THE STORM
Hans Schafen met his master on the boundary of Blue Hill Farm with
a drawn face. Things were going from bad to worse. The drought
was killing the animals like flies. If the rain did not come soon,
there would be none left. He made his report to Burke with a
precision that did not hide his despair. Matters had never before
looked so serious. The dearth of water had begun to spell disaster.
Burke listened with scarcely a comment. Blue Hill Farm was on
rising ground, and there had always been this danger in view. But
till this season it had never materialized to any alarming extent.
His position had often enough been precarious, but his losses had
never been overwhelming. The failure of the dam at Ritter Spruit
had been a catastrophe more far reaching than at the time he had
realized. It had crippled the resources of the farm, and flung him
upon the chances of the weather. He was faced with ruin.
He heard Schafen out with no sign of consternation, and when he had
ended he drove on to the farm and stabled his horses himself with
his usual care. Then he went into his empty bungalow. . .
Slowly the long hours wore away. The sun rose in its strength,
shining through a thick haze that was like the smoke from a
furnace. The atmosphere grew close and suffocating. An intense
stillness reigned without, broken occasionally by the despairing
bleating of thirst-stricken sheep. The haze increased, seeming to
press downwards upon the parched earth. The noonday was dark with
gathering clouds.
At the hour of luncheon there came a slight stir in the bungalow.
Mary Ann thrust her amazing visage round the door and rolled her
eyes in frightened wonder at what she saw. The big _baas_ was
lying across the table, a prone, stricken figure, with his head
upon his arms.
For a few seconds she stood in open-mouthed dismay, thinking him
dead; for she had never seen him thus in life. Then she saw his
shoulders heave convulsively, and promptly she turned and fled.
Again the bungalow was empty and still, the hours dragged on
unheeded. Lower and lower pressed the threatening clouds. But the
man who sat alone in the darkening room was blind to all outward
things. He did not feel the pitiless, storm-laden heat of the day.
He was consumed by the agony of his soul.
It was evening before the end came suddenly; a dancing flash that
lighted the heavens from east to west and, crashing upon it, an
explosion that seemed to rend the earth. It was a cataclysm of
sound, drowning the faculties, stunning the senses, brimming up the
void with awful tumult.
A great start ran through the man's bowed figure. He sat up dazed,
stiffly opening his clenched hands. The world without seemed to be
running with fire. The storm shrieked over the _veldt_. It was
pandemonium.
Stiffly he straightened his cramped muscles. His heart was
thumping in heavy, uneven strokes, obstructing his breathing. He
fought for a few seconds to fill his lungs. The atmosphere was
dense with sand. It came swirling in upon him, suffocating him.
He stood up, and was astounded to feel his own weakness against
that terrific onslaught. Grimly he forced his way to the open
window. The _veldt_ was alight with lurid, leaping flame. The
far-off hills stood up like ramparts in the amazing glare, stabbed
here and there with molten swords of an unendurable brightness. He
had seen many a raging storm before, but never a storm like this.
The sand blinded him and he dragged the window shut, using all his
strength. It beat upon the glass with baffled fury. The thunder
rolled and echoed overhead like the chariot-wheels of God, shaking
the world. The clouds above the lightning were black as night.
Suddenly far across the blazing _veldt_ he saw a sight that
tightened every muscle, sending a wild thrill through every nerve.
It came from the hills, a black, swift-moving pillar, seeming to
trail just above the ground, travelling straight forward through
the storm. Over rocks and past _kopjes_ it travelled, propelled by
a force unseen, and ever as it drew nearer it loomed more black and
terrible.
He watched it with a grim elation, drawn irresistibly by its
immensity, its awfulness. Straight towards him it came, and the
lightning was dulled by its nearness and the thunder hushed. He
heard a swishing, whistling sound like the shriek of a shell, and
instinctively he gathered himself together for the last great shock
which no human power could withstand, the shattering asunder of
soul and body, the swift amazing release of the spirit.
Involuntarily he shut his eyes as the thing drew near; but he did
not shrink, nor was there terror in his heart.
