Chapter Twenty One.Staying a Kaffir Execution—I Ask Metilulu’s Permission to Leave—The Boomslange—The Chief’s Answer.As may be easily conceived, the talk of our past lives, and our delight at once more being in each other’s company, carried us far into the night before we would surrender ourselves to sleep; yet we were up nearly as early as any in the kraal the next morning, and gladly fell to upon some biltongue and amasi which had been found in the huts; then, hearing that Metilulu was inspecting his regiments, we thought it but politeness to be present. On arriving at the place, however, the review had nearly finished, the brave had been rewarded, and only the unworthy remained to be punished. Of the latter it happened that there was but one, and he had not been guilty of cowardice, but of a crime punishable by death in Caffraria.The criminal was one of the finest specimens of the race I had ever seen, being tall, exquisitely formed, graceful, and majestic. Silently he knelt before Metilulu, his head bent submissively, awaiting the sentence. From a little distance, but within hearing range, we stood to learn what that would be. It came very speedily: the prisoner had already pleaded guilty, and the verdict was that he should be cast alive to the crocodiles, who on the river banks, not far off, gnashed their terrible jaws, apparently conscious of the prey destined for them.Scarcely had the sentence been uttered, and the Kaffir had arisen, without a murmur, for it to be put into execution, than Mr Ferguson, suddenly quitting my side, walked, erect and unhesitatingly, up to Metilulu. Guessing his intent, and fearful of the consequences, I, beseeching hot-brained Jack to keep back, hurried after him. On drawing near I found I was correct in my surmise. The young missionary, in earnest, eloquent terms, was pleading the prisoner’s cause, and praying for a commutation of the sentence.Metilulu looked and listened in silent astonishment; but, as I anxiously marked his features, I fancied they gradually assumed a pleased, friendly expression, quite the reverse of anger at being interfered with. As I came up Mr Ferguson was saying—“You, Metilulu the great!—you, the recognised mighty Chief of the numerous tribes dwelling in this vast and beautiful land of Caffraria—has not your victory been complete? Has not but a few hours back triumph been given you over those who but lately would have made you captive? Why, then, should one so favoured stain the day of rejoicing by condemning to a horrible death, for a slight offence, one of those warriors to whose bravery, to whose devotion, he partly owes that triumph? Truly you are strong, you are courageous, but one arm alone could not have crushed the tribe of Kabela. You had need of warriors, and you found them, brave, willing, and submissive. Surely, then, noble Metilulu, you will let your hand dispense mercy as well as justice. This is no time to speak of the power of Heaven and the Rewarder of all great deeds, for the ground of your heart has as yet been prepared by no refreshing dews; but all grand souls must recognise the mighty power of mercy, and surely you will forgive this man in honour of the day of victory, if for nothing else.”Mr Ferguson finishing, earnestly, respectfully waited a reply, when, thinking my turn had come to put in a word for the poor fellow, I hurried forward, and kneeling, according to Kaffir custom, said—“Noble Metilulu, if my friend’s prayers to save this warrior have not had sufficient weight with you, then let mine be added to his. Let him be spared; extend your hand in mercy towards him. It is the white men who beseech your clemency; for their sakes grant it.”Metilulu was silent a moment; then replied, “You white men are a strange people, yet I have listened to your words with pleasure; you are soft-hearted, but you are friends to the Kaffir. Umatula,” he added, turning to the warrior, “I reverse your sentence—you may live. These, my friends, have interceded for you; thank them, not me, as it is because of them that I pardon you. Live, and show by future deeds your sorrow for your past crime.”His dusky face beaming with delight, Umatula bowed low till his forehead touched the ground before Metilulu—afterwards to us—then, starting up, proudly grasped his shield and assagais, exclaiming—That, to show his gratitude for the Chief’s gracious pardon, no warrior in Metilulu’s regiments should ever outrival him in warlike deeds, while he reckoned his life to belong to the noble-hearted white faces. They had but to ask him for it, and it was theirs to do with it as they would.This over, Metilulu, dismissing the troops, bade us sit down, he evidently being inclined for a chat. I was no little pleased that it should be so, for during our long talk the previous night it had been arranged that I should try to obtain leave for myself and Thompson to make our way to a white settlement, which Mr Ferguson said he knew was not very far off, and might be easily attained with a native guide. Both Jack and I had earnestly besought the minister to accompany us, but he firmly refused, saying he believed Providence had had a purpose in casting him on that shore, where he had already found that his words had not fallen entirely on stony places; therefore he should be but a poor soldier of heaven, indeed, did he leave so fair and promising a work uncompleted.No moment, it appeared, could have been more opportune than that I had chosen to speak about my departure, for the Chief was in the most obliging of humours. When, however, after a long talk respecting Kaffir affairs, I managed, by Mr Ferguson’s aid, to bring the subject round to our own land and my strong desire to visit it—ending by stating how I had heard from my friends that a white settlement was not far off—if he would but grant me a guide and his royal permission to return, his face grew grave and my heart sunk.Neither, however, refusing nor acquiescing, he asked why it was I could not be happy there. To which I answered, “that all who were dear to me, all who made life worth living, in my eyes, were in England, and my heart was pining for them. Indeed, I felt I could not exist, but must die, if kept longer in uncertainty of their fate.”I spoke as eloquently as I could, and Mr Ferguson also did what he was able, but Metilulu seemed in no way ready to grant the request. He said he liked me, that he had proved this even more than I knew—of course he referred to the rain-maker’s evil prophecy—and he thought I was so happy that I would never have wished to leave the tribe.In return to this really kind speech, I warmly acknowledged the extreme kindness and hospitality which had been shown me, and confessed that I had not expected it, adding how great would be my pride when in England, if he would permit me to return there, to recount to my countrymen his noble behaviour to a poor shipwrecked sailor.This appeared rather to please him, and after a pause he said,—“Then you all wish to leave me?”“Not so,” broke in Mr Ferguson, “if you will grant me permission, I would desire yet to remain with your tribe.”Metilulu, who had, I fancied, already taken a liking to the minister, as he frequently addressed himself to him, nodded approval; then saying he could not give his decision at that moment, he gave us permission to withdraw, appearing no longer desirous to continue a conversation which had taken so unpleasant a turn.I could not help feeling rather flattered by the decided aversion Metilulu showed to part with me, and yet also I was grieved at causing him any regret, after the real friendship and generosity I had experienced at his hands, and tried to show these feelings as plainly as I could, both in speech and expression, when I arose with Mr Ferguson and Thompson to take our leave.On retiring, instead of returning to the kraal, we went towards the bush, and there, under the shadow of the trees, sat down to talk of our own affairs, and what was the likely answer Metilulu would give. Mr Ferguson said he believed it would be in the affirmative, though he did not like my going.“If it be so,” I rejoined, “how would you counsel us to proceed?”“Why, to make your way as fast as you can to the white settlement; then to the coast—to Cape Town if possible, for there it will be more probable to get a ship back to England.”“Ah! a ship, bless her,” broke in Thompson. “When I feel the deck once more beneath my feet, and see the well-remembered, tapering spars running up with their net-work of rigging into the blue sky, then I shall begin to feel once more like a Christian—a Christian escaped from purgatory—especially if I can get another suit of togs in place of these outlandish garments.”“It was of those I meant to speak,” I said. “How can we change them without a farthing in our pockets?”“I believe I can aid you there,” rejoined Mr Ferguson. “I think in the settlement you will pass through, just about where the Bechuana tribes are located, a kind of missionary station is established—if so, I know there you can obtain both help and clothes. I will give you a message in case, for I would also like them to send to me some articles, with which I may be able to win my way with, and instruct these people, for even in heavenly matters we must sometimes call in the aid of earth, to touch the hearts of man.”We had been chatting thus respecting our proceedings for some little while, the interchange of thought with civilised humanity being far too agreeable for either of the three to bring it to a close, when, uttering a sharp cry, I sprang erect and seized my knob-kerrie.“What on earth’s the matter?” exclaimed Jack, following my example; while Mr Ferguson also rose to his feet.“See,” I exclaimed: “look along the branch of that tree just above our heads, that olive coloured snake. If there be one thing I have a downright horror of, it is a snake, so pray let us leave the reptile to itself, for I am not sure enough with my knob-kerrie to knock it over.”“Stay,” said Mr Ferguson, placing his hand upon my shoulder; “there is no fear, Dick.”“No fear!” I ejaculated in surprise. “Why, the natives affirm that sort of snake is very poisonous!”“Then, Dick, they are wrong,” he answered quietly. “The posterior teeth certainly resemble fangs, but they are perfectly harmless, and are merely used to seize their prey. Yes,” he added, after a closer inspection, “it is the Bucephalus Capensis, or, as these people call it, the Boomslange. It is generally found upon trees, where it goes in search of food. Here, draw back awhile and watch; you may perhaps see a proof of that fascination which has so often been spoken about, respecting these reptiles’ eyes.”As he spoke our attention was attracted by the piercing cries of several birds which were flying as if in abject terror about the tree, while the Boomslange coiled about the branch, its head raised about ten inches, its mouth open, its throat inflated, fixed its full large eyes upon the poor little trembling victims. Fascinated ourselves by the sight, we watched anxiously the result.Round and round the poor flutterers went, each time, I perceived, drawing nearer the cruel mouth, till I shuddered as one, with a sweep, almost touched the reptile’s lips—the next moment, drawn by that wonderful and inexplicable fascination, it was in its terrible jaws; and, unable to bear it longer, I let fly my knob-kerrie, striking the snake from the tree, but I did not hurt him much, for, with the speed of light, he had wriggled into the bush, carrying its miserable prey in its mouth.The sight made us loth to sit down near the spot again, so we returned to the kraal, Mr Ferguson telling us on the way, that a few days back, he, with a party of Kaffirs, had come across a python; but the natives would not touch it, owing to a superstition they have, that misfortune would be sure to overtake any one who injured these monstrous reptiles.On reaching the huts, we found the Kaffirs busily engaged in restoring the ruined ones, so we lent them our aid, and thus managed both to win their favour and while away the time, which, owing to my anxiety respecting Metilulu’s answer, I found hang heavily on my hands. At the dinner hour, however, we went to the minister’s hut, which had still been left him, where, after refreshing ourselves, we remained talking of that never-tiring subject, home, and waiting the chief’s reply.It was quite sunset before the latter arrived, then Tugela brought it.Metilulu had sent me permission to leave for the white settlement when I pleased, and also gave for a guide the warrior whose life he had that day spared because of our prayers.“Did he grant this willingly, Tugela?” I asked.“Not at all; he seems much vexed.”“I am sorry,” I said, “for I must go. Well, Tugela, express my sincere thanks to Metilulu, and say that I have no means now of showing my gratitude, but, if he will allow me, I should like to send him back by the guide some presents, if he would honour me by their acceptance.”Tugela, replying he had no doubt this would much please the chief, willingly took the message; and no sooner had he gone than, casting myself on the ground, I actually cried for joy at the thought of the possibility of once again embracing my dear wife and little ones; while even Jack’s eyes grew dim though, as he said, he had nothing else but his country and his ship to love and care for; and, he added, “by jingo, I’ll be true to ’em, that I will, or I’m a black nigger of a Kaffir.”Poor Zenuta; at that moment I did not even give her a single thought.
