"THE LAND IS DEAD."
For two days "Claverton's Levy" has continued its march farther and
further into the disturbed country, meeting, as yet, with no opposition.
Now and again, far away on a hill-top, like a black speck, would be
descried the form of a Kafir scout watching their movements, and on two
or three of these occasions shots had been fired, though futilely, for
at present the wily foe was showing a discretion eminently the better
part of valour, and kept his distance. Deserted kraals and
mealie-lands, here and there even the ruins of a once prosperous
homestead, tell in significant, if voiceless testimony, that the "land
is dead" indeed; and no sign of life is visible along the path, save for
the occasional presence of the wild creatures of the waste, who, for
their part, lose no time in getting out of the way of this
quaint-looking crew. Once, indeed, a number of Kafir women came into
the camp with a plausible tale of how they were fleeing from the rebels,
and were on their way to join their husbands and fathers in the colony,
who were loyal to the Government, and wouldn't the white captain give
them rations to carry them on their road? But Claverton, who saw
through the trick, had ordered them out of camp at once, threatening to
make prisoners of the lot if they were even within sight half an hour
later. He knew they were spies--these confiding creatures--sent in by
the enemy to see how great a fool the white chief was, and to report
accordingly; but in the present instance they found him in no sense a
fool at all.
Very careful and precise has Claverton been in the matter of guard;
visiting the sentries himself, and that often. Indeed, there has been a
tendency among the men to growl a little--always in secret, for they
have already begun to look upon their leader with no inconsiderable
awe--at the extra precautions he takes in posting rather more than the
absolutely necessary number of guards. Very careful and precise is he
in matters of discipline, although, within limits, the men are allowed
and encouraged to make the time pass as cheerfully as possible; and many
are the yells of laughter round the evening camp-fire over the antics of
some yellow-skinned monkey; or another discourses the sweet music of a
Dutch Hottentot song to the accompaniment of a concertina and a battered
old fiddle, for they are fond of music in their way, are these
light-hearted, scatter-brained half-breeds--their own music, that is--a
weird, shrill, bag-pipish chorus, unparalleled in its discordant
monotony. But at a given time all lights out, and woe to the delinquent
who should think it safe to begin "trying it on" in this or any other
respect. So the corps is in capital order for its rough work, and,
thanks to the carefulness of its leaders, runs no more jeopardy than
that provided by the ordinary chances of war--which, indeed, is fully
sufficient.
And now the troop is halted in a hollow, by the side of a small stream--
at this season nearly dry--dry, that is, in places where it should run,
though there are several deep pools of standing water very inviting on a
morning like this, for, though not yet high, the sun is making his rays
disagreeably felt. Around, for a distance of about half a mile, the
slopes are dotted with _spekboem_ and aloes; the straight, prickly stems
of the latter looking like an array of dark Kafirs stationed about in
the shimmer of the rising heat. It is the third morning of their march,
and to-day they expect to reach the main body; meanwhile, having been on
the move since dawn, they are halted for breakfast.
As usual, the sentries have been carefully posted, for their leader has
noticed among his men a certain tendency to carelessness, in proportion
as their advance is made without sign of opposition, and, knowing their
characteristics and their failings well, his watchfulness never relaxes.
And now, as the sun shines pleasantly down, on this cloudless morning,
the men sit and lounge about, taking their well-earned rest ere the word
is given to set forward again. Some are cooking their breakfasts and
those of their fellows; others lie about smoking their pipes and
indulging in drowsy gossip; some lying on their backs, with their ragged
hats between their faces and the son, are fast asleep; while others are
still splashing merrily in one or two of the water-holes, diving into
the water or sitting on the brink basking in the sun. Claverton himself
has just returned from his bath, and stands, in scanty attire, looking
placidly round upon those under his command, in their various attitudes
of ease and restfulness.
"Not much use tubbing if one has to walk a hundred yards after it," he
is saying. "One wants to go in again directly one gets here."
"Yes," answers his lieutenant, dreamily. "By the way, I was thinking
what we should do if Jack Kafir were to make a sudden rush on us while
we were splashing away down there. But I don't believe we shall get a
glimpse of the beggar until--"
Bang!
