to a degree. The witch doctor now was in a species of frenzy, walking up and down, with a half-dancing movement, as he called out, thick and fast, thesibongoof the serpent. It was a nasty, uncanny, heathenish performance, and revolted me; although through it there shone one redeeming—even humorous—side. We had sat and watched it while Ukozi was blissfully ignorant of our presence. He, the great witch doctor, had no inspiration or inkling that he was being watched! One day I would twit him with it.
Not long, however, did he stay there, and on Aïda’s account I was glad to see the last of him. Had I been alone I might have gone after him and asked the meaning of the performance. As it was, she had better forget it. For a time we sat there in the dead silence of the moonlight.
“What does it mean?” she whispered, when we had allowed Ukozi sufficient time to make himself scarce.
“Oh, some Mumbo Jumbo arrangement all his own,” I answered. “Well that certainly is a whacking big python—the very biggest I’ve ever seen. If I had anything in the shape of a gun I’d be inclined to try and sneak the brute wherever he’s lying.”
“Wouldn’t it be in the water then?”
“No. Lying up somewhere under the banks. In hot weather they’re fond of lying in a waterhole, but on a cool night like this—not. I must come and stalk the brute another night though; and yet, do you know, it seems strange, but I don’t like interfering with anything that bears a sort of religious significance to anybody. And the snake does come in that way with Zulus.”
She thought a moment. Then:
“You remember, dear, how I told you that one of the things this man was going to show father was the mystery of the waterhole. Now supposing that horror had suddenly seized him?”
An uncomfortable wave swept through me. The fact is that no white man, however well he is known to natives, ever gets really to the bottom of the darker mysteries of their superstitions, which indeed remain utterly unsuspected in most cases, so well are they concealed. Who could say what might underlie this one! However I answered:
“I don’t think there would have been danger of that sort. Ukozi would have shown him the performance we have witnessed, as something very wonderful. As a matter of fact it isn’t wonderful at all, in that it resolves itself into a mere question of snake charming. Ukozi has half trained this brute by feeding it periodically as we have seen. That’s all. Hallo!”
Well might I feel amazement, but the exclamation had escaped me involuntarily. We had come round the pool now, and here, very near the spot whereon Ukozi had gone through his strange performance—instinctively we had kept a little back from the water—an odour struck upon my nostrils, and it was the same sickly overpowering effluvium that had filled the air when my horse had refused to proceed on that memorable night I had intended to ride back from Kendrew’s.
“What is it?” exclaimed Aïda, with a start.
“Nothing. Nothing at all. I’ve frightened you, and you are a little wound up already by that uncanny performance,” I answered.
“Frightened? No. I don’t believe I could be that when I’m with you. I always feel so safe. Otherwise it would seem strange that this witch doctor whom we have not seen for so long, and in fact whom we thought had left this part of the country, should have been here right in our midst all the time.”
“He may not have been. He may only just have returned,” I said. “Worthies of his profession are inclined to be somewhat sporadic in their movements. Meanwhile if I were you, I wouldn’t say anything about what we’ve just seen until I’ve had time to make a few inquiries.”
She promised, of course, and as we took our way homeward in the splendour of the clear African night we thought no more of the uncanny episode we had just witnessed, except as something out of the common which had lent an element of unexpected excitement to our walk.