As may be easily conceived, the talk of our past lives, and our delight at once more being in each other’s company, carried us far into the night before we would surrender ourselves to sleep; yet we were up nearly as early as any in the kraal the next morning, and gladly fell to upon some biltongue and amasi which had been found in the huts; then, hearing that Metilulu was inspecting his regiments, we thought it but politeness to be present. On arriving at the place, however, the review had nearly finished, the brave had been rewarded, and only the unworthy remained to be punished. Of the latter it happened that there was but one, and he had not been guilty of cowardice, but of a crime punishable by death in Caffraria.
The criminal was one of the finest specimens of the race I had ever seen, being tall, exquisitely formed, graceful, and majestic. Silently he knelt before Metilulu, his head bent submissively, awaiting the sentence. From a little distance, but within hearing range, we stood to learn what that would be. It came very speedily: the prisoner had already pleaded guilty, and the verdict was that he should be cast alive to the crocodiles, who on the river banks, not far off, gnashed their terrible jaws, apparently conscious of the prey destined for them.
Scarcely had the sentence been uttered, and the Kaffir had arisen, without a murmur, for it to be put into execution, than Mr Ferguson, suddenly quitting my side, walked, erect and unhesitatingly, up to Metilulu. Guessing his intent, and fearful of the consequences, I, beseeching hot-brained Jack to keep back, hurried after him. On drawing near I found I was correct in my surmise. The young missionary, in earnest, eloquent terms, was pleading the prisoner’s cause, and praying for a commutation of the sentence.
Metilulu looked and listened in silent astonishment; but, as I anxiously marked his features, I fancied they gradually assumed a pleased, friendly expression, quite the reverse of anger at being interfered with. As I came up Mr Ferguson was saying—
“You, Metilulu the great!—you, the recognised mighty Chief of the numerous tribes dwelling in this vast and beautiful land of Caffraria—has not your victory been complete? Has not but a few hours back triumph been given you over those who but lately would have made you captive? Why, then, should one so favoured stain the day of rejoicing by condemning to a horrible death, for a slight offence, one of those warriors to whose bravery, to whose devotion, he partly owes that triumph? Truly you are strong, you are courageous, but one arm alone could not have crushed the tribe of Kabela. You had need of warriors, and you found them, brave, willing, and submissive. Surely, then, noble Metilulu, you will let your hand dispense mercy as well as justice. This is no time to speak of the power of Heaven and the Rewarder of all great deeds, for the ground of your heart has as yet been prepared by no refreshing dews; but all grand souls must recognise the mighty power of mercy, and surely you will forgive this man in honour of the day of victory, if for nothing else.”
Mr Ferguson finishing, earnestly, respectfully waited a reply, when, thinking my turn had come to put in a word for the poor fellow, I hurried forward, and kneeling, according to Kaffir custom, said—
“Noble Metilulu, if my friend’s prayers to save this warrior have not had sufficient weight with you, then let mine be added to his. Let him be spared; extend your hand in mercy towards him. It is the white men who beseech your clemency; for their sakes grant it.”
Metilulu was silent a moment; then replied, “You white men are a strange people, yet I have listened to your words with pleasure; you are soft-hearted, but you are friends to the Kaffir. Umatula,” he added, turning to the warrior, “I reverse your sentence—you may live. These, my friends, have interceded for you; thank them, not me, as it is because of them that I pardon you. Live, and show by future deeds your sorrow for your past crime.”
His dusky face beaming with delight, Umatula bowed low till his forehead touched the ground before Metilulu—afterwards to us—then, starting up, proudly grasped his shield and assagais, exclaiming—
That, to show his gratitude for the Chief’s gracious pardon, no warrior in Metilulu’s regiments should ever outrival him in warlike deeds, while he reckoned his life to belong to the noble-hearted white faces. They had but to ask him for it, and it was theirs to do with it as they would.
This over, Metilulu, dismissing the troops, bade us sit down, he evidently being inclined for a chat. I was no little pleased that it should be so, for during our long talk the previous night it had been arranged that I should try to obtain leave for myself and Thompson to make our way to a white settlement, which Mr Ferguson said he knew was not very far off, and might be easily attained with a native guide. Both Jack and I had earnestly besought the minister to accompany us, but he firmly refused, saying he believed Providence had had a purpose in casting him on that shore, where he had already found that his words had not fallen entirely on stony places; therefore he should be but a poor soldier of heaven, indeed, did he leave so fair and promising a work uncompleted.
No moment, it appeared, could have been more opportune than that I had chosen to speak about my departure, for the Chief was in the most obliging of humours. When, however, after a long talk respecting Kaffir affairs, I managed, by Mr Ferguson’s aid, to bring the subject round to our own land and my strong desire to visit it—ending by stating how I had heard from my friends that a white settlement was not far off—if he would but grant me a guide and his royal permission to return, his face grew grave and my heart sunk.
Neither, however, refusing nor acquiescing, he asked why it was I could not be happy there. To which I answered, “that all who were dear to me, all who made life worth living, in my eyes, were in England, and my heart was pining for them. Indeed, I felt I could not exist, but must die, if kept longer in uncertainty of their fate.”
I spoke as eloquently as I could, and Mr Ferguson also did what he was able, but Metilulu seemed in no way ready to grant the request. He said he liked me, that he had proved this even more than I knew—of course he referred to the rain-maker’s evil prophecy—and he thought I was so happy that I would never have wished to leave the tribe.
In return to this really kind speech, I warmly acknowledged the extreme kindness and hospitality which had been shown me, and confessed that I had not expected it, adding how great would be my pride when in England, if he would permit me to return there, to recount to my countrymen his noble behaviour to a poor shipwrecked sailor.
This appeared rather to please him, and after a pause he said,—
“Then you all wish to leave me?”
“Not so,” broke in Mr Ferguson, “if you will grant me permission, I would desire yet to remain with your tribe.”
Metilulu, who had, I fancied, already taken a liking to the minister, as he frequently addressed himself to him, nodded approval; then saying he could not give his decision at that moment, he gave us permission to withdraw, appearing no longer desirous to continue a conversation which had taken so unpleasant a turn.
I could not help feeling rather flattered by the decided aversion Metilulu showed to part with me, and yet also I was grieved at causing him any regret, after the real friendship and generosity I had experienced at his hands, and tried to show these feelings as plainly as I could, both in speech and expression, when I arose with Mr Ferguson and Thompson to take our leave.
On retiring, instead of returning to the kraal, we went towards the bush, and there, under the shadow of the trees, sat down to talk of our own affairs, and what was the likely answer Metilulu would give. Mr Ferguson said he believed it would be in the affirmative, though he did not like my going.
“If it be so,” I rejoined, “how would you counsel us to proceed?”
“Why, to make your way as fast as you can to the white settlement; then to the coast—to Cape Town if possible, for there it will be more probable to get a ship back to England.”
“Ah! a ship, bless her,” broke in Thompson. “When I feel the deck once more beneath my feet, and see the well-remembered, tapering spars running up with their net-work of rigging into the blue sky, then I shall begin to feel once more like a Christian—a Christian escaped from purgatory—especially if I can get another suit of togs in place of these outlandish garments.”
“It was of those I meant to speak,” I said. “How can we change them without a farthing in our pockets?”
“I believe I can aid you there,” rejoined Mr Ferguson. “I think in the settlement you will pass through, just about where the Bechuana tribes are located, a kind of missionary station is established—if so, I know there you can obtain both help and clothes. I will give you a message in case, for I would also like them to send to me some articles, with which I may be able to win my way with, and instruct these people, for even in heavenly matters we must sometimes call in the aid of earth, to touch the hearts of man.”
We had been chatting thus respecting our proceedings for some little while, the interchange of thought with civilised humanity being far too agreeable for either of the three to bring it to a close, when, uttering a sharp cry, I sprang erect and seized my knob-kerrie.
“What on earth’s the matter?” exclaimed Jack, following my example; while Mr Ferguson also rose to his feet.
“See,” I exclaimed: “look along the branch of that tree just above our heads, that olive coloured snake. If there be one thing I have a downright horror of, it is a snake, so pray let us leave the reptile to itself, for I am not sure enough with my knob-kerrie to knock it over.”
“Stay,” said Mr Ferguson, placing his hand upon my shoulder; “there is no fear, Dick.”
“No fear!” I ejaculated in surprise. “Why, the natives affirm that sort of snake is very poisonous!”
“Then, Dick, they are wrong,” he answered quietly. “The posterior teeth certainly resemble fangs, but they are perfectly harmless, and are merely used to seize their prey. Yes,” he added, after a closer inspection, “it is the Bucephalus Capensis, or, as these people call it, the Boomslange. It is generally found upon trees, where it goes in search of food. Here, draw back awhile and watch; you may perhaps see a proof of that fascination which has so often been spoken about, respecting these reptiles’ eyes.”
As he spoke our attention was attracted by the piercing cries of several birds which were flying as if in abject terror about the tree, while the Boomslange coiled about the branch, its head raised about ten inches, its mouth open, its throat inflated, fixed its full large eyes upon the poor little trembling victims. Fascinated ourselves by the sight, we watched anxiously the result.
Round and round the poor flutterers went, each time, I perceived, drawing nearer the cruel mouth, till I shuddered as one, with a sweep, almost touched the reptile’s lips—the next moment, drawn by that wonderful and inexplicable fascination, it was in its terrible jaws; and, unable to bear it longer, I let fly my knob-kerrie, striking the snake from the tree, but I did not hurt him much, for, with the speed of light, he had wriggled into the bush, carrying its miserable prey in its mouth.
The sight made us loth to sit down near the spot again, so we returned to the kraal, Mr Ferguson telling us on the way, that a few days back, he, with a party of Kaffirs, had come across a python; but the natives would not touch it, owing to a superstition they have, that misfortune would be sure to overtake any one who injured these monstrous reptiles.
On reaching the huts, we found the Kaffirs busily engaged in restoring the ruined ones, so we lent them our aid, and thus managed both to win their favour and while away the time, which, owing to my anxiety respecting Metilulu’s answer, I found hang heavily on my hands. At the dinner hour, however, we went to the minister’s hut, which had still been left him, where, after refreshing ourselves, we remained talking of that never-tiring subject, home, and waiting the chief’s reply.
It was quite sunset before the latter arrived, then Tugela brought it.
Metilulu had sent me permission to leave for the white settlement when I pleased, and also gave for a guide the warrior whose life he had that day spared because of our prayers.
“Did he grant this willingly, Tugela?” I asked.
“Not at all; he seems much vexed.”
