The trial of Ronald Mervyn for the murder of Margaret Carne was marked by none of the unexpected turns or sudden surprises that not unfrequently give such a dramatic interest to the proceedings. All the efforts of the police had failed in unearthing any facts that could throw a new light upon the subject, and the evidence brought forward was almost identical with that given at the coroner's inquest; the counsel asked a great many questions, but elicited no new facts of importance; the only witnesses called for the defence were those as to character, and one after another the officers of Mervyn's regiment came forward to testify that he was eminently popular, and that they had never observed in him any signs of madness.
They said that at times he got out of spirits, and was in the habit of withdrawing himself from their society, and that on these occasions he not infrequently went for long rides, and was absent many hours; he was, perhaps, what might be called a little queer, but certainly not in the slightest degree mad. Old servants of the family and many neighbours gave testimony to the same effect, and Dr. Arrowsmith testified that he had attended him from childhood, and that he had never seen any signs of insanity in his words or actions.
Ruth had escaped the one question which she dreaded, whether she had seen anything in the room that would afford a clue to the discovery of the perpetrator of the crime. She had thought this question over a hundred times, and she had pondered over the answer she should give. She was firmly resolved not to tell an actual lie, but either to evade the question by replying that when she recovered her senses she made straight to the door without looking round; or, if forced to reply directly, to refuse to answer, whatever the consequences might be. It was then with a sigh of deep relief that she left the witness-box, and took up her station at the point to which the policeman made way for her. As she did so, however, he whispered:
"I think you had better go out, my girl. I don't think this is a fit place for you. You look like to drop now;" but she shook her head silently, and took up her station in the corner, grasping in one hand something done up in many folds of paper in her pocket.
The same question had been asked other witnesses by the counsel for the defence, and he had made a considerable point of the fact that the constable and Dr. Arrowsmith both testified that the candles were standing one on each side of the looking-glass, and although the room had been carefully searched, no half-burnt match had been discovered. In his address for the defence he had animadverted strongly upon this point.
"It was a dark night, gentlemen. A dark night in November. You will remember we had the evidence that whoever committed this murder must have moved about the room noiselessly; the evidence shows that the murderer drew down the clothes so gently and softly that he did not awaken the sleeper. Now, as intelligent men, you cannot but agree with me that no man could have made his way about this absolutely dark room with its tables and its furniture, and carried out this murder in the way stated, without making some noise; it would be an utter impossibility. What is the conclusion? He was either provided with a light, or he was forced to strike a match and light a candle.
"In the latter case he must have been provided with silent matches, or the noise would have awakened the sleeper. Of one thing you may be sure, Captain Mervyn had not provided himself with silent matches; but even had not the sound of an ordinary match being struck awakened the sleeper, surely the sudden light would have done so. I ask you from your own experience whether, however soundly you might be sleeping, the effect of a candle being lit in your room would not awaken you; therefore I think it safe to assume that in the first place, because no match was found, and in the second place, because had a candle been lit it would assuredly have awakened the sleeper, and we know that she was not awakened, that no candle was lighted in the room.
"How then did the assassin manage after entering the room to avoid the dressing-table, the chairs, and other furniture, and to see to manipulate the bedclothes so gently that the sleeper was not awakened? Why, gentlemen, by means of the implement carried by every professional burglar, I mean, of course, a dark lantern. Opening the shade slightly, and carefully abstaining from throwing the light towards the bed, the burglar would make his way towards it, showing sufficient light to carry out his diabolical purpose, and then opening it freely to examine the room, open the trinket-box, and carry away the valuables.
"The counsel for the prosecution, gentlemen, has not even ventured to suggest that the prisoner, Captain Mervyn, was possessed of such an article. His course has been traced through every village that he rode, up to ten o'clock at night, by which time every shop had long been closed, and had he stopped anywhere to buy such an article we should surely have heard of it. Therefore, gentlemen, I maintain that even if this fact stood alone, it ought to convince you of the innocence of the prisoner.
"In his reply, the counsel for the prosecution had admitted that some weight must be attached to this point, but that it was quite possible that whoever entered the window might have felt on the table until he found a candlestick, and lit it, stooping down behind the table, or at the bottom of the bed, and so shading it with his coat that its light would not fall on the face of the sleeper. As for the point made that no match had been found, no great weight could be attached to it; the prisoner might have put it in his pocket or thrown it out of the window."
When the defence was concluded, and the counsel for the prosecution rose to speak, the feeling in the court was still against the prisoner.
In all that had been said the evidence pointed against him, and him only, as the author of the crime; no hint of suspicion had been dropped against any other person; and the manner in which the crime had been committed indicated strongly that it was the act of a person actuated by jealousy, or animosity rather than that of a mere burglar. This view of the case was strongly brought out by the counsel for the prosecution.
"The theory of the prosecution is," he said, "not that this unfortunate gentleman, while in the full possession of his senses, slew this lady, to whom he was nearly related, and for whom he had long cherished a sincere affection—the character you have heard given him by so many witnesses would certainly seem to show him to be a man incapable of such a crime. Our theory is that the latent taint of insanity in his blood—that insanity which, as you have heard from Dr. Arrowsmith and other witnesses, is hereditary in his ancestors on his mother's side, and has, before now, caused calamities, almost if not quite as serious as this—suddenly flamed out. We believe that, as has been shown by witnesses, he galloped away many miles over the country, but we believe that at last, wrought up to the highest pitch of frenzy, he returned, scaled the wall, opened the window, and murdered Miss Carne. You have heard that he was subject to moody fits, when he shunned all society; these fits, these wild rides you have heard of, are symptoms of a disordered mind. Perhaps had all gone happily with him, the malady would not have shown itself in a more serious form.
"Unfortunately, as we know, there was sharp and sudden unhappiness—such unhappiness as tries the fibre even of the sanest men, and might well have struck a fatal blow to his mind. It is not because you see him now, calm and self-possessed, that you are to conclude that this theory is a mistaken one. Many, even the most dangerous madmen, have long intervals when, apparently, their sanity is as perfect as that of other people. Then suddenly, sometimes altogether without warning, a change takes place, and the quiet and self-possessed man becomes a dangerous lunatic—perhaps a murderer.
"Such, gentlemen, is the theory of the prosecution. You will, of course, weigh it carefully in your minds, and it will be your duty, if you agree with it, to give expression to your opinion in your verdict."
The judge summed up the case with great care. After going through the evidence piecemeal, he told the jury that while the counsel for the defence had insisted upon the uncertainty of circumstantial evidence, and the numerous instances of error that had resulted from it, it was his duty to tell them that in the majority of cases of murder there could be, from the nature of things, only circumstantial evidence to go upon, for that men did not commit murder in the open streets in sight of other people. At the same time, when circumstantial evidence alone was forthcoming, it was necessary that it should be of the most conclusive character, and that juries should, before finding a verdict of guilty, be convinced that the facts showed that it was the prisoner, and he only, who could have done the deed.
