"HAVE YOU NO SECRET ENEMY?"
"Good-bye!"
Who among us has not uttered the mournful word? Not merely in airy,
hollow fashion, when passing out of a drawing-room door, but in dire
sadness, as we look our last upon the face from which we are about to be
divided by time or distance--and, it may be, upon which there is small
chance of our ever looking again in life? The train rolls out of the
station; the plank is hurriedly thrown back on to the thronged quay,
and, as the great ship glides from her moorings handkerchiefs wave and
voices no longer audible to each other still continue to articulate, it
may be in accents of heartsick pain, or through a forced and broken
smile, or even in tones of genuine cheerfulness, the saddest of all
words--"Good-bye."
The fatal Monday morning has come at last; and there, in the grey dawn,
Lilian stands bidding farewell to her lover. A light is burning in the
sitting-room, and without it is almost dark, for the morning is lowering
and cloudy. Now and then a puff of warm wind, which seems to herald
rain, sighs mournfully through the trees, whirling up the dust in little
eddies along the empty street--and they two are alone, for none of the
household are astir, which neither regrets. And thus they stand,
looking into each other's eyes and both hesitating to frame the
word--"Good-bye."
The conditions of parting are unequal, it is true. To the man, going
forth on this dark, desolate morning, the time of separation will be
abundantly occupied--downright hard, honest soldiering--no mere child's
play, and if during those long months there is hardship and privation,
there is also the excitement of peril and the stir of strife, the rough
sociality of camp, and the healthful glow and energy of life in the
open. To the woman it means a period of weary and inactive waiting; of
days unbrightened by the strong, tender presence she has learnt to love
so dearly; of nights, wakeful and self-tormenting, when the overwrought
brain will conjure up visions of deadly peril, of the flashing spears
and wild war-cry of the savage foe, of the wasting form of fell disease
following on wet and exposure, of the swift lightning and the raging of
flooded rivers, and every contingency probable and improbable, attendant
upon campaigning in a barbarous land.
"Wherever you are, and whatever you do, you _will_ take care of
yourself," she is saying. "You will not run any unnecessary risks, even
for other people. Your life belongs to me now, love."
"It does," he answers, softly and tenderly. "Keep up a good heart, my
sweet. Don't go imagining all sorts of horrors while I am away, for,
remember, that after these years I was not sent back to you to be taken
away again. Mine is a charmed life--never fear."
"I believe so, indeed," she answers, looking at him fondly--proudly, and
smiling through her tears.
"Why, Arthur, I would not keep you if I could, now. It is such as you
who should be to the fore at present, and how could they supply _your_
place?"
He makes no reply for a moment, but presses his kisses faster upon the
soft hair and sweet, up-turned face, and he is sad and heavy at heart;
though he will affect as much cheerfulness as he can, with the object of
making light of things. And there seems some excuse for her implied
encomium, looking at him as he stands--ready and calm, entirely devoid
of any affectation of the military in his dress or accoutrements; but
yet, the very ideal of the frontier civilian soldier.
"Keep up a brave heart, my own," he murmurs again. "The day will soon
come when we shall look back to this, as one of the sad experiences of
the past, even as we look back to that other time. This is a mere
passing minute compared with that."
"Ah, yes. Now I am delaying you, and you must go. God keep you,
darling, and bring you back to me safe again. Good-bye."
One more strong, loving embrace, and he is gone. He throws himself upon
his horse, which Sam has with difficulty been holding, and its impatient
hoof-strokes ring through the empty street as he turns for one last look
at the graceful figure waving him a farewell from the gate, and for the
moment he feels inclined to retrace his steps, go straight back and
resign the post which, all unsought, has been thrust upon him, and allow
the war to take care of itself as far as he is concerned.
And Lilian, returning to the deserted room, now so desolate and empty to
her, as the dawn reduces the light of the candles to a pale garish
flicker, feels the tears welling up afresh as she reproaches herself for
not having kept him at any cost, for round her heart is a terrible
foreboding of evil to come--how, when, and in what form the future will
reveal. Yet the feeling is there.
We must follow the wayfarer. Throughout the whole day he rode
mechanically forward, absorbed in his own thoughts. A heavy storm drove
him for shelter to a wretched roadside inn; but ever impatient to be
moving, he left before it was nearly over. The roads wet and slippery
with the rain rendered progress slow, so that by the time it grew dark
he was still some miles from Hicks' farm, where he intended to pass the
night.
"I'm afraid we've lost the way," he ruminated, as having gone some
distance up a long, bush-covered valley, he began to feel rather out of
his bearings. "Sam! Where the devil are we?"
"Don't know, Inkos. I never was here before. Look. There's a house!"
