The Project Gutenberg eBook of Marie, by H. Rider Haggard

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Marie

AN EPISODE IN THE LIFE OF THE LATE ALLAN QUATERMAIN

by H. Rider Haggard

Contents

DEDICATION

Ditchingham,backyard playsets for 9 year olds under 20 dollars 1912.

My dear Sir Henry,—

Nearly thirty-seven years have gone by, more than a generation, since first wesaw the shores of Southern Africa rising from the sea. Since then how much hashappened: the Annexation of the Transvaal, the Zulu War, the first Boer War,the discovery of the Rand, the taking of Rhodesia, the second Boer War, andmany other matters which in these quick-moving times are now reckoned asancient history.

Alas! I fear that were we to re-visit that country we should find but few faceswhich we knew. Yet of one thing we may be glad. Those historical events, insome of which you, as the ruler of Natal, played a great part, and I, as itchanced, a smaller one, so far as we can foresee, have at length brought aperiod of peace to Southern Africa. To-day the flag of England flies from theZambesi to the Cape. Beneath its shadow may all ancient feuds and bloodjealousies be forgotten. May the natives prosper also and be justly ruled, forafter all in the beginning the land was theirs. Such, I know, are your hopes,as they are mine.

It is, however, with an earlier Africa that this story deals. In 1836, hate andsuspicion ran high between the Home Government and its Dutch subjects. Owing tothe freeing of the slaves and mutual misunderstandings, the Cape Colony wasthen in tumult, almost in rebellion, and the Boers, by thousands, sought newhomes in the unknown, savage-peopled North. Of this blood-stained time I havetried to tell; of the Great Trek and its tragedies, such as the massacre of thetrue-hearted Retief and his companions at the hands of the Zulu king, Dingaan.

But you have read the tale and know its substance. What, then, remains for meto say? Only that in memory of long-past days I dedicate it to you whose imageever springs to mind when I strive to picture an English gentleman as he shouldbe. Your kindness I never shall forget; in memory of it, I offer you this book.

Ever sincerely yours,
H. RIDER HAGGARD.

To Sir Henry Bulwer, G.C.M.G.

PREFACE

The Author hopes that the reader may find some historical interest in the taleset out in these pages of the massacre of the Boer general, Retief, and hiscompanions at the hands of the Zulu king, Dingaan. Save for some addedcircumstances, he believes it to be accurate in its details.

The same may be said of the account given of the hideous sufferings of thetrek-Boers who wandered into the fever veld, there to perish in theneighbourhood of Delagoa Bay. Of these sufferings, especially those that wereendured by Triechard and his companions, a few brief contemporary records stillexist, buried in scarce works of reference. It may be mentioned, also, that itwas a common belief among the Boers of that generation that the cruel death ofRetief and his companions, and other misfortunes which befell them, were due tothe treacherous plottings of an Englishman, or of Englishmen, with the despot,Dingaan.

EDITOR’S NOTE

The following extract explains how the manuscript of “Marie,” andwith it some others, one of which is named “Child of Storm,” cameinto the hands of the Editor.

It is from a letter, dated January 17th, 1909, and written by Mr. GeorgeCurtis, the brother of Sir Henry Curtis, Bart., who, it will be remembered, wasone of the late Mr. Allan Quatermain’s friends and companions inadventure when he discovered King Solomon’s Mines, and who afterwardsdisappeared with him in Central Africa.

This extract runs as follows:—

“You may recall that our mutual and dear friend, old Allan Quatermain,left me the sole executor of his will, which he signed before he set out withmy brother Henry for Zuvendis, where he was killed. The Court, however, notbeing satisfied that there was any legal proof of his death, invested thecapital funds in trustee securities, and by my advice let his place inYorkshire to a tenant who has remained in occupation of it during the last twodecades. Now that tenant is dead, and at the earnest prayer of the Charitieswhich benefit under Quatermain’s will, and of myself—for in myuncertain state of health I have for long been most anxious to wind up thisexecutorship—about eight months ago the Court at last consented to thedistribution of this large fund in accordance with the terms of the will.

“This, of course, involved the sale of the real property, and before itwas put up to auction I went over the house in company of the solicitorappointed by the Court. On the top landing, in the room Quatermain used tooccupy, we found a sealed cupboard that I opened. It proved to be full ofvarious articles which evidently he had prized because of their associationswith his early life. These I need not enumerate here, especially as I havereserved them as his residuary legatee and, in the event of my death, they willpass to you under my will.

“Among these relics, however, I found a stout box, made of some redforeign wood, that contained various documents and letters and a bundle ofmanuscripts. Under the tape which fastened these manuscripts together, as youwill see, is a scrap of paper on which is written, in blue pencil, a directionsigned ‘Allan Quatermain,’ that in the event of anything happeningto him, these MSS. are to be sent to you (for whom, as you know, he had a highregard), and that at your sole discretion you are to burn or publish them asyou may see fit.

“So, after all these years, as we both remain alive, I carry out our oldfriend’s instructions and send you his bequest, which I trust may proveof interest and value. I have read the MS. called ‘Marie,’ andcertainly am of the opinion that it ought to be published, for I think it astrange and moving tale of a great love—full, moreover, of forgottenhistory.

“That named ‘Child of Storm’ also seems very interesting as astudy of savage life, and the others may be the same; but my eyes are troublingme so much that I have not been able to decipher them. I hope, however, that Imay be spared long enough to see them in print.

“Poor old Allan Quatermain. It is as though he had suddenly reappearedfrom the dead! So at least I thought as I perused these stories of a period ofhis life of which I do not remember his speaking to me.

“And now my responsibility in this matter is finished and yours begins.Do what you like about the manuscripts.”

“George Curtis.”

As may be imagined, I, the Editor, was considerably astonished when I receivedthis letter and the accompanying bundle of closely-written MSS. To me also itwas as though my old friend had risen from the grave and once more stood beforeme, telling some history of his stormy and tragic past in that quiet, measuredvoice that I have never been able to forget.

The first manuscript I read was that entitled “Marie.” It dealswith Mr. Quatermain’s strange experiences when as a very young man heaccompanied the ill-fated Pieter Retief and the Boer Commission on an embassyto the Zulu despot, Dingaan. This, it will be remembered, ended in theirmassacre, Quatermain himself and his Hottentot servant Hans being the solesurvivors of the slaughter. Also it deals with another matter more personal tohimself, namely, his courtship of and marriage to his first wife, Marie Marais.

Of this Marie I never heard him speak, save once. I remember that on a certainoccasion—it was that of a garden fête for a local charity—I wasstanding by Quatermain when someone introduced to him a young girl who wasstaying in the neighborhood and had distinguished herself by singing veryprettily at the fête. Her surname I forget, but her Christian name was Marie.He started when he heard it, and asked if she were French. The young ladyanswered No, but only of French extraction through her grandmother, who alsowas called Marie.

“Indeed?” he said. “Once I knew a maiden not unlike you whowas also of French extraction and called Marie. May you prove more fortunate inlife than she was, though better or nobler you can never be,” and hebowed to her in his simple, courtly fashion, then turned away. Afterwards, whenwe were alone, I asked him who was this Marie of whom he had spoken to theyoung lady. He paused a little, then answered:

“She was my first wife, but I beg you not to speak of her to me or toanyone else, for I cannot bear to hear her name. Perhaps you will learn allabout her one day.” Then, to my grief and astonishment, he broke intosomething like a sob and abruptly left the room.

After reading the record of this Marie I can well understand why he was somoved. I print it practically as it left his hands.

There are other MSS. also, one of which, headed “Child of Storm,”relates the moving history of a beautiful and, I fear I must add, wicked Zulugirl named Mameena who did much evil in her day and went unrepentant from theworld.

Another, amongst other things, tells the secret story of the causes of thedefeat of Cetewayo and his armies by the English in 1879, which happened notlong before Quatermain met Sir Henry Curtis and Captain Good.

These three narratives are, indeed, more or less connected with each other. Atleast, a certain aged dwarf, called Zikali, a witch-doctor and a terrible man,has to do with all of them, although in the first, “Marie,” he isonly vaguely mentioned in connection with the massacre of Retief, whereof hewas doubtless the primary instigator. As “Marie” comes first inchronological order, and was placed on the top of the pile by its author, Ipublish it first. With the others I hope to deal later on, as I may find timeand opportunity.

But the future must take care of itself. We cannot control it, and its eventsare not in our hand. Meanwhile, I hope that those who in their youth have readof King Solomon’s Mines and Zuvendis, and perhaps some others who areyounger, may find as much of interest in these new chapters of theautobiography of Allan Quatermain as I have done myself.

CHAPTER I.
ALLAN LEARNS FRENCH

Although in my old age I, Allan Quatermain, have taken to writing—after afashion—never yet have I set down a single word of the tale of my firstlove and of the adventures that are grouped around her beautiful and tragichistory. I suppose this is because it has always seemed to me too holy andfar-off a matter—as holy and far-off as is that heaven which holds thesplendid spirit of Marie Marais. But now, in my age, that which was far-offdraws near again; and at night, in the depths between the stars, sometimes Iseem to see the opening doors through which I must pass, and leaning earthwardsacross their threshold, with outstretched arms and dark and dewy eyes, a shadowlong forgotten by all save me—the shadow of Marie Marais.

An old man’s dream, doubtless, no more. Still, I will try to set downthat history which ended in so great a sacrifice, and one so worthy of record,though I hope that no human eye will read it until I also am forgotten, or, atany rate, have grown dim in the gathering mists of oblivion. And I am glad thatI have waited to make this attempt, for it seems to me that only of late have Icome to understand and appreciate at its true value the character of her ofwhom I tell, and the passionate affection which was her bounteous offering toone so utterly unworthy as myself. What have I done, I wonder, that to meshould have been decreed the love of two such women as Marie and that ofStella, also now long dead, to whom alone in the world I told all her tale? Iremember I feared lest she should take it ill, but this was not so. Indeed,during our brief married days, she thought and talked much of Marie, and someof her last words to me were that she was going to seek her, and that theywould wait for me together in the land of love, pure and immortal.

So with Stella’s death all that side of life came to an end for me, sinceduring the long years which stretch between then and now I have never saidanother tender word to woman. I admit, however, that once, long afterwards, acertain little witch of a Zulu did say tender words to me, and for an hour orso almost turned my head, an art in which she had great skill. This I saybecause I wish to be quite honest, although it—I mean my head, for therewas no heart involved in the matter—came straight again at once. Her namewas Mameena, and I have set down her remarkable story elsewhere.

To return. As I have already written in another book, I passed my youth with myold father, a Church of England clergyman, in what is now the Cradock districtof the Cape Colony.

Then it was a wild place enough, with a very small white population. Among ourfew neighbours was a Boer farmer of the name of Henri Marais, who lived aboutfifteen miles from our station, on a fine farm called Maraisfontein. I say hewas a Boer, but, as may be guessed from both his Christian and surname, hisorigin was Huguenot, his forefather, who was also named HenriMarais—though I think the Marais was spelt rather differentlythen—having been one of the first of that faith who emigrated to SouthAfrica to escape the cruelties of Louis XIV. at the time of the revocation ofthe Edict of Nantes.

Unlike most Boers of similar descent, these particular Marais—for, ofcourse, there are many other families so called—never forgot theirorigin. Indeed, from father to son, they kept up some knowledge of the Frenchtongue, and among themselves often spoke it after a fashion. At any rate, itwas the habit of Henri Marais, who was excessively religious, to read hischapter of the Bible (which it is, or was, the custom of the Boers to spell outevery morning, should their learning allow them to do so), not in thetaalor patoisDutch, but in good old French. I have the verybook from which he used to read now, for, curiously enough, in after years,when all these events had long been gathered to the past, I chanced to buy itamong a parcel of other works at the weekly auction of odds and ends on themarket square of Maritzburg. I remember that when I opened the great tome,bound over the original leather boards in buckskin, and discovered to whom ithad belonged, I burst into tears. There was no doubt about it, for, as wascustomary in old days, this Bible had sundry fly-leaves sewn up with it for thepurpose of the recording of events important to its owner.

The first entries were made by the original Henri Marais, and record how he andhis compatriots were driven from France, his father having lost his life in thereligious persecutions. After this comes a long list of births, marriages anddeaths continued from generation to generation, and amongst them a few notestelling of such matters as the change of the dwelling-places of the family,always in French. Towards the end of the list appears the entry of the birth ofthe Henri Marais whom I knew, alas! too well, and of his only sister. Then iswritten his marriage to Marie Labuschagne, also, be it noted, of the Huguenotstock. In the next year follows the birth of Marie Marais, my Marie, and, aftera long interval, for no other children were born, the death of her mother.Immediately below appears the following curious passage:

“Le 3 Janvier, 1836. Je quitte ce pays voulant me sauver du mauditgouvernement Britannique comme mes ancêtres se sont sauvés de cediable—Louis XIV.

“A bas les rois et les ministres tyrannique! Vive laliberté!”

Which indicates very clearly the character and the opinions of Henri Marais,and the feeling among the trek-Boers at that time.

Thus the record closes and the story of the Marais ends—that is, so faras the writings in the Bible go, for that branch of the family is now extinct.

Their last chapter I will tell in due course.

There was nothing remarkable about my introduction to Marie Marais. I did notrescue her from any attack of a wild beast or pull her out of a raging river ina fashion suited to romance. Indeed, we interchanged our young ideas across asmall and extremely massive table, which, in fact, had once done duty as ablock for the chopping up of meat. To this hour I can see the hundreds of linesrunning criss-cross upon its surface, especially those opposite to where I usedto sit.

One day, several years after my father had emigrated to the Cape, the HeerMarais arrived at our house in search, I think, of some lost oxen. He was athin, bearded man with rather wild, dark eyes set close together, and a quicknervous manner, not in the least like that of a Dutch Boer—or so I recallhim. My father received him courteously and asked him to stop to dine, which hedid.

They talked together in French, a tongue that my father knew well, although hehad not used it for years; Dutch he could not, or, rather, would not, speak ifhe could help it, and Mr. Marais preferred not to talk English. To meet someonewho could converse in French delighted him, and although his version of thelanguage was that of two centuries before and my father’s was largelyderived from reading, they got on very well together, if not too fast.

At length, after a pause, Mr. Marais, pointing to myself, a small andstubbly-haired youth with a sharp nose, asked my father whether he would likeme to be instructed in the French tongue. The answer was that nothing wouldplease him better.

“Although,” he added severely, “to judge by my own experiencewhere Latin and Greek are concerned, I doubt his capacity to learnanything.”

So an arrangement was made that I should go over for two days in each week toMaraisfontein, sleeping there on the intervening night, and acquire a knowledgeof the French tongue from a tutor whom Mr. Marais had hired to instruct hisdaughter in that language and other subjects. I remember that my father agreedto pay a certain proportion of this tutor’s salary, a plan which suitedthe thrifty Boer very well indeed.

Thither, accordingly, I went in due course, nothing loth, for on the veldbetween our station and Maraisfontein many pauwandkoran—that is, big and small bustards—were to be found, tosay nothing of occasional buck, and I was allowed to carry a gun, which even inthose days I could use fairly well. So to Maraisfontein I rode on the appointedday, attended by a Hottentot after-rider, a certain Hans, of whom I shall havea good deal to tell. I enjoyed very good sport on the road, arriving at thestead laden with one pauw, two koran, and a littleklipspringerbuck which I had been lucky enough to shoot as it boundedout of some rocks in front of me.

There was a peach orchard planted round Maraisfontein, which just then was amass of lovely pink blossom, and as I rode through it slowly, not being sure ofmy way to the house, a lanky child appeared in front of me, clad in a frockwhich exactly matched the colour of the peach bloom. I can see her now, herdark hair hanging down her back, and her big, shy eyes staring at me from theshadow of the Dutch kappiewhich she wore. Indeed, she seemed to be alleyes, like a dikkopor thick-headed plover; at any rate, I noted littleelse about her.

I pulled up my pony and stared at her, feeling very shy and not knowing what tosay. For a while she stared back at me, being afflicted, presumably, with thesame complaint, then spoke with an effort, in a voice that was very soft andpleasant.

“Are you the little Allan Quatermain who is coming to learn French withme?” she asked in Dutch.

“Of course,” I answered in the same tongue, which I knew well;“but why do you call me little, missie? I am taller than you,” Iadded indignantly, for when I was young my lack of height was always a sorepoint with me.

“I think not,” she replied. “But get off that horse, and wewill measure here against this wall.”

So I dismounted, and, having assured herself that I had no heels to my boots (Iwas wearing the kind of raw-hide slippers that the Boers callveld-shoon), she took the writing slate which she was carrying—ithad no frame, I remember, being, in fact, but a piece of the material used forroofing—and, pressing it down tight on my stubbly hair, which stuck upthen as now, made a deep mark in the soft sandstone of the wall with the hardpointed pencil.

“There,” she said, “that is justly done. Now, little Allan,it is your turn to measure me.”

So I measured her, and, behold! she was the taller by a whole half-inch.

“You are standing on tiptoe,” I said in my vexation.

“Little Allan,” she replied, “to stand on tiptoe would be tolie before the good Lord, and when you come to know me better you will learnthat, though I have a dreadful temper and many other sins, I do not lie.”

I suppose that I looked snubbed and mortified, for she went on in her grave,grown-up way: “Why are you angry because God made me taller than you?especially as I am whole months older, for my father told me so. Come, let uswrite our names against these marks, so that in a year or two you may see howyou outgrow me.” Then with the slate pencil she scratched“Marie” against her mark very deeply, so that it might last, shesaid; after which I wrote “Allan” against mine.

Alas! Within the last dozen years chance took me past Maraisfontein once more.The house had long been rebuilt, but this particular wall yet stood. I rode toit and looked, and there faintly could still be seen the name Marie, againstthe little line, and by it the mark that I had made. My own name and with itsubsequent measurements were gone, for in the intervening forty years or so thesandstone had flaked away in places. Only her autograph remained, and when Isaw it I think that I felt even worse than I did on finding whose was the oldBible that I had bought upon the market square at Maritzburg.

I know that I rode away hurriedly without even stopping to inquire into whosehands the farm had passed. Through the peach orchard I rode, where thetrees—perhaps the same, perhaps others—were once more in bloom, forthe season of the year was that when Marie and I first met, nor did I draw reinfor half a score of miles.

But here I may state that Marie always stayed just half an inch the taller inbody, and how much taller in mind and spirit I cannot tell.

When we had finished our measuring match Marie turned to lead me to the house,and, pretending to observe for the first time the beautiful bustard and the twokoranhanging from my saddle, also the klipspringerbuck thatHans the Hottentot carried behind him on his horse, asked:

“Did you shoot all these, Allan Quatermain?”

“Yes,” I answered proudly; “I killed them in four shots, andthe pauwand koranwere flying, not sitting, which is more thanyou could have done, although you are taller, Miss Marie.”

“I do not know,” she answered reflectively. “I can shoot verywell with a rifle, for my father has taught me, but I never would shoot atliving things unless I must because I was hungry, for I think that to kill iscruel. But, of course, it is different with men,” she added hastily,“and no doubt you will be a great hunter one day, Allan Quatermain, sinceyou can already aim so well.”

“I hope so,” I answered, blushing at the compliment, “for Ilove hunting, and when there are so many wild things it does not matter if wekill a few. I shot these for you and your father to eat.”

“Come, then, and give them to him. He will thank you,” and she ledthe way through the gate in the sandstone wall into the yard, where theoutbuildings stood in which the riding horses and the best of the breedingcattle were kept at night, and so past the end of the long, one-storied house,that was stone-built and whitewashed, to the stoep or veranda in front of it.

On the broad stoep, which commanded a pleasant view over rolling, park-likecountry, where mimosa and other trees grew in clumps, two men were seated,drinking strong coffee, although it was not yet ten o’clock in themorning.

Hearing the sound of the horses, one of these, Mynheer Marais, whom I alreadyknew, rose from his hide-strung chair. He was, as I think I have said, not inthe least like one of the phlegmatic Boers, either in person or in temperament,but, rather, a typical Frenchman, although no member of his race had set footin France for a hundred and fifty years. At least so I discovered afterwards,for, of course, in those days I knew nothing of Frenchmen.

His companion was also French, Leblanc by name, but of a very different stamp.In person he was short and stout. His large head was bald except for a fringeof curling, iron-grey hair which grew round it just above the ears and fellupon his shoulders, giving him the appearance of a tonsured but dishevelledpriest. His eyes were blue and watery, his mouth was rather weak, and hischeeks were pale, full and flabby. When the Heer Marais rose, I, being anobservant youth, noted that Monsieur Leblanc took the opportunity to stretchout a rather shaky hand and fill up his coffee cup out of a black bottle, whichfrom the smell I judged to contain peach brandy.

In fact, it may as well be said at once that the poor man was a drunkard, whichexplains how he, with all his high education and great ability, came to holdthe humble post of tutor on a remote Boer farm. Years before, when under theinfluence of drink, he had committed some crime in France—I don’tknow what it was, and never inquired—and fled to the Cape to avoidprosecution. Here he obtained a professorship at one of the colleges, but aftera while appeared in the lecture-room quite drunk and lost his employment. Thesame thing happened in other towns, till at last he drifted to distantMaraisfontein, where his employer tolerated his weakness for the sake of theintellectual companionship for which something in his own nature seemed tocrave. Also, he looked upon him as a compatriot in distress, and a great bondof union between them was their mutual and virulent hatred of England and theEnglish, which in the case of Monsieur Leblanc, who in his youth had fought atWaterloo and been acquainted with the great Emperor, was not altogetherunnatural.

Henri Marais’s case was different, but of that I shall have more to saylater.

“Ah, Marie,” said her father, speaking in Dutch, “so you havefound him at last,” and he nodded towards me, adding: “You shouldbe flattered, little man. Look you, this missie has been sitting for two hoursin the sun waiting for you, although I told her you would not arrive muchbefore ten o’clock, as your father the prédicantsaid you wouldbreakfast before you started. Well, it is natural, for she is lonely here, andyou are of an age, although of a different race”; and his face darkenedas he spoke the words.

“Father,” answered Marie, whose blushes I could see even in theshadow of her cap, “I was not sitting in the sun, but under the shade ofa peach tree. Also, I was working out the sums that Monsieur Leblanc set me onmy slate. See, here they are,” and she held up the slate, which wascovered with figures, somewhat smudged, it is true, by the rubbing of my stiffhair and of her cap.

Then Monsieur Leblanc broke in, speaking in French, of which, as it chanced Iunderstood the sense, for my father had grounded me in that tongue, and I amnaturally quick at modern languages. At any rate, I made out that he was askingif I was the little cochon d’anglais, or English pig, whom for hissins he had to teach. He added that he judged I must be, as my hair stuck up onmy head—I had taken off my hat out of politeness—as it naturallywould do on a pig’s back.

This was too much for me, so, before either of the others could speak, Ianswered in Dutch, for rage made me eloquent and bold:

“Yes, I am he; but, mynheer, if you are to be my master, I hope you willnot call the English pigs any more to me.”

“Indeed, gamin” (that is, little scamp), “and pray,what will happen if I am so bold as to repeat that truth?”

“I think, mynheer,” I replied, growing white with rage at this newinsult, “the same that has happened to yonder buck,” and I pointedto the klipspringerbehind Hans’s saddle. “I mean that Ishall shoot you.”

“Peste! Au moins il a du courage, cet enfant” (At least thechild is plucky), exclaimed Monsieur Leblanc, astonished. From that moment, Imay add, he respected me, and never again insulted my country to my face.

Then Marais broke out, speaking in Dutch that I might understand:

“It is you who should be called pig, Leblanc, not this boy, for, early asit is, you have been drinking. Look! the brandy bottle is half empty. Is thatthe example you set to the young? Speak so again and I turn you out to starveon the veld. Allan Quatermain, although, as you may have heard, I do not likethe English, I beg your pardon. I hope you will forgive the words this sotspoke, thinking that you did not understand,” and he took off his hat andbowed to me quite in a grand manner, as his ancestors might have done to a kingof France.

Leblanc’s face fell. Then he rose and walked away rather unsteadily; as Ilearned afterwards, to plunge his head in a tub of cold water and swallow apint of new milk, which were his favourite antidotes after too much strongdrink. At any rate, when he appeared again, half an hour later, to begin ourlesson, he was quite sober, and extremely polite.

When he had gone, my childish anger being appeased, I presented the Heer Maraiswith my father’s compliments, also with the buck and the birds, whereofthe latter seemed to please him more than the former. Then my saddle-bags weretaken to my room, a little cupboard of a place next to that occupied byMonsieur Leblanc, and Hans was sent to turn the horses out with the othersbelonging to the farm, having first knee-haltered them tightly, so that theyshould not run away home.

This done, the Heer Marais showed me the room in which we were to have ourlessons, one of the sitkammer, or sitting chambers, whereof, unlike mostBoer steads, this house boasted two. I remember that the floor was made ofdaga, that is, ant-heap earth mixed with cow-dung, into which thousandsof peach-stones had been thrown while it was still soft, in order to resistfootwear—a rude but fairly efficient expedient, and one not unpleasing tothe eye. For the rest, there was one window opening on to the veranda, which,in that bright climate, admitted a shaded but sufficient light, especially asit always stood open; the ceiling was of unplastered reeds; a large bookcasestood in the corner containing many French works, most of them the property ofMonsieur Leblanc, and in the centre of the room was the strong, rough tablemade of native yellow-wood, that once had served as a butcher’s block. Irecollect also a coloured print of the great Napoleon commanding at some battlein which he was victorious, seated upon a white horse and waving afield-marshal’s baton over piles of dead and wounded; and near thewindow, hanging to the reeds of the ceiling, the nest of a pair of red-tailedswallows, pretty creatures that, notwithstanding the mess they made, affordedto Marie and me endless amusement in the intervals of our work.

When, on that day, I shuffled shyly into this homely place, and, thinkingmyself alone there, fell to examining it, suddenly I was brought to astandstill by a curious choking sound which seemed to proceed from the shadowsbehind the bookcase. Wondering as to its cause, I advanced cautiously todiscover a pink-clad shape standing in the corner like a naughty child, withher head resting against the wall, and sobbing slowly.

“Marie Marais, why do you cry?” I asked.

She turned, tossing back the locks of long, black hair which hung about herface, and answered:

“Allan Quatermain, I cry because of the shame which has been put upon youand upon our house by that drunken Frenchman.”

“What of that?” I asked. “He only called me a pig, but Ithink I have shown him that even a pig has tusks.”

“Yes,” she replied, “but it was not you he meant; it was allthe English, whom he hates; and the worst of it is that my father is of hismind. He, too, hates the English, and, oh! I am sure that trouble will come ofhis hatred, trouble and death to many.”

“Well, if so, we have nothing to do with it, have we?” I repliedwith the cheerfulness of extreme youth.

“What makes you so sure?” she said solemnly. “Hush! herecomes Monsieur Leblanc.”

CHAPTER II.
THE ATTACK ON MARAISFONTEIN

I do not propose to set out the history of the years which I spent in acquiringa knowledge of French and various other subjects, under the tuition of thelearned but prejudiced Monsieur Leblanc. Indeed, there is “none to tell,sir.” When Monsieur Leblanc was sober, he was a most excellent andwell-informed tutor, although one apt to digress into many side issues, whichin themselves were not uninstructive. When tipsy, he grew excited and haranguedus, generally upon politics and religion, or rather its reverse, for he was anadvanced freethinker, although this was a side to his character which, howeverintoxicated he might be, he always managed to conceal from the Heer Marais. Imay add that a certain childish code of honour prevented us from betraying hisviews on this and sundry other matters. When absolutely drunk, which, on anaverage, was not more than once a month, he simply slept, and we did what wepleased—a fact which our childish code of honour also prevented us frombetraying.

But, on the whole, we got on very well together, for, after the incident of ourfirst meeting, Monsieur Leblanc was always polite to me. Marie he adored, asdid every one about the place, from her father down to the meanest slave. NeedI add that I adored her more than all of them put together, first with the lovethat some children have for each other, and afterwards, as we became adult,with that wider love by which it is at once transcended and made complete.Strange would it have been if this were not so, seeing that we spent nearlyhalf of every week practically alone together, and that, from the first, Marie,whose nature was as open as the clear noon, never concealed her affection forme. True, it was a very discreet affection, almost sisterly, or even motherly,in its outward and visible aspects, as though she could never forget that extrahalf-inch of height or month or two of age.

Moreover, from a child she was a woman, as an Irishman might say, forcircumstances and character had shaped her thus. Not much more than a yearbefore we met, her mother, whose only child she was, and whom she loved withall her strong and passionate heart, died after a lingering illness, leavingher in charge of her father and his house. I think it was this heavybereavement in early youth which coloured her nature with a grey tinge ofsadness and made her seem so much older than her years.

So the time went on, I worshipping Marie in my secret thought, but sayingnothing about it, and Marie talking of and acting towards me as though I wereher dear younger brother. Nobody, not even her father or mine, or MonsieurLeblanc, took the slightest notice of this queer relationship, or seemed todream that it might lead to ultimate complications which, in fact, would havebeen very distasteful to them all for reasons that I will explain.

Needless to say, in due course, as they were bound to do, those complicationsarose, and under pressure of great physical and moral excitement the truth cameout. It happened thus.

Every reader of the history of the Cape Colony has heard of the great KaffirWar of 1835. That war took place for the most part in the districts of Albanyand Somerset, so that we inhabitants of Cradock, on the whole, suffered little.Therefore, with the natural optimism and carelessness of danger of dwellers inwild places, we began to think ourselves fairly safe from attack. Indeed, so weshould have been, had it not been for a foolish action on the part of MonsieurLeblanc.

It seems that on a certain Sunday, a day that I always spent at home with myfather, Monsieur Leblanc rode out alone to some hills about five miles distantfrom Maraisfontein. He had often been cautioned that this was an unsafe thingto do, but the truth is that the foolish man thought he had found a rich coppermine in these hills, and was anxious that no one should share his secret.Therefore, on Sundays, when there were no lessons, and the Heer Marais was inthe habit of celebrating family prayers, which Leblanc disliked, it wascustomary for him to ride to these hills and there collect geological specimensand locate the strike of his copper vein. On this particular Sabbath, which wasvery hot, after he had done whatever he intended to do, he dismounted from hishorse, a tame old beast. Leaving it loose, he partook of the meal he hadbrought with him, which seems to have included a bottle of peach brandy thatinduced slumber.

Waking up towards evening, he found that his horse had gone, and at once jumpedto the conclusion that it had been stolen by Kaffirs, although in truth theanimal had but strolled over a ridge in search of grass. Running hither andthither to seek it, he presently crossed this ridge and met the horse,apparently being led away by two of the Red Kaffirs, who, as was usual, werearmed with assegais. As a matter of fact these men had found the beast, and,knowing well to whom it belonged, were seeking its owner, whom, earlier in theday, they had seen upon the hills, in order to restore it to him. This,however, never occurred to the mind of Monsieur Leblanc, excited as it was bythe fumes of the peach brandy.

Lifting the double-barrelled gun he carried, he fired at the first Kaffir, ayoung man who chanced to be the eldest son and heir of the chief of the tribe,and, as the range was very close, shot him dead. Thereon his companion, leavinggo of the horse, ran for his life. At him Leblanc fired also, wounding himslightly in the thigh, but no more, so that he escaped to tell the tale of whathe and every other native for miles round considered a wanton and premeditatedmurder. The deed done, the fiery old Frenchman mounted his nag and rode quietlyhome. On the road, however, as the peach brandy evaporated from his brain,doubts entered it, with the result that he determined to say nothing of hisadventure to Henri Marais, who he knew was particularly anxious to avoid anycause of quarrel with the Kaffirs.

So he kept his own counsel and went to bed. Before he was up next morning theHeer Marais, suspecting neither trouble nor danger, had ridden off to a farmthirty miles or more away to pay its owner for some cattle which he hadrecently bought, leaving his home and his daughter quite unprotected, except byLeblanc and the few native servants, who were really slaves, that lived aboutthe place.

Now on the Monday night I went to bed as usual, and slept, as I have alwaysdone through life, like a top, till about four in the morning, when I wasawakened by someone tapping at the glass of my window. Slipping from the bed, Ifelt for my pistol, as it was quite dark, crept to the window, opened it, andkeeping my head below the level of the sill, fearing lest its appearance shouldbe greeted with an assegai, asked who was there.

“Me, baas,” said the voice of Hans, our Hottentot servant, who, itwill be remembered, had accompanied me as after-rider when first I went toMaraisfontein. “I have bad news. Listen. The baas knows that I have beenout searching for the red cow which was lost. Well, I found her, and wassleeping by her side under a tree on the veld when, about two hours ago, awoman whom I know came up to my camp fire and woke me. I asked her what she wasdoing at that hour of the night, and she answered that she had come to tell mesomething. She said that some young men of the tribe of the chief Quabie, wholives in the hills yonder, had been visiting at their kraal, and that a fewhours before a messenger had arrived from the chief saying that they mustreturn at once, as this morning at dawn he and all his men were going to attackMaraisfontein and kill everyone in it and take the cattle!”

“Good God!” I ejaculated. “Why?”

“Because, young baas,” drawled the Hottentot from the other side ofthe window, “because someone from Maraisfontein—I think it was theVulture” (the natives gave this name to Leblanc on account of his baldhead and hooked nose)—“shot Quabie’s son on Sunday when hewas holding his horse.”

“Good God!” I said again, “the old fool must have been drunk.When did you say the attack was to be—at dawn?” and I glanced atthe stars, adding, “Why, that will be within less than an hour, and theBaas Marais is away.”

“Yes,” croaked Hans; “and Missie Marie—think of whatthe Red Kaffirs will do with Missie Marie when their blood is up.”

I thrust my fist through the window and struck the Hottentot’s toad-likeface on which the starlight gleamed faintly.

“Dog!” I said, “saddle my mare and the roan horse and getyour gun. In two minutes I come. Be swift or I kill you.”

“I go,” he answered, and shot out into the night like a frightenedsnake.

Then I began to dress, shouting as I dressed, till my father and the Kaffirsran into the room. As I threw on my things I told them all.

“Send out messengers,” I said, “to Marais—he is atBotha’s farm—and to all the neighbours. Send, for your lives;gather up the friendly Kaffirs and ride like hell for Maraisfontein.Don’t talk to me, father; don’t talk! Go and do what I tell you.Stay! Give me two guns, fill the saddle-bags with powder tins andloopers, and tie them to my mare. Oh! be quick, be quick!”

Now at length they understood, and flew this way and that with candles andlanterns. Two minutes later—it could scarcely have been more—I wasin front of the stables just as Hans led out the bay mare, a famous beast thatfor two years I had saved all my money to buy. Someone strapped on thesaddle-bags while I tested the girths; someone else appeared with the stoutroan stallion that I knew would follow the mare to the death. There was nottime to saddle him, so Hans clambered on to his back like a monkey, holding twoguns under his arm, for I carried but one and my double-barrelled pistol.

“Send off the messengers,” I shouted to my father. “If youwould see me again send them swiftly, and follow with every man you canraise.”

Then we were away with fifteen miles to do and five-and-thirty minutes beforethe dawn.

“Softly up the slope,” I said to Hans, “till the beasts gettheir wind, and then ride as you never rode before.”

Those first two miles of rising ground! I thought we should never come to theend of them, and yet I dared not let the mare out lest she should bucketherself. Happily she and her companion, the stallion—a most enduringhorse, though not so very swift—had stood idle for the last thirty hours,and, of course, had not eaten or drunk since sunset. Therefore being in finefettle, they were keen for the business; also we were light weights.

I held in the mare as she spurted up the rise, and the horse kept his pace tohers. We reached its crest, and before us lay the great level plain, elevenmiles of it, and then two miles down hill to Maraisfontein.

“Now,” I said to Hans, shaking loose the reins, “keep up ifyou can!”

Away sped the mare till the keen air of the night sung past my ears, and behindher strained the good roan horse with the Hottentot monkey on its back. Oh!what a ride was that!

Further I have gone for a like cause, but never at such speed, for I knew thestrength of the beasts and how long it would last them. Half an hour of it theymight endure; more, and at this pace they must founder or die.

And yet such was the agony of my fear, that it seemed to me as though I onlycrept along the ground like a tortoise.

The roan was left behind, the sound of his foot-beats died away, and I wasalone with the night and my fear. Mile added itself to mile, for now and againthe starlight showed me a stone or the skeleton of some dead beast that I knew.Once I dashed into a herd of trekking game so suddenly, that a springbok,unable to stop itself, leapt right over me. Once the mare put her foot in anant-bear hole and nearly fell, but recovered herself—thanks be to God,unharmed—and I worked myself back into the saddle whence I had beenalmost shaken. If I had fallen; oh! if I had fallen!

We were near the end of the flat, and she began to fail. I had over-pressedher; the pace was too tremendous. Her speed lessened to an ordinary fast gallopas she faced the gentle rise that led to the brow. And now, behind me, oncemore I heard the sound of the hoofs of the roan. The tireless beast was comingup. By the time we reached the edge of the plateau he was quite near, not fiftyyards behind, for I heard him whinny faintly.

Then began the descent. The morning star was setting, the east grew grey withlight. Oh! could we get there before the dawn? Could we get there before thedawn? That is what my horse’s hoofs beat out to me.

Now I could see the mass of the trees about the stead. And now I dashed intosomething, though until I was through it, I did not know that it was a line ofmen, for the faint light gleamed upon the spear of one of them who had beenoverthrown!

So it was no lie! The Kaffirs were there! As I thought it, a fresh horrorfilled my heart; perhaps their murdering work was already done and they weredeparting.

The minute of suspense—or was it but seconds?—seemed an eternity.But it ended at last. Now I was at the door in the high wall that enclosed theoutbuildings at the back of the house, and there, by an inspiration, pulled upthe mare—glad enough she was to stop, poor thing—for it occurred tome that if I rode to the front I should very probably be assegaied and of nofurther use. I tried the door, which was made of stout stinkwood planks. Bydesign, or accident, it had been left unbolted. As I thrust it open Hansarrived with a rush, clinging to the roan with his face hidden in its mane. Thebeast pulled up by the side of the mare which it had been pursuing, and in thefaint light I saw that an assegai was fixed in its flank.

Five seconds later we were in the yard and locking and barring the door behindus. Then, snatching the saddle-bags of ammunition from the horses, we left themstanding there, and I ran for the back entrance of the house, bidding Hansrouse the natives, who slept in the outbuildings, and follow with them. If anyone of them showed signs of treachery he was to shoot him at once. I rememberthat as I went I tore the spear out of the stallion’s flank and broughtit away with me.

Now I was hammering upon the back door of the house, which I could not open.After a pause that seemed long, a window was thrown wide, and a voice—itwas Marie’s—asked in frightened tones who was there.

“I, Allan Quatermain,” I answered. “Open at once, Marie. Youare in great danger; the Red Kaffirs are going to attack the house.”

She flew to the door in her nightdress, and at length I was in the place.

“Thank God! you are still safe,” I gasped. “Put on yourclothes while I call Leblanc. No, stay, do you call him; I must wait here forHans and your slaves.”

Away she sped without a word, and presently Hans arrived, bringing with himeight frightened men, who as yet scarcely knew whether they slept or woke.

“Is that all?” I asked. “Then bar the door and follow me tothe sitkammer, where the baas keeps his guns.”

Just as we reached it, Leblanc entered, clad in his shirt and trousers, and wasfollowed presently by Marie with a candle.

“What is it?” he asked.

I took the candle from Marie’s hand, and set it on the floor close to thewall, lest it should prove a target for an assegai or a bullet. Even in thosedays the Kaffirs had a few firearms, for the most part captured or stolen fromwhite men. Then in a few words I told them all.

“And when did you learn all this?” asked Leblanc in French.

“At the Mission Station a little more than half an hour ago,” Ianswered, looking at my watch.

“At the station a little more than half an hour ago! Peste!it isnot possible. You dream or are drunken,” he cried excitedly.

“All right, monsieur, we will argue afterwards,” I answered.“Meanwhile the Kaffirs are here, for I rode through them; and if you wantto save your life, stop talking and act. Marie, how many guns are there?”

“Four,” she answered, “of my father’s; two roersand two smaller ones.”

“And how many of these men”—and I pointed to theKaffirs—“can shoot?”

“Three well and one badly, Allan.”

“Good,” I said. “Let them load the guns withloopers”—that is, slugs, not bullets—“and letthe rest stand in the passage with their assegais, in case the Quabies shouldtry to force the back door.”

Now, in this house there were in all but six windows, one to each sitting-room,one to each of the larger bedrooms, these four opening on to the veranda, andone at either end of the house, to give light and air to the two smallbedrooms, which were approached through the larger bedrooms. At the back,fortunately, there were no windows, for the stead was but one room deep with apassage running from the front to the back door, a distance of little overfifteen feet.

As soon as the guns were loaded I divided up the men, a man with a gun at eachwindow. The right-hand sitting-room window I took myself with two guns, Mariecoming with me to load, which, like all girls in that wild country, she coulddo well enough. So we arranged ourselves in a rough-and-ready fashion, andwhile we were doing it felt quite cheerful—that is, all except MonsieurLeblanc, who, I noticed, seemed very much disturbed.

I do not for one moment mean to suggest that he was afraid, as he might wellhave been, for he was an extremely brave and even rash man; but I think theknowledge that his drunken act had brought this terrible danger upon us allweighed on his mind. Also there may have been more; some subtle fore-knowledgeof the approaching end to a life that, when all allowances were made, couldscarcely be called well spent. At any rate he fidgeted at his window-placecursing beneath his breath, and soon, as I saw out of the corner of my eye,began to have recourse to his favourite bottle of peach brandy, which hefetched out of a cupboard.

The slaves, too, were gloomy, as all natives are when suddenly awakened in thenight; but as the light grew they became more cheerful. It is a poor Kaffirthat does not love fighting, especially when he has a gun and a white man ortwo to lead him.

Now that we had made such little preparations as we could, which, by the way, Isupplemented by causing some furniture to be piled up against the front andback doors, there came a pause, which, speaking for my own part—being,after all, only a lad at the time—I found very trying to the nerves.There I stood at my window with the two guns, one a double-barrel and one asingle roer, or elephant gun, that took a tremendous charge, but both,be it remembered, flint locks; for, although percussion caps had beenintroduced, we were a little behind the times in Cradock. There, too, crouchedon the ground beside me, holding the ammunition ready for re-loading, her long,black hair flowing about her shoulders, was Marie Marais, now a well-grownyoung woman. In the intense silence she whispered to me:

“Why did you come here, Allan? You were safe yonder, and now you willprobably be killed.”

“To try to save you,” I answered simply. “What would you havehad me do?”

“To try to save me? Oh! that is good of you, but you should have thoughtof yourself.”

“Then I should still have thought of you, Marie.”

“Why, Allan?”

“Because you are myself and more than myself. If anything happened toyou, what would my life be to me?”

“I don’t quite understand, Allan,” she replied, staring downat the floor. “Tell me, what do you mean?”

“Mean, you silly girl,” I said; “what can I mean, except thatI love you, which I thought you knew long ago.”

“Oh!” she said; “nowI understand.” Then sheraised herself upon her knees, and held up her face to me to kiss, adding,“There, that’s my answer, the first and perhaps the last. Thankyou, Allan dear; I am glad to have heard that, for you see one or both of usmay die soon.”

As she spoke the words, an assegai flashed through the window-place, passingjust between our heads. So we gave over love-making and turned our attention towar.

Now the light was beginning to grow, flowing out of the pearly eastern sky; butno attack had yet been delivered, although that one was imminent that spearfixed in the plaster of the wall behind us showed clearly. Perhaps the Kaffirshad been frightened by the galloping of horses through their line in the dark,not knowing how many of them there might have been. Or perhaps they werewaiting to see better where to deliver their onset. These were the ideas thatoccurred to me, but both were wrong.

They were staying their hands until the mist lifted a little from the hollowbelow the stead where the cattle kraals were situated, for while the fogremained they could not see to get the beasts out. These they wished to makesure of and drive away before the fight began, lest during its progresssomething should happen to rob them of their booty.

Presently, from these kraals, where the Heer Marais’s horned beasts andsheep were penned at night, about one hundred and fifty of the former and sometwo thousand of the latter, to say nothing of the horses, for he was a largeand prosperous farmer, there arose a sound of bellowing, neighing, and baaing,and with it that of the shouting of men.

“They are driving off the stock,” said Marie. “Oh! my poorfather, he is ruined; it will break his heart.”

“Bad enough,” I answered, “but there are things that might beworse. Hark!”

As I spoke there came a sound of stamping feet and of a wild war chant. Then inthe edge of the mist that hung above the hollow where the cattle kraals were,figures appeared, moving swiftly to and fro, looking ghostly and unreal. TheKaffirs were marshalling their men for the attack. A minute more and it hadbegun. On up the slope they came in long, wavering lines, several hundreds ofthem, whistling and screaming, shaking their spears, their war-plumes and hairtrappings blown back by the breeze, the lust of slaughter in their rollingeyes. Two or three of them had guns, which they fired as they ran, but wherethe bullets went I do not know, over the house probably.

I called out to Leblanc and the Kaffirs not to shoot till I did, for I knewthat they were poor marksmen and that much depended upon our first volley beingeffective. Then as the captain of this attack came within thirty yards of thestoep—for now the light, growing swiftly, was strong enough to enable meto distinguish him by his apparel and the rifle which he held—I loosed athim with the roerand shot him dead. Indeed the heavy bullet passingthrough his body mortally wounded another of the Quabies behind. These were thefirst men that I ever killed in war.

As they fell, Leblanc and the rest of our people fired also, the slugs fromtheir guns doing great execution at that range, which was just long enough toallow them to scatter. When the smoke cleared a little I saw that nearly adozen men were down, and that the rest, dismayed by this reception, had halted.If they had come on then, while we were loading, doubtless they might haverushed the place; but, being unused to the terrible effects of firearms, theypaused, amazed. A number of them, twenty or thirty perhaps, clustered about thebodies of the fallen Kaffirs, and, seizing my second gun, I fired both barrelsat these with such fearful effect that the whole regiment took to their heelsand fled, leaving their dead and wounded on the ground. As they ran ourservants cheered, but I called to them to be silent and load swiftly, knowingwell that the enemy would soon return.

For a time, however, nothing happened, although we could hear them talkingsomewhere near the cattle kraal, about a hundred and fifty yards away. Marietook advantage of this pause, I remember, to fetch food and distribute it amongus. I, for one, was glad enough to get it.

Now the sun was up, a sight for which I thanked Heaven, for, at any rate, wecould no longer be surprised. Also, with the daylight, some of my fear passedaway, since darkness always makes danger twice as terrible to man and beast.Whilst we were still eating and fortifying the window-places as best we could,so as to make them difficult to enter, a single Kaffir appeared, waving abovehis head a stick to which was tied a white ox-tail as a sign of truce. Iordered that no one should fire, and when the man, who was a bold fellow, hadreached the spot where the dead captain lay, called to him, asking hisbusiness, for I could speak his language well.

He answered that he had come with a message from Quabie. This was the message:that Quabie’s eldest son had been cruelly murdered by the fat white mancalled “Vulture” who lived with the Heer Marais, and that he,Quabie, would have blood for blood. Still, he did not wish to kill the youngwhite chieftainess (that was Marie) or the others in the house, with whom hehad no quarrel. Therefore if we would give up the fat white man that he mightmake him “die slowly,” Quabie would be content with his life andwith the cattle that he had already taken by way of a fine, and leave us andthe house unmolested.

Now, when Leblanc understood the nature of this offer he went perfectly madwith mingled fear and rage, and began to shout and swear in French.

“Be silent,” I said; “we do not mean to surrender you,although you have brought all this trouble on us. Your chance of life is asgood as ours. Are you not ashamed to act so before these black people?”

When at last he grew more or less quiet I called to the messenger that we whitefolk were not in the habit of abandoning each other, and that we would live ordie together. Still, I bade him tell Quabie that if we did die, the vengeancetaken on him and all his people would be to wipe them out till not one of themwas left, and therefore that he would do well not to cause any of our blood toflow. Also, I added, that we had thirty men in the house (which, of course, wasa lie) and plenty of ammunition and food, so that if he chose to continue theattack it would be the worse for him and his tribe.

On hearing this the herald shouted back that we should every one of us be deadbefore noon if he had his way. Still, he would report my words faithfully toQuabie and bring his answer.

Then he turned and began to walk off. Just as he did so a shot was fired fromthe house, and the man pitched forward to the ground, then rose again andstaggered back towards his people, with his right shoulder shattered and hisarm swinging.

“Who did that?” I asked through the smoke, which prevented me fromseeing.

“I, parbleu!” shouted Leblanc. “Sapristi!thatblack devil wanted to torture me, Leblanc, the friend of the great Napoleon.Well, at least I have tortured him whom I meant to kill.”

“Yes, you fool,” I answered; “and we, too, shall be torturedbecause of your wickedness. You have shot a messenger carrying a flag of truce,and that the Quabies will never forgive. Oh! I tell you that you have hit us aswell as him, who had it not been for you might have been spared.”

These words I said quite quietly and in Dutch, so that our Kaffirs mightunderstand them, though really I was boiling with wrath.

But Leblanc did not answer quietly.

“Who are you,” he shouted, “you wretched little Englishman,who dare to lecture me, Leblanc, the friend of the great Napoleon?”

Now I drew my pistol and walked up to the man.

“Be quiet, you drunken sot,” I said, for I guessed that he haddrunk more of the brandy in the darkness. “If you are not quiet and donot obey me, who am in command here, either I will blow your brains out, or Iwill give you to these men,” and I pointed to Hans and the Kaffirs, whohad gathered round him, muttering ominously. “Do you know what they willdo with you? They will throw you out of the house, and leave you to settle yourquarrel with Quabie alone.”

Leblanc looked first at the pistol, and next at the faces of the natives, andsaw something in one or other of them, or in both, that caused him to changehis note.

“Pardon, monsieur,” he said; “I was excited. I knew not whatI said. If you are young you are brave and clever, and I will obey you,”and he went to his station and began to re-load his gun. As he did so a greatshout of fury rose from the cattle kraal. The wounded herald had reached theQuabies and was telling them of the treachery of the white people.

CHAPTER III.
THE RESCUE

The second Quabie advance did not begin till about half-past seven. Evensavages love their lives and appreciate the fact that wounds hurt very much,and these were no exception to the rule. Their first rush had taught them abitter lesson, of which the fruit was evident in the crippled or dying men whorolled to and fro baked in the hot sun within a few yards of the stoep, not tospeak of those who would never stir again. Now, the space around the housebeing quite open and bare of cover, it was obvious that it could not be stormedwithout further heavy losses. In order to avoid such losses a civilised peoplewould have advanced by means of trenches, but of these the Quabies knewnothing; moreover, digging tools were lacking to them.

So it came about that they hit upon another, and in the circumstances a notinefficient expedient. The cattle kraal was built of rough, unmortared stones.Those stones they took, each man carrying two or three, which, rushing forward,they piled up into scattered rough defences of about eighteen inches or twofeet high. These defences were instantly occupied by as many warriors as couldtake shelter behind them, lying one on top of the other. Of course, thosesavages who carried the first stones were exposed to our fire, with the resultthat many of them fell, but there were always plenty more behind. As they werebeing built at a dozen different points, and we had but seven guns, before wecould reload, a particular schanz, of which perhaps the first buildershad fallen, would be raised so high that our slugs could no longer hurt thosewho lay behind it. Also, our supply of ammunition was limited, and the constantexpenditure wasted it so much that at length only about six charges per manremained. At last, indeed, I was obliged to order the firing to cease, so thatwe might reserve ourselves for the great rush which could not now be muchdelayed.

Finding that they were no longer harassed by our bullets, the Quabies advancedmore rapidly, directing their attack upon the south end of the house, wherethere was but one window, and thus avoiding the fire that might be poured uponthem from the various openings under the veranda. At first I wondered why theyselected this end, till Marie reminded me that this part of the dwelling wasthatched with reeds, whereas the rest of the building, which had been erectedmore recently, was slated.

Their object was to fire the roof. So soon as their last wall was near enough(that is, about half-past ten of the clock) they began to throw into the thatchassegais to which were attached bunches of burning grass. Many of these wentout, but at length, as we gathered from their shouts, one caught. Within tenminutes this part of the house was burning.

Now our state became desperate. We retreated across the central passage,fearing lest the blazing rafters should fall upon our natives, who were losingheart and would no longer stay beneath them. But the Quabies, more bold,clambered in through the south window, and attacked us in the doorway of thelarger sitting-room.

Here the final fight began. As they rushed at us we shot, till they went downin heaps. Almost at our last charge they gave back, and just then the roof fellupon them.

Oh, what a terrible scene was that! The dense clouds of smoke, the screams ofthe trapped and burning men, the turmoil, the agony!

The front door was burst in by a flank onslaught.

Leblanc and a slave who was near him were seized by black, claw-like hands anddragged out. What became of the Frenchman I do not know, for the natives hauledhim away, but I fear his end must have been dreadful, as he was taken alive.The servant I saw them assegai, so at least he died at once. I fired my lastshot, killing a fellow who was flourishing a battle-axe, then dashed the buttof the gun into the face of the man behind him, felling him, and, seizing Marieby the hand, dragged her back into the northernmost room—that in which Iwas accustomed to sleep—and shut and barred the door.

“Allan,” she gasped, “Allan dear, it is finished. I cannotfall into the hands of those men. Kill me, Allan.”

“All right,” I answered, “I will. I have my pistol. Onebarrel for you and one for me.”

“No, no! Perhaps you might escape after all; but, you see, I am a woman,and dare not risk it. Come now, I am ready,” and she knelt down, openingher arms to receive the embrace of death, and looked up at me with her lovely,pitiful eyes.

“It doesn’t do to kill one’s love and live on oneself,”I answered hoarsely. “We have got to go together,” and I cockedboth barrels of the pistol.

The Hottentot, Hans, who was in the place with us, saw and understood.

“It is right, it is best!” he said; and turning, he hid his eyeswith his hand.

“Wait a little, Allan,” she exclaimed; “it will be time whenthe door is down, and perhaps God may still help us.”

“He may,” I answered doubtfully; “but I would not count onit. Nothing can save us now unless the others come to rescue us, andthat’s too much to hope for.”

Then a thought struck me, and I added with a dreadful laugh: “I wonderwhere we shall be in five minutes.”

“Oh! together, dear; together for always in some new and beautiful world,for you do love me, don’t you, as I love you? Maybe that’s betterthan living on here where we should be sure to have troubles and perhaps beseparated at last.”

I nodded my head, for though I loved life, I loved Marie more, and I felt thatwe were making a good end after a brave fight. They were battering at the doornow, but, thank Heaven, Marais had made strong doors, and it held a while.

The wood began to give at last, an assegai appeared through a shattered plank,but Hans stabbed along the line of it with the spear he held, that which I hadsnatched from the flank of the horse, and it was dropped with a scream. Blackhands were thrust through the hole, and the Hottentot hacked and cut at themwith the spear. But others came, more than he could pierce, and the wholedoor-frame began to be dragged outwards.

“Now, Marie, be ready,” I gasped, lifting the pistol.

“Oh, Christ receive me!” she answered faintly. “Itwon’t hurt much, will it, Allan?”

“You will never feel anything,” I whispered; as with the cold sweatpouring from me I placed the muzzle within an inch of her forehead and began topress the trigger. My God! yes, I actually began to press the trigger softlyand steadily, for I wished to make no mistake.

It was at this very moment, above the dreadful turmoil of the roaring flames,the yells of the savages and the shrieks and groans of wounded and dying men,that I heard the sweetest sound which ever fell upon my ears—the sound ofshots being fired, many shots, and quite close by.

“Great Heaven!” I screamed; “the Boers are here to save us.Marie, I will hold the door while I can. If I fall, scramble through thewindow—you can do it from the chest beneath—drop to the ground, andrun towards the firing. There’s a chance for you yet, a goodchance.”

“And you, you,” she moaned. “I would rather die withyou.”

“Do what I bid you,” I answered savagely, and bounded forwardtowards the rocking door.

It was falling outward, it fell, and on the top of it appeared two greatsavages waving broad spears. I lifted the pistol, and the bullet that had beenmeant for Marie’s brain scattered that of the first of them, and thebullet which had been meant for my heart pierced that of the second. They bothwent down dead, there in the doorway.

I snatched up one of their spears and glanced behind me. Marie was climbing onto the chest; I could just see her through the thickening smoke. Another Quabierushed on. Hans and I received him on the points of our assegais, but so fiercewas his charge that they went through him as though he were nothing, and beingbut light, both of us were thrown backwards to the ground. I scrambled to myfeet again, defenceless now, for the spear was broken in the Kaffir, andawaited the end. Looking back once more I saw that Marie had either failed toget through the window or abandoned the attempt. At any rate she was standingnear the chest supporting herself by her right hand. In my despair I seized theblade end of the broken assegai and dragged it from the body of the Kaffir,thinking that it would serve to kill her, then turned to do the deed.

But even as I turned I heard a voice that I knew well shout: “Do youlive, Marie?” and in the doorway appeared no savage, but Henri Marais.