"It is for you, gentlemen, to decide whether the evidence that has been submitted to you does prove, absolutely and conclusively to your minds, that the prisoner must have been the man who murdered Miss Carne. Counsel on both sides have alluded to the unquestioned fact that madness is hereditary in the family of the prisoner; whether or not it is inherited by him, is also for you to decide in considering your verdict. You will have to conclude first whether the prisoner did or did not commit this murder. If you believe that he did so, and that while he did so he was insane, and incapable of governing his actions, your duty will be to find him not guilty upon the ground of insanity."
The general tenor of the summing-up certainly showed that in the opinion of the judge the evidence, although strong, could not be considered as absolutely conclusive. Still, the bias was not strongly expressed, and when the jury retired, opinions in court were nearly equally divided as to what the verdict would be.
When he left the witness-box, Dr. Arrowsmith made his way to the corner in which one of the policemen had placed Ruth after giving her evidence. She had done this with a steadiness and composure that had surprised the doctor; she had fortunately escaped much questioning, for the counsel saw how fragile and weak she looked, and as she had but entered the room, seen her mistress dead, fainted and left again, there was but little to ask her. The questions put were: "Was the jewellery safe in the box when she left the room the night before? Did she remember whether the window was fastened or not?" To this her reply was negative. Miss Carne had shut it herself when she went up in the afternoon, and she had not noticed whether it was fastened. "Was the blind a Venetian or an ordinary roller blind?"
"A roller blind."
"Then, if the window opened, it could be pushed aside without noise. Did you notice whether the candlesticks were standing where you had left them?"
"I noticed that they were on the table and in about the same place where they were standing the night before, but I could not say exactly."
"I want you to go out, Ruth," Dr. Arrowsmith said, when he reached her after the jury had retired. "They may be an hour or more before they make up their minds. You are as white as death, child. Let me lead you out."
Ruth shook her head, and murmured, "I must stay." The doctor shrugged his shoulders and returned to his seat. It was an hour and a half before the door opened and the foreman of the jury entered. As he was unaccompanied, it was evident he wanted to ask a question.
"My lord," he said, "we are unanimous as to one part of the verdict, but we can't agree about the other."
"How do you mean, sir?" the judge asked. "I don't want to know what you are unanimous about, but I don't understand what you mean about being unanimous about one part of the verdict and not unanimous on the other."
The foreman hesitated. Then, to the astonishment of the court, the prisoner broke in in a clear steady voice:
"I will not accept acquittal, sir, on the ground of insanity. I am not mad; if I had been the events of the last two months would have driven me so. I demand that your verdict be guilty or not guilty."
The judge was too surprised to attempt to check the prisoner when he first began to speak, and although he attempted to do so before he had finished, the interruption was ineffectual.
"Go back, sir," the judge then said to the foreman. "You must be unanimous as to the whole of your verdict."
The interruption of the prisoner had enlightened those in court as to the nature of the foreman's question. Undoubtedly he had divined rightly. The jury were in favour of the verdict not guilty, but some of them would have added on the ground of insanity. The interruption, although irregular, if not unprecedented, had a favourable effect upon his hearers. The quickness with which the accused had seized the point, and the steady, resolute voice in which he had spoken, told in his favour, and many who before, had they been in the jury-box, would have returned the verdict of not guilty on the ground of insanity, now doubted whether they would add the concluding words.
A quarter of an hour later the jury returned.
"We are now unanimous, my lord. We say that the prisoner at the bar is not guilty."
A sound like a sigh of relief went through the court. Then every one got up, and there was a movement to the doors. The policeman lifted the bar, and Ronald Mervyn stepped out a free man, and in a moment was surrounded by a number of his fellow officers, while some of his neighbours also pressed forward to shake him by the hand.
"I will shake hands with no man," he said, drawing back; "I will greet no man so long as this cloud hangs over me—so long as it is unproved who murdered Margaret Carne."
"You don't mean it, Mervyn; you will think better of it in a few days," one of his fellow officers said, as they emerged into the open air. "What you have gone through has been an awful trial, but now that you are proved to be innocent you will get over it."
"I am not proved to be innocent, though I am not proved to be guilty. They have given me the benefit of the doubt; but to the end of my life half the world will believe I did it. Do you think I would go through life to be pointed at as the man who murdered his cousin? I would rather blow out my brains to-night. No, you will never see me again till the verdict of guilty has been passed on the wretch who murdered my cousin. Good-bye. I know that you believe me innocent, but I will not take your hands now. When you think it over, you will see as well as I do that you couldn't have a man in the regiment against whom men as he passed would whisper 'murderer.' God bless you all." And Ronald Mervyn turned and walked rapidly away. One or two of the officers would have followed him, but the colonel stopped them.
"Leave him alone, lads, leave him alone. We should feel as he does were we in his place. Good Heavens! how he must have suffered. Still, he's right, and however much we pity him, we cannot think otherwise. At the present moment it is clear that he could not remain in the regiment."
As soon as the crowd had turned away, Dr. Arrowsmith made his way to the point where Ruth had been standing. Somewhat to his surprise he found her still on her feet. She was leaning back in the corner with her eyes closed, and the tears streaming down her cheeks.
"Come, my dear," he said, putting his arm under hers, "let us be moving. Thank God it has all ended right."
"Thank God, indeed, doctor," she murmured. "I had hardly hoped it, and yet I have prayed so much that it might be so."
The doctor found that though able to stand while supported by the wall, Ruth was unable to walk. With the aid of a policeman he supported her from the court, placed her in a vehicle, and took her to an hotel.
"There, my dear," he said, when Ruth had been assisted up to a bedroom by two of the maids, "now you go to bed, and lie there till to-morrow morning. I will have a basin of strong broth sent you up presently. It's quite out of the question your thinking of going home to-night. I have several friends in the town, and am glad of the excuse to stay over the night. I will call for you at ten o'clock in the morning; the train goes at half-past ten; I will have your breakfast sent up here. I will go down to the station now. There are lots of people over here from Carnesford, and I will send a messenger back to your mother, saying that you have got through it better than I expected, but I wanted you to have a night's rest, and you will be home in the morning."
"Thank you, doctor; that is kind of you," Ruth murmured.
"Help her into bed, girls. She has been ill, and has had a very trying day. Don't ask her any questions, but just get her into bed as soon as you can."
Then the doctor went downstairs, ordered the broth and a glass of sherry for Ruth, and a bedroom for himself, and then went off to see his friends. In the morning he was surprised, when Ruth came downstairs, to see how much better she looked.
"My prescription has done you good, Ruth. I am glad to see you look wonderfully better and brighter."
"I feel so, sir. I went to sleep directly I had taken the broth and wine you sent me up, and I did not wake till they called me at half-past eight. I have not slept for an hour together for weeks. I feel as if there was such a load taken off my mind."
"Why, Ruth, you didn't know Captain Mervyn to speak to, did you, that you should feel such an interest in him?" the doctor said, looking at her sharply.
"No, sir, I have never once spoken to him that I know of."
"Then why do you care so much about his being acquitted?"
"It would have been dreadful if he had been found guilty when he was innocent all the time."
"But then no one knew he was innocent for certain," the doctor said.
"I felt sure he was innocent," Ruth replied.
"But why did you feel sure, Ruth?"
"I can't exactly say, sir, but I did feel that he was innocent."