"So there is. We'll make for it," and, picking up their horses' heads,
they approached the dwelling, which was a sorry-looking affair. Darker
and darker it grew, and a drizzling shower began to fall. Suddenly a
light gleamed from the ill-closed window, and at the same time a man's
voice, raised high in expostulation, reached their ears--a voice not
unfamiliar to Claverton, withal, and in its tones he caught his own
name. Quickly he dismounted.
"Sam," he whispered. "Take the horses out of sight, there, in the
bush--quietly, d'you hear? And if you hear a row, come and look after
me without a moment's loss. You'll soon see which way to shoot."
"Yeh bo 'Nkos," replied the ready-witted native, whose eyes sparkled
with excitement. Then silently, and with a rapid glide, Claverton made
his way round to the back of the house. Through a chink under the
window-joist he could see the interior of a room--a mouldy, disused
room, with damp, discoloured walls, and rotting beams festooned with
cobwebs; but the place wore a look of familiarity to him, even as a
sight or a sound which now and then will strike our imaginations as in
no wise to be accounted for save in the previous experience of a dream.
For a moment he was puzzled; then it flashed upon him that he was
looking into the room where he and Ethel Brathwaite had taken refuge on
the night of the storm. Yes; there was the very place where she had
slept and he had covered her with his cloak, and where she had sat when
terrified by the wolf; and, straining his gaze further, he almost
expected to see that quadruped's footsteps in the dust by the half-open
door. A fire burnt in the middle of the room, and there by the side of
it lay the very stone he had used for a seat. It all seemed so strange
that he seriously began to think he must be dreaming.
But he was wide awake enough as the sound of voices was heard, and two
men entered the room from outside, closing the door after them. And in
one of them Claverton recognised his recruit of yesterday; the other he
had never seen before. He was an Englishman--a tall, dark man, well
made and erect of carriage, evidently a gentleman by birth, and yet with
a certain sinister expression that would have led the watcher to regard
him with distrust even had he not heard his own name brought into the
conversation.
"It's all right, Sharkey," this one was saying.
"Your ears must have played you tricks. There's no sign of any one
moving."
"No, there ain't. Well, now, Cap'n, about this devil Claverton?"
"Yes, I'll be as good as my word. One hundred pounds, this day six
months."
"Make it two, Cap'n; make it two. He's a devil to deal with--a very
devil. You don't know him as well as I do."
"No; one. Not another stiver. And now, are you downright sure that
Arthur Lidwell and Arthur Claverton are one and the same man? Could you
swear to him?"
The mulatto laughed--a hideous, hyaena-like grin--showing the long,
sharp, canine teeth which had gained him his repellent sobriquet.
"Swear to him?" he cried. "I'd swear to him in a million! I recognised
him directly I set eyes on him in the crowd at `King.' But the young
lady spotted me sharp as a needle, and I had to hide. She does seem
awful fond of him. Why, when I--"
"Drop that damned nonsense, Sharkey, and stick to the point?" exclaimed
the Englishman, with a deep frown.
"Very sorry, Cap'n. Well, I was going to say, I knew him, and, what's
more, he knew me."
"The devil he did!"
"Yes. He recognised me first when I met him on the road on Saturday,
riding with the young lady; then afterwards I spoke to him, but he was
that high and lofty! I told him my name, and watched him closely; then
I called him by his name that he carried up there--just let it slip,
like--and, would you believe it?--he never winced!"
"Didn't he?"
"No, he didn't. Says he: `Never saw you before in my life!' as cool as
you please. Ah, he's a plucky devil is Lidwell; he always was!" said
the mulatto, with a sigh of admiration.
"Why do you owe him a grudge?" asked the other, curiously.
"He knocked me down once, Cap'n--hit me here, bang on the nose." And
the speaker's features assumed a look of deadly malice. "He shot me,
too, and left me for dead. I could forgive him that, but not the whack
on the nose."
"So help me Heaven, I'll repeat that operation with interest before
you're many weeks older, friend Sharkey," muttered the watcher, between
his set teeth.
"And then--one hundred pounds," went on the fellow. "Hist! I'm certain
I heard something." And both men sat in an attitude of listening. For
a moment there was dead silence; then the Englishman rose. "I'll just
take a look round, to make sure," he said, producing a revolver and
going out into the night, while Claverton, drawing his own weapon,
crouched there, covering the angle of the tenement round which he
expected his enemy to appear; for that this man was, for some cause or
other, his deadly enemy was obvious. He would have the advantage of
him, however, for his eyes were accustomed to the darkness, whereas the
other had just come out of the light. For a moment he waited--anxious,
expectant--but no one appeared; then he heard the two men's voices
inside again, and, peering through the crevice, saw the Englishman
return, shutting the door behind him.
"All right; there's no one moving. You do hear the most unaccountable
noises, though, in this infernal bush at night."
