Volume Two—Chapter Four.“So the Face before her Lived, Dark-Splendid...”And what of her to whom this long, weary period had been so many years and so many months of terrible self-reproach? To her, though Time had brought no solace, it had brought a certain amount of resignation; and she had been able to school herself to face the future as best she might. Then suddenly, without so much as a moment’s warning, this man whom she had mourned as dead, whom she had wept and prayed for, night and morning, as one whom she would never again behold here on earth, stood before her. She had looked up, expecting to see a stranger—and therehestood! No wonder the blood forsook her ashy face and her heart stood still.And now, in the dark, silent hours, she can scarcely realise it. It must be a dream—such a one as she had many and many a time awakened from to find her pillow wet with tears. Would she now awaken to find herself once more the dupe of one of those cruel hallucinations? No, this was real, she told herself; and looking back upon that meeting, awful in its suddenness, she wondered how she had so preserved her calmness. And he—he had shrunk from her—stopped short as soon as he recognised her. No wonder. She had sent him away with bitter words, with hard, cruel words, as a last recollection. How could he tell the agonies of remorse, of repentance, of vain, passionate yearning, which her life had since undergone? Time had gone by—perhaps he had eradicated from his heart the image of her who had made a plaything of it, as it must seem to him; perhaps some other image had taken its place. Better she could have continued to mourn him as dead than that. She forgot, in her anguish, how he had been wandering ever since they two parted—wandering afar in the wild interior, among its wilder inhabitants, alone with his own thoughts and her memory. She forgot all this as, the night through, she lay and tortured herself with these and kindred reflections.And even if things were not so, and he had come back as he went, was there not the same barrier between them? Now that she was face to face with it once more, could she be false to her word any more now than then? Did not the old obstacle once more arise? No, it did not. From that fatal promise she had been absolved since then, absolved by the inexorable hand of Death—not always a merciless enemy—and at this moment she was free, absolutely free. But what availed her freedom now? Years ago it would have meant everything—life, love, and happiness—but now—One by one the stars paled overhead, a faint glow suffused the eastern sky, and, with a chill tremor, the dawn swept clearer and clearer over the sleeping earth. Very soothing to Lilian’s tired brow was the fresh, cool air as she leaned out of the window, restless and fevered, after a sleepless night. For a few moments thus she stood, watching the shadows lightening upon the hills around, then, dressing hurriedly, she descended, intending to enjoy the early freshness before any one should be astir.Noiselessly unlocking the front door, she passed out; and never had the pure morning air seemed more grateful or invigorating. She walked to the gate at the end of thestoepand turned the key—tried to turn it, rather, for it was firm. Then she tried again with all the strength of her two hands; but no; the wretched instrument moved not a hair’s breadth, and she stood contemplating a deep-blue imprint on her own delicate palm—the sole result of her attempt.“Allow me,” said a voice, and immediately the recalcitrant key yielded, with a creak and a snap, to the vigorous turn of a strong hand. “There,” said the new arrival, swinging open the gate. “Are you taking an early stroll?”Upon what a startled ear had that voice fallen! Her first impulse was to disclaim all intention of early exercise, and to go back indoors; but she answered in the affirmative.“I wonder if my company would bore you greatly?” went on Claverton. “Singularly enough, I turned out early with the same intent, and Fate seems to have thrown us together.”Did he say this with a meaning? she wondered. Fate had indeed thrown them together.“It would be very ungrateful of me to refuse it,” she answered, with a smile, “when you have just overcome such an obstacle in the way of my going out at all.”They walked along in silence for a few moments, side by side—those two, who had been so long parted.“Do you find this place as pretty as Seringa Vale?” he asked.The question somewhat took her aback. Why did he wish to recur to the past? “No; I have never seen anything like that,” answered she. “Still this is very beautiful in its way. Mr Payne thinks it the most perfect spot on earth.”“And—are you happy here, Lilian?”“Yes; I have no right to be otherwise. In fact, I consider myself very fortunate.”“Oh.”They had reached the little wooden bridge whence he had first caught the notes of the old, familiar ballad the evening before. Crossing it, they turned down a path between two high pomegranate hedges. Beyond was a garden—cool, leafy, and inviting—where birds twittered and chirped in the morning air. A gleam beyond the Kei hills betokened the advent of the sun.“It’s marvellously warm for daybreak at this time of year,” began Claverton after a pause. “I hope it doesn’t mean a storm in the afternoon, because that isn’t exactly an auspicious opening to a journey.”“A journey!” echoed Lilian, blank dismay in her face and in her tone. “Youare not going away—to-day?” And moved by an uncontrollable impulse she looked at him, and in that look was a world of entreaty, of despair, and of love; such a look as would be with him to his dying day.“And is it not better so?” he said, gently. “Believe me, I did not come here to make it uncomfortable for you—darling.” Then, seeing the imploring look deepen in the white face, he went on in a strangely altered tone: “What? It cannot be! Oh, Lilian—tell me—am I to—?”“Stay.” The word was spoken in a low, thrilling voice. “Stay! unless you want to break my heart. It is only what I should deserve,” and a great sob convulsed the beautiful frame, which was instantly locked fast in Claverton’s embrace; and heart beat against heart as he covered the shrinking face and the soft hair which lay against his shoulder with wild, delirious kisses.Then the great, golden chariot of day mounted majestically above the eastern hills, and flamed from the azure vault, darting a bright beam upon those two happy ones as if in benediction, and flooding the valley with light and gladness; and the bleat and low of the flocks and herds sounded from the fold, and the voices of humankind echoed cheerily through the morning air—and the day was begun. And in that quiet garden the birds fluttered and piped, bees droned in the sunlight as they winged their way in search of the luscious store, and now and then the leaves would tremble in a faint breeze. Birds, insects, whispering trees, all seemed but to echo one voice, one glad, joyous refrain—“We will never part again, love, never, never.”Lilian was the first to break the silence.“Oh, Arthur, is this, too, a dream?” she murmured. “Shall I wake up in a moment and find you vanished, as I have so often done?”“Have you, sweetest?” he replied in a tone of reverent tenderness, as if he could not speak too softly, or too gently, to her. “It is reality now—if ever anything was—sweet reality;” and at the picture which her words opened up before his mind he clasped her again to his heart as though he could never let her go.“Let me have a look at you, darling,” she said, suddenly raising her head with a bright, lovely blush, and gazing into the firm, serious face bent over hers. “You have become so brown, and you are looking ever so much older, and—”“And am quite a battered and hardened campaigner.”“And are looking ever so much better—ever so much better than you used to. There, you don’t deserve that for interrupting me,” she added, with one of her most bewitching smiles.“Let’s sit down here,” he suggested, as, with his arm still round her, he drew her towards a rustic seat which might be twin brother to the one under the pear-tree where that dread parting had taken place those years ago. “Now tell me all about yourself—about everything.”She did so. She told him of her life since they parted, and previous to their first meeting; told him the story of that promise which had entailed such misery upon both of them. It was the old story—a former suitor—and the promise had been most solemnly given beside her mother’s deathbed. The man was worthless to the core, selfish, dissipated, and unprincipled, but he was fascinating both in manner and appearance; and Lilian, at any rate, fancied him genuine. Over her mother he had cast the spell of an extraordinary infatuation, and Mrs Dynevard had not a little to do with the bringing about of her daughter’s engagement. Certain it was that nothing else prevented that daughter from breaking it, for when—her stepfather dying shortly afterwards—Lilian could no longer make her home at Dynevard Chase, this fair-weather suitor kept aloof. He was obliged to leave England, he explained, in order to better his fortunes, which were in a very bad way. By this time, however, Lilian had gained some insight into his real character, and then the weight of that rash promise began to make itself felt. Once she appealed to him to release her from it, but met with a decided refusal, and, as though to rivet the bond still tighter, the man reminded her that her promise was not only given to him but also to her dead mother. So poor Lilian clung fast to her only hope, which was that he might not think it worth his while to claim its fulfilment. Meanwhile she sacrificed herself to sentiment—as men and women have so sacrificed themselves at the faggot pile, or helpless and defenceless before ravening beasts in the arena. Then, like a lightning flash, had come the consciousness of real love, but still she immolated herself to the sacredness of a rash promise.Let us leave them there, those two, in the sunny garden, amid the unclouded glory of the new-born day. Their cup is full—full and brimming with such happiness as this world rarely affords. Let them revel in it while they may, for a dark cloud is rolling up, gathering as it rolls—a cloud whose edges are red with blood, and whose gruesome shadow is fraught with desolation, with ruin, and with Death.“Payne,” quietly remarked Claverton, two hours later, as he and his host were standing at the gate of one of the sheep-kraals, the latter counting: “I wonder if I shall succeed in astonishing you directly—by what I’m going to tell you.”“Twenty-three—five—seven—thirty-two—six,” counted Payne. “Don’t speak to a man on his stroke—or count. Nine—forty-one—forty-four—seven hundred and forty-four. Right, Booi. Now, off you go, and keep away from old Smith’s boundary. He’s a cantankerous beggar, and I don’t want to have a tiff with him. What were you saying, Claverton?” he continued, making a playful cut at a native urchin with his whip, which the boy dodged, and gambolled away swinging his sheepskin kaross and grinning from ear to ear.“I was saying—would it surprise you greatly to learn that I am about to perpetrate matrimony?”Payne whistled. “N-no—I don’t know—most fellows fall victims sooner or later. And after all the knocking about you’ve had it’ll do you good to settle down for a bit. By the way—if it’s not an impertinent question—who’s the lady?”“Lilian Strange.”“Eh?”“Lilian Strange.”“The devil!”“No—nothing of the kind. That’s deuced uncomplimentary of you when I tell you a piece of news before I’ve imparted it to any one else. In fact, I call it downright shabby,” replied Claverton in a tone of mock remonstrance, while his eyes sparkled with suppressed merriment. For Payne was staring blankly at him as if he distrusted his sense of hearing.“But—but—Hang it all, how do you know she’ll have you? Why, you never set eyes on her till yesterday.”Claverton laughed. “I know it because I have it from the very best authority—her own lips. And I knew her—well, long before I had the advantage of first beholding the light of your supremely honest and genial old countenance,” he said, quietly. “Come, don’t stare at a fellow as if you thought him a candidate for a glass-case, but say something decent. Make us a speech, you know.”“Why, of course, I congratulate you, old chap, and all that sort of thing; but you’ve taken one a little aback. Hang it, it’s as good as a play. Aha! that’s what we get up so dismally early for, hey?”And, indeed, honest Payne was so taken aback by the announcement that he walked beside the other speechless, with his hands in his pockets, and whistling.Never before had the duties of the schoolroom seemed so irksome to Lilian as this morning. The warm, sunny air streamed in at the open windows, and just audible was the hum of male voices in conversation, and her heart thrilled as every now and then her ear caught a low, gleeful laugh, which she had learned to know so well. Once, indeed, she went to the window, in the hope of catching a glimpse of the talkers, or rather of one of them; but the result was lamentable, for she found herself dogmatically asserting to her pupils that Pekin, not Paris, was the capital of France—they staring the while as if they did not quite know what to make of her.“Miss Strange,” exclaimed the eldest girl, “do let’s have the map of this country instead. France and Germany, and all those, are so stupid. We can see where all the Kafirs live, who are coming to fight us.”“They’re not going to fight us,” struck in Harry, somewhat indignantly. “Pa says they’re not. They’re funky.”Lilian smiled at this retort, and nipped in the bud an argument, which promised to wax warm, by producing a large map of the Eastern Province.“Now look here, Harry,” she said; “here’s the River Kei, and here are we. Here are all the Kafirs and—”“But where’s Fountain’s Gap?” inquired Rose, aged nine.“It isn’t marked. Look. We’ll put a pencil spot for it. Here’s King Williamstown.”“What, all that way off?” said Harry.“Yes. It is a long way off.”“But we should have to run there if the Kafirs came,” protested that doughty youth.“Aha! Who’s funky now? Who wants to run away now—eh?” jeered his sister.“Hush!” said Lilian, in that sweet, soothing way of hers, that stood her in far better stead than any amount of sternness. “You mustn’t quarrel now, you know.” Suddenly the urchin fixed his gaze upon her, and, with mischief gleaming from his blue eyes, exclaimed:“I saw you this morning—you and that man.”Lilian felt herself flushing all over. She tried to direct his attention to the lesson, but the imp, with that mixture of mulishness and malice which seems the invariable attribute of the infant prodigy oft-times petted, continued:“I did. I saw you ki—”“Harry!” cried Rose, making as if she would rush upon the delinquent. “I’ll go and tell mamma about you, at once. Send him out of the room, Miss Strange—do!”Poor Lilian! Her delicate, sensitive nature was indeed undergoing acute laceration at the tongue of this urchin, on whom she had lavished nothing but tenderness and care. Whether from perversity, or with a savage enjoyment of the pain he was inflicting, the cub went on:“I don’t care, Rose! I did see them. They were—”What they were or were not doing remained unsolved, for the door opened, and Mrs Payne entered.“I want you to give them a holiday to-day, Lilian,” she said. “Now then, children, run away out into the garden. You can put your books away after. Out you go—quick.”They obeyed with double alacrity. For their mother, in spite of her warm-heartedness, had a very decided will of her own at times. And Rose, taking into consideration all the circumstances, deemed it advisable to say nothing about Master Harry’s ill-conditionedness.“Lilian, dear!” exclaimed the good-hearted little woman, as soon as the children had gone out, “I’m so glad about this. Directly I heard of it I came straight here. I couldn’t let you remain drudging in here another moment, to-day. You must go out, and at once, or a certain person will be getting so impatient that he’ll be wanting to quarrel with George, which would be a pity, as they have always been such good friends.”And then Lilian, somewhat unnerved by the recent juvenile disclosure, cried a little, and there was a good deal of kissing.“By the way,” exclaimed Mrs Payne, ruefully, “of course, I shall lose you very soon, now; and I don’t know how I shall get on without you at all, dear.”