The doctor looked puzzled, but at this moment the cab arrived at the station, and the subject was not renewed, but the doctor afterwards wondered to himself more than once whether Ruth could have any particular reason for her assurance of Ronald Mervyn's innocence.
For another ten days the Mervyn trial was the great topic of conversation throughout the country, and the verdict was canvassed with almost as much keenness and heat as the crime had been before the trial. Now that Ronald Mervyn was no longer in hazard of his life, the feeling of pity which had before told so strongly in his favour was wanting. If a man so far forgets himself as to use threats to a woman, he must not be surprised if he gets into trouble. Of course, now the jury had given a verdict of "Not guilty," there was no more to be said. There was no doubt he was a very lucky fellow, and the jury had given him the benefit of the doubt. Still, if he hadn't done it, who had killed Margaret Carne?
Such was the general opinion, and although Ronald had still some staunch adherents in his own neighbourhood, the tide of feeling ran against him.
Two months after the trial, Mrs. Mervyn died, broken down by grief, and while this naturally caused a renewal of the talk, it heightened rather than otherwise the feeling against her son. The general verdict was that it was his doing; whether he killed Margaret Carne or not, there was no doubt that he had killed his mother. All this was doubtless unfair, but it was not unnatural; and only those who believed thoroughly in Ronald's innocence felt how hard this additional pain must be for him.
Immediately the funeral was over, the two girls moved away to London, and the house was advertised to let, but the odour of the recent tragedy hung over it. No one cared to take a house with which such a story was connected. A month or two later there was a sale of the furniture; the house was then shut up and lost to the county. Ten days after the trial it was announced inThe Gazettethat Ronald Mervyn had retired from the service upon sale of his commission. No one had seen him after he had left the court a free man. His horses were sold a week later, and his other belongings forwarded from the regiment to an address he gave in London. His mother and sister had a few days later gone up for a day to town, and had met him there. He had already written to them that he intended to go abroad, and they did not seek to combat his resolution.
"I can never come back, mother, unless this is cleared up. You must feel as well as I do, that I cannot show my face anywhere. I am surprised that I have got off myself, and indeed if it were not that I am sure I never got off my horse that night, I should sometimes suspect that I must for a time have been really mad and have done what they accuse me of. I have already sent down a detective to the village. There must be some clue to all this if one could only hit upon it, but I own that at present I do not see where it is to be looked for. I do not believe that it was done by some passing tramp. I agree with every word that was said at my trial in that respect.
"Everything points to the fact that she was deliberately murdered, though who, except myself, could have entertained a feeling of animosity against Margaret, God only knows. There is one comfort, mother, and only one," he said with a hard laugh. "I can set our minds at ease on one point, which I have never felt sure about before, that is, that I have not inherited the curse of the Carnes. Had I done so, the last two months would have made a raving lunatic of me, whereas I have never felt my head cooler and my reason clearer than I have since the day I was arrested. But you mustn't grieve for me more than you can help, mother; now that it is over, I feel more for you and the girls than I do for myself. I have a sort of conviction that somehow, though I don't see how, the thing will be cleared up some day. Anyhow I mean to go and lead a rough life somewhere, to keep myself from brooding over it. The weight will really fall upon you, far more than upon me, and I should strongly advise you to shut up the house, let it if you can, and either come up here or settle in some place—either Brighton or Hastings—where this story will be soon forgotten and no one will associate your names with this terrible business."
About that time a stranger arrived at Carnesford. He announced that he was a carpenter from the North, and that he suffered from weak lungs, and had been recommended to live down South. After staying for a week at the "Carne's Arms," he stated that he liked the village so much that he should settle there if he saw a chance of making a livelihood, and as it happened that there was no carpenter in the village, the idea was received with favour, and a week later he was established in a cottage that happened to be vacant. As he was a man who seemed to have travelled about England a good deal, and was well spoken and informed, he soon took a good position in the place, and was even admitted to form one of the party in the snuggery, where he would talk well upon occasions, but was specially popular as an excellent listener.
When spring came there was a fresh sensation. The gardener at The Hold, in digging up some ground at the edge of the shrubbery, to plant some rhododendrons there, turned up the missing watch and jewellery of Margaret Carne. It was all buried together a few inches below the soil, without any wrapper or covering of any kind. Captain Hendricks arrived at Carnesford as soon as the news of the discovery reached him. Reginald Carne was himself away, having been absent ever since the trial took place. Most of the servants had left at once; the old cook and a niece of hers alone remaining in charge, and two stablemen from the garden also staying in the house.
Nothing came of the discovery; but it, of course, renewed the interest in the mystery of Margaret Carne's death, and the general opinion was that it was fortunate indeed for Ronald Mervyn that the discovery had not been made before his trial, for it completely demolished the theory that the murder was the work of a burglar. It was possible, of course, that such a man, knowing the active hue and cry that would be set on foot, and that it would be dangerous to offer the jewellery for sale, and still more dangerous to keep it about him, had at once buried it, intending to go back some day to recover it, for, as Reginald stated at the trial, the missing jewels were worth fifteen hundred pounds.
But had they been so hidden they would assuredly have been put in a box or some sort of cover that would protect them from the damp, and not have been merely thrust into the ground. Altogether the discovery greatly heightened, instead of diminishing, the impression that the murder was an act of revenge and not the outcome of robbery; and the cloud over Ronald Mervyn became heavier rather than lighter in consequence.
Ruth Powlett had gained health and strength rapidly after the verdict "Not guilty" had been returned against Ronald Mervyn. She was still grave and quiet, and as she went about her work at home, Hesba would sometimes tell her that she looked more like a woman of fifty than a girl of nineteen; but her mind had been lightened from the burden of her terrible secret, and she felt comparatively happy. She spent much of her time over at the Foresters', for the old man and his wife were both ailing, and they knew that there was little chance of their ever seeing their son again, for the gamekeeper who had been injured in the poaching affray had since died, and as the evidence given at the inquest all pointed to the fact that it was George Forester who had struck the blow that had eventually proved fatal, a verdict of "Wilful murder" had been returned against him.
Ruth's conscience was not altogether free as to her conduct in the matter, and at the time of Mrs. Mervyn's death she suffered much. As for Ronald Mervyn himself, she had little compassion for him. She would not have permitted him to be hung; but the disgrace that had fallen upon him, and the fact that he had been obliged to leave the country, affected her but little. She had been greatly attached to her mistress, who had treated her rather as a friend than as a servant; and that he should have insulted and threatened Margaret was in her eyes an offence so serious that she considered it richly deserved the punishment that had befallen him.
Until she heard of Mrs. Mervyn's death, she had scarcely considered that the innocent must suffer with the guilty, and after that she felt far more than she had done before, that she had acted wrongly in keeping the secret, the more so since the verdict returned against George Forester in the other case had rendered the concealment to some extent futile. But, indeed, Forester and his wife did not suffer anything like the pain and shame from this verdict that they would have done had their son been proved to have been the murderer of Miss Carne. Public opinion, indeed, ran against poaching as against drunkenness, or enlisting in the army, or other wild conduct; but it was not considered as an absolute crime, nor was the result of a fight, in which a keeper might be killed by a blow struck in self-defence, regarded as a murder, in whatever point of view the law might take it. Still Ruth suffered, and at times told herself bitterly that although she meant to act for the best, she had done wrongly and wickedly in keeping George Forester's secret.