Slowly I backed before him, for I could not speak, and the last dreadful effortof my will seemed to thrust me towards Marie. I reached her and threw my handthat still held the gory blade round her neck. Then as darkness came over me Iheard her cry:

“Don’t shoot, father. It is Allan, Allan who has saved mylife!”

After that I remember no more. Nor did she for a while, for we both fell to theground senseless.

When my senses returned to me I found myself lying on the floor of thewagon-house in the back yard. Glancing from my half-opened eyes, for I wasstill speechless, I saw Marie, white as a sheet, her hair all falling about herdishevelled dress. She was seated on one of those boxes that we put on thefront of wagons to drive from, voorkissiesthey are called, and as hereyes were watching me I knew that she lived. By her stood a tall and dark youngman whom I had never seen before. He was holding her hand and looking at heranxiously, and even then I felt angry with him. Also I saw other things; forinstance, my old father leaning down and looking at meanxiously, andoutside in the yard, for there were no doors to the wagon-house, a number ofmen with guns in their hands, some of whom I knew and others who werestrangers. In the shadow, too, against the wall, stood my blood mare with herhead hanging down and trembling all over. Not far from her the roan lay uponthe ground, its flank quite red.

I tried to rise and could not, then feeling pain in my left thigh, looked andsaw that it was red also. As a matter of fact an assegai had gone half throughit and hit upon the bone. Although I never felt it at the time, this wound wasdealt to me by that great Quabie whom Hans and I had received upon our spears,doubtless as he fell. Hans, by the way, was there also, an awful and yet aludicrous spectacle, for the Quabie had fallen right on the top of him and lainso with results that may be imagined. There he sat upon the ground, lookingupwards, gasping with his fish-like mouth. Each gasp, I remember, fashioneditself into the word Allemachte!that is “Almighty,” afavourite Dutch expression.

Marie was the first to perceive that I had come to life again. Shaking herselffree from the clasp of the young man, she staggered towards me and fell uponher knees at my side, muttering words that I could not catch, for they chokedin her throat. Then Hans took in the situation, and wriggling his unpleasantself to my other side, lifted my hand and kissed it. Next my father spoke,saying:

“Praise be to God, he lives! Allan, my son, I am proud of you; you havedone your duty as an Englishman should.”

“Had to save my own skin if I could, thank you, father,” Imuttered.

“Why as an Englishman more than any other sort of man, Mynheerprédicant?” asked the tall stranger, speaking in Dutch, although heevidently understood our language.

“The point is one that I will not argue now, sir,” answered myfather, drawing himself up. “But if what I hear is true, there was aFrenchman in that house who did not do his duty; and if you belong to the samenation, I apologise to you.”

“Thank you, sir; as it happens, I do, half. The rest of me is Portuguese,not English, thank God.”

“God is thanked for many things that must surprise Him,” replied myfather in a suave voice.

At that moment this rather disagreeable conversation, which even then bothangered and amused me faintly, came to an end, for the Heer Marais entered theplace.

As might have been expected in so excitable a man, he was in a terrible stateof agitation. Thankfulness at the escape of his only, beloved child, rage withthe Kaffirs who had tried to kill her, and extreme distress at the loss of mostof his property—all these conflicting emotions boiled together in hisbreast like antagonistic elements in a crucible.

The resulting fumes were parti-coloured and overpowering. He rushed up to me,blessed and thanked me (for he had learnt something of the story of thedefence), called me a young hero and so forth, hoping that God would reward me.Here I may remark that henever did, poor man. Then he began to rave atLeblanc, who had brought all this dreadful disaster upon his house, saying thatit was a judgment on himself for having sheltered an atheist and a drunkard forso many years, just because he was French and a man of intellect. Someone, myfather as a matter of fact, who with all his prejudices possessed a great senseof justice, reminded him that the poor Frenchman had expiated, or perchance wasnow expiating any crimes that he might have committed.

This turned the stream of his invective on to the Quabie Kaffirs, who hadburned part of his house and stolen nearly all his stock, making him from arich man into a poor one in a single hour. He shouted for vengeance on the“black devils,” and called on all there to help him to recover hisbeasts and kill the thieves. Most of those present—they were about thirtyin all, not counting the Kaffir and Hottentot after-riders—answered thatthey were willing to attack the Quabies. Being residents in the district, theyfelt, and, indeed, said, that his case to-day might and probably would be theircase to-morrow. Therefore they were prepared to ride at once.

Then it was that my father intervened.

“Heeren,” he said, “it seems to me that before you seekvengeance, which, as the Book tells us, is the Lord’s, it would be well,especially for the Heer Marais, to return thanks for what has been saved tohim. I mean his daughter, who might now very easily have been dead orworse.”

He added that goods came or went according to the chances of fortune, but abeloved human life, once lost, could not be restored. This precious life hadbeen preserved to him, he would not say by man—here he glanced atme—but by the Ruler of the world acting through man. Perhaps thosepresent did not quite understand what he (my father) had learned from Hans theHottentot, that I, his son, had been about to blow out the brains of MarieMarais and my own when the sound of the shots of those who had been gatheredthrough the warning which I left before I rode from the Mission Station, hadstayed my hand. He called upon the said Hans and Marie herself to tell them thestory, since I was too weak to do so.

Thus adjured, the little Hottentot, smothered as he was in blood, stood up. Inthe simple, dramatic style characteristic of his race, he narrated all that hadhappened since he met the woman on the veld but little over twelve hoursbefore, till the arrival of the rescue party. Never have I seen a tale followedwith deeper interest, and when at last Hans pointed to me lying on the groundand said, “There is he who did these things which it might be thought noman could do—he, but a boy,” even from those phlegmatic Dutchmenthere came a general cheer. But, lifting myself upon my hands, I called out:

“Whatever I did, this poor Hottentot did also, and had it not been forhim I could not have done anything—for him and the two goodhorses.”

Then they cheered again, and Marie, rising, said:

“Yes, father; to these two I owe my life.”

After this, my father offered his prayer of thanksgiving in very badDutch—for, having begun to learn it late in life, he never could reallymaster that language—and the stalwart Boers, kneeling round him, said“Amen.” As the reader may imagine, the scene, with all its details,which I will not repeat, was both remarkable and impressive.

What followed this prayer I do not very well remember, for I became faint fromexhaustion and the loss of blood. I believe, however, that the fire having beenextinguished, they removed the dead and wounded from the unburnt portion of thehouse and carried me into the little room where Marie and I had gone throughthat dreadful scene when I went within an ace of killing her. After this theBoers and Marais’s Kaffirs, or rather slaves, whom he had collected fromwhere they lived away from the house, to the number of thirty or forty, startedto follow the defeated Quabie, leaving about ten of their number as a guard.Here I may mention that of the seven or eight men who slept in the outbuildingsand had fought with us, two were killed in the fight and two wounded. Theremainder, one way or another, managed to escape unhurt, so that in all thisfearful struggle, in which we inflicted so terrible a punishment upon theKaffirs, we lost only three slain, including the Frenchman, Leblanc.

As to the events of the next three days I know only what I have been told, forpractically during all that time I was off my head from loss of blood,complicated with fever brought on by the fearful excitement and exertion I hadundergone. All I can recall is a vision of Marie bending over me and making metake food of some sort—milk or soup, I suppose—for it seems I wouldtouch it from no other hand. Also I had visions of the tall shape of mywhite-haired father, who, like most missionaries, understood something ofsurgery and medicine, attending to the bandages on my thigh. Afterwards he toldme that the spear had actually cut the walls of the big artery, but, by goodfortune, without going through them. Another fortieth of an inch and I shouldhave bled to death in ten minutes!

On this third day my mind was brought back from its wanderings by the sound ofa great noise about the house, above which I heard the voice of Marais stormingand shouting, and that of my father trying to calm him. Presently Marie enteredthe room, drawing-to behind her a Kaffir karoos, which served as a curtain, forthe door, it will be remembered, had been torn out. Seeing that I was awake andreasonable, she flew to my side with a little cry of joy, and, kneeling down,kissed me on the forehead.

“You have been very ill, Allan, but I know you will recover now. While weare alone, which,” she added slowly and with meaning, “I dare saywe shall not be much in future, I want to thank you from my heart for all thatyou did to save me. Had it not been for you, oh! had it not been foryou”—and she glanced at the blood stains on the earthen floor, puther hands before her eyes and shuddered.

“Nonsense, Marie,” I answered, taking her hand feebly enough, for Iwas very weak. “Anyone else would have done as much, even if they did notlove you as I do. Let us thank God that it was not in vain. But what is allthat noise? Have the Quabies come back?”

She shook her head.

“No; the Boers have come back from hunting them.”

“And did they catch them and recover the cattle?”

“Not so. They only found some wounded men, whom they shot, and the bodyof Monsieur Leblanc with his head cut off, taken away with other bits of himfor medicine, they say to make the warriors brave. Quabie has burnt his kraaland fled with all his people to join the other Kaffirs in the Big Mountains.Not a cow or a sheep did they find, except a few that had fallen exhausted, andthose had their throats cut. My father wanted to follow them and attack the RedKaffirs in the mountains, but the others would not go. They said there arethousands of them, and that it would be a mad war, from which not one of themwould return alive. He is wild with grief and rage, for, Allan dear, we arealmost ruined, especially as the British Government are freeing the slaves andonly going to give us a very small price, not a third of their value. But,hark! he is calling me, and you must not talk much or excite yourself, lest youshould be ill again. Now you have to sleep and eat and get strong. Afterwards,dear, you may talk”; and, bending down once more, she blessed and kissedme, then rose and glided away.

CHAPTER IV.
HERNANDO PEREIRA

Several more days passed before I was allowed out of that little war-stainedroom of which I grew to hate the very sight. I entreated my father to take meinto the air, but he would not, saying that he feared lest any movement shouldcause the bleeding to begin again or even the cut artery to burst. Moreover,the wound was not healing very well, the spear that caused it having been dirtyor perhaps used to skin dead animals, which caused some dread of gangrene, thatin those days generally meant death. As it chanced, although I was treated onlywith cold water, for antiseptics were then unknown, my young and healthy bloodtriumphed and no gangrene appeared.

What made those days even duller was that during them I saw very little ofMarie, who now only entered the place in the company of her father. Once Imanaged to ask her why she did not come oftener and alone. Her face grewtroubled as she whispered back, “Because it is not allowed, Allan,”and then without another word left the place.

Why, I wondered to myself, was it not allowed, and an answer sprang up in mymind. Doubtless it was because of that tall young man who had argued with myfather in the wagon-house. Marie had never spoken to me of him, but from theHottentot Hans and my father I managed to collect a good deal of informationconcerning him and his business.

It appeared that he was the only child of Henri Marais’s sister, whomarried a Portuguese from Delagoa Bay of the name of Pereira, who had come tothe Cape Colony to trade many years before and settled there. Both he and hiswife were dead, and their son, Hernando, Marie’s cousin, had inheritedall their very considerable wealth.

Indeed, now I remembered having heard this Hernando, or Hernan, as the Boerscalled him for short, spoken of in past years by the Heer Marais as the heir togreat riches, since his father had made a large fortune by trading in wine andspirits under some Government monopoly which he held. Often he had been invitedto visit Maraisfontein, but his parents, who doted on him and lived in one ofthe settled districts not far from Cape Town, would never allow him to travelso far from them into these wild regions.

Since their death, however, things had changed. It appeared that on the deceaseof old Pereira the Governor of the Colony had withdrawn the wine and spiritmonopoly, which he said was a job and a scandal, an act that made HernandoPereira very angry, although he needed no more money, and had caused him tothrow himself heart and soul into the schemes of the disaffected Boers. Indeed,he was now engaged as one of the organisers of the Great Trek which was incontemplation. In fact, it had already begun, into the partially explored landbeyond the borders of the Colony, where the Dutch farmers proposed to set updominions of their own.

That was the story of Hernando Pereira, who was to be—nay, who hadalready become—my rival for the hand of the sweet and beautiful MarieMarais.

One night when my father and I were alone in the little room where he sleptwith me, and he had finished reading his evening portion of Scripture aloud, Iplucked up my courage to tell him that I loved Marie and wished to marry her,and that we had plighted our troth during the attack of the Kaffirs on thestead.

“Love and war indeed!” he said, looking at me gravely, but showingno sign of surprise, for it appeared that he was already acquainted with oursecret. This was not wonderful, for he informed me afterwards that during mydelirium I had done nothing except rave of Marie in the most endearing terms.Also Marie herself, when I was at my worst, had burst into tears before him andtold him straight out that she loved me.

“Love and war indeed!” he repeated, adding kindly, “My poorboy, I fear that you have fallen into great trouble.”

“Why, father?” I asked. “Is it wrong that we should love eachother?”

“Not wrong, but, in the circumstances, quite natural—I should haveforeseen that it was sure to happen. No, not wrong, but most unfortunate. Tobegin with, I do not wish to see you marry a foreigner and become mixed up withthese disloyal Boers. I hoped that one day, a good many years hence, for youare only a boy, Allan, you would find an English wife, and I still hopeit.”

“Never!” I ejaculated.

“Never is a long word, Allan, and I dare say that what you are so sure isimpossible will happen after all,” words that made me angry enough at thetime, though in after years I often thought of them.

“But,” he went on, “putting my own wishes, perhapsprejudices, aside, I think your suit hopeless. Although Henri Marais likes youwell enough and is grateful to you just now because you have saved the daughterwhom he loves, you must remember that he hates us English bitterly. I believethat he would almost as soon see his girl marry a half-caste as an Englishman,and especially a poor Englishman, as you are, and unless you can make money,must remain. I have little to leave you, Allan.”

“I might make money, father, out of ivory, for instance. You know I am agood shot.”

“Allan, I do not think you will ever make much money, it is not in yourblood; or, if you do, you will not keep it. We are an old race, and I know ourrecord, up to the time of Henry VIII. at any rate. Not one of us was evercommercially successful. Let us suppose, however, that you should proveyourself the exception to the rule, it can’t be done at once, can it?Fortunes don’t grow in a night, like mushrooms.”

“No, I suppose not, father. Still, one might have some luck.”

“Possibly. But meanwhile you have to fight against a man who has theluck, or rather the money in his pocket.”

“What do you mean?” I asked, sitting up.

“I mean Hernando Pereira, Allan, Marais’s nephew, who they say isone of the richest men in the Colony. I know that he wishes to marryMarie.”

“How do you know it, father?”

“Because Marais told me so this afternoon, probably with a purpose. Hewas struck with her beauty when he first saw her after your escape, which hehad not done since she was a child, and as he stopped to guard the house whilethe rest went after the Quabies—well, you can guess. Such things goquickly with these Southern men.”

I hid my face in the pillow, biting my lips to keep back the groan that wasready to burst from them, for I felt the hopelessness of the situation. Howcould I compete with this rich and fortunate man, who naturally would befavoured of my betrothed’s father? Then on the blackness of my despairrose a star of hope. I could not, but perchance Marie might. She was verystrong-natured and very faithful. She was not to be bought, and I doubtedwhether she could be frightened.

“Father,” I said, “I may never marry Marie, but I don’tthink that Hernando Pereira ever will either.”

“Why not, my boy?”

“Because she loves me, father, and she is not one to change. I believethat she would rather die.”

“Then she must be a very unusual sort of woman. Still, it may be so; thefuture will tell to those who live to see it. I can only pray and trust thatwhatever happens will be for the best for both of you. She is a sweet girl andI like her well, although she may be Boer—or French. And now, Allan, wehave talked enough, and you had better go to sleep. You must not exciteyourself, you know, or it may set up new inflammation in the wound.”

“Go to sleep. Must not excite yourself.” I kept muttering thosewords for hours, serving them up in my mind with a spice of bitter thought. Atlast torpor, or weakness, overcame me, and I fell into a kind of net of baddreams which, thank Heaven! I have now forgotten. Yet when certain eventshappened subsequently I always thought, and indeed still think, that these orsomething like them, had been a part of those evil dreams.

On the morning following this conversation I was at length allowed to becarried to the stoep, where they laid me down, wrapped in a very dirty blanket,upon a rimpi-strung bench or primitive sofa. When I had satisfied my firstdelight at seeing the sun and breathing the fresh air, I began to study mysurroundings. In front of the house, or what remained of it, so arranged thatthe last of them at either end we made fast to the extremities of the stoep,was arranged an arc of wagons, placed as they are in a laager and protectedunderneath by earth thrown up in a mound and by boughs of the mimosa thorn.Evidently these wagons, in which the guard of Boers and armed natives who stillremained on the place slept at night, were set thus as a defence against apossible attack by the Quabies or other Kaffirs.

During the daytime, however, the centre wagon was drawn a little on one side toleave a kind of gate. Through this opening I saw that a long wall, alsosemicircular, had been built outside of them, enclosing a space large enough tocontain at night all the cattle and horses that were left to the Heer Marais,together with those of his friends, who evidently did not wish to see theiroxen vanish into the depths of the mountains. In the middle of thisextemporised kraal was a long, low mound, which, as I learned afterwards,contained the dead who fell in the attack on the house. The two slaves who hadbeen killed in the defence were buried in the little garden that Marie hadmade, and the headless body of Leblanc in a small walled place to the right ofthe stead, where lay some of its former owners and one or two relatives of theHeer Marais, including his wife.

Whilst I was noting these things Marie appeared at the end of the veranda,having come round the burnt part of the house, followed by Hernan Pereira.Catching sight of me, she ran to the side of my couch with outstretched arms asthough she intended to embrace me. Then seeming to remember, stopped suddenlyat my side, coloured to her hair, and said in an embarrassed voice:

“Oh, Heer Allan”—she had never called me Heer in her lifebefore—“I am so glad to find you out! How have you been gettingon?”

“Pretty well, I thank you,” I answered, biting my lips, “asyou would have learnt, Marie, had you come to see me.”

Next moment I was sorry for the words, for I saw her eyes fill with tears andher breast shake with something like a sob. However, it was Pereira and notMarie who answered, for at the moment I believe she could not speak.

“My good boy,” he said in a pompous, patronising way and inEnglish, which he knew perfectly, “I think that my cousin has had plentyto do caring for all these people during the last few days without running tolook at the cut in your leg. However, I am glad to hear from your worthy fatherthat it is almost well and that you will soon be able to play games again, likeothers of your age.”

Now it was my turn to be unable to speak and to feel my eyes fill with tears,tears of rage, for remember that I was still very feeble. But Marie spoke forme.

“Yes, Cousin Hernan,” she said in a cold voice, “thank Godthe Heer Allan Quatermain will soon be able to play games again, such bloodygames as the defence of Maraisfontein with eight men against all the Quabiehorde. Then Heaven help those who stand in front of his rifle,” and sheglanced at the mound that covered the dead Kaffirs, many of whom, as a matterof fact, I had killed.

“Oh! no offence, no offence, Marie,” said Pereira in his smooth,rich voice. “I did not want to laugh at your young friend, who doubtlessis as brave as they say all Englishmen are, and who fought well when he waslucky enough to have the chance of protecting you, my dear cousin. But afterall, you know, he is not the only one who can hold a gun straight, as you seemto think, which I shall be happy to prove to him in a friendly fashion when heis stronger.”

Here he stepped forward a pace and looked down at me, then added with a laugh,“Allemachte! I fear that won’t be just at present. Why, the ladlooks as though one might blow him away like a feather.”

Still I said nothing, only glanced up at this tall and splendid man standingabove me in his fine clothes, for he was richly dressed as the fashion of thetime went, with his high colouring, broad shoulders, and face full of healthand vigour. Mentally I compared him with myself, as I was after my fever andloss of blood, a poor, white-faced rat of a lad, with stubbly brown hair on myhead and only a little down on my chin, with arms like sticks, and a dirtyblanket for raiment. How could I compare with him in any way? What chance had Iagainst this opulent bully who hated me and all my race, and in whose hands,even if I were well, I should be nothing but a child?

And yet, and yet as I lay there humiliated and a mock, an answer came into mymind, and I felt that whatever might be the case with my outward form; inspirit, in courage, in determination and in ability, in all, in short, thatreally makes a man, I was more than Pereira’s equal. Yes, and that by thehelp of these qualities, poor as I was and frail as I seemed to be, I wouldbeat him at the last and keep for myself what I had won, the prize ofMarie’s love.

Such were the thoughts which passed through me, and I think that something ofthe tenor of them communicated itself to Marie, who often could read my heartbefore my lips spoke. At any rate, her demeanour changed. She drew herself up.Her fine nostrils expanded and a proud look came into her dark eyes, as shenodded her head and murmured in a voice so low that I think I alone caught herwords:

“Yes, yes, have no fear.”

Pereira was speaking again (he had turned aside to strike the steel of histinder-box, and was now blowing the spark to a glow before lighting his bigpipe).

“By the way, Heer Allan,” he said, “that is a very good mareof yours. She seems to have done the distance between the Mission Station andMaraisfontein in wonderful time, as, for the matter of that, the roan did too.I have taken a fancy to her, after a gallop on her back yesterday just to giveher some exercise, and although I don’t know that she is quite up to myweight, I’ll buy her.”

“The mare is not for sale, Heer Pereira,” I said, speaking for thefirst time, “and I do not remember giving anyone leave to exerciseher.”

“No, your father did, or was it that ugly little beast of a Hottentot? Iforget which. As for her not being for sale—why, in this world everythingis for sale, at a price. I’ll give you—let me see—oh, whatdoes the money matter when one has plenty? I’ll give you a hundredEnglish pounds for that mare; and don’t you think me a fool. I tell you Imean to get it back, and more, at the great races down in the south. Now whatdo you say?”

“I say that the mare is not for sale, Heer Pereira.” Then a thoughtstruck me, or an inspiration, and, as has always been my fashion, I acted on itat once. “But,” I added slowly, “if you like, when I am a bitstronger I’ll shoot you a match for her, you staking your hundred poundsand I staking the mare.”

Pereira burst out laughing.

“Here, friends,” he called to some of the Boers who were strollingup to the house for their morning coffee. “This little Englishman wantsto shoot a match with me, staking that fine mare of his against a hundredpounds British; against me, Hernando Pereira, who have won every prize atshooting that ever I entered for. No, no, friend Allan, I am not a thief, Iwill not rob you of your mare.”

Now among those Boers chanced to be the celebrated Heer Pieter Retief, a veryfine man of high character, then in the prime of life, and of Huguenot descentlike Heer Marais. He had been appointed by the Government one of the frontiercommandants, but owing to some quarrel with the Lieutenant-Governor, SirAndries Stockenstrom, had recently resigned that office, and at this date wasengaged in organizing the trek from the Colony. I now saw Retief for the firsttime, and ah! then little did I think how and where I should see him for thelast. But all that is a matter of history, of which I shall have to tell later.

Now, while Pereira was mocking and bragging of his prowess, Pieter Retieflooked at me, and our eyes met.

“Allemachte!” he exclaimed, “is that the young man who, withhalf a dozen miserable Hottentots and slaves, held this stead for five hoursagainst all the Quabie tribe and kept them out?”

Somebody said that it was, remarking that I had been about to shoot MarieMarais and myself when help came.

“Then, Heer Allan Quatermain,” said Retief, “give me yourhand,” and he took my poor wasted fingers in his big palm, adding,“Your father must be proud of you to-day, as I should be if I had such ason. God in Heaven! where will you stop if you can go so far while you are yeta boy? Friends, since I came here yesterday I have got the whole story formyself from the Kaffirs and from this mooi meisje” (pretty younglady), and he nodded towards Marie. “Also I have gone over the ground andthe house, and have seen where each man fell—it is easy by the bloodmarks—most of them shot by yonder Englishman, except one of the lastthree, whom he killed with a spear. Well, I tell you that never in all myexperience have I known a better arranged or a more finely carried out defenceagainst huge odds. Perhaps the best part of it, too, was the way in which thisyoung lion acted on the information he received and the splendid ride he madefrom the Mission Station. Again I say that his father should be proud ofhim.”

“Well, if it comes to that, I am, mynheer,” said my father, whojust then joined us after his morning walk, “although I beg you to say nomore lest the lad should grow vain.”

“Bah!” replied Retief, “fellows of his stamp are not vain; itis your big talkers who are vain,” and he glanced out of the corner ofhis shrewd eye at Pereira, “your turkey cocks with all their tailsspread. I think this little chap must be such another as that great sailor ofyours—what do you call him, Nelson?—who beat the French intofrothed eggs and died to live for ever. He was small, too, they say, and weakin the stomach.”

I must confess I do not think that praise ever sounded sweeter in my ears thandid these words of the Commandant Retief, uttered as they were just when I feltcrushed to the dirt. Moreover, as I saw by Marie’s and, I may add, by myfather’s face, there were other ears to which they were not ungrateful.The Boers also, brave and honest men enough, evidently appreciated them, forthey said:

“Ja! ja! das ist recht” (That is right).

Only Pereira turned his broad back and busied himself with relighting his pipe,which had gone out.

Then Retief began again.

“What is it you were calling us to listen to, Mynheer Pereira? That thisHeer Allan Quatermain had offered to shoot you a match? Well, why not? If hecan hit Kaffirs running at him with spears, as he has done, he may be able tohit other things also. You say that you won’t rob him of hismoney—no, it was his beautiful horse—because you have taken so manyprizes shooting at targets. But did youever hit a Kaffir running atyouwith an assegai, mynheer, you who live down there where everythingis safe? If so, I never heard of it.”

Pereira answered that he did not understand me to propose a shooting match atKaffirs charging with assegais, but at something else—he knew not what.

“Quite so,” said Retief. “Well, Mynheer Allan, what is itthat you do propose?”

“That we should stand in the great kloof between the two vleisyonder—the Heer Marais knows the place—when the wild geese flightover an hour before sunset, and that he who brings down six of them in thefewest shots shall win the match.”

“If our guns are loaded with loopers that will not be difficult,”said Pereira.

“With loopers you would seldom kill a bird, mynheer,” I replied,“for they come over from seventy to a hundred yards up. No, I mean withrifles.”

“Allemachte!” broke in a Boer; “you will want plenty ofammunition to hit a goose at that height with a bullet.”

“That is my offer,” I said, “to which I add this, that whentwenty shots have been fired by each man, he who has killed the most birdswins, even if he has not brought down the full six. Does the Heer Pereiraaccept? If so, I will venture to match myself against him, although he has wonso many prizes.”

The Heer Pereira seemed extremely doubtful; so doubtful, indeed, that the Boersbegan to laugh at him. In the end he grew rather angry, and said that he waswilling to shoot me at bucks or swallows, or fireflies, or anything else Iliked.

“Then let it be at geese,” I answered, “since it is likely tobe sometime before I am strong enough to ride after buck or other wildthings.”’

So the terms of the match were formally written down by Marie, as my father,although he took a keen sporting interest in the result, would have nothing todo with what he called a “wager for money,” and, except myself,there was no one else present with sufficient scholarship to pen a longdocument. Then we both signed them, Hernan Pereira not very willingly, Ithought; and if my recovery was sufficiently rapid, the date was fixed for thatday week. In case of any disagreement, the Heer Retief, who was staying atMaraisfontein, or in its neighbourhood, for a while, was appointed referee andstakeholder. It was also arranged that neither of us should visit the appointedplace, or shoot at the geese before the match. Still we were at liberty topractise as much as we liked at anything else in the interval and to make useof any kind of rifle that suited us best.

By the time that these arrangements were finished, feeling quite tired with allthe emotions of the morning, I was carried back to my room. Here my middaymeal, cooked by Marie, was brought to me. As I finished eating it, for thefresh air had given me an appetite, my father came in, accompanied by the HeerMarais, and began to talk to me. Presently the latter asked me kindly enough ifI thought I should be sufficiently strong to trek back to the station thatafternoon in an ox-cart with springs to it and lying at full length upon ahide-strung cartelor mattress.

I answered, “Certainly,” as I should have done had I been at thepoint of death, for I saw that he wished to be rid of me.

“The fact is, Allan,” he said awkwardly, “I am notinhospitable as you may think, especially towards one to whom I owe so much.But you and my nephew, Hernan, do not seem to get on very well together, and,as you may guess, having just been almost beggared, I desire no unpleasantnesswith the only rich member of my family.”

I replied I was sure I did not wish to be the cause of any. It seemed to me,however, that the Heer Pereira wished to make a mock of me and to bring it hometo me what a poor creature I was compared to himself—I a mere sick boywho was worth nothing.

“I know,” said Marais uneasily, “my nephew has been toofortunate in life, and is somewhat overbearing in his manner. He does notremember that the battle is not always to the strong or the race to the swift,he who is young and rich and handsome, a spoiled child from the first. I amsorry, but what I cannot help I must put up with. If I cannot have my mealiescooked, I must eat them green. Also, Allan, have you never heard that jealousysometimes makes people rude and unjust?” and he looked at me meaningly.

I made no answer, for when one does not quite know what to say it is often bestto remain silent, and he went on:

“I am vexed to hear of this foolish shooting match which has been enteredinto without my knowledge or consent. If he wins he will only laugh at you themore, and if you win he will be angry.”

“It was not my fault, mynheer,” I answered. “He wanted toforce me to sell the mare, which he had been riding without my leave, and keptbragging about his marksmanship. So at last I grew cross and challengedhim.”

“No wonder, Allan; I do not blame you. Still, you are silly, for it willnot matter to him if he loses his money; but that beautiful mare is yourewe-lamb, and I should be sorry to see you parted from a beast which has doneus so good a turn. Well, there it is; perhaps circumstances may yet put an endto this trial; I hope so.”

“I hope they won’t,” I answered stubbornly.

“I dare say you do, being sore as a galled horse just now. But listen,Allan, and you, too, prédicant Quatermain; there are other and more importantreasons than this petty squabble why I should be glad if you could go away fora while. I must take counsel with my countrymen about certain secret matterswhich have to do with our welfare and future, and, of course they would notlike it if all the while there were two Englishmen on the place, whom theymight think were spies.”

“Say no more, Heer Marais,” broke in my father hotly; “stillless should we like to be where we are not wanted or are looked upon withsuspicion for the crime of being English. By God’s blessing, my son hasbeen able to do some service to you and yours, but now that is all finished andforgotten. Let the cart you are so kind as to lend us be inspanned. We will goat once.”

Then Henri Marais, who was a gentleman at bottom, although, even in those earlydays, violent and foolish when excited or under the influence of his raceprejudices, began to apologise quite humbly, assuring my father that he forgotnothing and meant no offence. So they patched the matter up, and an hour laterwe started.

All the Boers came to see us off, giving me many kind words and saying how muchthey looked forward to meeting me again on the following Thursday. Pereira, whowas among them, was also very genial, begging me to be sure and get well, sincehe did not wish to beat one who was still crippled, even at a game of gooseshooting. I answered that I would do my best; as for my part, I did not likebeing beaten at any game which I had set my heart on winning, whether it werelittle or big. Then I turned my head, for I was lying on my back all this time,to bid good-bye to Marie, who had slipped out of the house into the yard wherethe cart was.

“Good-bye, Allan,” she said, giving me her hand and a look from hereyes that I trusted was not seen. Then, under pretence of arranging the karosswhich was over me, she bent down and whispered swiftly:

“Win that match if you love me. I shall pray God that you may everynight, for it will be an omen.”

I think the whisper was heard, though not the words, for I saw Pereira bite hislip and make a movement as though to interrupt her. But Pieter Retief thrusthis big form in front of him rather rudely, and said with one of his heartylaughs:

“Allemachte! friend, let the missjewish a good journey to theyoung fellow who saved her life.”

Next moment Hans, the Hottentot, screamed at the oxen in the usual fashion, andwe rolled away through the gate.

But oh! if I had liked the Heer Retief before, now I loved him.

CHAPTER V.
THE SHOOTING MATCH

My journey back to the Mission Station was a strange contrast to that which Ihad made thence a few days before. Then, the darkness, the swift mare beneathme rushing through it like a bird, the awful terror in my heart lest I shouldbe too late, as with wild eyes I watched the paling stars and the firstgathering grey of dawn. Now, the creaking of the ox-cart, the familiar veld,the bright glow of the peaceful sunlight, and in my heart a great thankfulness,and yet a new terror lest the pure and holy love which I had won should bestolen away from me by force or fraud.

Well, as the one matter had been in the hand of God, so was the other, and withthat knowledge I must be content. The first trial had ended in death andvictory. How would the second end? I wondered, and those words seemed to jumblethemselves up in my mind and shape a sentence that it did not conceive. It was:“In the victory that is death,” which, when I came to think of it,of course, meant nothing. How victory could be death I did notunderstand—at any rate, at that time, I who was but a lad of smallexperience.

As we trekked along comfortably enough, for the road was good and the cart,being on springs, gave my leg no pain, I asked my father what he thought thatthe Heer Marais had meant when he told us that the Boers had business atMaraisfontein, during which our presence as Englishmen would not be agreeableto them.

“Meant, Allan? He meant that these traitorous Dutchmen are plottingagainst their sovereign, and are afraid lest we should report their treason.Either they intend to rebel because of that most righteous act, the freeing ofthe slaves, and because we will not kill out all the Kaffirs with whom theychance to quarrel, or to trek from the Colony. For my part I think it will bethe latter, for, as you have heard, some parties have already gone; and, unlessI am mistaken, many more mean to follow, Marais and Retief and that plotter,Pereira, among them. Let them go; I say, the sooner the better, for I have nodoubt that the English flag will follow them in due course.”

“I hope that they won’t,” I answered with a nervous laugh;“at any rate, until I have won back my mare.” (I had left her inRetief’s care as stakeholder, until the match should be shot off.)

For the rest of that two and a half hours’ trek my father, looking verydignified and patriotic, declaimed to me loudly about the bad behaviour of theBoers, who hated and traduced missionaries, loathed and abominated British ruleand permanent officials, loved slavery and killed Kaffirs whenever they got thechance. I listened to him politely, for it was not wise to cross my parent whenhe was in that humour. Also, having mixed a great deal with the Dutch, I knewthat there was another side to the question, namely, that the missionariessometimes traduced them (as, in fact, they did), and that British rule, orrather, party government, played strange tricks with the interests of distantdependencies. That permanent officials and im-permanent ones too—such asgovernors full of a little brief authority—often misrepresented andoppressed them. That Kaffirs, encouraged by the variegated policy of theseparty governments and their servants, frequently stole their stock; and if theyfound a chance, murdered them with their women and children, as they had triedto do at Maraisfontein; though there, it is true, they had some provocation.That British virtue had liberated the slaves without paying their owners a fairprice for them, and so forth.

But, to tell the truth, it was not of these matters of high policy, which werefar enough away from a humble youth like myself, that I was thinking. Whatappealed to me and made my heart sick was the reflection that if Henri Maraisand his friends trekked, Marie Marais must perforce trek with them; and thatwhereas I, an Englishman, could not be of that adventurous company, HernandoPereira both could and would.

On the day following our arrival home, what between the fresh air, plenty ofgood food, for which I found I had an appetite, and liberal doses ofPontac—a generous Cape wine that is a kind of cross between port andBurgundy—I found myself so much better that I was able to hop about theplace upon a pair of crutches which Hans improvised for me out of Kaffirsticks. Next morning, my improvement continuing at a rapid rate, I turned myattention seriously to the shooting match, for which I had but five days toprepare.

Now it chanced that some months before a young Englishman of goodfamily—he was named the Honourable Vavasseur Smyth—who hadaccompanied an official relative to the Cape Colony, came our way in search ofsport, of which I was able to show him a good deal of a humble kind. He hadbrought with him, amongst other weapons, what in those days was considered avery beautiful hair-triggered small-bore rifle fitted with a nipple forpercussion caps, then quite a new invention. It was by a maker of the name ofJ. Purdey, of London, and had cost quite a large sum because of the perfectionof its workmanship. When the Honourable V. Smyth—of whom I have neverheard since—took his leave of us on his departure for England, being agenerous-hearted young fellow, as a souvenir of himself, he kindly presented mewith this rifle,^[1]which I still have.

[1]This single-barrelled percussion-cap rifle described by AllanQuatermain, which figures so prominently in the history of this epoch of hislife, has been sent to me by Mr. Curtis, and is before me as I write. It wasmade in the year 1835 by J. Purdey, of 314½, Oxford Street, London, and is abeautiful piece of workmanship of its kind. Without the ramrod, which is nowmissing, it weighs only 5 lbs. 3¾ oz. The barrel is octagonal, and the rifledbore, designed to take a spherical bullet, is ½ in. in diameter. The hammer canbe set to safety on the half-cock by means of a catch behind it.
    Another peculiarity of the weapon, one that I have never seen before, is thatby pressing on the back of the trigger the ordinary light pull of the piece isso reduced that the merest touch suffices to fire it, thus rendering it hair-triggered in the fullest sense of the word.
    It has two flap-sights marked for 150 and 200 yards, in addition to the fixedsight designed for firing at 100 yards.
    On the lock are engraved a stag and a doe, the first lying down and the secondstanding.
    Of its sort and period, it is an extraordinarily well-made and handy gun,finished with horn at the end of what is now called the tongue, and with thestock cut away so as to leave a raised cushion against which the cheek of theshooter rests.
    What charge it took I do not know, but I should imagine from 2½ to 3 drachms ofpowder. It is easy to understand that in the hands of Allan Quatermain thisweapon, obsolete as it is to-day, was capable of great things within the limitsof its range, and that the faith he put in it at the trial of skill at theGroote Kloof, and afterwards in the fearful ordeal of the shooting of thevultures on the wing, upon the Mount of Slaughter, when the lives of many hungupon his marksmanship, was well justified. This, indeed, is shown by theresults in both cases.
    In writing of this rifle, Messrs. Purdey informed me that copper percussioncaps were experimented with by Colonel Forsyth in 1820, and that their firmsold them in 1824, at a cost of £1 15s. per 1,000, although their use did notbecome general until some years later.—THEEDITOR.

That was about six months earlier than the time of which I write, and duringthose months I had often used this rifle for the shooting of game, such asblesbuck and also of bustards. I found it to be a weapon of the mostextraordinary accuracy up to a range of about two hundred yards, though when Irode off in that desperate hurry for Maraisfontein I did not take it with mebecause it was a single barrel and too small in the bore to load with loopersat a pinch. Still, in challenging Pereira, it was this gun and no other that Idetermined to use; indeed, had I not owned it I do not think that I should haveventured on the match.

As it happened, Mr. Smyth had left me with the rifle a large supply ofspecially cast bullets and of the new percussion caps, to say nothing of somevery fine imported powder. Therefore, having ammunition in plenty, I set towork to practise. Seating myself upon a chair in a deep kloof near the station,across which rock pigeons and turtle doves were wont to fly in numbers at aconsiderable height, I began to fire at them as they flashed over me.

Now, in my age, I may say without fear of being set down a boaster, that I haveone gift, that of marksmanship, which, I suppose, I owe to some curiouscombination of judgment, quickness of eye, and steadiness of hand. I candeclare honestly that in my best days I never knew a man who could beat me inshooting at a living object; I say nothing of target work, of which I havelittle experience. Oddly enough, also, I believe that at this art, althoughthen I lacked the practice which since has come to me in such plenty, I was asgood as a youth as I have ever been in later days, and, of course, far betterthan I am now. This I soon proved upon the present occasion, for seated therein that kloof, after a few trials, I found that I could bring down quite anumber of even the swift, straight-flying rock pigeons as they sped over me,and this, be it remembered, not with shot, but with a single bullet, a featthat many would hold to be incredible.

So the days passed, and I practised, every evening finding me a little betterat this terribly difficult sport. For always I learned more as to the exactcapacities of my rifle and the allowance that must be made according to thespeed of the bird, its distance, and the complications of the wind and of thelight. During those days, also, I recovered so rapidly that at the end of themI was almost in my normal condition, and could walk well with the aid of asingle stick.

At length the eventful Thursday came, and about midday—for I lay in bedlate that morning and did not shoot—I drove, or, rather, was driven, in aCape cart with two horses to the place known as Groote Kloof or Great Gully.Over this gorge the wild geese flighted from their pansor feedinggrounds on the high lands above, to other pansthat lay some milesbelow, and thence, I suppose, straight out to the sea coast, whence theyreturned at dawn.

On arriving at the mouth of Groote Kloof about four o’clock in theafternoon, my father and I were astonished to see a great number of Boersassembled there, and among them a certain sprinkling of their youngerwomankind, who had come on horseback or in carts.

“Good gracious!” I said to my father; “if I had known therewas to be such a fuss as this about a shooting match, I don’t think Icould have faced it.”

“Hum,” he answered; “I think there is more in the wind thanyour match. Unless I am much mistaken, it has been made the excuse of a publicmeeting in a secluded spot, so as to throw the Authorities off thescent.”

As a matter of fact, my father was quite right. Before we arrived there thatday the majority of those Boers, after full and long discussion, had arrangedto shake the dust of the Colony off their feet, and find a home in new lands tothe north.

Presently we were among them, and I noticed that, one and all, their faces wereanxious and preoccupied. Pieter Retief caught sight of me being helped out ofthe cart by my father and Hans, whom I had brought to load, and for a momentlooked puzzled. Evidently his thoughts were far away. Then he remembered andexclaimed in his jolly voice:

“Why! here is our little Englishman come to shoot off his match like aman of his word. Friend Marais, stop talking about yourlosses”—this in a warning voice—“and give him goodday.”

So Marais came, and with him Marie, who blushed and smiled, but to my mindlooked more of a grown woman than ever before; one who had left girlhood behindher and found herself face to face with real life and all its troubles.Following her close, very close, as I was quick to notice, was Hernan Pereira.He was even more finely dressed than usual and carried in his hand a beautifulnew, single-barrelled rifle, also fitted to take percussion caps, but, as Ithought, of a very large bore for the purpose of goose shooting.

“So you have got well again,” he said in a genial voice that yetdid not ring true. Indeed, it suggested to me that he wished I had done nothingof the sort. “Well, Mynheer Allan, here you find me quite ready to shootyour head off.” (He didn’t mean that, though I dare say he was.)“I tell you that the mare is as good as mine, for I have been practising,haven’t I, Marie? as the aasvogels” (that is, vultures)“round the stead know to their cost.”

“Yes, Cousin Hernan,” said Marie, “you have been practising,but so, perhaps, has Allan.”

By this time all the company of Boers had collected round us, and began toevince a great interest in the pending contest, as was natural among people whorarely had a gun out of their hands, and thought that fine shooting was thedivinest of the arts. However, they were not allowed to stay long, as theKaffirs said that the geese would begin their afternoon flight within abouthalf an hour. So the spectators were all requested to arrange themselves underthe sheer cliff of the kloof, where they could not be seen by the birds comingover them from behind, and there to keep silence. Then Pereira and I—Iattended by my loader, but he alone, as he said a man at his elbow would botherhim—and with us Retief, the referee, took our stations about a hundredand fifty yards from this face of cliff. Here we screened ourselves as well aswe could from the keen sight of the birds behind some tall bushes which grew atthis spot.

I seated myself on a camp-stool, which I had brought with me, for my leg wasstill too weak to allow me to stand long, and waited. Presently Pereira saidthrough Retief that he had a favour to ask, namely, that I would allow him totake the first six shots, as the strain of waiting made him nervous. Ianswered, “Certainly,” although I knew well that the object of therequest was that he believed that the outpostgeese—“spy-geese” we called them—which would be thefirst to arrive, would probably come over low down and slow, whereas those thatfollowed, scenting danger, might fly high and fast. This, in fact, proved to bethe case, for there is no bird more clever than the misnamed goose.

When we had waited about a quarter of an hour Hans said:

“Hist! Goose comes.”

As he spoke, though as yet I could not see the bird, I heard its cry of“Honk, honk” and the swish of its strong wings.

Then it appeared, an old spur-winged gander, probably the king of the flock,flying so low that it only cleared the cliff edge by about twenty feet, andpassed over not more than thirty yards up, an easy shot. Pereira fired, anddown it came rather slowly, falling a hundred yards or so behind him, whileRetief said:

“One for our side.”

Pereira loaded again, and just as he had capped his rifle three more geese,also flying low, came over, preceded by a number of ducks, passing straightabove us, as they must do owing to the shape of the gap between the land wavesof the veld above through which they flighted. Pereira shot, and to mysurprise, the second, not the first, bird fell, also a good way behind him.

“Did you shoot at that goose, or the other, nephew?” asked Retief.

“At that one for sure,” he answered with a laugh.

“He lies,” muttered the Hottentot; “he shot at the first andkilled the second.”

“Be silent,” I answered. “Who would lie about such athing?”

Again Pereira loaded. By the time that he was ready more geese wereapproaching, this time in a triangle of seven birds, their leader being at thepoint of the triangle, which was flying higher than those that had gone before.He fired, and down came not one bird, but two, namely, the captain and thegoose to the right of and a little behind it.

“Ah! uncle,” exclaimed Pereira, “did you see those birdscross each other as I pulled? That was a lucky one for me, but I won’tcount the second if the Heer Allan objects.”

“No, I did not, nephew,” answered Retief, “but doubtless theymust have done so, or the same bullet could not have pierced both.”

Both Hans and I only looked at each other and laughed. Still we said nothing.

From the spectators under the cliff there came a murmur of congratulation notunmixed with astonishment. Again Pereira loaded, aimed, and loosed at a ratherhigh goose—it may have been about seventy yards in the air. He struck itright enough, for the feathers flew from its breast; but to my astonishment thebird, after swooping down as though it were going to fall, recovered itself andflew away straight out of sight.

“Tough birds, these geese!” exclaimed Pereira. “They cancarry as much lead as a sea-cow.”

“Very tough indeed,” answered Retief doubtfully. “Neverbefore did I see a bird fly away with an ounce ball through its middle.”

“Oh! he will drop dead somewhere,” replied Pereira as he rammed hispowder down.

Within four minutes more Pereira had fired his two remaining shots, selecting,as he was entitled to do, low and easy young geese that came over him slowly.He killed them both, although the last of them, after falling, waddled alongthe ground into a tuft of high grass.

Now murmurs of stifled applause broke from the audience, to which Pereira bowedin acknowledgment.

“You will have to shoot very well, Mynheer Allan,” said Retief tome, “if you want to beat that. Even if I rule out one of the two birdsthat fell to a single shot, as I think I shall, Hernan has killed five out ofsix, which can scarcely be bettered.”

“Yes,” I answered; “but, mynheer, be so good as to have thosegeese collected and put upon one side. I don’t want them mixed up withmine, if I am lucky enough to bring any down.”

He nodded, and some Kaffirs were sent to bring in the geese. Several of these,I noted, were still flapping and had to have their necks twisted, but at thetime I did not go to look at them. While this was being done I called toRetief, and begged him to examine the powder and bullets I was about to use.

“What’s the good?” he asked, looking at me curiously.“Powder is powder, and a bullet is a bullet.”

“None, I dare say. Still, oblige me by looking at them, my uncle.”

Then at my bidding Hans took six bullets and placed them in his hand, begginghim to return them to us as they were wanted.

“They must be a great deal smaller than Hernan’s,” saidRetief, “who, being stronger, uses a heavier gun.”

“Yes,” I answered briefly, as Hans put the charge of powder intothe rifle, and drove home the wad. Then, taking a bullet from Retief’shand, he rammed that down on to the top of it, capped the gun, and handed it tome.

By now the geese were coming thick, for the flight was at its full. Only,either because some of those that had already passed had sighted the Kaffirscollecting the fallen birds and risen—an example which the others notedfrom afar and followed—or because in an unknown way warning of theirdanger had been conveyed to them, they were flying higher and faster than thefirst arrivals.

“You will have the worst of it, Allan,” said Retief. “Itshould have been shot and shot about.”

“Perhaps,” I answered, “but that can’t be helpednow.”

Then I rose from my stool, the rifle in my hand. I had not long to wait, forpresently over came a wedge of geese nearly a hundred yards up. I aimed at thefirst fellow, holding about eight yards ahead of him to allow for his pace, andpressed. Next second I heard the clap of the bullet, but alas! it had onlystruck the outstretched beak, of which a small portion fell to the ground. Thebird itself, after wavering a second, resumed its place as leader of the squadand passed away apparently unharmed.

“Baas, baas,” whispered Hans as he seized the rifle and began tore-load, “you were too far in front. These big water-birds do not travelas fast as the rock pigeons.”

I nodded, wishing to save my breath. Then, quivering with excitement, for if Imissed the next shot the match appeared to be lost, presently I took the riflefrom his hand.

Scarcely had I done so when a single goose came over quite as high as theothers and travelling “as though the black devil had kicked it,” asRetief said. This time I allowed the same space to compensate for theobject’s increased speed and pressed.

Down it came like a stone, falling but a little way behind me with its headknocked off.

“Baas, baas,” whispered Hans, “still too far in front. Whyaim at the eye when you have the whole body?”

Again I nodded, and at the same time heaved a sigh of relief. At least thematch was still alive. Soon a large flight came over, mixed up with mallard andwidgeon. I took the right-hand angle bird, so that it could not be supposed Ihad “browned the lot,” as here in England they say of one who firesat a covey and not at a particular partridge. Down he came, shot straightthrough the breast. Then I knew that I had got my nerve, and felt no more fear.

To cut a long story short, although two of them were extremely difficult andhigh, one being, I should say, quite a hundred and twenty yards above me, andthe other by no means easy, I killed the next three birds one after the other,and I verily believe could have killed a dozen more without a miss, for now Iwas shooting as I had never shot before.

“Say, nephew Allan,” asked Retief curiously in the pause betweenthe fifth and sixth shots, “why do your geese fall so differently toHernan’s?”

“Ask him! don’t talk to me,” I answered, and next instantbrought down number five, the finest shot of the lot.

A sound of wonder and applause came from all the audience, and I saw Marie wavea white handkerchief.

“That’s the end,” said the referee.

“One minute before you stir,” I answered. “I want to shoot atsomething else that is not in the match, just to see if I can kill two birdswith one bullet like the Heer Pereira.”

He granted my request with a nod, holding up his hand to prevent the audiencefrom moving, and bidding Pereira, who tried to interrupt, to be silent.

Now, while the match was in progress I had noticed two falcons about the sizeof the British peregrine wheeling round and round high over the kloof, in whichdoubtless they bred, apparently quite undisturbed by the shooting. Or, perhaps,they had their eyes upon some of the fallen geese. I took the rifle and waitedfor a long while, till at last my opportunity came. I saw that the larger henfalcon was about to cross directly over the circle of its mate, there beingperhaps a distance of ten yards between them. I aimed; I judged—for asecond my mind was a kind of calculating machine—the different arcs andspeeds of the birds must be allowed for, and the lowest was ninety yards away.Then, with something like a prayer upon my lips, I pressed while every eyestared upwards.

Down came the lower falcon; a pause of half a second, and down came the higherone also, falling dead upon its dead mate!

Now, even from those Boers, who did not love to see an Englishman excel, therebroke a shout of acclamation. Never had they beheld such a shot as this; nor intruth had I.

“Mynheer Retief,” I said, “I gave you notice that I intendedto try to kill both of them, did I not?”

“You did. Allemachte! you did! But tell me, Allan Quatermain, are youreye and hand quite human?”

“You must ask my father,” I answered with a shrug as I sat myselfdown upon my stool and mopped my brow.

The Boers came up with a rush, Marie flying ahead of them like a swallow, andtheir stout womenfolk waddling behind, and formed a circle round us, alltalking at once. I did not listen to their conversation, till I heard Pereira,who was engaged in some eye-play with Marie, say in a loud voice:

“Yes, it was pretty, very pretty, but all the same, Uncle Retief, I claimthe match, as I shot six geese against five.”

“Hans,” I said, “bring my geese,” and they werebrought, each with a neat hole through it, and laid down near those thatPereira had shot. “Now,” I said to Retief, “examine thewounds in these birds, and then that on the second bird which the Heer Pereirakilled when he brought down two at once. I think it will be found that hisbullet must have splintered.”

Retief went and studied all the birds, taking them up one by one. Then he threwdown the last with a curse and cried in a great voice:

“Mynheer Pereira, why do you bring shame on us before these twoEnglishmen? I say that you have been using loopers, or else bullets thatwere sawn in quarters and glued or tied with thread. Look, look!” and hepointed to the wounds, of which in one case there were as many as three on asingle bird.

“Why not?” answered Pereira coolly. “The bargain was that wewere to use bullets, but it was never said that they should not be cut.Doubtless the Heer Allan’s were treated in the same way.”

“No,” I answered, “when I said that I would shoot with abullet I meant a whole bullet, not one that had been sawn in pieces and fixedtogether again, so that after it left the muzzle it might spread out like shot.But I do not wish to talk about the matter. It is in the hands of the HeerPieter Retief, who will give judgment as it pleases him.”

Now, much excited argument ensued among the Boers, in the midst of which Mariemanaged to whisper to me unheard:

“Oh! I am glad, Allan, for whatever they may decide, you won, and theomen is good.”

“I don’t see what geese have to do with omens, sweetheart,” Ianswered—“that is, since the time of the ancient Romans. Anyhow, Ishould say that the omens are bad, for there is going to be a rowpresently.”

Just then Retief put up his hand, calling out:

“Silence! I have decided. The writing of the match did not say that thebullets were not to be cut, and therefore Hernan Pereira’s birds mustcount. But that writing does say that any bird accidentally killed should notcount, and therefore one goose must be subtracted from Pereira’s total,which leaves the two shooters equal. So either the match is dead or, since thegeese have ceased to come, it must be shot off another day.”

“Oh! if there is any question,” said Pereira, who felt that publicopinion was much against him, “let the Englishman take the money. I daresay that he needs it, as the sons of missionaries are not rich.”

“There is no question,” I said, “since, rich or poor, not fora thousand pounds would I shoot again against one who plays such tricks. Keepyour money, Mynheer Pereira, and I will keep my mare. The umpire has said thatthe match is dead, so everything is finished.”

“Not quite,” interrupted Retief, “for I have a word to say.Friend Allan, you have played fair, and I believe that there is no one who canshoot like you in Africa.”

“That is so,” said the audience of Boers.

“Mynheer Pereira,” went on Retief, “although you, too, are afine shot, as is well known, I believe that had you played fair also you wouldhave been beaten, but as it is you have saved your hundred pounds. MynheerPereira,” he added in a great voice, “you are a cheat, who havebrought disgrace upon us Boers, and for my part I never want to shake your handagain.”

Now, at these outspoken words, for when his indignation was aroused Retief wasno measurer of language, Pereira’s high-coloured face went white as asheet.

“Mein Gott, mynheer,” he said, “I am minded to makeyou answer for such talk,” and his hand went to the knife at his girdle.

“What!” shouted Retief, “do you want another shooting match?Well, if so I am ready with whole bullets or with split ones. None shall saythat Pieter Retief was afraid of any man, and, least of all, of one who is notashamed to try to steal a prize as a hyena steals a bone from a lion. Come on,Hernan Pereira, come on!”

Now, I am sure I cannot say what would have happened, although I am quitecertain that Pereira had no stomach for a duel with the redoubtable Retief, aman whose courage was as proverbial throughout the land as was his perfectuprightness of character. At any rate, seeing that things looked very black,Henri Marais, who had been listening to this altercation with evidentannoyance, stepped forward and said:

“Mynheer Retief and nephew Hernan, you are both my guests, and I will notpermit quarrelling over this foolishness, especially as I am sure that Hernannever intended to cheat, but only to do what he thought was allowed. Why shouldhe, who is one of the finest shots in the Colony, though it may be that youngAllan Quatermain here is even better? Will you not say so, too, friend Retief,especially just now when it is necessary that we should all be asbrothers?” he added pleadingly.

“No,” thundered Retief, “I will not tell a lie to please youor anyone.”

Then, seeing that the commandant was utterly uncompromising, Marais went up tohis nephew and whispered to him for a while. What he said I do not know. Theresult of it was, however, that after favouring both Retief and myself with anangry scowl, Pereira turned and walked to where his horse stood, mounted it,and rode off, followed by two Hottentot after-riders.

That was the last I saw of Hernan Pereira for a long while to come, andheartily do I wish that it had been the last I ever saw of him. But this wasnot to be.

CHAPTER VI.
THE PARTING

The Boers, who ostensibly had come to the kloof to see the shooting match,although, in fact, for a very different purpose, now began to disperse. Some ofthem rode straight away, while some went to wagons which they had outspanned ata distance, and trekked off to their separate homes. I am glad to say thatbefore they left quite a number of the best of them came up and congratulatedme both on the defence of Maraisfontein and on my shooting. Also not a fewexpressed their views concerning Pereira in very straightforward language.

Now, the arrangement was that my father and I were to sleep that night atMarais’s stead, returning home on the following morning. But my father,who had been a silent but not unobservant witness of all this scene, coming tothe conclusion that after what had happened we should scarcely be welcomethere, and that the company of Pereira was to be avoided just now, went up toMarais and bade him farewell, saying that we would send for my mare.

“Not so, not so,” he answered, “you are my guests to-night.Also, fear not, Hernan will be away. He has gone a journey upon somebusiness.”

As my father hesitated, Marais added: “Friend, I pray you to come, for Ihave some important words to say to you, which cannot be said here.”

Then my father gave way, to my delight and relief. For if he had not, whatchance would there have been of my getting some still more important words withMarie? So having collected the geese and the two falcons, which I proposed toskin for Marie, I was helped into the cart, and we drove off, reachingMaraisfontein just as night set in.

