There was silence for a time; then the stranger said, “Peter Simon
Halket, take a message to England”--Peter Halket started--“Go to that
great people and cry aloud to it: ‘Where is the sword was given into
your hand, that with it you might enforce justice and deal out mercy?
How came you to give it up into the hands of men whose search is gold,
whose thirst is wealth, to whom men’s souls and bodies are counters in a
game? How came you to give up the folk that were given into your hands,
into the hand of the speculator and the gamester; as though they were
dumb beasts who might be bought or sold?
“‘Take back your sword, Great People--but wipe it first, lest some of
the gold and blood stick to your hand.
“‘What is this, I see!--the sword of the Great People, transformed to
burrow earth for gold, as the snouts of swine for earth nuts! Have you
no other use for it, Great Folk?
“‘Take back your sword; and, when you have thoroughly cleansed it and
wiped it of the blood and mire, then raise it to set free the oppressed
of other climes.
“‘Great Prince’s Daughter, take heed! You put your sword into the hands
of recreant knights; they will dull its edge and mar its brightness,
and, when your hour of need comes and you would put it into other hands,
you will find its edge chipped and its point broken. Take heed! Take
heed!’
“Cry to the wise men of England: ‘You, who in peace and calm in
shaded chambers ponder on all things in heaven and earth, and take all
knowledge for your province, have you no time to think of this? To whom
has England given her power? How do the men wield it who have filched it
from her? Say not, What have we to do with folk across the waters; have
we not matter enough for thought in our own land? Where the brain of
a nation has no time to go, there should its hands never be sent to
labour: where the power of a people goes, there must its intellect and
knowledge go, to guide it. Oh, you who sit at ease, studying past and
future--and forget the present--you have no right to sit at ease knowing
nothing of the working of the powers you have armed and sent to work on
men afar. Where is your nation’s sword--you men of thought?’
“Cry to the women of England: ‘You, who repose in sumptuous houses, with
children on your knees; think not it is only the rustling of the soft
draped curtains, or the whistling of the wind, you hear. Listen! May it
not be the far off cry of those your sword governs, creeping towards
you across wide oceans till it pierces even into your inmost sanctuary?
Listen!
“For the womanhood of a dominant people has not accomplished all its
labour when it has borne its children and fed them at its breast: there
cries to it also from over seas and across continents the voice of the
child-peoples--‘Mother-heart, stand for us!’ It would be better for you
that your wombs should be barren and that your race should die out; than
that you should listen, and give no answer.’”
The stranger lifted his hands upwards as he spoke, and Peter saw there
were the marks of old wounds in both.
“Cry aloud to the working men and women of England: ‘You, who for ages
cried out because the heel of your masters was heavy on you; and who
have said, ‘We curse the kings that sit at ease, and care not who
oppresses the folk, so their coffers be full and their bellies
satisfied, and they be not troubled with the trouble of rule’; you, who
have taken the king’s rule from him and sit enthroned within his seat;
is his sin not yours today? If men should add but one hour to your day’s
labour, or make but one fraction dearer the bread you eat, would you not
rise up as one man? Yet, what is dealt out to men beyond seas whom you
rule wounds you not. Nay, have you not sometimes said, as kings of old:
‘It matters not who holds out our sword, marauder or speculator, so he
calls it ours, we must cloak up the evil it has done!’ Think you, no
other curses rise to heaven but yours? Where is your sword? Into whose
hand has it fallen? Take it quickly and cleanse it!’”
Peter Halket crouched, looking upwards; then he cried: “Master, I cannot
give that message, I am a poor unlearn’d man. And if I should go to
England and cry aloud, they would say, ‘Who is this, who comes preaching
to a great people? Is not his mother with us, and a washerwoman; and was
not his father a day labourer at two shillings a day?’ and they would
laugh me to scorn. And, in truth, the message is so long I could not
well remember it; give me other work to do.”
And the stranger said, “Take a message to the men and women of this
land. Go, from the Zambezi to the sea, and cry to its white men and
women, and say: ‘I saw a wide field, and in it were two fair beasts.