A shot is heard just over the brow of the rise about seven hundred yards
off. It rings out on the still morning air with a sharp clearness that
is startling, and immediately it is followed by a second. The effect is
like magic: loungers sit bolt upright, sleepers wake, those in the water
scurry out, and all eyes in camp are turned in the direction of this
unlooked-for alarm.
"Kaptyn, Kaptyn--Kyk dar so!" [Captain, Captain--Look there!] cries one
of the sergeants, a wiry little Hottentot of some sixty summers. But
even before his warning is uttered Claverton's quick eye has caught the
cause of alarm, and more, has mastered the fact that nothing but the
utmost coolness and determination will save every soul in that camp from
destruction. For the whole ridge is alive with Kafir warriors, swarming
over the brow of the hill like a crowd of red ants; on they come,
straight for the camp, evidently with the intention of carrying it by a
rush. A man is fleeing before them as hard as ever he can run--
apparently the sentry who has fired the shot--but he has a small start
and they are gaining upon him. Suddenly he falls, then disappears,
pierced by a score of assegais, and the crowd pours over him.
"Steady, men--steady!" cries Claverton, his clear voice ringing like a
trumpet. "Every man to his place. No one to fire before the word is
given."
And now the state of discipline into which the corps had been brought,
bore its fruit, as, quickly and without flurry, each man knew exactly
where to find his rifle and ammunition, and found it--for the arms had
been placed separately in a circle, not piled--and now, inspired by
their leader's coolness, every man stood armed and ready, only waiting
the word of command. Once or twice Claverton detected signs of flurry
and scrambling; but a word or two thrown in, and an invincible
coolness--which could not have been greater had they been on parade,
instead of waiting the furious onslaught of a savage horde, rushing down
at a pace which three minutes at the outside would bring right upon
them--instantly had the effect of restoring order.
"Steady, men," cried Claverton again, as the whole force knelt behind
the light breastwork of thorn-bushes, which a quarter of an hour's work
had sufficed to throw round the camp when they first halted. "Steady.
Don't put up any sights, and aim low. Now--Fire!"
Truly the attacking force presented a terrific and appalling spectacle.
In a semi-circular formation on they came at a run--hundreds and
hundreds of fierce savages, their naked bodies gleaming with red ochre,
as they poured through the bush like demons, shrilling their wild
war-whistles, and snapping their assegais across their knees to shorten
them for the charge and the irresistible hand-to-hand encounter which it
seemed nothing could stay.
Crash!
A roar of the detonation of many rifles. The smoke clears away, and a
confused mass of fallen bodies and red struggling limbs, is descried.
Another and another volley; the assailants roll over in heaps, their
ranks literally ploughed through by the heavy and terribly destructive
Snider bullets--almost explosive in their effects--poured in at such
close quarters. The advancing mass halts a moment like a wave suddenly
stopped by a breakwater, fairly impeded by the fallen bodies of its
slain and the frantic convulsive throes of the stricken.
"That's right, men!" shouts Claverton. "Give it them again! Hurrah!"
A wild cheer breaks from his followers as they pour in their fire--a
shrill yell of maddening excitement, nearly drowned by the fierce,
frenzied war-cry of the Gaika warriors. But these are beginning to
waver. The tremendous loss they have suffered, the determined and
wholly unexpected resistance they have met with, all tells, and promptly
they drop down into cover, and commence a rapid and heavy fire upon the
camp. Their shooting, however, is ludicrously bad, and the bullets and
"pot-legs" whiz high overhead, imperilling no one. The Hottentots
answer with a derisive cheer, and every time a Kafir shows his head a
dozen shots are blazed into him, generally with effect.
Suddenly a tremendous fire is opened upon the camp from quite a new
quarter. One man drops dead, and two or three others are badly hit, and
then on the opposite side a great mass of Kafirs rises from the bush and
sweeps down upon the frail breastwork, uttering a terrific shout. A
chief is at their head--a slightly-built, handsome man, with bright,
clear eyes and a heavy beard for a Kafir--waving his tiger-skin kaross
as, sounding his rallying-cry, he charges straight forward. Claverton
spots him at once, and, coolly drawing a bead upon him, fires and
misses. The chief laughs--a bold, defiant laugh--showing a splendid set
of white teeth, and poising an assegai, hurls it with good aim at his
would-be destroyer, who manages to dodge it, or his hopes and fears
would come to an untimely end then and there. And the rifles roar and
crash into the red, bounding mass, and the smell of powder is heavy in
its asphyxiating denseness; and the demon figures flit athwart the smoke
and jets of belching flame, while the gun-barrels grow hot, and the
brain begins to reel amid that awful, deafening din, and the foot slips
in a dark stain of fresh warm life-blood welling forth upon the grass.