That evening, after we had eaten, Heer Marais asked my father and myself tospeak with him in the sitting-room. By an afterthought also, or so it seemed tome, he told his daughter, who had been clearing away the dishes and with whomas yet I had found no opportunity to talk, to come in with us and close thedoor behind her.

When all were seated and we men had lit our pipes, though apprehension of whatwas to follow quite took away my taste for smoking, Marais spoke in English,which he knew to a certain extent. This was for the benefit of my father, whomade it a point of honour not to understand Dutch, although he would answerMarais in that language when hepretended not to understand English. Tome he spoke in Dutch, and occasionally in French to Marie. It was a mostcurious and polyglot conversation.

“Young Allan,” he said, “and you, daughter Marie, I haveheard stories concerning you that, although I never gave you leave toopsit” (that is, to sit up alone at night with candles, accordingto the Boer fashion between those who are courting), “you have beenmaking love to each other.”

“That is true, mynheer,” I said. “I only waited anopportunity to tell you that we plighted our troth during the attack of theQuabies on this house.”

“Allemachte! Allan, a strange time to choose,” answered Marais,pulling at his beard; “the troth that is plighted in blood is apt to endin blood.”

“A vain superstition to which I cannot consent,” interrupted myfather.

“Perhaps so,” I answered. “I know not; God alone knows. Ionly know that we plighted our troth when we thought ourselves about to die,and that we shall keep that troth till death ends it.”

“Yes, my father,” added Marie, leaning forward across the scoredyellow-wood table, her chin resting on her hand and her dark, buck-like eyeslooking him in the face. “Yes, my father, that is so, as I have told youalready.”

“And I tell you, Marie, what I have told you already, and you too, Allan,that this thing may not be,” answered Marais, hitting the table with hisfist. “I have nothing to say against you, Allan; indeed, I honour you,and you have done me a mighty service, but it may not be.”

“Why not, mynheer?” I asked.

“For three reasons, Allan, each of which is final. You are English, and Ido not wish my daughter to marry an Englishman; that is the first. You arepoor, which is no discredit to you, and since I am now ruined my daughtercannot marry a poor man; that is the second. You live here, and my daughter andI are leaving this country, therefore you cannot marry her; that is thethird,” and he paused.

“Is there not a fourth,” I asked, “which is the real reason?Namely, that you wish your daughter to marry someone else.”

“Yes, Allan; since you force me to it, there is a fourth. I haveaffianced my daughter to her cousin, Hernando Pereira, a man of substance andfull age; no lad, but one who knows his own mind and can support a wife.”

“I understand,” I answered calmly, although within my heart a veryhell was raging. “But tell me, mynheer, has Marie affiancedherself—or perhaps she will answer with her own lips?”

“Yes, Allan,” replied Marie in her quiet fashion, “I haveaffianced myself—to you and no other man.”

“You hear, mynheer,” I said to Marais.

Then he broke out in his usual excitable manner. He stormed, he argued, herated us both. He said that he would never allow it; that first he would seehis daughter in her grave. That I had abused his confidence and violated hishospitality; that he would shoot me if I came near his girl. That she was aminor, and according to the law he could dispose of her in marriage. That shemust accompany him whither he was going; that certainly I should not do so, andmuch more of the same sort.

When at last he had tired himself out and smashed his favourite pipe upon thetable, Marie spoke, saying:

“My father, you know that I love you dearly, for since my mother’sdeath we have been everything to each other, have we not?”

“Surely, Marie, you are my life, and more than my life.”

“Very well, my father. That being so, I acknowledge your authority overme, whatever the law may say. I acknowledge that you have the right to forbidme to marry Allan, and if you do forbid me—while I am under age, at anyrate—I shall not marry him because of my duty to you.But”—here she rose and looked him full in the eyes, and oh! howstately she seemed at that moment in her simple strength and youthfulgrace!—“there is one thing, my father, that I do notacknowledge—your right to force me to marry any other man. As a womanwith power over herself, I deny that right; and much as it pains me, my father,to refuse you anything, I say that first I will die. To Allan here I have givenmyself for good or for evil, and if I may not marry Allan, I will go to thegrave unwed. If my words hurt you, I pray you to pardon me, but at the sametime to remember that they are my words, which cannot be altered.”

Marais looked at his daughter, and his daughter looked at Marais. At first Ithought that he was about to curse her; but if this were so, something in hereyes seemed to change his mind, for all he said was:

“Intractable, like the rest of your race! Well, Fate may lead those whocannot be driven, and this matter I leave in the hands of Fate. While you areunder age—that is, for two years or more—you may not marry withoutmy consent, and have just promised not to do so. Presently we trek from thiscountry into far-off lands. Who knows what may happen there?”

“Yes,” said my father in a solemn voice, speaking for the firsttime, “who knows except God, Who governs all things, and will settlethese matters according to His will, Henri Marais? Listen,” he went onafter a pause, for Marais made no answer, but sat himself down and staredgloomily at the table. “You do not wish my son to marry your daughter forvarious reasons, of which one is that you think him poor and a richer suitorhas offered himself after a reverse of fortune has made youpoor.Another and a greater, the true reason, is his English blood, which you hate somuch that, although by God’s mercy he saved her life, you do not desirethat he should share her life. Is it not true?”

“Yes, it is true, Mynheer Quatermain. You English are bullies andcheats,” he answered excitedly.

“And so you would give your daughter to one who has shown himself humbleand upright, to that good hater of the English and plotter against his King,Hernando Pereira, whom you love because he alone is left of your ancientrace.”

Remembering the incident of the afternoon, this sarcasm reduced Marais tosilence.

“Well,” went on my father, “although I am fond of Marie, andknow her to be a sweet and noble-hearted girl, neither do I wish that sheshould marry my son. I would see him wed to some English woman, and not draggedinto the net of the Boers and their plottings. Still, it is plain that thesetwo love each other with heart and soul, as doubtless it has been decreed thatthey should love. This being so, I tell you that to separate them and forceanother marriage upon one of them is a crime before God, of which, I am sure,He will take note and pay it back to you. Strange things may happen in thoselands whither you go, Henri Marais. Will you not, then, be content to leaveyour child in safe keeping?”

“Never!” shouted Marais. “She shall accompany me to a newhome, which is not under the shadow of your accursed British flag.”

“Then I have no more to say. On your head be it here andhereafter,” replied my father solemnly.

Now unable to control myself any longer I broke in:

“But I have, mynheer. To separate Marie and myself is a sin, and one thatwill break her heart. As for my poverty, I have something, more perhaps thanyou think, and in this rich country wealth can be earned by those who work, asI would do for her sake. The man to whom you would give her showed his truenature this day, for he who can play so low a trick to win a wager, will playworse tricks to win greater things. Moreover, the scheme must fail since Mariewill not marry him.”

“I say she shall,” replied Marais; “and that whether she doesor not, she shall accompany me and not stay here to be the wife of an Englishboy.”

“Accompany you I will, father, and share your fortunes to the last. Butmarry Hernando Pereira I will not,” said Marie quietly.

“Perhaps, mynheer,” I added, “days may come when once againyou will be glad of the help of an ‘English boy.’”

The words were spoken at random, a kind of ejaculation from the heart, causedby the sting of Marais’s cruelty and insults, like the cry of a beastbeneath a blow. Little did I know how true they would prove, but at times it isthus that truth is mysteriously drawn from some well of secret knowledge hiddenin our souls.

“When I want your help I will ask for it,” raved Marais, who,knowing himself to be in the wrong, strove to cover up that wrong withviolence.

“Asked or unasked, if I live it shall be given in the future as in thepast, Mynheer Marais. God pardon you for the woe you are bringing on Marie andon me.”

Now Marie began to weep a little, and, unable to bear that sight, I covered myeyes with my hand. Marais, who, when he was not under the influence of hisprejudices or passion, had a kind heart, was moved also, but tried to hide hisfeelings in roughness. He swore at Marie, and told her to go to bed, and sheobeyed, still weeping. Then my father rose and said:

“Henri Marais, we cannot leave here to-night because the horses arekraaled, and it would be difficult to find them in this darkness, so we mustask your hospitality till dawn.”

“Ido not ask it,” I exclaimed. “I go to sleep in thecart,” and I limped from the room and the house, leaving the two mentogether.

What passed afterwards between them I do not quite know. I gathered that myfather, who, when roused, also had a temper and was mentally and intellectuallythe stronger man, told Marais his opinion of his wickedness and folly inlanguage that he was not likely to forget. I believe he even drove him toconfess that his acts seemed cruel, excusing them, however, by announcing thathe had sworn before God that his daughter should never marry an Englishman.Also he said that he had promised her solemnly to Pereira, his own nephew, whomhe loved, and could not break his word.

“No,” answered my father, “because, being mad with themadness that runs before destruction, you prefer to break Marie’s heartand perhaps become guilty of her blood.”

Then he left him.

The darkness was intense. Through it I groped my way to the cart, which stoodwhere it had been outspanned on the veld at a little distance from the house,wishing heartily, so miserable was I, that the Kaffirs might choose that blacknight for another attack and make an end of me.

When I reached it and lit the lantern which we always carried, I was astonishedto find that, in a rough fashion, it had been made ready to sleep in. The seatshad been cleared out, the hind curtain fastened, and so forth. Also the polewas propped up with an ox-yoke so as to make the vehicle level to lie in. WhileI was wondering vaguely who could have done this, Hans climbed on to the step,carrying two karosses which he had borrowed or stolen, and asked if I wascomfortable.

“Oh, yes!” I answered; “but why were you going to sleep inthe cart?”

“Baas,” he replied, “I was not; I prepared it for you. Howdid I know that you were coming? Oh, very simply. I sat on the stoep andlistened to all the talk in the sitkammer. The window has never beenmended, baas, since the Quabies broke it. God in Heaven! what a talk that was.I never knew that white people could have so much to say about a simple matter.You want to marry the Baas Marais’s daughter; the baas wants her to marryanother man who can pay more cattle. Well, among us it would soon have beensettled, for the father would have taken a stick and beaten you out of the hutwith the thick end. Then he would have beaten the girl with the thin end untilshe promised to take the other man, and all would have been settled nicely. Butyou Whites, you talk and talk, and nothing is settled. You still mean to marrythe daughter, and the daughter still means not to marry the man of many cows.Moreover, the father has really gained nothing except a sick heart and much badluck to come.”

“Why much bad luck to come, Hans?” I asked idly, for his naïvesumming up of the case interested me in a vague way.

“Oh! Baas Allan, for two reasons. First, your reverend father, who mademe true Christian, told him so, and a prédicant so good as he, is one down whomthe curse of God runs from Heaven like lightning runs down a tree. Well, theHeer Marais was sitting under that tree, and we all know what happens to himwho is under a tree when the lightning strikes it. That my first Christianreason. My second black-man reason, about which there can be no mistake, for ithas always been true since there was a black man, is that the girl is yours byblood. You saved her life with your blood,” and he pointed to my leg,“and therefore bought her for ever, for blood is more than cattle.Therefore, too, he who would divide her from you brings blood on her and on theother man who tries to steal her, blood, blood! and on himself I know notwhat.” And he waved his yellow arms, staring up at me with his littleblack eyes in a way that was most uncanny.

“Nonsense!” I said. “Why do you talk such bad words?”

“Because they are true words, Baas Allan. Oh, you laugh at the poorTotty; but I had it from my father, and he from his father from generation togeneration, amen, and you will see. You will see, as I have seen before now,and as the Heer Marais will see, who, if the great God had not made himmad—for mad he is, baas, as we know, if you Whitesdon’t—might have lived in his home till he was old, and have had agood son-in-law to bury him in his blanket.”

Now I seemed to have had enough of this eerie conversation. Of course it iseasy to laugh at natives and their superstitions, but, after a long life ofexperience, I am bound to admit that they are not always devoid of truth. Thenative has some kind of sixth sense which the civilised man has lost, or so itseems to me.

“Talking of blankets,” I said in order to change the subject,“from whom did you get these karosses?”

“From whom? Why, from the Missie, of course, baas. When I heard that youwere to sleep in the cart I went to her and borrowed them to cover you. Also, Ihad forgotten, she gave me a writing for you,” and he felt about, firstin his dirty shirt, then under his arm, and finally in his fuzzy hair, fromwhich last hiding place he produced a little bit of paper folded into a pellet.I undid it and read these words, written with a pencil and in French:—

“I shall be in the peach orchard half an hour before sunrise. Be there ifyou would bid me farewell.—M.”

“Is there any answer, baas?” asked Hans when I had thrust the noteinto my pocket. “If so I can take it without being found out.” Thenan inspiration seemed to strike him, and he added: “Why do you not takeit yourself? The Missie’s window is easy to open, also I am sure shewould be pleased to see you.”

“Be silent,” I said. “I am going to sleep. Wake me an hourbefore the cock-crow—and, stay—see that the horses have got out ofthe kraal so that you cannot find them too easily in case the Reverend wishesto start very early. But do not let them wander far, for here we are no welcomeguests.”

“Yes, baas. By the way, baas, the Heer Pereira, who tried to cheat youover those geese, is sleeping in an empty house not more than two miles away.He drinks coffee when he wakes up in the morning, and his servant, who makesit, is my good friend. Now would you like me to put a little something into it?Not to kill him, for that is against the law in the Book, but just to make himquite mad, for the Book says nothing about that. If so, I have a very goodmedicine, one that you white people do not know, which improves the taste ofthe coffee, and it might save much trouble. You see, if he came dancing aboutthe place without any clothes on, like a common Kaffir, the Heer Marais,although heis really mad also, might not wish for him as ason-in-law.”

“Oh! go to the devil if you are not there already,” I replied, andturned over as though to sleep.

There was no need for me to have instructed that faithful creature, the astutebut immoral Hans, to call me early, as the lady did her mother in the poem, forI do not think that I closed an eye that night. I spare my reflections, forthey can easily be imagined in the case of an earnest-natured lad who was aboutto be bereft of his first love.

Long before the dawn I stood in the peach orchard, that orchard where we hadfirst met, and waited. At length Marie came stealing between the tree trunkslike a grey ghost, for she was wrapped in some light-coloured garment. Oh! oncemore we were alone together. Alone in the utter solitude and silence whichprecede the African dawn, when all creatures that love the night have withdrawnto their lairs and hiding places, and those that love the day still sleep theirsoundest.

She saw me and stood still, then opened her arms and clasped me to her breast,uttering no word. A while later she spoke almost in a whisper, saying:

“Allan, I must not stay long, for I think that if my father found ustogether, he would shoot you in his madness.”

Now as always it was of me she thought, not of herself.

“And you, my sweet?” I asked.

“Oh!” she answered, “that matters nothing. Except for the sinof it I wish he would shoot me, for then I should have done with all this pain.I told you, Allan, when the Kaffirs were on us yonder, that it might be betterto die; and see, my heart spoke truly.”

“Is there no hope?” I gasped. “Will he really separate us andtake you away into the wilderness?”

“Certainly, nothing can turn him. Yet, Allan, there is this hope. In twoyears, if I live, I shall be of full age, and can marry whom I will; and this Iswear, that I will marry none but you, no, not even if you were to dieto-morrow.”

“I bless you for those words,” I said.

“Why?” she asked simply. “What others could I speak? Wouldyou have me do outrage to my own heart and go through life faithless andashamed?”

“And I, I swear also,” I broke in.

“Nay, swear nothing. While I live I know that you will love me, and if Ishould be taken, it is my wish that you should marry some other good woman,since it is not well or right that man should live alone. With us maids it isdifferent. Listen, Allan, for the cocks are beginning to crow, and soon therewill be light. You must bide here with your father. If possible, I will writeto you from time to time, telling you where we are and how we fare. But if I donot write, know that it is because I cannot, or because I can find nomessenger, or because the letters have miscarried, for we go into wildcountries, amongst savages.”

“Whither do you go?” I asked.

“I believe up towards the great harbour called Delagoa Bay, where thePortuguese rule. My cousin Hernan, who accompanies us”—and sheshivered a little in my arms—“is half Portuguese. He tells theBoers that he has relations there who have written him many fine promises,saying they will give us good country to dwell in where we cannot be followedby the English, whom he and my father hate so much.”

“I have heard that is all fever veld, and that the country between isfull of fierce Kaffirs,” I said with a groan.

“Perhaps. I do not know, and I do not care. At least, that is the notionin my father’s head, though, of course, circumstances may change it. Iwill try to let you know, Allan, or if I do not, perhaps you will be able tofind out for yourself. Then, then, if we both live and you still care for me,who will always care for you, when I am of age, you will join us and, say anddo what they may, I will marry no other man. And if I die, as may well happen,oh! then my spirit shall watch over you and wait for you till you join mebeneath the wings of God. Look, it grows light. I must go. Farewell, my love,my first and only love, till in life or death we meet again, as meet weshall.”

Once more we clung together and kissed, muttering broken words, and then shetore herself from my embrace and was gone. But oh! as I heard her feet stealthrough the dew-laden grass, I felt as though my heart were being rent from mybreast. I have suffered much in life, but I do not think that ever I underwenta bitterer anguish than in this hour of my parting from Marie. For when all issaid and done, what joy is there like the joy of pure, first love, and whatbitterness like the bitterness of its loss?

Half an hour later the flowering trees of Maraisfontein were behind us, whilein front rolled the fire-swept veld, black as life had become for me.

CHAPTER VII.
ALLAN’S CALL

A fortnight later Marais, Pereira and their companions, a little band in all ofabout twenty men, thirty women and children, and say fifty half-breeds andHottentot after-riders, trekked from their homes into the wilderness. I rode tothe crest of a table-topped hill and watched the long line of wagons, one ofthem containing Marie, crawl away northward across the veld a mile or morebeneath.

Sorely was I tempted to gallop after them and seek a last interview with herand her father. But my pride forbade me. Henri Marais had given out that if Icame near his daughter he would have me beaten back with sjambocksorhide whips. Perhaps he had gained some inkling of our last farewell in thepeach orchard. I do not know. But I do know that if anyone had lifted asjambockon me I should have answered with a bullet. Then there wouldhave been blood between us, which is worse to cross than whole rivers of wrathand jealousy. So I just watched the wagons until they vanished, and gallopedhome down the rock-strewn slope, wishing that the horse would stumble and breakmy neck.

When I reached the station, however, I was glad that it had not done so, as Ifound my father sitting on the stoep reading a letter that had been brought bya mounted Hottentot.

It was from Henri Marais, and ran thus:—

“‘REVEREND HEER AND FRIEND QUATERMAIN,—I send this to bid youfarewell, for although you are English and we have quarrelled at times, Ihonour you in my heart. Friend, now that we are starting, your warning wordslie on me like lead, I know not why. But what is done cannot be undone, and Itrust that all will come right. If not, it is because the Good Lord wills itotherwise.’”

Here my father looked up and said: “When men suffer from their ownpassion and folly, they always lay the blame on the back of Providence.”

Then he went on, spelling out the letter:

“‘I fear your boy Allan, who is a brave lad, as I have reason toknow, and honest, must think that I have treated him harshly and withoutgratitude. But I have only done what I must do. True, Marie, who, like hermother, is very strong and stubborn in mind, swears that she will marry no oneelse; but soon Nature will make her forget all that, especially as such a finehusband waits for her hand. So bid Allan forget all about her also, and when heis old enough choose some English girl. I have sworn a great oath before my Godthat he shall never marry my daughter with my consent.

“‘Friend, I write to ask you something because I trust you morethan these slim agents. Half the price, a very poor one, that I have for myfarm is still unpaid to me by Jacobus van der Merve, who remains behind andbuys up all our lands. It is £100 English, due this day year, and I enclose youpower of attorney to receive and give receipt for the same. Also there is dueto me from your British Government £253 on account of slaves liberated whichwere worth quite £1,000. This also the paper gives you authority to receive. Asregards my claims against the said cursed Government because of the lossbrought on me by the Quabie Kaffirs, it will not acknowledge them, saying thatthe attack was caused by the Frenchman Leblanc, one of myhousehold.’”

“And with good reason,” commented my father.

“‘When you have received these monies, if ever, I pray you takesome safe opportunity of sending them to me, wherever I may be, which doubtlessyou will hear in due course, although by that time I hope to be rich again andnot to need money. Farewell and God be with you, as I hope He will be with meand Marie and the rest of us trek-Boers. The bearer will overtake us with youranswer at our first outspan.

“‘HENRI MARAIS.’”

“Well,” said my father with a sigh, “I suppose I must accepthis trust, though why he should choose an ‘accursed Englishman’with whom he has quarrelled violently to collect his debts instead of one ofhis own beloved Boers, I am sure I do not know. I will go and write to him.Allan, see that the messenger and his horse get something to eat.”

I nodded and went to the man, who was one of those that had defendedMaraisfontein with me, a good fellow unless he got near liquor.

“Heer Allan,” he said, looking round to see that we were notoverheard, “I have a little writing for you also,” and he producedfrom his pouch a note that was unaddressed.

I tore it open eagerly. Within was written in French, which no Boer wouldunderstand if the letter fell into his hands:

“Be brave and faithful, and remember, as I shall. Oh! love of my heart,adieu, adieu!”

This message was unsigned; but what need was there of signature?

I wrote an answer of a sort that may be imagined, though what the exact wordswere I cannot remember after the lapse of nearly half a century. Oddly enough,it is the things I said which I recall at such a distance of time rather thanthe things which I wrote, perhaps because, when once written, my mind beingdelivered, troubled itself with them no more. So in due course the Hottentotdeparted with my father’s letter and my own, and that was the last directcommunication which we had with Henri or Marie Marais for more than a year.

I think that those long months were on the whole the most wretched I have everspent. The time of life which I was passing through is always trying; thatperiod of emergence from youth into full and responsible manhood which inAfrica generally takes place earlier than it does here in England, where youngmen often seem to me to remain boys up to five-and-twenty. The circumstanceswhich I have detailed made it particularly so in my own case, for here was I,who should have been but a cheerful lad, oppressed with the sorrows andanxieties, and fettered by the affections of maturity.

I could not get Marie out of my mind; her image was with me by day and bynight, especially by night, which caused me to sleep badly. I became morose,supersensitive, and excitable. I developed a cough, and thought, as did others,that I was going into a decline. I remember that Hans even asked me once if Iwould not come and peg out the exact place where I should like to be buried, sothat I might be sure that there would be no mistake made when I could no longerspeak for myself. On that occasion I kicked Hans, one of the few upon which Ihave ever touched a native. The truth was that I had not the slightestintention of being buried. I wanted to live and marry Marie, not to die and beput in a hole by Hans. Only I saw no prospect of marrying Marie, or even ofseeing her again, and that was why I felt low-spirited.

Of course, from time to time news of the trek-Boers reached us, but it wasextremely confused. There were so many parties of them; their adventures wereso difficult to follow, and, I may add, often so terrible; so few of them couldwrite; trustworthy messengers were so scanty; distances were so great. At anyrate, we heard nothing of Marais’s band except a rumour that they hadtrekked to a district in what is now the Transvaal, which is called Rustenberg,and thence on towards Delagoa Bay into an unknown veld where they had vanished.From Marie herself no letter came, which showed me clearly enough that she hadnot found an opportunity of sending one.

Observing my depressed condition, my father suggested as a remedy that I shouldgo to the theological college at Cape Town and prepare myself for ordination.But the Church as a career did not appeal to me, perhaps because I felt that Icould never be sufficiently good; perhaps because I knew that as a clergyman Ishould find no opportunity of travelling north when my call came. For I alwaysbelieved that this call would come.

My father, who wished that I should hear another kind of call, was vexed withme over this matter. He desired earnestly that I should follow the professionwhich he adorned, and indeed saw no other open for me any more than I didmyself. Of course he was right in a way, seeing that in the end I found none,unless big game hunting and Kaffir trading can be called a profession. Idon’t know, I am sure. Still, poor business as it may be, I say now whenI am getting towards the end of life that I am glad I did not follow any other.It has suited me; that was the insignificant hole in the world’s affairswhich I was destined to fit, whose only gifts were a remarkable art of straightshooting and the more common one of observation mixed with a little untrainedphilosophy.

So hot did our arguments become about this subject of the Church, for, as maybe imagined, in the course of them I revealed some unorthodoxy, especially asregards the matter of our methods of Christianising Kaffirs, that I wasextremely thankful when a diversion occurred which took me away from home. Thestory of my defence of Maraisfontein had spread far, and that of my feats ofshooting, especially in the Goose Kloof, still farther. So the end of it wasthat those in authority commandeered me to serve in one of the continual Kaffirfrontier wars which was in progress, and instantly gave me a commission as akind of lieutenant in a border corps.

Now the events of that particular war have nothing to do with the history thatI am telling, so I do not propose even to touch on them. I served in it for ayear, meeting with many adventures, one or two successes, and several failures.Once I was wounded slightly, twice I but just escaped with my life. Once I wasreprimanded for taking a foolish risk and losing some men. Twice I wascommended for what were called gallant actions, such as bringing a woundedcomrade out of danger under a warm fire, mostly of assegais, and penetrating bynight, almost alone, into the stronghold of a chieftain, and shooting him.

At length that war was patched up with an inconclusive peace and my corps wasdisbanded. I returned home, no longer a lad, but a man with experience ofvarious kinds and a rather unique knowledge of Kaffirs, their languages,history, and modes of thought and action. Also I had associated a good dealwith British officers, and from them acquired much that I had found noopportunity of studying before, especially, I hope, the ideas and standards ofEnglish gentlemen.

I had not been back at the Mission Station more than three weeks, quite longenough for me to begin to be bored with idleness and inactivity, when that callfor which I had been waiting came at last.

One day a smous, that is a low kind of white man, often a Jew, whotravels about trading with unsophisticated Boers and Kaffirs, and cheating themif he can, called at the station with his cartful of goods. I was about to sendhim away, having no liking for such gentry, when he asked me if I were namedAllan Quatermain. I said “Yes,” whereon he replied that he had aletter for me, and produced a packet wrapped up in sail-cloth. I asked himwhence he had it, and he answered from a man whom he had met at Port Elizabeth,an east coast trader, who, hearing that he was coming into the Cradockdistrict, entrusted him with the letter. The man told him that it was veryimportant, and that I should reward the bearer well if it were deliveredsafely.

While the Jew talked (I think he was a Jew) I was opening the sail-cloth.Within was a piece of linen which had been oiled to keep out water, addressedin some red pigment to myself or my father. This, too, I opened, not withoutdifficulty, for it was carefully sewn up, and found within it a letter-packet,also addressed to myself or my father, in the handwriting of Marie.

Great Heaven! How my heart jumped at that sight! Calling to Hans to make thesmouscomfortable and give him food, I went into my own room, and thereread the letter, which ran thus:

“MY DEAR ALLAN,—I do not know whether the other letters I havewritten to you have ever come to your hands, or indeed if this one will. Still,I send it on chance by a wandering Portuguese half-breed who is going toDelagoa Bay, about fifty miles, I believe, from the place where I now write,near the Crocodile River. My father has named it Maraisfontein, after our oldhome. If those letters reached you, you will have learned of the terriblethings we went through on our journey; the attacks by the Kaffirs in theZoutpansberg region, who destroyed one of our parties altogether, and so forth.If not, all that story must wait, for it is too long to tell now, and, indeed,I have but little paper, and not much pencil. It will be enough to say,therefore, that to the number of thirty-five white people, men, women andchildren, we trekked at the beginning of the summer season, when the grass wascommencing to grow, from the Lydenburg district—an awful journey overmountains and through flooded rivers. After many delays, some of them monthslong, we reached this place, about eight weeks ago, for I write to you at thebeginning of June, if we have kept correct account of the time, of which I amnot certain.

“It is a beautiful place to look at, a flat country of rich veld, withbig trees growing on it, and about two miles from the great river that iscalled the Crocodile. Here, finding good water, my father and Hernan Pereira,who now rules him in all things, determined to settle, although some of theothers wished to push on nearer to Delagoa Bay. There was a great quarrel aboutit, but in the end my father, or rather Hernan, had his will, as the oxen wereworn out and many had already died from the bites of a poisonous fly which iscalled the tsetse. So we lotted out the land, of which there is enough forhundreds, and began to build rude houses.

“Then trouble came upon us. The Kaffirs stole most of our horses,although they have not dared to attack us, and except two belonging to Hernan,the rest died of the sickness, the last of them but yesterday. The oxen, too,have all died of the tsetse bites or other illnesses. But the worst is thatalthough this country looks so healthy, it is poisoned with fever, which comesup, I think, in the mists from the river. Already out of the thirty-five of us,ten are dead, two men, three women, and five children, while more are sick. Asyet my father and I and my cousin Pereira have, by God’s mercy, keptquite well; but although we are all very strong, how long this will continue Icannot tell. Fortunately we have plenty of ammunition and the place is thickwith game, so that those of the men who remain strong can kill all the food wewant, even shooting on foot, and we women have made a great quantity of biltongby salting flesh and drying it in the sun. So we shall not actually starve fora long while, even if the game goes away.

“But, dear Allan, unless help comes to us I think that we shall die everyone, for God alone knows the miseries that we suffer and the horrible sights ofsickness and death that are around us. At this moment there lies by me a littlegirl who is dying of fever.

“Oh, Allan, if you can help us, do so! Because of our sick it isimpossible for us to get to Delagoa Bay, and if we did we have no money to buyanything there, for all that we had with us was lost in a wagon in a floodedriver. It was a great sum, for it included Hernan’s rich fortune which hebrought from the Cape with him in gold. Nor can we move anywhere else, for wehave no cattle or horses. We have sent to Delagoa Bay, where we hear these areto be had, to try to buy them on credit; but my cousin Hernan’srelations, of whom he used to talk so much, are dead or gone away, and no onewill trust us. With the neighbouring Kaffirs, too, who have plenty of cattle,we have quarrelled since, unfortunately, my cousin and some of the other Boerstried to take certain beasts of theirs without payment. So we are quitehelpless, and can only wait for death.

“Allan, my father says that he asked your father to collect some moniesthat were owing to him. If it were possible for you or other friends to come toDelagoa in a ship with that money, I think that it might serve to buy someoxen, enough for a few wagons. Then perhaps we might trek back and fall in witha party of Boers who, we believe, have crossed the Quathlamba Mountains intoNatal. Or perhaps we might get to the Bay and find a ship to take us anywherefrom this horrible place. If you could come, the natives would guide you towhere we are.

“But it is too much to hope that you will come, or that if you do comeyou will find us still alive.

“Allan, my dearest, I have one more thing to say, though I must say itshortly, for the paper is nearly finished. I do not know, supposing that youare alive and well, whether you still care for me, who left you so longago—it seems years and years—but myheart is where it was,and where I promised it should remain, in your keeping. Of course, Hernan haspressed me to marry him, and my father has wished it. But I have always saidno, and now, in our wretchedness, there is no more talk of marriage at present,which is the one good thing that has happened to me. And, Allan, before so verylong I shall be of age, if I live. Still I dare say you no longer think ofmarriage with me, who, perhaps, are already married to someone else, especiallyas now I and all of us are no better than wandering beggars. Yet I have thoughtit right to tell you these things, which you may like to know.

“Oh, why did God ever put it into my father’s heart to leave theCape Colony just because he hated the British Government and Hernan Pereira andothers persuaded him? I know not, but, poor man, he is sorry enough now. It ispitiful to see him; at times I think that he is going mad.

“The paper is done, and the messenger is going; also the sick child isdying and I must attend to her. Will this letter ever come to your hands, Iwonder? I am sending with it the little money I have to pay for itsdelivery—about four pounds English. If not, there is an end. If it does,and you cannot come or send others, at least pray for us. I dream of you bynight and think of you by day, for how much I love you I cannot tell.

“In life or death I am

“Your MARIE.”

Such was this awful letter. I still have it; it lies before me, those raggedsheets of paper covered with faint pencil-writing that is blotted here andthere with tear marks, some of them the tears of Marie who wrote, some of themthe tears of me who read. I wonder if there exists a more piteous memorial ofthe terrible sufferings of the trek-Boers, and especially of such of them asforced their way into the poisonous veld around Delagoa, as did this Maraisexpedition and those under the command of Triechard. Better, like many of theirpeople, to have perished at once by the spears of Umzilikazi and other savagesthan to endure these lingering tortures of fever and starvation.

As I finished reading this letter my father, who had been out visiting some ofhis Mission Kaffirs, entered the house, and I went into the sitting-room tomeet him.

“Why, Allan, what is the matter with you?” he asked, noting mytear-stained face.

I gave him the letter, for I could not speak, and with difficulty he decipheredit.

“Merciful God, what dreadful news!” he said when he had finished.“Those poor people! those poor, misguided people! What can be done forthem?”

“I know one thing that can be done, father, or at any rate can beattempted. I can try to reach them.”

“Are you mad?” he asked. “How is it possible for you, oneman, to get to Delagoa Bay, buy cattle, and rescue these folk, who probably arenow all dead?”

“The first two things are possible enough, father. Some ship will take meto the Bay. You have Marais’s money, and I have that five hundred poundswhich my old aunt in England left me last year. Thank Heaven! owing to myabsence on commando, it still lies untouched in the bank at Port Elizabeth.That is about eight hundred pounds in all, which would buy a great many cattleand other things. As for the third, it is not in our hands, is it? It may bethat they cannot be rescued, it may be that they are dead. I can only go tosee.”

“But, Allan, Allan, you are my only son, and if you go it is probablethat I shall never see you more.”

“I have been through more dangers lately, father, and am still alive andwell. Moreover, if Marie is dead”—I paused, then went onpassionately—“Do not try to stop me, for I tell you, father, I willnot be stopped. Think of the words in that letter and what a shameless hound Ishould be if I sat here quiet while Marie is dying yonder. Would you have doneso if Marie had been my mother?”

“No,” answered the old gentleman, “I should not. Go, and Godbe with you, Allan, and me also, for I never expect to see you again.”And he turned his head aside for a while.

Then we went into matters. The smouswas summoned and asked about theship which brought the letter from Delagoa. It seemed that she was anEnglish-owned brig known as the Seven Stars, and that her captain, oneRichardson, proposed to sail back to the Bay on the morrow, that was the thirdof July, or in other words, within twenty-four hours.

Twenty-four hours! And Port Elizabeth was one hundred and eighteen miles away,and the Seven Starsmight leave earlier if she had completed her cargoand wind and weather served. Moreover, if she did leave, it might be weeks ormonths before any other ship sailed for Delagoa Bay, for in those days, ofcourse, there were no mail boats.

I looked at my watch. It was four o’clock in the afternoon, and from acalendar we had, which gave the tides at Port Elizabeth and other South Africanharbours, it did not seem probable that the Seven Starswould sail, ifshe kept to her date, before about eight on the morrow. One hundred and twentymiles to be covered in, say, fourteen hours over rough country with some hills!Well, on the other hand, the roads were fairly good and dry, with no floodedrivers to cross, although there might be one to swim, and there was a fullmoon. It could be done—barely, and now I was glad indeed that HernanPereira had not won my swift mare in that shooting match.

I called to Hans, who was loafing about outside, and said quietly:

“I ride to Port Elizabeth, and must be there by eight o’clockto-morrow morning.”

“Allemachte!” exclaimed Hans, who had been that road several times.

“You will go with me, and from Port Elizabeth on to Delagoa Bay. Saddlethe mare and the roan horse, and put a headstall on the chestnut to lead withyou as a spare. Give them all a feed, but no water. We start in half anhour.” Then I added certain directions as to the guns we would take,saddle-bags, clothes, blankets and other details, and bade him start about thebusiness.

Hans never hesitated. He had been with me through my recent campaign, and wasaccustomed to sudden orders. Moreover, I think that if I had told him I wasriding to the moon, beyond his customary exclamation of“Allemachte!” he would have made no objection to accompanying methither.

The next half-hour was a busy time for me. Henri Marais’s money had to begot out of the strong box and arranged in a belt of buck’s hide that Ihad strapped about me. A letter had to be written by my father to the managerof the Port Elizabeth bank, identifying me as the owner of the sum lodged therein my name. A meal must be eaten and some food prepared for us to carry. Thehorses’ shoes had to be seen to, and a few clothes packed in thesaddle-bags. Also there were other things which I have forgotten. Yet withinfive-and-thirty minutes the long, lean mare stood before the door. Behind her,with a tall crane’s feather in his hat, was Hans, mounted on the roanstallion, and leading the chestnut, a four-year-old which I had bought as afoal on the mare as part of the bargain. Having been corn fed from a colt itwas a very sound and well-grown horse, though not the equal of its mother inspeed.

In the passage my poor old father, who was quite bewildered by the rapidity andurgent nature of this business, embraced me.

“God bless you, my dear boy,” he said. “I have had littletime to think, but I pray that this may be all for the best, and that we maymeet again in the world. But if not, remember what I have taught you, and if Isurvive you, for my part I shall remember that you died trying to do your duty.Oh, what trouble has the blind madness of Henri Marais brought upon us all!Well, I warned him that it would be so. Good-bye, my dear boy, good-bye: myprayers will follow you, and for the rest—Well, I am old, and what doesit matter if my grey hairs come with sorrow to the grave?”

I kissed him back, and with an aching heart sprang to the saddle. In five moreminutes the station was out of sight.

Thirteen and a half hours later I pulled rein upon the quay of Port Elizabethjust, only just, in time to catch Captain Richardson as he was entering hisboat to row out to the Seven Stars, on which the canvas was alreadybeing hoisted. As well as I could in my exhausted state, I explained mattersand persuaded him to wait till the next tide. Then, thanking God for themare’s speed—the roan had been left foundered thirty miles away,and Hans was following on the chestnut, but not yet up—I dragged the poorbeast to an inn at hand. There she lay down and died. Well, she had done herwork, and there was no other horse in the country that could have caught thatboat.

An hour or so later Hans came in flogging the chestnut, and here I may add thatboth it and the roan recovered. Indeed I rode them for many years, until theywere quite old. When I had eaten, or tried to eat something and rested awhile,I went to the bank, succeeded in explaining the state of the case to themanager, and after some difficulty, for gold was not very plentiful in PortElizabeth, procured three hundred pounds in sovereigns. For the other two hegave me a bill upon some agent in Delagoa Bay, together with a letter ofrecommendation to him and the Portuguese governor, who, it appeared, was indebt to their establishment. By an afterthought, however, although I kept theletters, I returned him the bill and spent the £200 in purchasing a greatvariety of goods which I will not enumerate, that I knew would be useful fortrading purposes among the east coast Kaffirs. Indeed, I practically clearedout the Port Elizabeth stores, and barely had time, with the help of Hans andthe storekeepers, to pack and ship the goods before the Seven Starsputout to sea.

Within twenty-four hours from the time I had left the Mission Station, Hans andI saw behind us Port Elizabeth fading into the distance, and in front a wasteof stormy waters.

CHAPTER VIII.
THE CAMP OF DEATH

Everything went well upon that voyage, except with me personally. Not havingbeen on the ocean since I was a child, I, who am naturally no good sailor, wasextremely ill as day by day we ploughed through seas that grew ever more rough.Also, strong as I was, that fearful ride had overdone me. Added to thesephysical discomforts was my agonising anxiety of mind, which I leave anyonewith imagination to picture for himself. Really there were times when I wishedthat the Seven Starswould plunge headlong to the bottom of the deep andput an end to me and my miseries.

These, however, so far as the bodily side of them was concerned, were, I think,surpassed by those of my henchman Hans, who, as a matter of fact, had neverbefore set foot in any kind of boat. Perhaps this was fortunate, since had heknown the horrors of the ocean, much as he loved me, he would, I am sure, byone means or another, have left me to voyage in the Seven Starsalone.There he lay upon the floor of my little cabin, rolling to and fro with theviolent motion of the brig, overcome with terror. He was convinced that we weregoing to be drowned, and in the intervals of furious sea-sickness utteredpiteous lamentations in Dutch, English, and various native tongues, mingledwith curses and prayers of the most primitive and realistic order.

After the first twenty-four hours or so he informed me with many moans that thelast bit of his inside had just come out of him, and that he was now quitehollow “like a gourd.” Also he declared that all these evils hadfallen upon him because he had been fool enough to forsake the religion of hispeople (what was that, I wonder), and allow himself to be “washedwhite,” that is, be baptised, by my father.

I answered that as he had become white instead of staying yellow, I advised himto remain so, since it was evident that the Hottentot gods would have nothingmore to do with one who had deserted them. Thereon he made a dreadful face,which even in the midst of my own woes caused me to laugh at him, uttered aprolonged groan, and became so silent that I thought he must be dead. However,the sailor who brought me my food—such food!—assured me that thiswas not so, and lashed him tight to the legs of the bunk by his arm and ankleso as to prevent him from being rolled to bits.

Next morning Hans was dosed with brandy, which, in his empty condition, madehim extremely drunk, and from that time forward began to take a more cheerfulview of things. Especially was this so when the hours for the “brandymedicine” came round. Hans, like most other Hottentots, loved spirits,and would put up with much to get them, even with my father’s fieryindignation.

I think it was on the fourth day that at length we pitched and rolled ourselvesover the shallow bar of Port Natal and found ourselves at peace for a whileunder shelter of the Point in the beautiful bay upon the shores of which thetown of Durban now stands. Then it was but a miserable place, consisting of afew shanties which were afterwards burnt by the Zulus, and a number of Kaffirhuts. For such white men as dwelt there had for the most part nativefollowings, and, I may add, native wives.

We spent two days at this settlement of Durban, where Captain Richardson hadsome cargo to land for the English settlers, one or two of whom had started atrade with the natives and with parties of the emigrant Boers who werebeginning to enter the territory by the overland route. Those days I passed onshore, though I would not allow Hans to accompany me lest he should desert,employing my time in picking up all the information I could about the state ofaffairs, especially with reference to the Zulus, a people with whom I wasdestined ere long to make an intimate acquaintance. Needless to say, I inquiredboth from natives and from white men whether anything was known of the fate ofMarais’s party, but no one seemed even to have heard of them. One thing Idid learn, however, that my old friend, Pieter Retief, with a large following,had crossed the Quathlamba Mountains, which we now know as the Drakensberg, andentered the territory of Natal. Here they proposed to settle if they could getthe leave of the Zulu king, Dingaan, a savage potentate of whom and of whosearmies everyone seemed to live in terror.

On the third morning, to my great relief, for I was terrified lest we should bedelayed, the Seven Starssailed with a favouring wind. Three days laterwe entered the harbour of Delagoa, a sheet of water many miles long and broad.Notwithstanding its shallow entrance, it is the best natural port inSoutheastern Africa, but now, alas! lost to the English.

Six hours later we anchored opposite a sandbank on which stood a dilapidatedfort and a dirty settlement known as Lorenzo Marquez, where the Portuguese kepta few soldiers, most of them coloured. I pass over my troubles with theCustoms, if such they could be called. Suffice it to say that ultimately Isucceeded in landing my goods, on which the duty chargeable was apparentlyenormous. This I did by distributing twenty-five English sovereigns amongvarious officials, beginning with the acting-governor and ending with a drunkenblack sweep who sat in a kind of sentry box on the quay.

Early next morning the Seven Starssailed again, because of some quarrelwith the officials, who threatened to seize her—I forget why. Herdestination was the East African ports and, I think, Madagascar, where aprofitable trade was to be done in carrying cattle and slaves. CaptainRichardson said he might be back at Lorenzo Marquez in two or threemonths’ time, or he might not. As a matter of fact the latter suppositionproved correct, for the Seven Starswas lost on a sandbank somewhere upthe coast, her crew only escaping to Mombasa after enduring great hardships.

Well, she had served my turn, for I heard afterwards that no other ship putinto the Bay for a whole year from the date she left it. So if I had not caughther at Port Elizabeth I could not have come at all, except, of course,overland. This at best must have taken many months, and was moreover a journeythat no man could enter on alone.

Now I get back to my story again.

There was no inn at Lorenzo Marquez. Through the kindness of one of his nativeor half-breed wives, who could talk a little Dutch, I managed, however, to geta lodging in a tumble-down house belonging to a dissolute person who calledhimself Don José Ximenes, but who was really himself a half-breed. Here goodfortune befriended me. Don José, when sober, was a trader with the natives, anda year before had acquired from them two good buck wagons. Probably they werestolen from some wandering Boers or found derelict after their murder or deathby fever. These wagons he was only too glad to sell for a song. I think I gavehim twenty pounds English for the two, and thirty more for twelve oxen that hehad bought at the same time as the wagons. They were fine beasts of theAfrikander breed, that after a long rest had grown quite fat and strong.

Of course twelve oxen were not enough to draw two wagons, or even one.Therefore, hearing that there were natives on the mainland who possessed plentyof cattle, I at once gave out that I was ready to buy, and pay well inblankets, cloth, beads and so forth. The result was that within two days I hadforty or fifty to choose from, small animals of the Zulu character and, Ishould add, unbroken. Still they were sturdy and used to that veld and itsdiseases. Here it was that my twelve trained beasts came in. By putting six ofthem to each wagon, two as fore- and two as after-oxen, and two in the middle,Hans and I were able to get the other ten necessary to make up a team ofsixteen under some sort of control.

Heavens! how we worked during the week or so which went by before it waspossible for me to leave Lorenzo Marquez. What with mending up and loading thewagons, buying and breaking in the wild oxen, purchasing provisions, hiringnative servants—of whom I was lucky enough to secure eight who belongedto one of the Zulu tribes and desired to get back to their own country, whencethey had wandered with some Boers, I do not think that we slept more than twoor three hours out of the twenty-four.

But, it may be asked, what was my aim, whither went I, what inquiries had Imade? To answer the last question first, I had made every possible inquiry, butwith little or no result. Marie’s letter had said that they were encampedon the bank of the Crocodile River, about fifty miles from Delagoa Bay. I askedeveryone I met among the Portuguese—who, after all, were notmany—if they had heard of such an encampment of emigrant Boers. But thesePortuguese appeared to have heard nothing, except my host, Don José, who had avague recollection of something—he could not remember what.

The fact was at this time the few people who lived at Lorenzo Marquez were toosodden with liquor and other vices to take any interest in outside news thatdid not immediately concern them. Moreover, the natives whom they flogged andoppressed if they were their servants, or fought with if they were not, toldthem little, and almost nothing that was true, for between the two races therewas an hereditary hate stretching back for generations. So from the PortugueseI gained no information.

Then I turned to the Kaffirs, especially to those from whom I had bought thecattle. Theyhad heard that some Boers reached the banks of theCrocodile moons ago—how many they could not tell. But that country, theysaid, was under the rule of a chief who was hostile to them, and killed any oftheir people who ventured thither. Therefore they knew nothing for certain.Still, one of them stated that a woman whom he had bought as a slave, and whohad passed through the district in question a few weeks before, told him thatsomeone had told her that these Boers were all dead of sickness. She added thatshe had seen their wagon caps from a distance, so, if they were dead,“their wagons were still alive.”

I asked to see this woman, but the native refused to produce her. After a greatdeal of talk, however, he offered to sell her to me, saying that he was tiredof her. So I bargained with the man and finally agreed for her purchase forthree pounds of copper wire and eight yards of blue cloth. Next morning she wasproduced, an extremely ugly person with a large, flat nose, who came fromsomewhere in the interior of Africa, having, I gathered, been taken captive byArabs and sold from hand to hand. Her name, as near as I can pronounce it, wasJeel.

I had great difficulty in establishing communication with her, but ultimatelyfound that one of my newly hired Kaffirs could understand something of herlanguage. Even then it was hard to make her talk, for she had never seen awhite man, and thought I had bought her for some dreadful purpose or other.However, when she found that she was kindly treated, she opened her lips andtold me the same story that her late master had repeated, neither more norless. Finally I asked her whether she could guide me to the place where she hadseen the “live wagons.”

She answered: “Oh, yes,” as she had travelled many roads and neverforgot any of them.

This, of course, was all I wanted from the woman, who, I may add, ultimatelygave me a good deal of trouble. The poor creature seemed never to haveexperienced kindness, and her gratitude for the little I showed her was sointense that it became a nuisance. She followed me about everywhere, trying todo me service in her savage way, and even attempted to seize my food and chewit before I put it into my own mouth—to save me the trouble, I suppose.Ultimately I married her, somewhat against her will, I fear, to one of thehired Kaffirs, who made her a very good husband, although when he was dismissedfrom my service she wanted to leave him and follow me.

At length, under the guidance of this woman, Jeel, we made a start. There werebut fifty miles to go, a distance that on a fair road any good horse wouldcover in eight hours, or less. But we had no horses, and there was noroad—nothing but swamps and bush and rocky hills. With our untrainedcattle it took us three days to travel the first twelve miles, though afterthat things went somewhat better.

It may be asked, why did I not send on? But whom could I send when no one knewthe way, except the woman, Jeel, whom I feared to part with lest I should seeher no more? Moreover, what was the use of sending, since the messengers couldtake no help? If everyone at the camp was dead, as rumour told us—well,they were dead. And if they lived, the hope was that they might live a littlelonger. Meanwhile, I dared not part with my guide, nor dared I leave the reliefwagons to go on with her alone. If I did so, I knew that I should never seethem again, since only the prestige of their being owned by a white man who wasnot a Portuguese prevented the natives from looting them.

It was a truly awful journey. My first idea had been to follow the banks of theCrocodile River, which is what I should have attempted had I not chanced on thewoman, Jeel. Lucky was it that I did not do so, since I found afterwards thatthis river wound about a great deal and was joined by impassable tributaries.Also it was bordered by forests. Jeel’s track, on the contrary, followedan old slave road that, bad as it was, avoided the swampy places of thesurrounding country, and those native tribes which the experience ofgenerations of the traders in this iniquitous traffic showed to be mostdangerous.

Nine days of fearful struggle had gone by. We had camped one night below thecrest of a long slope strewn with great rocks, many of which we were obliged toroll out of the path by main force in order to make a way for the wagons. Theoxen had to lie in their yokes all night, since we dared not let them loosefearing lest they should stray; also lions were roaring in the distance,although, game being plentiful, these did not come near to us. As soon as therewas any light we let out the teams to fill themselves on the tussocky grassthat grew about, and meanwhile cooked and ate some food.

Presently the sun rose, and I saw that beneath us was a great stretch of plaincovered with mist, and to the north, on our right, several denser billows ofmist that marked the course of the Crocodile River.

By degrees this mist lifted, tall tops of trees appearing above it, till atlength it thinned into vapour that vanished away as the sun rose. As I watchedit idly, the woman, Jeel, crept up to me in her furtive fashion, touched me onthe shoulder and pointed to a distant group of trees.

Looking closely at these trees, I saw between them what at first I took forsome white rocks. Further examination, as the mist cleared, suggested to mymind, however, that they might be wagon tilts. Just then the Zulu whounderstood Jeel’s talk came up. I asked him as well as I could, for atthat time my knowledge of his tongue was very imperfect, what she wished tosay. He questioned her, and answered that she desired to tell me that thosewere the moving houses of the Amaboona (the Boer people), just where she hadseen them nearly two moons ago.

At this tidings my heart seemed to stand still, so that for more than a minuteI could not speak. There were the wagons at last, but—oh! who and whatshould I find in them? I called Hans and bade him inspan as quickly aspossible, explaining to him that yonder was Marais’s camp.

“Why not let the oxen fill themselves first, baas?” he answered.“There is no hurry, for though the wagons are there, no doubt all thepeople are dead long ago.”

“Do what I bid you, you ill-omened beast,” I said, “insteadof croaking of death like a crow. And listen: I am going to walk forward tothat camp; you must follow with the wagons as fast as they can travel.”

“No, baas, it is not safe that you should go alone. Kaffirs or wildbeasts might take you.”

“Safe or not, I am going; but if you think it wise, tell two of thoseZulus to come with me.”

A few minutes later I was on the road, followed by the two Kaffirs armed withspears. In my youth I was a good runner, being strong of leg and light in body,but I do not think that I ever covered seven miles, for that was about thedistance to the camp, in quicker time than I did that morning. Indeed, I leftthose active Kaffirs so far behind that when I approached the trees they werenot in sight. Here I dropped to a walk, as I said to myself—to get mybreath. Really it was because I felt so terrified at what I might find that Idelayed the discovery just for one minute more. While I approached, hope,however faint, still remained; when I arrived, hope might be replaced byeverlasting despair.

Now I could see that there were some shanties built behind the wagons,doubtless those “rude houses” of which Marie had written. But Icould not see anyone moving about them, or any cattle or any smoke, or othersign of life. Nor could I hear a single sound.

Doubtless, thought I to myself, Hans is right. They are all long dead.

My agony of suspense was replaced by an icy calm. At length I knew the worst.It was finished—I had striven in vain. I walked through the outlyingtrees and between two of the wagons. One of these I noticed, as we do noticethings at such times, was the same in which Marais had trekked with hisdaughter, his favourite wagon that once I had helped to fit with a newdissel-boom.

Before me were the rough houses built of the branches of trees, daubed overwith mud, or rather the backs of them, for they faced west. I stood still for amoment, and as I stood thought that I heard a faint sound as of someonereciting slowly. I crept along the end of the outermost house and, rubbing thecold sweat from my eyes, peeped round the corner, for it occurred to me thatsavages might be in possession. Then I saw what caused the sound. A tattered,blackened, bearded man stood at the head of a long and shallow hole saying aprayer.

It was Henri Marais, although at the time I did not recognise him, so changedwas he. A number of little mounds to the right and left of him told me,however, that the hole was a grave. As I watched two more men appeared,dragging between them the body of a woman, which evidently they had notstrength to carry, as its legs trailed upon the ground. From the shape of thecorpse it seemed to be that of a tall young woman, but the features I could notsee, because it was being dragged face downwards. Also the long hair hangingfrom the head hid them. It was dark hair, like Marie’s. They reached thegrave, and tumbled their sad burden into it; but I—I could not stir!

At length my limbs obeyed my will. I went forward to the men and said in ahollow voice in Dutch:

“Whom do you bury?”

“Johanna Meyer,” answered someone mechanically, for they did notseem to have taken the trouble to look at me. As I listened to those words myheart, which had stood still waiting for the answer, beat again with a suddenbound that I could hear in the silence.

I looked up. There, advancing from the doorway of one of the houses, veryslowly, as though overpowered by weakness, and leading by the hand a mereskeleton of a child, who was chewing some leaves, I saw—I saw MarieMarais!She was wasted to nothing, but I could not mistake her eyes, thosegreat soft eyes that had grown so unnaturally large in the white, thin face.

She too saw me and stared for one moment. Then, loosing the child, she cast upher hands, through which the sunlight shone as through parchment, and slowlysank to the ground.

“She has gone, too,” said one of the men in an indifferent voice.“I thought she would not last another day.”

Now for the first time the man at the head of the grave turned. Lifting hishand, he pointed to me, whereon the other two men turned also.

“God above us!” he said in a choked voice, “at last I amquite mad. Look! there stands the spookof young Allan, the son of theEnglish prédicant who lived near Cradock.”

As soon as I heard the voice I knew the speaker.

“Oh, Mynheer Marais!” I cried, “I am no ghost, I am Allanhimself come to save you.”

Marais made no answer; he seemed bewildered. But one of the men cried outcrazily:

“How can you save us, youngster, unless you are ready to be eaten?Don’t you see, we starve, we starve!”

“I have wagons and food,” I answered.

“Allemachte! Henri,” exclaimed the man, with a wild laugh,“do you hear what your English spooksays? He says that he haswagons and food, food, food!”

Then Marais burst into tears and flung himself upon my breast, nearly knockingme down. I wrenched myself free of him and ran to Marie, who was lying faceupwards on the ground. She seemed to hear my step, for her eyes opened and shestruggled to a sitting posture.

“Is it really you, Allan, or do I dream?” she murmured.

“It is I, it is I,” I answered, lifting her to her feet, for sheseemed to weigh no more than a child. Her head fell upon my shoulder, and shetoo began to weep.

Still holding her, I turned to the men and said:

“Why do you starve when there is game all about?” and I pointed totwo fat elands strolling among the trees not more than a hundred and fiftyyards away.

“Can we kill game with stones?” asked one of them, “we whosepowder was all burnt a month ago. Those buck,” he added, with a wildlaugh, “come here to mock us every morning; but they will not walk intoour pitfalls. They know them too well, and we have no strength to digothers.”

Now when I left my wagons I had brought with me that same Purdey rifle withwhich I had shot the geese in the match against Pereira, choosing it because itwas so light to carry. I held up my hand for silence, set Marie gently on theground, and began to steal towards the elands. Taking what shelter I could, Igot within a hundred yards of them, when suddenly they took alarm, beingfrightened, in fact, by my two Zulu servants, who were now arriving.

Off they galloped, the big bull leading, and vanished behind some trees. I sawtheir line, and that they would appear again between two clumps of bush abouttwo hundred and fifty yards away. Hastily I raised the full sight on the rifle,which was marked for two hundred yards, lifted it, and waited, praying to Godas I did so that my skill might not fail me.

The bull appeared, its head held forward, its long horns lying flat upon theback. The shot was very long, and the beast very large to bring down with sosmall a bullet. I aimed right forward—clear of it, indeed—high too,in a line with its backbone, and pressed the trigger.

