HANS PROPHESIES EVIL
Ernest and Jeremy did not let the grass grow under their feet. They
guessed that there would soon be a great deal of recruiting for various
corps, and so set to work at once to secure the best men. The stamp of
men they aimed at getting was the colonial-born Englishman, both
because such men have more self-respect, independence of character, and
“gumption,” than the ordinary drifting sediment from the fields and
seaports, and also because they were practically ready-made soldiers.
They could ride as well as they could walk, they were splendid
rifle-shots, and they had, too, from childhood, been trained in the art
of travelling without baggage, and very rapidly. Ernest did not find
much difficulty in the task. Mr. Alston was well known, and had seen a
great deal of service as a young man in the Basutu wars, and stories
were still told of his nerve and pluck. He was known, too, to be a wary
man, not rash or over-confident, but of a determined mind; and, what is
more, to possess a perfect knowledge of Zulu warfare and tactics. This
went a long way with intending recruits, for the first thing a would-be
colonial volunteer inquires into is the character of his officers. He
will not trust his life to men in whom he puts no reliance. He is
willing to lose it in the way of duty, but he has a great objection to
having it blundered away. Indeed, in many South African volunteer corps
it is a fundamental principle that the officers should be elected by
the men themselves. Once elected, however, they cannot be deposed
except by competent authority.
Ernest, too, was by this time well known in the Transvaal, and
universally believed in. Mr. Alston could not have chosen a better
lieutenant. He was known to have pluck and dash, and to be ready-witted
in emergency; but it was not that only which made him acceptable to the
individuals whose continued existence would very possibly depend upon
his courage and discretion. Indeed, it would be difficult to say what
it was; but there are some men who are by nature born leaders of their
fellows, and who inspire confidence magnetically. Ernest had this great
gift. At first sight he was much like any other young man, rather
careless-looking than otherwise in appearance, and giving the observer
the impression that he was thinking of something else; but old hands at
native warfare, looking into his dark eyes, saw something there which
told them that this young fellow, boy as he was, comparatively
speaking, would not show himself wanting in the moment of emergency,
either in courage or discretion. Jeremy’s nomination, too, as
sergeant-major, a very important post in such a corps, was popular
enough. People had not forgotten his victory over the Boer giant, and
besides, a sergeant-major with such a physique would have been a credit
to any corps.
All these things helped to make recruiting an easy task, and when
Alston and his son Roger, weary and bruised, stepped out of the Natal
post-cart four days later, it was to be met by Ernest and Jeremy with
the intelligence that his telegram had been received, the appointments
accepted, and thirty-five men provisionally enrolled subject to his
approval.
“My word, young gentlemen,” he said, highly pleased, “you are
lieutenants worth having.”
The next fortnight was a busy one for all concerned. The organisation
of a colonial volunteer corps is no joke, as anybody who has ever tried
it can testify. There were rough uniforms to be provided, arms to be
obtained, and a hundred and one other wants to be satisfied. Then came
some delay about the horses, which were to be served out by Government.
At last these were handed over, a good-looking lot, but apparently very
wild. Matters were at this point, when one day Ernest was seated in the
room he used as an office in his house, enrolling a new recruit
previous to his being sworn, interviewing a tradesman about flannel
shirts, making arrangements for a supply of forage, filling up the
endless forms which the imperial authorities required for transmission
to the War Office, and a hundred other matters. Suddenly his orderly
announced that two privates of the corps wished to see him.
“What is it?” he asked of the orderly, testily; for he was nearly
worked to death.
“A complaint, sir.”
“Well, send them in.”
The door opened, and a curious couple entered. One was a great, burly
sailor-man, who had been a quartermaster on board one of her Majesty’s
ships at Cape Town, got drunk, overstayed his leave, and deserted
rather than face the punishment; the other a quick, active little
fellow, with a face like a ferret. He was a Zululand trader, who had
ruined himself by drink, and a peculiarly valuable member of the corps
on account of his knowledge of the country in which they were going to
serve. Both the men saluted and stood at ease.
“Well, my men, what is it?” asked Ernest, going on filling up his
forms.
“Nothing, so far as I am concerned, sir,” said the little man.
Ernest looked up sharply at the quondam tar.
“Now, Adam, your complaint; I have no time to waste.”