And what of her to whom this long, weary period had been so many years and so many months of terrible self-reproach? To her, though Time had brought no solace, it had brought a certain amount of resignation; and she had been able to school herself to face the future as best she might. Then suddenly, without so much as a moment’s warning, this man whom she had mourned as dead, whom she had wept and prayed for, night and morning, as one whom she would never again behold here on earth, stood before her. She had looked up, expecting to see a stranger—and therehestood! No wonder the blood forsook her ashy face and her heart stood still.
And now, in the dark, silent hours, she can scarcely realise it. It must be a dream—such a one as she had many and many a time awakened from to find her pillow wet with tears. Would she now awaken to find herself once more the dupe of one of those cruel hallucinations? No, this was real, she told herself; and looking back upon that meeting, awful in its suddenness, she wondered how she had so preserved her calmness. And he—he had shrunk from her—stopped short as soon as he recognised her. No wonder. She had sent him away with bitter words, with hard, cruel words, as a last recollection. How could he tell the agonies of remorse, of repentance, of vain, passionate yearning, which her life had since undergone? Time had gone by—perhaps he had eradicated from his heart the image of her who had made a plaything of it, as it must seem to him; perhaps some other image had taken its place. Better she could have continued to mourn him as dead than that. She forgot, in her anguish, how he had been wandering ever since they two parted—wandering afar in the wild interior, among its wilder inhabitants, alone with his own thoughts and her memory. She forgot all this as, the night through, she lay and tortured herself with these and kindred reflections.
And even if things were not so, and he had come back as he went, was there not the same barrier between them? Now that she was face to face with it once more, could she be false to her word any more now than then? Did not the old obstacle once more arise? No, it did not. From that fatal promise she had been absolved since then, absolved by the inexorable hand of Death—not always a merciless enemy—and at this moment she was free, absolutely free. But what availed her freedom now? Years ago it would have meant everything—life, love, and happiness—but now—
One by one the stars paled overhead, a faint glow suffused the eastern sky, and, with a chill tremor, the dawn swept clearer and clearer over the sleeping earth. Very soothing to Lilian’s tired brow was the fresh, cool air as she leaned out of the window, restless and fevered, after a sleepless night. For a few moments thus she stood, watching the shadows lightening upon the hills around, then, dressing hurriedly, she descended, intending to enjoy the early freshness before any one should be astir.
Noiselessly unlocking the front door, she passed out; and never had the pure morning air seemed more grateful or invigorating. She walked to the gate at the end of thestoepand turned the key—tried to turn it, rather, for it was firm. Then she tried again with all the strength of her two hands; but no; the wretched instrument moved not a hair’s breadth, and she stood contemplating a deep-blue imprint on her own delicate palm—the sole result of her attempt.
“Allow me,” said a voice, and immediately the recalcitrant key yielded, with a creak and a snap, to the vigorous turn of a strong hand. “There,” said the new arrival, swinging open the gate. “Are you taking an early stroll?”
Upon what a startled ear had that voice fallen! Her first impulse was to disclaim all intention of early exercise, and to go back indoors; but she answered in the affirmative.
“I wonder if my company would bore you greatly?” went on Claverton. “Singularly enough, I turned out early with the same intent, and Fate seems to have thrown us together.”
Did he say this with a meaning? she wondered. Fate had indeed thrown them together.
“It would be very ungrateful of me to refuse it,” she answered, with a smile, “when you have just overcome such an obstacle in the way of my going out at all.”
They walked along in silence for a few moments, side by side—those two, who had been so long parted.
“Do you find this place as pretty as Seringa Vale?” he asked.
The question somewhat took her aback. Why did he wish to recur to the past? “No; I have never seen anything like that,” answered she. “Still this is very beautiful in its way. Mr Payne thinks it the most perfect spot on earth.”
“And—are you happy here, Lilian?”
“Yes; I have no right to be otherwise. In fact, I consider myself very fortunate.”
“Oh.”
They had reached the little wooden bridge whence he had first caught the notes of the old, familiar ballad the evening before. Crossing it, they turned down a path between two high pomegranate hedges. Beyond was a garden—cool, leafy, and inviting—where birds twittered and chirped in the morning air. A gleam beyond the Kei hills betokened the advent of the sun.
“It’s marvellously warm for daybreak at this time of year,” began Claverton after a pause. “I hope it doesn’t mean a storm in the afternoon, because that isn’t exactly an auspicious opening to a journey.”
“A journey!” echoed Lilian, blank dismay in her face and in her tone. “Youare not going away—to-day?” And moved by an uncontrollable impulse she looked at him, and in that look was a world of entreaty, of despair, and of love; such a look as would be with him to his dying day.
“And is it not better so?” he said, gently. “Believe me, I did not come here to make it uncomfortable for you—darling.” Then, seeing the imploring look deepen in the white face, he went on in a strangely altered tone: “What? It cannot be! Oh, Lilian—tell me—am I to—?”
“Stay.” The word was spoken in a low, thrilling voice. “Stay! unless you want to break my heart. It is only what I should deserve,” and a great sob convulsed the beautiful frame, which was instantly locked fast in Claverton’s embrace; and heart beat against heart as he covered the shrinking face and the soft hair which lay against his shoulder with wild, delirious kisses.
Then the great, golden chariot of day mounted majestically above the eastern hills, and flamed from the azure vault, darting a bright beam upon those two happy ones as if in benediction, and flooding the valley with light and gladness; and the bleat and low of the flocks and herds sounded from the fold, and the voices of humankind echoed cheerily through the morning air—and the day was begun. And in that quiet garden the birds fluttered and piped, bees droned in the sunlight as they winged their way in search of the luscious store, and now and then the leaves would tremble in a faint breeze. Birds, insects, whispering trees, all seemed but to echo one voice, one glad, joyous refrain—“We will never part again, love, never, never.”
Lilian was the first to break the silence.
“Oh, Arthur, is this, too, a dream?” she murmured. “Shall I wake up in a moment and find you vanished, as I have so often done?”
“Have you, sweetest?” he replied in a tone of reverent tenderness, as if he could not speak too softly, or too gently, to her. “It is reality now—if ever anything was—sweet reality;” and at the picture which her words opened up before his mind he clasped her again to his heart as though he could never let her go.
“Let me have a look at you, darling,” she said, suddenly raising her head with a bright, lovely blush, and gazing into the firm, serious face bent over hers. “You have become so brown, and you are looking ever so much older, and—”
“And am quite a battered and hardened campaigner.”
“And are looking ever so much better—ever so much better than you used to. There, you don’t deserve that for interrupting me,” she added, with one of her most bewitching smiles.
“Let’s sit down here,” he suggested, as, with his arm still round her, he drew her towards a rustic seat which might be twin brother to the one under the pear-tree where that dread parting had taken place those years ago. “Now tell me all about yourself—about everything.”
She did so. She told him of her life since they parted, and previous to their first meeting; told him the story of that promise which had entailed such misery upon both of them. It was the old story—a former suitor—and the promise had been most solemnly given beside her mother’s deathbed. The man was worthless to the core, selfish, dissipated, and unprincipled, but he was fascinating both in manner and appearance; and Lilian, at any rate, fancied him genuine. Over her mother he had cast the spell of an extraordinary infatuation, and Mrs Dynevard had not a little to do with the bringing about of her daughter’s engagement. Certain it was that nothing else prevented that daughter from breaking it, for when—her stepfather dying shortly afterwards—Lilian could no longer make her home at Dynevard Chase, this fair-weather suitor kept aloof. He was obliged to leave England, he explained, in order to better his fortunes, which were in a very bad way. By this time, however, Lilian had gained some insight into his real character, and then the weight of that rash promise began to make itself felt. Once she appealed to him to release her from it, but met with a decided refusal, and, as though to rivet the bond still tighter, the man reminded her that her promise was not only given to him but also to her dead mother. So poor Lilian clung fast to her only hope, which was that he might not think it worth his while to claim its fulfilment. Meanwhile she sacrificed herself to sentiment—as men and women have so sacrificed themselves at the faggot pile, or helpless and defenceless before ravening beasts in the arena. Then, like a lightning flash, had come the consciousness of real love, but still she immolated herself to the sacredness of a rash promise.
Let us leave them there, those two, in the sunny garden, amid the unclouded glory of the new-born day. Their cup is full—full and brimming with such happiness as this world rarely affords. Let them revel in it while they may, for a dark cloud is rolling up, gathering as it rolls—a cloud whose edges are red with blood, and whose gruesome shadow is fraught with desolation, with ruin, and with Death.
“Payne,” quietly remarked Claverton, two hours later, as he and his host were standing at the gate of one of the sheep-kraals, the latter counting: “I wonder if I shall succeed in astonishing you directly—by what I’m going to tell you.”
“Twenty-three—five—seven—thirty-two—six,” counted Payne. “Don’t speak to a man on his stroke—or count. Nine—forty-one—forty-four—seven hundred and forty-four. Right, Booi. Now, off you go, and keep away from old Smith’s boundary. He’s a cantankerous beggar, and I don’t want to have a tiff with him. What were you saying, Claverton?” he continued, making a playful cut at a native urchin with his whip, which the boy dodged, and gambolled away swinging his sheepskin kaross and grinning from ear to ear.
“I was saying—would it surprise you greatly to learn that I am about to perpetrate matrimony?”