The rifle exploded, the bullet clapped, and the buck sprang forward faster thanever. I had failed! But what was this? Suddenly the great bull swung round andbegan to gallop towards us. When it was not more than fifty yards away, it fellin a heap, rolled twice over like a shot rabbit, and lay still. That bullet wasin its heart.

The two Kaffirs appeared breathless and streaming with perspiration.

“Cut meat from the eland’s flank; don’t stop to skinit,” I said in my broken Zulu, helping the words out with signs.

They understood, and a minute later were at work with their assegais. Then Ilooked about me. Near by lay a store of dead branches placed there for fuel.

“Have you fire?” I asked of the skeleton Boers, for they werenothing more.

“Nein, nein,” they answered; “our fire is dead.”

I produced the tinder-box which I carried with me, and struck the flint. Tenminutes later we had a cheerful blaze, and within three-quarters of an hourgood soup, for iron pots were not wanting—only food to put into them. Ithink that for the rest of that day those poor creatures did little else buteat, sleeping between their meals. Oh! the joy I had in feeding them,especially after the wagons arrived, bringing with them salt—how theylonged for that salt!—sugar and coffee.

CHAPTER IX.
THE PROMISE

Of the original thirty-five souls, not reckoning natives, who had accompaniedHenri Marais upon his ill-fated expedition, there now remained but nine aliveat the new Maraisfontein. These were himself, his daughter, fourPrinsloos—a family of extraordinary constitution—and three Meyers,being the husband of the poor woman I had seen committed to the grave and twoof her six children. The rest, Hernan Pereira excepted, had died of fever andactual starvation, for when the fever lessened with the change of the seasons,the starvation set in. It appeared that, with the exception of a very little,they had stored their powder in a kind of outbuilding which they constructed,placing it at a distance for safety’s sake. When most of the survivingmen were away, however, a grass fire set light to this outbuilding and all thepowder blew up.

After this, for a while they supplied the camp with food by the help of suchammunition as remained to them. When that failed they dug pits in which tocatch game. In time the buck came to know of these pits, so that they snared nomore.

Then, as the “biltong” or sun-dried meat they had made was allconsumed, they were driven to every desperate expedient that is known to thestarving, such as the digging up of bulbs, the boiling of grass, twigs andleaves, the catching of lizards, and so forth. I believe that they actually atecaterpillars and earthworms. But after their last fire went out through theneglect of the wretched Kaffir who was left to watch it, and having no tinder,they failed to relight it by friction, of course even this food failed them.When I arrived they had practically been three days without anything to eatexcept green leaves and grass, such as I saw the child chewing. In anotherseventy hours doubtless every one of them would have been dead.

Well, they recovered rapidly enough, for those who had survived its ravageswere evidently now impervious to fever. Who can tell the joy that I experiencedas I watched Marie returning from the very brink of the grave to a state offull and lovely womanhood? After all, we were not so far away from theprimitive conditions of humanity, when the first duty of man was to feed hiswomen and his children, and I think that something of that instinct remainswith us. At least, I know I never experienced a greater pleasure than I did,when the woman I loved, the poor, starving woman, ate and ate of the food whichIwas able to give her—she who for weeks had existed upon locustsand herbs.

For the first few days we did not talk much except of the immediate necessitiesof the hour, which occupied all our thoughts. Afterwards, when Marais and hisdaughter were strong enough to bear it, we had some conversation. He began byasking how I came to find them.

I replied, through Marie’s letter, which, it appeared, he knew nothingof, for he had forbidden her to write to me.

“It seems fortunate that you were disobeyed, mynheer,” I said, towhich he answered nothing.

Then I told the tale of the arrival of that letter at the Mission Station inthe Cape Colony by the hand of a wandering smous, and of my desperateride upon the swift mare to Port Elizabeth, where I just succeeded in catchingthe brig Seven Starsbefore she sailed. Also I told them of the luckychances that enabled me to buy the wagons and find a guide to their camp,reaching it but a few hours before it was too late.

“It was a great deed,” said Henri Marais, taking the pipe from hismouth, for I had brought tobacco among my stores. “But tell me, Allan,why did you do it for the sake of one who has not treated you kindly?”

“I did it,” I answered, “for the sake of one who has alwaystreated me kindly,” and I nodded towards Marie, who was engaged inwashing up the cooking pots at a distance.

“I suppose so, Allan; but you know she is affianced to another.”

“I know that she is affianced to me, and to no other,” I answeredwarmly, adding, “And pray where is this other? If he lives I do not seehim here.”

“No,” replied Marais in a curious voice. “The truth is,Allan, that Hernan Pereira left us about a fortnight before you came. One horseremained, which was his, and with two Hottentots, who were also his servants,he rode back upon the track by which we came, to try to find help. Since thenwe have heard nothing of him.”

“Indeed; and how did he propose to get food on the way?”

“He had a rifle, or rather they all three had rifles, and about a hundredcharges between them, which escaped the fire.”

“With a hundred charges of powder carefully used your camp would havebeen fed for a month, or perhaps two months,” I remarked. “Yet hewent away with all of them—to find help?”

“That is so, Allan. We begged him to stay, but he would not; and, afterall, the charges were his own property. No doubt he thought he acted for thebest, especially as Marie would have none of him,” Marais added withemphasis.

“Well,” I replied, “it seems that it is I who have broughtyou the help, and not Pereira. Also, by the way, mynheer, I have brought youthe money my father collected on your account, and some £500 of my own, or whatis left of it, in goods and gold. Moreover, Marie does not refuse me. Say,therefore, to which of us does she belong?”

“It would seem that it should be to you,” he answered slowly,“since you have shown yourself so faithful, and were it not for you shewould now be lying yonder,” and he pointed to the little heaps thatcovered the bones of most of the expedition. “Yes, yes, it would seemthat it should be to you, who twice have saved her life and once have savedmine also.”

Now I suppose that he saw on my face the joy which I could not conceal, for headded hastily: “Yet, Allan, years ago I swore on the Book before God thatnever with my will should my daughter marry an Englishman, even if he were agood Englishman. Also, just before we left the Colony, I swore again, in herpresence and that of Hernan Pereira, that I would not give her to you, so Icannot break my oath, can I? If I did, the good God would be avenged uponme.”

“Some might think that when I came here the good God was in the way ofbeing avenged upon you for the keeping of that evil oath,” I answeredbitterly, glancing, in my turn, at the graves.

“Yes, they might, Allan,” he replied without anger, for all histroubles had induced a reasonable frame of mind in him—for a while.“Yet, His ways are past finding out, are they not?”

Now my anger broke out, and, rising, I said:

“Do you mean, Mynheer Marais, that notwithstanding the love between us,which you know is true and deep, and notwithstanding that I alone have beenable to drag both of you and the others out of the claws of death, I am neverto marry Marie? Do you mean that she is to be given to a braggart who desertedher in her need?”

“And what if I do mean that, Allan?”

“This: although I am still young, as you know well I am a man who canthink and act for himself. Also, I am your master here—I have cattle andguns and servants. Well, I will take Marie, and if any should try to stop me, Iknow how to protect myself and her.”

This bold speech did not seem to surprise him in the least or to make him thinkthe worse of me. He looked at me for a while, pulling his long beard in ameditative fashion, then answered:

“I dare say that at your age I should have played the same game, and itis true that you have things in your fist. But, much as she may love you, Mariewould not go away with you and leave her father to starve.”

“Then you can come with us as my father-in-law, Mynheer Marais. At anyrate, it is certain that I will not go away and leave her here tostarve.”

Now I think that something which he saw in my eye showed him that I was inearnest. At least, he changed his tone and began to argue, almost to plead.

“Be reasonable, Allan,” he said. “How can you marry Mariewhen there is no prédicant to marry you? Surely, if you love her so much, youwould not pour mud upon her name, even in this wilderness?”

“She might not think it mud,” I replied. “Men and women havebeen married without the help of priests before now, by open declaration andpublic report, for instance, and their children held to be born in wedlock. Iknow that, for I have read of the law of marriage.”

“It may be, Allan, though I hold no marriage good unless the holy wordsare said. But why do you not let me come to the end of my story?”

“Because I thought it was ended, Mynheer Marais.”

“Not so, Allan. I told you that I had sworn that she should never marryyou with my will. But when she is of age, which will be in some sixmonths’ time, my will counts no longer, seeing that then she is a freewoman who can dispose of herself. Also I shall be clear of my oath, for no harmwill come to my soul if that happens which I cannot help. Now are yousatisfied?”

“I don’t know,” I answered doubtfully, for somehow allMarais’s casuistry, which I thought contemptible, did not convince methat he was sincere. “I don’t know,” I repeated. “Muchmay chance in six months.”

“Of course, Allan. For instance, Marie might change her mind and marrysomeone else.”

“Or I might not be there to marry, mynheer. Accidents sometimes happen tomen who are not wanted, especially in wild countries or, for the matter ofthat, to those who are.”

“Allemachte! Allan, you do not mean that I—”

“No, mynheer,” I interrupted; “but there are other people inthe world besides yourself—Hernan Pereira, for example, if he lives.Still, I am not the only one concerned in this matter. There is Marie yonder.Shall I call her?”

He nodded, preferring probably that I should speak to her in his presencerather than alone.

So I called Marie, who was watching our talk somewhat anxiously while she wentabout her tasks. She came at once, a very different Marie to the starving girlof a while before, for although she was still thin and drawn, her youth andbeauty were returning to her fast under the influences of good food andhappiness.

“What is it, Allan?” she asked gently. I told her all, repeatingour conversation and the arguments which had been used on either side word forword, as nearly as I could remember them.

“Is that right?” I asked of Marais when I had finished.

“It is right; you have a good memory,” he answered.

“Very well. And now what have you to say, Marie?”

“I, dear Allan? Why, this: My life belongs to you, who have twice savedthis body of mine from death, as my love and spirit belong to you. Therefore, Ishould have thought it no shame if I had been given to you here and now beforethe people, and afterwards married by a clergyman when we found one. But myfather has sworn an oath which weighs upon his mind, and he has shown you thatwithin six months—a short six months—that oath dies of itself,since, by the law, he can no longer control me. So, Allan, as I would notgrieve him, or perhaps lead him to say and do what is foolish, I think it wouldbe well that we should wait for those six months, if, on his part, he promisesthat he will then do nothing to prevent our marriage.”

“Ja, ja, I promise that then I will do nothing to prevent yourmarriage,” answered Marais eagerly, like one who has suddenly seen someloophole of escape from an impossible position, adding, as though to himself,“But God may do something to prevent it, for all that.”

“We are every one of us in the hand of God,” she replied in hersweet voice. “Allan, you hear, my father has promised?”

“Yes, Marie, he has promised—after a fashion,” I repliedgloomily, for somehow his words struck a chill through me.

“I have promised, Allan, and I will keep my promise to you, as I havekept my oath to God, attempting to work you no harm, and leaving all in Hishands. But you, on your part, must promise also that, till she is of age, youwill not take Marie as a wife—no, not if you were left alone together inthe veld. You must be as people who are affianced to each other, nomore.”

So, having no choice, I promised, though with a heavy heart. Then, I suppose inorder to make this solemn contract public, Marais called the surviving Boers,who were loitering near, and repeated to them the terms of the contract that wehad made.

The men laughed and shrugged their shoulders. But Vrouw Prinsloo, I remember,said outright that she thought the business foolish, since if anyone had aright to Marie, I had, wherever I chose to take her. She added that, as forHernan Pereira, he was a “sneak and a stinkcat,” who had gone offto save his own life, and left them all to die. If shewere Marie,should they meet again, she would greet him with a pailful of dirty water inthe face, as she herself meant to do if she got the chance.

Vrouw Prinsloo, it will be observed, was a very outspoken woman and, I may add,an honest one.

So this contract was settled. I have set it out at length because of itsimportance in our story. But now I wish—ah! how I wish that I hadinsisted upon being married to Marie then and there. If I had done so, I thinkI should have carried my point, for I was the “master of manylegions” in the shape of cattle, food and ammunition, and rather thanrisk a quarrel with me, the other Boers would have forced Marais to give way.But we were young and inexperienced; also it was fated otherwise. Who canquestion the decrees of Fate written immutably, perhaps long before we wereborn, in the everlasting book of human destinies?

Yet, when I had shaken off my first fears and doubts, my lot and Marie’swere very happy, a perfect paradise, indeed, compared with what we had gonethrough during that bitter time of silence and separation. At any rate, we wereacknowledged to be affianced by the little society in which we lived, includingher father, and allowed to be as much alone together as we liked. This meantthat we met at dawn only to separate at nightfall, for, having little or noartificial light, we went to rest with the sun, or shortly after it. Sweet,indeed, was that companionship of perfect trust and love; so sweet, that evenafter all these years I do not care to dwell upon the holy memory of thoseblessed months.

So soon as the surviving Boers began to recover by the help of my stores andmedicines and the meat which I shot in plenty, of course great discussionsarose as to our future plans. First it was suggested that we should trek toLorenzo Marquez, and wait for a ship there to take us down to Natal, for noneof them would hear of returning beggared to the Cape to tell the story of theirfailure and dreadful bereavements. I pointed out, however, that no ship mightcome for a long while, perhaps for one or two years, and that Lorenzo Marquezand its neighborhood seemed to be a poisonous place to live in!

The next idea was that we should stop where we were, one which I ratherwelcomed, as I should have been glad to abide in peace with Marie until the sixmonths of probation had gone by.

However, in the end this was rejected for many good reasons. Thus half a scoreof white people, of whom four were members of a single family, were certainlynot strong enough to form a settlement, especially as the surrounding nativesmight become actively hostile at any moment. Again, the worst fever season wasapproaching, in which we should very possibly all be carried off. Further, wehad no breeding cattle or horses, which would not live in this veld, and onlythe ammunition and goods that I had brought with me.

So it was clear that but one thing remained to be done, namely, to trek back towhat is now the Transvaal territory, or, better still, to Natal, for this routewould enable us to avoid the worst of the mountains. There we might join someother party of the emigrant Boers—for choice, that of Retief, of whosearrival over the Drakensberg I was able to tell them.

That point settled, we made our preparations. To begin with, I had only enoughoxen for two wagons, whereas, even if we abandoned the rest of them, we musttake at least four. Therefore, through my Kaffirs, I opened negotiations withthe surrounding natives, who, when they heard that I was not a Boer and wasprepared to pay for what I bought, soon expressed a willingness to trade.Indeed, very shortly we had quite a market established, to which cattle werebrought that I bargained for and purchased, giving cloth, knives, hoes, and theusual Kaffir goods in payment for the same.

Also, they brought mealies and other corn; and oh! the delight with which thosepoor people, who for months and months had existed upon nothing but flesh-meat,ate of this farinaceous food. Never shall I forget seeing Marie and thesurviving children partake of their first meal of porridge, and washing thesticky stuff down with draughts of fresh, sugared milk, for with the oxen I hadsucceeded in obtaining two good cows. It is enough to say that this change ofdiet soon completely re-established their health, and made Marie more beautifulthan she had ever been before.

Having got the oxen, the next thing was to break them to the yoke; for,although docile creatures enough, they had never even seen a wagon. This proveda long and difficult process, involving many trial trips; moreover, theselected wagons, one of which had belonged to Pereira, must be mended with veryinsufficient tools and without the help of a forge. Indeed, had it not chancedthat Hans, the Hottentot, had worked for a wagon-maker at some indefiniteperiod of his career, I do not think that we could have managed the job at all.

It was while we were busy with these tasks that some news arrived which wasunpleasing enough to everyone, except perhaps to Henri Marais. I was engaged ona certain evening in trying to make sixteen of the Kaffir cattle pull togetherin the yoke, instead of tying themselves into a double knot and over-settingthe wagon, when Hans, who was helping me, suddenly called out:

“Look! baas, here comes one of my brothers,” or, in other words, aHottentot.

Following the line of his hand, I saw a thin and wretched creature, clad onlyin some rags and the remains of a big hat with the crown out, staggeringtowards us between the trees.

“Why!” exclaimed Marie in a startled voice, for, as usual, she wasat my side, “it is Klaus, one of my cousin Hernan’safter-riders.”

“So long as it is not your cousin Hernan himself, I do not care,” Isaid.

Presently the poor, starved “Totty” arrived, and throwing himselfdown, begged for food. A cold shoulder of buck was given to him, which hedevoured, holding it in both hands and tearing off great lumps of flesh withhis teeth like a wild beast.

When at last he was satisfied, Marais, who had come up with the other Boers,asked him whence he came and what was his news of his master.

“Out of the bush,” he answered, “and my news of the baas isthat he is dead. At least, I left him so ill that I suppose he must be dead bynow.”

“Why did you leave him if he was ill?” asked Marais.

“Because he told me to, baas, that I might find help, for we werestarving, having fired our last bullet.”

“Is he alone, then?”

“Yes, yes, except for the wild beasts and the vultures. A lion ate theother man, his servant, a long while ago.”

“How far is he off?” asked Marais again.

“Oh, baas, about five hours’ journey on horseback on a goodroad.” (This would be some thirty-five miles.)

Then he told this story: Pereira with his two Hottentot servants, he mountedand they on foot, had traversed about a hundred miles of rough country insafety, when at night a lion killed and carried off one of the Hottentots, andfrightened away the horse, which was never seen again. Pereira and Klausproceeded on foot till they came to a great river, on the banks of which theymet some Kaffirs, who appear to have been Zulus on outpost duty. These mendemanded their guns and ammunition to take to their king, and, on Pereirarefusing to give them up, said that they would kill them both in the morningafter they had made him instruct them in the use of the guns by beating himwith sticks.

In the night a storm came on, under cover of which Pereira and Klaus escaped.As they dared not go forward for fear lest they should fall into the hands ofthe Zulus, they fled back northwards, running all night, only to find in themorning that they had lost their way in the bush. This had happened nearly amonth before—or, at any rate, Klaus thought so, for no doubt the dayswent very slowly—during which time they had wandered about, trying toshape some sort of course by the sun with the object of returning to the camp.They met no man, black or white, and supported themselves upon game, which theyshot and ate raw or sun-dried, till at length all their powder was done andthey threw away their heavy roers, which they could no longer carry.

It was at this juncture that from the top of a tall tree Klaus saw a certainkoppiea long way off, which he recognised as being within fifteen milesor so of Marais’s camp. By now they were starving, only Klaus was thestronger of the two, for he found and devoured some carrion, a dead hyena Ithink it was. Pereira also tried to eat this horrible food, but, not having thestomach of a Hottentot, the first mouthful of it made him dreadfully ill. Theysought shelter in a cave on the bank of a stream, where grew water-cresses andother herbs, such as wild asparagus. Here it was that Pereira told Klaus to tryto make his way back to the camp, and, should he find anyone alive there, tobring him succour.

So Klaus went, taking the remaining leg of the hyena with him, and on theafternoon of the second day arrived as has been told.

CHAPTER X.
VROUW PRINSLOO SPEAKS HER MIND

Now, when the Hottentot’s story was finished a discussion arose. Maraissaid that someone must go to see whether his nephew still lived, to which theother Boers replied “Ja” in an indifferent voice. Then theVrouw Prinsloo took up her parable.

She remarked, as she had done before, that in her judgment Hernan Pereira was“a stinkcat and a sneak,” who had tried to desert them in theirtrouble, and by the judgment of a just God had got into trouble himself.Personally, she wished that the lion had taken him instead of the worthyHottentot, although it gave her a higher opinion of lions to conclude that ithad not done so, because if it did it thought it would have been poisoned.Well, her view was that it would be just as well to let that traitor lie uponthe bed which he had made. Moreover, doubtless by now he was dead, so what wasthe good of bothering about him?

These sentiments appeared to appeal to the Boers, for they remarked:“Ja, what is the good?”

“Is it right,” asked Marais, “to abandon a comrade inmisfortune, one of our own blood?”

“Mein Gott!” replied Vrouw Prinsloo; “he is no bloodof mine, the evil-odoured Portuguee. But I admit he is of yours, Heer Marais,being your sister’s son, so it is evident that you should be the one togo to seek after him.”

“That seems to be so, Vrouw Prinsloo,” said Marais in hismeditative manner; “yet I must remember that I have Marie to lookafter.”

“Ach! and so had he, too, until he remembered his own skin, and went offwith the only horse and all the powder, leaving her and the rest of us tostarve. Well, you won’t go, and Prinsloo won’t go, nor my boyeither, for I’ll see to that; so Meyer must go.”

“Nein, nein, good vrouw,” answered Meyer, “I havethose children that are left to me to consider.”

“Then,” exclaimed Vrouw Prinsloo triumphantly, “nobody willgo, so let us forget this stinkcat, as he forgot us.”

“Does it seem right,” asked Marais again, “that a Christianman should be left to starve in the wilderness?” and he looked at me.

“Tell me, Heer Marais,” I remarked, answering the look, “whyshould I of all people go to look for the Heer Pereira, one who has not dealttoo well with me?”

“I do not know, Allan. Yet the Book tells us to turn the other cheek andto forget injuries. Still, it is for you to judge, remembering that we mustanswer for all things at the last day, and not for me. I only know that were Iyour age and not burdened with a daughter to watch over, Ishouldgo.”

“Why should you talk to me thus?” I asked with indignation.“Why do you not go yourself, seeing that I am quite ready to look afterMarie?” (Here the Vrouw Prinsloo and the other Boers tittered.)“And why do you not address your remarks to these other heereninstead of to me, seeing that they are the friends and trek-companions of yournephew?”

At this point the male Prinsloos and Meyer found that they had businesselsewhere.

“It is for you to judge, yet remember, Allan, that it is an awful thingto appear before our Maker with the blood of a fellow creature upon our hands.But if you and these other hard-hearted men will not go, I at my age, and weakas I am with all that I have suffered, will go myself.”

“Good,” said Vrouw Prinsloo; “that is the best way out of it.You will soon get sick of the journey, Heer Marais, and we shall see no more ofthe stinkcat.”

Marais rose in a resigned fashion, for he never deigned to argue with VrouwPrinsloo, who was too many for him, and said:

“Farewell, Marie. If I do not return, you will remember my wishes, and mywill may be found between the first leaves of our Holy Book. Get up, Klaus, andguide me to your master,” and he administered a somewhat vicious kick tothe gorged and prostrate Hottentot.

Now Marie, who all this while had stood silent, touched me on the shoulder andsaid:

“Allan, is it well that my father should go alone? Will you not accompanyhim?”

“Of course,” I answered cheerfully; “on such a business thereshould be two, and some Kaffirs also to carry the man, if he stilllives.”

Now for the end of the story. As the Hottentot Klaus was too exhausted to movethat night, it was arranged that we should start at dawn. Accordingly, I rosebefore the light, and was just finishing my breakfast when Marie appeared atthe wagon in which I slept. I got up to greet her, and, there being no one insight, we kissed each other several times.

“Have done, my heart,” she said, pushing me away. “I come toyou from my father, who is sick in his stomach and would see you.”

“Which means that I shall have to go after your cousin alone,” Ireplied with indignant emphasis.

She shook her head, and led me to the little shanty in which she slept. Here bythe growing light, that entered through the doorway for it had no window, Iperceived Marais seated upon a wooden stool with his hands pressed on hismiddle and groaning.

“Good morning, Allan,” he said in a melancholy voice; “I amill, very ill, something that I have eaten perhaps, or a chill in the stomach,such as often precedes fever or dysentery.”

“Perhaps you will get better as you walk, mynheer,” I suggested,for, to tell the truth, I misdoubted me of this chill, and knew that he hadeaten nothing but what was quite wholesome.

“Walk! God alone knows how I can walk with something gripping my insidelike a wagon-maker’s vice. Yet I will try, for it is impossible to leavethat poor Hernan to die alone; and if I do not go to seek him, it seems that noone else will.”

“Why should not some of my Kaffirs go with Klaus?” I asked.

“Allan,” he replied solemnly, “if you were dying in a cavefar from help, would you think well of those who sent raw Kaffirs to succouryou when they might have come themselves, Kaffirs who certainly would let youdie and return with some false story?”

“I don’t know what I should think, Heer Marais. But I do know thatif Iwere in that cave and Pereira were in this camp, neither would hecome himself, nor so much as send a savage to save me.”

“It may be so, Allan. But even if another’s heart is black, shouldyours be black also? Oh! I will come, though it be to my death,” and,rising from the stool with the most dreadful groan, he began to divest himselfof the tattered blanket in which he was wrapped up.

“Oh! Allan, my father must not go; it will kill him,” exclaimedMarie, who took a more serious view of his case than I did.

“Very well, if you think so,” I answered. “And now, as it istime for me to be starting, good-bye.”

“You have a good heart, Allan,” said Marais, sinking back upon hisstool and resuming his blanket, while Marie looked despairingly first at oneand then at the other of us.

Half an hour later I was on the road in the very worst of tempers.

“Mind what you are about,” called Vrouw Prinsloo after me.“It is not lucky to save an enemy, and if I know anything of thatstinkcat, he will bite your finger badly by way of gratitude. Bah! lad, if Iwere you I should just camp for a few days in the bush, and then come back andsay that I could find nothing of Pereira except the dead hyenas that had beenpoisoned by eating him. Good luck to you all the same, Allan; may I find such afriend in need. It seems to me that you were born to help others.”

Beside the Hottentot Klaus, my companions on this unwelcome journey were threeof the Zulu Kaffirs, for Hans I was obliged to leave in charge of my cattle andgoods with the other men. Also, I took a pack-ox, an active beast that I hadbeen training to carry loads and, if necessary a man, although as yet it wasnot very well broken.

All that day we marched over extremely rough country, till at last darknessfound us in a mountainous kloof, where we slept, surrounded by watch-firesbecause of the lions. Next morning at the first light we moved on again, andabout ten o’clock waded through a stream to a little natural cave, whereKlaus said he had left his master. This cave seemed extremely silent, and, as Ihesitated for a moment at its mouth, the thought crossed my mind that ifPereira were still there, he must be dead. Indeed, do what I would to suppressit, with that reflection came a certain feeling of relief and even of pleasure.For well I knew that Pereira alive was more dangerous to me than all the wildmen and beasts in Africa put together. Thrusting back this unworthy sentimentas best I could, I entered the cave alone, for the natives, who dread thedefilement of the touch of a corpse, lingered outside.

It was but a shallow cavity washed out of the overhanging rock by the action ofwater; and as soon as my eyes grew accustomed to its gloom, I saw that at theend of it lay a man. So still did he lie, that now I was almost certain thathis troubles were over. I went up to him and touched his face, which was coldand clammy, and then, quite convinced, turned to leave the place, which, Ithought, if a few rocks were piled in the mouth of it, would make an excellentsepulchre.

Just as I stepped out into the sunlight, and was about to call to the men tocollect the rocks, however, I thought that I heard a very faint groan behindme, which at the moment I set down to imagination. Still, I returned, though Idid not much like the job, knelt down by the figure, and waited with my handover its heart. For five minutes or more I stayed here, and then, quiteconvinced, was about to leave again when, for the second time, I heard thatfaint groan. Pereira was not dead, but only on the extreme brink of death!

I ran to the entrance of the cave, calling the Kaffirs, and together we carriedhim out into the sunlight. He was an awful spectacle, mere bone with yellowskin stretched over it, and covered with filth and clotted blood from somehurt. I had brandy with me, of which I poured a little down his throat, whereonhis heart began to beat feebly. Then we made some soup, and poured that downhis throat with more brandy, and the end of it was he came to life again.

For three days did I doctor that man, and really I believe that if at any timeduring those days I had relaxed my attentions even for a couple of hours, hewould have slipped through my fingers, for at this business Klaus and theKaffirs were no good at all. But I pulled him round, and on the third morninghe came to his senses. For a long while he stared at me, for I had laid him inthe mouth of the cave, where the light was good, although the overhanging rocksprotected him from the sun. Then he said:

“Allemachte! you remind me of someone, young man. I know. It is of thatdamned English boy who beat me at the goose shooting, and made me quarrel withOom[uncle] Retief, the jackanapes that Marie was so fond of. Well,whoever you are, you can’t be he, thank God.”

“You are mistaken, Heer Pereira,” I answered. “I am that samedamned young English jackanapes, Allan Quatermain by name, who beat you atshooting. But if you take my advice, you will thank God for something else,namely, that your life has been saved.”

“Who saved it?” he asked.

“If you want to know, I did; I have been nursing you these threedays.”

“You, Allan Quatermain! Now, that is strange, for certainly I would nothave saved yours,” and he laughed a little, then turned over and went tosleep.

From that time forward his recovery was rapid, and two days later we began ourjourney back to Marais’s camp, the convalescent Pereira being carried ina litter by the four natives. It was a task at which they grumbled a good deal,for the load was heavy over rough ground, and whenever they stumbled or shookhim he cursed at them. So much did he curse, indeed, that at length one of theZulus, a man with a rough temper, said that if it were not for the Inkoos,meaning myself, he would put his assegai through him, and let the vulturescarry him. After this Pereira grew much more polite. When the bearers becameexhausted we set him on the pack-ox, which two of us led, while the other twosupported him on either side. It was in this fashion that at last we arrived atthe camp one evening.

Here the Vrouw Prinsloo was the first to greet us. We found her standing in thegame path which we were following, quite a quarter of a mile from the wagons,with her hands set upon her broad hips and her feet apart. Her attitude was sodefiant, and had about it such an air of premeditation, that I cannot helpthinking she had got wind of our return, perhaps from having seen the smoke ofour last fires, and was watching for us. Also, her greeting was warm.

“Ah! here you come, Hernan Pereira,” she cried, “riding on anox, while better men walk. Well, now, I want a chat with you. How came it thatyou went off in the night, taking the only horse and all the powder?”

“I went to get help for you,” he replied sulkily.

“Did you, did you, indeed! Well, it seems that it was you who wanted thehelp, after all. What do you mean to pay the Heer Allan Quatermain for savingyour life, for I am sure he has done so? You have got no goods left, althoughyou were always boasting about your riches; they are now at the bottom of ariver, so it will have to be in love and service.”

He muttered something about my wanting no payment for a Christian act.

“No, he wants no payment, Hernan Pereira, he is one of the true sort, butyou’ll pay him all the same and in bad coin if you get the chance. Oh! Ihave come out to tell you what I think of you. You are a stinkcat; do you hearthat? A thing that no dog would bite if he could help it! You are a traitoralso. You brought us to this cursed country, where you said your relativeswould give us wealth and land, and then, after famine and fever attacked us,you rode away, and left us to die to save your own dirty skin. And now you comeback here for help, saved by him whom you cheated in the Goose Kloof, by himwhose true love you have tried to steal. Oh, mein Gott!why does theAlmighty leave such fellows alive, while so many that are good and honest andinnocent lie beneath the soil because of stinkcats like you?”

So she went on, striding at the side of the pack-ox, and reviling Pereira in aceaseless stream of language, until at length he thrust his thumbs into hisears and glared at her in speechless wrath.

Thus it was that at last we arrived in the camp, where, having seen us coming,all the Boers were gathered. They are not a particularly humorous people, butthis spectacle of the advance of Pereira seated on the pack-ox, a steed that isbecoming to few riders, with the furious and portly Vrouw Prinsloo striding athis side and shrieking abuse at him, caused them to burst into laughter. ThenPereira’s temper gave out, and he became even more abusive than VrouwPrinsloo.

“Is this the way you receive me, you veld-hogs, you common Boers, who arenot fit to mix with a man of position and learning like myself?” hebegan.

“Then in God’s name why do you mix with us, Hernan Pereira?”asked the saturnine Meyer, thrusting his face forward till the Newgate fringehe wore by way of a beard literally seemed to curl with wrath. “When wewere hungry you did not wish it, for you slunk away and left us, taking all thepowder. But now that we are full again, thanks to the little Englishman, andyou are hungry, you come back. Well, if I had my way I would give you a gun andsix days’ rations, and turn you out to shift for yourself.”

“Don’t be afraid, Jan Meyer,” shouted Pereira from the backof the pack-ox. “As soon as I am strong enough I will leave you in chargeof your English captain here”—and he pointed to me—“andgo to tell our people what sort of folk you are.”

“That is good news,” interrupted Prinsloo, a stolid old Boer, whostood by puffing at his pipe. “Get well, get well as soon as you can,Hernan Pereira.”

It was at this juncture that Marais arrived, accompanied by Marie. Where hecame from I do not know, but I think he must have been keeping in thebackground on purpose to see what kind of a reception Pereira would meet with.

“Silence, brothers,” he said. “Is this the way you greet mynephew, who has returned from the gate of death, when you should be on yourknees thanking God for his deliverance?”

“Then go on your knees and thank Him yourself, Henri Marais,”screamed the irrepressible Vrouw Prinsloo. “I give thanks for the safereturn of Allan here, though it is true they would be warmer if he had leftthis stinkcat behind him. Allemachte! Henri Marais, why do you make so much ofthis Portuguese fellow? Has he bewitched you? Or is it because he is yoursister’s son, or because you want to force Marie there to marry him? Oris it, perhaps, that he knows of something bad in your past life, and you haveto bribe him to keep his mouth shut?”

Now, whether this last unpleasant suggestion was a mere random arrow drawn fromVrouw Prinsloo’s well-stored quiver, or whether the vrouw had got hold ofthe tail-end of some long-buried truth, I do not know. Of course, however, thelatter explanation is possible. Many men have done things in their youth whichthey do not wish to see dug up in their age; and Pereira may have learned afamily secret of the kind from his mother.

At any rate, the effect of the old lady’s words upon Marais was quiteremarkable. Suddenly he went into one of his violent and constitutional rages.He cursed Vrouw Prinsloo. He cursed everybody else, assuring them severally andcollectively that Heaven would come even with them. He said there was a plotagainst him and his nephew, and that I was at the bottom of it, I who had madehis daughter fond of my ugly little face. So furious were his words, whereofthere were many more which I have forgotten, that at length Marie began to cryand ran away. Presently, too, the Boers strolled off, shrugging theirshoulders, one of them saying audibly that Marais had gone quite mad at last,as he always thought he would.

Then Marais followed them, throwing up his arms and still cursing as he went,and, slipping over the tail of the pack-ox, Pereira followed him. So the VrouwPrinsloo and I were left alone, for the coloured men had departed, as theyalways do when white people begin to quarrel.

“There, Allan, my boy,” said the vrouw in triumph, “I havefound the sore place on the mule’s back, and didn’t I make himsqueal and kick, although on most days of the week he seems to be such a goodand quiet mule—at any rate, of late.”

“I dare say you did, vrouw,” I said wrathfully, “but I wishyou would leave Mynheer Marais’s sore places alone, seeing that if thesqueals are for you, the kicks are for me.”

“What does that matter, Allan?” she asked. “He always wasyour enemy, so that it is just as well you should see his heels when you areout of reach of them. My poor boy, I think you will have a bad time of itbetween the stinkcat and the mule, although you have done so much for both ofthem. Well, there is one thing—Marie has a true heart. She will nevermarry any man except yourself, Allan—even if you are not here tomarry,” she added by an afterthought.

The old lady paused a little, staring at the ground. Then she looked up andsaid:

“Allan, my dear” (for she was really fond of me, and called me thusat times), “you didn’t take the advice I gave you, namely, to lookfor Pereira and not to find him. Well, I will give you some more, which youwilltake if you are wise.”

“What is it?” I asked doubtfully; for, although she was uprightenough in her own way, the Vrouw Prinsloo could bring herself to look at thingsin strange lights. Like many other women, she judged of moral codes by theimpulses of her heart, and was quite prepared to stretch them to suitcircumstances or to gain an end which she considered good in itself.

“Just this, lad. Do you make a two days’ march with Marie into thebush. I want a little change, so I will come, too, and marry you there; for Ihave got a prayer-book, and can spell out the service if we go through it onceor twice first.”

Now, the vision of Marie and myself being married by the Vrouw Prinsloo in thevast and untrodden veld, although attractive, was so absurd that I laughed.

“Why do you laugh, Allan? Anyone can marry people if there is no one elsethere; indeed, I believe that they can marry themselves.”

“I dare say,” I answered, not wishing to enter into a legalargument with the vrouw. “But you see, Tante, I solemnly promised herfather that I would not marry her until she was of age, and if I broke my wordI should not be an honest man.”

“An honest man!” she exclaimed with the utmost contempt; “anhonest man! Well, are Marais and Hernan Pereira honest men? Why do you not cutyour stick the same length as theirs, Allan Quatermain? I tell you that yourverdomdehonesty will be your ruin. You remember my words lateron,” and she marched off in high dudgeon.

When she had gone I went to my wagons, where Hans was waiting for me with adetailed and interminable report of everything that had happened in my absence.Glad was I to find that, except for the death of one sickly ox, nothing hadgone wrong. When at length he had ended his long story, I ate some food whichMarie sent over for me ready cooked, for I was too tired to join any of theBoers that night. Just as I had finished my meal and was thinking of turningin, Marie herself appeared within the circle of the camp-fire’s light. Isprang up and ran to her, saying that I had not expected to see her thatevening, and did not like to come to the house.

“No,” she answered, drawing me back into the shadows, “Iunderstand. My father seems very much upset, almost mad, indeed. If the VrouwPrinsloo’s tongue had been a snake’s fang, it could not have stunghim worse.”

“And where is Pereira?” I asked.

“Oh! my cousin sleeps in the other room. He is weak and worn out. All thesame, Allan, he wanted to kiss me. So I told him at once how matters stoodbetween you and me, and that we were to be married in six months.”

“What did he say to that?” I asked.

“He turned to my father and said: ‘Is this true, my uncle?’And my father answered: ‘Yes, that is the best bargain I could make withthe Englishman, seeing that you were not here to make a better.’”

“And what happened then, Marie?”

“Oh, then Hernan thought a while. At last he looked up and said: ‘Iunderstand. Things have gone badly. I acted for the best, who went away to tryto find help for all of you. I failed. Meanwhile the Englishman came and savedyou. Afterwards he saved me also. Uncle, in all this I see God’s hand;had it not been for this Allan none of us would be alive. Yes, God used himthat we might be kept alive. Well, he has promised that he will not marry Mariefor six months. And you know, my uncle, that some of these English are greatfools; they keep their promises even to their own loss. Now, in six months muchmay happen; who knows what will happen?’”

“Were you present when you heard all this, Marie?” I asked.

“No, Allan; I was the other side of the reed partition. But at thosewords I entered and said: ‘My father and Cousin Hernan, please understandthat there is one thing which will never happen.’

“‘What is that?’ asked my cousin.

“‘It will never happen that I shall marry you, Hernan,’ Ireplied.

“‘Who knows, Marie, who knows?’ he said.

“‘I do, Hernan,’ I answered. ‘Even if Allan were to dieto-morrow, I would not marry you, either then or twenty years hence. I am gladthat he has saved your life, but henceforth we are cousins, nothingmore.’

“‘You hear what the girl tells us,’ said my father;‘why do you not give up the business? What is the use of kicking againstthe pricks?’

“‘If one wears stout boots and kicks hard enough, the pricks giveway,’ said Hernan. ‘Six months is a long time, my uncle.’

“‘It may be so, cousin,’ I said; ‘but remember thatneither six months nor six years, nor six thousand years, are long enough tomake me marry any man except Allan Quatermain, who has just rescued you fromdeath. Do you understand?’

“‘Yes,’ he replied, ‘I understand that you will notmarry me. Only then I promise that you shall not marry either Allan Quatermainor any other man.’

“‘God will decide that,’ I answered, and came away, leavinghim and my father together. And now, Allan, tell me all that has happened sincewe parted.”

So I told her everything, including the Vrouw Prinsloo’s advice.

“Of course, Allan, you were quite right,” she remarked when I hadfinished; “but I am not sure that the Vrouw Prinsloo was not also rightin her own fashion. I am afraid of my cousin Hernan, who holds my father in hishand—fast, fast. Still, we have promised, and must keep our word.”

CHAPTER XI.
THE SHOT IN THE KLOOF

I think it was about three weeks after these events that we began our southwardtrek. On the morning subsequent to our arrival at Marais’s camp, Pereiracame up to me when several people were present, and, taking my hand, thanked mein a loud voice for having saved his life. Thenceforward, he declared, I shouldbe dearer to him than a brother, for was there not a blood bond between us?

I answered I did not think any such bond existed; indeed, I was not sure whatit meant. I had done my duty by him, neither less nor more, and there wasnothing further to be said.

It turned out, however, that there was a great deal further to be said, sincePereira desired to borrow money, or, rather, goods, from me. He explained thatowing to the prejudices of the vulgar Boers who remained alive in that camp,and especially of the scandalous-tongued Vrouw Prinsloo, both he and his unclehad come to the conclusion that it would be wise for him to remove himself assoon as possible. Therefore he proposed to trek away alone.

I answered that I should have thought he had done enough solitary travelling inthis veld, seeing how his last expedition had ended. He replied that he had,indeed, but everyone here was so bitter against him that no choice was left.Then he added with an outburst of truth:

“Allemachte! Mynheer Quatermain, do you suppose that it is pleasant forme to see you making love all day to the maid who was my betrothed, and to seeher paying back the love with her eyes? Yes, and doubtless with her lips, too,from all I hear.”

“You could leave her whom you called your betrothed, but who never wasbetrothed to anyone but me with her own will, to starve in the veld, mynheer.Why, then, should you be angry because I picked up that which you threw away,that, too, which was always my own and not yours? Had it not been for me, therewould now be no maid left for us to quarrel over, as, had it not been for me,there would be no man left for me to quarrel with about the maid.”

“Are you God, then, Englishman, that you dispose of the lives of men andwomen at your will? It was He Who saved us, not you.”

“He may have saved you, but it was through me. I carried out the rescueof these poor people whom you deserted, and I nursed you back to life.”

“I did not desert them; I went to get help for them.”

“Taking all the powder and the only horse with you! Well, that is donewith, and now you want to borrow goods to pay for cattle—from me, whomyou hate. You are not proud, Mynheer Pereira, when you have an end to serve,whatever that end may be,” and I looked at him. My instinct warned meagainst this false and treacherous man, who, I felt, was even then plotting inhis heart to bring some evil upon me.

“No, I am not proud. Why should I be, seeing that I mean to repay youtwice over for anything which you may lend me now?”

I reflected a while. Certainly our journey to Natal would be pleasanter ifPereira were not of the company. Also, if he went with us, I was sure thatbefore we came to the end of that trek, one or other of us would leave hisbones on the road. In short, not to put too fine a point on it, I feared lestin this way or in that he would bring me to my death in order that he mightpossess himself of Marie. We were in a wild country, with few witnesses and nolaw courts, where such deeds might be done again and again and the doer nevercalled to account for lack of evidence and judges.

So I made up my mind to fall in with his wishes, and we began to bargain. Theend of it was that I advanced him enough of my remaining goods to buy thecattle he required from the surrounding natives. It was no great quantity,after all, seeing that in this uncivilised place an ox could be purchased for afew strings of beads or a cheap knife. Further, I sold him a few of the beaststhat I had broken, a gun, some ammunition and certain other necessaries, forall of which things he gave me a note of hand written in my pocket-book.Indeed, I did more; for as none of the Boers would help him I assisted Pereirato break in the cattle he bought, and even consented when he asked me to givehim the services of two of the Zulus whom I had hired.

All these preparations took a long while. If I remember right, twelve more dayshad gone by before Pereira finally trekked off from Marais’s camp, bywhich time he was quite well and strong again.

We all assembled to see the start, and Marais offered up a prayer for hisnephew’s safe journey and our happy meeting again in Natal at the laagerof Retief, which was to be our rendezvous, if that leader were still in Natal.No one else joined in the prayer. Only Vrouw Prinsloo audibly added another ofher own. It was to the effect that he might not come back a second time, andthat she might never see his face again, either at Retief’s laager oranywhere else, if it would please the good Lord so to arrange matters.

The Boers tittered; even the Meyer children tittered, for by this time thehatred of the Vrouw Prinsloo for Hernan Pereira was the joke of the place. ButPereira himself pretended not to hear, said good-bye to us all affectionately,adding a special petition for the Vrouw Prinsloo, and off we went.

I say “we went” because with my usual luck, to help him with thehalf-broken oxen, I was commandeered to accompany this man to his firstoutspan, a place with good water about twelve miles from the camp, where heproposed to remain for the night.

Now, as we started about ten o’clock in the morning and the veld wasfairly level, I expected that we should reach this outspan by three or four inthe afternoon, which would give me time to walk back before sunset. In fact,however, so many accidents happened of one sort or another, both to the wagonitself, of which the woodwork had shrunk with long standing in the sun, and tothe cattle, which, being unused to the yoke, tied themselves in a double knotupon every opportunity, that we only arrived there at the approach of night.

The last mile of that trek was through a narrow gorge cut out by water in thenative rock. Here trees grew sparsely, also great ferns, but the bottom of thegorge, along which game were accustomed to travel, was smooth enough forwagons, save for a few fallen boulders, which it was necessary to avoid.

When at length we reached the outspan I asked the Hottentot, Klaus, who wasassisting me to drive the team, where his master was, for I could not see himanywhere. He answered that he had gone back down the kloof to look forsomething that had fallen from the wagon, a bolt I think he said.

“Very good,” I replied. “Then tell him, if we do not meet,that I have returned to the camp.”

As I set out the sun was sinking below the horizon, but this did not trouble meovermuch, as I had a rifle with me, that same light rifle with which I had shotthe geese in the great match. Also I knew that the moon, being full, would beup presently.

The sun sank, and the kloof was plunged in gloom. The place seemed eerie andlonesome, and suddenly I grew afraid. I began to wonder where Pereira was, andwhat he might be doing. I even thought of turning back and finding some wayround, only having explored all this district pretty thoroughly in my variousshooting expeditions from the camp, I knew there was no practicable path acrossthose hills. So I went on with my rifle at full cock, whistling to keep up mycourage, which, of course, in the circumstances was a foolish thing to do. Itoccurred to me at the time that it was foolish, but, in truth, I would not giveway to the dark suspicions which crossed my mind. Doubtless by now Pereira hadpassed me and reached the outspan.

The moon began to shine—that wonderful African moon, which turns night today—throwing a network of long, black shadows of trees and rocks acrossthe game track I was following. Right ahead of me was a particularly dark patchof this shadow, caused by a projecting wall of cliff, and beyond it an equallybright patch of moonlight. Somehow I misdoubted me of that stretch of gloom,for although, of course, I could see nothing there, my quick ear caught thesound of movements.

I halted for a moment. Then, reflecting that these were doubtless caused bysome night-walking creature, which, even should it chance to be dangerous,would flee at the approach of man, I plunged into it boldly. As I emerged atthe other end—the shadow was eighteen or twenty paces long—itoccurred to me that if any enemy were lurking there, I should be an easy targetas I entered the line of clear light. So, almost instinctively, for I do notremember that I reasoned the thing out, after my first two steps forward in thelight I gave a little spring to the left, where there was still shadow,although it was not deep. Well was it for me that I did so, for at that momentI felt something touch my cheek and heard the loud report of a gun immediatelybehind me.

Now, the wisest course would have been for me to run before whoever had firedfound time to reload. But a kind of fury seized me, and run I would not. On thecontrary, I turned with a shout, and charged back into the shadow. Somethingheard me coming, something fled in front of me. In a few seconds we were outinto the moonlight beyond, and, as I expected, I saw that this something was aman—Pereira!

He halted and wheeled round, lifting the stock of his gun, club fashion.

“Thank God! it is you, Heer Allan,” he said; “I thought youwere a tiger.”

“Then it is your last thought, murderer,” I answered, raising myrifle.

“Don’t shoot,” he said. “Would you have my blood uponyou? Why do you want to kill me?”

“Why did you try to kill me?” I answered, covering him.

“I try to kill you! Are you mad? Listen, for your own sake. I sat down onthe bank yonder waiting for the moon, and, being tired, fell asleep. Then Iwoke up with a start, and, thinking from the sounds that a tiger was after me,fired to scare it. Allemachte! man, if I had aimed at you, could I have missedat that distance?”

“You did not quite miss, and had I not stepped to the left, you wouldhave blown my head off. Say your prayers, you dog!”

“Allan Quatermain,” he exclaimed with desperate energy, “youthink I lie, who speak the truth. Kill me if you will, only then remember thatyou will hang for it. We court one woman, that is known, and who will believethis story of yours that I tried to shoot you? Soon the Kaffirs will come tolook for me, probably they are starting already, and will find my body withyour bullet in my heart. Then they will take it back to Marais’s camp,and I say—who will believe your story?”

“Some, I think, murderer,” but as I spoke the words a chill of fearstruck me. It was true, I could prove nothing, having no witnesses, andhenceforward I should be a Cain among the Boers, one who had slain a man forjealousy. His gun was empty; yes, but it might be said that I had fired itafter his death. And as for the graze upon my cheek—why, a twig mighthave caused it. What should I do, then? Drive him before me to the camp, andtell this tale? Even then it would be but my word against his. No, he had me ina forked stick. I must let him go, and trust that Heaven would avenge hiscrime, since I could not. Moreover, by now my first rage was cooling, and toexecute a man thus—

“Hernan Pereira,” I said, “you are a liar and a coward. Youtried to butcher me because Marie loves me and hates you, and you want to forceher to marry you. Yet I cannot shoot you down in cold blood as you deserve. Ileave it to God to punish you, as, soon or late, He will, here or hereafter;you who thought to slaughter me and trust to the hyenas to hide your crime, asthey would have done before morning. Get you gone before I change my mind, andbe swift.”

Without another word he turned and ran swiftly as a buck, leaping from side toside as he ran, to disturb my aim in case I should shoot.

When he was a hundred yards away or more I, too, turned and ran, never feelingsafe till I knew there was a mile of ground between us.

It was past ten o’clock that night when I got back to the camp, where Ifound Hans the Hottentot about to start to look for me, with two of the Zulus,and told him that I had been detained by accidents to the wagon. The VrouwPrinsloo was still up also, waiting to hear of my arrival.

“What was the accident, Allan?” she asked. “It looks asthough there had been a bullet in it,” and she pointed to the bloodysmear upon my cheek.

I nodded.

“Pereira’s?” she asked again.

I nodded a second time.

“Did you kill him?”

“No; I let him go. It would have been said that I murdered him,”and I told her what had happened.

“Ja, Allan,” she remarked when I had finished. “Ithink you were wise, for you could have proved nothing. But oh! for what fate,I wonder, is God Almighty saving up that stinkcat. Well, I will go and tellMarie that you are back safe, for her father won’t let her out of the hutso late; but nothing more unless you wish it.”

“No, Tante; I think nothing more, at any rate at present.”

Here I may state, however, that within a few days Marie and everyone else inthe camp knew the story in detail, except perhaps Marais, to whom no one spokeof his nephew. Evidently Vrouw Prinsloo had found herself unable to keep secretsuch an example of the villainy of her aversion, Pereira. So she told herdaughter, who told the others quickly enough, though I gathered that some ofthem set down what had happened to accident. Bad as they knew Pereira to be,they could not believe that he was guilty of so black a crime.

About a week later the rest of us started from Marais’s camp, a placethat, notwithstanding the sadness of many of its associations, I confess I leftwith some regret. The trek before us, although not so very long, was of anextremely perilous nature. We had to pass through about two hundred miles ofcountry of which all we knew was that its inhabitants were the Amatonga andother savage tribes. Here I should explain that after much discussion we hadabandoned the idea of retracing the route followed by Marais on his ill-fatedjourney towards Delagoa.

Had we taken this it would have involved our crossing the terrible LobomboMountains, over which it was doubtful whether our light cattle could drag thewagons. Moreover, the country beyond the mountains was said to be very bare ofgame and also of Kaffirs, so that food might be lacking. On the other hand, ifwe kept to the east of the mountains the veld through which we must pass wasthickly populated, which meant that in all probability we could buy grain.

What finally decided us to adopt this route, however, was that here in thesewarm, low-lying lands there would be grass for the oxen. Indeed, now, at thebeginning of spring, in this part of Africa it was already pushing. Even if itwere not, the beasts could live upon what herbage remained over from lastsummer and on the leaves of trees, neither of which in this winter veld everbecome quite lifeless, whereas on the sere and fire-swept plains beyond themountains they might find nothing at all. So we determined to risk the savagesand the lions which followed the game into these hot districts, especially asit was not yet the fever season or that of the heavy rains, so that the riverswould be fordable.

I do not propose to set out our adventures in detail, for these would be toolong. Until the great one of which I shall have to tell presently, they were ofan annoying rather than of a serious nature. Travelling as we did, between themountains and the sea, we could not well lose our way, especially as my Zulushad passed through that country; and when their knowledge failed us, wegenerally managed to secure the services of local guides. The roads, however,or rather the game tracks and Kaffir paths which we followed, were terrible,for with the single exception of that of Pereira for part of the distance, nowagon had ever gone over them before. Indeed, a little later in the year theycould not have been travelled at all. Sometimes we stuck in bogs out of whichwe had to dig the wheels, and sometimes in the rocky bottoms of streams, whileonce we were obliged literally to cut our way through a belt of dense bush fromwhich it took us eight days to escape.

Our other chief trouble came from the lions, whereof there were great numbersin this veld. The prevalence of these hungry beasts forced us to watch ourcattle very closely while they grazed, and at night, wherever it was possible,to protect them and ourselves in bomas, or fences of thorns, within whichwe lit fires to scare away wild beasts. Notwithstanding these precautions, welost several of the oxen, and ourselves had some narrow escapes.

Thus, one night, just as Marie was about to enter the wagon where the womenslept, a great lion, desperate with hunger, sprang over the fence. She leaptaway from the beast, and in so doing caught her foot and fell down, whereon thelion came for her. In another few seconds she would have been dead, or carriedoff living.

But as it chanced, Vrouw Prinsloo was close at hand. Seizing a flaming boughfrom the fire, that intrepid woman ran at the lion and, as it opened its hugemouth to roar or bite, thrust the burning end of the bough into its throat. Thelion closed its jaws upon it, then finding the mouthful not to its taste,departed even more quickly than it had come, uttering the most dreadful noises,and leaving Marie quite unhurt. Needless to say, after this I really worshippedthe Vrouw Prinsloo, though she, good soul, thought nothing of the business,which in those days was but a common incident of travel.

I think it was on the day after this lion episode that we came uponPereira’s wagon, or rather its remains. Evidently he had tried to trekalong a steep, rocky bank which overhung a stream, with the result that thewagon had fallen into the stream-bed, then almost dry, and been smashed beyondrepair.

The Tonga natives of the neighbourhood, who had burned most of the woodwork inorder to secure the precious iron bolts and fittings, informed us that thewhite man and his servants who were with the wagon had gone forward on footsome ten days before, driving their cattle with them. Whether this story weretrue or not we had no means of finding out. It was quite possible that Pereiraand his companions had been murdered, though as we found the Tongas very quietfolk if well treated and given the usual complimentary presents for wayleaves,this did not seem probable. Indeed, a week later our doubts upon this pointwere cleared up thus.

We had reached a big kraal called Fokoti, on the Umkusi River, which appearedto be almost deserted. We asked an old woman whom we met where its people hadgone. She answered that they had fled towards the borders of Swaziland, fearingan attack from the Zulus, whose territories began beyond this Umkusi River. Itseemed that a few days before a Zulu impi or regiment had appeared upon thebanks of the river, and although there was no war at the time between the Zulusand the Tongas, the latter had thought it wise to put themselves out of reachof those terrible spears.

On hearing this news we debated whether it would not be well for us to followtheir example and, trekking westwards, try to find a pass in the mountains.Upon this point there was a division of opinion among us. Marais, who was afatalist, wished to go on, saying that the good Lord would protect us, as Hehad done in the past.

“Allemachte!” answered the Vrouw Prinsloo. “Did He protectall those who lie dead at Marais’s camp, whither your folly led us,mynheer? The good Lord expects us to look after our own skins, and I know thatthese Zulus are of the same blood as Umsilikazi’s Kaffirs, who havekilled so many of our people. Let us try the mountains, say I.”

Of course her husband and son agreed with her, for to them the vrouw’sword was law; but Marais, being, as usual, obstinate, would not give way. Allthat afternoon they wrangled, while I held my tongue, declaring that I waswilling to abide by the decision of the majority. In the end, as I foresaw theywould, they appealed to me to act as umpire between them.

“Friends,” I answered, “if you had asked me my opinionbefore, I should have voted for trying the mountains, beyond which, perhaps, wemight find some Boers. I do not like this story of the Zulu impi. I think thatsomeone has told them of our coming, and that it is us they mean to attack andnot the Tongas, with whom they are at peace. My men say that it is not usualfor impis to visit this part of the country.”

“Who could have told them?” asked Marais.

“I don’t know, mynheer. Perhaps the natives have sent on word, orperhaps—Hernan Pereira.”

“I knew that you would suspect my nephew, Allan,” he exclaimedangrily.

“I suspect no one; I only weigh what is probable. However, it is too latefor us to move to-night either south or westwards, so I think I will sleep overthe business and see what I can find out from my Zulus.”

That night, or rather the following morning, the question was settled for us,for when I woke up at dawn, it was to see the faint light glimmering on what Iknew must be spears. We were surrounded by a great company of Zulus, as Idiscovered afterwards, over two hundred strong. Thinking that after theirfashion they were preparing to attack us at dawn, I called the news to theothers, whereon Marais rushed forward, just as he had left his bed, cocking hisroer as he came.