Adam hitched up his breeches and began:
“You see, sir, I brought _he_ here by the scruff of the neck.”
“That’s true, sir,” said the little man, rubbing that portion of his
body.
“Because he and I, sir, as is messmates, sir, ’ad a difference of
opinion. It was his day, you see, sir, to cook for our mess, and
instead of putting on the pot, sir, he comes to me he does, and he says
‘Adam, you blooming father of a race of fools’—that’s what he says,
sir, a-comparing of me to the gent who lived in a garden—‘why don’t you
come and take the —— skins off the —— taters, instead of a-squatting of
yourself down on that there —— bed!’”
“Slightly in error, sir,” broke in the little man, suavely; “our big
friend’s memory is not as substantial as his form. What I said was, ‘My
_dear_ Adam, as I see you have nothing to occupy your time, except sit
and play a jew’s-harp upon your _couch,_ would you be so kind as to
come and assist me to remove the outer integument of these potatoes?’”
Ernest began to explode, but checked himself, and said sternly:
“Don’t talk nonsense, Adam; tell me your complaint.”
“Well, sir,” answered the big sailor, scratching his head, “if I must
give it a name, it is this—this here man, sir, be too _infarnal
sargustic_.”
“Be off with you both,” said Ernest, sternly, “and don’t trouble me
with any such nonsense again, or I will put you both under arrest, and
stop your pay. Come, march!” and he pointed to the door. As he did so
he observed a Boer gallop swiftly past the house, and take the turn to
Government House.
“What is up now?” he wondered.
Half an hour afterwards another man passed the window, also at full
gallop, and also turned up towards Government House. Another half-hour
passed, and Mr. Alston came hurrying in.
“Look here, Ernest,” he said, “here is a pretty business. Three men
have come in to report that Cetewayo has sent an Impi (army) round by
the back of Secocoeni’s country to burn Pretoria, and return to
Zululand across the High Veldt. They say that the Impi is now resting
in the Saltpan Bush, about twenty miles off, and will attack the town
to-night or to-morrow night. All these three, who have, by the way, had
no communication with each other, state that they have actually seen
the captains of the Impi, who came to tell them to bid the other
Dutchmen stand aside, as they are now fighting the Queen, and they
would not be hurt.”
“It seems incredible,” said Ernest; “do you believe it?”
“I don’t know. It is possible, and the evidence is strong. It is
possible; I have known the Zulus make longer marches than that. The
Governor has ordered me to gallop to the spot, and report if I can see
anything of this Impi.”
“Am I to go too?”
“No, you will remain in the corps. I take Roger with me—he is a light
weight—and two spare horses. If there should be an attack and I should
not be back, or if anything should happen, you will do your duty.”
“Yes.”
“Good-bye. I am off. You had better muster the men to be ready for an
emergency;” and he was gone.
Ten minutes afterwards, down came an orderly from the officer
commanding, with a peremptory order to the effect that the officer
commanding Alston’s Horse was to mount and parade his men in readiness
for immediate service.
“Here is a pretty go,” thought Ernest, “and the horses not served out
yet!”
Just then Jeremy came in, saluted, and informed him that the men were
mustered.
“Serve out the saddlery. Let every man shoulder his saddle. Tell
Mazooku to bring out the ‘Devil’ (Ernest’s favourite horse), and march
the men up to the Government stables. I will be with you presently.”
Jeremy saluted again with much ceremony and vanished. He was the most
punctilious sergeant-major who ever breathed.
Twenty minutes later, a long file of men, each with a carbine slung to
his back, and a saddle on his head, which, at a distance, gave them the
appearance of a string of gigantic mushrooms, were to be seen
proceeding towards the Government stables a mile away.
Ernest, mounted on his great black stallion, and looking, in his
military uniform and the revolver slung across his shoulders, a typical
volunteer officer, was there before them.
“Now, my men,” he said, as soon as they were paraded, “go in, and each
man choose the horse which he likes best, bridle him, and bring him out
and saddle him. Sharp!”
The men broke their ranks and rushed to the stables, each anxious to
secure a better horse than his neighbours. Presently from the stables
there arose a sound of kicking, plunging, and “wo-hoing” impossible to
describe.
“There will be a pretty scene soon, with these unbroken brutes,”
thought Ernest.