Payne whistled. “N-no—I don’t know—most fellows fall victims sooner or later. And after all the knocking about you’ve had it’ll do you good to settle down for a bit. By the way—if it’s not an impertinent question—who’s the lady?”
“Lilian Strange.”
“Eh?”
“Lilian Strange.”
“The devil!”
“No—nothing of the kind. That’s deuced uncomplimentary of you when I tell you a piece of news before I’ve imparted it to any one else. In fact, I call it downright shabby,” replied Claverton in a tone of mock remonstrance, while his eyes sparkled with suppressed merriment. For Payne was staring blankly at him as if he distrusted his sense of hearing.
“But—but—Hang it all, how do you know she’ll have you? Why, you never set eyes on her till yesterday.”
Claverton laughed. “I know it because I have it from the very best authority—her own lips. And I knew her—well, long before I had the advantage of first beholding the light of your supremely honest and genial old countenance,” he said, quietly. “Come, don’t stare at a fellow as if you thought him a candidate for a glass-case, but say something decent. Make us a speech, you know.”
“Why, of course, I congratulate you, old chap, and all that sort of thing; but you’ve taken one a little aback. Hang it, it’s as good as a play. Aha! that’s what we get up so dismally early for, hey?”
And, indeed, honest Payne was so taken aback by the announcement that he walked beside the other speechless, with his hands in his pockets, and whistling.
Never before had the duties of the schoolroom seemed so irksome to Lilian as this morning. The warm, sunny air streamed in at the open windows, and just audible was the hum of male voices in conversation, and her heart thrilled as every now and then her ear caught a low, gleeful laugh, which she had learned to know so well. Once, indeed, she went to the window, in the hope of catching a glimpse of the talkers, or rather of one of them; but the result was lamentable, for she found herself dogmatically asserting to her pupils that Pekin, not Paris, was the capital of France—they staring the while as if they did not quite know what to make of her.
“Miss Strange,” exclaimed the eldest girl, “do let’s have the map of this country instead. France and Germany, and all those, are so stupid. We can see where all the Kafirs live, who are coming to fight us.”
“They’re not going to fight us,” struck in Harry, somewhat indignantly. “Pa says they’re not. They’re funky.”
Lilian smiled at this retort, and nipped in the bud an argument, which promised to wax warm, by producing a large map of the Eastern Province.
“Now look here, Harry,” she said; “here’s the River Kei, and here are we. Here are all the Kafirs and—”
“But where’s Fountain’s Gap?” inquired Rose, aged nine.
“It isn’t marked. Look. We’ll put a pencil spot for it. Here’s King Williamstown.”
“What, all that way off?” said Harry.
“Yes. It is a long way off.”
“But we should have to run there if the Kafirs came,” protested that doughty youth.
“Aha! Who’s funky now? Who wants to run away now—eh?” jeered his sister.
“Hush!” said Lilian, in that sweet, soothing way of hers, that stood her in far better stead than any amount of sternness. “You mustn’t quarrel now, you know.” Suddenly the urchin fixed his gaze upon her, and, with mischief gleaming from his blue eyes, exclaimed:
“I saw you this morning—you and that man.”
Lilian felt herself flushing all over. She tried to direct his attention to the lesson, but the imp, with that mixture of mulishness and malice which seems the invariable attribute of the infant prodigy oft-times petted, continued:
“I did. I saw you ki—”
“Harry!” cried Rose, making as if she would rush upon the delinquent. “I’ll go and tell mamma about you, at once. Send him out of the room, Miss Strange—do!”
Poor Lilian! Her delicate, sensitive nature was indeed undergoing acute laceration at the tongue of this urchin, on whom she had lavished nothing but tenderness and care. Whether from perversity, or with a savage enjoyment of the pain he was inflicting, the cub went on:
“I don’t care, Rose! I did see them. They were—”
What they were or were not doing remained unsolved, for the door opened, and Mrs Payne entered.
“I want you to give them a holiday to-day, Lilian,” she said. “Now then, children, run away out into the garden. You can put your books away after. Out you go—quick.”
They obeyed with double alacrity. For their mother, in spite of her warm-heartedness, had a very decided will of her own at times. And Rose, taking into consideration all the circumstances, deemed it advisable to say nothing about Master Harry’s ill-conditionedness.
“Lilian, dear!” exclaimed the good-hearted little woman, as soon as the children had gone out, “I’m so glad about this. Directly I heard of it I came straight here. I couldn’t let you remain drudging in here another moment, to-day. You must go out, and at once, or a certain person will be getting so impatient that he’ll be wanting to quarrel with George, which would be a pity, as they have always been such good friends.”
And then Lilian, somewhat unnerved by the recent juvenile disclosure, cried a little, and there was a good deal of kissing.
“By the way,” exclaimed Mrs Payne, ruefully, “of course, I shall lose you very soon, now; and I don’t know how I shall get on without you at all, dear.”
Volume Two—Chapter Five.Sandili.Never was war or outbreak more entirely without reason or provocation than the Kafir rising of 1877-8.It is a well-known rule that savage races go under before the encroachments of white civilisation. The case of the native tribes in Southern Africa is a notable exception. Far from diminishing, every year sees their population actually increased. And the reason need not be sought for long. It lies in the security to life and property afforded these people by British rule, the quelling of intertribal wars, the breaking of the power of the chiefs, the abolition of sanguinary laws relating to witchcraft, the opening up of a vast field for native labour, and the resources of civilisation brought more and more within the reach of the tribes, who, for their part, are not slow to avail themselves of the same. True that, as well as ploughs, and waggons, and smithies, and schools, British rule has also conferred upon them grog. That would have come anyhow; but even as things are, in this respect the natives are no worse than our own countrymen.This outbreak was devoid of a shadow of excuse. The different locations occupied by these tribes were fair and fertile tracts of country. They had no encroachments to complain of on the part of the colonists, for their territory was jealously secured to them—good pasturage, fertile lands, and well watered withal. For their surplus population there wae abundance of work to be obtained in the colony, and whatever property they might accumulate it was beyond the power of any hostile tribe or tyrannical potentate to wrest from them. Yet they were not content. And the reason thereof does not require much seeking.They were thorough savages. They had great martial traditions. For more than twenty years their warrior energies had found no outlet. Such a state of things could not be suffered to continue.Not all, however, were of this mind. Broadly speaking, public opinion was divided into two factors. The first consisted of old and elderly men, who owned property and had something to lose, and, moreover, having actually fought, knew that war was not all beer and skittles. The second consisted of young men, who, owning nothing, had the same to lose; who had onlyheardof fighting, and consequently imagined that warwasall beer and skittles. And the voice of the latter faction carried the day.As was right and proper the first to take the initiative were the Gcalekas in the Transkei, the tribe ruled by Kreli, Chief Paramount of all the Amaxosa divisions. These proceeded to organise a series of raids against the Fingoes, whose emancipation from serfdom to themselves had long been a sore point. Matters became serious. The Fingoes were British subjects and must be protected accordingly.The High Commissioner, then newly appointed, proceeded to the border. Settlers’ meetings were held to discuss the important matter of defence, and deputations waited upon the Governor to a considerable extent. His Excellency was hopeful and reassuring in his replies, and, winning golden opinions by his courtesy and decisiveness, he passed on into the Transkei with the object of conferring with the Paramount Chief in person. That astute savage, however, plumed himself on being too old a bird to be caught upon so obviously limed a twig. While at large, he was safe. At large, therefore, he would remain. So he returned all manner of evasive replies, even the timeworn native excuse of illness. It became a case of Mohammed and the mountain, with the difference that in this case, whereas Kreli would not go to the High Commissioner, it was morally impossible that His Excellency should go to Kreli. He accordingly returned to the colony, and preparations were at once made for the inevitable campaign.Even then it was hoped that hostilities would be confined to the Transkei—hoped, but not believed. The Gcalekas were a warlike tribe, who could put many thousands of fighting men into the field. It would be a troublesome matter to subdue them, for they had long been prepared, and were well supplied with food. But if the tribes within the colonial border—the Gaikas, Hlambis, Emigrant Tembus, but especially the first named—should join them, then the war would become a formidable affair, and, in all probability, a matter of years. Whether this state of things came about or not will appear in the course of this narrative, which it closely concerns.To-day, however, all seems peaceful enough as the sun beats down upon the rolling plains and silent kloofs of British Kaffraria, with unwonted force for a spring day. His rays also fall upon two equestrians, who are leisurely traversing the mimosa-dotted dales, as led by the capricious windings of a somewhat tortuous track. Two equestrians, who are riding very close beside each other, and whose attention seems somewhat unequally divided between the surrounding scenery and each other’s eyes, to the advantage of which mattereth not. Indeed, so engrossed are they in each other’s conversation, that the tread of hoofs behind entirely escapes them; but an expression comes over their faces, of anger on one, and of—well—not best pleased on the other; and they look over their shoulder as a rough voice exclaims: “Ahem!—er—how d’ye do?” The last time we saw those two persons, they were together in a garden, some time about the hour of sunrise; and they were absurdly happy. They look equally happy now, as side by side they ride leisurely along, this grand afternoon. To them, at this moment, all the surroundings are as the sights and sounds of Paradise; for they are together and alone. More than a week has passed since the sun rose upon that knitting together of two severed hearts, that transformation of two sorrowing lives into, as it were, one of joy; more than a week of long, happy days, so perfect in their unbroken, blissful peace, that to the wanderer it seemed as if he had “cast” his old self and taken a fresh personality—that the old loveless existence and restless longing for excitement could never have belonged to him at all, but to some other being, so all-satisfying was this new atmosphere of peace. And on Lilian the outward change wrought was marvellous. As by magic the sad expression had given place to one of sunny contentment, and there was a sweet, tender curve in her lips, and the colour of perfect health returned to her cheek, as no longer grave she moved about the house and garden, trilling out little snatches of song, with a soft love-light in her eyes which rendered her more irresistibly charming than ever she had been in the old time. And now the two were returning from one of those long rides which they had been in the habit of taking together during those halcyon days of love deferred but now requited to the full, when that horribly grating voice burst upon them:“Ahem! Er—how d’ye do?” And red-bearded Joe Marshall, overtaking them, doffed his slouch hat to Lilian, and shook hands with her escort, as he reined in his raw-boned nag by the side of the latter.“Hallo, Marshall! Where have you dropped from?”“Oh, I’ve just been making a round. I’m going home now. Won’t you come round by my place, and rest a bit? ’Tisn’t far. No? Ah, well, it’s hardly worth your while, perhaps, so near home.” For honest Joe could see pretty plainly that the two would prefer his room to his company, though they had conscientiously, at least, suffered no indication of such preference to escape them. “How are the Paynes?”“Flourishing. Any news?”“N-no. Kreli won’t meet the Governor. Says he’s sick. But that’s all an excuse, you know.”“Yes; we heard that. Anything fresh?”“N-no,” said Marshall again, with a dubious glance towards Lilian. “Nothing certain, at least. Some more fellows round me gone into laager, that’s all.”“H’m. I’m inclined to think with Payne, that the scare’s all bosh,” said Claverton. “Look at the one four years ago. That all ended in smoke. Why shouldn’t this?”Lilian, too, remembered that time; nor was she ever likely to forget it. A soft light came into her eyes, and she wished mightily that Marshall was not with them.“Well, I dunno,” rejoined that worthy. “It may, and it mayn’t. We shall see, and very soon. Why, who’s this?”They looked up. The track they had been following merged into a waggon-road, and about a hundred yards in front of them stood a low thatched building. It was a native trading-store. Not this, however, but the sight of a characteristic group, drew forth the remark. Seated on the ground, with his back against the wall, was a Kafir, an old man, with a full white beard, and a face which might have been at one time pleasing and intelligent. A blanket was thrown over his shoulders, and his lower limbs were encased in a pair of ancient trousers, from whose tattered extremities projected his bare, dusty feet, one of which was deformed. He was surrounded by a group of his compatriots; some in European attire, others in blankets only, and red with ochre; some sitting, some standing, some running in and out, but all jabbering.“Why, I declare?” exclaimed Marshall, in surprise. “If it isn’t Sandili! What on earth can the old blackguard be doing here?”“Sandili?” cried Lilian. “The chief? Oh, do let’s go and talk to him.”“We will,” agreed Claverton. “Prepare for an interview with royalty.”The Kafirs stopped jabbering for a minute to stare in astonishment at the party as it rode into their midst, then went on harder than ever. It was as Marshall had said. This old savage, with nothing remarkable-looking about him, unless it were that his countenance wore an air of semi-drunken stupidity—for he had been imbibing freely, according to his wont—was none other than Sandili, the chief of the powerful and warlike Gaika tribe, who, of all the Amaxosa race, had, in former wars, ever been the most formidable of the colonists’ foes.