“For the love of God, do not shoot!” I said. “How can weresist so many? Soft words are our only chance.”

Still he attempted to fire, and would have done so had I not thrown myself uponhim and literally torn the gun from his hand. By this time the Vrouw Prinsloohad come up, a very weird spectacle, I recollect, in what she called her“sleep-garments,” that included a night-cap made of a worn jackalskin and a kind of otter-pelt stomacher.

“Accursed fool!” she said to Marais, “would you cause all ourthroats to be cut? Go forward, you, Allan, and talk to thoseswartzels” (that is, black creatures), “gently, as you wouldto a savage dog. You have a tongue steeped in oil, and they may listen toyou.”

“Yes,” I answered; “that seems the best thing to do. If Ishould not return, give my love to Marie.”

So I beckoned to the headman of my Zulus whom I had hired at Delagoa, toaccompany me, and marched forward boldly quite unarmed. We were encamped upon arise of ground a quarter of a mile from the river, and the impi, or those ofthem whom we could see, were at the foot of this rise about a hundred and sixtyyards away. The light was growing now, and when I was within fifty paces ofthem they saw me. At some word of command a number of men rushed toward me,their fighting shields held over their bodies and their spears up.

“We are dead!” exclaimed my Kaffir in a resigned voice. I sharedhis opinion, but thought I might as well die standing as running away.

Now I should explain that though as yet I had never mixed with these Zulus, Icould talk several native dialects kindred to that which they used very wellindeed. Moreover, ever since I had hired men of their race at Delagoa, I hadspent all my spare time in conversing with them and acquiring a knowledge oftheir language, history and customs. So by this time I knew their tonguefairly, although occasionally I may have used terms which were unfamiliar tothem.

Thus it came about that I was able to shout to them, asking what was theirbusiness with us. Hearing themselves addressed in words which they understood,the men halted, and seeing that I was unarmed, three of them approached me.

“We come to take you prisoners, white people, or to kill you if youresist,” said their captain.

“By whose order?” I asked.

“By the order of Dingaan our king.”

“Is it so? And who told Dingaan that we were here?”

“The Boer who came in front of you.”

“Is it so?” I said again. “And now what do you need ofus?”

“That you should accompany us to the kraal of Dingaan.”

“I understand. We are quite willing, since it lies upon our road. Butthen why do you come against us, who are peaceful travellers, with your spearslifted?”

“For this reason. The Boer told us that there is among you a ‘childof George’” (an Englishman), “a terrible man who would killus unless we killed or bound him first. Show us this child of George that wemay make him fast, or slay him, and we will not hurt the rest of you.”

“I am the child of George,” I answered, “and if you think itnecessary to make me fast, do so.”

Now the Zulus burst out laughing.

“You! Why, you are but a boy who weighs no more than a fat girl,”exclaimed their captain, a great, bony fellow who was named Kambula.

“That may be so,” I answered; “but sometimes the wisdom oftheir fathers dwells in the young. I am the son of George who saved these Boersfrom death far away, and I am taking them back to their own people. We desireto see Dingaan, your king. Be pleased therefore to lead us to him as he hascommanded you to do. If you do not believe what I tell you, ask this man who iswith me, and his companions who are of your own race. They will tell youeverything.”

Then the captain Kambula called my servant apart and talked with him for a longwhile.

When the interview was finished he advanced to me and said:

“Now I have heard all about you. I have heard that although young you arevery clever, so clever that you do not sleep, but watch by night as well as byday. Therefore, that I, Kambula, name you Macumazahn, Watcher-by-night, and bythat name you shall henceforth be known among us. Now, Macumazahn, son ofGeorge, bring out these Boers whom you are guiding that I may lead them intheir moving huts to the Great Place, Umgungundhlovu, where dwells Dingaan theking. See, we lay down our spears and will come to meet them unarmed, trustingto you to protect us, O Macumazahn, Son of George,” and he cast hisassegai to the ground.

“Come,” I said, and led them to the wagons.

CHAPTER XII.
DINGAAN’S BET

As I advanced to the wagons accompanied by Kambula and his two companions, Isaw that Marais, in a state of great excitement, was engaged in haranguing thetwo Prinsloo men and Meyer, while the Vrouw Prinsloo and Marie appeared to beattempting to calm him.

“They are unarmed,” I heard him shout. “Let us seize theblack devils and hold them as hostages.”

Thereon, led by Marais, the three Boer men came towards us doubtfully, theirguns in their hands.

“Be careful what you are doing,” I called to them. “These areenvoys,” and they hung back a little while Marais went on with hisharanguing.

The Zulus looked at them and at me, then Kambula said:

“Are you leading us into a trap, Son of George?”

“Not so,” I answered; “but the Boers are afraid of you andthink to take you prisoners.”

“Tell them,” said Kambula quietly, “that if they kill us orlay a hand on us, as no doubt they can do, very soon every one of them will bedead and their women with them.”

I repeated this ultimatum energetically enough, but Marais shouted:

“The Englishman is betraying us to the Zulus! Do not trust him; seizethem as I tell you.”

What would have happened I am sure I do not know; but just then the VrouwPrinsloo came up and caught her husband by the arm, exclaiming:

“You shall have no part in this fool’s business. If Marais wishesto seize the Zulus, let him do so himself. Are you mad or drunk that you shouldthink that Allan would wish to betray Marie to the Kaffirs, to say nothing ofthe rest of us?” and she began to wave an extremely dirty vatdoek,or dishcloth, which she always carried about with her and used for everypurpose, towards Kambula as a sign of peace.

Now the Boers gave way, and Marais, seeing himself in a minority, glowered atme in silence.

“Ask these white people, O Macumazahn,” said Kambula, “who istheir captain, for to the captain I would speak.”

I translated the question, and Marais answered:

“I am.”

“No,” broke in Vrouw Prinsloo, “Iam. Tell them,Allan, that these men are all fools and have given the rule to me, awoman.”

So I told them. Evidently this information surprised them a little, for theydiscussed together. Then Kambula said:

“So be it. We have heard that the people of George are now ruled by awoman, and as you, Macumazahn, are one of that people, doubtless it is the sameamong your party.”

Here I may add that thenceforward the Zulus always accepted the Vrouw Prinslooas the Inkosikaasor chieftainess of our little band, and with thesingle exception of myself, whom they looked upon as her “mouth,”or induna, would only transact business with or give directions to her.The other Boers they ignored completely.

This point of etiquette settled, Kambula bade me repeat what he had alreadytold me, that we were prisoners whom he was instructed by Dingaan to convey tohis Great Place, and that if we made no attempt to escape we should not be hurtupon the journey.

I did so, whereon the vrouw asked as I had done, who had informed Dingaan thatwe were coming.

I repeated to her word for word what the Zulus had told me, that it wasPereira, whose object seems to have been to bring about my death or capture.

Then the vrouw exploded.

“Do you hear that, Henri Marais?” she screamed. “It is yourstinkcat of a nephew again. Oh! I thought I smelt him! Your nephew has betrayedus to these Zulus that he may bring Allan to his death. Ask them, Allan, whatthis Dingaan has done with the stinkcat.”

So I asked, and was informed they believed that the king had let Pereira go onto his own people in payment of the information that he had given him.

“My God!” said the vrouw, “I hoped that he had knocked him onthe head. Well, what is to be done now?”

“I don’t know,” I answered. Then an idea occurred to me, andI said to Kambula:

“It seems to be me, the son of George, that your king wants. Take me, andlet these people go on their road.”

The three Zulus began to discuss this point, withdrawing themselves a littleway so that I could not overhear them. But when the Boers understood the offerthat I had made, Marie, who until now had been silent, grew more angry thanever I had seen her before.

“It shall not be!” she said, stamping her foot. “Father, Ihave been obedient to you for long, but if you consent to this I will beobedient no more. Allan saved my cousin Hernan’s life, as he saved allour lives. In payment for that good deed Hernan tried to murder him in thekloof—oh! be quiet, Allan; I know all the story. Now he has betrayed himto the Zulus, telling them that he is a terrible and dangerous man who must bekilled. Well, if he is to be killed, I will be killed with him, and if theZulus take him and let us free, I go with him. Now make up your mind.”

Marais tugged at his beard, staring first at his daughter and then at me. Whathe would have answered I do not know, for at that moment Kambula steppedforward and gave his decision.

It was to the effect that although it was the Son of George whom Dingaanwanted, his orders were that all with him were to be taken also. Those orderscould not be disobeyed. The king would settle the matter as to whether some ofus were to be killed and some let free, or if all were to be killed or letfree, when we reached his House. Therefore he commanded that “we shouldtie the oxen to the moving huts and cross the river at once.”

This was the end of that scene. Having no choice we inspanned and continued ourjourney, escorted by the company of two hundred savages. I am bound to say thatduring the four or five days that it took us to reach Dingaan’s kraalthey behaved very well to us. With Kambula and his officers, all of them goodfellows in their way, I had many conversations, and from them learned much asto the state and customs of the Zulus. Also the peoples of the districtsthrough which we passed flocked round us at every outspan, for most of them hadnever seen a white man before, and in return for a few beads brought us all thefood that we required. Indeed, the beads, or their equivalents, were nothingbut a present, since, by the king’s command, they must satisfy our wants.This they did very thoroughly. For instance, when on the last day’s trek,some of our oxen gave out, numbers of Zulus were inspanned in place of them,and by their help the wagons were dragged to the great kraal, Umgungundhlovu.

Here an outspan place was assigned to us near to the house, or rather the huts,of a certain missionary of the name of Owen, who with great courage hadventured into this country. We were received with the utmost kindness by himand his wife and household, and it is impossible for me to say what pleasure Ifound, after all my journeyings, in meeting an educated man of my own race.

Near to our camp was a stone-covered koppie, where, on the morning after ourarrival, I saw six or eight men executed in a way that I will not describe.Their crime, according to Mr. Owen, was that they had bewitched some of theking’s oxen.

While I was recovering from this dreadful spectacle, which, fortunately, Mariedid not witness, the captain Kambula arrived, saying that Dingaan wished to seeme. So taking with me the Hottentot Hans and two of the Zulus whom I had hiredat Delagoa Bay—for the royal orders were that none of the other whitepeople were to come, I was led through the fence of the vast town in whichstood two thousand huts—the “multitude of houses” as theZulus called it—and across a vast open space in the middle.

On the farther side of this space, where, before long, I was fated to witness avery tragic scene, I entered a kind of labyrinth. This was calledsiklohlo, and had high fences with numerous turns, so that it wasimpossible to see where one was going or to find the way in or out. Ultimately,however, I reached a great hut named intunkulu, a word that means the“house of houses,” or the abode of the king, in front of which Isaw a fat man seated on a stool, naked except for the moochaabout hismiddle and necklaces and armlets of blue beads. Two warriors held their broadshields over his head to protect him from the sun. Otherwise he was alone,although I felt sure that the numerous passages around him were filled withguards, for I could hear them moving.

On entering this place Kambula and his companions flung themselves upon theirfaces and began to sing praises of which the king took no notice. Presently helooked up, and appearing to observe me for the first time asked:

“Who is that white boy?”

Then Kambula rose and said:

“O king, this is the Son of George, whom you commanded me to capture. Ihave taken him and the Amaboona” (that is, the Boers), “hiscompanions, and brought them all to you, O king.”

“I remember,” said Dingaan. “The big Boer who was here, andwhom Tambusa”—he was one of Dingaan’scaptains—“let go against my will, said that he was a terrible manwho should be killed before he worked great harm to my people. Why did you notkill him, Kambula, although it is true he does not look very terrible?”

“Because the king’s word was that I should bring him to the kingliving,” answered Kambula. Then he added cheerfully: “Still, if theking wishes it, I can kill him at once.”

“I don’t know,” said Dingaan doubtfully; “perhaps hecan mend guns.” Next, after reflecting a while, he bade a shield-holderto fetch someone, I could not hear whom.

“Doubtless,” thought I to myself, “it is theexecutioner,” and at that thought a kind of mad rage seized me. Whyshould my life be ended thus in youth to satisfy the whim of a savage? And ifit must be so, why should I go alone?

In the inside pocket of my ragged coat I had a small loaded pistol with twobarrels. One of those barrels would kill Dingaan—at five paces I couldnot miss that bulk—and the other would blow out my brains, for I was notminded to have my neck twisted or to be beaten to death with sticks. Well, ifit was to be done, I had better do it at once. Already my hand was creepingtowards the pocket when a new idea, or rather two ideas, struck me.

The first was that if I shot Dingaan the Zulus would probably massacre Marieand the others—Marie, whose sweet face I should never see again. Thesecond was that while there is life there is hope. Perhaps, after all, he hadnot sent for an executioner, but for someone else. I would wait. A few minutesmore of existence were worth the having.

The shield-bearer returned, emerging from one of the narrow, reed-hedgedpassages, and after him came no executioner, but a young white man, who, as Iknew from the look of him, was English. He saluted the king by taking off hishat, which I remember was stuck round with black ostrich feathers, then staredat me.

“O Tho-maas” (that is how he pronounced “Thomas”), saidDingaan, “tell me if this boy is one of your brothers, or is he aBoer?”

“The king wants to know if you are Dutch or British,” said thewhite lad, speaking in English.

“As British as you are,” I answered. “I was born in England,and come from the Cape.”

“That may be lucky for you,” he said, “because the oldwitch-doctor, Zikali, has told him that he must not kill any English. What isyour name? Mine is Thomas Halstead. I am interpreter here.”

“Allan Quatermain. Tell Zikali, whoever he may be, that if he sticks tohis advice I will give him a good present.”

“What are you talking about?” asked Dingaan suspiciously.

“He says he is English, no Boer, O king; that he was born across theBlack Water, and that he comes from the country out of which all the Boers havetrekked.”

At this intelligence Dingaan pricked up his ears.

“Then he can tell me about these Boers,” he said, “and whatthey are after, or could if he were able to speak my tongue. I do not trust youto interpret, you Tho-maas, whom I know to be a liar,” and he glowered atHalstead.

“I can speak your tongue, though not very well, O king,” Iinterrupted, “and I can tell you all about the Boers, for I have livedamong them.”

“Ow!” said Dingaan, intensely interested. “But perhapsyou are also a liar. Or are you a praying man, like that fool yonder, who isnamed Oweena?”—he meant the missionary Mr. Owen—“whom Ispare because it is not lucky to kill one who is mad, although he tries tofrighten my soldiers with tales of a fire into which they will go after theyare dead. As though it matters what happens to them after they are dead!”he added reflectively, taking a pinch of snuff.

“I am no liar,” I answered. “What have I to lie about?”

“You would lie to save your own life, for all white men are cowards; notlike the Zulus, who love to die for their king. But how are you named?”

“Your people call me Macumazahn.”

“Well, Macumazahn, if you are no liar, tell me, is it true that theseBoers rebelled against their king who was named George, and fled from him asthe traitor Umsilikazi did from me?”

“Yes,” I answered, “that is true.”

“Now I am sure that you are a liar,” said Dingaan triumphantly.“You say that you are English and therefore serve your king, or theInkosikaas” (that is the Great Lady), “who they tell me nowsits in his place. How does it come about then that you are travelling with aparty of these very Amaboonawho must be your enemies, since they arethe enemies of your king, or of her who follows after him?”

Now I knew that I was in a tight place, for on this matter of loyalty, Zulu,and indeed all native ideas, are very primitive. If I said that I had sympathywith the Boers, Dingaan would set me down as a traitor. If I said that I hatedthe Boers, then still I should be a traitor because I associated with them, anda traitor in his eyes would be one to be killed. I do not like to talkreligion, and anyone who has read what I have written in various works willadmit that I have done so rarely, if ever. Yet at that moment I put up a prayerfor guidance, feeling that my young life hung upon the answer, and it came tome—whence I do not know. The essence of that guidance was that I shouldtell the simple truth to this fat savage. So I said to him:

“The answer is this, O king. Among those Boers is a maiden whom I loveand who betrothed herself to me since we were ‘so high.’ Her fathertook her north. But she sent a message to me saying that her people died offever and she starved. So I went up in a ship to save her, and have saved her,and those who remained alive of her people with her.”

“Ow!” said Dingaan; “I understand that reason. It is agood reason. However many wives he may have, there is no folly that a man willnot commit for the sake of some particular girl who is not yet his wife. I havedone as much myself, especially for one who was called Nada the Lily, of whom acertain Umslopogaas robbed me, one of my own blood of whom I am muchafraid.”^[2]

[2]Seethe Author’s book named “Nada the Lily.”

For a while he brooded heavily, then went on:

“Your reason is good, Macumazahn, and I accept it. More, I promise youthis. Perhaps I shall kill these Boers, or perhaps I shall not kill them. Butif I make up my mind to kill them, this girl of yours shall be spared. Pointher out to Kambula here—not to Tho-maas, for he is a liar and would tellme the wrong one—and she shall be spared.”

“I thank you, O king,” I said; “but what is the use of thatif I am to be killed?”

“I did not say that you were to be killed, Macumazahn, though perhaps Ishall kill you, or perhaps I shall not kill you. It depends upon whether I findyou to be a liar, or not a liar. Now the Boer whom Tambusa let go against mywish said that you are a mighty magician as well as a very dangerous man, onewho can shoot birds flying on the wing with a bullet, which is impossible. Canyou do so?”

“Sometimes,” I answered.

“Very good, Macumazahn. Now we will see if you are a wizard or a liar. Iwill make a bet with you. Yonder by your camp is a hill called ‘HlomaAmabutu,’ a hill of stones where evildoers are slain. This afternoon somewicked ones die there, and when they are dead the vultures will come to devourthem. Now this is my bet with you. When those vultures come you shall shoot atthem, and if you kill three out of the first five on the wing—not on theground, Macumazahn—then I will spare these Boers. But if you miss them,then I shall know that you are a liar and no wizard, and I will kill them everyone on the hill Hloma Amabutu. I will spare none of them except the girl, whomperhaps I will take as a wife. As to you, I will not yet say what I will dowith you.”

Now my first impulse was to refuse this monstrous wager, which meant that thelives of a number of people were to be set against my skill in shooting. Butyoung Thomas Halstead, guessing the words that were about to break from me,said in English:

“Accept unless you are a fool. If you don’t he will cut the throatsof every one of them and stick your girl into the emposeni” (thatis harem), “while you will become a prisoner as I am.”

These were words that I could not resent or neglect, so although despair was inmy heart, I said coolly:

“Be it so, O king. I take your wager. If I kill three vultures out offive as they hover over the hill, then I have your promise that all those whotravel with me shall be allowed to go hence in safety.”

“Yes, yes, Macumazahn; but if you fail to kill them, remember that thenext vultures you shoot at shall be those that come to feed upon their flesh,for then I shall know that you are no magician, but a common liar. And nowbegone, Tho-maas. I will not have you spying on me; and you, Macumazahn, comehither. Although you talk my tongue so badly, I would speak with you about theBoers.”

So Halstead went, shrugging his shoulders and muttering as he passed me:

“I hope you really canshoot.”

After he had left I sat alone for a full hour with Dingaan while hecross-examined me about the Dutch, their movements and their aims in travellingto the confines of his country.

I answered his questions as best I could, trying to make out a good case forthem.

At length, when he grew weary of talking, he clapped his hands, whereon anumber of fine girls appeared, two of whom carried pots of beer, from which heoffered me drink.

I replied that I would have none, since beer made the hand shake and that onthe steadiness of my hand that afternoon depended the lives of many. To do himjustice he quite understood the point. Indeed, he ordered me to be conductedback to the camp at once that I might rest, and even sent one of his ownattendants with me to hold a shield over my head as I walked so that I shouldbe protected from the sun.

“Hamba gachle” (that is “Go softly”), said thewicked old tyrant to me as I departed under the guidance of Kambula.“This afternoon, one hour before sundown, I will meet you at HlomaAmabutu, and there shall be settled the fate of these Amaboona, yourcompanions.”

When I reached the camp it was to find all the Boers clustered together waitingfor me, and with them the Reverend Mr. Owen and his people, including a Welshservant of his, a woman of middle age who, I remember, was called Jane.

“Well,” said the Vrouw Prinsloo, “and what is your news,young man?”

“My news, aunt,” I answered, “is that one hour before sundownto-day I have to shoot vultures on the wing against the lives of all of you.This you owe to that false-hearted hound Hernan Pereira, who told Dingaan thatI am a magician. Now Dingaan would prove it. He thinks that only by magic can aman shoot soaring vultures with a bullet, and as he is determined to kill youall, except perhaps Marie, in the form of a bet he has set me a task which hebelieves to be impossible. If I fail, the bet is lost, and so are your lives.If I succeed I think your lives will be spared, since Kambula there tells methat the king always makes it a point of honour to pay his bets. Now you havethe truth, and I hope you like it,” and I laughed bitterly.

When I had finished a perfect storm of execration broke from the Boers. Ifcurses could have killed Pereira, surely he would have died upon the spot,wherever he might be. Only two of them were silent, Marie, who turned verypale, poor girl, and her father. Presently one of them, I think it was Meyer,rounded on him viciously and asked him what he thought now of that devil, hisnephew.

“I think there must be some mistake,” answered Marais quietly,“since Hernan cannot have wished that we should all be put todeath.”

“No,” shouted Meyer; “but he wished that Allan Quatermainshould, which is just as bad; and now it has come about that once more ourlives depend upon this English boy.”

“At any rate,” replied Marais, looking at me oddly, “it seemsthat he is not to be killed, whether he shoots the vultures or missesthem.”

“That remains to be proved, mynheer,” I answered hotly, for theinsinuation stung me. “But please understand that if all of you, mycompanions, are to be slaughtered, and Marie is to be put among this blackbrute’s women, as he threatens, I have no wish to live on.”

“My God! does he threaten that?” said Marais. “Surely youmust have misunderstood him, Allan.”

“Do you think that I should lie to you on such a matter—” Ibegan.

But, before I could proceed, the Vrouw Prinsloo thrust herself between us,crying:

“Be silent, you, Marais, and you too, Allan. Is this a time that youshould quarrel and upset yourself, Allan, so that when the trial comes you willshoot your worst and not your best? And is this a time, Henri Marais, that youshould throw insults at one on whom all our lives hang, instead of praying forGod’s vengeance upon your accursed nephew? Come, Allan, and take food. Ihave fried the liver of that heifer which the king sent us; it is ready andvery good. After you have eaten it you must lie down and sleep a while.”

Now among the household of the Reverend Mr. Owen was an English boy calledWilliam Wood, who was not more than twelve or fourteen years of age. This ladknew both Dutch and Zulu, and acted as interpreter to the Owen family duringthe absence on a journey of a certain Mr. Hulley, who really filled thatoffice. While this conversation was taking place in Dutch he was engaged inrendering every word of it into English for the benefit of the clergyman andhis family. When Mr. Owen understood the full terror of the situation, he brokein saying:

“This is not a time to eat or to sleep, but a time to pray that the heartof the savage Dingaan may be turned. Come, let us pray!”

“Yes,” rejoined Vrouw Prinsloo, when William Wood had translated.“Do you pray, Predicant, and all the rest of you who have nothingelse to do, and while you are about it pray also that the bullets of AllanQuatermain may not be turned. As for me and Allan, we have other things to seeto, so you must pray a little harder to cover us as well as yourselves. Now youcome along, nephew Allan, or that liver may be overdone and give youindigestion, which is worse for shooting than even bad temper. No, not anotherword. If you try to speak any more, Henri Marais, I will box your ears,”and she lifted a hand like a leg of mutton, then, as Marais retreated beforeher, seized me by the collar as though I were a naughty boy and led me away tothe wagons.

CHAPTER XIII.
THE REHEARSAL

By the women’s wagon we found the liver cooked in its frying-pan, as thevrouw had said. Indeed, it was just done to a turn. Selecting a particularlymassive slice, she proceeded to take it from the pan with her fingers in orderto set it upon a piece of tin, from which she had first removed the moreevident traces of the morning meal with her constant companion, the ancient andunwashen vatdoek. As it chanced the effort was not very successful,since the boiling liver fat burnt the vrouw’s fingers, causing her todrop it on the grass, and, I am sorry to add, to swear as well. Not to bedefeated, however, having first sucked her fingers to ease their smart, sheseized the sizzling liver with the vatdoekand deposited it upon thedirty tin.

“There, nephew,” she said triumphantly, “there are more waysof killing a cat than by drowning. What a fool I was not to think of thevatdoekat first. Allemachte! how the flesh has burnt me; I don’tsuppose that being killed would hurt much more. Also, if the worst comes to theworst, it will soon be over. Think of it, Allan, by to-night I may be an angel,dressed in a long white nightgown like those my mother gave me when I wasmarried, which I cut up for baby-clothes because I found them chilly wear,having always been accustomed to sleep in my vest and petticoat. Yes, and Ishall have wings, too, like those on a white gander, only bigger if they are tocarry myweight.”

“And a crown of Glory,” I suggested.

“Yes, of course, a crown of Glory—very large, since I shall be amartyr; but I hope one will only have to wear it on Sundays, as I never couldbear anything heavy on my hair; moreover, it would remind me of aKaffir’s head-ring done in gold, and I shall have had enough of Kaffirs.Then there will be the harp,” she went on as her imagination took fire atthe prospect of these celestial delights. “Have you ever seen a harp,Allan? I haven’t except that which King David carries in the picture inthe Book, which looks like a broken rimpichair frame set up edgeways.As for playing the thing, they will have to teach me, that’s all, whichwill be a difficult business, seeing that I would sooner listen to cats on theroof than to music, and as for making it—”

So she chattered on, as I believe with the object of diverting and amusing me,for she was a shrewd old soul who knew how important it was that I should bekept in an equable frame of mind at this crisis in our fates.

Meanwhile I was doing my best with the lump of liver, that tasted painfully ofvatdoekand was gritty with sand. Indeed, when the vrouw’s backwas turned I managed to throw the most of it to Hans behind me, who swallowedit at a gulp as a dog does, since he did not wish to be caught chewing it.

“God in heaven! how fast you eat, nephew,” said the vrouw, catchingsight of my empty tin. Then, eyeing the voracious Hottentot suspiciously, sheadded: “That yellow dog of yours hasn’t stolen it, has he? If so,I’ll teach him.”

“No, no, vrouw,” answered Hans in alarm. “No meat has passedmy lips this day, except what I licked out of the pan after breakfast.”

“Then, Allan, you will certainly have indigestion, which is just what Iwanted to avoid. Have I not often told you that you should chew your bit twentytimes before you swallow, which I would do myself if I had any back teeth left?Here, drink this milk; it is only a little sour and will settle yourstomach,” and she produced a black bottle and subjected it to theattentions of the vatdoek, growing quite angry when I declined it andsent for water.

Next she insisted upon my getting into her own bed in the wagon to sleep,forbidding me to smoke, which she said made the hand shake. Thither, then, Iwent, after a brief conversation with Hans, whom I directed to clean my riflethoroughly. For I wished to be alone and knew that I had little chance ofsolitude outside of that somewhat fusty couch.

To tell the truth, although I shut my eyes to deceive the vrouw, who looked inoccasionally to see how I was getting on, no sleep came to me thatafternoon—at least, not for a long while. How could I sleep in that hotplace when my heart was torn with doubt and terror? Think of it, reader, thinkof it! An hour or two, and on my skill would hang the lives of eight whitepeople—men, women, and children, and the safety or the utter shame of thewoman whom I loved and who loved me. No, she should be spared the worst. Iwould give her my pistol, and if there were need she would know what to do.

The fearful responsibility was more than I could bear. I fell into a veritableagony; I trembled and even wept a little. Then I thought of my father and whathe would do in such circumstances, and began to pray as I had never prayedbefore.

I implored the Power above me to give me strength and wisdom; not to let mefail in this hour of trouble, and thereby bring these poor people to a bloodydeath. I prayed till the perspiration streamed down my face; then suddenly Ifell into sleep or swoon. I don’t know how long I lay thus, but I thinkit must have been the best part of an hour. At last I woke up all in aninstant, and as I woke I distinctly heard a tiny voice, unlike any other voicein the whole world, speak inside my head, or so it seemed to me, saying:

“Go to the hill Hloma Amabutu, and watch how the vultures fly. Do whatcomes into your mind, and even if you seem to fail, fear nothing.”

I sat up on the old vrouw’s bed, and felt that some mysterious change hadcome over me. I was no longer the same man. My doubts and terrors had gone; myhand was like a rock; my heart was light. I knew that I should kill those threevultures. Of course the story seems absurd, and easy to be explained by thestate of my nerves under the strain which was being put upon them, and foraught I know that may be its true meaning. Yet I am not ashamed to confess thatI have always held, and still hold, otherwise. I believe that in my extremitysome kindly Power did speak to me in answer to my earnest prayers and to thoseof others, giving me guidance and, what I needed still more, judgment andcalmness. At any rate, that this was my conviction at the moment may be seenfrom the fact that I hastened to obey the teachings of that tiny, unnaturalvoice.

Climbing out of the wagon, I went to Hans, who was seated near by in the fullglare of the hot sun, at which he seemed to stare with unblinking eyes.

“Where’s the rifle, Hans?” I said.

“Intombiis here, baas, where I have put her to keep her cool, sothat she may not go off before it is wanted,” and he pointed to a littlegrave-like heap of gathered grass at his side.

The natives, I should explain, named this particular gun Intombi, whichmeans a young girl, because it was so much slimmer and more graceful than otherguns.

“Is it clean?” I asked.

“Never was she cleaner since she was born out of the fire, baas. Also,the powder has been sifted and set to dry in the sun with the caps, and thebullets have been trued to the barrel, so that there may be no accidents whenit comes to the shooting. If you miss the aasvogels, baas, it will notbe the fault of Intombior of the powder and the bullets; it will beyour own fault.”

“That’s comforting,” I answered. “Well, come on, I wantto go to the Death-hill yonder.”

“Why, baas, before the time?” asked the Hottentot, shrinking back alittle. “It is no place to visit till one is obliged. These Zulus saythat ghosts sit there even in the daylight, haunting the rocks where they weremade ghosts.”

“Vultures sit or fly there also, Hans; and I would see how they fly, thatI may know when and where to shoot at them.”

“That is right, baas,” said the clever Hottentot. “This isnot like firing at geese in the Groote Kloof. The geese go straight, like anassegai to its mark. But the aasvogelswheel round and round, always onthe turn; it is easy to miss a bird that is turning, baas.”

“Very easy. Come on.”

Just as we were starting Vrouw Prinsloo appeared from behind the other wagon,and with her Marie, who, I noticed, was very pale and whose beautiful eyes werered, as though with weeping.

The vrouw asked me where we were going. I told her. After considering a little,she said that was a good thought of mine, as it was always well to study theground before a battle.

I nodded, and led Marie aside behind some thorn trees that grew near.

“Oh! Allan, what will be the end of this?” she asked piteously.High as was her courage it seemed to fail her now.

“A good end, dearest,” I answered. “We shall come out of thishole safely, as we have of many others.”

“How do you know that, Allan, which is known to God alone?”

“Because God told me, Marie,” and I repeated to her the story ofthe voice I had heard in my dream, which seemed to comfort her.

“Yet, yet,” she exclaimed doubtfully, “it was but a dream,Allan, and dreams are such uncertain things. You may fail, after all.”

“Do I look like one who will fail, Marie?”

She studied me from head to foot, then answered:

“No, you do not, although you did when you came back from theking’s huts. Now you are quite changed. Still, Allan, you may fail, andthen—what? Some of those dreadful Zulus have been here while you weresleeping, bidding us all make ready to go to the Hill of Death. They say thatDingaan is in earnest. If you do not kill the vultures, he will kill us. Itseems that they are sacred birds, and if they escape he will think he hasnothing to fear from the white men and their magic, and so will make abeginning by butchering us. I mean the rest of us, for I am to be kept alive,and oh! what shall I do, Allan?”

I looked at her, and she looked at me. Then I took the double-barrelled pistolout of my pocket and gave it to her.

“It is loaded and on the half-cock,” I said.

She nodded, and hid it in her dress beneath her apron. Then without more wordswe kissed and parted, for both of us feared to prolong that scene.

The hill Hloma Amabutu was quite close to our encampment and the huts of theReverend Mr. Owen, scarcely a quarter of a mile off, I should say, rising fromthe flat veld on the further side of a little depression that hardly amountedto a valley. As we approached it I noticed its peculiar and blasted appearance,for whereas all around the grass was vivid with the green of spring, on thisplace none seemed to grow. An eminence strewn with tumbled heaps of blackishrock, and among them a few struggling, dark-leaved bushes; that was itsappearance. Moreover, many of these boulders looked as though they had beensplashed and lined with whitewash, showing that they were the resting-place ofhundreds of gorged vultures.

I believe it is the Chinese who declare that particular localities have good orevil influences attached to them, some kind of spirit of their own, and reallyHloma Amabutu and a few other spots that I am acquainted with in Africa givecolour to the fancy. Certainly as I set foot upon that accursed ground, thatGolgotha, that Place of Skulls, a shiver went through me. It may have beencaused by the atmosphere, moral and actual, of the mount, or it may have been aprescience of a certain dreadful scene which within a few months I was doomedto witness there. Or perhaps the place itself and the knowledge of the trialbefore me sent a sudden chill through my healthy blood. I cannot say which itwas, but the fact remains as I have stated, although a minute or two later,when I saw what kind of sleepers lay upon that mount, it would not have beennecessary for me to seek any far-fetched explanation of my fear.

Across this hill, winding in and out between the rough rocks that lay here,there and everywhere like hailstones after a winter storm, ran sundry paths. Itseems that the shortest road to various places in the neighbourhood of theGreat Kraal ran over it, and although no Zulu ever dared to set foot therebetween sun-set and rise, in the daytime they used these paths freely enough.But I suppose that they also held that this evil-omened field of death had somespirit of its own, some invisible but imminent fiend, who needed to bepropitiated, lest soon he should claim them also.

This was their method of propitiation, a common one enough, I believe, in manylands, though what may be its meaning I cannot tell. As the traveller came tothose spots where the paths cut across each other, he took a stone and threw iton to a heap that had been accumulated there by the hands of other travellers.There were many such heaps upon the hill, over a dozen, I think, and the sizeof them was great. I should say that the biggest contained quite fifty loads ofstones, and the smallest not fewer than twenty or thirty.

Now, Hans, although he had never set foot there before, seemed to have learnedall the traditions of the place, and what rites were necessary to avert itscurse. At any rate, when we came to the first heap, he cast a stone upon it,and begged me to do the same. I laughed and refused, but when we reached thesecond heap the same thing happened. Again I refused, whereon, before we cameto a third and larger pile, Hans sat down upon the ground and began to groan,swearing that he would not go one step farther unless I promised to make theaccustomed offering.

“Why not, you fool?” I asked.

“Because if you neglect it, baas, I think that we shall stop here forever. Oh! you may laugh, but I tell you that already you have brought ill-luckupon yourself. Remember my words, baas, when you miss two of the fiveaasvogels.”

“Bosh!” I exclaimed, or, rather, its Dutch equivalent. Still, asthis talk of missing vultures touched me nearly, and it is always as well toconform to native prejudices, at the next and two subsequent heaps I cast mystone as humbly as the most superstitious Zulu in the land.

By this time we had reached the summit, which may have been two hundred yardslong. It was hog-backed in shape, with a kind of depression in the middlecleared of stones, either by the hand of man or nature, and not unlike a largecircus in its general conformation.

Oh! the sight that met my eyes. All about lay the picked and scattered bones ofmen and women, many of them broken up by the jaws of hyenas. Some were quitefresh, for the hair still clung to the skulls, others blanched and old. But newor ancient there must have been hundreds of them. Moreover, on the sides of thehill it was the same story, though there, for the most part, the bones had beengathered into gleaming heaps. No wonder that the vultures loved Hloma Amabutu,the Place of Slaughter of the bloody Zulu king.

Of these horrible birds, however, at the moment not one was to be seen. Asthere had been no execution for a few hours they were seeking their foodelsewhere. Now, for my own purposes, I wanted to see them, since otherwise myvisit was in vain, and presently bethought myself of a method of securing theirarrival.

“Hans,” I said, “I am going to pretend to kill you, and thenyou must lie quite still out there like one dead. Even if the aasvogelssettle on you, you must lie quite still, so that I may see whence they come andhow they settle.”

The Hottentot did not take at all kindly to this suggestion. Indeed, he flatlyrefused to obey me, giving sundry good reasons. He said that this kind ofrehearsal was ill-omened; that coming events have a way of casting their shadowbefore, and he did not wish to furnish the event. He said that the Zulusdeclared that the sacred aasvogelsof Hloma Amabutu were as savage aslions, and that when once they saw a man down they would tear him to pieces,dead or living. In short, Hans and I came to an acute difference of opinion. Asfor every reason it was necessary that my view should prevail, however, I didnot hesitate to put matters to him very plainly.

“Hans,” I said, “you have to be a bait for vultures; chooseif you will be a live bait or a dead bait,” and I cocked the riflesignificantly, although, in truth, the last thing that I wished or intended todo was to shoot my faithful old Hottentot friend. But Hans, knowing all I hadat stake, came to a different conclusion.

“Allemachte! baas,” he said, “I understand, and I do notblame you. Well, if I obey alive, perhaps my guardian Snake” (or spirit)“will protect me from the evil omen, and perhaps the aasvogelswill not pick out my eyes. But if once you send a bullet through mystomach—why, then everything is finished, and for Hans it is ‘Goodnight, sleep well.’ I will obey you, baas, and lie where you wish, only,I pray you, do not forget me and go away, leaving me with those devilbirds.”

I promised him faithfully that I would not. Then we went through a very grimlittle pantomime. Proceeding to the centre of the arena-like space, I liftedthe gun, and appeared to dash out Hans’ brains with its butt. He fellupon his back, kicked about a little, and lay still. This finished Act 1.

Act 2 was that, capering like a brute of a Zulu executioner, I retired from myvictim and hid myself in a bush on the edge of the plateau at a distance offorty yards. After this there was a pause. The place was intensely bright withsunshine and intensely silent; as silent as the skeletons of the murdered menabout me; as silent as Hans, who lay there looking so very small and dead inthat big theatre where no grass grew. It was an eerie wait in suchsurroundings, but at length the curtain rang up for Act 3.

In the infinite arch of blue above me I perceived a speck, no larger than amote of dust. The aasvogelon watch up there far out of the range ofman’s vision had seen the deed, and, by sinking downwards, signalled itto his companions that were quartering the sky for fifty miles round; for thesebirds prey by sight, not by smell. Down he came and down, and long before hehad reached the neighbourhood of earth other specks appeared in the distantblue. Now he was not more than four or five hundred yards above me, and beganto wheel, floating round the place upon his wide wings, and sinking as hewheeled. So he sank softly and slowly until he was about a hundred and fiftyfeet above Hans. Then suddenly he paused, hung quite steady for a few seconds,shut his wings and fell like a bolt, only opening them again just before hereached the earth.

Here he settled, tilting forward in that odd way which vultures have, andscrambling a few awkward paces until he gained his balance. Then he froze intoimmobility, gazing with an awful, stony glare at the prostrate Hans, who laywithin about fifteen feet of him. Scarcely was this aasvogeldown, whenothers, summoned from the depths of sky, did as he had done. They appeared,they sank, they wheeled, always from east to west, the way the sun travels.They hovered for a few seconds, then fell like stones, pitched on to theirbeaks, recovered themselves, waddled forward into line, and sat gazing at Hans.Soon there was a great ring of them about him, all immovable, all gazing, allwaiting for something.

Presently that something appeared in the shape of an aasvogelwhich wasnearly twice as big as any of the others. This was what the Boers and thenatives call the “king vulture,” one of which goes with everyflock. He it is who rules the roost and also the carcase, which without hispresence and permission none dare to attack. Whether this vile fowl is of adifferent species from the others, or whether he is a bird of more vigorousgrowth and constitution that has outgrown the rest and thus become theiroverlord, is more than I can tell. At least it is certain, as I can testifyfrom long and constant observation, that almost every flock of vultures has itsking.

When this particular royalty had arrived, the other aasvogels, of whichperhaps there were now fifty or sixty gathered round Hans, began to show signsof interested animation. They looked at the king bird, they looked at Hans,stretching out their naked red necks and winking their brilliant eyes. I,however, did not pay particular attention to those upon the earth, being amplyoccupied in watching their fellows in the air.

With delight I observed that the vulture is a very conservative creature. Theyall did what doubtless they have done since the days of Adam orearlier—wheeled, and then hung that little space of time before theydropped to the ground like lead. This, then, would be the moment at which toshoot them, when for four or five seconds they offered practically a sittingtarget. Now, at that distance, always under a hundred yards, I knew well that Icould hit a tea plate every shot, and a vulture is much larger than a teaplate. So it seemed to me that, barring accidents, I had little to fear fromthe terrible trial of skill which lay before me. Again and again I covered thehovering birds with my rifle, feeling that if I had pressed the trigger Ishould have pierced them through.

Thinking it well to practise, I continued this game for a long while, till atlast it came to an unexpected end. Suddenly I heard a scuffling sound. Droppingmy glance I saw that the whole mob of aasvogelswere rushing in uponHans, helping themselves forward by flapping their great wings, and that aboutthree feet in front of them was their king. Next instant Hans vanished, andfrom the centre of that fluffy, stinking mass there arose a frightful yell.

As a matter of fact, as I found afterwards, the king vulture had fastened on tohis snub nose, whilst its dreadful companions, having seized other portions ofhis frame, were beginning to hang back after their fashion in order to securesome chosen morsel. Hans kicked and screamed, and I rushed in shouting, causingthem to rise in a great, flapping cloud that presently vanished this way andthat. Within a minute they had all gone, and the Hottentot and I were leftalone.

“That is good,” I said. “You played well.”

“Good! baas,” he answered, “and I with two cuts in my nose inwhich I can lay my finger, and bites all over me. Look how my trousers aretorn. Look at my head—where is the hair? Look at my nose. Good! Playedwell! It is those verdomde aasvogelsthat played. Oh! baas, if you hadseen and smelt them, you would not say that it was good. See, one more secondand I, who have two nostrils, should have had four.”

“Never mind, Hans,” I said, “it is only a scratch, and I willmake you a present of some new trousers. Also, here is tobacco for you. Come tothe bush; let us talk.”

So we went, and when Hans was a little composed I told him all that I hadobserved about the habits of the aasvogelin the air, and he told me allthat he had observed about their habits on the ground, which, as I might notshoot them sitting, did not interest me. Still, he agreed with me that theright moment to fire would be just before they pounced.

Whilst we were still talking we heard a sound of shouts, and, looking over thebrow of the hill that faced towards Umgungundhlovu, we saw a melancholy sight.Being driven up the slope towards us by three executioners and a guard of sevenor eight soldiers, their hands tied behind their backs, were three men, onevery old, one of about fifty years of age, and one a lad, who did not look morethan eighteen. As I soon heard, they were of a single family, the grandfather,the father, and the eldest son, who had been seized upon some ridiculous chargeof witchcraft, but really in order that the king might take their cattle.

Having been tried and condemned by the Nyangas, or witch-doctors, thesepoor wretches were now doomed to die. Indeed, not content with thus destroyingthe heads of the tribe, present and to come, for three generations, all theirdescendants and collaterals had already been wiped out by Dingaan, so that hemight pose as sole heir to the family cattle.

Such were the dreadful cruelties that happened in Zululand in those days.

CHAPTER XIV.
THE PLAY

The doomed three were driven by their murderers into the centre of thedepression, within a few yards of which Hans and I were standing.

After them came the head executioner, a great brute who wore a curiously shapedleopard-skin cap—I suppose as a badge of office—and held in hishand a heavy kerry, the shaft of which was scored with many notches, each ofthem representing a human life.

“See, White Man,” he shouted, “here is the bait which theking sends to draw the holy birds to you. Had it not been that you needed suchbait, perhaps these wizards would have escaped. But the Black One said thelittle Son of George, who is named Macumazahn, needs them that he may show hismagic, and therefore they must die to-day.”

Now, at this information I turned positively sick. Nor did it make me feelbetter when the youngest of the victims, hearing the executioner’s words,flung himself upon his knees, and began to implore me to spare him. Hisgrandfather also addressed me, saying:

“Chief, will it not be enough if I die? I am old, and my life does notmatter. Or if one is not sufficient, take me and my son, and let the lad, mygrandson, go free. We are all of us innocent of any witchcraft, and he is noteven old enough to practise such things, being but an unmarried boy. Chief,you, also, are young. Would not your heart be heavy if you had to be slain whenthe sun of your life was still new in the sky? Think, White Chief, what yourfather would feel, if you have one, should he be forced to see you killedbefore his eyes, that some stranger might use your body to show his skill witha magic weapon by slaying the wild things that would eat it.”

Now, almost with tears, I broke in, explaining to the venerable man as well asI could that their horrible fate had nothing to do with me. I told him that Iwas innocent of their blood, who was forced to be there to try to shootvultures on the wing in order to save my white companions from a doom similarto their own. He listened attentively, asking a question now and again, andwhen he had mastered my meaning, said with a most dignified calmness:

“Now I understand, White Man, and am glad to learn that you are notcruel, as I thought. My children,” he added, turning to the others,“let us trouble this Inkoosno more. He only does what he must doto save the lives of his brethren by his skill, if he can. If we continue toplead with him and stir his heart to pity, the sorrow swelling in it may causehis hand to shake, and then they will die also, and their blood be on his headand ours. My children, it is the king’s will that we should be slain. Letus make ready to obey the king, as men of our House have always done. Whitelord, we thank you for your good words. May you live long, and may good fortunesleep in your hut to the end. May you shoot straight, also, with your magictool, and thereby win the lives of your company out of the hand of the king.Farewell, Inkoos,” and since he could not lift his bound hands insalutation, he bowed to me, as did the others.

Then they walked to a little distance, and, seating themselves on the ground,began to talk together, and after a while to drone some strange chant inunison. The executioners and the guards also sat down not far away, laughing,chatting, and passing a horn of snuff from hand to hand. Indeed, I observedthat the captain of them even took some snuff to the victims, and held it inhis palm beneath their noses while they drew it up their nostrils and politelythanked him between the sneezes.

As for myself, I lit a pipe and smoked it, for I seemed to require a stimulant,or, rather, a sedative. Before it was finished Hans, who was engaged indoctoring his scratches made by the vultures’ beaks with a concoction ofleaves which he had been chewing, exclaimed suddenly in his matter-of-factvoice:

“See, baas, here they come, the white people on one side and the black onthe other, just like the goats and the sheep at Judgment Day in theBook.”

I looked, and there to my right appeared the party of Boers, headed by theVrouw Prinsloo, who held the remnants of an old umbrella over her head. To theleft advanced a number of Zulu nobles and councillors, in front of whom waddledDingaan arrayed in his bead dancing dress. He was supported by two stalwartbody-servants, whilst a third held a shield over his head to protect him fromthe sun, and a fourth carried a large stool, upon which he was to sit. Behindeach party, also, I perceived a number of Zulus in their war-dress, all of themarmed with broad stabbing spears.

The two parties arrived at the stone upon which I was sitting almostsimultaneously, as probably it had been arranged that they should do, andhalted, staring at each other. As for me, I sat still upon my stone and smokedon.

“Allemachte! Allan,” puffed the Vrouw Prinsloo, who was breathlesswith her walk up the hill, “so here you are! As you did not come back, Ithought you had run away and left us, like that stinkcat Pereira.”

“Yes, Tante(aunt), here I am,” I answered gloomily,“and I wish to heaven that I was somewhere else.”

Just then Dingaan, having settled his great bulk upon the stool and recoveredhis breath, called to the lad Halstead, who was with him, and said:

“O Tho-maas, ask your brother, Macumazahn, if he is ready to try to shootthe vultures. If not, as I wish to be fair, I will give him a little more timeto make his magic medicine.”

I replied sulkily that I was as ready as I was ever likely to be.

Then the Vrouw Prinsloo, understanding that the king of the Zulus was beforeher, advanced upon him, waving her umbrella. Catching hold of Halstead, whounderstood Dutch, she forced him to translate an harangue, which she addressedto Dingaan.

Had he rendered it exactly as it came from her lips, we should all have beendead in five minutes, but, luckily, that unfortunate young man had learnt someof the guile of the serpent during his sojourn among the Zulus, and varied hervigorous phrases. The gist of her discourse was that he, Dingaan, was ablack-hearted and bloody-minded villain, with whom the Almighty would come evensooner or later (as, indeed, He did), and that if he dared to touch one hair ofher or of her companions’ heads, the Boers, her countrymen, would provethemselves to be the ministers of the Almighty in that matter (as, indeed, theydid). As translated by Halstead into Zulu, what she said was that Dingaan wasthe greatest king in the whole world; in fact, that there was not, and neverhad been, any such a king either in power, wisdom, or personal beauty, and thatif she and her companions had to die, the sight of his glory consoled them fortheir deaths.

“Indeed,” said Dingaan suspiciously, “if that is what thisman-woman says, her eyes tell one story and her lips another. Oh! Tho-maas, lieno more. Speak the true words of the white chieftainess, lest I should findthem out otherwise, and give you to the slayers.”

Thus adjured, Halstead explained that he had not yet told all the words. The“man-woman,” who was, as he, Dingaan, supposed, a greatchieftainess among the Dutch, added that if he, the mighty and glorious king,the earth-shaker, the world-eater, killed her or any of her subjects, herpeople would avenge her by killing him and his people.

“Does she say that?” said Dingaan. “Then, as I thought, theseBoers are dangerous, and not the peaceful folk they make themselves out tobe,” and he brooded for a while, staring at the ground. Presently helifted his head and went on: “Well, a bet is a bet, and therefore I willnot wipe out this handful, as otherwise I would have done at once. Tell the oldcow of a chieftainess that, notwithstanding her threats, I stick to my promise.If the little Son of George, Macumazahn, can shoot three vultures out of fiveby help of his magic, then she and her servants shall go free. If not, thevultures which he has missed shall feed on them, and afterwards I will talkwith her people when they come to avenge her. Now, enough of thisindaba. Bring those evildoers here that they may thank and praise me,who give them so merciful an end.”

So the grandfather, the father, and the son were hustled before Dingaan by thesoldiers, and greeted him with the royal salute of “bayète.”

“O king,” said the old man, “I and my children are innocent.Yet if it pleases you, O king, I am ready to die, and so is my son. Yet we prayyou to spare the little one. He is but a boy, who may grow up to do you goodservice, as I have done to you and your House for many years.”

“Be silent, you white-headed dog!” answered Dingaan fiercely.“This lad is a wizard, like the rest of you, and would grow up to bewitchme and to plot with my enemies. Know that I have stamped out all your family,and shall I then leave him to breed another that would hate me? Begone to theWorld of Spirits, and tell them how Dingaan deals with sorcerers.”

The old man tried to speak again, for evidently he loved this grandchild ofhis, but a soldier struck him in the face, and Dingaan shouted:

“What! Are you not satisfied? I tell you that if you say more I willforce you to kill the boy with your own hand. Take them away.”

Then I turned and hid my face, as did all the white folk. Presently I heard theold man, whom they had saved to the last that he might witness the deaths ofhis descendants, cry in a loud voice:

“On the night of the thirtieth full moon from this day I, thefar-sighted, I, the prophet, summon thee, Dingaan, to meet me and mine in theLand of Ghosts, and there to pay—”

Then with a roar of horror the executioners fell on him and he died. When therewas silence I looked up, and saw that the king, who had turned a dirty yellowhue with fright, for he was very superstitious, was trembling and wiping thesweat from his brow.

“You should have kept the wizard alive,” he said in a shaky voiceto the head slayer, who was engaged in cutting three more nicks on the handleof his dreadful kerry. “Fool, I would have heard the rest of his lyingmessage.”

The man answered humbly that he thought it best it should remain unspoken, andgot himself out of sight as soon as possible. Here I may remark that by an oddcoincidence Dingaan actually was killed about thirty moons from that time.Mopo, his general, who slew his brother Chaka, slew him also with the help ofUmslopogaas, the son of Chaka. In after years Umslopogaas told me the story ofthe dreadful ghost-haunted death of this tyrant, but, of course, he could nottell me exactly upon what day it happened. Therefore I do not know whether theprophecy was strictly accurate.^[3]

[3]For the history of the death of Dingaan, see the Author’s“Nada the Lily.”

The three victims lay dead in the hollow of the Hill of Death. Presently theking, recovering himself, gave orders that the spectators should be moved backto places where they could see what happened without frightening the vultures.So the Boers, attended by their band of soldiers, who were commanded to slaythem at once if they attempted to escape, went one way, and Dingaan and hisZulus went the other, leaving Hans and myself alone behind our bush. As thewhite people passed me, Vrouw Prinsloo wished me good luck in a cheerful voice,although I could see that her poor old hand was shaking, and she was wiping hereyes with the vatdoek. Henri Marais, also in broken tones, implored meto shoot straight for his daughter’s sake. Then came Marie, pale butresolute, who said nothing, but only looked me in the eyes, and touched thepocket of her dress, in which I knew the pistol lay hid. Of the rest of them Itook no notice.

The moment, that dreadful moment of trial, had come at last; and oh! thesuspense and the waiting were hard to bear. It seemed an age before the firstspeck, that I knew to be a vulture, appeared thousands of feet above me andbegan to descend in wide circles.

“Oh, baas,” said poor Hans, “this is worse than shooting atthe geese in the Groote Kloof. Then you could only lose your horse, butnow—”

“Be silent,” I hissed, “and give me the rifle.”

The vulture wheeled and sank, sank and wheeled. I glanced towards the Boers,and saw that they were all of them on their knees. I glanced towards the Zulus,and saw that they were watching as, I think, they had never watched anythingbefore, for to them this was a new excitement. Then I fixed my eyes upon thebird.

Its last circle was accomplished. Before it pounced it hung on wide,outstretched wings, as the others had done, its head towards me. I drew a deepbreath, lifted the rifle, got the foresight dead upon its breast, and touchedthe hair-trigger. As the charge exploded I saw the aasvogelgive a kindof backward twist. Next instant I heard a loud clap, and a surge of joy wentthrough me, for I thought that the bullet had found its billet. But alas! itwas not so.

The clap was that of the air disturbed by the passing of the ball and thestriking of this air against the stiff feathers of the wings. Anyone who hasshot at great birds on the wing with a bullet will be acquainted with thesound. Instead of falling the vulture recovered itself. Not knowing the meaningof this unaccustomed noise, it dropped quietly to earth and sat down near thebodies, pitching forward in the natural way and running a few paces, as theothers had done that afternoon. Evidently it was quite unhurt.

“Missed!” gasped Hans as he grasped the rifle to load it.“Oh! why did you not throw a stone on to the first heap?”

I gave Hans a look that must have frightened him; at any rate, he spoke nomore. From the Boers went up a low groan. Then they began to pray harder thanever, while the Zulus clustered round the king and whispered to him. I learnedafterwards that he was giving heavy odds against me, ten to one in cattle,which they were obliged to take, unwillingly enough.

Hans finished loading, capped and cocked the rifle, and handed it to me. By nowother vultures were appearing. Being desperately anxious to get the thing overone way or another, at the proper moment I took the first of them. Again Icovered it dead and pressed. Again as the gun exploded I saw that backwardlurch of the bird, and heard the clap of the air upon its wings. Then—ohhorror!—this aasvogelturned quietly, and began to mount theladder of the sky in the same fashion as it had descended. I had missed oncemore.

“The second heap of stones has done this, baas,” said Hans faintly,and this time I did not even look at him. I only sat down and buried my face inmy hands. One more such miss, and then—

Hans began to whisper to me.

“Baas,” he said, “those aasvogelssee the flash of thegun, and shy at it like a horse. Baas, you are shooting into their faces, forthey all hang with their beaks toward you before they drop. You must get behindthem, and fire into their tails, for even an aasvogelcannot see withits tail.”

I let fall my hands and stared at him. Surely the poor fellow had been inspiredfrom on high! I understood it all now. While their beaks were towards me, Imight fire at fifty vultures and never hit one, for each time they would swervefrom the flash, causing the bullet to miss them, though but by a little.

“Come,” I gasped, and began to walk quickly round the edge of thedepression to a rock, which I saw opposite about a hundred yards away. Myjourney took me near the Zulus, who mocked me as I passed, asking where mymagic was, and if I wished to see the white people killed presently. Dingaanwas now offering odds of fifty cattle to one against me, but no one would takethe bet even with the king.

I made no answer; no, not even when they asked me “if I had thrown downmy spear and was running away.” Grimly, despairingly, I marched on to therock, and took shelter behind it with Hans. The Boers, I saw, were still upontheir knees, but seemed to have ceased praying. The children were weeping; themen stared at each other; Vrouw Prinsloo had her arm about Marie’s waist.Waiting there behind the rock, my courage returned to me, as it sometimes doesin the last extremity. I remembered my dream and took comfort. Surely God wouldnot be so cruel as to suffer me to fail and thereby bring all those poor peopleto their deaths.

Snatching the rifle from Hans, I loaded it myself; nothing must be trusted toanother. As I put on the cap a vulture made its last circle. It hung in the airjust as the others had done, and oh! its tail was towards me. I lifted, I aimedbetween the gathered-up legs, I pressed and shut my eyes, for I did not dare tolook.