Truly all this is unsurpassed by Pandemonium in its wildest conception.
The last volley has broken the neck of the charge, but the impetus has
carried a number of the enemy within the breastwork, and among them the
chief, who, grasping a short, broad-bladed assegai, is stabbing right
and left. Claverton sees him, and, amid the frightful turmoil of the
hand-to-hand conflict, cannot help admiring the cool intrepidity of the
man. He tries to get at him, but finds enough on his hands with a huge
Kafir who hurls himself upon him, making herculean efforts to brain him
with a clubbed rifle. A neat revolver shot and the savage falls--the
bullet cleaving his skull, entering straight through the right eye--and
in falling nearly upsets Claverton by stumbling forward on him.
"The chief! Stop him or kill him!" cries the latter. "Twenty pounds to
whoever kills the chief!"
He cannot get near him himself, however. He sees his quondam prisoner,
Sharkey, lay hold of one of the enemy and by main force brain the Gaika
warrior as he hurls him head downwards upon a stone. He sees Sam kill
two Kafirs with his own hand by as many strokes with a powerful
Zulu-made assegai, as he replies to their fierce challenge with the most
ear-splitting of whistles. He can make out Lumley and the cool-headed
little Hottentot, Gert Spielmann, with the utmost calmness keeping up,
together with a section of their men, such a fire upon the Kafirs
outside that these are already in full retreat; but get at the chief he
cannot. And, indeed, that bold leader seems to bear a charmed life as
he charges through the camp, till, seeing that the game is up, he bounds
like a deer over the breastwork unharmed amid the shower of bullets that
flies round him, and, shouting his war-cry, regains the friendly cover
with such few of his followers as have had the good fortune to escape.
The fight is over and the day is saved, and the Kafirs may be seen
slinking off in squads through the bush--some, indeed, dragging the
wounded with them. Orders are given to cease firing, and then about
twenty of the best shots are told off to pepper the retreating enemy at
long range, while the rest are held ready in the event of a fresh and
unexpected attack; for their leader is not the man to overlook the
smallest possibility in the chances of war. But a rally is not among
them in this instance, and, after a sufficient time has elapsed, the men
are paraded. It is found that the loss has been fire killed and twelve
wounded. Silence is restored--all but restored, that is--for a voice
might still be heard in the ranks in half-smothered dispute with a
comrade, and then, with a vehemence which sounded loud upon the silence,
it exclaimed: "Haow! Amaxosa nigga no good!" And at this sudden and
evidently unintentional interruption a roar of laughter broke from one
and all of those present, from their leader downwards, while our friend
Sam, whose feedings had found vent, in his uncontrollable excitement, in
his favourite ejaculation, stood there looking sheepish and guilty to a
degree. Then Claverton addressed them.
"My men," he said, "you have just shown the stuff you are made of. Half
an hour ago we didn't know there was a Kafir within ten miles of us, and
now in that time, taken by surprise as you were, you have beaten off an
enemy outnumbering you by six to one. You have behaved splendidly
to-day--splendidly, I say--and I am proud to command you. You fought as
well as any Englishmen could have done, in a tough action partly
hand-to-hand, and you have won it by sheer pluck and hard fighting. We
have lost five men, unfortunately--five good men and true. They fell
doing their duty--fell with arms in their hands, like soldiers, and I
shall make it my business strongly to recommend their families to the
Government for a pension. Now, we must keep up our discipline in the
camp stricter than ever after this, as you must see, if only for our
common safety. So we'll just give three cheers for the Queen, and then
we'll set to work and get into marching order. Now, then--"
Cheer upon cheer went up--three times three again and again; but it is
to be feared that amid their acclamations the men thought far more of
their present leaders than of their absent Sovereign. However, the
effect was that intended--an inspiriting one.
"One word more," cried Claverton. "The Kafirs have fought us like men--
in fair, open fight, and we've thrashed them, and thrashed them well.