He was not destined to be disappointed. The horses were dragged out,
most of them lying back upon their haunches, kicking, bucking, and
going through every other equine antic.
“Saddle up!” shouted Ernest, as soon as they were all out.
It was done with great difficulty.
“Now mount.”
Sixty men lifted their legs and swung themselves into the saddle, not
without sad misgivings. A few seconds passed, and at least twenty of
them were on the broad of their backs; one or two were being dragged by
the stirrup-leather; a few were clinging to their bucking and plunging
steeds; and the remainder of Alston’s Horse was scouring the plain in
every possible direction. Never was there such a scene.
In time, however, most of the men got back again, and some sort of
order was restored. Several men were hurt, one or two badly. These were
sent to the hospital, and Ernest formed the rest into half-sections, to
be marched to the place of rendezvous. Just then, to make matters
better, down came the rain in sheets, soaking them to the skin, and
making confusion worse confounded. So they rode to the town, which was
by this time in an extraordinary state of panic. All business was
suspended; women were standing about on the verandahs, hugging their
babies and crying, or making preparations to go into laager; men were
hiding deeds and valuables, or hurrying to defence meetings on the
market-square, where the Government were serving out rifles and
ammunition to all able-bodied citizens; frightened mobs of Basutos and
Christian Kafirs were jabbering in the streets, and telling tales of
the completeness of Zulu slaughter, or else running from the city to
pass the night among the hills. Altogether the scene was most curious,
till dense darkness came down over it like an extinguisher, and put it
out.
Ernest took his men to a building which the Government had placed at
their disposal, and had the horses stabled, but not unsaddled.
Presently orders came down to him to keep the corps under arms all
night; to send out four patrols, to be relieved at midnight, to watch
the approaches to the town; and at dawn to saddle up and reconnoitre
the neighbouring country.
Ernest obeyed these orders as well as he could; that is, he sent the
patrols out, but so dense was the darkness that they never got back
again till the following morning, when they were collected, and, in one
instance, dug out of the various ditches, quarry-holes, &c., into which
they had fallen.
About eleven o’clock Ernest was seated in a little room that opened out
of the main building where they were quartered, consulting with Jeremy
about matters connected with the corps, and wondering if Alston had
found a Zulu Impi, or if it was all gammon when suddenly they heard the
sharp challenge of the sentry outside:
“Who goes there?”
“Whoever it is had better answer sharp,” said Ernest; “I gave the
sentry orders to be quick with his rifle to-night.”
Bang!—crash! followed by loud howls of “Wilhelmina, my wife! Ah, the
cruel man has killed my Wilhelmina!”
“Heavens, it is that lunatic German! Here, orderly, run up to the
Defence Committee and the Government offices, and tell them that it is
nothing; they will think the Zulus are here. Tell two men to bring the
man in here, and to stop his howls.”
Presently Ernest’s old friend of the High Veldt, looking very wild and
uncouth in the lamplight, with his long beard and matted hair, from
which the rain was dripping, was bundled rather unceremoniously into
the room.
“Ah, there you are, dear sir; it is two—three years since we meet. I
look for you everywhere, and they tell me you are here, and I come on
quick all through the dark and the rain; and then before I know if I am
on my head or my heel, the cruel man he ups a rifle, and do shoot my
Wilhelmina, and make a great hole through her poor stomach. O sir, wat
shall I do?” and the great child began to shed tears; “you, too, will
weep: you, too, love my Wilhelmina, and sleep with her one
night—bo-hoo!”
“For goodness’ sake, stop that nonsense! This is no time or place for
such fooling.”
He spoke sharply, and the monomaniac pulled up, only giving vent to an
occasional sob.
“Now, what is your business with me?”
The German’s face changed from its expression of idiotic grief to one
of refined intelligence. He glanced towards Jeremy, who was exploding
in the corner.
“You can speak before this gentleman, Hans,” said Ernest.
“Sir, I am going to say a strange thing to you this night.”
He was speaking quite quietly and composedly now, and might have been
mistaken for a sane man.
“Sir, I hear that you go down to Zululand to help to fight the fierce
Zulus. When I hear it, I was far away, but something come into my head
to travel as quick as Wilhelmina can, and come and tell you not to go.”
“What do you mean?”
“How can I say what I do mean? This I know—many shall go down to
Zululand who rest in this house to-night, few shall come back.”