I heard the bullet strike, or seem to strike, and a few seconds later I heardsomething else—the noise of a heavy thud upon the ground. I looked, andthere with outstretched wings lay the foul bird dead, stone dead, eight or tenpaces from the bodies.

“Allemachte! that’s better,” said Hans. “You threwstones on to allthe other heaps, didn’t you, baas?”

The Zulus grew excited, and the odds went down a little. The Boers stretchedout their white faces and stared at me; I saw them out of the corner of my eyeas I loaded again. Another vulture came; seeing one of its companions on theground, if in a somewhat unnatural attitude, perhaps it thought that therecould be nothing to fear. I leaned against my rock, aimed, and fired, almostcarelessly, so sure was I of the result. This time I did not shut my eyes, butwatched to see what happened.

The bullet struck the bird between its thighs, raked it from end to end, anddown it came like a stone almost upon the top of its fellow.

“Good, good!” said Hans with a guttural chuckle of delight.“Now, baas, make no mistake with the third, and ‘als sall rechtkommen’ (all shall be well).”

“Yes,” I answered; “ifI make no mistake with thethird.”

I loaded the rifle again myself, being very careful to ram down the powder welland to select a bullet that fitted perfectly true to the bore. Moreover, Icleared the nipple with a thorn, and shook a little fine powder into it, so asto obviate any chance of a miss-fire. Then I set on the cap and waited. Whatwas going on among the Boers or the Zulus I do not know. In this last crisis ofall our fates I never looked, being too intent upon my own part in the drama.

By now the vultures appeared to have realised that something unusual was inprogress, which threatened danger to them. At any rate, although by this timethey had collected in hundreds from east, west, north, and south, and werewheeling the heavens above in their vast, majestic circles, none of them seemedto care to descend to prey upon the bodies. I watched, and saw that among theirnumber was that great king bird which had bitten Hans in the face; it was easyto distinguish him, because he was so much larger than the others. Also, he hadsome white at the tips of his wings. I observed that certain of his companydrew near to him in the skies, where they hung together in a knot, as though inconsultation.

They separated out again, and the king began to descend, deputed probably tospy out the land. Down he came in ever-narrowing turns, till he reached theappointed spot for the plunge, and, according to the immemorial custom of thesebirds, hung a while before he pounced with his head to the south and his great,spreading tail towards me.

This was my chance, and, rejoicing in having so large a mark, I got the sightupon him and pulled. The bullet thudded, some feathers floated from his belly,showing that it had gone home, and I looked to see him fall as the others haddone. But alas! he did not fall. For a few seconds he rocked to and fro uponhis great wings, then commenced to travel upwards in vast circles, which grewgradually more narrow, till he appeared to be flying almost straight into theempyrean. I stared and stared. Everybody stared, till that enormous birdbecame, first a mere blot upon the blue, and at length but a speck. Then itvanished altogether into regions far beyond the sight of man.

“Now there is an end,” I said to Hans.

“Ja, baas,” answered the Hottentot between his chatteringteeth, “there is an end. You did not put in enough powder. Presently weshall all be dead.”

“Not quite,” I said with a bitter laugh. “Hans, load therifle, load it quick. Before they die there shall be another king inZululand.”

“Good, good!” he exclaimed as he loaded desperately. “Let ustake that fat pig of a Dingaan with us. Shoot him in the stomach, baas; shoothim in the stomach, so that he too may learn what it is to die slowly. Then cutmy throat, here is my big knife, and afterwards cut your own, if you have nottime to load the gun again and shoot yourself, which is easier.”

I nodded, for it was in my mind to do these things. Never could I stand stilland see those poor Boers killed, and I knew that Marie would look afterherself.

Meanwhile, the Zulus were coming towards me, and the soldiers who had charge ofthem were driving up Marais’s people, making pretence to thrust themthrough with their assegais, and shouting at them as men do at cattle. Bothparties arrived in the depression at about the same time, but remainedseparated by a little space. In this space lay the corpses of the murdered menand the two dead aasvogels, with Hans and myself standing opposite tothem.

“Well, little Son of George,” puffed Dingaan, “you have lostyour bet, for you did but kill two vultures out of five with your magic, whichwas good as far as it went, but not good enough. Now you must pay, as I wouldhave paid had you won.”

Then he stretched out his hand, and issued the dreadful order of“Bulala amalongu!” (Kill the white people). “Kill themone by one, that I may see whether they know how to die, all except Macumazahnand the tall girl, whom I keep.”

Some of the soldiers made a dash and seized the Vrouw Prinsloo, who wasstanding in front of the party.

“Wait a little, King,” she called out as the assegais were liftedover her. “How do you know that the bet is lost? He whom you callMacumazahn hit that last vulture. It should be searched for before you killus.”

“What does the old woman say?” asked Dingaan, and Halsteadtranslated slowly.

“True,” said Dingaan. “Well, now I will send her to searchfor the vulture in the sky. Come back thence, Fat One, and tell us if you findit.”

The soldiers lifted their assegais, waiting the king’s word. I pretendedto look at the ground, and cocked my rifle, being determined that if he spokeit, it should be his last. Hans stared upwards—I suppose to avoid thesight of death—then suddenly uttered a wild yell, which caused everyone,even the doomed people, to turn their eyes to him. He was pointing to theheavens, and they looked to see at what he pointed.

This was what they saw. Far, far above in that infinite sea of blue thereappeared a tiny speck, which his sharp sight had already discerned, a speckthat grew larger and larger as it descended with terrific and ever-growingspeed.

It was the king vulture falling from the heavens—dead!

Down it came between the Vrouw Prinsloo and the slayers, smashing the liftedassegai of one of them and hurling him to the earth. Down it came, and laythere a mere mass of pulp and feathers.

“O Dingaan,” I said in the midst of the intense silence thatfollowed, “it seems that it is I who have won the bet, not you. I killedthis king of birds, but being a king it chose to die high up and alone, that isall.”

Dingaan hesitated, for he did not wish to spare the Boers, and I, noting hishesitation, lifted my rifle a little. Perhaps he saw it, or perhaps his senseof honour, as he understood the word, overcame his wish for their blood. At anyrate, he said to one of his councillors:

“Search the carcase of that vulture and see if there is a bullet hole init.”

The man obeyed, feeling at the mass of broken bones and flesh. By good fortunehe found, not the hole, for that was lost in the general destruction of thetissues, but the ball itself, which, having pierced the thick body from belowupwards, had remained fast in the tough skin just by the back-bone where thelong, red neck emerges from between the wings. He picked it out, for it wasonly hanging in the skin, and held it up for all to see.

“Macumazahn has won his bet,” said Dingaan. “His magic hasconquered, though by but a very little. Macumazahn, take these Boers, they areyours, and begone with them out of my country.”

CHAPTER XV.
RETIEF ASKS A FAVOUR

Now and again during our troubled journey through life we reach little oases ofalmost perfect happiness, set jewel-like here and there in the thornywilderness of time. Sometimes these are hours of mere animal content. In othersthey are made beautiful by waters blowing from our spiritual springs of being,as in those rare instances when the material veil of life seems to be rent by amighty hand, and we feel the presence and the comfort of God within us andabout us, guiding our footsteps to the ineffable end, which is Himself.Occasionally, however, all these, physical satisfaction and love divine andhuman, are blended to a whole, like soul and body, and we can say, “Now Iknow what is joy.”

Such an hour came to me on the evening of that day of the winning of my betwith Dingaan, when a dozen lives or so were set against my nerve and skill.These had not failed me, although I knew that had it not been for theinspiration of the Hottentot Hans (who sent it, I wonder?) they would have beenof no service at all. With all my thought and experience, it had never occurredto me that the wonderful eyes of the vultures would see the flash of the powdereven through the pervading sunlight, and swerve before the deadly bullet couldreach them.

On that night I was indeed a hero in a small way. Even Henri Marais thawed andspoke to me as a father might to his child, he who always disliked me insecret, partly because I was an Englishman, partly because I was everything tohis daughter and he was jealous, and partly for the reason that I stood in thepath of his nephew, Hernan Pereira, whom he either loved or feared, or both. Asfor the rest of them, men, women and children, they thanked and blessed me withtears in their eyes, vowing that, young as I was, thenceforth I and no othershould be their leader. As may be imagined, although it is true that she setdown my success to her meal of bullock’s liver and the nap which she hadinsisted on my taking, the Vrouw Prinsloo was the most enthusiastic of themall.

“Look at him,” she said, pointing with her fat finger at myinsignificant self and addressing her family. “If only I had such ahusband or a son, instead of you lumps that God has tied to me like clogs tothe heels of a she-ass, I should be happy.”

“God did that in order to prevent you from kicking, old vrouw,”said her husband, a quiet man with a vein of sardonic humour. “If only Hehad tied another clog to your tongue, I should be happy also”; whereonthe vrouw smacked his head and her children got out of the way sniggering.

But the most blessed thing of all was my interview with Marie. All that tookplace between us can best be left to the imagination, since the talk of lovers,even in such circumstances, is not interesting to others. Also, in a sense, itis too sacred to repeat. One sentence I will set down, however, because in thelight of after events I feel that it was prophetic, and not spoken merely bychance. It was at the end of our talk, as she was handing me back the pistolthat I had given her for a certain dreadful purpose.

“Three times you have saved my life, Allan—once at Maraisfontein,once from starvation, and now from Dingaan, whose touch would have meant mydeath. I wonder whether it will ever be my turn to save yours?”

She looked down for a little while, then lifted her head and laid her hand uponmy shoulder, adding slowly: “Do you know, Allan, I think that it will atthe—” and suddenly she turned and left me with her sentenceunfinished.

So thus it came about that by the help of Providence I was enabled to rescueall these worthy folk from a miserable and a bloody death. And yet I have oftenreflected since that if things had gone differently; if, for instance, thatking aasvogelhad found strength to carry itself away to die at adistance instead of soaring straight upwards like a towering partridge, asbirds injured in the lungs will often do—I suppose in search ofair—it might have been better in the end. Then I should certainly haveshot Dingaan dead and every one of us would as certainly have been killed onthe spot. But if Dingaan had died that day, Retief and his companions wouldnever have been massacred. Also as the peaceful Panda, his brother, would, Isuppose, have succeeded to the throne, probably the subsequent slaughter atWeenen, and all the after fighting, would never have taken place. But so it wasfated, and who am I that I should quarrel with or even question the decrees offate? Doubtless these things were doomed to happen, and they happened in duecourse. There is nothing more to be said.

Early on the following morning we collected our oxen, which, although stillfootsore, were now full fed and somewhat rested. An hour or two later began ourtrek, word having come to us from Dingaan that we must start at once. Also hesent us guides, under the command of the captain Kambula, to show us the roadto Natal.

I breakfasted that day with the Reverend Mr. Owen and his people, my objectbeing to persuade him to come away with us, as I did not consider that Zululandwas a safe place for white women and children. My mission proved fruitless.Mrs. Hulley, the wife of the absent interpreter, who had three little ones,Miss Owen and the servant, Jane Williams, were all of them anxious enough to doas I suggested. But Mr. and Mrs. Owen, who were filled with the true fervour ofmissionaries, would not listen. They said that God would protect them; thatthey had only been a few weeks in the country, and that it would be the act ofcowards and of traitors to fly at the very beginning of their work. Here I mayadd that after the massacre of Retief they changed their opinion, small blameto them, and fled as fast as anyone else.

I told Mr. Owen how very close I had gone to shooting Dingaan, in which eventthey might all have been killed with us. This news shocked him much. Indeed, helectured me severely on the sins of bloodthirstiness and a desire for revenge.So, finding that we looked at things differently, and that it was of no usewasting breath in argument, I wished him and his people good-bye and goodfortune and went upon my way, little guessing how we should meet again.

An hour later we trekked. Passing by the accursed hill, Hloma Amabutu, where Isaw some gorged vultures sleeping on the rocks, we came to the gate of theGreat Kraal. Here, to my surprise, I saw Dingaan with some of his councillorsand an armed guard of over a hundred men, seated under the shade of two bigmilk trees. Fearing treachery, I halted the wagons and advised the Boers toload their rifles and be ready for the worst. A minute or so later young ThomasHalstead arrived and told me that Dingaan wished to speak with us. I asked himif that meant that we were to be killed. He answered, “No, you are quitesafe.” The king had received some news that had put him in a good humourwith the white people, and he desired to bid us farewell, that was all.

So we trekked boldly to where Dingaan was, and, stopping the wagons, went up tohim in a body. He greeted us kindly enough, and even gave me his fat hand toshake.

“Macumazahn,” he said, “although it has cost me many oxen, Iam glad that your magic prevailed yesterday. Had it not done so I should havekilled all these your friends, which would have been a cause of war between meand the Amaboona. Now, this morning I have learned that these Amaboona aresending a friendly embassy to me under one of their great chiefs, and I thinkthat you will meet them on the road. I charge you, therefore, to tell them tocome on, having no fear, as I will receive them well and listen to all theyhave to say.”

I answered that I would do so.

“Good,” he replied. “I am sending twelve head of cattle withyou, six of them for your food during your journey, and six as a present to theembassy of the Amaboona. Also Kambula, my captain, has charge to see you safelyover the Tugela River.”

I thanked him and turned to go, when suddenly his eye fell upon Marie, who,foolishly enough, took this opportunity to advance from among the others andspeak to me about something—I forget what.

“Macumazahn, is that the maiden of whom you spoke to me?” askedDingaan; “she whom you are going to marry?”

I answered, “Yes.”

“By the head of the Black One,” he exclaimed, “she is veryfair. Will you not make a present of her to me, Macumazahn?”

I answered, “No; she is not mine to give away.”

“Well, then, Macumazahn, I will pay you a hundred head of cattle for her,which is the price of a royal wife, and give you ten of the fairest girls inZululand in exchange.”

I answered that it could not be.

Now the king began to grow angry.

“I will keep her, whether you wish it or no,” he said.

“Then you will keep her dead, O Dingaan,” I replied, “forthere is more of that magic which slew the vultures.”

Of course, I meant that Marie would be dead. But as my knowledge of the Zulutongue was imperfect, he understood the words to mean that hewould bedead, and I think they frightened him. At any rate, he said:

“Well, I promised you all safe-conduct if you won your bet, so hambagachlé(go in peace). I wish to have no quarrel with the white folk, but,Macumazahn, you are the first of them who has refused a gift to Dingaan. Still,I bear you no grudge, and if you choose to come back again, you will bewelcome, for I perceive that, although so small, you are very clever and have awill of your own; also that you mean what you say and speak the truth. Tell thePeople of George that my heart is soft towards them.” Then he turned andwalked away through the gates of the kraal.

Glad enough was I to see the last of him, for now I knew that we were safe,except from such accidents as may overtake any travellers through a wildcountry. For the present, at any rate until after he had seen this embassy,Dingaan wished to stand well with the Boers. Therefore it was obvious that hewould never make an irreparable quarrel with them by treacherously putting usto death as we trekked through his country. Being sure of this, we went on ourway with light hearts, thanking Heaven for the mercies which had been shown tous.

It was on the third day of our trek, when we were drawing near to the Tugela,that we met the Boer embassy, off-saddled by a little stream where we proposedto outspan to rest the oxen while we ate our midday meal. They were sleeping inthe heat of the day and saw nothing of us till we were right on to them, when,catching sight of our Zulu advance guard, they sprang up and ran for theirrifles. Then the wagons emerged from the bush, and they stared astonished,wondering who could be trekking in that country.

We called to them in Dutch not to be afraid and in another minute we were amongthem. While we were yet some way off my eye fell upon a burly, white-beardedman whose figure seemed to be familiar to me, and towards him I went, taking noheed of the others, of whom there may have been six or seven. Soon I was sure,and advancing with outstretched hand, said:

“Good-day, Mynheer Piet Retief. Who would have thought that we who partedso far away and so long ago would live to meet among the Zulus?”

He stared at me.

“Who is it? Who is it? Allemachte! I know now. The little Englishman,Allan Quatermain, who shot the geese down in the Old Colony. Well, I should notbe surprised, for the man you beat in that match told me that you weretravelling in these parts. Only I understood him to say that the Zulus hadkilled you.”

“If you mean Hernan Pereira,” I answered, “where did you meethim?”

“Why, down by the Tugela there, in a bad way. However, he can tell youall about that himself, for I have brought him with me to show us the path toDingaan’s kraal. Where is Pereira? Send Pereira here. I want to speakwith him.”

“Here I am,” answered a sleepy voice, the hated voice of Pereirahimself, from the other side of a thick bush, where he had been slumbering.“What is it, commandant? I come,” and he emerged, stretchinghimself and yawning, just as the remainder of my party came up. He caught sightof Henri Marais first of all, and began to greet him, saying: “Thank God,my uncle, you are safe!”

Then his eyes fell on me, and I do not think I ever saw a man’s facechange more completely. His jaw dropped, the colour left his cheeks, leavingthem of the yellow which is common to persons of Portuguese descent; hisoutstretched hand fell to his side.

“Allan Quatermain!” he ejaculated. “Why, I thought that youwere dead.”

“As I should have been, Mynheer Pereira, twice over if you could have hadyour way,” I replied.

“What do you mean, Allan?” broke in Retief.

“I will tell you what he means,” exclaimed the Vrouw Prinsloo,shaking her fat fist at Pereira. “That yellow dog means that twice he hastried to murder Allan—Allan, who saved his life and ours. Once he shot athim in a kloof and grazed his cheek; look, there is the scar of it. And once heplotted with the Zulus to slaughter him, telling Dingaan that he was anevildoer and a wizard, who would bring a curse upon his land.”

Now Retief looked at Pereira.

“What do you say to this?” he asked.

“What do I say?” repeated Pereira, recovering himself. “Why,that it is a lie or a misunderstanding. I never shot at Heer Allan in anykloof. Is it likely that I should have done so when he had just nursed me backto life? I never plotted with the Zulus for his death, which would have meantthe deaths of my uncle and my cousin and of all their companions. Am I mad thatI should do such a thing?”

“Not mad, but bad,” screamed the vrouw. “I tell you, HeerRetief, it is no lie. Ask those with me,” she added, appealing to theothers, who, with the exception of Marais, answered as with one voice:

“No; it is no lie.”

“Silence!” said the commandant. “Now, nephew Allan, tell usyour story.”

So I told him everything, of course leaving out all details. Even then the talewas long, though it did not seem to be one that wearied my hearers.

“Allemachte!” said Retief when I had finished, “this is astrange story, the strangest that ever I heard. If it is true, Hernan Pereira,you deserve to have your back set against a tree and to be shot.”

“God in heaven!” he answered, “am I to be condemned on such atale—I, an innocent man? Where is the evidence? This Englishman tells allthis against me for a simple reason—that he has robbed me of the love ofmy cousin, to whom I was affianced. Where are his witnesses?”

“As to the shooting at me in the kloof, I have none except God who sawyou,” I answered. “As to the plot that you laid against me amongthe Zulus, as it chances, however, there is one, Kambula, the captain who wassent to take me as you had arranged, and who now commands our escort.”

“A savage!” exclaimed Pereira. “Is the tale of a savage to betaken against that of a white man? Also, who will translate his story? You,Mynheer Quatermain, are the only one here who knows his tongue, if you do knowit, and you are my accuser.”

“That is true,” remarked Retief. “Such a witness should notbe admitted without a sworn interpreter. Now listen; I pass judgment ascommandant in the field. Hernan Pereira, I have known you to be a rogue in thepast, for I remember that you cheated this very young man, Allan Quatermain, ata friendly trial of skill at which I was present; but since then till now Ihave heard nothing more of you, good or bad. To-day this Allan Quatermain and anumber of my own countrymen bring grave charges against you, which, however, atpresent are not capable of proof or disproof. Well, I cannot decide thosecharges, whatever my own opinion may be. I think that you had better go backwith your uncle, Henri Marais, to the trek-Boers, where they can be laid beforea court and settled according to law.”

“If so, he will go back alone,” said the Vrouw Prinsloo. “Hewill not go back with us, for we will elect a field-cornet and shoothim—the stinkcat, who left us to starve and afterwards tried to killlittle Allan Quatermain, who saved our lives”; and the chorus behind herechoed:

“Ja, ja, we will shoot him.”

“Hernan Pereira,” said Retief, rubbing his broad forehead, “Idon’t quite know why it is, but no one seems to want you as a companion.Indeed, to speak truth, I don’t myself. Still, I think you would be saferwith me than with these others whom you seem to have offended. Therefore, Isuggest that you come on with us. But listen here, man,” he addedsternly, “if I find you plotting against us among the Zulus, that houryou are dead. Do you understand?”

“I understand that I am one slandered,” replied Pereira.“Still, it is Christian to submit to injuries, and therefore I will do asyou wish. As to these bearers of false witness, I leave them to God.”

“And I leave you to the devil,” shouted Vrouw Prinsloo, “whowill certainly have you soon or late. Get out of my sight, stinkcat, or I willpull your hair off.” And she rushed at him, flapping her dreadfulvatdoek—which she produced from some recess in herraiment—in his face, driving him away as though he were a noxious insect.

Well, he went I know not where, and so strong was public opinion against himthat I do not think that even his uncle, Henri Marais, sought him out toconsole him.

When Pereira was gone, our party and that of Retief fell into talk, and we hadmuch to tell. Especially was the commandant interested in the story of my betwith Dingaan, whereby I saved the lives of all my companions by shooting thevultures.

“It was not for nothing, nephew, that God Almighty gave you the power ofholding a gun so straight,” said Retief to me when he understood thematter. “I remember that when you killed those wildfowl in the GrooteKloof with bullets, which no other man could have done, I wondered why youshould have such a gift above all the rest of us, who have practised for somany more years. Well, now I understand. God Almighty is no fool; He knows Hisbusiness. I wish you were coming back with me to Dingaan; but as that taintedman, Hernan Pereira, is of my company, perhaps it is better that you shouldstay away. Tell me, now, about this Dingaan; does he mean to kill us?”

“Not this time, I think, uncle,” I answered; “because firsthe wishes to learn all about the Boers. Still, do not trust him too far justbecause he speaks you softly. Remember, that if I had missed the third vulture,we should all have been dead by now. And, if you are wise, keep an eye uponHernan Pereira.”

“These things I will do, nephew, especially the last of them; and now wemust be getting on. Stay; come here, Henri Marais; I have a word to say to you.I understand that this little Englishman, Allan Quatermain, who is worth tenbigger men, loves your daughter, whose life he has saved again and again, andthat she loves him. Why, then, do you not let them marry in a decentfashion?”

“Because before God I have sworn her to another man—to my nephew,Hernan Pereira, whom everyone slanders,” answered Marais sulkily.“Until she is of age that oath holds.”

“Oho!” said Retief, “you have sworn your lamb to that hyena,have you? Well, look out that he does not crack your bones as well as hers, andperhaps some others also. Why does God give some men a worm in their brains, asHe does to the wildebeeste, a worm that always makes them run the wrongway? I don’t know, I am sure; but you who are very religious, HenriMarais, might think the matter over and tell me the answer when next we meet.Well, this girl of yours will soon be of age, and then, as I am commandant downyonder where she is going, I’ll see she marries the man she wants,whatever you say, Henri Marais. Heaven above us! I only wish it were mydaughter he was in love with. A fellow who can shoot to such good purpose mighthave the lot of them”; and uttering one of his great, hearty laughs, hewalked off to his horse.

On the morrow of this meeting we forded the Tugela and entered the territorythat is now called Natal. Two days’ short trekking through a beautifulcountry brought us to some hills that I think were called Pakadi, or else achief named Pakadi lived there, I forget which. Crossing these hills, on thefurther side of them, as Retief had told us we should do, we found a largeparty of the trek-Boers, who were already occupying this land on the hitherside of the Bushman’s River, little knowing, poor people, that it wasfated to become the grave of many of them. To-day, and for all future time,that district is and will be known by the name of Weenen, or the Place ofWeeping, because of those pioneers who here were massacred by Dingaan within afew weeks of the time of which I write.

Nice as the land was, for some reason or other it did not quite suit my fancy,and therefore, in view of my approaching marriage with Marie, having purchaseda horse from one of the trek-Boers, I began to explore the country round. Myobject was to find a stretch of fertile veld where we could settle when we werewedded, and such a spot I discovered after some trouble. It lay about thirtymiles away to the east, in the loop of a beautiful stream that is now known asthe Mooi River.

Enclosed in this loop were some thirty thousand acres of very rich, low-lyingsoil, almost treeless and clothed with luxuriant grasses where game wasextraordinarily numerous. At the head of it rose a flat-topped hill, from thecrest of which, oddly enough, flowed a plentiful stream of water fed by astrong spring. Half-way down this hill, facing to the east, and irrigable bythe stream, was a plateau several acres in extent, which furnished about thebest site for a house that I know in all South Africa. Here I determined wewould build our dwelling-place and become rich by the breeding up of greatherds of cattle. I should explain that this ground, which once, as the remainsof their old kraals showed, had belonged to a Kaffir tribe killed out by Chaka,the Zulu king, was to be had for the taking.

Indeed, as there was more land than we could possibly occupy, I persuaded HenriMarais, the Prinsloos and the Meyers, with whom I had trekked from Delagoa, tovisit it with me. When they had seen it they agreed to make it their home inthe future, but meanwhile elected to return to the other Boers forsafety’s sake. So with the help of some Kaffirs, of whom there were a fewin the district, remnants of those tribes which Chaka had destroyed, I peggedout an estate of about twelve thousand acres for myself, and, selecting a site,set the natives to work to build a rough mud house upon it which would serve asa temporary dwelling. I should add that the Prinsloos and the Meyers also madearrangements for the building of similar shelters almost alongside of my own.This done, I returned to Marie and the trek-Boers.

On the morning after my return to the camp Piet Retief appeared there with hisfive or six companions. I asked him how he had got on with Dingaan.

“Well enough, nephew,” he answered. “At first the king wassomewhat angry, saying that we Boers had stolen six hundred head of his cattle.But I showed him that it was the chief, Sikonyela, who lives yonder on theCaledon River, who had dressed up his people in white men’s clothes andput them upon horses, and afterwards drove the cattle through one of our campsto make it appear that we were the thieves. Then he asked me what was my objectin visiting him. I answered that I sought a grant of the land south of theTugela to the sea.

“‘Bring me back the cattle that you say Sikonyela hasstolen,’ he said, ‘and we will talk about this land.’ To thisI agreed and soon after left the kraal.”

“What did you do with Hernan Pereira, uncle?” I asked.

“This, Allan. When I was at Umgungundhlovu I sought out the truth of thatstory you told me as to his having made a plot to get you killed by the Zuluson the ground that you were a wizard.”

“And what did you discover, uncle?”

“I discovered that it was true, for Dingaan told me so himself. Then Isent for Pereira and ordered him out of my camp, telling him that if he cameback among the Boers I would have him put on his trial for attempted murder. Hesaid nothing, but went away.”

“Whither did he go?”

“To a place that Dingaan gave him just outside his kraal. The king saidthat he would be useful to him, as he could mend guns and teach his soldiers toshoot with them. So there, I suppose, he remains, unless he has thought itwiser to make off. At any rate, I am sure that he will not come here to troubleyou or anyone.”

“No, uncle, but he may trouble you there,” I saiddoubtfully.

“What do you mean, Allan?”

“I don’t quite know, but he is black-hearted, a traitor by nature,and in one way or the other he will stir up sorrow. Do you think that he willlove you, for instance, after you have hunted him out like a thief?”

Retief shrugged his shoulders and laughed as he answered:

“I will take my chance of that. What is the use of troubling one’shead about such a snake of a man? And now, Allan, I have something to ask you.Are you married yet?”

“No, uncle, nor can be for another five weeks, when Marie comes of age.Her father still holds that his oath binds him, and I have promised that I willnot take her till then.”

“Does he indeed, Allan? I think that Henri Marais is‘kransick’ (that is, cracked), or else his cursed nephew,Hernan, has fascinated him, as a snake does a bird. Still, I suppose that hehas the law on his side, and, as I am commandant, I cannot advise anyone tobreak the law. Now listen. It is no use your staying here looking at the ripepeach you may not pluck, for that only makes the stomach sick. Therefore thebest thing that you can do is to come with me to get those cattle fromSikonyela, for I shall be very glad of your company. Afterwards, too, I wantyou to return with me to Zululand when I go for the grant of all thiscountry.”

“But how about my getting married?” I asked in dismay.

“Oh! I dare say you will be able to marry before we start. Or if not, itmust be when we return. Listen now; do not disappoint me in this matter, Allan.None of us can speak Zulu except you, who takes to these savage languages likea duck to water, and I want you to be my interpreter with Dingaan. Also theking specially asked that you should come with me when I brought the cattle, ashe seems to have taken a great fancy to you. He said that you would render hiswords honestly, but that he did not trust the lad whom he has there totranslate into Dutch and English. So you see it will help me very much in thisbig business if you come with me.”

Still I hesitated, for some fear of the future lay heavy on my heart, warningme against this expedition.

“Allemachte!” said Retief angrily, “if you will not grant mea favour, let it be. Or is it that you want reward? If so, all I can promiseyou is twenty thousand acres of the best land in the country when we getit.”

“No, Mynheer Retief,” I replied; “it is no question ofreward; and as for the land, I have already pegged out my farm on a river aboutthirty miles to the east. It is that I do not like to leave Marie alone,fearing lest her father should play some trick on me as regards her and HernanPereira.”

“Oh, if that is all you are afraid of, Allan, I can soon settle matters;for I will give orders to the prédicant Celliers that he is not to marry MarieMarais to anyone except yourself, even if she asks him. Also I will order thatif Hernan Pereira should come to the camp, he is to be shut up until I returnto try him. Lastly, as commandant, I will name Henri Marais as one of those whoare to accompany us, so that he will be able to plot nothing against you. Noware you satisfied?”

I said “Yes” as cheerfully as I could, though I felt anything butcheerful, and we parted, for, of course, the Commandant Retief had much tooccupy him.

Then I went and told Marie what I had promised. Somewhat to my surprise shesaid that she thought I had acted wisely.

“If you stayed here,” she added, “perhaps some new quarrelwould arise between you and my father which might make bitterness afterwards.Also, dear, it would be foolish for you to offend the Commandant Retief, whowill be the great man in this country, and who is very fond of you. After all,Allan, we shall only be separated for a little while, and when that is done wehave the rest of our lives to spend together. As for me, do not be afraid, foryou know I will never marry anyone but you—no, not to save myself fromdeath.”

So I left her somewhat comforted, knowing how sound was her judgment, and wentoff to make my preparations for the expedition to Sikonyela’s country.

All this conversation with Retief I have set down in full, as nearly as I canremember it, because of its fateful consequences. Ah! if I could have foreseen;if only I could have foreseen!

CHAPTER XVI.
THE COUNCIL

Two days later we started to recover Dingaan’s cattle, sixty or seventyof us, all well armed and mounted. With us went two of Dingaan’s captainsand a number of Zulus, perhaps a hundred, who were to drive the cattle if werecovered them. As I could speak their language I was more or less in commandof this Zulu contingent, and managed to make myself very useful in thatcapacity. Also, during the month or so of our absence, by continuallyconversing with them, I perfected myself considerably in my knowledge of theirbeautiful but difficult tongue.

Now it is not my intention to write down the details of this expedition, duringwhich there was no fighting and nothing serious happened. We arrived in duecourse at Sikonyela’s and stated our errand. When he saw how numerous andwell armed we were, and that behind us was all the might of the Zulu army, thatwily old rascal thought it well to surrender the stolen cattle without furtherto-do, and with these some horses which he had lifted from the Boers. So,having received them, we delivered them over to the Zulu captains, withinstructions to drive them carefully to Umgungundhlovu. The commandant sent amessage by these men to the effect that, having fulfilled his part of thecompact, he would wait upon Dingaan as soon as possible in order to concludethe treaty about the land.

This business finished, Retief took me and a number of the Boers to visit otherbodies of the emigrant Dutch who were beyond the Drakensberg, in what is nowthe Transvaal territory. This occupied a long time, as these Boers were widelyscattered, and at each camp we had to stop for several days while Retiefexplained everything to its leaders. Also he arranged with them to come downinto Natal, so as to be ready to people it as soon as he received the formalcession of the country from Dingaan. Indeed, most of them began to trek atonce, although jealousies between the various commandants caused some of thebands, luckily for themselves, to remain on the farther side of the mountains.

At length, everything being settled, we rode away, and reached theBushman’s River camp on a certain Saturday afternoon. Here, to my joy, wefound all well. Nothing had been heard of Hernan Pereira, while the Zulus, ifwe might judge from messengers who came to us, seemed to be friendly. Marie,also, had now quite recovered from the fears and hardships which she hadundergone. Never had I seen her look so sweet and beautiful as she did when shegreeted me, arrayed no longer in rags, but in a simple yet charming dress madeof some stuff that she had managed to buy from a trader who came up to the campfrom Durban. Moreover, I think that there was another reason for the change,since the light of dawning happiness shone in her deep eyes.

The day, as I have said, was Saturday, and on the Monday she would come of ageand be free to dispose of herself in marriage, for on that day lapsed thepromise which we had given to her father. But, alas! by a cursed perversity offate, on this very Monday at noon the Commandant Retief had arranged to rideinto Zululand on his second visit to Dingaan, and with Retief I was in honourbound to go.

“Marie,” I said, “will not your father soften towards us andlet us be married to-morrow, so that we may have a few hours together before wepart?”

“I do not know, my dear,” she answered, blushing, “sinceabout this matter he is very strange and obstinate. Do you know that all thetime you were absent he never mentioned your name, and if anyone else spoke ithe would get up and go away!”

“That’s bad,” I said. “Still, if you are willing, wemight try.”

“Indeed and indeed, Allan, I am willing, who am sick of being so near toyou and yet so far. But how shall we do so?”

“I think that we will ask the Commandant Retief and the Vrouw Prinsloo toplead for us, Marie. Let us go to seek them.”

She nodded, and hand in hand we walked through the Boers, who nudged each otherand laughed at us as we passed to where the old vrouw was seated on a stool byher wagon drinking coffee. I remember that her vatdoekwas spread overher knees, for she also had a new dress, which she was afraid of staining.

“Well, my dears,” she said in her loud voice, “are youmarried already that you hang so close together?”

“No, my aunt,” I answered; “but we want to be, and have cometo you to help us.”

“That I will do with all my heart, though to speak truth, young people,at your age, as things are, I should have been inclined to help myself, as Ihave told you before. Heaven above us! what is it that makes marriage in thesight of God? It is that male and female should declare themselves man and wifebefore all folk, and live as such. The pastor and his mumblings are very wellif you can get them, but it is the giving of the hand, not the setting of thering upon it; it is the vowing of two true hearts, and not words read out of abook, that make marriage. Still, this is bold talk, for which any reverendprédicant would reprove me, for if young folk acted on it, although the tiemight hold good in law, what would become of his fee? Come, let us seek thecommandant and hear what he has to say. Allan, pull me up off this stool,where, if I had my way, after so much travelling, I should like to sit while ahouse was built over my head and for the rest of my life.”

I obeyed, not without difficulty, and we went to find Retief.

At the moment he was standing alone, watching two wagons that had just trekkedaway. These contained his wife with other members of his family, and somefriends whom he was sending, under the charge of the Heer Smit, to a placecalled Doornkop, that lay at a distance of fifteen miles or more. At thisDoornkop he had already caused a rough house, or rather shed, to be built forthe Vrouw Retief’s occupation, thinking that she would be morecomfortable and perhaps safer there during his absence than at the crowded campin a wagon.

“Allemachte! Allan,” he said, catching sight of me, “my heartis sore; I do not know why. I tell you that when I kissed my old woman good-byejust now I felt as though I should never see her again, and the tears came intomy eyes. I wish we were all safe back from Dingaan. But there, there, I willtry to get over to see her to-morrow, as we don’t start till Monday. Whatis it that you want, Allan, with that ‘mooi mesje’ ofyours?”—and he pointed to the tall Marie.

“What would any man want with such a one, save to marry her?” brokein the Vrouw Prinsloo. “Now, commandant, listen while I set out thetale.”

“All right, aunt, only be brief, for I have no time to spare.”

She obeyed, but I cannot say that she was brief.

When at last the old lady paused, breathless, Retief said:

“I understand everything; there is no need for you young people to talk.Now we will go and see Henri Marais, and, if he is not madder than usual, makehim listen to reason.”

So we walked to where Marais’s wagon stood at the end of the line, andfound him sitting on the disselboomcutting up tobacco with hispocket-knife.

“Good-day, Allan,” he said, for we had not met since my return.“Have you had a nice journey?”

I was about to answer when the commandant broke in impatiently:

“See here, see here, Henri, we have not come to talk about Allan’sjourney, but about his marriage, which is more important. He rides with me toZululand on Monday, as you do, and wants to wed your daughter to-morrow, whichis Sunday, a good day for the deed.”

“It is a day to pray, not to give and be given in marriage,”commented Marais sulkily. “Moreover, Marie does not come of age beforeMonday, and until then the oath that I made to God holds.”

“My vatdoekfor your oath!” exclaimed the vrouw, flappingthat awful rag in his face. “How much do you suppose that God cares whatyou in your folly swore to that stinkcat of a nephew of yours? Do you becareful, Henri Marais, that God does not make of your precious oath a stone tofall upon your head and break it like a peanut-shell.”

“Hold your chattering tongue, old woman,” said Marais furiously.“Am I to be taught my duty to my conscience and my daughter byyou?”

“Certainly you are, if you cannot teach them to yourself,” beganthe vrouw, setting her hands upon her hips.

But Retief pushed her aside, saying:

“No quarrelling here. Now, Henri Marais, your conduct about these twoyoung people who love each other is a scandal. Will you let them be marriedto-morrow or not?”

“No, commandant, I will not. By the law I have power over my daughtertill she is of age, and I refuse to allow her to marry a cursed Englishman.Moreover, the prédicant Celliers is away, so there is none to marrythem.”

“You speak strange words, Mynheer Marais,” said Retief quietly,“especially when I remember all that this ‘cursed Englishman’has done for you and yours, for I have heard every bit of that story, thoughnot from him. Now hearken. You have appealed to the law, and, as commandant, Imust allow your appeal. But after twelve o’clock to-morrow night,according to your own showing, the law ceases to bind your daughter. Therefore,on Monday morning, if there is no clergyman in the camp and these two wish it,I, as commandant, will marry them before all men, as I have the power todo.”

Then Marais broke into one of those raving fits of temper which wereconstitutional in him, and to my mind showed that he was never quite sane.Oddly enough, it was on poor Marie that he concentrated his wrath. He cursedher horribly because she had withstood his will and refused to marry HernanPereira. He prayed that evil might fall on her; that she might never bear achild, and that if she did, it might die, and other things too unpleasant tomention.

We stared at him astonished, though I think that had he been any other man thanthe father of my betrothed, I should have struck him. Retief, I noticed, liftedhis hand to do so, then let it fall again, muttering: “Let be; he ispossessed with a devil.”

At last Marais ceased, not, I think, from lack of words, but because he wasexhausted, and stood before us, his tall form quivering, and his thin, nervousface working like that of a person in convulsions. Then Marie, who had droppedher head beneath this storm, lifted it, and I saw that her deep eyes were allablaze and that she was very white.

“You are my father,” she said in a low voice, “and thereforeI must submit to whatever you choose to say to me. Moreover, I think it likelythat the evil which you call down will fall upon me, since Satan is always athand to fulfil his own wishes. But if so, my father, I am sure that this evilwill recoil upon your own head, not only here, but hereafter. There justicewill be done to both of us, perhaps before very long, and also to your nephew,Hernan Pereira.”

Marais made no answer; his rage seemed to have spent itself. He only sathimself again upon the disselboomof the wagon and went on cutting upthe tobacco viciously, as though he were slicing the heart of a foe. Even theVrouw Prinsloo was silent and stared at him whilst she fanned herself with thevatdoek. But Retief spoke.

“I wonder if you are mad, or only wicked, Henri Marais,” he said.“To curse your own sweet girl like this you must be one or theother—a single child who has always been good to you. Well, as you are toride with me on Monday, I pray that you will keep your temper under control,lest it should bring us into trouble, and you also. As for you, Marie, my dear,do not fret because a wild beast has tried to toss you with his horns, althoughhe happens to be your father. On Monday morning you pass out of his power intoyour own, and on that day I will marry you to Allan Quatermain here. Meanwhile,I think you are safest away from this father of yours, who might take tocutting your throat instead of that tobacco. Vrouw Prinsloo, be so good as tolook after Marie Marais, and on Monday morning next bring her before me to bewed. Until then, Henri Marais, I, as commandant, shall set a guard over you,with orders to seize you if it should be necessary. Now I advise you to take awalk, and when you are calm again, to pray God to forgive you your wickedwords, lest they should be fulfilled and drag you down to judgment.”

Then we all went, leaving Henri Marais still cutting up his tobacco on thedisselboom.

On the Sunday I met Marais walking about the camp, followed by the guard whomRetief had set over him. To my surprise he greeted me almost with affection.

“Allan,” he said, “you must not misunderstand me. I do notreally wish ill to Marie, whom I love more dearly than I do my life; God aloneknows how much I love her. But I made a promise to her cousin, Hernan, my onlysister’s only child, and you will understand that I cannot break thatpromise, although Hernan has disappointed me in many ways—yes, in manyways. But if he is bad, as they say, it comes with that Portuguese blood, whichis a misfortune that he cannot help, does it not? However bad he may be, as anhonest man I am bound to keep my promise, am I not? Also, Allan, you mustremember that you are English, and although you may be a good fellow inyourself, that is a fault which you cannot expect me to forgive. Still, if itis fated that you should marry my daughter and breed Englishchildren—Heaven above! to think of it, English children!—well,there is nothing more to be said. Don’t remember the words I spoke toMarie. Indeed, I can’t remember them myself. When I grow angry, a kind ofrush of blood comes into my brain, and then I forget what I have said,”and he stretched out his hand to me.

I shook it and answered that I understood he was not himself when he spokethose dreadful words, which both Marie and I wished to forget.

“I hope you will come to our wedding to-morrow,” I added,“and wipe them out with a father’s blessing.”

“To-morrow! Are you really going to be married to-morrow?” heexclaimed, his sallow face twitching nervously. “O God, it was anotherman that I dreamed to see standing by Marie’s side. But he is not here;he has disgraced and deserted me. Well, I will come, if my gaolers will sufferit. Good-bye, you happy bridegroom of to-morrow, good-bye.”

Then he swung round and departed, followed by the guards, one of whom touchedhis brow and shook his head significantly as he passed me.

I think that Sunday seemed the longest day I ever spent. The Vrouw Prinsloowould scarcely allow me even a glimpse of Marie, because of some fad she hadgot into her mind that it was either not proper or not fortunate, I forgetwhich, that a bride and bridegroom should associate on the eve of theirmarriage. So I occupied myself as best I could. First I wrote a long letter tomy father, the third that I had sent, telling him everything that was going tohappen, and saying how grieved I was that he could not be present to marry usand give us his blessing.

This letter I gave to a trader who was trekking to the bay on the followingmorning, begging him to forward it by the first opportunity.

That duty done, I saw about the horses which I was taking into Zululand, threeof them, two for myself and one for Hans, who accompanied me as after-rider.Also the saddlery, saddle-bags, guns and ammunition must be overhauled, all ofwhich took some time.

“You are going to spend a strange wittebroodsweek[white-bread-week, or, in other words, honeymoon], baas,” said Hans,squinting at me with his little eyes, as he brayed away at a buckskin which wasto serve as a saddle-cloth. “Now, if Iwas to be marriedto-morrow, I should stop with my pretty for a few days, and only ride offsomewhere else when I was tired of her, especially if that somewhere elsechanced to be Zululand, where they are so fond of killing people.”

“I dare say you would, Hans; and so would I, if I could, you be sure.But, you see, the commandant wants me to interpret, and therefore it is my dutyto go with him.”

“Duty; what is duty, baas? Love I understand. It is for love of you thatI go with you; also for fear lest you should cause me to be beaten if Irefused. Otherwise I would certainly stop here in the camp, where there isplenty to eat and little work to do, as, were I you, I should do also for loveof that white missie. But duty—pah! that is a fool-word, which makesbones of a man before his time and leaves his girl to others.”

“Of course, you do not understand, Hans, any more than you colouredpeople understand what gratitude is. But what do you mean about this trek ofours? Are you afraid?”

He shrugged his shoulders. “A little, perhaps, baas. At least, I shouldbe if I thought about the morrow, which I don’t, since to-day is enoughfor me, and thinking about what one can’t know makes the head ache.Dingaan is not a nice man, baas; we saw that, didn’t we? He is a hunterwho knows how to set a trap. Also he has the Baas Pereira up there to help him.So perhaps you might be more comfortable here kissing Missie Marie. Why do younot say that you have hurt your leg and cannot run? It would not be muchtrouble to walk about on a crutch for a day or two, and when the commandant waswell gone, your leg might heal and you could throw the stick away.”

“Get thee behind me, Satan,” I muttered to myself, and was about togive Hans a piece of my mind when I recollected that the poor fellow had hisown way of looking at things and could not be blamed. Also, as he said, heloved me, and only suggested what he thought would tend to my joy and safety.How could I suppose that he would be interested in the success of a diplomaticmission to Dingaan, or think anything about it except that it was a riskybusiness? So I only said:

“Hans, if you are afraid, you had better stop behind. I can easily findanother after-rider.”

“Is the baas angry with me that he should speak so?” asked theHottentot. “Have I not always been true to him; and if I should bekilled, what does it matter? Have I not said that I do not think aboutto-morrow, and we must all go to sleep sometime? No; unless the baas beats meback, I shall come with him. But, baas”—this in a wheedlingtone—“you might give me some brandy to drink your health into-night. It is very good to get drunk when one has to be sober, and perhapsdead, for a long time afterwards. It would be nice to remember when one is aspook, or an angel with white wings, such as the old baas, your father, used totell us about in school on the Sabbath.”

At this point, finding Hans hopeless, I got up and walked away, leaving him tofinish our preparations.

That evening there was a prayer-meeting in the camp, for although no pastor waspresent, one of the Boer elders took his place and offered up supplicationswhich, if simple and even absurd in their wording, at least were hearty enough.Amongst other requests, I remember that he petitioned for the safety of thosewho were to go on the mission to Dingaan and of those who were to remainbehind. Alas! those prayers were not heard, for it pleased the Power to Whomthey were addressed to decree otherwise.

After this meeting, in which I took an earnest share, Retief who just before itbegan had ridden in from Doornkop, whither he had been to visit his wife, helda kind of council, whereat the names of those who had volunteered or beenordered to accompany him, were finally taken down. At this council there was agood deal of discussion, since many of the Boers did not think the expeditionwise—at any rate, if it was to be carried out on so large a scale. One ofthem, I forget which, an old man, pointed out that it might look like a warparty, and that it would be wiser if only five or six went, as they had donebefore, since then there could be no mistake as to the peaceful nature of theirintentions.

Retief himself combated this view, and at last turned suddenly to me, who waslistening near by, and said:

“Allan Quatermain, you are young, but you have a good judgment; also, youare one of the very few who know Dingaan and can speak his language. Tell usnow, what do you think?”

Thus adjured, I answered, perhaps moved thereto more than I thought byHans’s talk, that I, too, considered the thing dangerous, and thatsomeone whose life was less valuable than the commandant’s should go incommand.

“Why do you say so, nephew,” he said irritably, “seeing thatall white men’s lives are of equal value, and I can smell no danger inthe business?”

“Because, commandant, I do smell danger, though what danger I cannot say,any more than a dog or a buck can when it sniffs something in the air and barksor runs. Dingaan is a tamed tiger just now, but tigers are not house cats thatone can play with them, as I know, who have felt his claws and just, only just,come out from between them.”

“What do you mean, nephew?” asked Retief in his direct fashion.“Do you believe that this swartzel” (that is, blackcreature) “means to kill us?”

“I believe that it is quite possible,” I answered.

“Then, nephew, being a reasonable man as you are, you must have someground for your belief. Come now, out with it.”

“I have none, commandant, except that one who can set the lives of adozen folk against a man’s skill in shooting at birds on the wing, andwho can kill people to be a bait for those birds, is capable of anything.Moreover, he told me that he did not love you Boers, and why should he?”

Now, all those who were standing about seemed to be impressed with thisargument. At any rate, they turned towards Retief, anxiously waiting for hisreply.

“Doubtless,” answered the commandant, who, as I have said, wasirritable that night, “doubtless those English missionaries have poisonedthe king’s mind against us Boers. Also,” he added suspiciously,“I think you told me, Allan, that the king said he liked you and meant tospare you, even if he killed your companions, just because you also areEnglish. Are you sure that you do not know more than you choose to tell us? HasDingaan perhaps confided something to you—just because you areEnglish?”

Then noting that these words moved the assembled Boers, in whom race prejudiceand recent events had created a deep distrust of any born of British blood, Igrew very angry and answered:

“Commandant, Dingaan confided nothing to me, except that some Kaffirwitch-doctor, who is named Zikali, a man I never saw, had told him that he mustnot kill an Englishman, and therefore he wished to spare me, although one ofyour people, Hernan Pereira, had whispered to him that I ought to be killed.Yet I say outright that I think you are foolish to visit this king with solarge a force. Still, I am ready to do so myself with one or two others. Let mego, then, and try to persuade him to sign this treaty as to the land. If I amkilled or fail, you can follow after me and do better.”

“Allemachte!” exclaimed Retief; “that is a fair offer. Buthow do I know, nephew, that when we came to read the treaty we should not findthat it granted all the land to you English and not to us Boers? No, no,don’t look angry. That was not a right thing to say, for you are honestwhatever most of your blood may be. Nephew Allan, you who are a brave man, areafraid of this journey. Now, why is that, I wonder? Ah! I have it. I hadforgotten. You are to be married to-morrow morning to a very pretty girl, andit is not natural that you should wish to spend the next fortnight in Zululand.Don’t you see, brothers, he wants to get out of it because he is going tobe married, as it is natural that he should, and therefore he tries to frightenus all? When we were going to be married, should we have wished to ride away atonce to visit some stinking savage? Ach! I am glad I thought of that just as Iwas beginning to turn his gloomy colour, like a chameleon on a black hat, forit explains everything,” and he struck his thigh with his big hand andburst into a roar of laughter.

All the company of Boers who stood around began to laugh also, uproariously,for this primitive joke appealed to them. Moreover, their nerves were strained;they also dreaded this expedition, and therefore they were glad to relievethemselves in bucolic merriment. Everything was clear to them now. Feelingmyself in honour bound to go on the embassy, as I was their only interpreter,I, artful dog, was trying to play upon their fears in order to prevent it fromstarting, so that I might have a week or two of the company of my new-wed wife.They saw and appreciated the joke.

“He’s slim, this little Englishman,” shouted one.

“Don’t be angry with him. We should have done as muchourselves,” replied another.

“Leave him behind,” said a third. “Even the Zulus do not senda new-married man on service.” Then they smacked me on the back, andhustled me in their rude, kindly manner, till at length I fell into a rage andhit one of them on the nose, at which he only laughed the louder, although Imade it bleed.

“See here, friends,” I said, as soon as silence was restored;“married or no, whoever does not ride to Dingaan, I ride to him, althoughit is against my judgment. Let those laugh loudest who laugh last.”

“Good!” cried one; “if you set the pace we shall soon be homeagain, Allan Quatermain. Who would not with Marie Marais at the end of thejourney?”

Then, followed by their rough and mocking laughter, I broke away from them, andtook refuge in my wagon, little guessing that all this talk would be brought upagainst me on a day to come.

In a certain class of uneducated mind foresight is often interpreted as guiltyknowledge.

CHAPTER XVII.
THE MARRIAGE

I was awakened on my wedding morning by the crash and bellowing of a greatthunderstorm. The lightning flashed fearfully all about us, killing two oxenquite near to my wagon, and the thunder rolled and echoed till the very earthseemed to shake. Then came a wail of cold wind, and after that the swish oftorrential rain. Although I was well accustomed to such natural manifestations,especially at this season of the year, I confess that these sights and soundsdid not tend to raise my spirits, which were already lower than they shouldhave been on that eventful day. Hans, however, who arrived to help me put on mybest clothes for the ceremony, was for once consoling.

“Don’t look sick, baas,” he said, “for if there isstorm in the morning, there is shine at night.”

“Yes,” I answered, speaking more to myself than to him, “butwhat will happen between the storm of the morning and the peace of thenight?”

It was arranged that the commission, which, counting the native after-riders,consisted of over a hundred people, among them several boys, who were littlemore than children, was to ride at one hour before noon. Nobody could get aboutto make the necessary preparations until the heavy rain had passed away, whichit did a little after eight o’clock. Therefore when I left the wagon toeat, or try to eat some breakfast, I found the whole camp in a state of bustle.

Boers were shouting to their servants, horses were being examined, women werepacking the saddle-bags of their husbands and fathers with spare clothes, thepack-beasts were being laden with biltong and other provisions, and so forth.

In the midst of all this tumult I began to wonder whether my private businesswould not be forgotten, since it seemed unlikely that time could be found formarriages. However, about ten o’clock when, having done everything that Ihad to do, I was sitting disconsolately upon my wagon box, being too shy to mixwith that crowd of busy mockers or to go to the Prinsloos’ camp to makeinquiries, the vrouw herself appeared.

“Come on, Allan,” she said, “the commandant is waiting andswearing because you are not there. Also, there is another waiting, and oh! shelooks lovely. When they see her, every man in the camp will want her forhimself, whether he has got a wife or not, for in that matter, although youmayn’t think so just now, they are all the same as the Kaffirs. Oh! Iknow them, I know them, a white skin makes no difference.”

While she held forth thus in her usual outspoken fashion, the vrouw wasdragging me along by the hand, just as though I were a naughty little boy. Norcould I get free from that mighty grip, or, when once her great bulk was inmotion, match my weight against it. Of course, some of the younger Boers, who,knowing her errand, had followed her, set up a shout of cheers and laughter,which attracted everybody to the procession.

“It is too late to hang back now, Englishman.” “You must makethe best of a bad business.” “If you wanted to change your mind,you should have done it before,” men and women roared and screamed withmany other such bantering words, till at length I felt myself turn the colourof a red vlei lily.

So we came at last to where Marie stood, the centre of an admiring circle. Shewas clothed in a soft white gown made of some simple but becoming stuff, andshe wore upon her dark hair a wreath woven by the other maidens in the camp, abevy of whom stood behind her.

Now we were face to face. Our eyes met, and oh! hers were full of love andtrust. They dazzled and bewildered me. Feeling that I ought to speak, and notknowing what to say, I merely stammered “Good morning,” whereoneveryone broke into a roar of laughter, except Vrouw Prinsloo, who exclaimed:

“Did any one ever see such a fool?” and even Marie smiled.

Then Piet Retief appeared from somewhere dressed in tall boots and rough ridingclothes, such as the Boers wore in those days. Handing the roerhe wascarrying to one of his sons, after much fumbling he produced a book from hispocket, in which the place was marked with a piece of grass.

“Now then,” he said, “be silent, all, and show respect, forremember I am not a man just now. I am a parson, which is quite a differentthing, and, being a commandant and a veld cornet and other officers all rolledinto one, by virtue of the law I am about to marry these young people, so helpme God. Don’t any of you witnesses ever say afterwards that they are notrightly and soundly married, because I tell you that they are, or willbe.” He paused for breath, and someone said, “Hear, hear,” orits Dutch equivalent, whereon, having glared the offender into silence, Retiefproceeded:

“Young man and young woman, what are your names?”

“Don’t ask silly questions, commandant,” broke in VrouwPrinsloo; “you know their names well enough.”

“Of course I do, aunt,” he answered; “but for this purpose Imust pretend not to know them. Are you better acquainted with the law than Iam? But stay, where is the father, Henri Marais?”

Someone thrust Marais forward, and there he stood quite silent, staring at uswith a queer look upon his face and his gun in his hand, for he, too, was readyto ride.

“Take away that gun,” said Retief; “it might go off and causedisturbance or perhaps accidents,” and somebody obeyed. “Now, HenriMarais, do you give your daughter to be married to this man?”

“No,” said Marais softly.

“Very well, that is just like you, but it doesn’t matter, for sheis of age and can give herself. Is she not of age, Henri Marais? Don’tstand there like a horse with the staggers, but tell me; is she not ofage?”

“I believe so,” he answered in the same soft voice.

“Then take notice, people all, that this woman is of age, and givesherself to be married to this man, don’t you, my dear?”

“Yes,” answered Marie.

“All right, now for it,” and, opening the book, he held it up tothe light, and began to read, or, rather, to stumble, through the marriageservice.

Presently he stuck fast, being, like most Boers of his time, no great scholar,and exclaimed:

“Here, one of you help me with these hard words.”

As nobody volunteered, Retief handed the book to me, for he knew that Maraiswould not assist him, saying:

“You are a scholar, Allan, being a clergyman’s son. Read on till wecome to the important bits, and I will say the words after you, which will dojust as well and be quite according to law.”

So I read, Heaven knows how, for the situation was trying enough, until I cameto the crucial questions, when I gave the book back.