Wide was the field about them and rich was the earth with sweet scented
herbs, and so abundant was the pasturage that hardly might they consume
all that grew about them: and the two were like one to another, for
they were the sons of one mother. And as I looked, I saw, far off to the
northward, a speck within the sky, so small it was, and so high it was,
that the eye scarce might mark it. Then it came nearer and hovered over
the spot where the two beasts fed:--and its neck was bare, and its
beak was hooked, and its talons were long, and its wings strong. And it
hovered over the field where the two beasts were; and I saw it settle
down upon a great white stone; and it waited. And I saw more specks to
the northward, and more and more came onward to join him who sat upon
the stone. And some hovered over the beasts, and some sharpened their
beaks on the stones; and some walked in and out between the beasts’
legs. And I saw that they were waiting for something.
“‘Then he who first came flew from one of the beasts to the other, and
sat upon their necks, and put his beak within their ears. And he flew
from one to the other and flapped his wings in their faces till the
beasts were blinded, and each believed it was his fellow who attacked
him. And they fell to, and fought; they gored one another’s sides till
the field was red with blood and the ground shook beneath them. The
birds sat by and watched; and when the blood flowed they walked round
and round. And when the strength of the two beasts was exhausted they
fell to earth. Then the birds settled down upon them, and feasted; till
their maws were full, and their long bare necks were wet; and they stood
with their beaks deep in the entrails of the two dead beasts; and looked
out with their keen bright eyes from above them. And he who was king of
all plucked out the eyes, and fed on the hearts of the dead beasts. And
when his maw was full, so that he could eat no more, he sat on his stone
hard by and flapped his great wings.’
“Peter Simon Halket, cry to the white men and women of South Africa:
‘You have a goodly land; you and your children’s children shall scarce
fill it; though you should stretch out your arms to welcome each
stranger who comes to live and labour with you. You are the twin
branches of one tree; you are the sons of one mother. Is this goodly
land not wide enough for you, that you should rend each other’s flesh
at the bidding of those who will wet their beaks within both your
vitals?--Look up, see, they circle in the air above you!’”
Almost Peter Halket started and looked upward; but there was only the
black sky of Mashonaland over his head.
The stranger stood silent looking downward into the fire. Peter Halket
half clasped his arms about his knees.
“My master,” he cried, “how can I take this message? The Dutchmen of
South Africa will not listen to me, they will say I am an Englishman.
And the Englishmen will say: ‘Who is this fellow who comes preaching
peace, peace, peace? Has he not been a year in the country and he has
not a share in a single company? Can anything he says be worth hearing?
If he were a man of any sense he would have made five thousand pounds at
least.’ And they will not listen to me. Give me another labour!”
And the stranger said: “Take a message to one man. Find him, whether he
sleep or wake, whether he eat or drink; and say to him: ‘Where are the
souls of the men that you have bought?’
“And if he shall answer you and say: ‘I bought no men’s souls! The souls
that I bought were the souls of dogs?’ Then ask him this question, say
to him, ‘Where are the--’
“And if he cry out, ‘You lie, you lie! I know what you are going to say.
What do I know of envoys? Was I ever afraid of the British Government?
It is all a lie!’ Then question him no further. But say: ‘There was a
rushlight once. It flickered and flared, and it guttered down, and went
out--and no man heeded it: it was only a rushlight.
“‘And there was a light once; men set it on high within a lighthouse,
that it might yield light to all souls at sea; that afar off they might
see its steady light and find harbour, and escape the rocks.
“‘And that light flickered and flared, as it listed. It went this way
and it went that; it burnt blue, and green, and red; now it disappeared
altogether, and then it burnt up again. And men, far out at sea, kept
their eyes fixed where they knew the light should be: saying, ‘We are
safe; the great light will lead us when we near the rocks.’ And on
dark nights men drifted nearer and nearer; and in the stillness of the
midnight they struck on the lighthouse rocks and went down at its feet.
“‘What now shall be done to that light, in that it was not a rushlight;
in that it was set on high by the hands of men, and in that men trusted
it? Shall it not be put out?’