“You mean that I shall be killed?”
“I know not. There are things as bad as death, and yet not death.”
He covered his eyes with his hand, and continued:
“I cannot _see_ you dead, but do not go; I pray you do not go.”
“My good Hans, what is the good of coming to me with such an old wives’
tale? Even if it were true, and I knew that I must be killed twenty
times, I should go. I cannot run away from my duty.”
“That is spoken as a brave man should,” answered his visitor, in his
native tongue. “I have done _my_ duty, and told you what Wilhelmina
said. Now go, and when the black men are leaping up at you like the
sea-waves round a rock, may the God of Rest guide your hand, and bring
you safe from the slaughter!”
Ernest gazed at the old man’s pale face; it wore a curious rapt
expression, and the eyes were looking upwards.
“Perhaps, old friend,” he said, addressing him in German, “I, as well
as you, have a City of Rest which I would reach, and care not if I pass
thither on an assegai.”
“I know it,” replied Hans, in the same tongue; “but useless is it to
seek rest till God gives it. You have sought and passed through the
jaws of many deaths, but you have not found. If it be not God’s will,
you will not find it now. I know you too seek rest, my brother, and had
I known that you would find that only down there”—and he pointed
towards Zululand—“I had not come down to warn you, for blessed is rest,
and happy he who gains it. But no, it is not that; I am sure now that
you will not die; your evil, whatever it is, will fall from heaven.”
“So be it,” said Ernest; “you are a strange man. I thought you a common
monomaniac, and now you speak like a prophet.”
The old man smiled.
“You are right; I am both. Mostly I am mad. I know it. But sometimes my
madness has its moments of inspiration, when the clouds lift from my
mind, and I see things none others can see, and hear voices to which
your ears are deaf. Such a moment is on me now; soon I shall be mad
again. But before the cloud settles I would speak to you. Why, I know
not, save that I loved you when first I saw your eyes open there upon
the cold veldt. Presently I must go, and we shall meet no more, for I
draw near to the snow-clad tree that marks the gate of the City of
Rest. I can look into your heart now and see the trouble in it, and the
sad, beautiful face that is printed on your mind. Ah, she is not happy;
she, too, must work out her rest. But the time is short, the cloud
settles, and I would tell you what is in my mind. Even though trouble,
great trouble, close you in, do not be cast down, for trouble is the
key of heaven. Be good; turn to the God you have neglected; struggle
against the snares of the senses. O, I can see now! For you and for all
you love there is joy and there is peace!”
Suddenly he broke off; the look of inspiration faded from his face,
which grew stupid and wild-looking.
“Ah, the cruel man; he made a great hole in the stomach of my
Wilhelmina!”
Ernest had been bending forwards, listening with parted lips to the old
man’s talk. When he saw that the inspiration had left him, he raised
his head and said:
“Gather yourself together, I beg you, for a moment. I wish to ask one
question. Shall I ever——”
“How shall I stop de bleeding from the witals of my dear wife?—who will
plug up the hole in her?”
Ernest gazed at the man. Was he putting all this on?—or was he really
mad? For the life of him he could not tell.
Taking out a sovereign, he gave it to him.
“There is money to doctor Wilhelmina with,” he said. “Would you like to
sleep here?—I can give you a blanket.”
The old man took the money without hesitation, and thanked Ernest for
it, but said he must go on at once.
“Where are you going to?” asked Jeremy, who had been watching him with
great curiosity, but had not understood that part of the conversation
which had been carried on in German.
Hans turned upon him with a quick look of suspicion.
“Rustenburg” (_Anglicè,_ the town of rest), he answered.
“Indeed! the road is bad, and it is far to travel.”
“Yes,” he replied, “the road is rough and long. Farewell!” And he was
gone.
“Well, he is a curious old buster, and no mistake, with his cheerful
anticipations and his Wilhelmina,” reflected Jeremy, aloud. “Just fancy
starting for Rustenburg at this hour of the night, too! Why it is a
hundred miles off!”
Ernest only smiled. He knew that it was no earthly Rustenburg that the
old man sought.
Some while afterwards he heard that Hans had attained the rest which he
desired. Wilhelmina got fixed in a snowdrift in a pass of the
Drakensberg. He was unable to drag her out.
So he crept underneath and fell asleep, and the snow came down and
covered them.