“Ah!” said Retief; “this is quite easy. Now then, Allan, doyou take this woman to be your wife? Answer, putting in your name, which isleft blank in the book.”

I replied that I did, and the question was repeated to Marie, who did likewise.

“Well then, there you are,” said Retief, “for I won’ttrouble you with all the prayers, which I don’t feel myself parson enoughto say. Oh! no, I forgot. Have you a ring?”

I drew one off my finger that had been my mother’s—I believe it hadserved this same purpose at the wedding of her grandmother—and set thethin little hoop of gold upon the third finger of Marie’s left hand. Istill wear that ring to-day.

“It should have been a new one,” muttered Vrouw Prinsloo.

“Be silent, aunt,” said Retief; “are there anyjewellers’ shops here in the veld? A ring is a ring, even if it came offa horse’s bit. There, I think that is all. No, wait a minute, I am goingto say a prayer of my own over you, not one out of this book, which is so badlyprinted that I cannot read it. Kneel down, both of you; the rest may stand, asthe grass is so wet.”

Now, bethinking herself of Marie’s new dress, the vrouw produced hervatdoekfrom a capacious pocket, and doubled up that dingy article forMarie to kneel on, which she did. Then Pieter Retief, flinging down the book,clasped his hands and uttered this simple, earnest prayer, whereof, strangelyenough, every word remains fast in my mind. Coming as it did, not from aprinted page, but from his honest and believing heart, it was very impressiveand solemn.

“O God above us, Who sees all and is with us when we are born, when weare married, when we die, and if we do our duty for all time afterwards inHeaven, hear our prayer. I pray Thee bless this man and this woman who appearhere before Thee to be wed. Make them love each other truly all their lives, bethese long or short, be they sick or well, be they happy or in sorrow, be theyrich or poor. Give them children to be reared up in Thy Word, give them anhonest name and the respect of all who know them, and at last give them ThySalvation through the Blood of Jesus the Saviour. If they are together, letthem rejoice in each other. If they are apart, let them not forget each other.If one of them dies and the other lives, let that one who lives look forward tothe day of reunion and bow the head to Thy Will, and keep that one who dies inThy holy Hand. O Thou Who knowest all things, guide the lives of these twoaccording to Thy eternal purpose, and teach them to be sure that whatever Thoudoest, is done for the best. For Thou art a faithful Creator, Who wishes goodto His children and not evil, and at the last Thou wilt give them that good ifthey do but trust in Thee through daylight and through darkness. Now let no mandare to put asunder those whom Thou hast joined together, O Lord God Almighty,Father of us all. Amen.”

So he prayed, and all the company echoed that Amen from their hearts. That isall except one, for Henri Marais turned his back on us and walked away.

“So,” said Retief, wiping his brow with the sleeve of his coat,“you are the last couple that ever I mean to marry. The work is too hardfor a layman who has bad sight for print. Now kiss each other; it is the rightthing to do.”

So we kissed, and the congregation cheered.

“Allan,” went on the commandant, pulling out a silver watch like aturnip, “you have just half an hour before we ride, and the VrouwPrinsloo says that she has made you a wedding meal in that tent there, so youhad best go eat it.”

To the tent we went accordingly, to find a simple but bounteous feast prepared,of which we partook, helping each other to food, as is, or was, the custom withnew-wedded folk. Also, many Boers came in and drank our healths, although theVrouw Prinsloo told them that it would have been more decent to leave us alone.But Henri Marais did not come or drink our healths.

Thus the half-hour went all too swiftly, and not a word did we get alone. Atlast in despair, seeing that Hans was already waiting with the horses, I drewMarie aside, motioning to everyone to stand back.

“Dearest wife,” I said in broken words, “this is a strangebeginning to our married life, but you see it can’t be helped.”

“No, Allan,” she answered, “it can’t be helped; but oh!I wish my heart were happier about your journey. I fear Dingaan, and ifanything should chance to you I shall die of grief.”

“Why should anything chance, Marie? We are a strong and well-armed party,and Dingaan looks on us peacefully.”

“I don’t know, husband, but they say Hernan Pereira is with theZulus, and he hates you.”

“Then he had better mind his manners, or he will not be here long to hateanybody,” I answered grimly, for my gorge rose at the thought of this manand his treacheries.

“Vrouw Prinsloo,” I called to the old lady, who was near, “bepleased to come hither and listen. And, Marie, do you listen also. If by chanceI should hear anything affecting your safety, and send you a message by someoneyou can trust, such as that you should remove yourselves elsewhere or hide,promise me that you will obey it without question.”

“Of course I will obey you, husband. Have I not just sworn to doso?” Marie said with a sad smile.

“And so will I, Allan,” said the vrouw; “not because I havesworn anything, but because I know you have a good head on your shoulders, andso will my man and the others of our party. Though why you should think youwill have any message to send, I can’t guess, unless you know somethingthat is hidden from us,” she added shrewdly. “You say youdon’t; well, it is not likely you would tell us if you did. Look! Theyare calling, you must go. Come on, Marie, let us see them off.”

So we went to where the commission was gathered on horseback, just in time tohear Retief addressing the people, or, rather, the last of his words.

“Friends,” he said, “we go upon an important business, fromwhich I hope we shall return happily within a very little time. Still, this isa rough country, and we have to deal with rough people. Therefore my advice toall you who stay behind is that you should not scatter, but keep together, sothat in case of any trouble the men who are left may be at hand to defend thiscamp. For if they are here you have nothing to fear from all the savages inAfrica. And now God be with you, and good-bye. Come, trek, brothers,trek!”

Then followed a few moments of confusion while men kissed their wives, childrenand sisters in farewell, or shook each other by the hand. I, too, kissed Marie,and, tumbling on to my horse somehow, rode away, my eyes blind with tears, forthis parting was bitter. When I could see clearly again I pulled up and lookedback at the camp, which was now at some distance. It seemed a peaceful placeindeed, for although the storm of the morning was returning and a pall of darkcloud hung over it, the sun still shone upon the white wagon caps and thepeople who went to and fro among them.

Who could have thought that within a little time it would be but a field ofblood, that those wagons would be riddled with assegais, and that the women andchildren who were moving there must most of them lie upon the veld mutilatedcorpses dreadful to behold? Alas! the Boers, always impatient of authority andconfident that their own individual judgment was the best, did not obey theircommandant’s order to keep together. They went off this way and that, toshoot the game which was then so plentiful, leaving their families almostwithout protection. Thus the Zulus found and slew them.

Presently as I rode forward a little apart from the others someone overtook me,and I saw that it was Henri Marais.

“Well, Allan,” he said, “so God has given you to me for ason-in-law. Who would have thought it? You do not look to me like a new-marriedman, for that marriage is not natural when the bridegroom rides off and leavesthe bride of an hour. Perhaps you will never be really married after all, forGod, Who gives sons-in-law, can also take them away, especially when He was notasked for them. Ah!” he went on, lapsing into French, as was his wontwhen moved, “qui vivra verra! qui vivra verra!” Then,shouting this excellent but obvious proverb at the top of his voice, he struckhis horse with the butt of his gun, and galloped away before I could answerhim.

At that moment I hated Henri Marais as I had never hated anyone before, noteven his nephew Hernan. Almost did I ride to the commandant to complain of him,but reflecting to myself, first that he was undoubtedly half mad, and thereforenot responsible for his actions, and secondly that he was better here with usthan in the same camp with my wife, I gave up the idea. Yet alas! it is thehalf-mad who are the most dangerous of lunatics.

Hans, who had observed this scene and overheard all Marais’s talk, andwho also knew the state of the case well enough, sidled his horse alongside ofme, and whispered in a wheedling voice:

“Baas, I think the old baas is kransickand not safe. He lookslike one who is going to harm someone. Now, baas, suppose I let my gun off byaccident; you know we coloured people are very careless with guns! The HeerMarais would never be troubled with any more fancies, and you and the MissieMarie and all of us would be safer. Also, youcould not be blamed, norcould I, for who can help an accident? Guns will go off sometimes, baas, whenyou don’t want them to.”

“Get out,” I answered. Yet if Hans’s gun had chanced to“go off,” I believe it might have saved a multitude of lives!

CHAPTER XVIII.
THE TREATY

Our journey to Umgungundhlovu was prosperous and without incident. When we werewithin half a day’s march from the Great Kraal we overtook the herd ofcattle that we had recaptured from Sikonyela, for these beasts had been drivenvery slowly and well rested that they might arrive in good condition. Also thecommandant was anxious that we should present them ourselves to the king.

Driving this multitude of animals before us—there were over five thousandhead of them—we reached the Great Place on Saturday the 3rd of Februaryabout midday, and forced them through its gates into the cattle kraals. Then weoff-saddled and ate our dinner under those two milk trees near the gate of thekraal where I had bid good-bye to Dingaan.

After dinner messengers came to ask us to visit the king, and with them theyouth, Thomas Halstead, who told the commandant that all weapons must be leftbehind, since it was the Zulu law that no man might appear before the kingarmed. To this Retief demurred, whereon the messengers appealed to me, whomthey had recognised, asking if that were not the custom of their country.

I answered that I had not been in it long enough to know. Then there was apause while they sent for someone to bear evidence; at the time I did not knowwhom, as I was not near enough to Thomas Halstead to make inquiries. Presentlythis someone appeared, and turned out to be none other than Hernan Pereira.

He advanced towards us attended by Zulus, as though he were a chief, lookingfat and well and handsomer than ever. Seeing Retief, he lifted his hat with aflourish and held out his hand, which, I noted, the commandant did not take.

“So you are still here, Mynheer Pereira!” he said coldly.“Now be good enough to tell me, what is this matter about the abandoningof our arms?”

“The king charges me to say—” began Hernan.

“Charges you to say, Mynheer Pereira! Are you then this black man’sservant? But continue.”

“That none must come into his private enclosure armed.”

“Well, then, mynheer, be pleased to go tell this king that we do not wishto come to his private enclosure. I have brought the cattle that he desired meto fetch, and I am willing to deliver them to him wherever he wishes, but wewill not unarm in order to do so.”

Now there was talk, and messengers were despatched, who returned at full speedpresently to say that Dingaan would receive the Boers in the great dancingplace in the midst of the kraal, and that they might bring their guns, as hewished to see how they fired them.

So we rode in, making as fine a show as we could, to find that the dancingplace, which measured a good many acres in extent, was lined round withthousands of plumed but unarmed warriors arranged in regiments.

“You see,” I heard Pereira say to Retief, “these have nospears.”

“No,” answered the commandant, “but they have sticks, whichwhen they are a hundred to one would serve as well.”

Meanwhile the vast mob of cattle were being driven in a double stream past aknot of men at the head of the space, and then away through gates behind. Whenthe beasts had all gone we approached these men, among whom I recognised thefat form of Dingaan draped in a bead mantle. We ranged ourselves in asemicircle before him, and stood while he searched us with his sharp eyes.Presently he saw me, and sent a councillor to say that I must come andinterpret for him.

So, dismounting, I went with Retief, Thomas Halstead, and a few of the leadingBoers.

“Sakubona[Good day], Macumazahn,” said Dingaan. “I amglad that you have come, as I know that you will speak my words truly, beingone of the People of George whom I love, for Tho-maas here I do not trust,although he is also a Son of George.”

I told Retief what he said.

“Oh!” he exclaimed with a grunt, “it seems that you Englishare a step in front of us Boers, even here.”

Then he went forward and shook hands with the king, whom, it will beremembered, he had visited before.

After that the indabaor talk began, which I do not propose to set outat length, for it is a matter of history. It is enough to say that Dingaan,after thanking Retief for recovering the cattle, asked where was Sikonyela, thechief who had stolen them, as he wished to kill him. When he learned thatSikonyela remained in his own country, he became, or affected to become, angry.Then he asked where were the sixty horses which he heard we had captured fromSikonyela, as they must be given up to him.

Retief, by way of reply, touched his grey hairs, and inquired whether Dingaanthought that he was a child that he, Dingaan, should demand horses which didnot belong to him. He added that these horses had been restored to the Boers,from whom Sikonyela had stolen them.

When Dingaan had expressed himself satisfied with this answer, Retief openedthe question of the treaty. The king replied however, that the white men hadbut just arrived, and he wished to see them dance after their own fashion. Asfor the business, it might “sit still” till another day.

So in the end the Boers “danced” for his amusement. That is, theydivided into two parties, and charged each other at full gallop, firing theirguns into the air, an exhibition which seemed to fill all present withadmiration and awe. When they paused, the king wished them to go on firing“a hundred shots apiece,” but the commandant declined, saying hehad no more powder to waste.

“What do you want powder for in a peaceful country?” asked Dingaansuspiciously.

Retief answered through me:

“To kill food for ourselves, or to protect ourselves if any evil-mindedmen should attack us.”

“Then it will not be wanted here,” said Dingaan, “since Iwill give you food, and as I, the king, am your friend, no man in Zululand darebe your enemy.”

Retief said he was glad to hear it, and asked leave to retire with the Boers tohis camp outside the gate, as they were all tired with riding. This Dingaangranted, and we said good-bye and went away. Before I reached the gate,however, a messenger, I remember it was my old friend Kambula, overtook me, andsaid that the king wished to speak with me alone. I answered him that I couldnot speak with the king alone without the permission of the commandant. ThereonKambula said:

“Come with me, I pray you, O Macumazahn, since otherwise you will betaken by force.”

Now, I told Hans to gallop on to Retief, and tell him of my predicament, foralready I saw that at some sign from Kambula I was being surrounded by Zulus.He did so, and presently Retief came back himself accompanied only by one man,and asked me what was the matter now. I informed him, translatingKambula’s words, which he repeated in his presence.

“Does the fellow mean that you will be seized if you do not go, or Irefuse to allow you to do so?”

To this question Kambula’s answer was:

“That is so, Inkoos, since the king has private words for the earof Macumazahn. Therefore we must obey orders, and take him before the king,living or dead.”

“Allemachte!” exclaimed Retief, “this is serious,” and,as though to summon them to my help, he looked behind him towards the main bodyof the Boers, who by this time were nearly all of them through the gate, whichwas guarded by a great number of Zulus. “Allan,” he went on,“if you are not afraid, I think that you must go. Perhaps it is only thatDingaan has some message about the treaty to send to me through you.”

“I am not afraid,” I answered. “What is the use of beingafraid in a place like this?”

“Ask that Kaffir if the king gives you safe conduct,” said Retief.

I did so, and Kambula answered:

“Yes, for this visit. Who am I that I can speak the king’s unspokenwords?” [which meant, guarantee his will in the future.]

“A dark saying,” commented Retief. “But go, Allan, since youmust, and God bring you back safe again. It is clear that Dingaan did not askthat you should come with me for nothing. Now I wish I had left you at homewith that pretty wife of yours.”

So we parted, I going to the king’s private enclosure on foot and withoutmy rifle, since I was not allowed to appear before him armed, and thecommandant towards the gate of the kraal accompanied by Hans, who led my horse.Ten minutes later I stood before Dingaan, who greeted me kindly enough, andbegan to ask a number of questions about the Boers, especially if they were notpeople who had rebelled against their own king and run away from him.

I answered, Yes, they had run away, as they wanted more room to live; but I hadtold him all about that when I saw him before. He said he knew I had, but hewished to hear “whether the same words came out of the same mouth, ordifferent words,” so that he might know if I were a true man or not.Then, after pausing a while, he looked at me in his piercing fashion and asked:

“Have you brought me a present of that tall white girl with eyes like twostars, Macumazahn? I mean the girl whom you refused to me, and whom I could nottake because you had won your bet, which gave all the white people to you; shefor whose sake you make brothers of these Boers, who are traitors to theirking?”

“No, O Dingaan,” I answered; “there are no women among us.Moreover, this maid is now my wife.”

“Your wife!” he exclaimed angrily. “By the Head of the BlackOne, have you dared to make a wife of her whom I desired? Now say, boy, youclever Watcher by Night; you little white ant, who work in the dark and onlypeep out at the end of your tunnel when it is finished; you wizard, who by yourmagic can snatch his prey out of the hand of the greatest king in all theworld—for it was magic that killed those vultures on Hloma Amabutu, notyour bullets, Macumazahn—say, why should I not make an end of you at oncefor this trick?”

I folded my arms and looked at him. A strange contrast we must have made, thishuge, black tyrant with the royal air, for to do him justice he had that, atwhose nod hundreds went the way of death, and I, a mere insignificant whiteboy, for in appearance, at any rate, I was nothing more.

“O Dingaan,” I said coolly, knowing that coolness was my onlychance, “I answer you in the words of the Commandant Retief, the greatchief. Do you take me for a child that I should give up my own wife to you whoalready have so many? Moreover, you cannot kill me because I have the word ofyour captain, Kambula, that I am safe with you.”

This reply seemed to amuse him. At any rate, with one of those almost infantilechanges of mood which are common to savages of every degree, he passed fromwrath to laughter.

“You are quick as a lizard,” he said. “Why should I, who haveso many wives, want one more, who would certainly hate me? Just because she iswhite, and would make the others, who are black, jealous, I suppose. Indeed,they would poison her, or pinch her to death in a month, and then come to tellme she had died of fretting. Also, you are right; you have my safe conduct, andmust go hence unharmed this time. But look you, little lizard, although youescape me between the stones, I will pull off your tail. I have said that Iwant to pluck this tall white flower of yours, and I will pluck her. I knowwhere she dwells. Yes, just where the wagon she sleeps in stands in the line,for my spies have told me, and I will give orders that whoever is killed, sheis to be spared and brought to me living. So perhaps you will meet this wife ofyours here, Macumazahn.”

Now, at these ominous words, that might mean so much or so little, the sweatstarted to my brow, and a shiver went down my back.

“Perhaps I shall and perhaps I shall not, O king,” I answered.“The world is as full of chances to-day as it was not long ago when Ishot at the sacred vultures on Hloma Amabutu. Still, I think that my wife willnever be yours, O king.”

“Ow!” said Dingaan; “this little white ant is makinganother tunnel, thinking that he will come up at my back. But what if I putdown my heel and crush you, little white ant? Do you know,” he addedconfidentially, “that the Boer who mends my guns and whom here we call‘Two-faces,’ because he looks towards you Whites with one eye andtowards us Blacks with the other, is still very anxious that I should kill you?Indeed, when I told him that my spies said that you were to ride with theBoers, as I had requested that you should be their Tongue, he answered thatunless I promised to give you to the vultures, he would warn them againstcoming. So, since I wanted them to come as I had arranged with him, Ipromised.”

“Is it so, O king?” I asked. “And pray why does thisTwo-faces, whom we name Pereira, desire that I should be killed?”

“Ow!” chuckled the obese old ruffian; “cannot you withall your cleverness guess that, O Macumazahn? Perhaps it is he who needs thetall white maiden, and not I. Perhaps if he does certain things for me, I havepromised her to him in payment. And perhaps,” he added, laughing quiteloud, “I shall trick him after all, keeping her for myself, and payinghim in another way, for can a cheat grumble if he is out-cheated?”

I answered that I was an honest man, and knew nothing about cheats, or at whatthey could or could not grumble.

“Yes, Macumazahn,” replied Dingaan quite genially. “That iswhere you and I are alike. We are both honest, quite honest, and thereforefriends, which I can never be with these Amaboona, who, as you and others havetold me, are traitors. We play our game in the light, like men, and who wins,wins, and who loses, loses. Now hear me, Macumazahn, and remember what I say.Whatever happens to others, whatever you may see, you are safe while I live.Dingaan has spoken. Whether I get the tall white girl, or do not get her, stillyouare safe; it is on my head,” and he touched the gum-ring inhis hair.

“And why should I be safe if others are unsafe, O king?” I asked.

“Oh! if you would know that, ask a certain ancient prophet named Zikali,who was in this land in the days of Senzangacona, my father, and beforethen—that is, if you can find him. Also, I like you, who are not aflat-faced fool like these Amaboona, but have a brain that turns in and outthrough difficulties, as a snake does through reeds; and it would be a pity tokill one who can shoot birds wheeling high above him in the air, which no oneelse can do. So whatever you see and whatever you hear, remember that you aresafe, and shall go safely from this land, or stay safely in it if you will, tobe my voice to speak with the Sons of George.

“Now return to the commandant, and say to him that my heart is his heart,and that I am very pleased to see him here. To-morrow, and perhaps the nextday, I will show him some of the dances of my people, and after that I willsign the writing, giving him all the land he asks and everything else he maydesire, more than he can wish, indeed. Hamba gachlé, Macumazahn,”and, rising with surprising quickness from his chair, which was cut out of asingle block of wood, he turned and vanished through the little opening in thereed fence behind him that led to his private huts.

As I was being conducted back to the Boer camp by Kambula, who was waiting forme outside the gate of the labyrinth which is called isiklohlo, I metThomas Halstead, who was lounging about, I think in order to speak with me.Halting, I asked him straight out what the king’s intentions were towardsthe Boers.

“Don’t know,” he answered, shrugging his shoulders,“but he seems so sweet on them that I think he must be up to mischief. Heis wonderfully fond of you, too, for I heard him give orders that the word wasto be passed through all the regiments that if anyone so much as hurt you, heshould be killed at once. Also, you were pointed out to the soldiers when yourode in with the rest, that they might all of them know you.”

“That’s good for me as far as it goes,” I replied. “ButI don’t know why I should need special protection above others, unlessthere is someone who wants to harm me.”

“There is that, Allan Quatermain. The indunastell me that thegood-looking Portugee, whom they call ‘Two-faces,’ asks the king tokill you every time he sees him. Indeed, I’ve heard him myself.”

“That’s kind of him,” I answered, “but, then, HernanPereira and I never got on. Tell me what is he talking about to the king whenhe isn’t asking him to kill me.”

“Don’t know,” he said again. “Something dirty,I’ll be bound. One may be sure of that by the native name they have givenhim. I think, however,” he added in a whisper, “that he has had alot to do with the Boers being allowed to come here at all in order to gettheir treaty signed. At least, one day when I was interpreting and Dingaanswore that he would not give them more land than was enough to bury them in,Pereira told him that it didn’t matter what he signed, as ‘what waswritten with the pen could be scratched out with the spear.’”

“Indeed! And what did the king say to that?”

“Oh! he laughed and said it was true, and that he would give the Boercommission all their people wanted and something over for themselves. Butdon’t you repeat that, Quatermain, for if you do, and it gets to the earof Dingaan, I shall certainly be killed. And, I say, you’re a goodfellow, and I won a big bet on you over that vulture shooting, so I will giveyou a bit of advice, which you will be wise to take. You get out of thiscountry as soon as you can, and go to look after that pretty Miss Marais, whomyou are sweet on. Dingaan wants her, and what Dingaan wants he gets in thispart of the world.”

Then, without waiting to be thanked, he turned and disappeared among a crowd ofZulus, who were following us from curiosity, leaving me wondering whether or noDingaan was right when he called this young man a liar. His story seemed totally so well with that told by the king himself, that on the whole I thoughthe was not.

Just after I had passed the main gateway of the great town, where, his officedone, Kambula saluted and left me, I saw two white men engaged in earnestconversation beneath one of the milk trees which, as I think I have alreadymentioned, grow, or grew, there. They were Henri Marais and his nephew.Catching sight of me, Marais walked off, but Pereira advanced and spoke to me,although, warned perhaps by what had happened to him in the case of Retief, Iam glad to say he did not offer me his hand.

“Good day to you, Allan,” he said effusively. “I have justheard from my uncle that I have to congratulate you, about Marie I mean, and,believe me, I do so with all my heart.”

Now, as he spoke these words, remembering what I had just heard, my bloodboiled in me, but I thought it wise to control myself, and therefore onlyanswered:

“Thank you.”

“Of course,” he went on, “we have both striven for thisprize, but as it has pleased God that you should win it, why, I am not one tobear malice.”

“I am glad to hear it,” I replied. “I thought that perhapsyou might be. Now tell me, to change the subject, how long will Dingaan keep ushere?”

“Oh! two or three days at most. You see, Allan, luckily I have been ableto persuade him to sign the treaty about the land without further trouble. Soas soon as that is done, you can all go home.”

“The commandant will be very grateful to you,” I said. “Butwhat are you going to do?”

“I do not know, Allan. You see, I am not a lucky fellow like yourselfwith a wife waiting for me. I think that perhaps I shall stop here a while. Isee a way of making a great deal of money out of these Zulus; and having losteverything upon that Delagoa Bay trek, I want money.”

“We all do,” I answered, “especially if we are starting inlife. So when it is convenient to you to settle your debts I shall beglad.”

“Oh! have no fear,” he exclaimed with a sudden lighting up of hisdark face, “I will pay you what I owe you, every farthing, with goodinterest thrown in.”

“The king has just told me that is your intention,” I remarkedquietly, looking him full in the eyes. Then I walked on, leaving him staringafter me, apparently without a word to say.

I went straight to the hut that was allotted to Retief in the little outlyingguard-kraal, which had been given to us for a camp. Here I found the commandantseated on a Kaffir stool engaged in painfully writing a letter, using a bit ofboard placed on his knees as a desk.

He looked up, and asked me how I had got on with Dingaan, not being sorry, as Ithink, of an excuse to pause in his clerical labours.

“Listen, commandant,” I said, and, speaking in a low voice, so asnot to be overheard, I told him every word that had passed in the interviews Ihad just had with Dingaan, with Thomas Halstead, and with Pereira.

He heard me out in silence, then said:

“This is a strange and ugly story, Allan, and if it is true, Pereira mustbe an even bigger scoundrel than I thought him. But I can’t believe thatit is true. I think that Dingaan has been lying to you for his own purposes; Imean about the plot to kill you.”

“Perhaps, commandant. I don’t know, and I don’t much care.But I am sure that he was not lying when he said he meant to steal away my wifeeither for himself or for Pereira.”

“What, then, do you intend to do, Allan?”

“I intend, commandant, with your permission to send Hans, my after-rider,back to the camp with a letter for Marie, telling her to remove herself quietlyto the farm I have chosen down on the river, of which I told you, and there tolie hid till I come back.”

“I think it needless, Allan. Still, if it will ease your mind, do so,since I cannot spare you to go yourself. Only you must not send this Hottentot,who would talk and frighten the people. I am despatching a messenger to thecamp to tell them of our safe arrival and good reception by Dingaan. He cantake your letter, in which I order you to say to your wife that if she and thePrinsloos and the Meyers go to this farm of yours, they are to go withouttalking, just as though they wanted a change, that is all. Have the letterready by dawn to-morrow morning, as I trust mine may be,” he added with agroan.

“It shall be ready, commandant; but what about Hernan Pereira and histricks?”

“This about the accursed Hernan Pereira,” exclaimed Retief,striking the writing-board with his fist. “On the first opportunity Iwill myself take the evidence of Dingaan and of the English lad, Halstead. If Ifind they tell me the same story they have told you, I will put Pereira on histrial, as I threatened to do before; and should he be found guilty, by God! Iwill have him shot. But for the present it is best to do nothing, except keepan eye on him, lest we should cause fear and scandal in the camp, and, afterall, not prove the case. Now go and write your letter, and leave me to writemine.”

So I went and wrote, telling Marie something, but by no means all of that Ihave set down. I bade her, and the Prinsloos and the Meyers, if they wouldaccompany her, as I was sure they would, move themselves off at once to thefarm I had beaconed out thirty miles away from the Bushman’s River, underpretence of seeing how the houses that were being built there were getting on.Or if they would not go, I bade her go alone with a few Hottentot servants, orany other companions she could find.

This letter I took to Retief, and read it to him. At my request, also, hescrawled at the foot of it:

“I have seen the above and approve it, knowing all the story, which maybe true or false. Do as your husband bids you, but do not talk of it in thecamp except to those whom he mentions.—PIETER RETIEF.”

So the messenger departed at dawn, and in due course delivered my letter toMarie.

The next day was Sunday. In the morning I went to call upon the Reverend Mr.Owen, the missionary, who was very glad to see me. He informed me that Dingaanwas in good mind towards us, and had been asking him if he would write thetreaty ceding the land which the Boers wanted. I stopped for service at thehuts of Mr. Owen, and then returned to the camp. In the afternoon Dingaancelebrated a great war dance for us to witness, in which about twelve thousandsoldiers took part.

It was a wonderful and awe-inspiring spectacle, and I remember that each of theregiments employed had a number of trained oxen which manoeuvred with them,apparently at given words of command. We did not see Dingaan that day, exceptat a distance, and after the dance was over returned to our camp to eat thebeef which he had provided for us in plenty.

On the third day—that was Monday, the 5th of February, there were moredancings and sham fights, so many more, indeed, that we began to weary of thissavage show. Late in the afternoon, however, Dingaan sent for the commandantand his men to come to see him, saying that he wished to talk with him aboutthe matter of the treaty. So we went; but only three or four, of whom I wasone, were admitted to Dingaan’s presence, the rest remaining at a littledistance, where they could see us but were out of earshot.

Dingaan then produced a paper which had been written by the Reverend Mr. Owen.This document, which I believe still exists, for it was found afterwards, wasdrawn up in legal or semi-legal form, beginning like a proclamation,“Know all men.”

It ceded “the place called Port Natal, together with all the landannexed—that is to say, from Tugela to the Umzimvubu River westward, andfrom the sea to the north”—to the Boers, “for theireverlasting property.” At the king’s request, as the deed waswritten in English by Mr. Owen, I translated it to him, and afterwards the ladHalstead translated it also, being called in to do so when I had finished.

This was done that my rendering might be checked, and the fact impressed allthe Boers very favourably. It showed them that the king desired to understandexactly what he was to sign, which would not have been the case had he intendedany trick or proposed to cheat them afterwards. From that moment forward Retiefand his people had no further doubts as to Dingaan’s good faith in thismatter, and foolishly relaxed all precautions against treachery.

When the translating was finished, the commandant asked the king if he wouldsign the paper then and there. He answered, “No; he would sign it on thefollowing morning, before the commission returned to Natal.” It was thenthat Retief inquired of Dingaan, through Thomas Halstead, whether it was a truestory which he had heard, that the Boer called Pereira, who had been stayingwith him, and whom the Zulus knew by the name of “Two-faces,” hadagain asked him, Dingaan, to have me, Allan Quatermain, whom they calledMacumazahn, killed. Dingaan laughed and answered:

“Yes, that is true enough, for he hates this Macumazahn. But let thelittle white Son of George have no fear, since my heart is soft towards him,and I swear by the head of the Black One that he shall come to no harm inZululand. Is he not my guest, as you are?”

He then went on to say that if the commandant wished it, he would have“Two-faces” seized and killed because he had dared to ask for mylife. Retief answered that he would look into that matter himself, and afterThomas Halstead had confirmed the king’s story as to Pereira’sconduct, he rose and said good-bye to Dingaan.

Of this matter of Hernan Pereira, Retief said little as we went back to thecamp outside the Kraal, though the little that he did say showed his deepanger. When we arrived at the camp, however, he sent for Pereira and Marais andseveral of the older Boers. I remember that among these were Gerrit Bothma,Senior, Hendrik Labuschagne and Matthys Pretorius, Senior, all of them personsof standing and judgment. I also was ordered to be present. When Pereiraarrived, Retief charged him openly with having plotted my murder, and asked himwhat he had to say. Of course, his answer was a flat denial, and an accusationagainst me of having invented the tale because we had been at enmity over amaiden whom I had since married.

“Then, Mynheer Pereira,” said Retief, “as Allan Quatermainhere has won the maiden who is now his wife, it would seem that his cause ofenmity must have ceased, whereas yours may well have remained. However, I haveno time to try cases of the sort now. But I warn you that this one will belooked into later on when we get back to Natal, whither I shall take you withme, and that meanwhile an eye is kept on you and what you do. Also I warn youthat I have evidence for all that I say. Now be so good as to go, and to keepout of my sight as much as possible, for I do not like a man whom these Kaffirsname ‘Two-faces.’ As for you, friend Henri Marais, I tell you thatyou would do well to associate yourself less with one whose name is under sodark a cloud, although he may be your own nephew, whom all know you loveblindly.”

So far as I recollect neither of them made any answer to this direct speech.They simply turned and went away. But on the next morning, that of the fatal6th of February, when I chanced to meet the Commandant Retief as he was ridingthrough the camp making arrangements for our departure to Natal, he pulled uphis horse and said:

“Allan, Hernan Pereira has gone, and Henri Marais with him, and for mypart I am not sorry, for doubtless we shall meet again, in this world or thenext, and find out all the truth. Here, read this, and give it back to meafterwards”; and he threw me a paper and rode on.

I opened the folded sheet and read as follows:

“To the Commandant Retief, Governor of the Emigrant Boers,

“Mynheer Commandant,

“I will not stay here, where such foul accusations are laid on me byblack Kaffirs and the Englishman, Allan Quatermain, who, like all his race, isan enemy of us Boers, and, although you do not know it, a traitor who isplotting great harm against you with the Zulus. Therefore I leave you, but amready to meet every charge at the right time before a proper Court. My uncle,Henri Marais, comes with me, as he feels that his honour is also touched.Moreover, he has heard that his daughter, Marie, is in danger from the Zulus,and returns to protect her, which he who is called her husband neglects to do.Allan Quatermain, the Englishman, who is the friend of Dingaan, can explainwhat I mean, for he knows more about the Zulu plans than I do, as you will findout before the end.”

Then followed the signatures of Hernan Pereira and Henri Marais.

I put the letter in my pocket, wondering what might be its precise meaning, andin particular that of the absurd and undefined charge of treachery againstmyself. It seemed to me that Pereira had left us because he was afraid ofsomething—either that he might be placed upon his trial or of someultimate catastrophe in which he would be involved. Marais probably had gonewith him for the same reason that a bit of iron follows a magnet, because henever could resist the attraction of this evil man, his relative by birth. Orperhaps he had learned from him the story of his daughter’s danger, uponwhich I had already acted, and really was anxious about her safety. For it mustalways be remembered that Marais loved Marie passionately, however ill thereader of this history may think that he behaved to her. She was his darling,the apple of his eye, and her great offence in his sight was that she cared forme more than she did for him. That is one of the reasons why he hated me asmuch as he loved her.

Almost before I had finished reading this letter, the order came that we wereto go in a body to bid farewell to Dingaan, leaving our arms piled beneath thetwo milk trees at the gate of the town. Most of our after-riders were commandedto accompany us—I think because Retief wished to make as big a show aspossible to impress the Zulus. A few of these Hottentots, however, were told tostay behind that they might collect the horses, that were knee-haltered andgrazing at a distance, and saddle them up. Among these was Hans, for, as itchanced, I saw and sent him with the others, so that I might be sure that myown horses would be found and made ready for the journey.

Just as we were starting, I met the lad William Wood, who had come down fromthe Mission huts, where he lived with Mr. Owen, and was wandering about with ananxious face.

“How are you, William?” I asked.

“Not very well, Mr. Quatermain,” he answered. “The factis,” he added with a burst of confidence, “I feel queerly about youall. The Kaffirs have told me that something is going to happen to you, and Ithink you ought to know it. I daren’t say any more,” and hevanished into the crowd.

At that moment I caught sight of Retief riding to and fro and shouting outorders. Going to him, I caught him by the sleeve, saying:

“Commandant, listen to me.”

“Well, what is it now, nephew?” he asked absently.

I told him what Wood had said, adding that I also was uneasy; I did not knowwhy.

“Oh!” he answered with impatience, “this is all hailstonesand burnt grass” (meaning that the one would melt and the other blowaway, or in our English idiom, stuff and rubbish). “Why are you alwaystrying to scare me with your fancies, Allan? Dingaan is our friend, not ourenemy. So let us take the gifts that fortune gives us and be thankful. Come,march.”

This he said about eight o’clock in the morning.

We strolled through the gates of the Great Kraal, most of the Boers, who, asusual, had piled their arms under the two milk trees, lounging along in knotsof four or five, laughing and chatting as they went. I have often thoughtsince, that although every one of them there, except myself, was doomed withinan hour to have taken the dreadful step from time into eternity, it seemsstrange that advancing fate should have thrown no shadow on their hearts. Onthe contrary, they were quite gay, being extremely pleased at the successfulissue of their mission and the prospect of an immediate return to their wivesand children. Even Retief was gay, for I heard him joking with his companionsabout myself and my “white-bread-week,” or honeymoon, which, hesaid, was drawing very near.

As we went, I noticed that most of the regiments who had performed the greatmilitary dances before us on the previous day were gone. Two, however,remained—the Ischlangu Inhlope, that is the “WhiteShields,” who were a corps of veterans wearing the ring on their heads,and the Ischlangu Umnyama, that is the “Black Shields,” whowere all of them young men without rings. The “White Shields” wereranged along the fence of the great open place to our left, and the“Black Shields” were similarly placed to our right, each regimentnumbering about fifteen hundred men. Except for their kerries anddancing-sticks they were unarmed.

Presently we reached the head of the dancing ground, and found Dingaan seatedin his chair with two of his great indunas, Umhlela and Tambusa,squatting on either side of him. Behind him, standing in and about the entranceto the labyrinth through which the king had come, were other indunasandcaptains. On arriving in front of Dingaan we saluted him, and he acknowledgedthe salutation with pleasant words and smiles. Then Retief, two or three of theother Boers, Thomas Halstead and I went forward, whereon the treaty wasproduced again and identified as the same document that we had seen on theprevious day.

At the foot of it someone—I forget who—wrote in Dutch, “Demerk van Koning Dingaan” [that is, The mark of King Dingaan.] In thespace left between the words “merk” and“van” Dingaan made a cross with a pen that was given to him,Thomas Halstead holding his hand and showing him what to do.

After this, three of his indunas, or great councillors, who were named Nwara,Yuliwana and Manondo, testified as witnesses for the Zulus, and M. Oosthuyzen,A. C. Greyling and B. J. Liebenberg, who were standing nearest to Retief, aswitnesses for the Boers.

This done, Dingaan ordered one of his isibongos, or praisers, to run toand fro in front of the regiments and others there assembled, and proclaim thathe had granted Natal to the Boers to be their property for ever, informationwhich the Zulus received with shouts. Then Dingaan asked Retief if he would noteat, and large trenchers of boiled beef were brought out and handed round.This, however, the Boers refused, saying they had already breakfasted. Thereonthe king said that at least they must drink, and pots of twala, orKaffir beer, were handed round, of which all the Boers partook.

While they were drinking, Dingaan gave Retief a message to the Dutch farmers,to the effect that he hoped they would soon come and occupy Natal, whichhenceforth was their country. Also, black-hearted villain that he was, thatthey would have a pleasant journey home. Next he ordered the two regiments todance and sing war songs, in order to amuse his guests.

This they began to do, drawing nearer as they danced.

It was at this moment that a Zulu appeared, pushing his way through thecaptains who were gathered at the gate of the labyrinth, and delivered somemessage to one of the indunas, who in turn passed it on to the king.

“Ow!is it so?” said the king with a troubled look. Then hisglance fell on me as though by accident, and he added: “Macumazahn, oneof my wives is taken very ill suddenly, and says she must have some of themedicine of the white men before they go away. Now, you tell me that you are anew-married man, so I can trust you with my wives. I pray you to go and findout what medicine it is that she needs, for you can speak our tongue.”

I hesitated, then translated what he had said to Retief.

“You had best go, nephew,” said the commandant; “but comeback quickly, for we ride at once.”

Still I hesitated, not liking this business; whereon the king began to growangry.

“What!” he said, “do you white men refuse me this littlefavour, when I have just given you so much—you who have wonderfulmedicines that can cure the sick?”

“Go, Allan, go,” said Retief, when he understood his words,“or he will grow cross and everything may be undone.”

So, having no choice, I went through the gateway into the labyrinth.

Next moment men pounced on me, and before I could utter a word a cloth wasthrown over my mouth and tied tight behind my head.

I was a prisoner and gagged.

CHAPTER XIX.
DEPART IN PEACE

A tall Kaffir, one of the king’s household guards, who carried anassegai, came up to me and whispered:

“Hearken, little Son of George. The king would save you, if he can,because you are not Dutch, but English. Yet, know that if you try to cry out,if you even struggle, you die,” and he lifted the assegai so as to beready to plunge it through my heart.

Now I understood, and a cold sweat broke out all over me. My companions were tobe murdered, every one! Oh! gladly would I have given my life to warn them. Butalas! I could not, for the cloth upon my mouth was so thick that no sound couldpass it.

One of the Zulus inserted a stick between the reeds of the fence. Working it toand fro sideways, he made an opening just in a line with my eyes—out ofcruelty, I suppose, for now I must see everything.

For some time—ten minutes, I dare say—the dancing and beer-drinkingwent on. Then Dingaan rose from his chair and shook the hand of Retief warmly,bidding him “Hamba gachlé,” that is, Depart gently, or inpeace. He retreated towards the gate of the labyrinth, and as he went the Boerstook off their hats, waving them in the air and cheering him. He was almostthrough it, and I began to breathe again.

Doubtless I was mistaken. After all, no treachery was intended.

In the very opening of the gate Dingaan turned, however, and said two words inZulu which mean:

“Seize them!”

Instantly the warriors, who had now danced quite close and were waiting forthese words, rushed upon the Boers. I heard Thomas Halstead call out inEnglish:

“We are done for,” and then add in Zulu, “Let me speak to theking!”

Dingaan heard also, and waved his hand to show that he refused to listen, andas he did so shouted thrice:

“Bulala abatagati!” that is, Slay the wizards!

I saw poor Halstead draw his knife and plunge it into a Zulu who was near him.The man fell, and again he struck at another soldier, cutting his throat. TheBoers also drew their knives—those of them who had time—and triedto defend themselves against these black devils, who rushed on them in swarms.I heard afterwards that they succeeded in killing six or eight of them andwounding perhaps a score. But it was soon over, for what could men armed onlywith pocket-knives do against such a multitude?

Presently, amidst a hideous tumult of shouts, groans, curses, prayers formercy, and Zulu battle cries, the Boers were all struck down—yes, eventhe two little lads and the Hottentot servants. Then they were dragged away,still living, by the soldiers, their heels trailing on the ground, just aswounded worms or insects are dragged by the black ants.

Dingaan was standing by me now, laughing, his fat face working nervously.

“Come, Son of George,” he said, “and let us see the end ofthese traitors to your sovereign.”

Then I was pulled along to an eminence within the labyrinth, whence there was aview of the surrounding country. Here we waited a little while, listening tothe tumult that grew more distant, till presently the dreadful procession ofdeath reappeared, coming round the fence of the Great Kraal and headingstraight for the Hill of Slaughter, Hloma Amabutu. Soon its slopes wereclimbed, and there among the dark-leaved bushes and the rocks the blacksoldiers butchered them, every one.

I saw and swooned away.

I believe that I remained senseless for many hours, though towards the end ofthat time my swoon grew thin, as it were, and I heard a hollow voice speakingover me in Zulu.

“I am glad that the little Son of George has been saved,” said theechoing voice, which I did not know, “for he has a great destiny and willbe useful to the black people in time to come.” Then the voice went on:

“O House of Senzangacona! now you have mixed your milk with blood, withwhite blood. Of that bowl you shall drink to the dregs, and afterwards must thebowl be shattered”; and the speaker laughed—a deep, dreadful laughthat I was not to hear again for years.

I heard him go away, shuffling along like some great reptile, and then, with aneffort, opened my eyes. I was in a large hut, and the only light in the hutcame from a fire that burned in its centre, for it was night time. A Zuluwoman, young and good-looking, was bending over a gourd near the fire, doingsomething to its contents. I spoke to her light-headedly.

“O woman,” I said, “is that a man who laughed over me?”

“Not altogether, Macumazahn,” she answered in a pleasant voice.“That was Zikali, the Mighty Magician, the Counsellor of Kings, theOpener of Roads; he whose birth our grandfathers do not remember; he whosebreath causes the trees to be torn out by the roots; he whom Dingaan fears andobeys.”

“Did he cause the Boers to be killed?” I asked.

“Mayhap,” she answered. “Who am I that I should know of suchmatters?”

“Are you the woman who was sick whom I was sent to visit?” I askedagain.

“Yes, Macumazahn, I was sick, but now I am well and you are sick, for sothings go round. Drink this,” and she handed me a gourd of milk.

“How are you named?” I inquired as I took it.

“Naya is my name,” she replied, “and I am your jailer.Don’t think that you can escape me, though, Macumazahn, for there areother jailers without who carry spears. Drink.”

So I drank and bethought me that the draught might be poisoned. Yet so thirstywas I that I finished it, every drop.

“Now am I a dead man?” I asked, as I put down the gourd.

“No, no, Macumazahn,” she who called herself Naya replied in a softvoice; “not a dead man, only one who will sleep and forget.”

Then I lost count of everything and slept—for how long I know not.

When I awoke again it was broad daylight; in fact, the sun stood high in theheavens. Perhaps Naya had put some drug into my milk, or perhaps I had simplyslept. I do not know. At any rate, I was grateful for that sleep, for withoutit I think that I should have gone mad. As it was, when I remembered, which ittook me some time to do, for a while I went near to insanity.

I recollect lying there in that hut and wondering how the Almighty could havepermitted such a deed as I had seen done. How could it be reconciled with anytheory of a loving and merciful Father? Those poor Boers, whatever theirfaults, and they had many, like the rest of us, were in the main good andhonest men according to their lights. Yet they had been doomed to be thusbrutally butchered at the nod of a savage despot, their wives widowed, theirchildren left fatherless, or, as it proved in the end, in most cases murderedor orphaned!

The mystery was too great—great enough to throw off its balance the mindof a young man who had witnessed such a fearsome scene as I have described.

For some days really I think that my reason hung just upon the edge of thatmental precipice. In the end, however, reflection and education, of which I hada certain amount, thanks to my father, came to my aid. I recalled that suchmassacres, often on an infinitely larger scale, had happened a thousand timesin history, and that still through them, often, indeed, by means of them,civilisation has marched forward, and mercy and peace have kissed each otherover the bloody graves of the victims.

Therefore even in my youth and inexperience I concluded that some ineffablepurpose was at work through this horror, and that the lives of those poor menwhich had been thus sacrificed were necessary to that purpose. This may appeara dreadful and fatalistic doctrine, but it is one that is corroborated inNature every day, and doubtless the sufferers meet with their compensations insome other state. Indeed, if it be not so, faith and all the religions arevain.

Or, of course, it may chance that such monstrous calamities happen, not throughthe will of the merciful Power of which I have spoken, but in its despite.Perhaps the devil of Scripture, at whom we are inclined to smile, is still veryreal and active in this world of ours. Perhaps from time to time some evilprinciple breaks into eruption, like the prisoned forces of a volcano, bearingdeath and misery on its wings, until in the end it must depart strengthless andovercome. Who can say?

The question is one that should be referred to the Archbishop of Canterbury andthe Pope of Rome in conclave, with the Lama of Thibet for umpire in case theydisagreed. I only try to put down the thoughts that struck me so long ago as mymind renders them to-day. But very likely they are not quite the same thoughts,for a full generation has gone by me since then, and in that time theintelligence ripens as wine does in a bottle.

Besides these general matters, I had questions of my own to consider duringthose days of imprisonment—for instance, that of my own safety, though ofthis, to be honest, I thought little. If I were going to be killed, I was goingto be killed, and there was an end. But my knowledge of Dingaan told me that hehad not massacred Retief and his companions for nothing. This would be but theprelude to a larger slaughter, for I had not forgotten what he said as to thesparing of Marie and the other hints he gave me.

From all this I concluded, quite rightly as it proved, that some generalonslaught was being made upon the Boers, who probably would be swept out to thelast man. And to think that here I was, a prisoner in a Kaffir kraal, with onlya young woman as a jailer, and yet utterly unable to escape to warn them. Forround my hut lay a courtyard, and round it again ran a reed fence about fivefeet six inches high. Whenever I looked over this fence, by night or by day, Isaw soldiers stationed at intervals of about fifteen yards. There they stoodlike statues, their broad spears in their hands, all looking inwards towardsthe fence. There they stood—only at night their number was doubled.Clearly it was not meant that I should escape.

A week went by thus—believe me, a very terrible week. During that time mysole companion was the pretty young woman, Naya. We became friends in a way andtalked on a variety of subjects. Only, at the end of our conversations I alwaysfound that I had gained no information whatsoever about any matter of immediateinterest. On such points as the history of the Zulu and kindred tribes, or thecharacter of Chaka, the great king, or anything else that was remote she woulddiscourse by the hour. But when we came to current events, she dried up likewater on a red-hot brick. Still, Naya grew, or pretended to grow, quiteattached to me. She even suggested naïvely that I might do worse than marryher, which she said Dingaan was quite ready to allow, as he was fond of me andthought I should be useful in his country. When I told her that I was alreadymarried, she shrugged her shining shoulders and asked with a laugh thatrevealed her beautiful teeth:

“What does that matter? Cannot a man have more wives than one? And,Macumazahn,” she added, leaning forward and looking at me, “how doyou know that you have even one? You may be divorced or a widower bynow.”

“What do you mean?” I asked.

“I? I mean nothing; do not look at me so fiercely, Macumazahn. Surelysuch things happen in the world, do they not?”

“Naya,” I said, “you are two bad things—a bait and aspy—and you know it.”

“Perhaps I do, Macumazahn,” she answered. “Am I to blame forthat, if my life is on it, especially when I really like you foryourself?”

“I don’t know,” I said. “Tell me, when am I going toget out of this place?”

“How can I tell you, Macumazahn?” Naya replied, patting my hand inher genial way, “but I think before long. When you are gone, Macumazahn,remember me kindly sometimes, as I have really tried to make you as comfortableas I could with a watcher staring through every straw in the hut.”

I said whatever seemed to be appropriate, and next morning my deliverance came.While I was eating my breakfast in the courtyard at the back of the hut, Nayathrust her handsome and pleasant face round the corner and said that there wasa messenger to see me from the king. Leaving the rest of the meal unswallowed,I went to the doorway of the yard and there found my old friend, Kambula.

“Greeting, Inkoos,” he said to me; “I am come to takeyou back to Natal with a guard. But I warn you to ask me no questions, for ifyou do I must not answer them. Dingaan is ill, and you cannot see him, nor canyou see the white praying-man, or anyone; you must come with me at once.”

“I do not want to see Dingaan,” I replied, looking him in the eyes.

“I understand,” answered Kambula; “Dingaan’s thoughtsare his thoughts and your thoughts are your thoughts, and perhaps that is whyhe does not want to see you. Still, remember, Inkoos, thatDingaan has saved your life, snatching you unburned out of a very great fire,perhaps because you are of a different sort of wood, which he thinks it a pityto burn. Now, if you are ready, let us go.”

“I am ready,” I answered.

At the gate I met Naya, who said:

“You never thought to say good-bye to me, White Man, although I havetended you well. Ah! what else could I expect? Still, I hope that if I shouldhave to fly from this land for mylife, as may chance, you will do forme what I have done for you.”

“That I will,” I answered, shaking her by the hand; and, as ithappened, in after years I did.

Kambula led me, not through the kraal Umgungundhlovu, but round it. Our roadlay immediately past the death mount, Hloma Amabutu, where the vultures werestill gathered in great numbers. Indeed, it was actually my lot to walk overthe new-picked bones of some of my companions who had been despatched at thefoot of the hill. One of these skeletons I recognised by his clothes to be thatof Samuel Esterhuizen, a very good fellow, at whose side I had slept during allour march. His empty eye-sockets seemed to stare at me reproachfully, as thoughthey asked me why I remained alive when he and all his brethren were dead. Iechoed the question in my own mind. Why of that great company did I aloneremain alive?

An answer seemed to rise within me: That I might be one of the instruments ofvengeance upon that devilish murderer, Dingaan. Looking upon those poorshattered and desecrated frames that had been men, I swore in my heart that ifI lived I would not fail in that mission. Nor did I fail, although the historyof that great repayment cannot be told in these pages.

Turning my eyes from this dreadful sight, I saw that on the opposite slope,where we had camped during our southern trek from Delagoa, still stood the hutsand wagons of the Reverend Mr. Owen. I asked Kambula whether he and his peoplewere also dead.

“No, Inkoos,” he answered; “they are of the Childrenof George, as you are, and therefore the king has spared them, although he isgoing to send them out of the country.”

This was good news, so far as it went, and I asked again if Thomas Halstead hadalso been spared, since he, too, was an Englishman.

“No,” said Kambula. “The king wished to save him, but hekilled two of our people and was dragged off with the rest. When the slayersgot to their work it was too late to stay their hands.”

Again I asked whether I might not join Mr. Owen and trek with him, to whichKambula answered briefly:

“No, Macumazahn; the king’s orders are that you must go byyourself.”

So I went; nor did I ever again meet Mr. Owen or any of his people. I believe,however, that they reached Durban safely and sailed away in a ship called theComet.

In a little while we came to the two milk trees by the main gate of the kraal,where much of our saddlery still lay scattered about, though the guns had gone.Here Kambula asked me if I could recognise my own saddle.

“There it is,” I answered, pointing to it; “but what is theuse of a saddle without a horse?”

“The horse you rode has been kept for you, Macumazahn,” he replied.

Then he ordered one of the men with us to bring the saddle and bridle, alsosome other articles which I selected, such as a couple of blankets, awater-bottle, two tins containing coffee and sugar, a little case of medicines,and so forth.

About a mile further on I found one of my horses tethered by an outlying guardhut, and noted that it had been well fed and cared for. By Kambula’sleave I saddled it and mounted. As I did so, he warned me that if I tried toride away from the escort I should certainly be killed, since even if I escapedthem, orders had been given throughout the land to put an end to me should I beseen alone.

I replied that, unarmed as I was, I had no idea of making any such attempt. Sowe went forward, Kambula and his soldiers walking or trotting at my side.

For four full days we journeyed thus, keeping, so far as I could judge, abouttwenty or thirty miles to the east of that road by which I had left Zululandbefore and re-entered it with Retief and his commission. Evidently I was anobject of great interest to the Zulus of the country through which we passed,perhaps because they knew me to be the sole survivor of all the white men whohad gone up to visit the king. They would come down in crowds from the kraalsand stare at me almost with awe, as though I were a spirit and not a man. Only,not one of them would say anything to me, probably because they had beenforbidden to do so. Indeed, if I spoke to any of them, invariably they turnedand walked or ran out of hearing.

It was on the evening of the fourth day that Kambula and his soldiers receivedsome news which seemed to excite them a great deal. A messenger in a state ofexhaustion, who had an injury to the fleshy part of his left arm, which lookedto me as though it had been caused by a bullet, appeared out of the bush andsaid something of which, by straining my ears, I caught twowords—“Great slaughter.” Then Kambula laid his fingers on hislips as a signal for silence and led the man away, nor did I see or hear anymore of him. Afterwards I asked Kambula who had suffered this great slaughter,whereon he stared at me innocently and replied that he did not know of what Iwas speaking.

“What is the use of lying to me, Kambula, seeing that I shall find outthe truth before long?”

“Then, Macumazahn, wait till you do find it out, and may it pleaseyou,” he replied, and went off to speak with his people at a distance.

All that night I heard them talking off and on—I, who lay awake plungedinto new miseries. I was sure that some other dreadful thing had happened.Probably Dingaan’s armies had destroyed all the Boers, and, if so, oh!what had become of Marie? Was she dead, or had she perhaps been taken prisoner,as Dingaan had told me would be done for his own vile purposes? For aught Iknew she might now be travelling under escort to Umgungundhlovu, as I wastravelling to Natal.

The morning came at last, and that day, about noon, we reached a ford of theTugela which luckily was quite passable. Here Kambula bade me farewell, sayingthat his mission was finished. Also he delivered to me a message that I was togive from Dingaan to the English in Natal. It was to this effect: That he,Dingaan, had killed the Boers who came to visit him because he found out thatthey were traitors to their chief, and therefore not worthy to live. But thathe loved the Sons of George, who were true-hearted people, and therefore hadnothing to fear from him. Indeed, he begged them to come and see him at hisGreat Place, where he would talk matters over with them.

I said that I would deliver the message if I met any English people, but, ofcourse, I could not say whether they would accept Dingaan’s invitation toUmgungundhlovu. Indeed, I feared lest that town might have acquired such a badname that they would prefer not to come there without an army.

Then, before Kambula had time to take any offence, I shook his outstretchedhand and urged my horse into the stream. I never met Kambula again living,though after the battle of Blood River I saw him dead.

Once over the Tugela I rode forward for half a mile or so till I was clear ofthe bush and reeds that grew down to the water, fearing lest the Zulus shouldfollow and take me back to Dingaan to explain my rather imprudent message.Seeing no signs of them, I halted, a desolate creature in a desolate countrywhich I did not know, wondering what I should do and whither I should ride.Then it was that there happened one of the strangest experiences of all myadventurous life.

As I sat dejectedly upon my horse, which was also dejected, amidst some tumbledrocks that at a distant period in the world’s history had formed the bankof the great river, I heard a voice which seemed familiar to me say:

“Baas, is that you, baas?”

I looked round and could see no one, so, thinking that I had been deceived bymy imagination, I held my peace.

“Baas,” said the voice again, “are you dead or are you alive?Because, if you are dead, I don’t want to have anything to do with spooksuntil I am obliged.”

Now I answered, “Who is it that speaks, and whence?” though,really, as I could see no one, I thought that I must be demented.