“I am sorry,” I said, “for I must go. Well, Tugela, express my sincere thanks to Metilulu, and say that I have no means now of showing my gratitude, but, if he will allow me, I should like to send him back by the guide some presents, if he would honour me by their acceptance.”
Tugela, replying he had no doubt this would much please the chief, willingly took the message; and no sooner had he gone than, casting myself on the ground, I actually cried for joy at the thought of the possibility of once again embracing my dear wife and little ones; while even Jack’s eyes grew dim though, as he said, he had nothing else but his country and his ship to love and care for; and, he added, “by jingo, I’ll be true to ’em, that I will, or I’m a black nigger of a Kaffir.”
Poor Zenuta; at that moment I did not even give her a single thought.
Chapter Twenty Two.My Last Interview with Metilulu—Farewell to the Kraal—The Honey Guide—The Bush on Fire.The next morning we three were early astir; indeed, as may be imagined, I nor Thompson had not slept much all that night, through thinking of our speedy return. Even the few preparations we had to make were soon completed in our hurry, then we sat down to see if Metilulu, to whom I had communicated my intention of leaving, by his kind permission, that day, would send any farewell message or adieu. I fancied he would not, for from what I could gather he apparently had taken my desire to quit his tribe as a great piece of ingratitude. I was exceedingly sorry that we should part thus, but how could I help it? How could I make it otherwise?It was while thus waiting that I began to think of Zenuta—poor, affectionate Zenuta! My heart blamed me bitterly for leaving her without a word, without again seeing her—as I intended to do—for I dreaded the parting scene, more as may be supposed for her sake than my own, for all my affections were centred upon the dear ones at home, while hers, I knew too well, were fixed with a grasp like that of iron upon my unworthy self.I pictured her eager inquiry of the warriors who were to fetch the residue of the tribe to their new dwelling as to where I was, and her surprised despair when they said that I had gone—gone for ever—leaving but a kind message for her, and endowing her with all my household goods. How little would she regard the latter? How poignant would be her grief? How would she bear my cruel desertion? I asked myself. With rage? with passionate indignation? or with deep hopeless despair and prostrate heart-broken sorrow? The thought was too painful, even in the surmise—I felt my lip tremble and my eyes grow misty. Poor girl! I would have done as much for her as I would for a dear sister; but neither sister, father, nor mother, could have made me renounce the chance of once more joining my wife and children.It was just as I had ended giving Mr Ferguson numerous messages for Zenuta, and earnestly entreating him to be as kind as I knew he could be to her, adding that he would find the first seeds of our pure faith deeply implanted in her heart, that Tugela appeared outside the hut, where we instantly joined him. Accompanying him was the warrior whose life we had saved, and who now bore across his shoulders several valuable skins, which Tugela informed me were mine, Metilulu having sent them as presents. The chief apparently had become far more reconciled to my leaving after the message that I would send him presents from the white settlements, and even now requested that I would come to his hut to take farewell.Accordingly I at once proceeded thither, and found him in a very amiable mood. After a little conversation, he hinted at what kind of presents he should like, especially one of those guns of which I had spoken. I promised I would not forget, and neither did I, but sent him a pretty large parcel of English articles, that I knew he would greatly value. Finding him in so different a humour to what I had expected, I ventured to mention Zenuta, saying I hoped, though I regarded all my property in Caffraria as his, that he would yet permit me to bestow it as a dowry on the poor girl. He immediately consented, no doubt having a dread of taking her back into his harem, and said that, possessing the cows, she would assuredly soon find a husband. This settled, I arose and took my leave, my last words being a reiteration of my promise not to forget the gun among the other presents I intended to send.I then proceeded to say farewell to those among the tribe with whom I was on friendly terms, and lastly with Tugela, whom I felt much regret in leaving never to meet again, for he had been a kind friend and a most intelligent companion. Afterwards, having warmly embraced Mr Ferguson, and received his final messages to his friends in England, I and Thompson, accompanied by Umatula, started for the bush, or, as we said, though so many miles of danger yet laid between us and it—home. Ah, how sweet the word sounded!We got on extremely well that day, for Jack and I were in the best of spirits, and could look upon most hardships as trifles, while our Kaffir companion, possessing an amount of intelligence more than usual with his tribe, kept us amused by recounting numerous hunting and lifting parties in which he had borne a part.It was during our first morning’s march that Umatula called our attention to a bird perched on a bush in front of us, who by his cherr-cherring cry seemed to be trying to attract our notice. Such evidently was the case, for no sooner did he find he was seen than he began hopping further on, stopping and looking back to see if we were following.This immediately we did, for I now recognised it to be a bird I had often heard about but never seen, called the Honey Guide, from the fact that he will lead man, of whom he appears to have no fear, to where the bees have constructed their hive, so that they may gather the sweet contents, of which the Kaffir is exceedingly fond. Therefore, from bush to bush we followed, the little creature keeping up its cherring cry till, finally, it came to a halt upon a tree, in a hollow of which we descried the comb.Umatula speedily extracted the treasure, for the natives are most skilful in this performance, and we all willingly partook of it, taking care to leave a plentiful supply for our little friend the Honey Guide, who, from a neighbouring branch, waited impatiently for his share or reward.When we were once more on our way Umatula told us that not only did the Kaffir make use of this little bird, but the Honey Ratel also availed itself of its services. This animal—a species of the weasel tribe—would, he said, follow the bird like we had to the treasure, tear it from the tree with its sharp claws, its thick coat being impervious to the enraged insects’ stings, devour its share, and leave a sufficient quantity as remuneration to its guide.With the help of our assagais and knob-kerries we had killed enough game to make us a first-rate repast, and as night drew on, when it had been agreed we should bivouac, we lighted a large fire, both to cook our provisions and to scare any wild beasts that might be near, for we could hear their different roars and howls deeper in the bush. It was while attending to the culinary preparations that Thompson, with a round oath, suddenly sprang from the fire as if it had burned him—a movement speedily explained by the sudden apparition of a large snake within the circle of light. Without taking any notice of Jack or either of us, the creature moved rapidly along to the fire, being attracted by the warmth. We watched it curiously, as swiftly it went so close to the embers that it must have burnt itself severely, yet it only drew back again to approach till, I am sure, it would have ended by killing itself, as I have heard many do, had not Umatula destroyed it by striking it on the head with his knob-kerrie. Whereupon Thompson, seeing that, should any more snakes come, it would be because of the fire, not him, after a space proceeded with his cooking, upon which, when completed, we made a hearty meal; then, Umatula taking the first watch upon himself, we rolled ourselves each in our own kaross and speedily slept the sleep of the fatigued, for we had made a great way in our journey that day.At an agreed time Umatula awoke me to take his turn of rest, while I watched—an employment I scarcely felt up to, being so extremely drowsy that, fearing to fall off in slumber, I got up, and drawing the fire together supplied it with fresh fuel; then sitting down, I tried to keep myself awake by imagining the surprise my return would create, and how all the papers would be full of the history of the two shipwrecked mariners who had spent over a year among the almost unknown tribes of Caffraria.But all these manoeuvres could not prevent my heavy eyelids from closing, and I fancy I must have actually dozed off, when I was suddenly aroused by vague consciousness that the place was growing much lighter. We had encamped upon a hillside, and on looking up I perceived the sky, over the tree tops in the direction of the plains, to be of a light yellow glow.My first movement was to arouse my companions, but recollecting how tired they must be, I determined before doing so to enquire a little further into the cause, as it might be some celestial phenomenon which in a moment would disappear, though to me it had the same appearance as a large fire would have in England. For this purpose I quickly mounted higher up the hill, and scaling a rocky projection turned and gazed back.Heavens! what a sight met my view—grandly beautiful, but how awful! Some distance off the whole plain before me was covered by a vast sheet of fire, which leaped and lapped with its forked tongues as it rushed onward. The entire distance appeared in flames—as if the end of the world had come.With the speed of consternation I dashed back to my companions, and shouted in their ears, “Up, up! for heaven’s sake; be quick! The bush is on fire, and the flames are coming in our direction.”The words acted like magic; both were instantly on their feet, and following me to my previous post of inspection.No sooner had Umatula discovered the direction of the fire, which each moment was increasing in rapidity, than shouldering the skins, he bade us follow him; for we laid right in the fierce element’s track, and did it reach us it would be certain death.“We must get to yonder rock,” he said, pointing to one some distance off, “on the top of it we may perhaps be safe.”With as much speed as we could muster we instantly followed the swift Kaffir, and with hands and legs torn by the strong thorns of the cacti bushes succeeded in reaching the summit of the rock where, throwing ourselves down, breathless with our haste, we contemplated the spreading conflagration.If it was grand before, it was terribly so now, for it covered the whole plain and was rushing up the hillside, the flames curling into the air like things of life, leaping from bush to bush, springing up in spiral columns to the skies, and destroying all signs of vegetation in its path.As it reached the hill and bush, roars and howls of terror suddenly arose from all the affrighted dwellers in its shades. The most fierce as the weakest fled before this pitiless, unconquerable enemy, which seemed to leap and laugh rejoicing in the pursuit. Then with an awful howl the bush disgorged its inmates. Antelopes, tigers, jackals, hyaenas, elephants, and even here and there a large snake, came rushing forth in one confused herd—no longer thinking of preying on each other, though the gembok fled shoulder to shoulder with the lion—all being possessed with but one idea in that terrible moment, to escape from the frightful enemy behind them.I have never beheld such a sight, and never shall again. No scene I am sure in all the world could surpass the grandeur of that—fire in the bush.Thank heaven, the rock Umatula had selected was slightly out of the track of the flames, and to our relief we saw them sweep past, their heated breath scorching our cheeks, leaving first red embers, then a vast extent of burnt charred vegetation in their tract.“However could this have occurred,” I exclaimed to Umatula when all danger was over, “such an accident is most dangerous.”“Not at all; this is no accident,” he laughed. “The Kaffirs have done it to improve the grass for the cattle.”“Done it!” I repeated in surprise.“Yes; directly the oxen have eaten a patch of grass to the stubble and it gets coarse, my countrymen set fire to it when the cows are safe in the isibaya and the wind does not lay that way but towards the bush.”“But they ruin the land for miles,” said Thompson gruffly.“No, they improve it; the charred wood and stubble serve for manure, and if rain come the land is speedily recovered by a fresh vegetation.”This was perfectly true. The scorched blackened soil which we now looked upon from our height of rock would in a brief period send forth sweet green young shoots, forming an excellent food for cattle.Certainly the plan might be very good, but I hoped within myself, while Thompson expressed the same wish aloud in English, that when the natives had recourse to this method of strengthening the ground, there might not be any unfortunate travellers like ourselves in the neighbourhood. Then with a prayer of thanks for our preservation from both of us, we once more laid down, now on the top of the rock, and feeling ourselves safe owing to the exterminating fire from any unpleasant intrusion, were all three in a short time sleeping soundly.