“He says he’s glad to see us,” explained Claverton, as having conferred for a little with the old chief, he turned, in response to his companion’s inquiring glance. “In a minute he’ll be even more glad. Look,” and he emptied half the contents of his tobacco-pouch into the chief’s hands, who immediately instructed one of his followers to fill his pipe, and looked quite benevolently at the donor.“Why, how delighted he is with it!” said Lilian, watching the interesting individual before her, with a curious glance.“Yes, but unless I mistake, he’ll want farther delighting directly,” answered Claverton. “The principle of extending the proverbial inch to the ditto ell, is thoroughly well understood in Kafirland.”And sure enough the old fellow began making signs and pointing to his month, after a few words in his own language.“What does he say?” asked Lilian.“Just what I told you. He’s thirsty, and wants sixpence to get a drink.”“Old blackguard,” said Marshall. “He’s got quite as much grog on board already as is good for him.”Lilian laughed. “Only think of a great chief like him, asking for sixpence like a crossing-sweeper,” she said.The Kafirs standing around had stopped their conversation, and were gazing admiringly at Lilian, with many a half-smothered exclamation of astonishment. They had seen many white women on the farms, and when they had visited King Williamstown; but never had they seen any more bewitchingly lovely than this one, who sat there looking down on their chief.Claverton produced a sixpence and handed it to one of the attendants, who disappeared into the store, which was also a canteen, shortly returning with a measure of the ordinary bad brandy sold to the natives. This Sandili drained without a pause, and looked up again at the group, remarking that it was good.“Oh, what can be the matter?” exclaimed Lilian, in a frightened tone, as a hubbub of angry voices arose within the store; and before she could receive an answer, a brawny red Kafir suddenly shot out of the door, reeling forward with a quick yet uneven gait suggestive of artificial propulsion, and half-a-dozen others, with excited “whouws!” also emerged and stood around the door, as if expecting something.They had not long to expect, for the evicted savage, having staggered a dozen yards, polled himself together and stood shaking his kerries at some one inside, as with flashing eyes he hurled a torrent of abuse at the unseen antagonist. But a bottle, which came whizzing through the open door, hit him on the shoulder, cutting his eloquence suddenly short, and, deeming discretion the better part of valour, he sneaked round the angle of the wall, muttering and growling, while the others stood looking on in dead silence.“Don’t be frightened, Lilian,” said Claverton, reassuringly, noting that she was growing rather pale. “It’s only a fellow been kicked out by the storekeeper, probably for making himself a nuisance. It’s a thing that happens every day.”“But he looks as if he’d kill him. I never saw a man look so ferocious,” she faltered.“Oh no, he won’t,” answered Claverton, with a laugh. “In half an hour he’ll sneak round, and ask for a drink to make it square again. That’s what they do.”“Really?” she said, still with a misgiving.“Really. There won’t be a vestige of a row, so don’t be in the least afraid. Look. What do you think old Sandili is saying?”“What?”“That he never saw a white woman who was really pretty until this moment. And faith, I agree with him.”Lilian laughed, and flushed softly; not so much at the old savage’s compliment as at her lover’s endorsement of it.“Eh—what?” cried Claverton, who was listening to something Sandili was saying. “Fancy spoiling that pretty speech. The old brute?”“What does he say?”“He says thatyouhaven’t given him anything, and must give him sixpence. I told him you would do nothing of the sort.”“But I will. I should like to, just for the fun of the thing,” she laughed. “Only, tell him he mustn’t drink it; he must buy tobacco or something else with it. He looks awfully tipsy already.”This Claverton duly translated, and the old savage nodded assent—of course as a mere matter of form—and Lilian gave him the sixpence with her own hand. Then he looked up at Marshall and made the same request; but that worthy, who had been watching the proceedings with disapproval, growled out, with something very like an oath, that “the old blackguard would get nothing out of him.”“He’s going away now,” said Claverton. “We’ll watch him start. I imagine there’ll be some difficulty in getting him under weigh.”And there was. For when his horse was brought round—a sorry quadruped, with ragged caparisonings in keeping with those of its owner—behold, the old chief was so much the worse for liquor that, when helped into the saddle, he would have tumbled off on the other side but for the timely support of one of his followers, who was ready to hand. Then two others mounted, one on each side of their exalted ruler, and thus supporting him, rode off, the whole trio swaying and lurching from side to side; for the supporters were only a degree less “screwed” than the supported. About thirty followers, mounted and on foot, brought up the rear, chattering, shouting, and laughing, as they went.“There goes the Great Chief of the Gaikas,” remarked Claverton, ironically, as they stood gazing after the receding party; “the man upon whose nod it depends as to whether the colony will be swamped in war, or whether the outbreak will be just an abortive affair in the Transkei, to be settled by the Police. And—look at him!”“Drunken brute!” growled Marshall. A tall man, with grizzled hair and beard, now strolled up to them. It was the storekeeper. “Evenin’,” he said, laconically, doffing his hat as he caught sight of Lilian. “I heard some one talking outside; but there were too many of those chaps within, and I couldn’t get away for a minute, or they’d have looted the place. Hello, Joe! Where’re you from?”“Been the rounds. What was up with that nigger jes’ now?”“Oh, I kicked him out. He kept plaguing me to give him some ’bacca—said he was Sandili’s brother. I told him to clear, or, if he was Sandili himself, I’d kick him out. And I did.”“Aw, aw!” guffawed Joe. “But I say, Thompson, you don’t seem to lay yourself out much to amuse the chief!”“Who? Sandili? Oh, no. He often comes here. I just give him a glass of grog and a bit of ’bacca, and let him sit down and make himself happy till he goes. I never bother about him. He cadges a lot of ‘tickeys’,” (threepenny-bits) “out of his fellows. They come here to get a drink, and then the old rascal makes them ‘stand’ him instead.”Marshall guffawed again. “I say,” he said, “those chaps are making a jolly row. Why don’t you clear them out?”“Where?” said the trader, turning. “Oh, they’ll go when they’re tired.”“They” being a group of Kafirs, sitting round the man lately ejected, who was declaiming violently, and waxing more excited every moment, as he flung his arms about and brandished his sticks, and his language became more and more threatening. Claverton, who foresaw a row, was divided between a wish to get Lilian away and reluctance to desert a countryman under the circumstances; but the first consideration was paramount.“Well, we must be going. Good day to you,” he said, shaking hands with the trader. “Good day, Marshall. Are you coming?”“N-no; I think I’ll rest a bit longer.”Just then the whole party, numbering perhaps a dozen, walked up to Thompson, the injured individual in advance. The latter, in an insulting and aggressive tone, demanded a sovereign in satisfaction for his wrongs.Calmly eyeing the braggart and the muttering group behind him, the storekeeper lighted his pipe and repeated his order to quit.“No, we won’t!” roared the savage. “We’ll roast you in your ownwinkel(shop) before long. Only wait a bit.” And then the others began all talking at once, louder and louder, and in a threatening and excited way, pressing closer and closer upon the two white men.“Got a revolver, Joe? That’s right; so have I. Always carry it in these troublous times. Now then, Umsila; off you go—you and all the rest of them.”The Kafirs, who saw that both the white men were armed, drew back, and, still muttering and threatening, they began to depart. Then, with loud jeering laughter and many threats, they started off at a trot along the plain, sending forth a long, resounding whoop upon the evening air. It was taken up by the kraals on the hillsides, and echoed farther and farther, fainter and fainter, till it died in the distance. The two men looked at each other.“I say, Thompson, if I were you I should pack up my traps and clear out of this,” said Marshall.Lilian was rather silent as they rode away from the place. The sight of that fierce-looking, loud-talking group of angry savages confronting the two white men had frightened her, and then the voices rose more violent in tone.“Don’t be afraid, dear,” said her companion, tenderly, “Those two are perfectly well able to take care of themselves, and Jack Kafir barks a great deal more than he bites. They’re all right.”“Yes, I know,” she replied, trying to smile. “I am so easily frightened.”“For your own sake I wish you were not, otherwise I like it, and it seems rather to suit you. But now, only think what a lot you’ll have to tell them. Why, you’ve had an interview with no end of a big chief; and—well, it’s a pity that row should have come in just in time to spoil the recollection of the ride, but it was really nothing.”Suddenly arose that wild, weird whoop; and turning their heads, they could see the Kafirs bounding along the hillside waving their karosses and gesticulating, and calling to each other as they ran.“There, I told you so,” he went on. “They’ve had enough ‘jaw,’ and now they’re going home.”But a gloom seemed to have fallen upon Lilian’s spirits. To her, in those fierce, dark forms bounding along the distant ridge, and in the weird, savage cry—like the gathering cry of a host—pealing forth and echoing in sudden answer from point to point till it died away against the purple slopes of the far mountains, there was something terrible, as though it pictured forth an earnest of the coming strife—and the smile faded from her lips.“Oh, Arthur, can they do nothing to avert this dreadful war?”“I’m afraid not, dearest. The only thing—if only it’s done—will be to nip it in the bud. Let them break out, and then give them a crashing defeat at the start.”“And—you will have to go?”He was silent for a moment. “Yes,” he said at length, “I don’t see how I can sit still when the whole country turns out to a man.”“Of course not; you must go. I shall have to spare you for a time—darling. It will be only for a time, won’t it?” she said, beseechingly.“It will. There isn’t a shadow of danger for me. I truly believe I bear a charmed life for some reason or other, a reason I think I’ve discovered,” he added, meaningly. “But I’ve had so many narrow shaves—more than fall to the lot of most people—that I have become a bit of a fatalist.”A sudden impulse seized her. “Arthur, I’m going to tell you something I never told you before.” And then she told him the events of that night at Seringa Vale, shortly before Mr Brathwaite’s death. “Now do you see why I said I thought you were dead? But you’ll laugh at the whole thing as a mere fancy.”He showed no disposition to laugh; his face wore a grave, even a solemn look.“When was this?” he asked.She told him the exact day and hour.“Lilian,” he said, very solemnly, “it was you and no other agency whatever that saved my life—saved it for yourself. Therefore, it is certain that it is not to be taken now, yet awhile.” And awestruck, she listened as he told her how he had lain fevered at the very point of death in the Matabili hut, and that the sight of her had sent him into that soothing sleep which was the turning-point.And then, as they drew near home, and the soft light faded from the lofty Kei hills, between which the river flowed far down in the silent gloom between its frowning krantzes, the calming effects of the hour was upon these two. The present was very, very sweet. They had had a brief period of perfect happiness, after the years of dreary waiting, and now, if separation was to come, it would not be for long, and they would look forward hopefully to the time when, the disturbances over, peace should be restored.That night Claverton and his host were sitting out on thestoepsmoking their pipes, the rest of the party having long since retired. The conversation throughout the evening had turned upon the state of affairs, and now the same topic held.“By-the-bye,” said Payne, “there was a strange nigger here this evening, a deuced fine-looking fellow, but an infernal scoundrel, I suspect. He asked if he might sleep at the huts, and I let him.”“Why did you?”“Well, you see, it would have done no good to turn him away. If he’s up to mischief he’d carry it out anyhow; and if he isn’t, well, there’s no harm done.”“H’m. Marshall seems in a bit of a funk. He told me a couple of yarns to-day about fellows whose servants had warned them to clear. I should think that trick’s played out, though.”“Dunno. You’ll still find people to believe in it. The niggers, of course, make it pay. Jack, in his capacity of old and faithful servant, warns his Baas. His Baas believes him. Henceforth Jack has a high old time of it, and, provided he is careful in the yarns he invents, may go on to the end of the chapter. For my part, I don’t believe in any nigger’s fidelity. You can’t trust one of them.”“Except my chap, Sam,” said Claverton.“Ah, that’s different. He’s away from his own country, you see; and then you and he have chummed it for ever so long in places where he has learnt to depend on you.”It was a still, clear night, the sky seemed crowded with stars, and the air was warm and balmy for the time of year. Scarce a sound was audible, save that now and again the faintest possible echo of a savage song was borne from some kraal many miles across country. Otherwise there was a stillness that might be felt, and the voices of the two men, subdued as they were, sounded almost loud.“Hallo! What the deuce is that?” said Payne, suddenly. For there arose a terrific clamour from the dogs at the back of the house. There was a preliminary “woof” as those vigilant guardians first scented intrusion; then the whole pack dashed off violently, and showing a very decided fixity of purpose, towards an angle of the high quince hedge which bounded the garden—baying savagely.Both men rose to their feet.“They’ve got something there, I’ll swear,” said Claverton in a low tone. “Wonder what.”“Very likely a prowling nigger,” answered Payne. “We’ll just get out our shooting-irons and go and see.”