Now, there are many of them lying wounded round here in the bush. It is
hardly necessary to remind you that soldiers--true soldiers--don't hurt
wounded men after a battle; so when we go round to count the dead
directly, no harm is to be done to the wounded. Leave the poor devils
in peace until their kinsmen come to carry them off, as they will do
when we are gone. So mind--they are not to be hurt."
"Ja, ja, Kaptyn. Det is recht!" cried many of them.
"You put that neatly," remarked Lumley. "There's nothing like giving
people a good opinion of themselves."
"Well, yes," answered the other, with a slightly cynical laugh. "These
fellows are like children--take in everything you tell them in praise of
themselves. Now they're as pleased as Punch, and ready to go anywhere."
"I wonder what would have been the upshot if the Kafirs had come on more
slowly. These chaps of ours are not half such good shots as they think
themselves, for I noticed some of them firing awfully wide. They
couldn't help hitting the crowd, you see; and being under the influence
of excitement, didn't stop to think. Otherwise the effect of their poor
shooting would have been disheartening to them and encouraging to the
enemy. And the odds were frightfully against us, you know."
Claverton looked grave. "There's a great deal in what you say, Lumley.
More than ever, then, must we keep the fellows thoroughly up to the
mark."
Accompanied by ten mounted men, Claverton made a wide circuit of the
camp, by way of reconnaissance. From the ridges not a Kafir was to be
seen, and it seemed incredible that on this spot, within the last
half-hour, a furious conflict had raged. Beyond the camp a film of
smoke still hung heavily upon the air, and there was a thick, sulphurous
smell; otherwise, all was quiet and serene, as if the peace of the
morning had never been disturbed. And then they came upon the bodies of
the slain foe, lying thickly around the camp, most of them struck dead
where they lay, and terribly mangled by the great tearing shock of the
Snider bullets. Some had managed to crawl a few yards, and lay with
their fingers dug deep into the hard earth, which they had clutched in
their convulsive agony. Now and then a shuddering tremor would run
through one of the bodies, and lips would move, and glazed eyes half
unclose. It was a terrible thing to contemplate that mass of humanity
so lately pulsating with life and vigour, now a mere heap of inert
corpses, mangled and hideous, lying there doubled up and contorted by
the throes of death--a sight which, could the intriguing heads of the
war faction in the tribe have seen, would surely have caused a dire
sinking of heart and a regret, all too late, that the counsel of the
older men should have been set at naught. _They_ had had experience of
these things; and such a sight as this hecatomb of their nation's
manhood in its vigour and prime, must have been before their eyes when
they uttered their warning, oft repeated but all unheeded.
Suddenly they came upon a horrible sight. In the midst of a pile of
bodies, about thirty yards in front of them, a great gaunt savage rose
slowly up to a sitting posture. The whole of his face, neck, and
shoulders was one mass of blood, and he appeared to be intently
listening. Not a muscle moved as, with his head turned sideways towards
them, he awaited their approach. "Poor devil!" muttered Claverton,
contemplating the grisly figure, while even the Hottentots were vehement
in their expressions of commiseration. Then a rapid movement was seen
to agitate the Kafir's limbs, and, springing half up, he discharged his
gun quick as thought right into the astonished party barely ten yards
distant, slightly wounding one of the horses, but doing no further
damage.
"Stop!" cried Claverton in a tone of command, seeing that his men were
about to fire on the unfortunate savage. "Stop! Not a shot to be
fired; his gun's empty now." Then halting, he ordered the Kafir to lay
down his arms; but the man never moved.
"Whaow!" he cried, ferociously. "Did I kill any one? But come and kill
me, cowards, as you have sent me into night. Come and kill me. Do you
hear, cowards? Or are you afraid of a man _who cannot see_?"
His last words were indeed true. A ball had passed through the upper
part of his face, taking away both his eyes. The poor wretch was
stone-blind. And in this condition, maddened by the frightful pain of
his wound and a sense of his calamity, he had quietly awaited their
approach, and then, guided by the sound, had struck a parting blow at
his hated foes. Something very like a shudder ran through the
spectators.
"No. We are not going to kill you," replied Claverton. "Listen. We
shall soon be away from here, and then your friends will come back and
find you. You may yet live a long time, and there may yet be some
little pleasure in life even for a man who cannot see. So we shall not
harm you. It's the fortune of war--you to-day, myself to-morrow."
