"IS IT PEACE OR WAR? BETTER WAR."
George Payne rode slowly away from the village of Komgha.
The air was warm and balmy, for the time of the southern winter was
past, and on this September day not even the lightest of feathery clouds
flecked the sky above the sunny plains of British Kaffraria. Now and
again on the brow of one of the rolling eminences, which, smooth grassy,
and round, alternated with mimosa-dotted vales, the rider might feel a
puff of fresh air from the bine Indian Ocean thirty miles away, and
which he was leaving further and further behind him with every tread of
his steed. On his left front rose the round tops of the Kabousie hills,
while beyond them a ridge of wooded heights slept in the golden haze of
the early afternoon.
But he had little thought to spare for beauties of scenery, had this
man, as he mechanically urged on his steed--a compact, well-stepping
roadster--now at a long easy canter, now subsiding into a fast walk; for
all his reflections were at that moment concentrated on the leading
question of the day, a question which for weeks past had been in the
mind of every dweller on that restless line of frontier, a question
which to them was fraught with weighty apprehension--Peace or War?
And this topic, which was in everybody's month, had it any foundation to
rest upon, or was it merely a recurrence of one of those periodical
scares which, with more or less reason, had of late years seriously
disturbed the border districts? Ministers and legislators might, from
their places in the Assembly, deny all grounds for it; merchants and
snug citizens of the western capital might deride it; the
pseudo-philanthropic party, likewise at safe distance, might decry it as
a libel upon and a plot against the native population, to despoil them
of their lands, and what not. Yet Cape Town was many hundred miles from
the unprotected border, and it is so very easy at a safe distance to
ridicule the apprehensions of those to whom the fulfilment of their
fears would mean ruin and death. For ignore it as some would, the fact
remained that a cloud, at first no bigger than a man's hand, but already
of sufficiently alarming proportions, was gathering beyond the Kei, to
roll on and on till it should overwhelm all within reach--unless stopped
in time, that is. And such check the country's rulers apparently deemed
it their special mission not to facilitate.
This, then, was the topic whereon George Payne's thoughts were fixed as
he rode over those grassy Kaffrarian plains in the direction of his
home; and some additional rumours which he had heard that morning, had
gone far towards seriously disquieting him.
He was a broad-shouldered, strongly-built man, about five feet ten in
his shoes, though a slight stoop made him look shorter. He had a quiet,
sensible face, and was sparing and deliberate of speech; this on first
acquaintance might lead one to pronounce him "slow," were it not for an
occasional satiric burst, accompanied by a twinkle in the keen grey
eyes, which alone would suffice to show that he was very far from being
a fool. And, though quiet and reserved on first acquaintance, he had a
sunny geniality of manner which was very taking--in fact, was as
good-natured a fellow as ever lived. He was thirty-six years of age,
and of colonial birth; and though he had made a couple of visits to the
mother country he seldom spoke of it. When he did, his audience, who
had settled in its own mind that he had never been out of the colony,
would be mightily taken aback by his shrewd insight into men and things.
Around lay the broad, rolling country; here and there in the distance
might be seen the white walls of a homestead or two, glistening in the
sun; or a clump of Kafir huts, smoky, squalid-looking, and tumble-down,
lay about, whence a tribe of yelling mongrels rushed clamouring down to
the path to mouth at the equestrian and snap at his horse's heels, while
their owners stood, with kerries grasped in their dark, sinewy hands,
scowling at the passer-by, and making no attempt to call off their
detestable property. But the horseman cared little or nothing for this.
If the four-footed pests came too near, he slashed them unmercifully
with his long raw-hide whip, sending them howling back to their savage
masters. At length he drew rein before a thatched, white-washed
dwelling, a typical specimen of the rougher class of frontier farmhouse.
A man came out--a tall man, clad in a grey flannel shirt and corduroy
trousers; a slouch hat was stuck on one side of his head, a mighty red
heard descended over his chest, and in his mouth was a short wooden
pipe.
"Well, Marshall," cried Payne, dismounting. "How's the world been using
you of late?"
"So so," replied the other, shaking hands. "Where are you from?"
"Komgha."
"Any news?"
"N-no. Nothing but `gas,' in fact. One gets so sick of all the yarns
that have been flying about that really one doesn't know what to
believe. I've got into the way of believing nothing."
"Ah. Well, now, I think there's something in them. And I'll tell you
what it is, Payne. If I were a married man like you I'd send my family
away to King [King Williamstown. The chief town of British Kaffraria,
commonly thus abbreviated] or somewhere, for depend upon it we shall
have hot work here before long. They're not safe out there at your
place, I tell you."
Payne laughed lightly. "Why, Marshall," he said, "if you're not
becoming as great an old scare-monger as the rest! Oh, by the way,
there was some news. It's said that the new Governor's coming up to the
frontier."
"Worse and worse--if it's true. He wouldn't be coming if there wasn't
good cause for it, I can tell you. What sort of a feller is he?"
"First-rate, from all accounts."
"H'm. Did you hear anything else?"
"Two troops of police been ordered across the Kei."
"Fat lot of good they'll do," growled Marshall. "A lot o' greenhorns.
Why, some of them can't stick on their horses, and hardly know the butt
from the muzzle of their carbines. The police are not what they used to
be, since they've taken to getting out these raw chaps from England.
Time was when the force was made up of good colonial men, who could ride
and shoot, and follow spoor as easily as a waggon-road, and now--pooh!"
And the speaker knocked the ashes out of his pipe with a contemptuous
jerk.
"That's all very well," said Payne. "They may not be good for much at
spoor, and there are a few greenhorns among them, as you say. But there
are some fine fellows, too--fellows with any amount of fight in them--
and, after all, that's what we want now. You'll see, they'll do good
service yet, if they get a fair chance."