The next morning we three were early astir; indeed, as may be imagined, I nor Thompson had not slept much all that night, through thinking of our speedy return. Even the few preparations we had to make were soon completed in our hurry, then we sat down to see if Metilulu, to whom I had communicated my intention of leaving, by his kind permission, that day, would send any farewell message or adieu. I fancied he would not, for from what I could gather he apparently had taken my desire to quit his tribe as a great piece of ingratitude. I was exceedingly sorry that we should part thus, but how could I help it? How could I make it otherwise?
It was while thus waiting that I began to think of Zenuta—poor, affectionate Zenuta! My heart blamed me bitterly for leaving her without a word, without again seeing her—as I intended to do—for I dreaded the parting scene, more as may be supposed for her sake than my own, for all my affections were centred upon the dear ones at home, while hers, I knew too well, were fixed with a grasp like that of iron upon my unworthy self.
I pictured her eager inquiry of the warriors who were to fetch the residue of the tribe to their new dwelling as to where I was, and her surprised despair when they said that I had gone—gone for ever—leaving but a kind message for her, and endowing her with all my household goods. How little would she regard the latter? How poignant would be her grief? How would she bear my cruel desertion? I asked myself. With rage? with passionate indignation? or with deep hopeless despair and prostrate heart-broken sorrow? The thought was too painful, even in the surmise—I felt my lip tremble and my eyes grow misty. Poor girl! I would have done as much for her as I would for a dear sister; but neither sister, father, nor mother, could have made me renounce the chance of once more joining my wife and children.
It was just as I had ended giving Mr Ferguson numerous messages for Zenuta, and earnestly entreating him to be as kind as I knew he could be to her, adding that he would find the first seeds of our pure faith deeply implanted in her heart, that Tugela appeared outside the hut, where we instantly joined him. Accompanying him was the warrior whose life we had saved, and who now bore across his shoulders several valuable skins, which Tugela informed me were mine, Metilulu having sent them as presents. The chief apparently had become far more reconciled to my leaving after the message that I would send him presents from the white settlements, and even now requested that I would come to his hut to take farewell.
Accordingly I at once proceeded thither, and found him in a very amiable mood. After a little conversation, he hinted at what kind of presents he should like, especially one of those guns of which I had spoken. I promised I would not forget, and neither did I, but sent him a pretty large parcel of English articles, that I knew he would greatly value. Finding him in so different a humour to what I had expected, I ventured to mention Zenuta, saying I hoped, though I regarded all my property in Caffraria as his, that he would yet permit me to bestow it as a dowry on the poor girl. He immediately consented, no doubt having a dread of taking her back into his harem, and said that, possessing the cows, she would assuredly soon find a husband. This settled, I arose and took my leave, my last words being a reiteration of my promise not to forget the gun among the other presents I intended to send.
I then proceeded to say farewell to those among the tribe with whom I was on friendly terms, and lastly with Tugela, whom I felt much regret in leaving never to meet again, for he had been a kind friend and a most intelligent companion. Afterwards, having warmly embraced Mr Ferguson, and received his final messages to his friends in England, I and Thompson, accompanied by Umatula, started for the bush, or, as we said, though so many miles of danger yet laid between us and it—home. Ah, how sweet the word sounded!
We got on extremely well that day, for Jack and I were in the best of spirits, and could look upon most hardships as trifles, while our Kaffir companion, possessing an amount of intelligence more than usual with his tribe, kept us amused by recounting numerous hunting and lifting parties in which he had borne a part.
It was during our first morning’s march that Umatula called our attention to a bird perched on a bush in front of us, who by his cherr-cherring cry seemed to be trying to attract our notice. Such evidently was the case, for no sooner did he find he was seen than he began hopping further on, stopping and looking back to see if we were following.
This immediately we did, for I now recognised it to be a bird I had often heard about but never seen, called the Honey Guide, from the fact that he will lead man, of whom he appears to have no fear, to where the bees have constructed their hive, so that they may gather the sweet contents, of which the Kaffir is exceedingly fond. Therefore, from bush to bush we followed, the little creature keeping up its cherring cry till, finally, it came to a halt upon a tree, in a hollow of which we descried the comb.
Umatula speedily extracted the treasure, for the natives are most skilful in this performance, and we all willingly partook of it, taking care to leave a plentiful supply for our little friend the Honey Guide, who, from a neighbouring branch, waited impatiently for his share or reward.
When we were once more on our way Umatula told us that not only did the Kaffir make use of this little bird, but the Honey Ratel also availed itself of its services. This animal—a species of the weasel tribe—would, he said, follow the bird like we had to the treasure, tear it from the tree with its sharp claws, its thick coat being impervious to the enraged insects’ stings, devour its share, and leave a sufficient quantity as remuneration to its guide.
With the help of our assagais and knob-kerries we had killed enough game to make us a first-rate repast, and as night drew on, when it had been agreed we should bivouac, we lighted a large fire, both to cook our provisions and to scare any wild beasts that might be near, for we could hear their different roars and howls deeper in the bush. It was while attending to the culinary preparations that Thompson, with a round oath, suddenly sprang from the fire as if it had burned him—a movement speedily explained by the sudden apparition of a large snake within the circle of light. Without taking any notice of Jack or either of us, the creature moved rapidly along to the fire, being attracted by the warmth. We watched it curiously, as swiftly it went so close to the embers that it must have burnt itself severely, yet it only drew back again to approach till, I am sure, it would have ended by killing itself, as I have heard many do, had not Umatula destroyed it by striking it on the head with his knob-kerrie. Whereupon Thompson, seeing that, should any more snakes come, it would be because of the fire, not him, after a space proceeded with his cooking, upon which, when completed, we made a hearty meal; then, Umatula taking the first watch upon himself, we rolled ourselves each in our own kaross and speedily slept the sleep of the fatigued, for we had made a great way in our journey that day.
At an agreed time Umatula awoke me to take his turn of rest, while I watched—an employment I scarcely felt up to, being so extremely drowsy that, fearing to fall off in slumber, I got up, and drawing the fire together supplied it with fresh fuel; then sitting down, I tried to keep myself awake by imagining the surprise my return would create, and how all the papers would be full of the history of the two shipwrecked mariners who had spent over a year among the almost unknown tribes of Caffraria.
But all these manoeuvres could not prevent my heavy eyelids from closing, and I fancy I must have actually dozed off, when I was suddenly aroused by vague consciousness that the place was growing much lighter. We had encamped upon a hillside, and on looking up I perceived the sky, over the tree tops in the direction of the plains, to be of a light yellow glow.
My first movement was to arouse my companions, but recollecting how tired they must be, I determined before doing so to enquire a little further into the cause, as it might be some celestial phenomenon which in a moment would disappear, though to me it had the same appearance as a large fire would have in England. For this purpose I quickly mounted higher up the hill, and scaling a rocky projection turned and gazed back.
Heavens! what a sight met my view—grandly beautiful, but how awful! Some distance off the whole plain before me was covered by a vast sheet of fire, which leaped and lapped with its forked tongues as it rushed onward. The entire distance appeared in flames—as if the end of the world had come.
With the speed of consternation I dashed back to my companions, and shouted in their ears, “Up, up! for heaven’s sake; be quick! The bush is on fire, and the flames are coming in our direction.”
The words acted like magic; both were instantly on their feet, and following me to my previous post of inspection.
No sooner had Umatula discovered the direction of the fire, which each moment was increasing in rapidity, than shouldering the skins, he bade us follow him; for we laid right in the fierce element’s track, and did it reach us it would be certain death.
“We must get to yonder rock,” he said, pointing to one some distance off, “on the top of it we may perhaps be safe.”
With as much speed as we could muster we instantly followed the swift Kaffir, and with hands and legs torn by the strong thorns of the cacti bushes succeeded in reaching the summit of the rock where, throwing ourselves down, breathless with our haste, we contemplated the spreading conflagration.
If it was grand before, it was terribly so now, for it covered the whole plain and was rushing up the hillside, the flames curling into the air like things of life, leaping from bush to bush, springing up in spiral columns to the skies, and destroying all signs of vegetation in its path.
As it reached the hill and bush, roars and howls of terror suddenly arose from all the affrighted dwellers in its shades. The most fierce as the weakest fled before this pitiless, unconquerable enemy, which seemed to leap and laugh rejoicing in the pursuit. Then with an awful howl the bush disgorged its inmates. Antelopes, tigers, jackals, hyaenas, elephants, and even here and there a large snake, came rushing forth in one confused herd—no longer thinking of preying on each other, though the gembok fled shoulder to shoulder with the lion—all being possessed with but one idea in that terrible moment, to escape from the frightful enemy behind them.
I have never beheld such a sight, and never shall again. No scene I am sure in all the world could surpass the grandeur of that—fire in the bush.
Thank heaven, the rock Umatula had selected was slightly out of the track of the flames, and to our relief we saw them sweep past, their heated breath scorching our cheeks, leaving first red embers, then a vast extent of burnt charred vegetation in their tract.
“However could this have occurred,” I exclaimed to Umatula when all danger was over, “such an accident is most dangerous.”
“Not at all; this is no accident,” he laughed. “The Kaffirs have done it to improve the grass for the cattle.”
“Done it!” I repeated in surprise.
“Yes; directly the oxen have eaten a patch of grass to the stubble and it gets coarse, my countrymen set fire to it when the cows are safe in the isibaya and the wind does not lay that way but towards the bush.”
“But they ruin the land for miles,” said Thompson gruffly.
“No, they improve it; the charred wood and stubble serve for manure, and if rain come the land is speedily recovered by a fresh vegetation.”
This was perfectly true. The scorched blackened soil which we now looked upon from our height of rock would in a brief period send forth sweet green young shoots, forming an excellent food for cattle.
Certainly the plan might be very good, but I hoped within myself, while Thompson expressed the same wish aloud in English, that when the natives had recourse to this method of strengthening the ground, there might not be any unfortunate travellers like ourselves in the neighbourhood. Then with a prayer of thanks for our preservation from both of us, we once more laid down, now on the top of the rock, and feeling ourselves safe owing to the exterminating fire from any unpleasant intrusion, were all three in a short time sleeping soundly.