“And if he shall answer, saying, ‘What are men to me? they are fools,
all fools! Let them die!’--tell him again this story: ‘There was a
streamlet once: it burst forth from beneath the snow on a mountain’s
crown; and the snow made a cove over it. It ran on pure and blue and
clear as the sky above it, and the banks of snow made its cradle. Then
it came to a spot where the snow ended; and two ways lay before it by
which it might journey; one, on the mountain ridges, past rocks and
stones, and down long sunlit slopes to the sea; and the other, down a
chasm. And the stream hesitated: it twirled and purled, and went this
way and went that. It MIGHT have been, that it would have forced its
way past rocks and ridges and along mountain slopes, and made a path for
itself where no path had been; the banks would have grown green, and the
mountain daisy would have grown beside it; and all night the stars would
have looked at their faces in it; and down the long sunny slopes the sun
would have played on it by day; and the wood dove would have built her
nest in the trees beside it; and singing, singing, always singing, it
would have made its way at last to the great sea, whose far-off call all
waters hear.
“‘But it hesitated.--It might have been, that, had but some hand been
there to move but one stone from its path, it would have forced its way
past rocks and ridges, and found its way to the great sea--it might have
been! But no hand was there. The streamlet gathered itself together,
and (it might be, that it was even in its haste to rush onwards to the
sea!)--it made one leap into the abyss.
“‘The rocks closed over it. Nine hundred fathoms deep, in a still, dark
pool it lay. The green lichen hung from the rocks. No sunlight came
there, and the stars could not look down at night. The pool lay still
and silent. Then, because it was alive and could not rest, it gathered
its strength together, through fallen earth and broken debris it oozed
its way silently on; and it crept out in a deep valley; the mountains
closed it around. And the streamlet laughed to itself, ‘Ha, ha! I shall
make a great lake here; a sea!’ And it oozed, and it oozed, and it
filled half the plain. But no lake came--only a great marsh--because
there was no way outwards, and the water rotted. The grass died out
along its edges; and the trees dropped their leaves and rotted in the
water; and the wood dove who had built her nest there flew up to the
mountains, because her young ones died. And the toads sat on the stones
and dropped their spittle in the water; and the reeds were yellow that
grew along the edge. And at night, a heavy, white fog gathered over the
water, so that the stars could not see through it; and by day a fine
white mist hung over it, and the sunbeams could not play on it. And no
man knew that once the marsh had leapt forth clear and blue from under
a hood of snow on the mountain’s top: aye, and that the turning of one
stone might have caused that it had run on and on, and mingled its song
with the sea’s song for ever.’”
The stranger was silent for a while.
Then he said, “Should he answer you and say, ‘What do I care! What are
coves and mountain tops to me? Gold is real, and the power to crush men
within my hand’; tell him no further.
“But if by some chance he should listen, then, say this one thing to
him, clearly in the ear, that he may not fail to hear it: ‘The morning
may break grey, and the midday be dark and stormy; but the glory of the
evening’s sunset may wash out for ever the remembrance of the morning’s
dullness, and the darkness of the noon. So that all men shall say, ‘Ah,
for the beauty of that day!’--For the stream that has once descended
there is no path upwards.--It is never too late for the soul of a man.’
“And if he should laugh, and say: ‘You fool, a man may remake himself
entirely before twenty; he may reshape himself before thirty; but after
forty he is fixed. Shall I, who for forty-three years have sought money
and power, seek for anything else now? You want me to be Jesus Christ, I
suppose! How can I be myself and another man?’ Then answer him: ‘Deep in
the heart of every son of man lies an angel; but some have their wings
folded. Wake yours! He is larger and stronger than another man’s; mount
up with him!’
“But if he curses you, and says, ‘I have eight millions of money, and I
care neither for God nor man!’--then make no answer, but stoop and write
before him.” The stranger bent down and wrote with his finger in the
white ashes of the fire. Peter Halket bent forward, and he saw the two
words the stranger had written.
The stranger said: “Say to him: ‘Though you should seek to make that
name immortal in this land; and should write it in gold dust, and set it
with diamonds, and cement it with human blood, shed from the Zambezi
to the sea, yet--.” The stranger passed his foot over the words; Peter
Halket looked down, and he saw only a bed of smooth white ashes where
the name had been.
The stranger said: “And if he should curse yet further, and say, ‘There
is not one man nor woman in South Africa I cannot buy with my money!
When I have the Transvaal, I shall buy God Almighty Himself, if I care
to!’