The next moment my horse snorted and shied violently, and no wonder, for out ofa great ant-bear hole not five paces away appeared a yellow face crowned withblack wool, in which was set a broken feather. I looked at the face and theface looked at me.

“Hans,” I said, “is it you? I thought that youwerekilled with the others.”

“And I thought that youwere killed with the others, baas. Are yousure that you are alive?”

“What are you doing there, you old fool?” I asked.

“Hiding from the Zulus, baas. I heard them on the other bank, and thensaw a man on a horse crossing the river, and went to ground like a jackal. Ihave had enough of Zulus.”

“Come out,” I said, “and tell me your story.”

He emerged, a thin and bedraggled creature, with nothing left on him but theupper part of a pair of old trousers, but still Hans, undoubtedly Hans. He ranto me, and seizing my foot, kissed it again and again, weeping tears of joy andstuttering:

“Oh, baas, to think that I should find you who were dead, alive, and findmyself alive, too. Oh! baas, never again will I doubt about the Big Man in thesky of whom your reverend father is so fond. For after I had tried all our ownspirits, and even those of my ancestors, and met with nothing but trouble, Isaid the prayer that the reverend taught us, asking for my daily bread becauseI am so very hungry. Then I looked out of the hole and there you were. Have youanything to eat about you, baas?”

As it chanced, in my saddle-bags I had some biltong that I had saved againstemergencies. I gave it to him, and he devoured it as a famished hyena might do,tearing off the tough meat in lumps and bolting them whole. When it was allgone he licked his fingers and his lips and stood still staring at me.

“Tell me your story,” I repeated.

“Baas, I went to fetch the horses with the others, and ours had strayed.I got up a tree to look for them. Then I heard a noise, and saw that the Zuluswere killing the Boers; so knowing that presently they would kill us, too, Istopped in that tree, hiding myself as well as I could in a stork’s nest.Well, they came and assegaied all the other Totties, and stood under my treecleaning their spears and getting their breath, for one of my brothers hadgiven them a good run. But they never saw me, although I was nearly sick fromfear on the top of them. Indeed, I was sick, but into the nest.

“Well, I sat in that nest all day, though the sun cooked me like beef ona stick; and when night came I got down and ran, for I knew it was no good tostop to look for you, and ‘every man for himself when a black devil isbehind you,’ as your reverend father says. All night I ran, and in themorning hid up in a hole. Then when night came again I went on running. Oh!they nearly caught me once or twice, but never quite, for I know how to hide,and I kept where men do not go. Only I was hungry, hungry; yes, I lived onsnails and worms, and grass like an ox, till my middle ached. Still, at last Igot across the river and near to the camp.

“Then just before the day broke and I was saying, ‘Now, Hans,although your heart is sad, your stomach will rejoice and sing,’ what didI see but those Zulu devils, thousands of them, rush down on the camp and killall the poor Boers. Men and women and the little children, they killed them bythe hundred, till at last other Boers came and drove them away, although theytook all the cattle with them. Well, as I was sure that they would come back, Idid not stop there. I ran down to the side of the river, and have been crawlingabout in the reeds for days, living on the eggs of water-birds and a few smallfish that I caught in the pools, till this morning, when I heard the Zulusagain and slipped up here into this hole. Then you came and stood over thehole, and for a long while I thought you were a ghost.

“But now we are together once more and all is right, just as what yourreverend father always said it would be with those who go to church on Sunday,like me when there was nothing else to do.” And again he fell to kissingmy foot.

“Hans,” I said, “you saw the camp. Was the Missie Mariethere?”

“Baas, how can I tell, who never went into it? But the wagon she slept inwas not there; no, nor that of the Vrouw Prinsloo or of the Heer Meyer.”

“Thank God!” I gasped, then added: “Where were you trying toget to, Hans, when you ran away from the camp?”

“Baas, I thought perhaps that the Missie and the Prinsloos and the Meyershad gone to that fine farm which you pegged out, and that I would go and see ifthey were there. Because if so, I was sure that they would be glad to know thatyou were really dead, and give me some food in payment for my news. But I wasafraid to walk across the open veld for fear lest the Zulus should see me andkill me. Therefore I came round through the thick bush along the river, whereone can only travel slowly, especially if hollow,” and he patted hiswasted stomach.

“But, Hans,” I asked, “are we near my farm where I set themen to build the houses on the hill above the river?”

“Of course, baas. Has your brain gone soft that you cannot find your wayabout the veld? Four, or at most five, hours on horseback, riding slow, and youare there.”

“Come on, Hans,” I said, “and be quick, for I think that theZulus are not far behind.”

So we started, Hans hanging to my stirrup and guiding me, for I knew wellenough that although he had never travelled this road, his instinct forlocality would not betray a coloured man, who can find his way across thepathless veld as surely as a buck or a bird of the air.

On we went over the rolling plain, and as we travelled I told him my story,briefly enough, for my mind was too torn with fears to allow me to talk much.He, too, told me more of his escape and adventures. Now I understood what wasthat news which had so excited Kambula and his soldiers. It was evident thatthe Zulu impis had destroyed a great number of the Boers whom they foundunprepared for attack, and then had been driven off by reinforcements thatarrived from other camps.

That was why I had been kept prisoner for all those days. Dingaan feared lest Ishould reach Natal in time to warn his victims!

CHAPTER XX.
THE COURT-MARTIAL

One hour, two hours, three hours, and then suddenly from the top of a rise thesight of the beautiful Mooi River winding through the plain like a vast snakeof silver, and there, in a loop of it, the flat-crested koppie on which I hadhoped to make my home. Had hoped!—why should I not still hope? For aughtI knew everything might yet be well. Marie might have escaped the slaughter asI had done, and if so, after all our troubles perchance many years of life andhappiness awaited us. Only it seemed too good to be true.

I flogged my horse, but the poor beast was tired out and could only break intoshort canters, that soon lapsed to a walk again. But whether it cantered orwhether it walked, its hoofs seemed to beat out the words—“Too goodto be true!” Sometimes they beat them fast, and sometimes they beat themslow, but always their message seemed the same.

Hans, too, was outworn and weak from starvation. Also he had a cut upon hisfoot which hampered him so much that at last he said I had better go on alone;he would follow more slowly. Then I dismounted and set him on the horse,walking by it myself.

Thus it came about that the gorgeous sunset was finished and the sky had growngrey with night before we reached the foot of the koppie. Yet the last rays ofthe sinking orb had shown me something as they died. There on the slope of thehill stood some mud and wattle houses, such as I had ordered to be built, andnear to them several white-capped wagons. Only I did not see any smoke risingfrom those houses as there should have been at this hour of the day, when mencooked their evening food. The moon would be up presently, I knew, butmeanwhile it was dark and the tired horse stumbled and floundered among thestones which lay about at the foot of the hill.

I could bear it no longer.

“Hans,” I said, “do you stay here with the horse. I willcreep to the houses and see if any dwell there.”

“Be careful, baas,” he answered, “lest you should find Zulus,for those black devils are all about.”

I nodded, for I could not speak, and then began the ascent. For several hundredyards I crept from stone to stone, feeling my way, for the Kaffir path that ledto the little plateau where the spring was, above which the shanties stood, ranat the other end of the hill. I struck the spruit or rivulet that was fed bythis spring, being guided to it by the murmur of the water, and followed up itsbank till I heard a sound which caused me to crouch and listen.

I could not be sure because of the ceaseless babble of the brook, but the soundseemed like that of sobs. While I waited the great moon appeared suddenly abovea bank of inky cloud, flooding the place with light, and oh! by that light,looking more ethereal than woman I saw—I saw Marie!

She stood not five paces from me, by the side of the stream, whither she hadcome to draw water, for she held a vessel in her hand. She was clothed in somekind of a black garment, such as widows wear, but made of rough stuff, andabove it her face showed white in the white rays of the moon. Gazing at herfrom the shadow, I could even see the tears running down her cheeks, for it wasshe who wept in this lonely place, wept for one who would return no more.

My voice choked in my throat; I could not utter a single word. Rising frombehind a rock I moved towards her. She saw me and started, then said in athrilling whisper:

“Oh! husband, has God sent you to call me? I am ready, husband, I amready!” and she stretched out her arms wildly, letting fall the vessel,that clanked upon the ground.

“Marie!” I gasped at length; and at that word the blood rushed toher face and brow, and I saw her draw in her breath as though to scream.

“Hush!” I whispered. “It is I, Allan, who have escapedalive.”

The next thing I remember was that she lay in my arms.

“What has happened here?” I asked when I had told my tale, or someof it.

“Nothing, Allan,” she answered. “I received your letter atthe camp, and we trekked away as you bade us, without telling the others why,because you remember the Commandant Retief wrote to us not to do so. So we wereout of the great slaughter, for the Zulus did not know where we had gone, andnever followed us here, although I have heard that they sought for me. Myfather and my cousin Hernan only arrived at the camp two days after the attack,and discovering or guessing our hiding-place—I know not which—rodeon hither. They say they came to warn the Boers to be careful, for they did nottrust Dingaan, but were too late. So they too were out of the slaughter, for,Allan, many, many have been killed—they say five or six hundred, most ofthem women and children. But thank God! many more escaped, since the men camein from the other camps farther off and from their shooting parties, and droveaway the Zulus, killing them by scores.”

“Are your father and Pereira here now?” I asked.

“No, Allan. They learned of the massacre and that the Zulus were all goneyesterday morning. Also they got the bad news that Retief and everyone with himhad been killed at Dingaan’s town, it is said through the treachery ofthe English, who arranged with Dingaan that he should kill them.”

“That is false,” I said; “but go on.”

“Then, Allan, they came and told me that I was a widow like many otherwomen—I who had never been a wife. Allan, Hernan said that I should notgrieve for you, as you deserved your fate, since you had been caught in yourown snare, being one of those who had betrayed the Boers. The Vrouw Prinslooanswered to his face that he lied, and, Allan, I said that I would never speakto him again until we met before the Judgment Seat of God; nor will I doso.”

“But I will speak to him,” I muttered. “Well, where are theynow?”

“They rode this morning back to the other Boers. I think they want tobring a party of them here to settle, if they like this place, as it is so easyto defend. They said they would return to-morrow, and that meanwhile we werequite safe, as they had sure tidings that all the Zulus were back over theTugela, taking some of their wounded with them, and also the Boer cattle as anoffering to Dingaan. But come to the house, Allan—our home that I hadmade ready for you as well as I could. Oh! my God! our home on the threshold ofwhich I believed you would never set a foot. Yes, when the moon rose from thatcloud I believed it, and look, they are still quite close together. Hark, whatis that?”

I listened, and caught the sound of a horse’s hoofs stumbling among therocks.

“Don’t be frightened,” I answered; “it is only Hanswith my horse. He escaped also; I will tell you how afterwards.” And as Ispoke he appeared, a woebegone and exhausted object.

“Good day, missie,” he said with an attempt at cheerfulness.“Now you should give me a fine dinner, for you see I have brought thebaas back safe to you. Did I not tell you, baas, that everything would comeright?”

Then he grew silent from exhaustion. Nor were we sorry, who at that moment didnot wish to listen to the poor fellow’s talk.

Something over two hours had gone by since the moon broke out from the clouds.I had greeted the Vrouw Prinsloo and all my other friends, and been received bythem with rapture as one risen from the dead. If they had loved me before, nowa new gratitude was added to their love, since had it not been for my warningthey also must have made acquaintance with the Zulu spears and perished. It wason their part of the camp that the worst of the attack fell. Indeed, from thosewagons hardly anyone escaped.

I had told them all the story, to which they listened in dead silence. Onlywhen it was finished the Heer Meyer, whose natural gloom had been deepened byall these events, said:

“Allemachte! but you have luck, Allan, to be left when everyone else istaken. Now, did I not know you so well, like Hernan Pereira I should think thatyou and that devil Dingaan had winked at each other.”

The Vrouw Prinsloo turned on him furiously.

“How dare you say such words, Carl Meyer?” she exclaimed.“Must Allan always be insulted just because he is English, which hecannot help? For my part, I think that if anyone winked at Dingaan it was thestinkcat Pereira. Otherwise why did he come away before the killing and bringthat madman, Henri Marais, with him?”

“I don’t know, I am sure, aunt,” said Meyer humbly, for likeeveryone else he was afraid of the Vrouw Prinsloo.

“Then why can’t you hold your tongue instead of saying silly thingswhich must give pain?” asked the vrouw. “No, don’t answer,for you will only make matters worse; but take the rest of that meat to thepoor Hottentot, Hans”—I should explain that we had beensupping—“who, although he has eaten enough to burst any whitestomach, I dare say can manage another pound or two.”

Meyer obeyed meekly, and the others melted away also as they were wont to dowhen the vrouw showed signs of war, so that she and we two were left alone.

“Now,” said the vrouw, “everyone is tired, and I say that itis time to go to rest. Good night, nephew Allan and niece Marie,” and shewaddled away leaving us together.

“Husband,” said Marie presently, “will you come and see thehome that I made ready for you before I thought that you were dead? It is apoor place, but I pray God that we may be happy there,” and she took meby the hand and kissed me once and twice and thrice.

About noon on the following day, when my wife and I were laughing and arguingover some little domestic detail of our meagre establishment—so soon aregreat griefs forgotten in an overwhelming joy, of a sudden I saw her facechange, and asked what was the matter.

“Hist!” she said, “I hear horses,” and she pointed in acertain direction.

I looked, and there, round the corner of the hill, came a body of Boers withtheir after-riders, thirty-two or three of them in all, of whom twenty werewhite men.

“See,” said Marie, “my father is among them, and my cousinHernan rides at his side.”

It was true. There was Henri Marais, and just behind him, talking into his ear,rode Hernan Pereira. I remember that the two of them reminded me of a tale Ihad read about a man who was cursed with an evil genius that drew him to somedreadful doom in spite of the promptings of his better nature. The thin, worn,wild-eyed Marais, and the rich-faced, carnal Pereira whispering slyly into hisear; they were exact types of that man in the story and his evil genius whodragged him down to hell. Prompted by some impulse, I threw my arms round Marieand embraced her, saying:

“At least we have been very happy for a while.”

“What do you mean, Allan?” she asked doubtfully.

“Only that I think our good hours are done with for the present.”

“Perhaps,” she answered slowly; “but at least they have beenvery good hours, and if I should die to-day I am glad to have lived to winthem.”

Then the cavalcade of Boers came up.

Hernan Pereira, his senses sharpened perhaps by the instincts of hate andjealousy, was the first to recognise me.

“Why, Mynheer Allan Quatermain,” he said, “how is it that youare here? How is it that you still live? Commandant,” he added, turningto a dark, sad-faced man of about sixty whom at that time I did not know,“here is a strange thing. This Heer Quatermain, an Englishman, was withthe Governor Retief at the town of the Zulu king, as the Heer Henri Marais cantestify. Now, as we know for sure Pieter Retief and all his people are dead,murdered by Dingaan, how then does it happen that this man has escaped?”

“Why do you put riddles to me, Mynheer Pereira?” asked the darkBoer. “Doubtless the Englishman will explain.”

“Certainly I will, mynheer,” I said. “Is it your pleasurethat I should speak now?”

The commandant hesitated. Then, having called Henri Marais apart and talked tohim for a little while, he replied:

“No, not now, I think; the matter is too serious. After we have eaten wewill listen to your story, Mynheer Quatermain, and meanwhile I command you notto leave this place.”

“Do you mean that I am a prisoner, commandant?” I asked.

“If you put it so—yes, Mynheer Quatermain—a prisoner who hasto explain how some sixty of our brothers, who were your companions, came to bebutchered like beasts in Zululand, while you escaped. Now, no more words; byand by doubtless there will be plenty of them. Here you, Carolus and Johannes,keep watch upon this Englishman, of whom I hear strange stories, with your gunsloaded, please, and when we send to you, lead him before us.”

“As usual, your cousin Hernan brings evil gifts,” I said to Mariebitterly. “Well, let us also eat our dinner, which perhaps the HeerenCarolus and Johannes will do us the honour to share—bringing their loadedguns with them.”

Carolus and Johannes accepted the invitation, and from them we heard much news,all of it terrible enough to learn, especially the details of the massacre inthat district, which, because of this fearful event is now and always will beknown as Weenen, or The Place of Weeping. Suffice it to say that they werequite enough to take away all our appetite, although Carolus and Johannes, whoby this time had recovered somewhat from the shock of that night of blood andterror, ate in a fashion which might have filled Hans himself with envy.

Shortly after we had finished our meal, Hans, who, by the way, seemed to havequite recovered from his fatigues, came to remove the dishes. He informed usthat all the Boers were having a great “talk,” and that they wereabout to send for me. Sure enough, a few minutes later two armed men arrivedand ordered me to follow them. I turned to say some words of farewell to Marie,but she said:

“I go where you do, husband,” and, as no objection was made by theguard, she came.

About two hundred yards away, sitting under the shade of one of the wagons, wefound the Boers. Six of them were seated in a semicircle upon stools orwhatever they could find, the black-browed commandant being in the centre andhaving in front of him a rough table on which were writing materials.

To the left of these six were the Prinsloos and Meyers, being those folk whom Ihad rescued from Delagoa, and to the right the other Boers who had ridden intothe camp that morning. I saw at a glance that a court-martial had been arrangedand that the six elders were the judges, the commandant being the president ofthe court.

I do not give their names purposely, since I have no wish that the actualperpetrators of the terrible blunder that I am about to describe should beknown to posterity. After all, they acted honestly according to their lights,and were but tools in the hand of that villain Hernan Pereira.

“Allan Quatermain,” said the commandant, “you are broughthere to be tried by a court-martial duly constituted according to the lawpublished in the camps of the emigrant Boers. Do you acknowledge thatlaw?”

“I know that there is such a law, commandant,” I answered,“but I do not acknowledge the authority of your court-martial to try aman who is no Boer, but a subject of the Queen of Great Britain.”

“We have considered that point, Allan Quatermain,” said thecommandant, “and we disallow it. You will remember that in the camp atBushman’s River, before you rode with the late Pieter Retief to the chiefSikonyela, when you were given command of the Zulus who went with him, you tookan oath to interpret truly and to be faithful in all things to the GeneralRetief, to his companions and to his cause. That oath we hold gives this courtjurisdiction over you.”

“I deny your jurisdiction,” I answered, “although it is truethat I took an oath to interpret faithfully, and I request that a note of mydenial may be made in writing.”

“It shall be done,” said the commandant, and laboriously he madethe note on the paper before him.

When he had finished he looked up and said: “The charge against you,Allan Quatermain, is that, being one of the commission who recently visited theZulu king Dingaan, under command of the late Governor and General PieterRetief, you did falsely and wickedly urge the said Dingaan to murder the saidPieter Retief and his companions, and especially Henri Marais, yourfather-in-law, and Hernando Pereira, his nephew, with both of whom you had aquarrel. Further, that afterwards you brought about the said murder, havingfirst arranged with the king of the Zulus that you should be removed to a placeof safety while it was done. Do you plead Guilty or Not guilty?”

Now when I heard this false and abominable charge my rage and indignationcaused me to laugh aloud.

“Are you mad, commandant,” I exclaimed, “that you should saysuch things? On what evidence is this wicked lie advanced against me?”

“No, Allan Quatermain, I am not mad,” he replied, “althoughit is true that through your evil doings I, who have lost my wife and threechildren by the Zulu spears, have suffered enough to make me mad. As for theevidence against you, you shall hear it. But first I will write down that youplead Not guilty.”

He did so, then said:

“If you will acknowledge certain things it will save us all much time, ofwhich at present we have little to spare. Those things are that knowing whatwas going to happen to the commission, you tried to avoid accompanying it. Isthat true?”

“No,” I answered. “I knew nothing of what was going to happento the commission, though I feared something, having but just saved my friendsthere”—and I pointed to the Prinsloos—“from death atthe hands of Dingaan. I did not wish to accompany it for another reason: that Ihad been married on the day of its starting to Marie Marais. Still, I wentafter all because the General Retief, who was my friend, asked me to come, tointerpret for him.”

Now some of the Boers present said:

“That is true. We remember.”

But the commandant continued, taking no heed of my answer or theseinterruptions.

“Do you acknowledge that you were on bad terms with Henri Marais and withHernan Pereira?”

“Yes,” I answered; “because Henri Marais did all in his powerto prevent my marriage with his daughter Marie, behaving very ill to me who hadsaved his life and that of his people who remained to him up by Delagoa, andafterwards at Umgungundhlovu. Because, too, Hernan Pereira strove to rob me ofMarie, who loved me. Moreover, although I had saved him when he lay sick todeath, he afterwards tried to murder me by shooting me down in a lonely place.Here is the mark of it,” and I touched the little scar upon the side ofmy forehead.

“That is true; he did so, the stinkcat,” shouted the VrouwPrinsloo, and was ordered to be silent.

“Do you acknowledge,” went on the commandant, “that you sentto warn your wife and those with her to depart from the camp on theBushman’s River, because it was going to be attacked, charging them tokeep the matter secret, and that afterwards both you and your Hottentot servantalone returned safely from Zululand, where all those who went with you liedead?”

“I acknowledge,” I answered, “that I wrote to tell my wife tocome to this place where I had been building houses, as you see, and to bringwith her any of our companions who cared to trek here, or, failing that, to goalone. This I did because Dingaan had told me, whether in jest or in earnest Idid not know, that he had given orders that my said wife should be kidnapped,as he desired to make her one of his women, having thought her beautiful whenhe saw her. Also what I did was done with the knowledge and by the wish of thelate Governor Retief, as can be shown by his writing on my letter. Iacknowledge also that I escaped when all my brothers were killed, as did theHottentot Hans, and if you wish to know I will tell you how we escaped andwhy.”

The commandant made a further note, then he said:

“Let the witness Hernan Pereira be called and sworn.”

This was done and he was ordered to tell his tale.

As may be imagined, it was a long tale, and one that had evidently beenprepared with great care. I will only set down its blackest falsehoods. Heassured the court that he had no enmity against me and had never attempted tokill me or do me any harm, although it was true that his heart felt sorebecause, against her father’s will, I had stolen away the affection ofhis betrothed, who was now my wife. He said that he had stopped in Zululandbecause he knew that I should marry her as soon as she came of age, and it wastoo great pain for him to see this done. He said that while he was there,before the arrival of the commission, Dingaan and some of his captains had toldhim that I had again and again urged him, Dingaan, to kill the Boers becausethey were traitors to the sovereign of England, but that he, Dingaan, hadrefused to do so. He said that when Retief came up with the commission he triedto warn him against me, but that Retief would not listen, being infatuated withme as many others were, and he looked towards the Prinsloos.

Then came the worst of all. He said that while he was engaged in mending someguns for Dingaan in one of his private huts, he overheard a conversationbetween myself and Dingaan which took place outside the hut, I, of course, notknowing that he was within. The substance of this conversation was that I againurged Dingaan to kill the Boers and afterwards to send an impi to massacretheir wives and families. Only I asked him to give me time to get away a girlwhom I had married from among them, and with her a few of my own friends whom Iwished should be spared, as I intended to become a kind of chief over them, andif he would grant it me, to hold all the land of Natal under his rule and theprotection of the English. To these proposals Dingaan answered that “theyseemed wise and good, and that he would think them over very carefully.”

Pereira said further that coming out of the hut after Dingaan had gone away hereproached me bitterly for my wickedness, and announced that he would warn theBoers, which he did subsequently by word of mouth and in writing. That thereonI caused him to be detained by the Zulus while I went to Retief and told himsome false story about him, Pereira, which caused Retief to drive him out ofhis camp and give orders that none of the Boers should so much as speak to him.That then he did the only thing he could. Going to his uncle, Henri Marais, hetold him, not all the truth, but that he had learnt for certain that hisdaughter Marie was in dreadful danger of her life because of some intendedattack of the Zulus, and that all the Boers among whom she dwelt were also indanger of their lives.

Therefore he suggested to Henri Marais that as the General Retief was besottedand would not listen to his story, the best thing they could do was to rideaway and warn the Boers. This then they did secretly, without the knowledge ofRetief, but being delayed upon their journey by one accident and another, whichhe set out in detail, they only reached the Bushman’s River too late,after the massacre had taken place. Subsequently, as the commandant knew,hearing a rumour that Marie Marais and other Boers had trekked to this placebefore the slaughter, they came here and learned that they had done so upon awarning sent to them by Allan Quatermain, whereon they returned andcommunicated the news to the surviving Boers at Bushman’s River.

That was all he had to say.

Then, as I reserved my cross-examination until I heard all the evidence againstme, Henri Marais was sworn and corroborated his nephew’s testimony onmany points as to my relations to his daughter, his objection to my marriage toher because I was an Englishman whom he disliked and mistrusted, and so forth.He added further that it was true Pereira had told him he had sure informationthat Marie and the Boers were in danger from an attack upon them which had beenarranged between Allan Quatermain and Dingaan; that he also had written toRetief and tried to speak to him but was refused a hearing. Thereon he hadridden away from Umgungundhlovu to try to save his daughter and warn the Boers.That was all he had to say.

As there were no further witnesses for the prosecution I cross-examined thesetwo at full length, but absolutely without results, since every vital questionthat I asked was met with a direct negative.

Then I called my witnesses, Marie, whose evidence they refused to hear on theground that she was my wife and prejudiced, the Vrouw Prinsloo and her family,and the Meyers. One and all told a true story of my relations with HernanPereira, Henri Marais, and Dingaan, so far as they knew them.

After this, as the commandant declined to take the evidence of Hans because hewas a Hottentot and my servant, I addressed the court, relating exactly whathad taken place between me and Dingaan, and how I and Hans came to escape onour second visit to his kraal. I pointed out also that unhappily for myself Icould not prove my words, since Dingaan was not available as a witness, and allthe others were dead. Further, I produced my letter to Marie, which wasendorsed by Retief, and the letter to Retief signed by Marais and Pereira whichremained in my possession.

By the time that I had finished my speech the sun was setting and everyone wastired out. I was ordered to withdraw under guard, while the court consulted,which it did for a long while. Then I was called forward again and thecommandant said:

“Allan Quatermain, after prayer to God we have considered this case tothe best of our judgment and ability. On the one hand we note that you are anEnglishman, a member of a race which hates and has always oppressed our people,and that it was to your interest to get rid of two of them with whom you hadquarrelled. The evidence of Henri Marais and Hernan Pereira, which we cannotdisbelieve, shows that you were wicked enough, either in order to do this, orbecause of your malice against the Boer people, to plot their destruction witha savage. The result is that some seven hundred men, women, and children havelost their lives in a very cruel manner, whereas you, your servant, your wifeand your friends have alone escaped unharmed. For such a crime as this ahundred deaths could not pay; indeed, God alone can give to it its justpunishment, and to Him it is our duty to send you to be judged. We condemn youto be shot as a traitor and a murderer, and may He have mercy on yoursoul.”

At these dreadful words Marie fell to the ground fainting and a pause ensuedwhile she was carried off to the Prinsloos’ house, whither the vrouwfollowed to attend her. Then the commandant went on:

“Still, although we have thus passed judgment on you; because you are anEnglishman against whom it might be said that we had prejudices, and becauseyou have had no opportunity of preparing a defence, and no witnesses to thefacts, since all those whom you say you could have called are dead, we think itright that this unanimous sentence of ours should be confirmed by a generalcourt of the emigrant Boers. Therefore to-morrow morning you will be taken withus to the Bushman’s River camp, where the case will be settled, and, ifnecessary, execution done in accordance with the verdict of the generals andveld-cornets of that camp. Meanwhile you will be kept in custody in your ownhouse. Now have you anything to say against this sentence?”

“Yes, this,” I answered, “that although you do not know it,it is an unjust sentence, built up on the lies of one who has always been myenemy, and of a man whose brain is rotten. I never betrayed the Boers. Ifanyone betrayed them it was Hernan Pereira himself, who, as I proved to theGeneral Retief, had been praying Dingaan to kill me, and whom Retief threatenedto put upon his trial for this very crime, for which reason and no otherPereira fled from the kraal, taking his tool Henri Marais with him. You haveasked God to judge me. Well, I ask God to judge him and Henri Marais also, andI know He will in one way or another. As for me, I am ready to die, as I havebeen for months while serving the cause of you Boers. Shoot me now if you will,and make an end. But I tell you that if I escape your hands I will not sufferthis treatment to go unpunished. I will lay my case before the rulers of mypeople, and if necessary before my Queen, yes, if I have to travel to London todo it, and you Boers shall learn that you cannot condemn an innocent Englishmanupon false testimony and not pay the price. I tell you that price shall begreat if I live, and if I die it shall be greater still.”

Now these words, very foolish words, I admit, which being young andinexperienced I spoke in my British pride, I could see made a great impressionupon my judges. They believed, to be fair to them, that they had passed a justsentence. Blinded by prejudice and falsehood, and maddened by the dreadfullosses their people had suffered during the past few days at the hands of adevilish savage, they believed that I was the instigator of those losses, onewho ought to die. Indeed, all, or nearly all the Boers were persuaded thatDingaan was urged to this massacre by the counsels of Englishmen. The mere factof my own and my servant’s miraculous escape, when all my companions hadperished, proved my guilt to them without the evidence of Pereira, which, beingno lawyers, they thought sufficient to justify their verdict.

Still, they had an uneasy suspicion that this evidence was not conclusive, andmight indeed be rejected in totoby a more competent court upon variousgrounds. Also they knew themselves to be rebels who had no legal right to forma court, and feared the power of the long arm of England, from which for alittle while they had escaped. If I were allowed to tell my tale to theParliament in London, what might not happen to them, they wondered—tothem who had ventured to pass sentence of death upon a subject of the Queen ofGreat Britain? Might not this turn the scale against them? Might not Britainarise in wrath and crush them, these men who dared to invoke her forms of lawin order to kill her citizen? Those, as I learned afterwards, were the thoughtsthat passed through their minds.

Also another thought passed through their minds—that if the sentence wereexecuted at once, a dead man cannot appeal, and that here I had no friends totake up my cause and avenge me. But of all this they said nothing. Only at asign I was marched away to my little house and imprisoned under guard.

Now I propose to tell the rest of the history of these tragic events as theyhappened, although some of them did not come to my knowledge till the morrow orafterwards, for I think this will be the more simple and the easier plan.

CHAPTER XXI.
THE INNOCENT BLOOD

After I had been taken away it seems that the court summoned Hernan Pereira andHenri Marais to accompany them to a lonely spot at a distance, where theythought that their deliberations would not be overheard. In this, however, theywere mistaken, having forgotten the fox-like cunning of the Hottentot, Hans.Hans had heard me sentenced, and probably enough feared that he who also hadcommitted the crime of escaping from Dingaan, might be called on to share thatsentence. Also he wished to know the secret counsel of these Boers, whoselanguage, of course, he understood as well as he did his own.

So making a circuit up the hillside, he crept towards them on his belly as asnake creeps, wriggling in and out between the tufts of last year’s deadgrass, which grew here in plenty, without so much as moving their tops. Atlength he lay still in the centre of a bush that grew behind a stone not fivepaces from where they were talking, whence he listened intently to every wordthat passed their lips.

This was the substance of their talk; that for the reasons I have alreadymentioned it would be best that I should die at once. Sentence, said thecommandant, had been passed, and could not be rescinded, since even if it were,their offence would remain as heavy in the eyes of the English authorities. Butif they took me to their main camp to be re-tried by their great council,possibly that sentence might be rescinded and they be left individually andcollectively to atone for what they had done. Also they knew that I was veryclever and might escape in some other way to bring the English, or possibly theZulus, upon them, since they felt convinced that Dingaan and I were workingtogether for their destruction, and that while I had breath in my body I shouldnever cease my efforts to be avenged.

When it was found that they were all of one mind in this matter, the questionarose: What should be done? Somebody suggested that I should be shot at once,but the commandant pointed out that such a deed, worked at night, would looklike murder, especially as it violated the terms of their verdict.

Then another suggestion was made: that I should be brought out of my house justbefore the dawn on pretence that it was time to ride; that then I should begiven the opportunity of escape and instantly shot down. Or it might bepretended that I had tried to escape, with a like result. Who, they urged, wasto know in that half-light whether I had or had not actually attempted to runfor my life, or to threaten their lives, circumstances under which the law saidit was justifiable to shoot a prisoner already formally condemned to death?

To this black counsel they all agreed, being so terribly afraid of a poorEnglish lad whose existence, although most of them did not know this, was to betaken from him upon false evidence. But then arose another question: By whosehand should the thing be done? Not one of them, it would seem, was anxious tofulfil this bloody office; indeed, they one and all refused to do so. Aproposal was put forward that some of their native servants should be forced toserve as executioners; but when this had been vetoed by the general sense ofthe court, their counsels came to a deadlock.

Then, after a whispered conference, the commandant spoke some dreadful words.

“Hernando Pereira and Henri Marais,” he said, “it is on yourevidence that this young man has been condemned. We believe that evidence, butif by one jot or one tittle it is false, then not justice, but a foul murderwill have been committed and his innocent blood will be upon your heads forever. Hernando Pereira and Henri Marais, the court appoints you to be theguards who will bring the prisoner out of his house to-morrow morning just whenthe sky begins to lighten. It is from youthat he will try to escape,and youwill prevent his escape by his death. Then you must join uswhere we shall be waiting for you and report the execution.”

When Henri Marais heard this he exclaimed:

“I swear by God that I cannot do it. Is it right or natural that a manshould be forced to kill his own son-in-law?”

“You could bear evidence against your own son-in-law, HenriMarais,” answered the stern-faced commandant. “Why then cannot youkill with your rifle one whom you have already helped to kill with yourtongue?”

“I will not, I cannot!” said Marais, tearing at his beard. But thecommandant only answered coldly:

“You have the orders of the court, and if you choose to disobey them weshall begin to believe that you have sworn falsely. Then you and your nephewwill also appear before the great council when the Englishman is tried again.Still, it matters nothing to us whether you or Hernando Pereira shall fire theshot. See you to it, as the Jews said to Judas who had betrayed the innocentLord.”

Then he paused and went on, addressing Pereira:

“Do you also refuse, Hernando Pereira? Remember before you answer that ifyou do refuse we shall draw our own conclusions. Remember, too, that theevidence which you have given, showing that this wicked Englishman plotted andcaused the deaths of our brothers and of our wives and children, which webelieve to be true evidence, shall be weighed and investigated word by wordbefore the great council.”

“To give evidence is one thing, and to shoot the traitor and murdereranother,” said Pereira. Then he added with an oath, or so vowed Hans:“Yet why should I, who know all this villain’s guilt, refuse tocarry out the sentence of the law on him? Have no fear, commandant, theaccursed Allan Quatermain shall not succeed in his attempt to escape to-morrowbefore the dawn.”

“So be it,” said the commandant. “Now, do all you who haveheard those words take note of them.”

Then Hans, seeing that the council was about to break up, and fearing lest heshould be caught and killed, slipped away by the same road that he had come.His thought was to warn me, but this he could not do because of the guards. Sohe went to the Prinsloos, and finding the vrouw alone with Marie, who hadrecovered her mind, told them everything that he had heard.

As he said, Marie knelt down and prayed, or thought for a long while, then roseand spoke.

“Tante,” she said to the vrouw, “one thing is clear, thatAllan will be murdered at the dawn; now if he is hidden away he mayescape.”

“But where and how can we hide him,” asked the vrouw, “seeingthat the place is guarded?”

“Tante,” said Marie again, “at the back of your house is anold cattle kraal made by Kaffirs, and in that cattle kraal, as I have seen,there are mealie-pits where those Kaffirs stored their grain. Now I suggestthat we should put my husband into one of those mealie-pits and cover it over.There the Boers might not find him, however close they searched.”

“That is a good idea,” said the vrouw; “but how in the nameof God are we to get Allan out of a guarded house into a mealie-pit?”

“Tante, I have a right to go to my husband’s house, and there Iwill go. Afterwards, too, I shall have the right to leave his house before heis taken away. Well, he might leave it in my place, as me, and you andHans might help him. Then in the morning the Boers would come to search thehouse and find no one except me.”

“That is all very pretty,” answered the vrouw; “but do youthink, my niece, that those accursed vultures will go away until they havepicked Allan’s bones? Not they, for too much hangs on it. They will knowthat he cannot be far off, and slink about the place until they have found himin his mealie-hole or until he comes out. It is blood they are after, thanks toyour cousin Hernan, the liar, and blood they will have for their ownsafety’s sake. Never will they go away from here until they see Allanlying dead upon the ground.”

Now, according to Hans, Marie thought again very deeply. Then she answered:

“There is a great risk, tante; but we must take it. Send your husband tochat with those guards, and give him a bottle of spirits. I will talk with Hanshere and see what can be arranged.”

So Marie went aside with Hans, as he told me afterwards, and asked him if heknew of any medicine that made people sleep for a long while without waking. Heanswered, Yes; all the coloured people had plenty of such medicine. Withoutdoubt he could get some from the Kaffirs who dwelt upon the place, or if not hecould dig the roots of a plant that he had seen growing near by which wouldserve the purpose. So she sent him to procure this stuff. Afterwards she spoketo the Vrouw Prinsloo, saying:

“My plan is that Allan should escape from our house disguised as myself.But as I know well that he will not run away while he has his senses, seeingthat to do so in his mind would be to confess his guilt, I propose to take hissenses from him by means of a drugged drink. Then I propose that you and Hansshould carry him into the shadow of this house, and when no one is looking, tothe old grain-pit that lies but a few yards away, covering the mouth of it withdead grass. There he will remain till the Boers grow tired of searching for himand ride away. Or if it should chance that they find him, he will be no worseoff than he was before.”

“A good plan enough, Marie, though not one that Allan would have anythingto do with if he kept his wits,” answered the vrouw, “seeing thathe was always a man for facing things out, although so young in years. Still,we will try to save him in spite of himself from the claws of that stinkcatPereira, whom may God curse, and his tool, your father. As you say, at theworst no harm will be done even if they find him, as probably they will, seeingthat they will not leave this place without blood.”

Such then was the trick which Marie arranged with the Vrouw Prinsloo. Orrather, I should say, seemed to arrange, since she told her nothing of her realmind, she who knew that the vrouw was right and that for their own sakes, aswell as because they believed it to be justice, the Boers would never leavethat place until they saw blood running on the grass.

This, oh! this was Marie’s true and dreadful plan—to give herlife for mine!She was sure that once he had slain his victim, HernanPereira would not stop to make examination of the corpse. He would ride away,hounded by his guilty conscience, and meanwhile I could escape.

She never thought the thing out in all its details, she who was maddened withterror and had no time. She only felt her way from step to step, dimly seeingmy deliverance at the end of the journey. Marie told the Vrouw Prinsloonothing, except that she proposed to drug me if I would not go undrugged. Thenthe vrouw must hide me as best she could, in the grain-pit or elsewhere, or, ifI had my senses about me, let me hide myself. Afterwards she, Marie, would facethe Boers and tell them to find me if they wanted me.

The vrouw answered that she had now thought of a better plan. It was that sheshould arrange with her husband and son and the Meyers, all of whom loved me,that they should rescue me, or if need be, kill or disable Pereira before hecould shoot me.

Marie replied that this was good if it could be done, and the vrouw went out tofind her husband and the other men. Presently, however, she returned with along face, saying that the commandant had them all under guard. It seemed thatit had occurred to him, or more probably to Pereira, that the Prinsloos and theMeyers, who looked on me as a brother, might attempt some rescue, or makethemselves formidable in other ways. Therefore, as a matter of precaution, theyhad been put under arrest and their arms taken from them as mine had been. Whatthe commandant said, however, was that he took these somewhat high-handedmeasures in order to be sure that they, the Prinsloos and the Meyers, should beready on the following morning to ride with him and the prisoner to the maincamp, where the great council might wish to interrogate them.

One concession, however, the vrouw had won from the commandant, who, knowingwhat was about to happen to me, had not, I suppose, the heart to refuse. It wasthat my wife and she might visit me and give me food on the stipulation thatthey both left the house where I was confined by ten o’clock that night.

So it came to this, that if anything was to be done, these two women and aHottentot must do it, since they could hope for no help in their plans. Here Ishould add that the vrouw told Marie in Hans’s presence that she hadthought of attacking the commandant as to this matter of my proposed shootingby Pereira. On reflection, however, she refrained for two reasons, firstbecause she feared lest she might only make matters worse and rob me of my solehelpers, and secondly for fear lest she should bring about the death of Hans,to whom the story would certainly be traced.

As he was the solitary witness to the plot, it seemed to her that he wouldscarcely be allowed to escape to repeat it far and wide. Especially was thisso, as the unexplained death of a Hottentot, suspected of treachery like hismaster, was not a matter that would have been thought worth notice in thoserough and bloody times. She may have been right, or she may have been wrong,but in weighing her decision it must always be borne in mind that she was, anduntil the end remained, in utter ignorance of Marie’s heroic design to goto her death in place of me.

So the two women and the Hottentot proceeded to mature the plans which I haveoutlined. One other alternative, however, Hans did suggest. It was that theyshould try to drug the guards with some of the medicated drink that was meantfor me, and that then Marie, I and he should slip away and get down to theriver, there to hide in the weeds. Thence, perhaps, we might escape to PortNatal where lived Englishmen who would protect us.

Of course this idea was hopeless from the first. The moonlight was almost asbright as day, and the veld quite open for a long way round, so that we shouldcertainly have been seen and re-captured, which of course would have meantinstant death. Further, as it happened, the guards had been warned againsttouching liquor of any sort since it was thought probable that an attempt wouldbe made to intoxicate them. Still the women determined to try this scheme ifthey could find a chance. At least it was a second string to their bow.

Meanwhile they made their preparations. Hans went away for a little andreturned with a supply of his sleep-producing drug, though whether he got thisfrom the Kaffirs or gathered it himself, I do not remember, if I ever heard. Atany rate it was boiled up in the water with which they made the coffee that Iwas to drink, though not in that which Marie proposed to drink with me, thestrong taste and black hue of the coffee effectually hiding any flavour orcolour that there might be in the herb. Also the vrouw cooked some food whichshe gave to Hans to carry. First, however, he went to investigate the oldmealie-pit which was within a few paces of the back door of thePrinsloos’ house. He reported that it would do well to hide a man in,especially as tall grass and bushes grew about its mouth.

Then the three of them started, and arriving at the door of my house, which wasabout a hundred yards away, were of course challenged by the sentries.

“Heeren,” said Marie, “the commandant has given us leave tobring food to my husband, whom you guard within. Pray do not prevent us fromentering.”

“No,” answered one of them gently enough, for he was touched withpity at her plight. “We have our orders to admit you, the Vrouw Prinslooand the native servant, though why three of you should be needed to carry foodto one man, I don’t know. I should have thought that at such a time hewould have preferred to be alone with his wife.”

“The Vrouw Prinsloo wishes to ask my husband certain questions about hisproperty here and what is to be done while he and her men are away at the maincamp for the second trial, as I, whose heart is full of sorrow, have no headfor such things. Also the Hottentot must have orders as to where he is to get ahorse to ride with him, so pray let us pass, mynheer.”

“Very good; it is no affair of ours, Vrouw Quatermain— Stay, Isuppose that you have no arms under that long cloak of yours.”

“Search me, if you will, mynheer,” she answered, opening the cloak,whereon, after a quick glance, he nodded and bade them enter, saying:

“Mind, you are to come out by ten o’clock. You must not pass thenight in that house, or we shall have the little Englishman oversleepinghimself in the morning.”

Then they entered and found me seated at a table preparing notes for my defenceand setting down the heads of the facts of my relations with Pereira, Dingaan,and the late Commandant Retief.

Here I may state that my condition at the time was not one of fear, but ratherof burning indignation. Indeed, I had not the slightest doubt but that when mycase was re-tried before the great council, I should be able to establish mycomplete innocence of the abominable charges that had been brought against me.Therefore it came about that when Marie suggested that I should try to escape,I begged her almost roughly not to mention such a thing again.

“Run away!” I said. “Why, that would be to confess myselfguilty, for only the guilty run away. What I want is to have all this businessthrashed out and that devil Pereira exposed.”

“But, Allan,” said Marie, “how if you should never live tohave it thrashed out? How if you should be shot first?” Then she rose,and having looked to see that the shutter-board was fast in the littlewindow-place and the curtain that she had made of sacking drawn over it,returned and whispered: “Hans here has heard a horrible tale, Allan. Tellit to the baas, Hans.”

So while Vrouw Prinsloo, in order to deceive any prying eyes if such by chancecould see us, busied herself with lighting a fire on the hearth in the secondroom on which to warm the food, Hans told his story much as it has already beenset out.

I listened to it with growing incredulity. The thing seemed to me impossible.Either Hans was deceived or lying, the latter probably, for well I knew theHottentot powers of imagination. Or perhaps he was drunk; indeed, he smelt ofliquor, of which I was aware he could carry a great quantity without outwardsigns of intoxication.

“I cannot believe it,” I said when he had finished. “Even ifPereira is such a fiend, as is possible, would Henri Marais, yourfather—who, at any rate, has always been a good and God-fearingman—consent to work such a crime upon his daughter’s husband,though he does dislike him?”

“My father is not what he was, Allan,” said Marie. “SometimesI think that his brain has gone.”

“He did not speak like a man whose brain has gone this afternoon,”I replied. “But let us suppose that this tale is true, what is it thatyou wish me to do?”

“Allan, I wish you to dress up in my clothes and get away to ahiding-place which Hans and the vrouw know, leaving me here instead ofyou.”

“Why, Marie?” I said. “Then you might get yourself shot in myplace, always supposing that they mean to shoot me. Also I should certainly becaught and killed, as they would have a right to kill me for trying to escapein disguise. That is a mad plan, and I have a better. Vrouw Prinsloo, gostraight to the commandant and tell him all this story. Or, if he will notlisten to you, scream it out at the top of your voice so that everyone mayhear, and then come back and tell us the result. Of one thing I am sure, thatif you do this, even if there was any thought of my being shot tomorrowmorning, it will be abandoned. You can refuse to say who told you thetale.”

“Yes, please do that,” muttered Hans, “else I know one whowill be shot.”

“Good, I will go,” said the vrouw, and she went, the guards lettingher pass after a few words which we could not hear.

Half an hour later she returned and called to us to open the door.

“Well?” I asked.

“Well,” she said, “I have failed, nephew. Except thosesentries outside the door, the commandant and all the Boers have ridden off, Iknow not where, taking our people with them.”

“That’s odd,” I answered, “but I suppose they thoughtthey had not enough grass for their horses, or Heaven knows what they thought.Stay now, I will do something,” and, opening the door, I called to theguards, honest fellows in their way, whom I had known in past times.

“Listen, friends,” I said. “A tale has been brought to methat I am not to be taken to the big camp to have my case inquired of by thecouncil, but am to be shot down in cold blood when I come out of this houseto-morrow morning. Is that true?”

“Allemachte, Englishman!” answered one of them. “Do you takeus for murderers? Our orders are to lead you to the commandant wherever he mayappoint, so have no fear that we shall shoot you like a Kaffir. Either you orthey who told you such a story are mad.”

“So I thought, friends,” I answered. “But where is thecommandant and where are the others? The Vrouw Prinsloo here has been to seethem, and reports that they are all gone.”

“That is very likely,” said the Boer. “There is a rumour thatsome of your Zulu brothers have come across the Tugela again to hunt us, which,if you want to know the truth, is why we visited this place. Well, thecommandant has taken his men for a ride to see if he can meet them by thisbright moonlight. Pity he could not take you, too, since you would have knownso well where to find them, if they are there at all. Now please talk no morenonsense to us, which it makes us sick to hear, and don’t think that youcan slip away because we are only two, for you know our roersare loadedwith slugs, and we have orders to use them.”

“There,” I said when I had shut the door, “now you have heardfor yourselves. As I thought, there is nothing in this fine story, so I hopeyou are convinced.”

Neither the vrouw nor Marie made any answer, and Hans also held his tongue.Yet, as I remembered afterwards, I saw a strange glance pass between the twowomen, who were not at all convinced, and, although I never dreamed of such athing, had now determined to carry out their own desperate plan. But of this Irepeat the vrouw and Hans only knew one half; the rest was locked inMarie’s loving heart.

“Perhaps you are right, Allan,” said the vrouw in the tone of onewho gives way to an unreasonable child. “I hope so, and, at any rate, youcan refuse to come out of the house to-morrow morning until you are quite sure.And now let us eat some supper, for we shall not make matters better by goinghungry. Hans, bring the food.”

So we ate, or made pretence to eat, and I, being thirsty, drank two cups of theblack coffee dashed with spirit to serve as milk. After this I grew strangelysleepy. The last thing I remember was Marie looking at me with her beautifuleyes, that were full—ah! so full of tender love, and kissing me again andagain upon the lips.

I dreamed all sorts of dreams, rather pleasant dreams on the whole. Then I wokeup by degrees to find myself in an earthen pit shaped like a bottle and havingthe remains of polished sides to it. It made me think of Joseph who was letdown by his brethren into a well in the desert. Now, who on earth could havelet me down into a well, especially as I had no brethren? Perhaps I was notreally in a well. Perhaps this was a nightmare. Or I might be dead. I began toremember that there were certain good reasons why I should be dead. Only,only—why should they have buried me in woman’s clothes as I seemedto wear?

And what was that noise that had wakened me?

It could not be the trump of doom, unless the trumping of doom went off like adouble-barrelled gun.

I began to try to climb out of my hole, but as it was nine feet deep andbottle-shaped, which the light flowing in from the neck showed, I found thisimpossible. Just as I was giving up the attempt, a yellow face appeared in thatneck, which looked to me like the face of Hans, and an arm was projecteddownwards.

“Jump, if you are awake, baas,” said a voice—surely it wasthe voice of Hans—“and I will pull you out.”

So I jumped, and caught the arm above the wrist. Then the owner of the armpulled desperately, and the end of it was that I succeeded in gripping the edgeof the bottle-like hole, and, with the help of the arm, in dragging myself out.

“Now, baas,” said Hans, for it wasHans, “run, runbefore the Boers catch you.”

“What Boers?” I asked, sleepily; “and how can I run withthese things flapping about my legs?”

Then I looked about me, and, although the dawn was only just breaking, began torecognise my surroundings. Surely this was the Prinsloos’ house to myright, and that, faintly seen through the mist about a hundred paces away, wasMarie’s and my own. There seemed to be something going on yonder whichexcited my awakening curiosity. I could see figures moving in an unusualmanner, and desired to know what they were doing. I began to walk towards them,and Hans, for his part, began to try to drag me in an opposite direction,uttering all sorts of gibberish as to the necessity of my running away. But Iwould not be dragged; indeed, I struck at him, until at last, with anexclamation of despair, he let go of me and vanished.

So I went on alone. I came to my house, or what I thought resembled it, andthere saw a figure lying on its face on the ground some ten or fifteen yards tothe right of the doorway, and noted abstractedly that it was dressed in myclothes. The Vrouw Prinsloo, in her absurd night garments, was waddling towardsthe figure, and a little way off stood Hernan Pereira, apparently in the act ofreloading a double-barrelled gun. Beyond, staring at him, stood thelantern-faced Henri Marais, pulling at his long beard with one hand and holdinga rifle in the other. Behind were two saddled horses in the charge of a rawKaffir, who looked on stupidly.

The Vrouw Prinsloo reached the body that lay upon the ground dressed in whatresembled my clothes, and bending down her stout shape with an effort, turnedit over. She glared into its face and then began to shriek.

“Come here, Henri Marais,” she shrieked, “come, see what yourbeloved nephew has done! You had a daughter who was all your life to you, HenriMarais. Well, come, look at her after your beloved nephew has finished his workwith her!”

Henri Marais advanced slowly like one who does not understand. He stood overthe body on the ground, and looked down upon it through the morning mists.

Then suddenly he went mad. His broad hat fell from his head, and his long hairseemed to stand up. Also his beard grew big and bristled like the feathers of abird in frosty weather. He turned on Hernan Pereira. “You devil!”he shouted, and his voice sounded like the roar of a wild beast; “youdevil, you have murdered my daughter! Because you could not get Marie foryourself, you have murdered her. Well, I will pay you back!”

Without more ado he lifted his gun and fired straight at Hernan Pereira, whosank slowly to the ground and lay there groaning.

Just then I grew aware that horsemen were advancing upon us, a great number ofhorsemen, though whence they came at that time I did not know. One of these Irecognised even in my half-drunken state, for he had impressed himself veryvividly upon my mind. He was the dark-browed commandant who had tried andcondemned me to death. He dismounted, and, staring at the two figures that layupon the ground, said in a loud and terrible voice:

“What is this? Who are these men, and why are they shot? Explain, HenriMarais.”

“Men!” wailed Henri Marais, “they are not men. One is awoman—my only child; and the other is a devil, who, being a devil, willnot die. See! he will not die. Give me another gun that I may make himdie.”

The commandant looked about him wildly, and his eye fell upon the VrouwPrinsloo.

“What has chanced, vrouw?” he asked.

“Only this,” she replied in a voice of unnatural calm. “Yourmurderers whom you set on in the name of law and justice have made a mistake.You told them to murder Allan Quatermain for reasons of your own. Well, theyhave murdered his wife instead.”

Now the commandant struck his hand upon his forehead and groaned, and I, halfawakened at last, ran forward, shaking my fists and gibbering.

“Who is that?” asked the commandant. “Is it a man or awoman?”

“It is a man in woman’s clothing; it is Allan Quatermain,”answered the vrouw, “whom we drugged and tried to hide from yourbutchers.”

“God above us!” exclaimed the commandant, “is this earth orhell?”

Then the wounded Pereira raised himself upon one hand.

“I am dying,” he cried; “my life is bleeding away, but beforeI die I must speak. All that story I told against the Englishman is false. Henever plotted with Dingaan against the Boers. It was I who plotted withDingaan. Although I hated him because he found me out, I did not wish Retiefand our people to be killed. But I did wish Allan Quatermain to be killed,because he had won her whom I loved, though, as it happened, all the otherswere slain, and he alone escaped. Then I came here and learned that Marie washis wife—yes, his wife indeed—and grew mad with hate and jealousy.So I bore false witness against him, and, you fools, you believed me andordered me to shoot him who is innocent before God and man. Then things wentwrong. The woman tricked me again—for the last time. She dressed herselfas the man, and in the dawnlight I was deceived. I killed her, her whom I lovealone, and now her father, who loved her also, has killed me.”

By this time I understood all, for my drugged brain had awakened at last. I ranto the brute upon the ground; grotesque in my woman’s garments all awry,I leaped on him and stamped out the last of his life. Then, standing over hisdead body, I shook my fists and cried:

“Men, see what you have done. May God pay you back all you owe her andme!”

They dismounted, they came round me, they protested, they even wept. And I, Iraved at them upon the one side, while the mad Henri Marais raved upon theother; and the Vrouw Prinsloo, waving her big arms, called down the curse ofGod and the blood of the innocent upon their heads and those of their childrenfor ever.

Then I remember no more.

When I came to myself two weeks afterwards, for I had been very ill and indelirium, I was lying in the house of the Vrouw Prinsloo alone. The Boers hadall gone, east and west and north and south, and the dead were long buried.They had taken Henri Marais with them, so I was told, dragging him away in abullock cart, to which he was tied, for he was raving mad. Afterwards he becamequieter, and, indeed, lived for years, walking about and asking all whom he metif they could lead him to Marie. But enough of him—poor man, poor man!

The tale which got about was that Pereira had murdered Marie out of jealousy,and been shot by her father. But there were so many tragic histories in thosedays of war and massacre that this particular one was soon quite forgotten,especially as those concerned in it for one reason and another did not talkovermuch of its details. Nor did I talk of it, since no vengeance could mend mybroken heart.

They brought me a letter that had been found on Marie’s breast, stainedwith her blood.

Here it is:

“MY HUSBAND,

“Thrice have you saved my life, and now it is my turn to save yours, forthere is no other path. It may be that they will kill you afterwards, but ifso, I shall be glad to have died first in order that I may be ready to greetyou in the land beyond.

“I drugged you, Allan, then I cut off my hair and dressed myself in yourclothes. The Vrouw Prinsloo, Hans and I set my garments upon you. They led youout as though you were fainting, and the guards, seeing me, whom they thoughtwas you, standing in the doorway, let them pass without question.

“What may happen I do not know, for I write this after you are gone. Ihope, however, that you will escape and lead some full and happy life, though Ifear that its best moments will always be shadowed by memories of me. For Iknow you love me, Allan, and will always love me, as I shall always love you.

“The light is burning out—like mine—so farewell, farewell,farewell! All earthly stories come to an end at last, but at that end we shallmeet again. Till then, adieu. Would that I could have done more for you, sinceto die for one who is loved with body, heart and soul is but a little thing.Still I have been your wife, Allan, and your wife I shall remain when the worldis old. Heaven does not grow old, Allan, and there I shall greet you.

“The light is dead, but—oh!—in my heart another light arises!

“Your MARIE.”

This was her letter.

I do not think there is anything more to be said.

Such is the history of my first love. Those who read it, if any ever do, willunderstand why I have never spoken of her before, and do not wish it to beknown until I, too, am dead and have gone to join the great soul of MarieMarais.

ALLAN QUATERMAIN.

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