Never was war or outbreak more entirely without reason or provocation than the Kafir rising of 1877-8.
It is a well-known rule that savage races go under before the encroachments of white civilisation. The case of the native tribes in Southern Africa is a notable exception. Far from diminishing, every year sees their population actually increased. And the reason need not be sought for long. It lies in the security to life and property afforded these people by British rule, the quelling of intertribal wars, the breaking of the power of the chiefs, the abolition of sanguinary laws relating to witchcraft, the opening up of a vast field for native labour, and the resources of civilisation brought more and more within the reach of the tribes, who, for their part, are not slow to avail themselves of the same. True that, as well as ploughs, and waggons, and smithies, and schools, British rule has also conferred upon them grog. That would have come anyhow; but even as things are, in this respect the natives are no worse than our own countrymen.
This outbreak was devoid of a shadow of excuse. The different locations occupied by these tribes were fair and fertile tracts of country. They had no encroachments to complain of on the part of the colonists, for their territory was jealously secured to them—good pasturage, fertile lands, and well watered withal. For their surplus population there wae abundance of work to be obtained in the colony, and whatever property they might accumulate it was beyond the power of any hostile tribe or tyrannical potentate to wrest from them. Yet they were not content. And the reason thereof does not require much seeking.
They were thorough savages. They had great martial traditions. For more than twenty years their warrior energies had found no outlet. Such a state of things could not be suffered to continue.
Not all, however, were of this mind. Broadly speaking, public opinion was divided into two factors. The first consisted of old and elderly men, who owned property and had something to lose, and, moreover, having actually fought, knew that war was not all beer and skittles. The second consisted of young men, who, owning nothing, had the same to lose; who had onlyheardof fighting, and consequently imagined that warwasall beer and skittles. And the voice of the latter faction carried the day.
As was right and proper the first to take the initiative were the Gcalekas in the Transkei, the tribe ruled by Kreli, Chief Paramount of all the Amaxosa divisions. These proceeded to organise a series of raids against the Fingoes, whose emancipation from serfdom to themselves had long been a sore point. Matters became serious. The Fingoes were British subjects and must be protected accordingly.
The High Commissioner, then newly appointed, proceeded to the border. Settlers’ meetings were held to discuss the important matter of defence, and deputations waited upon the Governor to a considerable extent. His Excellency was hopeful and reassuring in his replies, and, winning golden opinions by his courtesy and decisiveness, he passed on into the Transkei with the object of conferring with the Paramount Chief in person. That astute savage, however, plumed himself on being too old a bird to be caught upon so obviously limed a twig. While at large, he was safe. At large, therefore, he would remain. So he returned all manner of evasive replies, even the timeworn native excuse of illness. It became a case of Mohammed and the mountain, with the difference that in this case, whereas Kreli would not go to the High Commissioner, it was morally impossible that His Excellency should go to Kreli. He accordingly returned to the colony, and preparations were at once made for the inevitable campaign.
Even then it was hoped that hostilities would be confined to the Transkei—hoped, but not believed. The Gcalekas were a warlike tribe, who could put many thousands of fighting men into the field. It would be a troublesome matter to subdue them, for they had long been prepared, and were well supplied with food. But if the tribes within the colonial border—the Gaikas, Hlambis, Emigrant Tembus, but especially the first named—should join them, then the war would become a formidable affair, and, in all probability, a matter of years. Whether this state of things came about or not will appear in the course of this narrative, which it closely concerns.
To-day, however, all seems peaceful enough as the sun beats down upon the rolling plains and silent kloofs of British Kaffraria, with unwonted force for a spring day. His rays also fall upon two equestrians, who are leisurely traversing the mimosa-dotted dales, as led by the capricious windings of a somewhat tortuous track. Two equestrians, who are riding very close beside each other, and whose attention seems somewhat unequally divided between the surrounding scenery and each other’s eyes, to the advantage of which mattereth not. Indeed, so engrossed are they in each other’s conversation, that the tread of hoofs behind entirely escapes them; but an expression comes over their faces, of anger on one, and of—well—not best pleased on the other; and they look over their shoulder as a rough voice exclaims: “Ahem!—er—how d’ye do?” The last time we saw those two persons, they were together in a garden, some time about the hour of sunrise; and they were absurdly happy. They look equally happy now, as side by side they ride leisurely along, this grand afternoon. To them, at this moment, all the surroundings are as the sights and sounds of Paradise; for they are together and alone. More than a week has passed since the sun rose upon that knitting together of two severed hearts, that transformation of two sorrowing lives into, as it were, one of joy; more than a week of long, happy days, so perfect in their unbroken, blissful peace, that to the wanderer it seemed as if he had “cast” his old self and taken a fresh personality—that the old loveless existence and restless longing for excitement could never have belonged to him at all, but to some other being, so all-satisfying was this new atmosphere of peace. And on Lilian the outward change wrought was marvellous. As by magic the sad expression had given place to one of sunny contentment, and there was a sweet, tender curve in her lips, and the colour of perfect health returned to her cheek, as no longer grave she moved about the house and garden, trilling out little snatches of song, with a soft love-light in her eyes which rendered her more irresistibly charming than ever she had been in the old time. And now the two were returning from one of those long rides which they had been in the habit of taking together during those halcyon days of love deferred but now requited to the full, when that horribly grating voice burst upon them:
“Ahem! Er—how d’ye do?” And red-bearded Joe Marshall, overtaking them, doffed his slouch hat to Lilian, and shook hands with her escort, as he reined in his raw-boned nag by the side of the latter.
“Hallo, Marshall! Where have you dropped from?”
“Oh, I’ve just been making a round. I’m going home now. Won’t you come round by my place, and rest a bit? ’Tisn’t far. No? Ah, well, it’s hardly worth your while, perhaps, so near home.” For honest Joe could see pretty plainly that the two would prefer his room to his company, though they had conscientiously, at least, suffered no indication of such preference to escape them. “How are the Paynes?”
“Flourishing. Any news?”
“N-no. Kreli won’t meet the Governor. Says he’s sick. But that’s all an excuse, you know.”
“Yes; we heard that. Anything fresh?”
“N-no,” said Marshall again, with a dubious glance towards Lilian. “Nothing certain, at least. Some more fellows round me gone into laager, that’s all.”
“H’m. I’m inclined to think with Payne, that the scare’s all bosh,” said Claverton. “Look at the one four years ago. That all ended in smoke. Why shouldn’t this?”
Lilian, too, remembered that time; nor was she ever likely to forget it. A soft light came into her eyes, and she wished mightily that Marshall was not with them.
“Well, I dunno,” rejoined that worthy. “It may, and it mayn’t. We shall see, and very soon. Why, who’s this?”
They looked up. The track they had been following merged into a waggon-road, and about a hundred yards in front of them stood a low thatched building. It was a native trading-store. Not this, however, but the sight of a characteristic group, drew forth the remark. Seated on the ground, with his back against the wall, was a Kafir, an old man, with a full white beard, and a face which might have been at one time pleasing and intelligent. A blanket was thrown over his shoulders, and his lower limbs were encased in a pair of ancient trousers, from whose tattered extremities projected his bare, dusty feet, one of which was deformed. He was surrounded by a group of his compatriots; some in European attire, others in blankets only, and red with ochre; some sitting, some standing, some running in and out, but all jabbering.
“Why, I declare?” exclaimed Marshall, in surprise. “If it isn’t Sandili! What on earth can the old blackguard be doing here?”
“Sandili?” cried Lilian. “The chief? Oh, do let’s go and talk to him.”
“We will,” agreed Claverton. “Prepare for an interview with royalty.”
The Kafirs stopped jabbering for a minute to stare in astonishment at the party as it rode into their midst, then went on harder than ever. It was as Marshall had said. This old savage, with nothing remarkable-looking about him, unless it were that his countenance wore an air of semi-drunken stupidity—for he had been imbibing freely, according to his wont—was none other than Sandili, the chief of the powerful and warlike Gaika tribe, who, of all the Amaxosa race, had, in former wars, ever been the most formidable of the colonists’ foes.
“He says he’s glad to see us,” explained Claverton, as having conferred for a little with the old chief, he turned, in response to his companion’s inquiring glance. “In a minute he’ll be even more glad. Look,” and he emptied half the contents of his tobacco-pouch into the chief’s hands, who immediately instructed one of his followers to fill his pipe, and looked quite benevolently at the donor.
“Why, how delighted he is with it!” said Lilian, watching the interesting individual before her, with a curious glance.
“Yes, but unless I mistake, he’ll want farther delighting directly,” answered Claverton. “The principle of extending the proverbial inch to the ditto ell, is thoroughly well understood in Kafirland.”
And sure enough the old fellow began making signs and pointing to his month, after a few words in his own language.
“What does he say?” asked Lilian.
“Just what I told you. He’s thirsty, and wants sixpence to get a drink.”
“Old blackguard,” said Marshall. “He’s got quite as much grog on board already as is good for him.”
Lilian laughed. “Only think of a great chief like him, asking for sixpence like a crossing-sweeper,” she said.
The Kafirs standing around had stopped their conversation, and were gazing admiringly at Lilian, with many a half-smothered exclamation of astonishment. They had seen many white women on the farms, and when they had visited King Williamstown; but never had they seen any more bewitchingly lovely than this one, who sat there looking down on their chief.
Claverton produced a sixpence and handed it to one of the attendants, who disappeared into the store, which was also a canteen, shortly returning with a measure of the ordinary bad brandy sold to the natives. This Sandili drained without a pause, and looked up again at the group, remarking that it was good.