"Ha, ha, ha! So you do, Cap'n; and you'll hear plenty more when you get
up there to the front among the Kafirs," said the other, with a mocking
laugh. "When do you leave?"
"As soon as I get my command. Now, no tricks, Sharkey. In three months
this fellow must have disappeared. No violence, mind; _but he must be
induced to leave the country_;" and he emphasised the words with a
significant look into the other's face. "Mind, you mustn't hurt him."
"All right, Cap'n. I've joined his levies. What d'you think of that,
hey? I'm not a bad shot, you know, and there's no fear of my mistaking
a Kafir for any one else, or any one else for a Kafir, eh? Ha, ha, ha!"
and the villain winked his yellow eyes with a murderous leer.
The Englishman's dark features grew red and then white. "By Jove,
Sharkey, but you're a knowing one," he said. "I'm deuced glad I ran
against you. One hundred pounds, fair and square."
"Bight you are, Cap'n. One hundred pounds, and," sinking his voice to a
whisper, every word of which was audible to the listener, "in three
months he'll be out of your way, never fear."
The gloom spread around, pitchy black, and the rain pattered upon the
bush and upon the crouched form of the man who, with his eye to the
chink in the wall, and gripping his revolver, witnessed these two calmly
plotting his death, for there could be no mistaking the drift of their
scarcely veiled hints. A wave of fierce wrath surged up in his heart as
he gazed upon his would-be murderers. Why should he not quietly walk
round and, flinging open the door, shoot the pair dead? It would be but
the work of a moment. Then came the cold but none the less dangerous
caution which always stood his friend--dangerous to the objects of his
resentment in proportion as it preserved to him his own coolness. It
would not do. How could he prove to the world at large that he had done
it to save his own life? No. He would keep a close eye upon this
ruffianly mulatto, and then the first time they were in action he could
easily turn the tables on his sneaking assassin by shooting him quietly
through the head--_in mistake for one of the enemy_--and he laughed
sardonically at the thought of hoisting the villain with his own petard.
He had no compunction, no nice scruples of honour in such a matter as
this. It was _vae victis_. The other had put the weapon into his hand.
And who was this Englishman who seemed bent on pursuing him in such a
deadly manner? Who was this secret foe, so eager and anxious to plant
the assassin's steel in his back? And as the firelight flickered into
the corners of the grim old room, lighting up the faces of these two
midnight plotters, Claverton scanned every feature of the reckless
lineaments of the arch-schemer again and again, but could detect nothing
familiar in them. He had never seen the man before.
Suddenly the latter rose.
"Well, now I shall be off," he said. "I leave it to you, Sharkey.
Here's something to go on with," and there was a chink as of gold as he
passed something into the mulatto's hand, who clutched it greedily. "We
understand each other. Now, the sooner you join your regiment the
better," he added, with a harsh laugh. "Good-bye. Are you going to
stay here to-night?"
"Why, yes, Cap'n; it's warm and dry."
"Ha, ha! Supposing Claverton should want to off-saddle here. That
would be a joke--eh?"
"He's better employed, that devil," replied the Cuban mulatto, and he
chuckled to himself as the other passed out, frowning. And the listener
heard the sound of footsteps, and then the tread of a horse receding in
the distance. The man was evidently riding away up the kloof.
Left to himself Sharkey got up, fastened the cranky door, and threw some
more wood on the fire. Then he took out his pipe, filled and lighted
it, and drawing his blanket around him, lay down, prepared to make
himself thoroughly comfortable. He grunted once or twice as his pipe
went out, and then with a muttered imprecation threw it down, and,
pulling the blanket over his head, began to snore. A few moments more,
and the watcher arose and softly stole away into the bush, for he was
revolving a merciless and coldblooded plan.
"Sam!"
"Inkos?"
"Tie the horses up and come with me. You remember the scoundrel we
enlisted yesterday?"
"Yeh bo 'Nkos."
"Well, he is in that place, and you and I are going to take him.
Directly I kick down the door, you will follow on my heels and collar
him. Now come."
They stole back to the house, and Claverton took the precaution of once
more peeping in. The mulatto lay quite still, rolled in his blanket,
evidently asleep. Then he returned to the front of the building.
"Now, Sam--ready!" he whispered.
A sudden rush, and a tremendous kick, and the door went down with an
appalling crash, as, staggering with the shock and the impetus,
Claverton half fell half rushed upon the sleeper, gripping him by the
throat before he had time to move; while Sam, seizing both his hands,
twisted them behind him, and rolled him over on to his stomach.
"That's it, Sam; tie him up," cried Claverton, in a steely voice,
restraining with difficulty his longing to throttle the life out of the
prostrate villain, who, for his part, did not yield without a struggle--
and a violent one. Indeed, it required all their efforts to hold him,
for the mulatto was of powerful and athletic build.