The only answer was a moan of exhaustion as the sufferer sank back on
the ground. Claverton sent one of his men for some water, of which the
wounded man drank copiously. Then he washed his face, and, placing the
poor wretch in a more comfortable position, left him and passed on his
round of the field of slaughter. Many a sickening sight met his gaze--a
sight to curdle the heart's blood and make the brain grow sad, but none
to equal that, and never in after years would he quite forget the
spectacle of the stricken savage all covered with blood, rearing himself
up in the agony of his sightlessness, guided by his hearing alone, to
strike one last blow at his hated foes.
No time was there to do more than hurriedly bury their dead. They must
get on, and the sooner the better. So the five slain Hottentots were
buried in a common grave, one wizened little old fellow, by virtue of
his office as "elder" of a native chapel in one of the settlements,
making a rambling, incoherent prayer, and leading off, in a nasal twang,
a cracked, doleful Dutch psalm. Scarcely was this impromptu dirge
brought to a close when a group was descried advancing towards the camp,
waving something white.
"Three Kafirs with a white flag, by Jove!" said Lumley, scanning the
approaching group through his field-glass. "Ah! Lucky for him," he
went on, as on further investigation he made out the sentry, with his
piece at "present," walking distrustfully some twenty yards behind.
All present were disposed so as to be in readiness should this last move
prove to be a mere ruse--it would not be the first instance in savage
warfare of the abuse of the white flag--and the Kafirs were suffered to
approach. All three were good-looking men of about middle age, shrewd
of countenance, and lithe and well-made of figure. They halted just
outside the camp, and saluted Claverton gravely as he went forth to meet
them. He nodded in reply, looked them rapidly up and down and asked
shortly:
"What do you want?"
"We have come to ask the white chief to let us carry away our wounded.
Many of our brethren have fallen, and are lying about in the bushes.
They will die if we do not attend to them."
For a few moments Claverton made no reply, but stood meditatively
flicking his boot with a small switch he held in his hand, the savage
delegates, the while, eyeing him narrowly. He was turning over the
situation in his mind. Why were they in such a hurry to look after
their wounded--it was not in accordance with their usual practice?
Could it be with the object of keeping his attention employed, of
disarming watchfulness while a large force stole up to surprise them?
Or were they merely enacting the part of spies? At length he replied--
and his suspicion and deliberateness, so far from offending, caused him
to rise in their estimation; for anything like hastiness either of
speech or decision does not find favour in the eyes of these people:
"How is it you were not afraid to trust yourselves in our hands? It is
not the time of peace."
"Aow! The white captain is brave. He will not hurt three men alone in
his camp," replied the spokesman. "We are not afraid. See--we have the
white flag."
The insidious flattery conveyed in this speech was quite thrown away.
For all the change that came over Claverton's face he might not have
heard it.
"Who was your leader?" he said. "The man with the leopard-skin cloak?"
"Matanzima."
"The son of Sandili?"
"Yes."
"He is a brave man and fought well. Now, why are you so anxious to look
after your wounded at once, instead of waiting until we are gone?"
"The chief's uncle is among them. The chief fears that his kinsman will
die."
"H'm. Who are you?"
"I am Usivulele the son of Sikunaya," replied the spokesman of the
three.
"H'm. Well, now, listen you three. These are my terms," said
Claverton, decisively. "If you, Usivulele, will remain with me as a
hostage till the sun is there" (designating a point in the heavens which
that luminary would reach by about four o'clock), "then your people may
come and look after their wounded, but not until we are over that second
hill. Should they come before, we shall fire on them again, and if they
attack us before the hour named, you, Usivulele, shall die the moment a
shot is fired. At that hour, if your people observe my conditions, you
shall go free and unharmed. Those are my terms, they are not hard; you
are at liberty to accept or to reject them."
The Kafirs debated rapidly for a moment in an undertone. Then Usivulele
stepped forward, looking Claverton full in the face.
"We accept them," he said. "I am ready."
"Very well. Now you two may return and carry my `word' to Matanzima.
When he comes he will find his friends just as they fell. We do not
harm wounded men."