“Oh, what can be the matter?” exclaimed Lilian, in a frightened tone, as a hubbub of angry voices arose within the store; and before she could receive an answer, a brawny red Kafir suddenly shot out of the door, reeling forward with a quick yet uneven gait suggestive of artificial propulsion, and half-a-dozen others, with excited “whouws!” also emerged and stood around the door, as if expecting something.
They had not long to expect, for the evicted savage, having staggered a dozen yards, polled himself together and stood shaking his kerries at some one inside, as with flashing eyes he hurled a torrent of abuse at the unseen antagonist. But a bottle, which came whizzing through the open door, hit him on the shoulder, cutting his eloquence suddenly short, and, deeming discretion the better part of valour, he sneaked round the angle of the wall, muttering and growling, while the others stood looking on in dead silence.
“Don’t be frightened, Lilian,” said Claverton, reassuringly, noting that she was growing rather pale. “It’s only a fellow been kicked out by the storekeeper, probably for making himself a nuisance. It’s a thing that happens every day.”
“But he looks as if he’d kill him. I never saw a man look so ferocious,” she faltered.
“Oh no, he won’t,” answered Claverton, with a laugh. “In half an hour he’ll sneak round, and ask for a drink to make it square again. That’s what they do.”
“Really?” she said, still with a misgiving.
“Really. There won’t be a vestige of a row, so don’t be in the least afraid. Look. What do you think old Sandili is saying?”
“What?”
“That he never saw a white woman who was really pretty until this moment. And faith, I agree with him.”
Lilian laughed, and flushed softly; not so much at the old savage’s compliment as at her lover’s endorsement of it.
“Eh—what?” cried Claverton, who was listening to something Sandili was saying. “Fancy spoiling that pretty speech. The old brute?”
“What does he say?”
“He says thatyouhaven’t given him anything, and must give him sixpence. I told him you would do nothing of the sort.”
“But I will. I should like to, just for the fun of the thing,” she laughed. “Only, tell him he mustn’t drink it; he must buy tobacco or something else with it. He looks awfully tipsy already.”
This Claverton duly translated, and the old savage nodded assent—of course as a mere matter of form—and Lilian gave him the sixpence with her own hand. Then he looked up at Marshall and made the same request; but that worthy, who had been watching the proceedings with disapproval, growled out, with something very like an oath, that “the old blackguard would get nothing out of him.”
“He’s going away now,” said Claverton. “We’ll watch him start. I imagine there’ll be some difficulty in getting him under weigh.”
And there was. For when his horse was brought round—a sorry quadruped, with ragged caparisonings in keeping with those of its owner—behold, the old chief was so much the worse for liquor that, when helped into the saddle, he would have tumbled off on the other side but for the timely support of one of his followers, who was ready to hand. Then two others mounted, one on each side of their exalted ruler, and thus supporting him, rode off, the whole trio swaying and lurching from side to side; for the supporters were only a degree less “screwed” than the supported. About thirty followers, mounted and on foot, brought up the rear, chattering, shouting, and laughing, as they went.
“There goes the Great Chief of the Gaikas,” remarked Claverton, ironically, as they stood gazing after the receding party; “the man upon whose nod it depends as to whether the colony will be swamped in war, or whether the outbreak will be just an abortive affair in the Transkei, to be settled by the Police. And—look at him!”
“Drunken brute!” growled Marshall. A tall man, with grizzled hair and beard, now strolled up to them. It was the storekeeper. “Evenin’,” he said, laconically, doffing his hat as he caught sight of Lilian. “I heard some one talking outside; but there were too many of those chaps within, and I couldn’t get away for a minute, or they’d have looted the place. Hello, Joe! Where’re you from?”
“Been the rounds. What was up with that nigger jes’ now?”
“Oh, I kicked him out. He kept plaguing me to give him some ’bacca—said he was Sandili’s brother. I told him to clear, or, if he was Sandili himself, I’d kick him out. And I did.”
“Aw, aw!” guffawed Joe. “But I say, Thompson, you don’t seem to lay yourself out much to amuse the chief!”
“Who? Sandili? Oh, no. He often comes here. I just give him a glass of grog and a bit of ’bacca, and let him sit down and make himself happy till he goes. I never bother about him. He cadges a lot of ‘tickeys’,” (threepenny-bits) “out of his fellows. They come here to get a drink, and then the old rascal makes them ‘stand’ him instead.”
Marshall guffawed again. “I say,” he said, “those chaps are making a jolly row. Why don’t you clear them out?”
“Where?” said the trader, turning. “Oh, they’ll go when they’re tired.”
“They” being a group of Kafirs, sitting round the man lately ejected, who was declaiming violently, and waxing more excited every moment, as he flung his arms about and brandished his sticks, and his language became more and more threatening. Claverton, who foresaw a row, was divided between a wish to get Lilian away and reluctance to desert a countryman under the circumstances; but the first consideration was paramount.
“Well, we must be going. Good day to you,” he said, shaking hands with the trader. “Good day, Marshall. Are you coming?”
“N-no; I think I’ll rest a bit longer.”
Just then the whole party, numbering perhaps a dozen, walked up to Thompson, the injured individual in advance. The latter, in an insulting and aggressive tone, demanded a sovereign in satisfaction for his wrongs.
Calmly eyeing the braggart and the muttering group behind him, the storekeeper lighted his pipe and repeated his order to quit.
“No, we won’t!” roared the savage. “We’ll roast you in your ownwinkel(shop) before long. Only wait a bit.” And then the others began all talking at once, louder and louder, and in a threatening and excited way, pressing closer and closer upon the two white men.
“Got a revolver, Joe? That’s right; so have I. Always carry it in these troublous times. Now then, Umsila; off you go—you and all the rest of them.”
The Kafirs, who saw that both the white men were armed, drew back, and, still muttering and threatening, they began to depart. Then, with loud jeering laughter and many threats, they started off at a trot along the plain, sending forth a long, resounding whoop upon the evening air. It was taken up by the kraals on the hillsides, and echoed farther and farther, fainter and fainter, till it died in the distance. The two men looked at each other.
“I say, Thompson, if I were you I should pack up my traps and clear out of this,” said Marshall.
Lilian was rather silent as they rode away from the place. The sight of that fierce-looking, loud-talking group of angry savages confronting the two white men had frightened her, and then the voices rose more violent in tone.
“Don’t be afraid, dear,” said her companion, tenderly, “Those two are perfectly well able to take care of themselves, and Jack Kafir barks a great deal more than he bites. They’re all right.”
“Yes, I know,” she replied, trying to smile. “I am so easily frightened.”
“For your own sake I wish you were not, otherwise I like it, and it seems rather to suit you. But now, only think what a lot you’ll have to tell them. Why, you’ve had an interview with no end of a big chief; and—well, it’s a pity that row should have come in just in time to spoil the recollection of the ride, but it was really nothing.”
Suddenly arose that wild, weird whoop; and turning their heads, they could see the Kafirs bounding along the hillside waving their karosses and gesticulating, and calling to each other as they ran.
“There, I told you so,” he went on. “They’ve had enough ‘jaw,’ and now they’re going home.”
But a gloom seemed to have fallen upon Lilian’s spirits. To her, in those fierce, dark forms bounding along the distant ridge, and in the weird, savage cry—like the gathering cry of a host—pealing forth and echoing in sudden answer from point to point till it died away against the purple slopes of the far mountains, there was something terrible, as though it pictured forth an earnest of the coming strife—and the smile faded from her lips.
“Oh, Arthur, can they do nothing to avert this dreadful war?”
“I’m afraid not, dearest. The only thing—if only it’s done—will be to nip it in the bud. Let them break out, and then give them a crashing defeat at the start.”
“And—you will have to go?”
He was silent for a moment. “Yes,” he said at length, “I don’t see how I can sit still when the whole country turns out to a man.”
“Of course not; you must go. I shall have to spare you for a time—darling. It will be only for a time, won’t it?” she said, beseechingly.
“It will. There isn’t a shadow of danger for me. I truly believe I bear a charmed life for some reason or other, a reason I think I’ve discovered,” he added, meaningly. “But I’ve had so many narrow shaves—more than fall to the lot of most people—that I have become a bit of a fatalist.”
A sudden impulse seized her. “Arthur, I’m going to tell you something I never told you before.” And then she told him the events of that night at Seringa Vale, shortly before Mr Brathwaite’s death. “Now do you see why I said I thought you were dead? But you’ll laugh at the whole thing as a mere fancy.”
He showed no disposition to laugh; his face wore a grave, even a solemn look.
“When was this?” he asked.
She told him the exact day and hour.
“Lilian,” he said, very solemnly, “it was you and no other agency whatever that saved my life—saved it for yourself. Therefore, it is certain that it is not to be taken now, yet awhile.” And awestruck, she listened as he told her how he had lain fevered at the very point of death in the Matabili hut, and that the sight of her had sent him into that soothing sleep which was the turning-point.
And then, as they drew near home, and the soft light faded from the lofty Kei hills, between which the river flowed far down in the silent gloom between its frowning krantzes, the calming effects of the hour was upon these two. The present was very, very sweet. They had had a brief period of perfect happiness, after the years of dreary waiting, and now, if separation was to come, it would not be for long, and they would look forward hopefully to the time when, the disturbances over, peace should be restored.
That night Claverton and his host were sitting out on thestoepsmoking their pipes, the rest of the party having long since retired. The conversation throughout the evening had turned upon the state of affairs, and now the same topic held.
“By-the-bye,” said Payne, “there was a strange nigger here this evening, a deuced fine-looking fellow, but an infernal scoundrel, I suspect. He asked if he might sleep at the huts, and I let him.”
“Why did you?”
“Well, you see, it would have done no good to turn him away. If he’s up to mischief he’d carry it out anyhow; and if he isn’t, well, there’s no harm done.”
“H’m. Marshall seems in a bit of a funk. He told me a couple of yarns to-day about fellows whose servants had warned them to clear. I should think that trick’s played out, though.”
“Dunno. You’ll still find people to believe in it. The niggers, of course, make it pay. Jack, in his capacity of old and faithful servant, warns his Baas. His Baas believes him. Henceforth Jack has a high old time of it, and, provided he is careful in the yarns he invents, may go on to the end of the chapter. For my part, I don’t believe in any nigger’s fidelity. You can’t trust one of them.”
“Except my chap, Sam,” said Claverton.
“Ah, that’s different. He’s away from his own country, you see; and then you and he have chummed it for ever so long in places where he has learnt to depend on you.”
It was a still, clear night, the sky seemed crowded with stars, and the air was warm and balmy for the time of year. Scarce a sound was audible, save that now and again the faintest possible echo of a savage song was borne from some kraal many miles across country. Otherwise there was a stillness that might be felt, and the voices of the two men, subdued as they were, sounded almost loud.
“Hallo! What the deuce is that?” said Payne, suddenly. For there arose a terrific clamour from the dogs at the back of the house. There was a preliminary “woof” as those vigilant guardians first scented intrusion; then the whole pack dashed off violently, and showing a very decided fixity of purpose, towards an angle of the high quince hedge which bounded the garden—baying savagely.
Both men rose to their feet.
“They’ve got something there, I’ll swear,” said Claverton in a low tone. “Wonder what.”
“Very likely a prowling nigger,” answered Payne. “We’ll just get out our shooting-irons and go and see.”