"So!" said Claverton, approvingly, as Sam dexterously made fast the
prisoner's feet with a _reim_ he had brought for the purpose, having
previously pinioned his hands. "Now, Mr Vargas Smith, alias Sharkey,
alias the Cuban gentleman--now, may I ask, what the devil are you doing
here?"
The man regarded him with a scowl of hatred. "I was on the way to join
the levy, Baas, and came in here for shelter from the rain," he replied,
sullenly.
"On the way to join the levy, were you? My good friend, this is not the
way to King Williamstown. That, I believe, is where you were consigned
to--but never mind that. Now, I want to know, who was the _gentleman_
who has just left?"
The ruffian's yellow hide grew a dirty, livid colour. "I don't know his
name, Baas," he said, falteringly.
"It's surprising how we live and learn," said the other, coolly.
"Before I count twenty you'll not only have learnt his name, but you'll
have told it to me. Sam, put up that door. And Sam, go to the corner
and keep watch; and let me know if you hear anybody coming. It isn't in
the least likely, but there's nothing like caution. Now, friend
Sharkey, what is his name? Out with it."
"Don't know, Baas," repeated the other.
"That's unfortunate for you. Now, you see this?" taking a glowing
faggot from the fire and blowing upon it. "With this I am about to
tickle the soles of your feet until you do know. Come! Out with it,"
and he approached his victim.
"Mercy, mercy! I'll tell you, Baas," pleaded the mulatto.
"Well?"
"It's Wallace--Cap'n Wallace, Baas."
"Oh. No lies, mind," said Claverton, with a determined look. "You know
me. I stand no nonsense. Well, now, where did you first fall in with
this Captain Wallace?"
"At Port Elizabeth."
"Who is he?"
"That I don't know, really, Baas," pleaded the fellow, piteously. "He's
going to raise a levy and fight the Kafirs, and he wanted me to join
it."
"H'm. I believe the first statement, the last is a lie. No more lies,
friend Sharkey, if you please, or we shall quarrel. And now, tell me,
how do you purpose earning your hundred pounds?"
The mulatto's face grew livid as death, and great beads of perspiration
stood out upon his forehead. He knew that from this man, whose murder
he had just been plotting, he need expect no mercy; and he read his doom
in every line of the other's features, as he stared at his captor with
the haggard and hunted expression of a trapped wild creature. Again his
shaking lips reiterated a prayer for mercy.
"You were going to be very merciful to the man whom you were about to
put out of this Captain Wallace's way in three months, were you not?
Who was the man, by the way?"
"Yourself. He hates you, Baas, I don't know why, I swear I don't. I
think it's about some money you have that he ought to have--at least, so
he says."
"Quite so. And he set you to watch me?"
"Yes."
"I see."
Then there was dead silence. It was a strange sight that the ghostly
firelight flickered and danced upon in that lonely hut. The bound and
prostrate-ruffian, and the quiet, refined-looking man sitting opposite
him--sitting in judgment on his would-be murderer. Outside, the rain
pattered with a monotonous, dismal sound, and the distant cry of a
jackal floated upon the heavy night air.
"Well, now, Sharkey," said Claverton at length, "you are the greatest
scoundrel that ever breathed, you know. I had almost made up my mind to
amuse myself for the rest of the night by drawing figures on your
carcase with this," and again he held up the glowing faggot; "but I will
be merciful, and won't do that."
A look of relief came into the prisoner's eyes; but his tormentor went
on:
"But, you see, you have confessed to having intended to murder me for
the sake of a hundred pounds. Now, do you know what we do with
murderers? We hang them; but I won't hang you." The look of relief
increased, and the fellow began to murmur his thanks.
"Wait, wait, not so fast. I won't hang you. I say, because, to begin
with, I haven't got a rope. But a couple of prods with this,"--touching
the handle of a long, keen sheath-knife--"will answer the purpose a
great deal better. For this is war-time, you know, Sharkey, and this
hut is a devilish lonely place, so that when in about a month you are
found here, a yarn will go the round of the papers as to how the body of
a poor devil of a Hottentot--not even a Cuban _gentleman_, mind, they
don't understand that distinction here--was found slain by Kafirs, with
no end of assegai holes in him. Or it might be safer for us to dig a
hole in the next room, and quietly drop you in--alive, of course--and
cover you up. It would, perhaps, be a little more trouble, but safer."
The expression of the miserable man's face, as he stared at his
tormentor with a frozen, hopeless look of despair, was awful to behold,
while he listened to the terrible doom which the other pronounced upon
him. Not a gleam of relenting could he trace in that stern, impassive
countenance.
"Mercy--mercy," he moaned. "I will be your slave--your dog. I will
kill the other man if you wish, only spare me," and his dry, bloodless
lips could hardly articulate his hopeless entreaty. "Only spare my
life--it is yours--I deserve to die; but spare me," and the miserable
wretch grovelled on the earth.