Three months later, to the regret of all Carnesford, the carpenter, who, although not a first-rate hand, had been able to do the work of the village and neighbourhood, suddenly left. He had, he said, received a letter telling him he had come into a little property up in the North, and must return to see after it. So two days later the cottage again stood vacant, and Carnesford, when it wanted a carpenter's job done, was obliged to send over to the next village for a man to do it.
It was in August, 1850. Some newly-arrived emigrants had just landed from their ship, and were walking through the streets of Cape Town, watching with great amusement the novel sights, the picturesque groups of swarthy Malays in huge beehive-shaped hats, with red-and-yellow bandanas round their necks, and their women in dresses of the most gorgeous colours. Settlers from inland farms rode at a reckless pace through the streets, and huge waggons drawn by eight or ten bullocks came creaking along, often at a trot. One of the party stopped before a placard.
"Active young men wanted for the Cape Mounted Rifles. For full particulars as to service and pay, inquire of the Adjutant at the Barracks of the Corps."
"I thought they were recruited in England," he muttered to himself. "I will go round presently and see about it, but I will look at the papers first. If there is any trouble on with the natives it would suit me well, but I certainly will not enlist merely to dawdle about in the towns. I would rather carry out my idea of buying a farm and going in for stock-raising." He went into a liquor shop, called for some of the native wine, and took up a newspaper. It contained numerous letters from settlers on the frontier, all saying that the attitude of the natives had changed greatly within the last few weeks, and that all sorts of alarming rumours were current, and it was feared that in spite of the solemn treaties they had made two years before, the natives were again going to take up arms.
"I think that's good enough," he said to himself. "There are likely to be stirring times again here. Nothing would suit my case better than an active life, hard work, and plenty of excitement."
Having finished his wine, he inquired the way to the barracks of the detachment of the corps stationed at Cape Town, and being directed to it, entered the gates. He smiled to himself at his momentary feeling of surprise at the sentry at the gate neglecting to salute him, and then inquiring for the orderly room, he went across the little barrack-yard and entered. The adjutant looked up from the table at which he was writing.
"I see a notice that you want men, sir," the new-comer said.
"Yes, we are raising two fresh troops. What age are you?"
"Twenty-eight."
"You have served before, have you not?" the adjutant said, looking at the well-knit figure standing before him.
"Yes, I have served before."
"Infantry or cavalry?"
"The infantry; but I can ride."
"Have you your papers of discharge?"
"No."
"Have you any one to speak to your character?"
"No one here. I only landed this morning by theThalia, which came in from England last night."
"That is awkward," the officer said. "You know that as a rule we only enlist in England, and only take applicants of good character."
"I am aware of that, sir; but as just at present you are likely to want men who can fight, character is not of so much importance."
The adjutant smiled, and again scrutinised the applicant closely.
"The man has been an officer," he said to himself. "Well, that is nothing to me; he has the cut of a soldier all over."
"Do you know the conditions of service? You provide your own horse and uniform. Government provides arms. In the event of your not being able to find your horse and uniform, Government will—as it is anxious to fill up the ranks as soon as possible—provide them, and stop the money from your pay."
"I can provide horse and uniform."
"Very well, then, I will take you," the officer said.
"I enlist as Harry Blunt. I may say, sir, that I should feel very greatly obliged if, as I know my duty, you would post me to a troop already up the country instead of to one of those you are raising, and who will have to learn their drill and how to sit a horse before they can be sent up on active duty."
"I can do that," the officer said; "it is only yesterday that we called for recruits, and we have only had two or three applications at present; there is a draft going on to Port Elizabeth next week, and if I find that you are, as you say, up in your drill, I will send you up with them."
"Thank you, sir, I am very much obliged to you."
"The major will be here at four o'clock," the adjutant said; "come in at that time, and you can be attested and sworn in."
"After all," Ronald Mervyn said to himself, as he strode away, "there's nothing like soldiering. I know I should have fretted for the old work if I had settled down on a farm, or even if I had gone in, as I half thought of doing, for shooting for a year or so before settling down. If these natives really mean to make trouble, we shall have an exciting time of it, for the men I have talked with who fought in the last war here say that they have any amount of pluck, and are enemies not to be despised. Now I will be off and look for a horse. I'd better not order my uniform until I am sworn in; the major may, perhaps, refuse me on the ground of want of character." He went up to two or three young farmers who were standing talking in the street.
"I am a stranger, gentlemen, and have just landed. I want to buy a good horse; can you tell me what is the best way to set about it?"
"You will have no difficulty about that," one of them replied, "for there's been a notice up that Government wants to buy horses, and at two o'clock this afternoon, those who have animals to dispose of fit for cavalry service are to bring them into the parade ground in front of the infantry barracks. Government has only asked for fifty horses, and there will probably be two or three times that number brought in. We have each brought in a horse or two, but they are rather expensive animals. I believe the horses are intended for mounts for staff-officers. They want more bone and strength than is general in the horses here."
"I don't much mind what I pay," Ronald said, carelessly. "However, gentlemen, I may see you down there, and if Government does not take your horses, perhaps I may make a deal with one of you."
At the appointed hour Ronald strolled down to the parade. There were a good many officers assembled there, and a large number of young Boer farmers, each with one or more horses, led by natives. The major and adjutant of the Cape Mounted Rifles were examining the horses, which were ridden up and down before them by their owners, the adjutant himself sometimes mounting and taking them a turn. Presently his eyes fell upon Ronald, who was closely scrutinising the horses.
"That is the young fellow I was speaking to you about, major, the man in the tweed suit examining that horse's mouth."
"Yes, I have no doubt you are right, Lawson; he has the cut of a military man all over, and beyond all question a gentleman. Out-ran the constable at home, I suppose. Well, we will take him anyhow; for rough work men of that stamp make the very best soldiers. I fancy we have more than one in our ranks now. No, you need not bring that horse up," he broke off, addressing the young farmer, whose horse Ronald had just been examining. "He's got some vice about him, or you would not be offering him at our prices."
"He's as good a horse as there is in the colony," the young Dutchman said; "but I am not offering him at your price. I thought that some young officer might be inclined to buy him, and I have brought him down to show. There is no vice about him that I know of, but he has only been mounted twice, and as he has never been off the farm before he is a bit fidgety."
"What do you want for him?" the major asked, examining the horse closely.
"I want a hundred and twenty pounds for him."
"A hundred and twenty fiddlesticks," the major said. "Why, man, there are not ten horses in the colony worth a hundred and twenty pounds."
"Perhaps not," the young Dutchman said, coolly, "but this is one of the ten."
Several of the other officers now came up and examined the horse, and they were unanimous in their approval of him.
"He would be worth three hundred as a hunter at home," one of them remarked, "but nobody's going to give such a price as that out here, when you can get a decent runner for twenty; but he is certainly the handsomest horse I have seen since I have been in the colony, and I have seen some good ones, too."