Chapter Twenty Three.In Want of Water—The Honey Guide Plays me a Trick—How I am Saved—Zenuta.On rising the next morning, and disposing of some biltongue, we again started on our journey, and got through many hours of the day with but little incident to recount, save that we were consumed by a terrific thirst, having, since the previous evening, been unable to procure water. The rain which had fallen in the neighbourhood of the kraal appeared never to have reached this spot, for the bed of a small stream we had passed was perfectly cracked and arid from want of moisture. So, while a tropical sun was shining down upon our heads, we had to proceed without being able to procure a drop of water to cool our parched lips, only finding relief in sucking or chewing different fruits and leaves of a watery nature, which Umatula pointed out to us.Having heard our guide once or twice exclaim, “If I had but a chacma here,” I at last asked him what a chacma was, and why he wanted one at that particular moment.“The chacma,” he answered, “is a baboon, one of the most destructive of the whole species to our crops, for he knows where to find the best as well as we do.”“By old Davy Jones himself,” ejaculated Thompson in English to me, “but what good would a blessed ape, with these propensities, serve us here?”The question was answered immediately by Umatula, who had stopped on observing Jack was speaking, and now continued—“Though our enemy in this, we make him a friend sometimes by taming him; for the chacma is passionately fond of a root called babiana, which is always full of a watery juice; so, when lacking water in dry weather like the present, we lead these creatures by a piece of hide, and they will direct us to these roots, from which, on digging them up, we extract the fluid.”After this explanation, Jack, as well as I, desired the presence of the chacma as much as Umatula did, but the three wishes were no better than the one—we were quite as destitute of water as ever, and proceeded with our spirits slightly depressed in consequence. To make matters worse, I had happened to tread upon a thorn, which had so pierced my foot as to create a slight lameness, so that I could not walk at the same rate which I had done on the day previously.It was within two or three hours of nighttime—and here that period succeeds quickly to day—when, by sundry signs and a change in the genus of the vegetation, Umatula said he felt sure that a stream, perhaps a river, must be close at hand, and proposed that, as I was so crippled, he and Jack should, diverging a little from the right track, climb a small eminence some little distance off and ascertain if his surmises were correct.Willing to save myself from more exertion than was absolutely necessary, I gladly agreed to the plan, and, casting myself at the foot of a tree, watched them depart. They had not long disappeared, however, before the now easily recognised cherr of the Honey Bird attracted my attention. Looking up, I saw the little feathered biped, perched on a bush close by, his head on one side as if making a minute inspection of my person. Fancying a few honey-combs would be a pleasant addition to our late meal, if we could but find water, I scrambled on to my feet and began to follow my small guide. The sweet treasure was evidently not far off, for the bird went slowly, and, after a few yards, stopped by a tangled fence of parasites.Seeing no place for the bees’ store, I approached and drew aside the tangled mass, believing I should find some felled tree or shattered trunk, which the insects had converted into a hive; but, with a chilling horror, I stood transfixed to the spot, as my eyes encountered those, red as blood, of a leopard that was crouching behind.How long we remained gazing into each others eyes I do not know—it seemed an hour, but could only have been a few seconds—when a stealthy movement of the animal, as it apparently began to contract its muscles for a spring, recalled me to a sense of my danger, and instinctively I raised an assagai and flung it at the creature; it pierced him in the shoulder, and with a roar of pain he rose, but failed in his bound. Instantly I sprang back, then a cry of horror escaped my lips, for I felt as if a companion of the fierce beast in front had seized me both with claws and teeth from behind. The next instant, however, I had learned the terrible truth. I was once more in the tenacious grasp of another of those awful species of the acacia tribe—the acacia detinens. Yes, there I was, held firmly, confident that the least struggle would but make me a greater prisoner; while the leopard, as if conscious of my helpless position, was slowly dragging itself through the bushes, never once, however, taking its red fiery eyes from my face. I tried to raise my arm with an assagai, but it was useless; the thorns penetrated my flesh, while I felt I had no power to aim the weapon, or, if I did so, the blow would be so light that it would only further irritate without harming the brute in front. I even now shudder at the remembrance of that awful moment. No savage of the most fiendish nature could have gloated over his intended victim more than the leopard seemed to. He drew himself along on his stomach as I have seen a dog do. The wound I had given him I fancied had made him weak, for apparently he was unable to spring, and, though dreading each moment that he would do so, I grew sick and dizzy at the terrible suspense.All at once I read in the creature’s eyes his intent to put an end to the affair. His tail began slowly to lash backwards and forwards, beating the ground fiercely; then I saw the haunches of the lithe body crouch up, the shoulders draw back. I could bear it no longer. I felt my brain turning, and, uttering cry after cry, called aloud for help, addressing both Umatula and Jack, yet feeling despairingly aware that, even did they hear my cries, they never could arrive in time to aid me. A prayer rose to my lips. I gave one gigantic, mad struggle as I saw the leopard rise quickly into the air; then shrieked wildly as its horrid face, with its eyes aflame—its terrible mouth agape and glistening with strong white teeth—glared into mine, while its breath, like a simoom, stirred my very hair. Madly I flung up my arms, then sunk back insensible.When I came to—for of course I did, else this history would never have been written—I believed I had been killed, and, having passed through the darkness of the grave, had awakened in the other world; but a few instants after my eyes recognised the African foliage about me, and I felt I was lying on the ground, my body painful with pricks and tears, and my head supported on somebody’s knees.“Is that you, Jack, old fellow?” I asked faintly.“Ah, you speak! you live!” exclaimed a well-remembered voice in the Kaffir tongue, and Zenuta’s face was bent over mine.Faint and sore as I was, I started up in my surprise, ejaculating—“Zenuta! you here? How can it be possible?”“Possible! Oh, Galbrth, do you think I could have ever lived without you? You went—oh, cruel, cruel!—but I followed—pardon me.”“What! followed, Zenuta? Have you braved the dangers of the bush alone, and for my sake?” I said, in much astonishment and emotion.“Dangers!” she repeated, smiling, “I did not think of them. What were they to me when I knew by surmounting them I should again see you; and if I did not,” she added seriously, “I thought we might meet againthere,”—pointing upward—“as you have so often told me we should.”The tears started to my eyes at the affection of this poor girl, and, taking her hand, I said, “Heaven bless you, Zenuta! I shall never be able to repay you—never, indeed, for it must be to you that I owe my life.”“Yes, yes! to me, Galbrth, to me!” she cried, a bright joy radiating her features, as she clapped her hands with delight; “you owe your life to me, poor Zenuta! Oh, I am glad—so glad!”“But tell me how, dear Zenuta. I really thought my hour had at last come.”As she was about to commence her story we were interrupted by the return of Umatula and Jack, whose surprise at the appearance of Zenuta was equally as great as mine had been. The Kaffir, I fancied, regarded her angrily, and I secretly resolved that, if he expressed his disapproval in words, the affectionate girl should find a powerful protector in me; but as he remained quiet, and the first vexed expression died out of his features, I explained to them the danger I had run, and learned from Umatula that it was no uncommon thing for the honey guide to lead persons occasionally to the lair of some fierce beast of the forest instead of to the bees’ treasure, which unpleasant propensity makes the natives very cautious when they follow the bird.“But how, Zenuta,” I added, turning again to her, “were you able so soon to follow us and thus become my protector, my preserver?”“At the same time that you left the kraal,” she said, “it seems that a party of warriors was sent to bring us, the women, and cattle to their new home. My people travel faster than white men, and a few hours after I heard—oh, Galbrth! I heard that you had gone—gone for ever to the white settlement. I threw myself in agony on the ground; but I could not weep. My head felt on fire, and at last, starting up, I resolved to follow you. Creeping, in the confusion, out of the kraal, I fled to the bush. I did not care if I died there: I only felt I could no longer live with my people when you were away.”“And the fire last night, Zenuta?” I asked anxiously.“It nearly caught me,” she answered, laughing gleefully, “but I ran—I ran till I could escape it. Then I went on: I could not sleep, for I could find no trace of the path you had taken. It made me mad. I ran on and on—I felt no fatigue—I had no fear—when suddenly a cry, a shout of terror, reached me. It was your voice, Galbrth. I rushed forward: I saw the leopard just rising into the air. I saw your danger. The next moment, with a leap, I had flung my arms tightly about the creature, and we both together fell struggling to the ground, when, feeling one of your assagais touch my hand, I seized it, and plunged it again and again into the leopard’s body, till I felt his claws relax on my arms, when I knew he was dead and I was safe.”“What!” I cried, in much concern, “did the frightful animal harm you, my noble Zenuta?”“A little,” she replied, smiling, as she turned to me her arm, on the back of which I perceived the flesh to be torn and bleeding.“My poor, my brave girl!” I exclaimed tremulously.“It is nothing—I like it,” she laughed softly, “because did I not save you, my Galbrth?”I pressed her hand affectionately in mine, and, before anything else was said or done, persisted that her shoulder should be attended to. Then, being consumed with a terrible thirst, I asked Umatula whether he had prophesied rightly respecting water being near.“Yes,” he replied with an amused smile, “there is plenty at a little distance off, as I should have known,” he added, “had your accident occurred before we started, for the plant which held you prisoner always grows near water.”“If that be so,” I exclaimed, getting up, “for heaven’s sake let us go there, for I am perishing of thirst! Let us get to this stream which you have discovered.”
On rising the next morning, and disposing of some biltongue, we again started on our journey, and got through many hours of the day with but little incident to recount, save that we were consumed by a terrific thirst, having, since the previous evening, been unable to procure water. The rain which had fallen in the neighbourhood of the kraal appeared never to have reached this spot, for the bed of a small stream we had passed was perfectly cracked and arid from want of moisture. So, while a tropical sun was shining down upon our heads, we had to proceed without being able to procure a drop of water to cool our parched lips, only finding relief in sucking or chewing different fruits and leaves of a watery nature, which Umatula pointed out to us.
Having heard our guide once or twice exclaim, “If I had but a chacma here,” I at last asked him what a chacma was, and why he wanted one at that particular moment.
“The chacma,” he answered, “is a baboon, one of the most destructive of the whole species to our crops, for he knows where to find the best as well as we do.”
“By old Davy Jones himself,” ejaculated Thompson in English to me, “but what good would a blessed ape, with these propensities, serve us here?”
The question was answered immediately by Umatula, who had stopped on observing Jack was speaking, and now continued—
“Though our enemy in this, we make him a friend sometimes by taming him; for the chacma is passionately fond of a root called babiana, which is always full of a watery juice; so, when lacking water in dry weather like the present, we lead these creatures by a piece of hide, and they will direct us to these roots, from which, on digging them up, we extract the fluid.”
After this explanation, Jack, as well as I, desired the presence of the chacma as much as Umatula did, but the three wishes were no better than the one—we were quite as destitute of water as ever, and proceeded with our spirits slightly depressed in consequence. To make matters worse, I had happened to tread upon a thorn, which had so pierced my foot as to create a slight lameness, so that I could not walk at the same rate which I had done on the day previously.
It was within two or three hours of nighttime—and here that period succeeds quickly to day—when, by sundry signs and a change in the genus of the vegetation, Umatula said he felt sure that a stream, perhaps a river, must be close at hand, and proposed that, as I was so crippled, he and Jack should, diverging a little from the right track, climb a small eminence some little distance off and ascertain if his surmises were correct.
Willing to save myself from more exertion than was absolutely necessary, I gladly agreed to the plan, and, casting myself at the foot of a tree, watched them depart. They had not long disappeared, however, before the now easily recognised cherr of the Honey Bird attracted my attention. Looking up, I saw the little feathered biped, perched on a bush close by, his head on one side as if making a minute inspection of my person. Fancying a few honey-combs would be a pleasant addition to our late meal, if we could but find water, I scrambled on to my feet and began to follow my small guide. The sweet treasure was evidently not far off, for the bird went slowly, and, after a few yards, stopped by a tangled fence of parasites.