Claverton contemplated him for a few moments with calm equanimity,
unmoved by the extremity of his terror.
"Upon my word, Sharkey, I gave you credit for more gameness. Well, now,
listen to me. It is as you say--you deserve to die, and your life is
mine. Never mind about the other man, I won't have him hurt for
anything. Now for yourself. You have gone through all the bitterness
of death in the last few minutes, as I intended you should. That is
enough. I will spare your life--richly as you have deserved to lose
it--but listen to me. You will go from here as a prisoner, and not be
released from arrest till we have joined the others. I will make no
conditions with you--first of all, because you are absolutely powerless
to harm me, now, or at any future time--the very events of to-night
prove that; secondly, because, if I did, you would not keep them. So I
forgive you completely your plot to murder me, and you shall join the
corps as if nothing had happened. One word of warning, though. I shall
have my eye upon you always, and wherever you may be. And remember
this, in case we go into action together--_I'm not a bad shot, you know;
and there's no fear of my mistaking a Kafir for any one else, or any one
else for a Kafir_. Bear all this in mind, for if you are up to any more
tricks, what you have just gone through is a mere joke compared with
what's in store for you. You know _me_."
The prisoner looked at Claverton with a wild, superstitious awe. This
man must be something more than mortal, and he shuddered as he reflected
that he was indeed powerless to harm him. Then, as he realised that his
life was spared, the look of relief returned to his livid features. He
knew the other only too well, and that every word had been spoken in no
mere spirit of empty threat, but in sober earnest. And now he felt like
a man who has been reprieved from under the very gallows-tree itself.
He had spoken the truth in his revelation in all good faith--indeed, he
dared not have done otherwise--and had told all he knew, marvelling that
he had been asked so few questions.
Claverton, meanwhile, was sitting opposite, watching his prisoner with a
curious and thoughtful expression. By what stroke of luck had he been
made to lose his way and brought to this place in time to overhear the
plot against his own life? Who on earth could the other man be--the
arch mover in the scheme? He had never seen him before; had never even
heard his name; and then what the mulatto had said, about it being a
question of money. Stay, could it be that some will existed of which
he, Claverton, knew nothing, and under which the other would benefit in
the event of his death? It seemed strange, certainly; but then his
experience had taught him that nothing was too strange to be true. And
then recurred to his mind, with all the force of a prophecy, the words
which Lilian had spoken when first she discovered the ruffian was
following them in the square at King Williamstown: "_Have you no secret
enemy? No one who would owe you a grudge_?" and he had answered lightly
in the negative; whereas, he was actually being dogged by two secret
assassins--one of them no mere common ruffian like the cut-throat lying
there before him, but a man apparently his equal in birth and station.
With whom, however, he promised himself a full and complete reckoning,
all in good time.
Then the recollection of Lilian's words naturally recalled the image of
Lilian herself. What was she doing then? Thinking of him ever--at that
hour most likely praying for him--and he? With difficulty had he just
restrained himself from an act of wild, lawless vengeance--justified,
perhaps, but still vengeance--one which in earlier days he would not
have shrunk from; and now, as he thought of her, his whole mood softened
and he felt glad that he had spared the villain opposite, even though by
doing so he might have jeopardised his own life. Not that he gave this
side of the question a thought, for his experiences had made him a
fatalist, and he really believed himself under a special protection for
some purpose or other--be that purpose what it might. Thus musing, he
fell into a doze; while the faithful Sam, having stabled the horses in
the adjoining apartment, had barred up the door as well as he could, and
sat, huddled in his blanket, smoking his pipe and keeping watch over the
prisoner and over his master's safety.
With the first ray of dawn they were astir. The horses being saddled,
the prisoner's feet were untied to allow him to walk.
"Yon dam Hottentot nigga?" said Sam, administering a sly kick to the
crestfallen Sharkey, when his master's back was turned. "You cheek my
chief, eh? Now, you try to run away, I shoot--shoot you--so. My chief,
he good shot, shoot you dead--ha, ha!"
With which salutary warning they set out. Sam, in his heart of hearts,
hoping that it would be disregarded, and that the mulatto would really
make an attempt at escape. But that worthy was wise in his generation,
and the Natal native had no opportunity of showing his skill with the
new Snider rifle wherewith a paternal Goverment had supplied him on the
occasion of his joining "Claverton's Levies."