The farmer moved off with the horse. As he left the ground, Ronald again walked up to him.
"I like your horse," he said, "and if you will take a hundred pounds for him, I will give it you."
"Very well," the Dutchman said, "I will take it, but I wouldn't take a penny under. Have you the money here?"
"I have not got it in my pocket," Ronald replied, "but I have letters of credit on the bank. Walk round with me there, and I will give you the cash."
In ten minutes the money was obtained and handed to the farmer, who gave Ronald a receipt for it. Ronald took the halter from the hands of the native, and at once led the horse to the stable of the hotel at which he had already left his luggage. Then he ordered one of the cases to be opened, and took out a saddle and bridle which he had brought out with him in view of rough colonial work.
"I did not expect to be suited so soon," he said to himself, "and certainly did not expect to find such a mount here. I like him better than either of my old hunters, and will back him, after a couple of months' good handling, to win any military steeplechase. That's money well laid out; when a man may have to ride for his life, money in horseflesh is a good investment."
He went down at four o'clock, and was attested and sworn in.
"I saw you down on the parade ground, Blunt," the adjutant said. "We have bought a score of horses for the use of recruits. You can have one of them at the Government price if you choose."
"I am much obliged to you, sir," Ronald replied, "but I picked one up myself."
"He will have to pass inspection, you know, Blunt?"
"I think he's good enough to pass, sir," Ronald said, quietly. "I am considered a pretty good judge of a horse."
"There is the address of a tailor," the adjutant said, handing him a card; "he has got a supply of the right cloth, and has contracted to supply uniforms at a very reasonable price. You need not come into barracks until to-morrow, unless you choose."
"I thank you, sir. I have a few things to get, and I would rather not report myself until to-morrow afternoon, if you will give me leave."
"Very well, then, I will not ration you to-morrow. Report yourself to Sergeant Menzies any time before nine o'clock in the evening."
Ronald gave the military salute, turned on his heel, and went out of the barracks. He went straight to the tailor whose card had been given to him. "I want to be measured for a uniform for the Mounted Rifles," he said. "How much do you charge?"
"We supply tunic, jacket, and two pairs of breeches, and cap, for nine pounds."
"When can you let me have them?"
"In three days."
"I must have them by to-morrow afternoon, by six o'clock, and I will pay you two pounds extra to get them done by then. But mind, I want good-fitting clothes. Do you understand?"
"You will pay eleven pounds for them if I get them ready by six o'clock. Very well, then, I will try and do them."
"Of course you can do them, if you choose," Ronald said. "If you get them cut out and stitched together, I will come in at nine o'clock in the morning to try them on. Now where can I get jack-boots?"
"The last shop down the end of this street. Moens is the name. He always keeps a lot by him, and the Mounted Rifles here mostly deal with him."
Ronald was fortunate enough to obtain a pair of boots that fitted him well, and he now strolled back to his hotel. The next morning, after trying on his uniform, which was of dark green, he went to the stables and saddled his new purchase. The horse was fidgety and nervous from its new surroundings, and refused for some time to let him mount; but he patted and soothed it, and then putting one hand on the saddle, sprang into it at a bound. He rode at a walk through the streets, and when he got beyond the limits of the town touched the horse with his spurs. The animal reared up, lashed out behind once or twice, and then went off at a gallop. Ronald kept along the road until he was beyond the patches of land cultivated by the natives. When once in the open country, he left the road, and allowed the horse to gallop across country until its speed abated, by which time he was nearly ten miles from Cape Town; then he turned its head, and at a quiet pace rode back to the town.
"A month's schooling," he said, "and it will be an almost perfect horse; its pace is very easy, and there's no doubt about its strength and wind. You are a beauty, old boy," he went on, as he patted the animal's neck, "we shall soon be capital friends."
The uniform was delivered punctually, and after saying good-bye to his fellow-passengers who were staying at the hotel, Ronald put on his uniform, filled the valise, he had that afternoon purchased, with a useful kit, took out an excellent sporting rifle that would carry Government ammunition, and a brace of revolvers, and, packing up his other clothes and ordering all the baggage to be put away in a store until required, he mounted and rode into barracks.
"Where shall I find Sergeant Menzies?" he asked one of the men at the guardroom.
"His quarters are over there, the last door in that corner."
Ronald rode over to the point indicated, and then dismounted. He entered the passage. The sergeant's name was written on a piece of paper fastened on the first door. He came out when Ronald knocked. "I was ordered by the adjutant to report myself to you, sergeant," Ronald said, saluting.
"He told me that a recruit was coming, but how did you get your uniform? Why, you only enlisted yesterday."
"I hurried them up a bit," Ronald said. "Where shall I put my horse?"
The sergeant went into his quarters and came out with a lantern. He held it up and examined the horse.
"Well, lad, you have got a bonny beast, a downright beauty. You will have to get the regulation bridle, and then you will be complete. Let me look at you." He held up the lantern. "You will do, lad," he said, "if you make as good a soldier as you look. You only want the sword and belt to be complete. You will have them served you out in the morning. Now, come along and I will show you the stable." He made his way to the stable, where there was a vacant stall, and stood by while Ronald removed the saddle and bridle and put on the head-stall. "You can take an armful of hay from that rack yonder. I can't get him a ration of grain to-night, it's too late."
"He's just had a good feed," Ronald said, "and will not want any more, but I may as well give him the hay to amuse himself with. It will accustom him to his new quarters. What shall I do with my rifle and pistols?"
"Bring them with you, lad; but there was no occasion for you to have brought them. Government finds arms."
"I happened to have them with me," Ronald said, "and as the rifle carries Government ammunition, I thought they would let me use it."
"If it's about the right length I have no doubt they will be glad to do so, for we have no very great store of arms, and we are not quite so particular about having everything exactly uniform as they are in a crack corps at home. As for the pistols, there is no doubt about them, as being in the holsters they don't show. Several of the men have got them, and most of the officers. Now, I will take you up to your quarters." The room to which he led Ronald contained about a dozen men. Some had already gone to bed, others were rubbing up bits and accoutrements; one or two were reading. "Here's a new comrade, lads," the sergeant said; "Blunt's his name. He is a new arrival from home, and you won't find him a greenhorn, for he has served already."
Ronald had the knack of making himself at home, and was, before he turned in an hour later, on terms of good fellowship with his comrades.
In the morning, after grooming his horse, he went into the barrack-yard, when the troop formed up for dismounted drill.
"Will you take your place at once in the ranks?" Sergeant Menzies asked. "Do you feel equal to it?"
"Yes; I have not grown rusty," Ronald replied, as he fell in.
An hour's work sufficed to show Sergeant Menzies, who was drilling the troop, that the new recruit needed no instructions on that score, and that he was as perfect in his drill as any one in the troop.
"Are you as well up in your cavalry drill as in the infantry?" he asked Ronald as the troop fell out.
"No," Ronald said, "but when one knows one, he soon gets well at home in the other. At any rate, for simple work the system is exactly the same, and I think with two or three drills I shall be able to keep my place."