Volume Two—Chapter Six.The Fire Trumpet.With weapons cocked and ready, and keeping a sharp look-out ahead, our two friends stole quietly and warily along the shadow of the quince hedge. Meanwhile the canine clamour increased tenfold; such a yelling, and growling, and full-voiced baying as never before was heard.“Why, they’ve treed something—look there!” whispered Claverton, as they arrived upon the scene of the disturbance. And sure enough in the branches of a small apricot-tree, which grew a little higher than the quince hedge, they could make out the dark figure of a man, clinging there as for dear life, while the dogs were leaping, and snapping, and rolling over upon one another and into the ditch in their frantic efforts to reach him. And, but for this timely refuge, he would have been torn in pieces by the great fierce brutes.“Come down, whoever you are,” said Payne, speaking in the Kafir language, “or I’ll fire. If you attempt to run away the dogs will soon catch you. Come down.”They could hear a muttered exclamation or two, and then the unknown replied:“Keep in the dogs, ’Nkos. I came here to visit you, to tell you some news.”“All right. Come down. Here, Neptune, Corker, Slow—keep still, you brutes.Voertsek, Huis! to!” (be off; home) cried Payne; and the excited hounds reluctantly drew off with many a savage growl.Then something dropped from the tree, there was a rustle in the quince hedge, and a man stood before them in the darkness. Payne had just time to restrain the dogs, who would have flung themselves upon this sudden apparition there and then.“Now, then, who are you and what do you want?” he asked.“’Nkos, you remember me? But I can’t talk here, it’s cold and I’ve been frightened, and I am old and weak.”“Why, it’s Mhlanga,” cried Payne, in astonishment. “But what the devil d’you want with me at this time of night?”“Hadn’t we better take him to the house and give him a tot of grog?” said Claverton. “He looks rather shaky.”“Of course. Come with us, Mhlanga,” and they returned to the house, where a liberal ration of undiluted spirit having sent a generous glow through the Kafir’s frame, that unexpected visitor squatted down on thestoepwith his blanket huddled round him, and fired off an ejaculation or two.He was an old man, with a white head and a lean, gaunt frame, and in spite of the potation shivered slightly from time to time as he sat there, for he had had a very narrow escape from the jaws of the dogs. Then he began, speaking in a low, rapid tone:“When the grass-fire sweeps along the mountain side, who would stand in its way because he had built a hut there? When yonder river rushes down in a flood after the thunderstorms, who would stand in the drift and try to beat it back with his hands? Why are you still here?”“Why not, Mhlanga? You must speak plainer.” The old Kafir made a gesture of impatience. “Are you waiting till this moon is dead?” he went on. “If soyouwill never see it die. Go. Go while there is time. What can two men do to stay the roaring flame through the long, dry grass? Nothing. Will they stand in the middle and be consumed? The grass is thoroughly dry and the torch is put in, the flame will spread and devour all in its way. Even now it is kindled. Are you tired of life?” concluded the old man in a more eager tone than he had hitherto employed.“The gist of the parable is obvious,” remarked Payne to his companion, who nodded assent. “By the way, this old bird was with me several years and left suddenly some time ago, because he wanted a change. Now, you see, he’s doing the very confidence trick we were just talking about. Have some more grog, Mhlanga.”The old man held out his tin mug with alacrity for Payne to replenish. Then he tossed off the contents, heaved a sigh or two and was about to speak, when suddenly he stopped short and appeared to be listening intently.“Come,” he said, rising. “Come with me,Amakosi!”“Oh, that’s another pair of shoes,” said Payne, suspiciously. “But, Mhlanga; why should you come here to tell me this—eh?”“I was with you for several years, ’Nkosi, and when the snake bit me you put in the medicine stuff that healed it. I do not wish harm to befall you.”“Oho! gratitude’s the order of the day, is it?” Then to the Kafir: “Steer ahead, Mhlanga.”They followed the old man as he led the way to the brow of a slight eminence a few hundred yards from the homestead. Above, the stars twinkled in their silent watch, twinkled on ever the same. The midnight sky, moonless, and arching overhead like a heavy pall of blue-black velvet besprinkled with gold-dust, was oppressive in its darksome serenity, and there was something in the mystery and suddenness of the whole situation which even to the tried nerves of the two white men was intolerably awesome and thrilling. Far away in the distance, beyond the mouth of the defile or gap, a few fires glowed like sparks.“Listen,” said the Kafir, pointing with his sticks in the direction of this. “When theamajoni(soldiers) are musteredkwa Rini(at King Williamstown), the trumpet is blown in the morning sunshine, and all the town hears it, for its voice is of brass. Ha! When the chiefs of the Amaxosa gather their fighting men the trumpet is sounded too, but it is sounded in the blackness of midnight; and all the country hears it, for its voice is of fire. Look,” he went on. “Even now the chiefs are talking to each other. The Fire Trumpet is calling the tribes to war.”As he spoke a red tongue of flame leapt forth from the darkness against the distant horizon, where it flashed and burned for a few minutes. Then from another high point a second beacon-fire gleamed, followed by a third; and as the watchers gazed in half-incredulous wonder, not unmixed with awe, a strange, weird, resounding cry rose upon the midnight air, gathering volume as it rolled, as if kindled by those threatening beacons which glowed in the midnight firmament from the Kei to the far Amatola. Again and again pealed forth that dismal sound, and then all was still as the fiery signal shot up redly from half-a-dozen lofty elevations, and then sank as suddenly as it had blazed forth, until nearly invisible. And that unearthly and ominous cry might well strike a chill to the hearts of the listeners, for it was the war-cry of the formidable Gaika clans.“Who was the man who asked leave to sleep in the huts, to-night?” asked the old Kafir, meaningly. “If he is here to-morrow, if your three herds are here to-morrow, if they answer when you call them, then I have been telling you lies. Listen, ’Nkosi,” he concluded, impressively. “You are a good man. You saved my life once, and I have come far to talk to you to-night. Take your wife and your children, and your sheep, and cattle, and go—go away into the town where they will be safe, and that to-morrow,for the call of the Fire Trumpet has rung in the heavens, and the land is dead.”Payne was more impressed than he would care to own, and made up his mind to act upon the other’s words, if not to-morrow, yet at no distant date.“Well, Mhlanga,” he began, “if it’s as you say, and—Why, by George, what’s become of the fellow?” he broke off, in astonishment.For the Kafir had disappeared. He had vanished as he had come—silently, mysteriously. They called to him once or twice, but without result. His mission was accomplished and he was gone.They turned towards the house. Suddenly, from the summit of one of the highest of the Kei hills, there blazed forth another fire, reddening the sky overhead, and they could make out distinctly the darting, leaping flames, shooting upward like demon tongues. And this startling answer from the opposite direction brought home to these two more vividly than ever a sense of their position, hemmed in between the plotting tribes now flashing their gruesome midnight messages of fire the one to the other, conveying in a moment to thousands of eager barbarians the dread signal, of which the destructive element was a terribly fitting exponent.“I say,” suddenly exclaimed Payne; “let’s go and see if that nigger that came this afternoon is still in the huts.”They went to the huts. A snore from inside told that these were still inhabited, and a sleepy growl or two as in obedience to their master’s summons the slumbering Kafirs aroused themselves. By the light of a match, which Payne held in his hand, several recumbent forms huddled in their blankets became visible.“Here, Booi; where’s the chap who came here this afternoon?” asked Payne.There was a momentary hesitation. “He’s gone, Baas.”“Has he? Oh, all right, go to sleep again. Faugh?” he continued, as they stood once more in the open air. “The whiff in there reminds one of the ’tween-decks of a ship in a good rolling sea. The first part of old Mhlanga’s prediction holds good, but I must confess I don’t quite believe the second. Those fellows will be here in the morning.”After this, neither felt much inclined to sleep, so they sat up chatting in a low tone far into the small hours. Then Payne’s answers began to get very confused, till at last his pipe dropped from his mouth, and came to the ground with a clatter.“Look here, Payne, go and do the horizontal there on the sofa,” said his companion, with a laugh. “I’ll do sentry-go, and it’s no good both doing it.”“Well, if you really aren’t sleepy—the fact is, I am, confoundedly,” and, rolling himself in a jackal-skin rug, Payne stretched himself on the couch, and in a minute was snoring peacefully.His companion, well accustomed to long night-watches, sat at the window, motionless, but wide awake, looking out into the starlit gloom. Now and then he would doze off into that half-slumber known as “sleeping with one eye open,” wherein the wakeful faculties seem even more developed than during actual wakefulness, but nothing occurred of a disturbing nature. Once the dogs began to bark, but quieted down very soon, and the hours wore on till the clear still dawn lightened upon the hills and the sleeping valley.Payne opened his eyes with a start, and met those of his companion. “Hullo! Haven’t you had a snooze?”“No; that would be a queer way of mounting guard, wouldn’t it? I think I’ll have one now, though.”“Well, I should recommend you to turn in altogether. I’ll call you presently. There’ll be no one up for the next three hours, you know,” continued Payne, with a meaning wink.Two hours later Claverton was awake again, and found Payne just where he had left him, snoring in regular cadence. Though the sun was up there was no sign of life about the place.“I wonder if that old Kafir was gammoning us,” remarked Payne, as the two made their way to the kraals. In that cheerful sunshine, the effects of the dour midnight warning had faded somewhat, as such effects will, and he was inclined to make light of it. “Here, Booi, Gcoku!” he shouted; “tumble out—look sharp!”There was no answer.Meaningly, the two looked at each other. Then they made their way to the huts, and kicked open the doors. The huts were empty.If your three herds are here to-morrow—if they answer when you call them—then I have been telling you lies, had been Mhlanga’s words. Therefore, no doubt now existed in his hearers’ minds that his strange, mysterious warning was true. The three Kafirs, with their families and belongings, had departed, obedient to the “word” of the stranger, the chief’s emissary; had gone to add three more warriors to the martial gathering of their tribe.For a few moments Payne did not speak. He was rapidly revolving the situation in his mind. War would mean ruinous loss to him. He would have to send his family away to the settlements for safety, and go intolaagerhimself; which latter meant months of armed tending of his stock, in common with others in like predicament; and then, even if the animals escaped capture at the hands of the savage foe, there were the chances of catching lung sickness or other diseases from the inferior and ill-bred stock of less careful or less successful farmers, with whom they would necessarily mix during all the owners’ joint occupation of the defensive camp.“By Jove!” he exclaimed, at length, as his eyes fell upon some spoor. “Theschelmshave gone, and they’ve not gone empty-handed.”On counting the cattle his worst suspicions were verified. Four of his finest cows were missing, and there was no difficulty whatever in making out by the tracks that they had been driven off by his treacherous and defecting retainers. Payne swore a great oath.“We’ll go after them!” he cried. “We’ll give them pepper. Hallo! There’s Marshall. He’s getting quite neighbourly.”The countenance of that stalwart frontiersman evinced no surprise as, alighting from his nag, he learnt what had happened. He had come over to see how they were all getting on, and had also been making a little patrol on his own hook, he said.“You’re just in the nick of time, Joe,” cried Payne. “You can come with us.”“And are you going to leave the ladies here all alone?” replied Marshall. “I wouldn’t, if I were you.”“I had thought of that, too,” said Claverton, quietly. “One of us must stay.”“Then I will,” said Marshall. “If you fellers are determined to rush off, you’d better do so at once. Mind, I don’t think you’ll catch the beggars in any case; they’ve got a good start of you. And my old nag hasn’t got go enough in her for a raid into Kreli’s country just now.”“Very well, then, that settles it,” said Payne. “It’s awfully good of you, Joe. We’ll get breakfast sharp, and then start. By the way, we’d better not tell the women where we’re going.”
With weapons cocked and ready, and keeping a sharp look-out ahead, our two friends stole quietly and warily along the shadow of the quince hedge. Meanwhile the canine clamour increased tenfold; such a yelling, and growling, and full-voiced baying as never before was heard.
