"CAN THE `ETHIOPIAN' CHANCE HIS SKIN?"
"Well, we've managed to run our necks into a nice tight noose,
Thornhill," was Elvesdon's first remark as he realised that they were
virtually prisoners in the hands of insurrectionary savages, which meant
that their position would grow more and more dangerous every day.
"The next thing is to get them out of it," rejoined Thornhill fighting
his pipe, and puffing away calmly as he walked.
"What about the ladies--will they be safe?"
"Oh yes. If they'd wanted them they'd have brought them along with us."
"Sure?"
"Dead cert."
Elvesdon felt immeasurably relieved. Now, more than ever; now that he
was separated from her; might never even see her again; he realised what
Edala had become to him. She had fascinated him from the very first,
and of late had become part of his life. But it would not do to give
way to depression. If Thornhill, who knew these people better than he
did, had no anxiety about his daughter's ultimate safety, why surely he
himself need have none.
"You see, this hasn't come to anything as yet," went on Thornhill,
"whatever it's going to do. Now they know that to interfere with white
women in any way would be to bring about a general bust-up, which as
yet, they're probably not ready for. But likely enough they've got wind
that there's an idea of arresting some of the chiefs, and are holding us
as sort of hostages. Have you any notion that there's any such idea on
foot?"
"I've heard nothing about it officially or in any other capacity. But
if such a programme is on the boards we shall get our throats cut if
it's carried out. Is that the meaning?"
The other nodded.
"Well Parry," went on Elvesdon, cheerfully, "you wanted to see the
war-dance but you didn't bargain for this, eh? I suppose you've read
about this sort of situation too."
"Often, sir. But people always manage somehow to get out of it I
notice."
"And so shall we."
Cheered by the optimistic demeanour of his official superior, and the no
less calm one of his other companion in adversity the young Police
trooper began to enjoy the situation. What would his people at home say
if they could see him now, a prisoner in the hands of armed savages?
It was no end exciting; for of course they would manage to escape. As
he had said, people always did--in books. Poor boy!
Those who custodied them, even as those forming the escort for the two
girls, were not communicative. To the question as to where was Tongwana
the reply was short. The chief had gone away. To that as to where they
were bound for it was shorter still. They would see.
It was dark when they reached a large kraal, situated in a wide, bushy
valley. The country as they journeyed had become more and more wild and
broken. Thornhill declared they couldn't be far from the Tugela Valley,
which seemed to point to an intention on the part of their custodians to
rush them over the Zulu border, for the sake of better concealment.
Their arrival seemed to provoke no curiosity, or, at best a languid one;
certainly there were not many about to evince it. Thornhill, though not
seeming to do so, was keeping a bright look-out. Two or three faces he
thought he knew, but the bulk were those of strangers. They were taken
to a large hut in the centre of the kraal, and ordered to enter. But
when Parry would have followed the other two in he was promptly and
roughly stopped. It was in vain that both Thornhill and Elvesdon
pleaded that he might not be separated from them. He was only a boy,
they represented, and could not talk with their tongue. Let him remain
with those who could. One stalwart scoundrel who appeared to be in a
position of some authority, bent down and shook a bright, wicked looking
blade within the low doorway.
"Keep quiet, _Abelungu_! You are not masters here. If you come forth
without orders, that is death."
"_Abelungu_!" "White men!" That was a pretty insolent sort of way to
address a Government official, together with a man of Thornhill's
standing. It bore its full significance too. But they were helpless.
Two men unarmed against a large armed force! Of course they were
helpless.
"Poor boy," said Elvesdon as they were left alone. "I'm afraid he won't
find it so exciting now."
"In a way I'm glad we're alone together for a time at any rate," was the
answer. "We can talk things over more freely. And we'll not have to do
that too loud either, for there's a good sprinkling of these chaps who
know English--though they won't let go that they do--thanks to the
mischievous idiots who have gone in for educating them."
"If we come through this all right, I'll put in all the good word I can
to get that youngster on in the force," said Elvesdon. "He showed pluck
and readiness to-day, never lost his head for a single moment."
"More he did. Now I wonder who wrote you that letter."
"Oh don't refer to the beastly thing, Thornhill. If only I had opened
it at first--as I ought to have done. No--it won't bear thinking about.
Wait--I'll burn it, in case it might compromise the writer, if the
worst comes to the worst."
He twisted the letter into a screw and set it alight, kindling his pipe
with it. Anyone might come in at any moment, and such a proceeding
would, in that event, look less suspicious.
Someone did come in, but it was rather a welcome entry, for it was that
of a couple of women, bearing food; roasted mealies and some grilled
beef, which latter, however, neither looked nor smelt very tempting.
"What's this? Water?" said Elvesdon, investigating the contents of a
bowl. "The stingy swabs might have sent us some _tywala_ while they
were about it."
Putting it to the women, who were kindling a fire in the round hollow in
the middle of the floor, one of them replied that beer was scarce.
There were so many men in the kraal--she supposed they must have drunk
it all. Elvesdon put his hand into his waistcoat pocket and pulled out
a shilling.
"See if you can find some," he said. "Here. This is for you--for the
two of you. You can halve it."
But the recipient, carefully placing the coin in her bag, replied
stolidly that she could not halve a gift. Elvesdon laughed and found a
similar coin for the other. It proved, however, a bad investment, for
no _tywala_ was forthcoming.
"This looks more cheerful," he went on, when they were alone again, and
were discussing the food. "It was beastly cold, too, without a fire.
Wonder where they've put the young 'un. It rather handicaps us being
apart from him in case we saw a chance of doing a bunk, for of course we
can't leave him behind."