The two ambassadors saluted again, and turning, strode away from the
camp, escorted to the brow of the hill by a couple of sentries, while
the hostage was placed under a strict guard. They gave him something to
eat, and he was well treated though carefully watched. But not for a
moment would he unbend from the grave, dignified reserve wherewith he
had wrapped himself. Communicativeness was not in the bond, and to all
their questions he returned laconic and evasive replies. It was evident
that he was not to be "drawn." Once during their march Lumley, having
just given him a pipe of tobacco, asked where Sandili was.
"Chief," replied the Kafir, in a tone of quiet rebuke. "If I were to
ask you where your general and your _amasoja_ (soldiers) were at this
moment--what should you say?"
"I should say, `Damn your impudence,'" muttered Lumley, half angrily, as
he turned away feeling very much snubbed; but Claverton, listening,
thoroughly enjoyed the retort.
"Don't be unfair, Lumley," he said. "This fellow has his wits about
him. He's no ordinary nigger, I can see."
"No, he isn't, confound him," growled the other, unmollified.
Meanwhile the hostage stalked along among his guards, and showed not the
smallest concern as to his own fate. Evidently the conditions would be
observed in good faith, and of that fact he was aware. In a trifle more
than an hour, now, he would be set at liberty--when lo, cresting the
brow of a hill, one of the saddest and most eloquent tokens of savage
warfare burst upon the eyes of the party. Beneath, lay what had been a
flourishing homestead, now a heap of _debris_ and blackened ruins, from
which, as they gazed, little lines of smoke still arose, showing that
the work of destruction was but recent. The roof had fallen in but the
walls still stood, with their gaping window-holes like the eyeless
sockets of a skull, and fragments of charred rafters stood out overhead,
the fleshless ribs of the frame of the once sheltering roof-tree. And
in contrast to this sad work of desolation, a fine fruit-garden fronted
the house, the trees weighed down beneath their luscious burdens--the
fig and the pomegranate, blushing peaches and yellow pears, golden
apricots, and quinces ripening in the high, straight hedges which shut
in the orchard. Extensive lands under cultivation lay along in the
bottom, and these had not been interfered with.
"This can't have been done long," observed Lumley, surveying the ruin.
"Shouldn't wonder if it was the same gang that attacked us."
"Very likely. Stop. Here's a part of it not so smashed up. Let's have
a look round," said Claverton, dismounting.
One end of the building seemed to have partially escaped--a largish
apartment, evidently a bedroom. A fall of rubbish across the narrow
window had blocked it, and it was almost in darkness.
"Good heavens! look here," cried Lumley, with a shudder, examining the
ground. Their eyes had become accustomed to the gloom, and both made
out a broad red stain, whose nature there was no mistaking. Upon that
rude floor had been spilt the stream of life, and the greedy earth had
absorbed it. "I don't care for this sort of investigation," continued
he. "It's one thing bowling fellows over in the open air, in fair,
lively scrimmage; but, hang it all, nosing about in this infernal gloomy
den is another. Let's get outside," and again he shuddered, as if
dreading what they might find.
"Wait a bit," said Claverton, "Look. Some one has come to grief here--
there's no doubt about it."
Nor was there. Another great red patch and a few smaller ones were
seen, and then, following a mark made by something heavy trailed along
in the dust, they came to a doorway leading into the burnt part of the
house, and here, among the dust, and bricks, and fallen _debris_, lying
in the gloom cast by an overshadowing fragment of roof, which looked as
if it was about to fall on them, they came upon the charred remains of
three human beings--apparently two men and a woman, for portions of
female attire still hung about one of them. Indeed, only presumably
could their European nationality be pronounced upon, for the ghastly
relics were little more than a few calcined bones.
"Good God!" exclaimed Lumley, turning sick and faint at the horrid
sight. "They've been burnt alive."
"No; I don't think that," said Claverton. "Poor wretches--they were
killed first and then flung in here. The marks in the other room show
that, if it's any comfort. They were probably surprised in their beds
and murdered; this very morning, too, I should say. What's this?"
Something shining, which lay on the floor in a dark corner, had caught
his eye. He picked it up. It was a small crucifix, about eight inches
in length, such as is constructed to stand on a bracket. The cross was
broken and splintered in two or three places, but the figure, being of
metal, was intact. It was exquisitely wrought, and Claverton stood
gazing sadly down upon the holy symbol, which he held in his hand amid
this gloomy scene of ashes, and tears, and blood; and it seemed to him
that a wave of ineffable sorrow swept across the suffering, lifelike
countenance as he gazed. Wrapping the relic in his handkerchief, he
placed it carefully in his pocket. Lilian would certainly value it.