A curious contrast did this grim _cortege_ present to the last occasion
of his leaving that place in the early dawn, thought Claverton. Instead
of the bright, laughing girl who was his companion then, he cast his eye
on the sullen prisoner and his guard, and then on his own warlike
equipment; and mingled, indeed, were his reflections as he found himself
traversing the old roads, with all the features of the familiar
landscape stretching around. There was old Isaac Van Rooyen's
homestead, down in the hollow, on the right, looking just the same as of
yore, except that that slow-going old Boer had built a new room on to
it, probably for the accommodation of the family of one of his children,
who had quartered themselves upon him. In front, in the distance, rose
the frowning face of Spoek Krantz and the heights from among which it
stood forth. The mountains, too, on the sky-line, wore their well-known
aspect; and every feature of the surroundings, whether bush or open,
seemed to bring back the past. Even Hicks' farm, whither he was now
wending, was the one he himself had started to treat for, and had turned
back, that day when he had heard his fate and been sent forth into
banishment from all that made life for him--four years ago.
"Hallo, hallo!" cried honest Hicks, looking up in astonishment from some
carpentering he was doing behind the house, as the trio rode up. "Well,
this is a piece of luck! How are you, Arthur, old boy? And who the
deuce have you got there?"
"A chap who joined my corps and began his service by desertion; I
chanced to pick him up on the way."
Hicks looked mystified for a moment. "Oh--ah--yes, now I remember! Jim
told me you had got the command of some of the greatest blackguards
under heaven. That bird, by the way, looks as if he would be quite in
his element among them. But I should think you'd manage to lick them
into shape if any one would, eh?"
"Oh, yes. And they're not bad fellows to fight, once you get them away
from the canteens. I'll manage them, never fear."
"But come in. Laura will be surprised. Don't bother about the horses,
I'll see to them; and your boy will be enough to look after the
prisoner, I should think."
"He will. The rascal has been licking his chops over him like a
bull-terrier contemplating a cat in a tree. There's nothing he'd like
better than a chance of practising at the fellow running away."
By this time they had entered the house, which was a trifle small
perhaps, but comfortable, after the style of the ordinary frontier
dwelling, and Claverton took in at a glance the air of neatness and
domesticity that pervaded it, from the sewing-machine and work-basket on
the table to the rocking-cradle standing in the corner, which latter was
the sole work of Hicks' skilful hands.
And Laura? She was but little changed in appearance, and that, if
anything, for the better. More matronly-looking and a trifle more
demure perhaps than formerly, and if her greeting to Claverton lacked
ever so slightly in cordiality, it might have been that she still
cherished a latent spark of resentment against him on Ethel's account.
But, after all, there was no altering the past. Whatever was to be--
was--and there was no help for it. And being a good-hearted little
woman she soon cast aside her first veil of reserve, and talked to him
as in the old times, for she had always liked him, and besides, he had
done her husband more than one good turn.
"And where is Ethel now, and how is she getting on?" asked Claverton,
presently.
"She's down at Cape Town still."
"Does she ever come up to the frontier?"
"Oh, yes. Sometimes. She would have been coming just about now, only
this new war broke out."
"Who's that? Ethel?" asked Hicks, returning. He had left the room for
a moment to give some directions to one of his natives outside. "Oh,
yes. She was engaged to some fellow down there and then choked him off
all at once, no one quite knew why. Laura vows that--" Here the speaker
became aware of a battery of warning glances being levelled at him from
his wife's dark eyes, and suddenly collapsed in a violent fit of
coughing, on recovery from which he threw open the door, and looking
frantically up at the heavens declared, with a vehemence wholly unsuited
to the occasion, that the rain would inevitably clear away before twelve
o'clock. Claverton, on whom not one fraction of this by-play was lost,
although he pretended not to see it, could hardly restrain his mirth.
Good old Hicks, he thought, was always a whale at blundering, and he had
done for himself again. Even in trying to extricate it, he had put his
unlucky foot in yet deeper; for, to any one who did not know him, this
violent prognostication as to the weather, taken in conjunction with
what had gone before, would have had slightly an inhospitable smack; but
Claverton enjoyed the situation only too well. By-and-by, when pursuing
his journey, he would shout with laughter over the recollection; now,
however, not a muscle of his countenance moved as he said, in the most
matter-of-fact way:
"You might remember me to Ethel, when you write. We used to have rather
fun together in the old times."
Laura said something in assent, though she mentally resolved to do
nothing of the kind. No good would come of waking up old recollections,
she reasoned, by mentioning this man who, even if through no fault of
his own, had, at any rate, she told herself, cast a cloud over her
bright, wayward, beautiful sister's life, and the sooner he was
forgotten the better. For that sister's sake she by no means shared her
husband's joy over his reappearance, and she sincerely hoped that those
two might not meet again, and wished that he would be quick and marry
Lilian Strange, or leave this part of the country, or both. Meanwhile
here he was, still on the frontier, and Ethel might be coming up to
visit her at any time.
Just then a chubby toddling--an exact infantile reproduction of his
father--rushed into the room; and Laura, with a touch of pride that was
very becoming, exhibited him to her guest, while the urchin opened his
big blue eyes wide, and stood staring, with his finger in his mouth, at
Claverton's long boots and shining spurs.