"No, we can't, but we shall get no such chance just yet. Hear that."
All round them was the sound of voices, deep voices. Some were right
against the hut which was their prison. A strong odour of roast told
that their custodians were enjoying themselves in the most enjoyable way
known to savages--feasting, to wit. Once Elvesdon opened the door to
look forth. In a moment two savages, armed with assegais, sprang before
the entrance and ordered them to keep it shut.
"I've a notion," said Thornhill, "that this is Nteseni's `great' place,
and if so we've fallen into bad hands."
"That bears out what Teliso used to say. He always maintained that
Ntesini was a bad egg."
"M-yes. I wonder where the said Teliso is now. You know I hinted to
you that he might require a little watching himself."
"He's been away a precious long time. By the way I wonder if he wrote
that letter. He could talk some English but I don't know about his
ability to write any. He may have been murdered for all we know."
"He _may_, or--he may not."
Elvesdon was impressed. A qualm of misgiving came over him that he
might have trusted Teliso too much. What, by the way, if he were at the
bottom of their seizure? He might be. There was no trusting anyone.
Decidedly there was something suspicious about the length of time Teliso
had been away on his mission, and that without sending in any
communication whatever.
Poor Teliso! His cracked and whitened bones lying in the lonely ravine
beneath the krantz, picked clean by the tiger-wolves and jackals, could
not now rise up under the stars to testify whether or not Nteseni was--
as Elvesdon had put it--"a bad egg."
The next morning to their intense relief they were allowed some measure
of liberty. They could stroll about outside the kraal, for instance,
but even then only in the open, and with groups of armed men constantly
on their steps. If there was any considerable body gathered at the
kraal those composing it must assuredly have kept within the huts;
possibly sleeping off the heaviness of the feast the night before.
Decidedly it was strange to these two, accustomed as they were when
visiting or passing such places to meet with deference at every turn--
now to find themselves actually obliged to obey orders from those over
whom one of them at any rate had partially ruled. But the ruled now
aspired to be the ruling, and, certainly, into far as they themselves
were concerned, had succeeded.
They were threading their way among the huts when, from one of them
there emerged suddenly a man--a black man--but not blacker than his
coat, nor very much blacker than his dingy tie that had once been white.
He had crawled through the low doorway, and stood upright before he was
aware of their presence. The instant he became aware of it he brought
his hand to his mouth with an ejaculation of amazement and dismay, and
stood staring, surprised for the moment out of all self-possession.
Both looked at him--Elvesdon especially--with an expression of aversion
and contempt.
"So!" was all that Elvesdon said.
It seemed difficult to tell on which side the surprise felt was the
greatest. In the fat, greasy features both the white men recognised the
Rev Job Magwegwe, the Ethiopian preacher.
"You not get my letter, sir?" said the latter, hurriedly, eagerly.
"Your letter? Oh, I see," replied Elvesdon.
"I warned you sir; you not take my warning. It not my fault you here,
sir."
"It's damned well your fault there's a `here' for us to be in, and the
fault of those who sent you, you scoundrel," returned Elvesdon bitterly,
and perhaps a little unjustly. For again the self-reproach in not
having taken the warning in time, came uppermost, and here was some one
to vent it on.
"I help you sir--now if I can,"--said the Fingo, earnestly. "But--it
not easy and--"
"_Whau_! Jobo!" cried a great voice as two hulking Zulus came up.
"Here is much white men's talk--too much. Get back to thy preaching--
that is more in thy line. _Whau_!"
They were Zulus from beyond the river, and cared nothing for
missionaries and their methods--let alone for a greasy humbug of an
inferior black man. The Rev Job Magwegwe slunk away before their
great domineering voices and manner. And the two white men felt
immeasurably more drawn to these.
"So that's the chap who sent the letter!" remarked Elvesdon. "He's an
infernal rascal all the same. `Help'! Fat lot of help he'll give us--
even if he could."
"Don't you be too cock-sure about that, Elvesdon. I've known queerer
things in my time than even that. It's astonishing how things can work
round--not when--but _where_ you least expect them. It's something to
know we have a friend among the enemy let me tell you. He might be of
use to us yet."
"Well if he is I'll forgive him--or try to. These swine, though, are
responsible for nearly all the mischief. I'd hang the whole `Ethiopian
Church' if I had despotic power, or, at any rate, give its infernal
mischievous emissaries a hundred apiece with the cat and then disband
the whole rotten organisation. But, Thornhill. Do you think this
_schelm_ really would help us if he could?"
"I sort of do. You see when these chaps get partly civilised, although
it deteriorates them as savages it has often the effect of making them
all unconsciously cling to the white man. Now this one is a Fingo, and
his traditions would make all that way. He no more wants to set up a
universal black Power than you or I do; he knows where he, and all his
like, would come in under it. At present he's paid to preach it but I'm
perfectly certain he no more believes it possible than you or I do
either. So let's make use of him if we can; though I doubt if we can,
for they don't seem to trust him overmuch here from what we've just
seen."
"`Can the Ethopian change his skin?'" quoted Elvesdon, sourly.
The day wore on. Both men--Elvesdon, especially, being the younger--
were wistfully trying to glean from the talk they could overhear, what
was going on outside. They tried questioning those around them but
without result. They asked too, about their fellow prisoner, the young
Police trooper, who had been so arbitrarily separated from them; but
beyond the fact that no harm had been done him, they could get no
further. The while both were sizing up every chance for effecting an
escape, but even had such offered it was out of the question they should
have availed themselves of it at the price of abandoning a
fellow-countryman--a fellow-countryman, too, who was doubly helpless, in
that, being a new comer, he was entirely unversed in the language and
ways of those who held him in durance.