After breakfast the troop formed up again in their saddles, and the officers took their places in the ranks. As the sergeant handed to the adjutant some returns he had been compiling, the latter asked:
"By the way, sergeant, did the recruit Blunt join last night?"
"Yes, sir, and he is in his place now in the rear rank. He was in his uniform when he came, and I found this morning that he is thoroughly well up in his drill. A smart soldier all over, I should say. I don't know that he will do so well mounted, but I don't think you will see him make many blunders. He is evidently a sharp fellow."
"He ought not to have taken his place until I had passed his horse, sergeant. Still I can do that after parade drill is over."
The adjutant then proceeded to put the troop through a number of easy movements, such as forming from line to column, and back into line, and wheeling. There was no room for anything else in the barrack-yard, which was a small one, as the barracks would only hold a single troop. Before the movements were completed, the major came out. When the troop was dismissed Sergeant Menzies brought Ronald up to the two officers. He had in the morning furnished him with the regulation bridle, belt, and sword. Ronald drew up his horse at a short distance from the two officers and saluted.
"There's no doubt about his horse," the major said, "that is if he is sound. What a good-looking beast!"
"That it is, major. By Jove, I believe it's the very animal that young Boer asked us one hundred and twenty pounds for yesterday; 'pon my word, I believe it's the same."
"I believe it is," the major agreed. "What a soldierly-looking young fellow he is! I thought he was the right stamp yesterday, but I hardly expected to see him turn out so well at first."
The two officers walked up to Ronald, examined his horse, saddle, and uniform.
"That's not a regulation rifle you have got there," the major said.
"No, sir, it is one I brought from England with me. I have been accustomed to its use, and as it is the regulation bore, I thought perhaps I might carry it."
"It's a trifle long, isn't it?" the adjutant asked.
"Yes, sir, it's just two inches too long, but I can have that cut off by a gunsmith."
"Very well; if you do that you can carry it," the major said. "Of course it's much better finished than the regulation one, but not much different in appearance. Very well, we pass the horse." Ronald saluted and rode off to the stables.
"He hasn't come out penniless, anyhow," the major laughed.
"No, that's quite evident," the adjutant agreed. "I dare say his friends gave him a hundred or two to start on a farm, and when he decided to join us he thought he might as well spend it, and have a final piece of extravagance."
"I dare say that's it," the major agreed; "anyhow I think we have got hold of a good recruit this time."
"I wish they were all like him," the adjutant sighed, thinking of the trouble he often had with newly-joined recruits.
"By the way," the major said, "I have got word this morning that the draft is to be embarked to-morrow instead of next week. They took up a ship for them yesterday; it seems our men there are worked off their legs, for the Kaffirs are stealing cattle and horses in all directions, and the colonists have sent in such a strong letter of complaint to the Governor that even he thinks the police force on the frontier ought to be strengthened. Not, of course, that he admits in the slightest that there is any ground for alarm, or believes for a moment that the Kaffirs have any evil intentions whatever; still, to reassure the minds of the settlers, he thinks the troops may as well go forward at once."
"I wish to goodness," the adjutant said, bitterly, "that Sir Harry Smith would take a cottage for two or three months close to the frontier; it would not be long before his eyes were opened a little as to the character and intentions of the Kaffirs."
"It would be a good thing," the major agreed, "but I doubt if even that would do it till he heard the Kaffirs breaking in his doors; then the enlightenment would come too late to be of any service to the colony. By-the-bye, the colonel told me yesterday he should send me forward next week to see after things. He says that of course if there is any serious trouble he shall go forward himself."
The following morning the draft of Cape Mounted Rifles embarked on board a steamer and were taken down to Algoa Bay, and landed at Port Elizabeth, drenched to the skin by the passage through the tremendous surf that beats upon the coast, and were marched to some tents which had been erected for them on a bare sandhill behind the town.
Ronald Mervyn was amused at the variety of the crowd in the straggling streets of Port Elizabeth. Boer farmers, Hottentots, Malays, and Fingoes, with complexions varying through every shade of yellow and brown up to black; some gaily dressed in light cottons, some wrapped in a simple cowhide or a dirty blanket, many with but little clothing beyond their brass and copper ornaments.
The country round was most monotonous. As far as the eye could see it was nothing but a succession of bare, sandy flats, and, beyond these, hills sprinkled with bush and occasional clumps of aloes and elephant trees. Upon the following morning the troop marched, followed by a waggon containing their baggage and provisions, drawn by ten oxen. A little naked boy marched at the head of the oxen as their guide, and they were driven by a Hottentot, armed with a tremendous whip of immense length, made of plaited hide fastened to the top of a bamboo pole. After a fourteen miles' march the troop reached the Zwart Kop river, and, crossing the ford, encamped among the scattered mimosas and numerous wait-a-bit thorns. The horses were then knee-haltered, and they and the oxen were turned out to feed till night. The next day's march was a very long one, and for the most part across a sandy desert, to the Sunday River, a sluggish stream in which, as soon as the tents were pitched, the whole party enjoyed a bath.
"To-morrow we shall reach the Addoo Bush, Blunt," one of his comrades, who knew the country well, remarked. "This is near the boundary of what you may call the Kaffir country, although I don't think they have their kraals as far south as this, though there was fighting here in the last war, and may be again."
"But I thought our territory extended as far as the Kei River?"
"So it does nominally," the other said. "All the country as far as that was declared to be forfeited; but in point of fact the Kaffirs remained in possession of their lands on condition that they declared their allegiance to the Crown, and that each chief was made responsible for any cattle or other robberies, the spoor of which could be traced to his kraal. Of course they agreed to this, as, in fact, they would agree to anything, resolving, naturally, to break the conditions as soon as it suited them. Local magistrates and commissioners are scattered about among them, and there have been a lot of schools and missionary stations started. They say that they are having great success. Well, we shall see about that. In the last war the so-called Christian natives were among the first to turn against us, and I expect it will be the same here, for it's just the laziest and worst of the natives who pretend to become Christians. They get patches of land given them, and help in building their huts, and all sorts of privileges. By about half-a-day's work each week they can raise enough food to live upon, and all that is really required of them is to attend services on a Sunday. The business exactly suits them, but as a rule there are a great many more Hottentots than Kaffirs among the converts. I can give you a specimen of the sort of men they are. Not long since a gentleman was coming down with a waggon and a lot of bullocks from King Williamstown. The drivers all took it into their head to desert one day—it's a way these fellows have, one of them thinks he will go, and then the whole lot go, and a settler wakes up in the morning and finds that there isn't a single hand left on his place, and he has perhaps four or five hundred cows to be milked, and twice as many oxen and horses to look after. Well, this happened within a mile or so of the missionary station, so the gentleman rode over there and asked if some of the men would go with him down to Beaufort, a couple of days' march. Nobody would go; he raised his offers, and at last offered five times the usual rate of pay, but not one of the lazy brutes would move, and he had at last to drive the whole lot down himself, with the aid of a native or two he picked up on the way. However, there has been pretty good order along the frontier for the last two years, partly due to the chiefs having to pay for all cattle traced to their kraals, partly to the fact that we have got four hundred Kaffir police—and an uncommon smart lot of fellows they are—scattered all along the frontier, instead of being, like us, kept principally in towns. You see, we are considered more as a military body. Of course, we have a much easier time of it than if we were knocking about in small parties among the border settlements; but there is a lot more excitement in that sort of life, and I hope that if there is trouble they will send us out to protect the settlements."