"Go and say how d'you do to Mr Claverton, Jimmy," said his mother, in
the tone of half command, half entreaty, usual under the circumstances.
"He's a soldier, you know, going to fight the Kafirs, like Uncle Jim."
"Uncle Jim" being Jim Brathwaite, who was the urchin's godfather.
"I'll be soja, when I big," lisped the prodigy, toddling up to
Claverton, and tentatively stroking with one finger the shin of his high
boot. "I got gun--shoot de Kaffa--bang!"
"Halloa," cried Hicks, re-entering. "Don't let that kid bother you,
Arthur. Kids are a confounded nuisance unless they happen to belong to
a fellow, and very often even then."
But Jimmy was not to be detached from his new acquaintance, to whom he
had taken an immense fancy, and just then, fortunately for his peace of
mind, a move was made in favour of breakfast.
They talked of the war and its progress. Hicks declared his intention
of holding on a bit for the present, and joining Jim Brathwaite--who,
with his troop, had already left for the front--later, if things got
worse. Laura had been in a terrible fright the last time when he had
gone, he said; but now, since she saw that none of them had been hurt,
she didn't care--in fact, concluded Hicks, he rather believed she wanted
to get rid of him, so he was determined to stay, just to spite her.
Listening to the playful recrimination that followed, Claverton found
himself thinking what a good thing it was to see two people happy like
this, for there could be no doubt but that happy they were--thoroughly
so--in their quiet and hitherto peaceful (for the tide of war had not
yet rolled in so far as this) frontier home; though such may appear
incredible to those who find their enjoyment of life in the whirl and
feverishness of fashionable civilisation. And thinking it, he rejoiced
greatly on his old chum's account.
And the said "old chum" was considerably crestfallen at the announcement
that he must take the road again. "Why, hang it all," he grumbled;
"you've hardly had time to look at us."
"My dear fellow--duty--inexorable duty calls. But I shall assuredly
knock you up again, soon."
"Why, here's baby!" exclaimed Laura, as an approaching squall resounded
through the passage. "You will just be able to have a peep at her
before you go," and regardless of her lord's impatient protest that
"Claverton didn't want to be bothered with a lot of kids," she took a
limp bundle of clothes from the arms of its bearer and uncovered a wee
red and--shall it be confessed?--rather wet physiognomy for her guest's
inspection.
"H'm, I'm no judge of infants, Laura," said Claverton, good-humouredly,
"but I should say this one ought to fetch first prize at the next show.
But now I must be off--good-bye."
"Must you go? I'm so sorry," said Laura. "I should like to get Lilian
up here to stay for a bit, only `some one' would be sure to forbid it as
unsafe," she added, archly.
"Well, good-bye, old fellow," said Hicks. "My horses are out in the
_veldt_, and will take hours to get in, or I'd go part of the way with
you. Mind you look us up again as soon as ever you can." He was going
to add something about hoping "to see you both here before long"; but
with his recent slip fresh in his mind, he refrained, fearing lest in
some unaccountable manner he should put his foot in it again.
"Good-bye--success to you. Mind you shoot lots of niggers and come back
all jolly," and with a hearty hand-shake the two men parted.
Claverton rode on, reaching Fort Beaufort, where he tarried a day to
recruit his men, or rather to collect them, for they had already been
recruited by his lieutenant, a young Englishman named Lumley; and it was
high time he appeared on the scene, for the rascals had taken the
opportunity of getting on the spree, indulging in much inebriate
jollification preparatory to starting for the seat of war. They would
be all right, though, once away from the canteens and under proper
discipline--and under proper discipline he intended they should be. So
promptly mustering them he marched them off without any farther delay,
not even waiting a day in Alice, the divisional town of Victoria East,
where a fresh batch was picked up. At the latter place, however, a
despatch awaited him, ordering him, instead of going to King
Williamstown, to proceed straight through to join the main column on the
borders of Sandili's location.
All along the road he met with fresh rumours and alarms. The rebellion
was spreading; the whole of British Kaffraria and the Transkei was
over-ran; nearly all the settlers' houses in the more exposed districts
were burnt down; the Police express-riders carried their lives in their
hands, as they darted across the hostile country, several of them having
been cut off already. Added to which these districts were in a dire
state of alarm, by reason of impending troubles nearer home, for the
Gaika clans in the Waterkloof and Blinkwater fastnesses, under the
chiefs Tini Macomo and Oba, were in a state of restlessness, and
meanwhile signal fires burnt nightly on the higher peaks of the Amatola.
It was, indeed, a motley crew, was this "levy" of which the two
Englishmen were in command, numbering between sixty and seventy men.