"By Jove, Lumley; but war isn't all fun, after all!" he said, with
something like a sigh.
"No, it isn't. I'm glad now that we peppered those black devils this
morning--cowardly, sneaking brutes. I wish we had done for a thousand
of them."
"Let's see if we can find anything more among this rubbish," went on
Claverton, not heeding his lieutenant's honest vehemence. But nothing
was to be found. The savages had gutted the place, and how the holy
relic had escaped them was incomprehensible, unless it were that, with
superstitious awe, they feared to touch it. A few battered bits of
iron, the remains of a bedstead, and some broken crockery lay strewn
about; but everything combustible--chairs, tables, curtains, etcetera--
had been given to the flames.
They went out into the air again. The sun shone placidly down from an
unclouded sky upon this gloomy scene of desolation and death; around, a
fair vision of hill and dale lay spread afar, and now and then the
melodious call of the hoepoe would float upon the summer air as if no
frightful tragedy had been enacted in that peaceful spot, where the
torch and assegai of the savage had been glutted in his lust for blood.
"I suppose we must let this devil go, too," said Lumley, with a fierce,
vengeful glance at their hostage.
"Oh, yes," said Claverton, decisively; "no question about that.
Usivulele," he went on, addressing the Kafir, "is this the work of your
band? It'll make no difference to you; I shall let you go all the
same."
The man gave a slight shrug of his shoulders.
"Chief," he replied, "we are not the only party of warriors in the bush.
The land is full of them. Some were here this morning, and are yonder
to-night," pointing to the horizon. "Why should it be our work?"
"A true native answer, but a fair one," said Claverton. "No one's bound
to criminate himself. Hallo; here's a book!"
For, agitated by the faint breeze, some leaves of paper might be seen
stirring amid the grass a few yards off. He picked it up. It was not a
book, but a few pages of one, in the German language--a hymn-book, from
all appearances--and it must have been flung there by the savages when
they had completed their ruthless work. The finding of it, however, and
some other fragments of books all in the same language, scattered
around, threw additional light upon the incident. Evidently the unhappy
victims were German immigrants, of whom there were many in Kaffraria,
and who either disbelieving the alarming reports, or trusting to the
friendliness of the natives, had been loth to leave their prosperous,
and, as they thought, peaceful home; and had suffered the penalty of
their imprudence.
A grave having been dug the remains were carefully deposited within it,
and, knocking together a rude cross out of some of the wood-work of the
ruined dwelling, Claverton planted it over the last resting-place of the
unfortunate immigrants slaughtered beneath their own roof-tree. Then
comparing his watch with the sun he addressed the hostage:
"Usivulele, you have kept your side of the compact and I will keep mine.
The time has come and you are at liberty to return to your chief. Go.
You are free."
The Kafir's impassive countenance relaxed into a slight smile, and, with
a murmur of assent and a courteous salute to Claverton, he gathered his
blanket about him and strode away into the _veldt_. Many a scowl
followed the retreating figure as the bystanders grasped their rifles
and stole a furtive glance at their leader's face. They longed to send
a volley after the retiring Kafir; but each man knew that to do so would
mean instant death to himself.
Claverton watched his late prisoner till he was out of sight, and then
returned to explore the ruins afresh, while his men regaled themselves
on the ripe fruit which grew in the garden in such profusion; and very
grateful was the luscious feast to their throats, dry with the smoke of
powder and the shouting and excitement of the morning's fray. Just as
he was about to enter, the part of the roof which had escaped fell in
with a crash, nearly smothering him in a cloud of dust and cinders.
"I say, Lumley. That was a narrow share of your getting promotion," was
all he said.
Further investigation was of course barred, and the time for halting
having expired, the "fall-in" was sounded. As they wound their way out
of the valley, they turned to look back. The fall of the roof had
disturbed the still smouldering embers beneath, and now a volume of
smoke was rolling up from the blackened ruins, darkening the azure sky,
and casting a fell shadow upon the sunlit earth. And all Nature smiled
around, in fair, mocking contrast to these hideous tokens of the
vengeful hate of men.