"I hope so," Ronald said, cordially. "Barrack life at a dull little town is the slowest thing in the world. I would never have enlisted for that sort of thing."
"Well, if what the settlers say turns out right, you will have plenty of excitement, I can tell you. I was in the last war, and I don't know that I want to go through another, for these beggars fight a great deal too well for it to be pleasant, I can tell you. The job of carrying despatches or escorting waggons through a bush where these fellows are known to be lurking, is about as nasty a one as a man can wish. At any moment, without the least notice, you may have half-a-dozen assegais stuck in your body. And they can shoot straight, too; their guns are long and clumsy, but they carry long distances—quite as far as our rifles, while, as for the line muskets, they haven't a chance with them."
Two more days' marching and the troop arrived at Grahamstown. Here they encamped near Fort England, where a wing of the 91st Regiment was quartered, and the next fortnight was spent in constant drills. The rifles were then ordered forward to King Williamstown, where two days later they were joined by the infantry.
Before starting, the adjutant had specially called the attention of Captain Twentyman, who commanded the troop, to his last joined recruit.
"You will find that man Blunt, who joined us yesterday, a good soldier, Twentyman. It may be he has been an officer, and has got into some row at home and been obliged to leave the service. Of course you noticed his horse on parade this morning; we have nothing like it in the Corps. The farmer who owned it offered it to us yesterday afternoon, and wanted a hundred and twenty pounds for it. He said that both his sire and dam were English hunters, the sire he had bought from an English officer, and the grandsire was a thoroughbred horse. The man has a large farm, about twenty-five miles from Cape Town, and goes in for horse-breeding; but I have seen nothing before of his as good as that. I expect the young fellow has spent his last penny in buying it. Of course I don't know what he will turn out in the way of conduct; but you will find, if he is all right in that respect, that he will make a first-rate non-commissioned officer, and mounted as he is, will, at any rate, be a most useful man for carrying despatches and that sort of thing. I confess I am very much taken with him. He has a steady, resolute sort of face; looks pleasant and good-tempered, too. Keep your eye upon him."
Captain Twentyman had done so during the voyage and on the line of march, and Ronald's quickness, alacrity, and acquaintance with his duty convinced him that the adjutant's supposition was a correct one.
"By Jove, Twentyman," an officer of the 91st said as he was standing beside him when Ronald rode up and delivered a message, "that fellow of yours is wonderfully well mounted. He's a fine soldierly-looking fellow, too, and I don't know why, but his face seems quite familiar to me."
"I fancy he has been an officer," Captain Twentyman replied, "we have several in the corps—men who have been obliged for some reason or other to sell out, and who, finding nothing else to do, have enlisted with us. You see the pay is a good deal higher than it is in the regular cavalry, and the men as a whole are a superior class, for you see they find their own horses and uniforms, so the life is altogether more pleasant than the regular service for a man of that kind. Almost all the men are of respectable family."
"I certainly seem to know his face," said the officer, thoughtfully, "although where I saw it I have not the least idea. What is his name?"
"He enlisted as Harry Blunt, but no doubt that's not his real name. Very few men of his kind, who enlist in the army, do so under their own names."
"I don't know any one of that name," the officer said, "but I certainly fancy I have seen your man before; however, I don't suppose in any case he would like being recognised; men who are under a cloud don't care about meeting former acquaintances."
A week later, to Ronald's great satisfaction, a party of twenty men, of whom he was one, under Troop-Lieutenant Daniels, were ordered to march the next morning to the Kabousie River, whence the settlers had written praying that a force might be sent for their protection, as the Kaffirs in the neighbourhood were becoming more and more insolent in their manner. Many of their cattle had been driven off, and they were in daily expectation of an attack. No waggons accompanied the party, as they would erect huts if they remained in one place, and would have no difficulty in obtaining provisions from the farmers. The men chosen for the service were all in high glee at the prospect of a change from the dulness of the life at King Williamstown, and were the objects of envy to their comrades.
The start was made at daybreak, and after two days' long marching they reached their destination. The country was a fertile one, the farmhouses were frequent, most of them embedded in orchards and vineyards, showing signs of comfort and prosperity.
"This is the first place that I have seen since I reached the colony," Ronald said to the trooper riding next to him, "where I should care about settling."
"There are a good many similar spots in this part of the country," the man said, "and I believe the folks here are everywhere doing well, and would do better if it were not for these native troubles. They suffered a lot in the last war, and will, of course, bear the brunt of it if the natives break out again. There are a good many English and Scotch settlers in this part. There are, of course, some Dutch, but as a rule they go in more for cattle-farming on a big scale. Besides, they do not care about English neighbours; they are an unsociable set of brutes, the Dutch, and keep themselves to themselves as much as possible."
As it was possible that the detachment might remain for some time in their present quarters, Lieutenant Daniels at once set them to work to erect a couple of huts, each capable of holding ten men. Several of the farmers sent two or three of their native labourers to assist in cutting and bringing to the spot timber for the framework and supplying straw for thatching the roofs. The operation was not a long one. The walls were made with wattle plastered with mud, and the work was accomplished in a couple of days. The men were glad of the shelter, for, although the heat was very great during the day, the nights were cold and sharp. The horses were picketed behind the huts; the officer took up his quarters at a farmhouse a hundred yards away. Once housed, the men had little to do, for, in the daytime, there was no fear of the Kaffirs coming down on their plundering expeditions, such attempts being only made at night. When evening fell, the saddles were placed on the horses, and the men lay down in their clothes, simply taking off their jackets and jack-boots, so as to be in readiness to turn out at a moment's alarm. Sometimes they rode out in small parties patrolling the whole country, not with any idea of finding cattle-thieves, but merely to give confidence to settlers, whose Kaffir servants were sure to give intelligence to their friends in the bush of the presence of the Mounted Rifles in the neighbourhood.
When they had been there a fortnight they heard that the Governor had come to King Williamstown, and had summoned the various chiefs to assemble there. They had all come with the exception of the paramount Chief Sandilli, had assured the Governor of their fidelity, sworn allegiance anew, and ratified it by kissing the stick of peace. The Governor was so satisfied with their assurances that he issued a reply to the petitions of the colonists, saying that reports throughout British Kaffraria were most satisfactory, that the chiefs were astonished at the sudden arrival of the troops, and that he hoped to arrest some of the Kaffirs who had spread the alarming reports. The Governor gave his solemn assurance to those of the settlers who had left their farms that there was no occasion for alarm.
A commission, however, appointed by him to investigate the numerous complaints of the settlers, speedily forwarded to him such alarming accounts of the critical state of affairs, that he again left for the frontier, taking with him from Cape Town the 73rd Regiment and a detachment of artillery. A proclamation was at once issued for the establishment of a police force, the enrolment of new levies and of a corps of volunteers for self-defence, so as to leave the whole of the military at liberty for operations.