"Thank God I shall die like a man!" he said through his set teeth.
And then--while he waited tense and ready for the great revelation,
while all that was mortal in him throbbed with anguished
expectation--the monster of destruction swerved as if drawn by a
giant hand and passed him by.
He opened his eyes upon a flicker of lightning and saw it whirling
onwards, growing ever in volume, towards the _kopje_ which Sylvia
had never conquered. The blackness of the sky above was appalling.
It hung so near, pressing earthwards through that mighty spout.
With bated breath he watched till the _kopje_ was blotted from his
sight, and the demons of the storm came shrieking back. Then
suddenly there came a crash that shook the world and made the
senses reel. He heard the rush and swish of water, water
torrential that fell in a streaming mass, and as his understanding
came staggering back he knew that the first, most menacing danger
was past. The cloud had burst upon the _kopje_.
The thunder was drowned in the rush of the rain. It descended in a
vast sheet through which the lightning leapt and quivered. The
light of day was wholly gone.
The bungalow rocked on its foundations; the wrath of the tempest
beat around it as if it would sweep it away. The noise of the
falling rain was terrific. He wondered if the place would stand.
Gradually the first wild fury spent itself, and though the storm
continued the sky seemed to lift somewhat, to recede as if the
swollen clouds were being drawn upwards again. In the glimmering
lightning the _veldt_ shone like a sea. The water must be deep in
the hollows, and he hoped none of the sheep had been caught. The
fact that the farm was on rising ground, though it had been exposed
to the full force of the storm, had been its salvation. He thought
of the Kaffir huts, and dismissed the idea of any serious danger
there. The stables, too, were safe for the same reason. It was
only on the lower ground beyond the _kopje_ that the flood could be
formidable. He thought of the watercourse, dry for so many weeks,
now without doubt a seething torrent. He thought with a sudden
leap of memory of the hut on the sand above. . . .
"I shall go there to-day." How long was it since he had heard
those words? Had they indeed been uttered only that morning? Or
did they belong to an entirely different period of his life? He
felt as if many empty and bitter years had passed over him since
they had been spoken. Was it indeed but that morning that the
boy's eyes with their fierce appeal had looked into his--and he had
given him that stern command to await his coming?
His hand went up to the fastening of the window. He knew Guy.
There was a strain of honour in his nature which nothing could ever
change. He would keep that sort of appointment or die in the
attempt. If he still lived--if that frightful cloudburst had not
overwhelmed him--he was there waiting above the raging torrent.
The rain beat with a deafening rattle upon the roof of the _stoep_.
It was falling perfectly straight now as if a million taps were
running. And another memory flashed upon Burke as he stepped
forth,--the memory of a girl who had clung to him in just such
another downpour and begged him not to leave her. He heard the
accents of her voice, felt again the slender youthfulness of her
frame. He flung his arms wide with an anguished gesture.
Another voice, keen-edged and ruthless, was cutting its way through
his soul, lacerating him, agonizing him. "And they loved each
other. That made all the difference." Ah, God, the bitter
difference that it made!
He went down the steps up which he had lifted her on that first day
of her coming, and floundered into water that was half way to his
knees. The rain rushed down upon him, beating upon his uncovered
head. He was drenched to the skin in five seconds.
The lightning flashes were less frequent now, and the darkness in
between less intense. He splashed his way cautiously round the
bungalow to the stable.
A frightened whinnying greeted him. He heard the animals stamping
in the sodden straw, but the water was not so deep here. It
scarcely covered their hocks.
He spoke reassuringly to them as he made his way to Diamond,
Sylvia's mount. Diamond had always been a favourite with him since
the day she had laid her face against his nose, refusing to doubt
him. By faith and love! By faith and love!
He saddled the horse more by feeling than sight, and led him out.
The rain was still beating furiously down, but Diamond did not
flinch with his master's hand upon him. He stood firm while Burke
swung himself up. Then, with the lightning still flashing athwart
the gloom and the thunder rolling in broken echoes all around them,
they went down the track past the _kopje_ to find the hut on the
sand.