“Why, they’ve treed something—look there!” whispered Claverton, as they arrived upon the scene of the disturbance. And sure enough in the branches of a small apricot-tree, which grew a little higher than the quince hedge, they could make out the dark figure of a man, clinging there as for dear life, while the dogs were leaping, and snapping, and rolling over upon one another and into the ditch in their frantic efforts to reach him. And, but for this timely refuge, he would have been torn in pieces by the great fierce brutes.
“Come down, whoever you are,” said Payne, speaking in the Kafir language, “or I’ll fire. If you attempt to run away the dogs will soon catch you. Come down.”
They could hear a muttered exclamation or two, and then the unknown replied:
“Keep in the dogs, ’Nkos. I came here to visit you, to tell you some news.”
“All right. Come down. Here, Neptune, Corker, Slow—keep still, you brutes.Voertsek, Huis! to!” (be off; home) cried Payne; and the excited hounds reluctantly drew off with many a savage growl.
Then something dropped from the tree, there was a rustle in the quince hedge, and a man stood before them in the darkness. Payne had just time to restrain the dogs, who would have flung themselves upon this sudden apparition there and then.
“Now, then, who are you and what do you want?” he asked.
“’Nkos, you remember me? But I can’t talk here, it’s cold and I’ve been frightened, and I am old and weak.”
“Why, it’s Mhlanga,” cried Payne, in astonishment. “But what the devil d’you want with me at this time of night?”
“Hadn’t we better take him to the house and give him a tot of grog?” said Claverton. “He looks rather shaky.”
“Of course. Come with us, Mhlanga,” and they returned to the house, where a liberal ration of undiluted spirit having sent a generous glow through the Kafir’s frame, that unexpected visitor squatted down on thestoepwith his blanket huddled round him, and fired off an ejaculation or two.
He was an old man, with a white head and a lean, gaunt frame, and in spite of the potation shivered slightly from time to time as he sat there, for he had had a very narrow escape from the jaws of the dogs. Then he began, speaking in a low, rapid tone:
“When the grass-fire sweeps along the mountain side, who would stand in its way because he had built a hut there? When yonder river rushes down in a flood after the thunderstorms, who would stand in the drift and try to beat it back with his hands? Why are you still here?”
“Why not, Mhlanga? You must speak plainer.” The old Kafir made a gesture of impatience. “Are you waiting till this moon is dead?” he went on. “If soyouwill never see it die. Go. Go while there is time. What can two men do to stay the roaring flame through the long, dry grass? Nothing. Will they stand in the middle and be consumed? The grass is thoroughly dry and the torch is put in, the flame will spread and devour all in its way. Even now it is kindled. Are you tired of life?” concluded the old man in a more eager tone than he had hitherto employed.
“The gist of the parable is obvious,” remarked Payne to his companion, who nodded assent. “By the way, this old bird was with me several years and left suddenly some time ago, because he wanted a change. Now, you see, he’s doing the very confidence trick we were just talking about. Have some more grog, Mhlanga.”
The old man held out his tin mug with alacrity for Payne to replenish. Then he tossed off the contents, heaved a sigh or two and was about to speak, when suddenly he stopped short and appeared to be listening intently.
“Come,” he said, rising. “Come with me,Amakosi!”
“Oh, that’s another pair of shoes,” said Payne, suspiciously. “But, Mhlanga; why should you come here to tell me this—eh?”
“I was with you for several years, ’Nkosi, and when the snake bit me you put in the medicine stuff that healed it. I do not wish harm to befall you.”
“Oho! gratitude’s the order of the day, is it?” Then to the Kafir: “Steer ahead, Mhlanga.”
They followed the old man as he led the way to the brow of a slight eminence a few hundred yards from the homestead. Above, the stars twinkled in their silent watch, twinkled on ever the same. The midnight sky, moonless, and arching overhead like a heavy pall of blue-black velvet besprinkled with gold-dust, was oppressive in its darksome serenity, and there was something in the mystery and suddenness of the whole situation which even to the tried nerves of the two white men was intolerably awesome and thrilling. Far away in the distance, beyond the mouth of the defile or gap, a few fires glowed like sparks.
“Listen,” said the Kafir, pointing with his sticks in the direction of this. “When theamajoni(soldiers) are musteredkwa Rini(at King Williamstown), the trumpet is blown in the morning sunshine, and all the town hears it, for its voice is of brass. Ha! When the chiefs of the Amaxosa gather their fighting men the trumpet is sounded too, but it is sounded in the blackness of midnight; and all the country hears it, for its voice is of fire. Look,” he went on. “Even now the chiefs are talking to each other. The Fire Trumpet is calling the tribes to war.”
As he spoke a red tongue of flame leapt forth from the darkness against the distant horizon, where it flashed and burned for a few minutes. Then from another high point a second beacon-fire gleamed, followed by a third; and as the watchers gazed in half-incredulous wonder, not unmixed with awe, a strange, weird, resounding cry rose upon the midnight air, gathering volume as it rolled, as if kindled by those threatening beacons which glowed in the midnight firmament from the Kei to the far Amatola. Again and again pealed forth that dismal sound, and then all was still as the fiery signal shot up redly from half-a-dozen lofty elevations, and then sank as suddenly as it had blazed forth, until nearly invisible. And that unearthly and ominous cry might well strike a chill to the hearts of the listeners, for it was the war-cry of the formidable Gaika clans.
“Who was the man who asked leave to sleep in the huts, to-night?” asked the old Kafir, meaningly. “If he is here to-morrow, if your three herds are here to-morrow, if they answer when you call them, then I have been telling you lies. Listen, ’Nkosi,” he concluded, impressively. “You are a good man. You saved my life once, and I have come far to talk to you to-night. Take your wife and your children, and your sheep, and cattle, and go—go away into the town where they will be safe, and that to-morrow,for the call of the Fire Trumpet has rung in the heavens, and the land is dead.”
Payne was more impressed than he would care to own, and made up his mind to act upon the other’s words, if not to-morrow, yet at no distant date.
“Well, Mhlanga,” he began, “if it’s as you say, and—Why, by George, what’s become of the fellow?” he broke off, in astonishment.
For the Kafir had disappeared. He had vanished as he had come—silently, mysteriously. They called to him once or twice, but without result. His mission was accomplished and he was gone.
They turned towards the house. Suddenly, from the summit of one of the highest of the Kei hills, there blazed forth another fire, reddening the sky overhead, and they could make out distinctly the darting, leaping flames, shooting upward like demon tongues. And this startling answer from the opposite direction brought home to these two more vividly than ever a sense of their position, hemmed in between the plotting tribes now flashing their gruesome midnight messages of fire the one to the other, conveying in a moment to thousands of eager barbarians the dread signal, of which the destructive element was a terribly fitting exponent.
“I say,” suddenly exclaimed Payne; “let’s go and see if that nigger that came this afternoon is still in the huts.”
They went to the huts. A snore from inside told that these were still inhabited, and a sleepy growl or two as in obedience to their master’s summons the slumbering Kafirs aroused themselves. By the light of a match, which Payne held in his hand, several recumbent forms huddled in their blankets became visible.
“Here, Booi; where’s the chap who came here this afternoon?” asked Payne.
There was a momentary hesitation. “He’s gone, Baas.”
“Has he? Oh, all right, go to sleep again. Faugh?” he continued, as they stood once more in the open air. “The whiff in there reminds one of the ’tween-decks of a ship in a good rolling sea. The first part of old Mhlanga’s prediction holds good, but I must confess I don’t quite believe the second. Those fellows will be here in the morning.”
After this, neither felt much inclined to sleep, so they sat up chatting in a low tone far into the small hours. Then Payne’s answers began to get very confused, till at last his pipe dropped from his mouth, and came to the ground with a clatter.
“Look here, Payne, go and do the horizontal there on the sofa,” said his companion, with a laugh. “I’ll do sentry-go, and it’s no good both doing it.”
“Well, if you really aren’t sleepy—the fact is, I am, confoundedly,” and, rolling himself in a jackal-skin rug, Payne stretched himself on the couch, and in a minute was snoring peacefully.
His companion, well accustomed to long night-watches, sat at the window, motionless, but wide awake, looking out into the starlit gloom. Now and then he would doze off into that half-slumber known as “sleeping with one eye open,” wherein the wakeful faculties seem even more developed than during actual wakefulness, but nothing occurred of a disturbing nature. Once the dogs began to bark, but quieted down very soon, and the hours wore on till the clear still dawn lightened upon the hills and the sleeping valley.
Payne opened his eyes with a start, and met those of his companion. “Hullo! Haven’t you had a snooze?”
“No; that would be a queer way of mounting guard, wouldn’t it? I think I’ll have one now, though.”
“Well, I should recommend you to turn in altogether. I’ll call you presently. There’ll be no one up for the next three hours, you know,” continued Payne, with a meaning wink.
Two hours later Claverton was awake again, and found Payne just where he had left him, snoring in regular cadence. Though the sun was up there was no sign of life about the place.
“I wonder if that old Kafir was gammoning us,” remarked Payne, as the two made their way to the kraals. In that cheerful sunshine, the effects of the dour midnight warning had faded somewhat, as such effects will, and he was inclined to make light of it. “Here, Booi, Gcoku!” he shouted; “tumble out—look sharp!”
There was no answer.
Meaningly, the two looked at each other. Then they made their way to the huts, and kicked open the doors. The huts were empty.If your three herds are here to-morrow—if they answer when you call them—then I have been telling you lies, had been Mhlanga’s words. Therefore, no doubt now existed in his hearers’ minds that his strange, mysterious warning was true. The three Kafirs, with their families and belongings, had departed, obedient to the “word” of the stranger, the chief’s emissary; had gone to add three more warriors to the martial gathering of their tribe.
For a few moments Payne did not speak. He was rapidly revolving the situation in his mind. War would mean ruinous loss to him. He would have to send his family away to the settlements for safety, and go intolaagerhimself; which latter meant months of armed tending of his stock, in common with others in like predicament; and then, even if the animals escaped capture at the hands of the savage foe, there were the chances of catching lung sickness or other diseases from the inferior and ill-bred stock of less careful or less successful farmers, with whom they would necessarily mix during all the owners’ joint occupation of the defensive camp.
“By Jove!” he exclaimed, at length, as his eyes fell upon some spoor. “Theschelmshave gone, and they’ve not gone empty-handed.”
On counting the cattle his worst suspicions were verified. Four of his finest cows were missing, and there was no difficulty whatever in making out by the tracks that they had been driven off by his treacherous and defecting retainers. Payne swore a great oath.
“We’ll go after them!” he cried. “We’ll give them pepper. Hallo! There’s Marshall. He’s getting quite neighbourly.”
The countenance of that stalwart frontiersman evinced no surprise as, alighting from his nag, he learnt what had happened. He had come over to see how they were all getting on, and had also been making a little patrol on his own hook, he said.
“You’re just in the nick of time, Joe,” cried Payne. “You can come with us.”
“And are you going to leave the ladies here all alone?” replied Marshall. “I wouldn’t, if I were you.”
“I had thought of that, too,” said Claverton, quietly. “One of us must stay.”
“Then I will,” said Marshall. “If you fellers are determined to rush off, you’d better do so at once. Mind, I don’t think you’ll catch the beggars in any case; they’ve got a good start of you. And my old nag hasn’t got go enough in her for a raid into Kreli’s country just now.”
“Very well, then, that settles it,” said Payne. “It’s awfully good of you, Joe. We’ll get breakfast sharp, and then start. By the way, we’d better not tell the women where we’re going.”