“Then say to him this one thing only, ‘Thy money perish with thee!’ and
leave him.”
There was a dead silence for a moment. Then the stranger stretched forth
his hand. “Yet in that leaving him, remember;--It is not the act, but
the will, which marks the soul of the man. He who has crushed a nation
sins no more than he who rejoices in the death throe of the meanest
creature. The stagnant pool is not less poisonous drop for drop than the
mighty swamp, though its reach be smaller. He who has desired to be
and accomplish what this man has been and accomplished, is as this man;
though he have lacked the power to perform. Nay, remember this one thing
more:--Certain sons of God are born on earth, named by men Children
of Genius. In early youth each stands at the parting of the way and
chooses; he bears his gift for others or for himself. But forget this
never, whatever his choice may be; that there is laid on him a burden
that is laid not on others--all space is open to him, and his choice is
infinite--and if he falls beneath it, let men weep rather than curse,
for he was born a Son of God.”
There was silence again. Then Peter Halket clasped his arms about the
stranger’s feet. “My master,” he cried, “I dare not take that message.
It is not that men may say, ‘Here is Trooper Peter Halket, whom we all
know, a man who kept women and shot niggers, turned prophet.’ But it is,
that it is true. Have I not wished--” and Peter Halket would have poured
out all his soul; but the stranger prevented him.
“Peter Simon Halket,” he said, “is it the trumpet which gives forth
the call to battle, whether it be battered tin or gilded silver, which
boots? Is it not the call? What and if I should send my message by
a woman or a child: shall truth be less truth because the bearer is
despised? Is it the mouth that speaks or the word that is spoken which
is eternal? Nevertheless, if you will have it so, go, and say, ‘I, Peter
Halket, sinner among you all, who have desired women and gold, who have
loved myself and hated my fellow, I--’” The stranger looked down at him,
and placed his hand gently on his head. “Peter Simon Halket,” he said,
“a harder task I give you than any which has been laid upon you. In that
small spot where alone on earth your will rules, bring there into being
the kingdom today. Love your enemies; do good to them that hate you.
Walk ever forward, looking not to the right hand or the left. Heed not
what men shall say of you. Succour the oppressed; deliver the captive.
If thine enemy hunger, feed him; if he is athirst give him drink.”
A curious warmth and gladness stole over Peter Halket as he knelt;
it was as, when a little child, his mother folded him to her: he saw
nothing more about him but a soft bright light. Yet in it he heard a
voice cry, “Because thou hast loved mercy--and hated oppression--”
When Trooper Peter Halket raised himself, he saw the figure of the
stranger passing from him. He cried, “My Master, let me go with you.”
But the figure did not turn. And, as it passed into the darkness, it
seemed to Peter Halket that the form grew larger and larger: and as it
descended the further side of the kopje it seemed that for one instant
he still saw the head with a pale, white light upon it: then it
vanished.
And Trooper Peter Halket sat alone upon the kopje.
Chapter II.
It was a hot day. The sun poured down its rays over the scattered trees,
and stunted bush, and long grass, and over the dried up river beds. Far
in the blue, so high the eye could scarcely mark them, vultures were
flying southward, where forty miles off kraals had been destroyed and
two hundred black carcasses were lying in the sun.
Under a group of tall straggling trees among the grass and low scrub,
on the banks of an almost dried up river bed, a small camp had been
pitched.
The party had lost their mules, and pending their recovery had already
been there seven days. The three cart loads of provisions they were
conveying to the large camp were drawn up under the trees and had a sail
thrown across them to form a shelter for some of the men; while on the
other side of the cleared and open space that formed the camp, a smaller
sail was thrown across two poles forming a rough tent; and away to the
left, a little cut off from the rest of the camp by some low bushes,
was the bell-shaped tent of the captain, under a tall tree. Before
the bell-shaped tent stood a short stunted tree; its thick white stem
gnarled and knotted; while two stunted misshapen branches, like arms,
stretched out on either side.
Before this tree, up and down, with his gun upon his arm, his head
bent and his eyes fixed on the ground, while the hot sun blazed on his
shoulders, walked a man.