One day, towards the end of November, Ronald and a comrade had ridden some twelve miles out of the station, when they saw a young lady on horseback riding towards them. She drew rein when she reached them.
"We have had fifty cattle driven off in the night," she said, "and some of the neighbours have followed the trail. I am riding over to report the fact to your officer."
"We can report it," Ronald said, "and save you the trouble of riding further; but if you like we will ride back with you first, and see if we can be of any service."
"I am afraid it will be no use," the girl said; "they will be in the woods before they can be overtaken, and then, you know, there will be nothing to do but to report where their trail ended and wait for the chance of getting compensation from the chief."
By this time they were galloping back with her. The tale was similar to scores of others they had heard since their arrival in the valley, and they knew that there was but slight chance of recovering the trail, the order being stringent that they were on no account to enter the bush. The cattle, therefore, were as good as lost, for all were well aware that in the present state of things there was but little prospect of receiving compensation from the chief. The party found, indeed, upon their arrival at the farmhouse, which was a large and comfortable one, and furnished in English style, that the neighbours had returned, having traced the spoor of the stolen cattle up to the edge of the bush.
The farmer came out to the door as his daughter rode up.
"Come in," he said to the troopers, "and have some refreshment. The rascals have got away again. I expect that they are some of my old servants, for they knew the trick of the fastenings I have had put to the gate of the cattle-kraal, which would certainly have puzzled any of the Kaffirs. Now sit down and make yourselves at home."
The other settlers were already seated at the table that the Hottentots or, as they were always called, "tottie" servants, had laid with a profusion of food. The young lady, still in her blue riding-habit, did not sit down to the table, but moved about, seeing that the "tottie" girls attended to the wants of the guests. She was, Ronald thought, about eighteen years old, and had the graceful, active figure so common among girls who spend much of their time on horseback. She was strikingly pretty, and her expression of delicacy and refinement was unusual among the daughters of the colonial farmers. This he was not surprised at, when he glanced at her father, who was a fine-looking man, with a gray moustache.
"I am always glad to see the uniform again," he said, presently, to Ronald. "I served myself when I was a young man, and was an ensign in the Rifles at Waterloo, but I got tired of soldiering in the times of peace, and came out to the Cape thirty years ago, so you can well understand that I am fond of a sight of the uniform again, especially that of your corps, which is nearly the colour of my own. Well, I have had pretty nearly enough of the Cape, and intend in another year or two to go back home. I have moved a good many times, as you may imagine, since I came out, but I don't like running away, and, besides, just at present I should get nothing for my farm."
"I can imagine that farms are rather a drug in the market just now," Ronald replied, "especially those at the edge of the frontier. However, we must hope that this trouble will blow over, and now that the Governor is, as I hear, coming round with the 73rd, the Kaffirs may think better of it."
"I think they have made up their mind to give us a little trouble," the settler said. "Their witch-doctor, Umlanjeni, has been stirring them up with all sorts of predictions, and Sandilli, who no doubt set him to work, has, we know, been intriguing with the other chiefs. The sudden disappearance of the Kaffir servants from all the farms of this part of the country was, of course, in obedience to orders, and is certainly ominous. They say that there are altogether three thousand muskets, six million rounds of ball cartridge, and half-a-million assegais in the hands of the natives. It has been a suicidal business allowing trade in firearms and ammunition to be carried on with them. I wish that the talkative fools at Cape Town who manage our affairs were all located down on the frontier; they might learn some sense then as to the way of dealing with the natives. But the worst sign of all is that, as I have heard to-day from some of my Hottentots, the order has been given by Umlanjeni to slay and eat."
"To slay and eat!" Ronald repeated in surprise. "What does that mean, sir?"
"Ah, that question shows you have not been long in the colony," the settler said. "You know, the Kaffirs live at ordinary times entirely upon a vegetable diet, but it is their custom upon the approach of war to eat meat, believing that flesh gives them courage and ferocity. However, as it was only three weeks ago that the chiefs all swore to be peaceable and faithful, I hardly think that there's any danger of an outbreak for some time to come, perhaps not for some months. You see, it is just midsummer now, and my crops are nearly fit for cutting. I sent most of my cattle away a fortnight since, and when I have got my crops in I shall shut up the house and move into Grahamstown. We have many friends there, and shall stop there until we see what comes of this business, and when it is all over I shall dispose of my farm. I do not think there is any real danger here. We have always been on excellent terms with the natives, and Anta, who is chief of the tribe in this part, often comes down here and begs a bottle of Cape smoke or a pound of tobacco. He has smoked many a pipe in this room, and treacherous as the people are, I cannot think that he would allow his men to do us any harm. He generally addresses me as his white brother."
An active conversation was at the same time going on between the other guests, who were discussing the farm at which it would be best for neighbours to assemble in case of attack. The settler, whose name was Armstrong, had placed Ronald next himself, while his comrade was at the other end of the table, these being the only seats vacant at the table when they entered. Ronald and the settler chatted quietly together for some time. Mary Armstrong, who had taken her place leaning on the back of her father's chair, when she had seen the guests attended to, occasionally joined in.
Mr. Armstrong was pleased with his guest.
"I hope next time when you ride over in this direction you will call in again," he said. "I can assure you that we shall be heartily glad to see you, and, if you can get leave off duty for a night, to put you up. It is a real pleasure to me to have a chat with some one fresh from England, and to hear how things look after all these years. Why, I shall hardly know the country again, cut up as it seems to be with these railways."
After the meal was over, Ronald and his friend rode back to their quarters.
"That's a nice-looking little girl," the trooper said, as they rode away from the house; "they say her father is the richest man in these parts, and that he owns a lot of property at the Cape. If I were him I should live there instead of in this out-of-the-way place."
"I suppose he is fond of a country life," Ronald replied, ignoring the first part of the remark; "I should think that society in Cape Town is not very interesting."
"I don't know that," the other replied. "I know that if I had money enough to settle down there you wouldn't find me many hours knocking about here as a trooper."
"It's all a matter of taste," Ronald replied. "When I was at home I lived in the country and prefer it to town, and like an active life in the open air better than anything Cape Town could give me."
"That's a nice young fellow, Mary—that man in the Cape Rifles," Mr. Armstrong said to his daughter the same evening. "I should say he is altogether above his position, don't you think so?"
"I do not know that I thought much about it, father. Yes, I suppose he wasn't like an ordinary soldier."
"Not at all, Mary, not at all. I fancy from what I have heard that there are a good many young men of decent family serving in the corps. It's a thousand times better for a young fellow who's got neither money nor interest to come out here than to stay at home breaking his heart in trying to get something to do. Yes. I should say from his talk, and especially from the tone of his voice, that he has seen better days. It's a pity the colony can't afford to keep on foot four or five regiments of these Mounted Rifles. We should not hear much of native troubles if they did. The natives are much more afraid of them than of the soldiers; and no wonder. In the first place they are more accustomed to the country, and in the second place they are armed with weapons that will kill at a considerable distance, while Brown Bess is of no use at over a hundred yards. Well, I hope that young fellow will drop in again; I should like another chat with him. It's a pleasant change to meet any one who is willing to talk on some subject other than natives, and crops, and cattle."