Seeing no place for the bees’ store, I approached and drew aside the tangled mass, believing I should find some felled tree or shattered trunk, which the insects had converted into a hive; but, with a chilling horror, I stood transfixed to the spot, as my eyes encountered those, red as blood, of a leopard that was crouching behind.
How long we remained gazing into each others eyes I do not know—it seemed an hour, but could only have been a few seconds—when a stealthy movement of the animal, as it apparently began to contract its muscles for a spring, recalled me to a sense of my danger, and instinctively I raised an assagai and flung it at the creature; it pierced him in the shoulder, and with a roar of pain he rose, but failed in his bound. Instantly I sprang back, then a cry of horror escaped my lips, for I felt as if a companion of the fierce beast in front had seized me both with claws and teeth from behind. The next instant, however, I had learned the terrible truth. I was once more in the tenacious grasp of another of those awful species of the acacia tribe—the acacia detinens. Yes, there I was, held firmly, confident that the least struggle would but make me a greater prisoner; while the leopard, as if conscious of my helpless position, was slowly dragging itself through the bushes, never once, however, taking its red fiery eyes from my face. I tried to raise my arm with an assagai, but it was useless; the thorns penetrated my flesh, while I felt I had no power to aim the weapon, or, if I did so, the blow would be so light that it would only further irritate without harming the brute in front. I even now shudder at the remembrance of that awful moment. No savage of the most fiendish nature could have gloated over his intended victim more than the leopard seemed to. He drew himself along on his stomach as I have seen a dog do. The wound I had given him I fancied had made him weak, for apparently he was unable to spring, and, though dreading each moment that he would do so, I grew sick and dizzy at the terrible suspense.
All at once I read in the creature’s eyes his intent to put an end to the affair. His tail began slowly to lash backwards and forwards, beating the ground fiercely; then I saw the haunches of the lithe body crouch up, the shoulders draw back. I could bear it no longer. I felt my brain turning, and, uttering cry after cry, called aloud for help, addressing both Umatula and Jack, yet feeling despairingly aware that, even did they hear my cries, they never could arrive in time to aid me. A prayer rose to my lips. I gave one gigantic, mad struggle as I saw the leopard rise quickly into the air; then shrieked wildly as its horrid face, with its eyes aflame—its terrible mouth agape and glistening with strong white teeth—glared into mine, while its breath, like a simoom, stirred my very hair. Madly I flung up my arms, then sunk back insensible.
When I came to—for of course I did, else this history would never have been written—I believed I had been killed, and, having passed through the darkness of the grave, had awakened in the other world; but a few instants after my eyes recognised the African foliage about me, and I felt I was lying on the ground, my body painful with pricks and tears, and my head supported on somebody’s knees.
“Is that you, Jack, old fellow?” I asked faintly.
“Ah, you speak! you live!” exclaimed a well-remembered voice in the Kaffir tongue, and Zenuta’s face was bent over mine.
Faint and sore as I was, I started up in my surprise, ejaculating—“Zenuta! you here? How can it be possible?”
“Possible! Oh, Galbrth, do you think I could have ever lived without you? You went—oh, cruel, cruel!—but I followed—pardon me.”
“What! followed, Zenuta? Have you braved the dangers of the bush alone, and for my sake?” I said, in much astonishment and emotion.
“Dangers!” she repeated, smiling, “I did not think of them. What were they to me when I knew by surmounting them I should again see you; and if I did not,” she added seriously, “I thought we might meet againthere,”—pointing upward—“as you have so often told me we should.”
The tears started to my eyes at the affection of this poor girl, and, taking her hand, I said, “Heaven bless you, Zenuta! I shall never be able to repay you—never, indeed, for it must be to you that I owe my life.”
“Yes, yes! to me, Galbrth, to me!” she cried, a bright joy radiating her features, as she clapped her hands with delight; “you owe your life to me, poor Zenuta! Oh, I am glad—so glad!”
“But tell me how, dear Zenuta. I really thought my hour had at last come.”
As she was about to commence her story we were interrupted by the return of Umatula and Jack, whose surprise at the appearance of Zenuta was equally as great as mine had been. The Kaffir, I fancied, regarded her angrily, and I secretly resolved that, if he expressed his disapproval in words, the affectionate girl should find a powerful protector in me; but as he remained quiet, and the first vexed expression died out of his features, I explained to them the danger I had run, and learned from Umatula that it was no uncommon thing for the honey guide to lead persons occasionally to the lair of some fierce beast of the forest instead of to the bees’ treasure, which unpleasant propensity makes the natives very cautious when they follow the bird.
“But how, Zenuta,” I added, turning again to her, “were you able so soon to follow us and thus become my protector, my preserver?”
“At the same time that you left the kraal,” she said, “it seems that a party of warriors was sent to bring us, the women, and cattle to their new home. My people travel faster than white men, and a few hours after I heard—oh, Galbrth! I heard that you had gone—gone for ever to the white settlement. I threw myself in agony on the ground; but I could not weep. My head felt on fire, and at last, starting up, I resolved to follow you. Creeping, in the confusion, out of the kraal, I fled to the bush. I did not care if I died there: I only felt I could no longer live with my people when you were away.”
“And the fire last night, Zenuta?” I asked anxiously.
“It nearly caught me,” she answered, laughing gleefully, “but I ran—I ran till I could escape it. Then I went on: I could not sleep, for I could find no trace of the path you had taken. It made me mad. I ran on and on—I felt no fatigue—I had no fear—when suddenly a cry, a shout of terror, reached me. It was your voice, Galbrth. I rushed forward: I saw the leopard just rising into the air. I saw your danger. The next moment, with a leap, I had flung my arms tightly about the creature, and we both together fell struggling to the ground, when, feeling one of your assagais touch my hand, I seized it, and plunged it again and again into the leopard’s body, till I felt his claws relax on my arms, when I knew he was dead and I was safe.”
“What!” I cried, in much concern, “did the frightful animal harm you, my noble Zenuta?”
“A little,” she replied, smiling, as she turned to me her arm, on the back of which I perceived the flesh to be torn and bleeding.
“My poor, my brave girl!” I exclaimed tremulously.
“It is nothing—I like it,” she laughed softly, “because did I not save you, my Galbrth?”
I pressed her hand affectionately in mine, and, before anything else was said or done, persisted that her shoulder should be attended to. Then, being consumed with a terrible thirst, I asked Umatula whether he had prophesied rightly respecting water being near.
“Yes,” he replied with an amused smile, “there is plenty at a little distance off, as I should have known,” he added, “had your accident occurred before we started, for the plant which held you prisoner always grows near water.”
“If that be so,” I exclaimed, getting up, “for heaven’s sake let us go there, for I am perishing of thirst! Let us get to this stream which you have discovered.”
Chapter Twenty Four.Overtaken by a Storm—Poor Zenuta—We Start for Dear Old England—My Native Village.Umatula leading the way, and Jack giving me the support of his arm—for what with my lame foot and the thorns having unmercifully torn my flesh, I felt weak—we all four proceeded to the stream, that was a little more than a hundred yards distant, and which proved to be a small tributary of the river Umooli. Here, slaking our thirst, we bivouacked and enjoyed as good a dinner as we could procure, of which Zenuta stood in much need; then we forded the stream, dashing the water and shouting as we went to scare the crocodiles that congregated in rather large numbers on the banks.When on the other side, while preparing to continue our journey, my attention was drawn to the sky, where vast masses of dark clouds were collecting in black mountainous heaps, at the same time that a hot air, as from a furnace, made the atmosphere oppressive to the lungs.Turning, I was about to point out these ominous signs to Umatula, when I perceived by his awe-struck face that he too had seen there was a storm of no common character threatening. The Kaffir, it appears, has a great fear of thunder-storms, and will give the witch-doctors high prices for charms to preserve them from danger during these periods. Zenuta, like Umatula, had several, and eagerly she implored me to wear one, which, to please her, I certainly would have done, had I not felt it against my religion to do so. Would that these charms had indeed been efficacious. Anxiously Umatula glanced up and about him; then indicating a hillside at a very few yards off, warned us to seek shelter there, and as quickly as possible, for perhaps the storm would be down before we could even reach it.Dashing forward, however, we arrived in safety, and found there a cave formed by nature. Into this we huddled to escape the floods of rain which Umatula prophesied would be sure to come.Scarcely had we fairly ensconced ourselves than the heavens grew as black as night; then the dark clouds were rent asunder by a vivid, an awful flash of lightning. All around seemed ablaze, as if fire had rained on the earth, while overhead the thunder began to roll—not clap after clap, but in one continuous roar, like the succession of thousands of cannon, which shook the ground beneath us as if an earthquake were taking place.Never have I seen anything so stupendously awful—too awful even to be grand; for all nature was of one pitchy hue, only illumined at brief intervals by the white blinding lightning. Then down came the rain in sheets, as if the floodgates of some hundreds of Niagaras had been suddenly removed, changing the plain we had so lately traversed in a few seconds into an enormous lake.The Kaffir sat, his face hidden as much as possible to avoid the glaring light. Zenuta crouched in a corner, while Jack and I, save an occasional exclamation of wonder or awe, also remained silent, feeling it was no time to talk.Thus we remained until the storm seemed abating: the lightning had grown rarer, while the thunder was less loud, and we were beginning to congratulate ourselves upon its so speedily passing over, when, as if for a finale, a more awful flash than any of the previous ones again lit up the sky. So dazzling was the glare that, with an involuntary cry from all, we fell prostrate on our faces. The next instant a deafening uproar arose—no longer in the air, but about our ears. I believed the hill had been shaken to its base, and was sliding, rolling, crushing upon top of us, burying us alive.The sound lasted many minutes—to us it appeared hours; then suddenly a perfect stillness fell over everything, and after a while, recovering our breath and senses, we slowly raised our eyes and looked around.The sky was clear, the moon even at intervals shining forth; but how changed was the landscape it lighted up! The whole country was flooded with broad sheets of water, dotted near at hand by immense boulders, which had been rent from the hills around and above us. As I gazed I thought how easily such a rain, did it continue forty days and nights, might flood two worlds instead of one. Slowly, grasping his charm, Umatula now arose, seeing all danger past, and we followed his example. As I did so, however, I became aware that the tight grasp which Zenuta had taken of my hand did not relax, neither did she attempt to rise.With a vague terror I bent over her, trying to lift her up, and calling her by name. She did not move—she did not answer. I believed she had fainted, and eagerly bade Umatula and Jack come to my assistance, as, turning the poor girl on her side, I rested her head against my shoulder. Just then the moon shone out between two clouds, and its beams rested upon Zenuta’s face. A cry of horror, of grief, escaped my lips, for, as I beheld the features plainly, I instantly read the fatal truth. She appeared but in a sleep; yet the half-closed mouth and eyes, the peculiar bluish hue of the dark skin, told too well the tale. Poor Zenuta was dead! Whether she had been struck by the last awful flash, or it had occurred through terror, her heart had ceased to beat in this world for ever.As this fact darted through my brain I bent over the remains of the affectionate girl, and, pressing my lips to her cold forehead, wept like a child, or like a brother for a beloved sister. Here, in