Three or four fires were burning about the camp in different parts,
three cooking the mealies and rice which formed the diet of the men,
their stock of tinned meats having been exhausted; while the fourth,
which was watched by a native boy, contained the more appetising meal of
the Captain.
Most of the men were out of camp; the coloured boys having gone to fetch
the mules, which had been discovered in the hills a few miles off, and
were expected to arrive in the evening; and the white men had gone out
to see what game they could bring down with their guns to flavour
the mealie pots, or to reconnoitre the country; though all native
habitations had been destroyed within a radius of thirty miles, and the
land was as bare of black men as a child’s hand of hair; and even the
beasts seemed to have vanished.
In the shade of the tent, formed of the canvas across two posts, lay
three white men, whose work it was to watch the pots and guard the camp.
They were all three Colonial Englishmen, and lay on the ground on their
stomachs, passing the time by carrying on a desultory conversation,
or taking a few whiffs, slowly, and with care, from their pipes, for
tobacco was precious in the camp.
Under some bushes a few yards off lay a huge trooper, whose nationality
was uncertain, but who was held to hail from some part of the British
Isles, and who had travelled round the world. He was currently reported
to have done three years’ labour for attempted rape in Australia, but
nothing certain was known regarding his antecedents. He had been up on
guard half the night, and was now taking his rest lying on his back with
his arm thrown over his face; but a slight movement could be noted in
his jaw as he slowly chewed a piece of tobacco; and occasionally when
he turned it round the mouth opened, and disclosed two rows of broken
yellow stumps set in very red gums.
The three Colonial Englishmen took no notice of him. Two, who were
slowly smoking, were of the large and powerful build, and somewhat loose
set about the shoulders, which is common among Colonial Europeans of the
third generation, whether Dutch or English, and had the placidity and
general good temper of expression which commonly marks the Colonial
European who grows up beyond the range of the cities. The third was
smaller and more wiry and of an unusually nervous type, with aquiline
nose, and sallow hatchet face, with a somewhat discontented expression.
He was holding forth, while his companions smoked and listened.
“Now what I say is this,” he brought his hand down on the red sand;
“here we are with about one half teaspoon of Dop given us at night,
while he has ten empty champagne bottles lying behind his tent. And we
have to live on the mealies we’re convoying for the horses, while he
has pati and beef, and lives like a lord! It’s all very well for the
regulars; they know what they’re in for, and they’ve got gentlemen over
them anyhow, and one can stomach anything if you know what kind of a
fellow you’ve got over you. English officers are gentlemen, anyhow; or
if one was under Selous now--”
“Oh, Selous’s a MAN!” broke out the other two, taking their pipes from
their mouths.
“Yes, well, that’s what I say. But these fellows, who couldn’t do as
farmers, and couldn’t do as shopkeepers, and God knows what else; and
their friends in England didn’t want to have them; they’re sent out here
to boss it over us! It’s a damned shame! Why, I want to know, amn’t I as
good as any of these fellows, who come swelling it about here? Friends
got money, I suppose!” He cast his sharp glance over towards the bell
tent. “If they gave us real English officers now--”
“Ah!” said the biggest of his companions, who, in spite of his huge
form, had something of the simplicity and good nature of a child in his
handsome face; “it’s because you’re not a big enough swell, you know!
He’ll be a colonel, or a general, before we’ve done with him. I call
them all generals or colonels up here; it’s safest, you know; if they’re
not that today they will be tomorrow!”
This was intended as a joke, and in that hot weather, and in that dull
world, anything was good enough to laugh at: the third man smiled, but
the first speaker remained serious.
“I only know this,” he said, “I’d teach these fellows a lesson, if any
one belonging to me had been among the people they left to be murdered
here, while they went gallivanting to the Transvaal. If my mother or
sister had been killed here, I’d have taken a pistol and blown out the
brains of the great Panjandrum, and the little ones after him. Fine
administration of a country, this, to invite people to come in and live
here, and then take every fighting man out of the country on a gold
hunting marauding expedition to the Transvaal, and leave us to face
the bitter end. I look upon every man and woman who was killed here as
murdered by the Chartered Company.”
“Well, Jameson only did what he was told. He had to obey orders, like
the rest of us. He didn’t make the plan, and he’s got the punishment.”