Yellow-skinned Hottentots; dark Korannas; tall, light-coloured Bastards;
every shade and kindred of the race which though inferior to them in
many respects, yet looked upon themselves as the natural foes of the
Kafirs, and with far more sympathies of rule, of civilisation, or rather
semi-civilisation, and even of blood, with the white man, for few indeed
but had some drops of white blood in them. Even two or three specimens
of the ape-like Bushmen found part in the motley gathering--wiry, active
little rascals, with skulls hard as iron and the agility of cats--and
one and all by virtue of their white strain, and the weapons wherewith
they had been supplied; and confidence in their leaders, felt themselves
immeasurably superior in prowess to the naked tribesmen against whom
they were burning to be led. Not a few of the older men--wrinkled,
shrivelled-looking, sinewy creatures, but game to the backbone--had been
rebels in the war of '50, when the old Cape Mounted Rifles, then
composed of such fellows as these, had gone over in a body to the enemy,
and, bearing in mind the salutary lesson they had been taught, both by
their ill-chosen friends and their deserted employers, were now only too
ready to retrieve the past, and to avenge themselves upon the
treacherous savages who had then misled them. They were mostly plucky;
fair shots and reliable at a pinch; but, as yet, in a state of
indifferent discipline; and it required all their leader's promptitude
and firmness to lick them into anything like decent shape. His first
address to them was short and to the point.
"Now, men," he said, in the ordinary Boer Dutch, which was their mother
tongue. "We are going out to fight--to fight in real earnest, and not
to play. I have seen fellows I would far less sooner command than I
would you, for I know you can hold your own against any number of these
rascally Gaikas. Many of you are good shots, I know, and we'll soon
have plenty of opportunity of peppering Jack Kafir handsomely, I promise
you. Remember, we are going to fight--and to fight we must always be in
a state of readiness and of order, because we are in the enemy's country
and never know when we may have him down upon us. Now, mark my words.
Any man who gets drunk, or is found asleep at his post, shall have six
dozen well laid on with a couple of new _reims_, as sure as my name's
Claverton, and the second time he'll be shot. Mind, I'll stand no
hanky-panky. When we get home again you can get on the spree as much as
you like; in camp, steadiness is the order of the day. Your rations
you'll get just as I get mine, neither better nor worse. I shall ask no
man to go where I won't lead him, and now we'll just go and thrash Jack
Kafir into a cocked hat--yourselves and Mr Lumley and I. So we
understand each other. I am commanding men, not fools or children--
isn't it so?"
"Ja, kaptyn--ja!" they cried, cheering him vociferously. "We shall show
you we are all men--good men and true."
"That's right. Now I am going to let you elect your own sergeants and
corporals, and, having elected them, by Jove, you'll have to obey them.
I should recommend, for choice, Gert Spielman, Cobus Windvogel, Dirk
Hesler," and he ran through a list of about a dozen of the most
trustworthy veterans, knowing full well that those who were elected
would be devoted to him, and those who were not, scarcely less so for
his having recommended them. And thus having got his corps into working
order, and, in fact, it became more manageable every day, Claverton and
his lieutenant journeyed with light hearts towards the seat of war.
"These fellows will turn out a very creditable lot, or I'm much
mistaken," remarked Lumley, as they were advancing through one of the
defiles of the Amatola. "They are cool and reliable at a pinch, and not
susceptible to panic like the Fingoes. I'd rather have fifty of them
than five hundred Fingoes."
"I quite believe it," assented Claverton. "Some of them are tough
customers, and once beyond the reach of grog they're all right."
"Yes. Look at that old Gert Spielman, for instance," pointing to a
shrivelled, little old Hottentot, with a skin like parchment. "He's a
dead shot. The infernal old scoundrel was a rebel last war, and only
escaped hanging by the skin of his teeth. I suspect he's drawn a bead
with effect many a time on poor Tommy Atkins in those days. Well, now--
if occasion offers--you'll see he'll turn out to be one of our best
men."
"No doubt. But I say; this is a queer place, and the sooner we get
through it the better."
They were threading a long, narrow defile. Overhead the forest-covered
slopes rose to the sky, and down to the path stretched the jungly bush--
dense, tangled, and apparently impenetrable. Great yellow-wood trees
here and there reared their grey, massive limbs, from which the lichens
dangled, above the lower scrub, and monkeys chattered, and birds flitted
screaming from the road as the troop moved forward. Some fifteen or
twenty of the men had horses of their own, and these, Claverton, like a
prudent commander, had thrown forward as scouts, if not to clear the way
at any rate to give warning of any assemblage of the foe threatening to
oppose their progress--which they could easily do, being as quick of eye
and as agile of limb as the Kafirs themselves. But no sign of
obstruction was encountered, and soon, emerging from the gorge, they
found themselves in more open country, bushy still, but not densely so--
indeed, such that in the event of attack the advantage would not be
wholly on the enemy's side.