the wilds of uncivilised Caffraria, I had truly found one sincerely pure, loving heart. How many a man goes through life in our land without the same blessing! Poor Zenuta! you held, and do still hold, a firm place in my bosom, from which you never can be removed, and I believe, as, thank Heaven,youtoo believed, that we shall meet again hereafter.When I rose up I found that neither Jack nor Umatula’s eyes were free from tears; but, as Jack said truly, but most kindly, it was no time for outward grief: we might and should sorrow in our hearts for the poor girl, yet it would not help her now, and we must not sit down to despond, for there were other duties to be performed. I understood his meaning, and, with their aid, immediately set to work.By the moon’s light I laid Zenuta in the cave, breathed a few fervent heartfelt prayers over her; then together we collected the largest boulders we could carry, and piled them firmly before the opening, making so impregnable a wall that no animal could possibly remove it to disturb her final resting-place.This finished, with saddened hearts—very sad on my part I know—we clambered up to the summit of the hill—for the plains were as yet impassable—and went on our way, neither of the three feeling desirous to sleep after the melancholy occurrence of that evening.Poor Zenuta! Yes, for the last time I must refer to her in this history. My heart felt pained, crushed at her fate; yet I believed that she was far happier where she was than she would have been in a strange land; for I had resolved to take her to England, as I could not have found it in my heart to have deserted her again. But Heaven had willed it otherwise, and it was better for both.Umatula soon after this informed us that we were very near the white settlements, and before the close of the ensuing day we arrived there, no other adventure having happened worth mentioning. I for my part think we had had our full share.Our entrance into the settlement created little attention at first, so like had Jack and I become to the natives; but when it got to be known that two of the three strangers were Englishmen, who had spent over a year with the Kaffir tribes, the interest grew immense, and we were speedily visited by a curious crowd—curious yet hospitable—for we got offers of assistance—food and shelter—from over a dozen of the inhabitants, while all urged us to recount our history.As well as we could we obliged them in everything, and, after having refreshed ourselves, related just the landmarks of our adventures. The next morning, after enjoying a good night’s rest, I proceeded to the mission house, where I executed Mr Ferguson’s commissions, and procured the aid which he had assured us we should. By the means of this, and the help of the rich Boers, we were soon able to attire ourselves in more civilised garments; while I also made numerous purchases, not forgetting the gun, for presents to Metilulu.Having loaded an ox with these, we placed it under the care of Umatula, to whom, to his unbounded delight, we gave several gifts for his having been our guide, then saw him start on his way with a party of natives who were going very nearly in his direction.As may be imagined, we lingered no longer than was compulsory at the settlement, but, after one more day’s rest, set out with a fresh guide to the nearest seaport—Port Natal.Here we arrived without incident of any kind, and so opportunely that we were just in time for a large ship—the Polyphemus—which in a few hours was about to start for England. We speedily got permission to work our passage over in her, and so, on a bright morning, when the sky overhead was of the deepest blue, and the waves danced like things of life in the golden sunlight under our bows, Jack and I, leaning over the bulwarks, bade adieu to Caffraria for ever, and sang out, with our hearts in our voices, “Hey for dear old England once again!” while Jack fairly hugged the tarry shrouds to his breast, as I would have hugged Katie, and wept with very joy at once more feeling the bounding ocean beneath him.We encountered rather rough, squally weather while rounding the Cape, but afterwards got some fair sailing, and made a quick and pleasant voyage home—pleasant, indeed, for the yarns we could spin about the Kaffirs made us ever welcome companions to all of the crew; and, my stars, what yarns Jack did pull! He never seemed to tire of talking, and though the Kaffirs were a curious and strange race, both in their manners and appearance—what I knew them to be in reality, was nothing to what Jack made them in fiction. But like the old woman who would not believe her sailor son’s account of flying fish, but took it as a probable and gospel truth, when he told her that they had fished up from the bottom of the Red Sea one of the wheels of Pharaoh’s chariot, I daresay they all believed Jack quite as much as they did me, who really kept to real facts.No sooner did we reach London than, bidding good-bye to Thompson, who anchored somewhere near Liverpool, and making him promise that, if he should ever come near Devon, he would pay me, his old shipmate in trouble and good fortune, a visit, I took the earliest train I could get that was going near my home, for, now I was so close to my destination, every minute seemed lengthened into an hour’s delay.On arriving at the station, I had over a mile to walk to the little fishing village where I had been born, and never did a mile appear so long to me. I know I began first to run, then to walk very slowly; for the thought came across me that many things might have happened during the two years I had been absent. How did I know but that one of my children—perhaps, oh heaven, Katie—might be dead! That maddening thought put quicksilver in my heels, and I hastened on till near my destination, when I again slackened my steps to a more respectable pace.The sun was just setting, casting a last red fiery kiss upon the crests of the waves, breaking gently on the shore, and on the rocks and humble tiled roofs, as, with a beating heart, I went down the one long straggling street of the village ending on the beach. It was the hour of the evening meal, and few of the inmates were about; yet here and there two or three groups of fishermen were standing talking and smoking, or mending their nets—they and the whole scene seeming strange to me after my fifteen months’ sojourn among the Kaffirs.Most of the men comprising these groups were old acquaintances; yet they regarded me curiously as a stranger, so disguised was I by my long thick beard and bronzed face.I had thus passed along without attracting much notice until, as I reached about the centre of the street, a man—a thoroughly weather-beaten grizzled old fisherman, with a grey eye as keen as an eagle’s—suddenly starting from a group to waylay me, exclaimed with a shout—“My eyes and marlin-spikes, but its Dick Galbraith or his ghost!”The words were like a spark to a barrel of gunpowder—the news flew through the village—so, warmly grasping the old seaman’s hand, I said hurriedly—“Not his ghost, Parker, but himself: come down this evening, and bring two or three of the old acquaintances with you, and I’ll tell you all about it; but I’m now anxious to see my wife, and break the news of my return to her myself.”“That’s right. She’s still in the same cottage on the rock side, Dick, my hearty, and my eyes, won’t she just be ready to jump out of her skin for joy at seeing you.”With a happy smile and nod, I ran hastily on, for I feared the news might reach my wife before I could get there. The next moment the well-known cottage, so often recalled in Caffraria, rose up before me in reality. Yes, there was its weather-beaten old shingle front, there were the little loop-hole windows, and there was the small white swing gate leading into the patch of garden ground. Breathlessly I passed through the latter and peeped in at the cottage door, which stood ajar.At the table, on which the tea things were laid, sat Katie, as pretty, neat, and tidy as ever, but a shade sadder looking, while by her side were our children, little specimens of healthy humanity, which it did a father’s heart good to look upon. Controlling my emotion as much as I could, and assuming a very doleful tone and expression, I said, disguising my voice—“Please, missus, have you got a ha’penny or crust for a poor shipwrecked mariner, who’s been nigh a year or more among the savidges, and lost all his kit.”“Yes, come in, my good man,” responded Katie’s gentle tones. “No shipwrecked sailor,” she added sadly, “shall ever be turned from my threshold. Enter and partake of our simple meal.”Pushing open the door, I went in trembling in every limb. As I appeared, my youngest, a stout pudgy little fellow of nearly three, suddenly slipped off his chair, and toddling towards me, his bread and butter extended, lisped,—“Here, dood man, Dick not hungry; take this.”I could control my feelings no longer, but throwing my arms out, I caught the boy to my heart, weeping and laughing at the same time, as I pressed kiss after kiss upon his chubby face.Katie, surprised at this behaviour, looked up, then, as if a veil had fallen from her eyes, divined the truth. With a cry of joy she rushed forward, exclaiming hysterically as she flung her arms about me.“Oh, Richard, my husband, my beloved! Is it possible! Do I really see you again?”I clasped her to me, and for a while we cried and laughed together, then I led her to a chair, for she was rather overcome by the sudden surprise, and hugged and kissed my little ones, who had almost forgotten their father.After another kissing match all round, I drew my chair up to the familiar chimney corner, and taking some tea, with Katie opposite me, and my children about my knees, began to recount my adventures to my wife, who, bless her heart, almost wept her pretty eyes out at poor Zenuta’s sad story.Many years have elapsed since that happy evening, and I am now captain of my own ship, but my native place is as dear to me as ever. As my riches increased, I had our cottage turned into a large commodious house, sufficient for my increasing family. And it was here, in a small gabled room hanging right over the sea, that while gazing out at the wild expanse of waters during a terrific storm, the thought occurred to me to write my adventures. So sitting down, pen in hand, I immediately began this history of my life, thinking it likely that there might be many who would find amusement in reading the recital of “Richard Galbraith, Mariner, when wrecked on Caffraria.”The End.
Umatula leading the way, and Jack giving me the support of his arm—for what with my lame foot and the thorns having unmercifully torn my flesh, I felt weak—we all four proceeded to the stream, that was a little more than a hundred yards distant, and which proved to be a small tributary of the river Umooli. Here, slaking our thirst, we bivouacked and enjoyed as good a dinner as we could procure, of which Zenuta stood in much need; then we forded the stream, dashing the water and shouting as we went to scare the crocodiles that congregated in rather large numbers on the banks.
When on the other side, while preparing to continue our journey, my attention was drawn to the sky, where vast masses of dark clouds were collecting in black mountainous heaps, at the same time that a hot air, as from a furnace, made the atmosphere oppressive to the lungs.
Turning, I was about to point out these ominous signs to Umatula, when I perceived by his awe-struck face that he too had seen there was a storm of no common character threatening. The Kaffir, it appears, has a great fear of thunder-storms, and will give the witch-doctors high prices for charms to preserve them from danger during these periods. Zenuta, like Umatula, had several, and eagerly she implored me to wear one, which, to please her, I certainly would have done, had I not felt it against my religion to do so. Would that these charms had indeed been efficacious. Anxiously Umatula glanced up and about him; then indicating a hillside at a very few yards off, warned us to seek shelter there, and as quickly as possible, for perhaps the storm would be down before we could even reach it.
Dashing forward, however, we arrived in safety, and found there a cave formed by nature. Into this we huddled to escape the floods of rain which Umatula prophesied would be sure to come.
Scarcely had we fairly ensconced ourselves than the heavens grew as black as night; then the dark clouds were rent asunder by a vivid, an awful flash of lightning. All around seemed ablaze, as if fire had rained on the earth, while overhead the thunder began to roll—not clap after clap, but in one continuous roar, like the succession of thousands of cannon, which shook the ground beneath us as if an earthquake were taking place.
Never have I seen anything so stupendously awful—too awful even to be grand; for all nature was of one pitchy hue, only illumined at brief intervals by the white blinding lightning. Then down came the rain in sheets, as if the floodgates of some hundreds of Niagaras had been suddenly removed, changing the plain we had so lately traversed in a few seconds into an enormous lake.
The Kaffir sat, his face hidden as much as possible to avoid the glaring light. Zenuta crouched in a corner, while Jack and I, save an occasional exclamation of wonder or awe, also remained silent, feeling it was no time to talk.
Thus we remained until the storm seemed abating: the lightning had grown rarer, while the thunder was less loud, and we were beginning to congratulate ourselves upon its so speedily passing over, when, as if for a finale, a more awful flash than any of the previous ones again lit up the sky. So dazzling was the glare that, with an involuntary cry from all, we fell prostrate on our faces. The next instant a deafening uproar arose—no longer in the air, but about our ears. I believed the hill had been shaken to its base, and was sliding, rolling, crushing upon top of us, burying us alive.
The sound lasted many minutes—to us it appeared hours; then suddenly a perfect stillness fell over everything, and after a while, recovering our breath and senses, we slowly raised our eyes and looked around.
The sky was clear, the moon even at intervals shining forth; but how changed was the landscape it lighted up! The whole country was flooded with broad sheets of water, dotted near at hand by immense boulders, which had been rent from the hills around and above us. As I gazed I thought how easily such a rain, did it continue forty days and nights, might flood two worlds instead of one. Slowly, grasping his charm, Umatula now arose, seeing all danger past, and we followed his example. As I did so, however, I became aware that the tight grasp which Zenuta had taken of my hand did not relax, neither did she attempt to rise.
With a vague terror I bent over her, trying to lift her up, and calling her by name. She did not move—she did not answer. I believed she had fainted, and eagerly bade Umatula and Jack come to my assistance, as, turning the poor girl on her side, I rested her head against my shoulder. Just then the moon shone out between two clouds, and its beams rested upon Zenuta’s face. A cry of horror, of grief, escaped my lips, for, as I beheld the features plainly, I instantly read the fatal truth. She appeared but in a sleep; yet the half-closed mouth and eyes, the peculiar bluish hue of the dark skin, told too well the tale. Poor Zenuta was dead! Whether she had been struck by the last awful flash, or it had occurred through terror, her heart had ceased to beat in this world for ever.
As this fact darted through my brain I bent over the remains of the affectionate girl, and, pressing my lips to her cold forehead, wept like a child, or like a brother for a beloved sister. Here, in the wilds of uncivilised Caffraria, I had truly found one sincerely pure, loving heart. How many a man goes through life in our land without the same blessing! Poor Zenuta! you held, and do still hold, a firm place in my bosom, from which you never can be removed, and I believe, as, thank Heaven,youtoo believed, that we shall meet again hereafter.
When I rose up I found that neither Jack nor Umatula’s eyes were free from tears; but, as Jack said truly, but most kindly, it was no time for outward grief: we might and should sorrow in our hearts for the poor girl, yet it would not help her now, and we must not sit down to despond, for there were other duties to be performed. I understood his meaning, and, with their aid, immediately set to work.
By the moon’s light I laid Zenuta in the cave, breathed a few fervent heartfelt prayers over her; then together we collected the largest boulders we could carry, and piled them firmly before the opening, making so impregnable a wall that no animal could possibly remove it to disturb her final resting-place.
This finished, with saddened hearts—very sad on my part I know—we clambered up to the summit of the hill—for the plains were as yet impassable—and went on our way, neither of the three feeling desirous to sleep after the melancholy occurrence of that evening.
Poor Zenuta! Yes, for the last time I must refer to her in this history. My heart felt pained, crushed at her fate; yet I believed that she was far happier where she was than she would have been in a strange land; for I had resolved to take her to England, as I could not have found it in my heart to have deserted her again. But Heaven had willed it otherwise, and it was better for both.
Umatula soon after this informed us that we were very near the white settlements, and before the close of the ensuing day we arrived there, no other adventure having happened worth mentioning. I for my part think we had had our full share.
Our entrance into the settlement created little attention at first, so like had Jack and I become to the natives; but when it got to be known that two of the three strangers were Englishmen, who had spent over a year with the Kaffir tribes, the interest grew immense, and we were speedily visited by a curious crowd—curious yet hospitable—for we got offers of assistance—food and shelter—from over a dozen of the inhabitants, while all urged us to recount our history.
As well as we could we obliged them in everything, and, after having refreshed ourselves, related just the landmarks of our adventures. The next morning, after enjoying a good night’s rest, I proceeded to the mission house, where I executed Mr Ferguson’s commissions, and procured the aid which he had assured us we should. By the means of this, and the help of the rich Boers, we were soon able to attire ourselves in more civilised garments; while I also made numerous purchases, not forgetting the gun, for presents to Metilulu.
Having loaded an ox with these, we placed it under the care of Umatula, to whom, to his unbounded delight, we gave several gifts for his having been our guide, then saw him start on his way with a party of natives who were going very nearly in his direction.
As may be imagined, we lingered no longer than was compulsory at the settlement, but, after one more day’s rest, set out with a fresh guide to the nearest seaport—Port Natal.
Here we arrived without incident of any kind, and so opportunely that we were just in time for a large ship—the Polyphemus—which in a few hours was about to start for England. We speedily got permission to work our passage over in her, and so, on a bright morning, when the sky overhead was of the deepest blue, and the waves danced like things of life in the golden sunlight under our bows, Jack and I, leaning over the bulwarks, bade adieu to Caffraria for ever, and sang out, with our hearts in our voices, “Hey for dear old England once again!” while Jack fairly hugged the tarry shrouds to his breast, as I would have hugged Katie, and wept with very joy at once more feeling the bounding ocean beneath him.
We encountered rather rough, squally weather while rounding the Cape, but afterwards got some fair sailing, and made a quick and pleasant voyage home—pleasant, indeed, for the yarns we could spin about the Kaffirs made us ever welcome companions to all of the crew; and, my stars, what yarns Jack did pull! He never seemed to tire of talking, and though the Kaffirs were a curious and strange race, both in their manners and appearance—what I knew them to be in reality, was nothing to what Jack made them in fiction. But like the old woman who would not believe her sailor son’s account of flying fish, but took it as a probable and gospel truth, when he told her that they had fished up from the bottom of the Red Sea one of the wheels of Pharaoh’s chariot, I daresay they all believed Jack quite as much as they did me, who really kept to real facts.
No sooner did we reach London than, bidding good-bye to Thompson, who anchored somewhere near Liverpool, and making him promise that, if he should ever come near Devon, he would pay me, his old shipmate in trouble and good fortune, a visit, I took the earliest train I could get that was going near my home, for, now I was so close to my destination, every minute seemed lengthened into an hour’s delay.
On arriving at the station, I had over a mile to walk to the little fishing village where I had been born, and never did a mile appear so long to me. I know I began first to run, then to walk very slowly; for the thought came across me that many things might have happened during the two years I had been absent. How did I know but that one of my children—perhaps, oh heaven, Katie—might be dead! That maddening thought put quicksilver in my heels, and I hastened on till near my destination, when I again slackened my steps to a more respectable pace.
The sun was just setting, casting a last red fiery kiss upon the crests of the waves, breaking gently on the shore, and on the rocks and humble tiled roofs, as, with a beating heart, I went down the one long straggling street of the village ending on the beach. It was the hour of the evening meal, and few of the inmates were about; yet here and there two or three groups of fishermen were standing talking and smoking, or mending their nets—they and the whole scene seeming strange to me after my fifteen months’ sojourn among the Kaffirs.
Most of the men comprising these groups were old acquaintances; yet they regarded me curiously as a stranger, so disguised was I by my long thick beard and bronzed face.
I had thus passed along without attracting much notice until, as I reached about the centre of the street, a man—a thoroughly weather-beaten grizzled old fisherman, with a grey eye as keen as an eagle’s—suddenly starting from a group to waylay me, exclaimed with a shout—
“My eyes and marlin-spikes, but its Dick Galbraith or his ghost!”
The words were like a spark to a barrel of gunpowder—the news flew through the village—so, warmly grasping the old seaman’s hand, I said hurriedly—
“Not his ghost, Parker, but himself: come down this evening, and bring two or three of the old acquaintances with you, and I’ll tell you all about it; but I’m now anxious to see my wife, and break the news of my return to her myself.”
“That’s right. She’s still in the same cottage on the rock side, Dick, my hearty, and my eyes, won’t she just be ready to jump out of her skin for joy at seeing you.”
With a happy smile and nod, I ran hastily on, for I feared the news might reach my wife before I could get there. The next moment the well-known cottage, so often recalled in Caffraria, rose up before me in reality. Yes, there was its weather-beaten old shingle front, there were the little loop-hole windows, and there was the small white swing gate leading into the patch of garden ground. Breathlessly I passed through the latter and peeped in at the cottage door, which stood ajar.
At the table, on which the tea things were laid, sat Katie, as pretty, neat, and tidy as ever, but a shade sadder looking, while by her side were our children, little specimens of healthy humanity, which it did a father’s heart good to look upon. Controlling my emotion as much as I could, and assuming a very doleful tone and expression, I said, disguising my voice—
“Please, missus, have you got a ha’penny or crust for a poor shipwrecked mariner, who’s been nigh a year or more among the savidges, and lost all his kit.”
“Yes, come in, my good man,” responded Katie’s gentle tones. “No shipwrecked sailor,” she added sadly, “shall ever be turned from my threshold. Enter and partake of our simple meal.”
Pushing open the door, I went in trembling in every limb. As I appeared, my youngest, a stout pudgy little fellow of nearly three, suddenly slipped off his chair, and toddling towards me, his bread and butter extended, lisped,—
“Here, dood man, Dick not hungry; take this.”
I could control my feelings no longer, but throwing my arms out, I caught the boy to my heart, weeping and laughing at the same time, as I pressed kiss after kiss upon his chubby face.
Katie, surprised at this behaviour, looked up, then, as if a veil had fallen from her eyes, divined the truth. With a cry of joy she rushed forward, exclaiming hysterically as she flung her arms about me.
“Oh, Richard, my husband, my beloved! Is it possible! Do I really see you again?”
I clasped her to me, and for a while we cried and laughed together, then I led her to a chair, for she was rather overcome by the sudden surprise, and hugged and kissed my little ones, who had almost forgotten their father.
After another kissing match all round, I drew my chair up to the familiar chimney corner, and taking some tea, with Katie opposite me, and my children about my knees, began to recount my adventures to my wife, who, bless her heart, almost wept her pretty eyes out at poor Zenuta’s sad story.
Many years have elapsed since that happy evening, and I am now captain of my own ship, but my native place is as dear to me as ever. As my riches increased, I had our cottage turned into a large commodious house, sufficient for my increasing family. And it was here, in a small gabled room hanging right over the sea, that while gazing out at the wild expanse of waters during a terrific storm, the thought occurred to me to write my adventures. So sitting down, pen in hand, I immediately began this history of my life, thinking it likely that there might be many who would find amusement in reading the recital of “Richard Galbraith, Mariner, when wrecked on Caffraria.”
The End.