RALPH FINDS THE DREAM MOUNTAIN
Now I must go back to that evening when we learned the great tidings
from the lips of the lad Gaasha, whose life Ralph had saved after the
attack by the Kaffirs upon the laager. There sat Gaasha on the ground
staring, and there, not far away, Ralph was lying in his swoon, while
Jan and I looked at each other like people who have suddenly beheld a
sign from heaven.
“What evil magic is there in my words,” said Gaasha presently, “that
they should strike the Baas yonder dead like a spear?”
“He is not dead,” I answered, “but for long he has sought that mountain
Umpondwana of which you speak. Tell us now, did you hear of any white
woman dwelling with the chieftainess Sihamba?”
“No, lady, I heard of none.”
This answer of Gaasha’s saddened me, for I made sure that if so strange
a thing had happened as that a white woman had come to live among his
tribe, the man who told him of the return of Sihamba would have told
him of this also. Therefore, so I argued, either Suzanne was dead or
she was in the power of Piet Van Vooren, or Sihamba had deserted her,
though this last I did not believe. As it turned out afterwards, had
not Gaasha been the stupidest of Kaffirs, we should have been saved
those long days of doubt and trouble, for though he had not heard that
Sihamba was accompanied by a white woman, he had heard that she brought
with her a white _bird_ to the mountain Umpondwana. Of course if he had
told us this we should have guessed that the white bird could be none
other than Suzanne, whose native name was Swallow.
Well, we set about reviving Ralph, which was done by throwing water on
to his face. When he had found his senses again I prayed him not to
suffer himself to be carried away with hope, since although Gaasha had
heard of Sihamba, he had heard nothing of Suzanne.
To this he answered that now when God had pointed out to him the
mountain of his vision and in so strange a manner, he had no fear but
that he would find his wife upon it, since God was merciful and did not
desire to mock or torment His servants.
I replied that I trusted it might be so, but the ways of the Almighty
were beyond our understanding, nor did it become us to pass judgment
upon them. Ralph scarcely heeded my words, but, springing to his feet,
said:
“Come, let us be going to the mountain Umpondwana.”
“First we must consult with the commandant and get aid from him,” said
Jan, “for it would not be safe that we should wander into these wild
places alone, where there are many Kaffirs who doubtless would murder
us.”
In his eagerness Ralph would not listen to this, for he desired to
start at once. But I pointed out to him that we had no horses, all ours
being dead of the sickness; moreover, that the night was dark, and we
could not trek till the moon rose, so at length he consented. Then we
went into the laager, and Jan called the older men together in a quiet
place.
“What is it, Heer Botmar?” asked the commandant when they were
assembled.
“It is this, cousin,” said Jan. “I desire to ask you to go a three
days’ trek out of your march to a mountain called Umpondwana, whither
this servant of mine, Gaasha, can guide you.”
“For what reason?” asked the commandant astonished.
“Friend,” said Jan, “you have all of you heard the story of how that
outcast devil Piet Van Vooren, stole away my only child, Suzanne, the
wife of Ralph Kenzie the Englishman here.”
“That is an old tale,” said the commandant, “and, doubtless, the poor
girl is dead long ago; why then do you speak of it now, and what has it
to do with your request that we should trek to the mountain
Umpondwana?”
“Only this, cousin; we think that my daughter Suzanne is living there
among the Kaffirs, and we seek to rescue her. At least this is certain,
for only now we have learnt it from the lips of Gaasha that Sihamba,
her friend and servant whom we believe was with her, rules over this
tribe as chieftainess.”
“That may be so,” said the commandant, “but did Gaasha tell you that
your daughter was there also?”
“No,” answered Jan.
“Then how do you know it?”
Now Jan hesitated and turned red as he replied:
“We know it because Ralph Kenzie here saw this very mountain in a
vision more than two years ago, and in that vision was told that there
he would find the wife who was taken from him on his marriage day.”
Now, on hearing this most of the Boers broke out laughing, for, though
very religious, we are not a people who place faith in visions.
Thereupon I grew angry, and spoke to them more strongly, perhaps, than
I should have done, reducing them to silence, for they were all of them
a little afraid of my tongue. Also I told them the story of that dream
of Ralph’s and of what had just passed with Gaasha, showing them that
there was more in it than they imagined. After I had done Ralph spoke
also, saying:
“Friends, doubtless this tale sounds foolish in your ears; but I ask
what has been my nickname among you? Has it not been ‘Man of the
Mountain,’ because I have always spoken and inquired for a certain
mountain which had ridges on it shaped like the fingers of a man’s
hand, and have you not thought me mad for this reason? Now I have heard
of such a mountain and I have heard also that Sihamba, who was with my
wife, rules there as chieftainess. Is it strange, therefore, that I,
believing now as ever in that vision, should wish to visit this
mountain where, as I am sure, I shall find the wife that is lost to
me?”
After this the Boers laughed no more but consulted apart till at last
the elder, Heer Celliers, spoke.
“Heeren Botmar and Kenzie,” he said, “of all this story of a vision we
can say little. For aught we know it may be true, but if true then it
is the work of magic and we will have nothing to do with it. Should you
wish to go to seek this mountain Umpondwana you must go alone, for we
cannot alter our plans to trek there with you. But we counsel you not
to go, since no good can come of visions and magic.”
When I heard this I answered him back, but Jan and Ralph went away, and
presently I found them talking together outside the laager.
“Let me go alone,” Ralph was saying.
“Nay,” Jan answered, “I will accompany you, for two are better than
one; also I shall not sleep till I find out the truth and know whether
Suzanne lives or is dead.”
“Indeed! and what is to become of me?” I asked.
“You, vrouw, can stop with the neighbours here, and we will join you in
Natal.”
“You will do no such thing, Jan Botmar,” I answered, “for where you two
go there I can go. What! Am I not sick also with love for my daughter
and anxious to learn her fate?”
“As you will, wife,” answered Jan; “perhaps it is well that we three
should not separate who have been together always,” and he went to see
about the waggon.
As soon as the moon rose, which was about eleven o’clock, the oxen were
inspanned. Before we started, however, several of our friends came
praying us not to venture on so perilous a journey; indeed, they
threatened even to use force to prevent us, and I think would have done
so had not Jan told them outright that we were our own masters and free
to go where we wished. So they departed, grieving over our obstinacy,
and little guessing that their danger was far greater than our own,
since as it chanced just as they had trekked through the Van Reenen’s
Pass a few days later a Zulu impi, returning from the Weenen massacres,
fell upon them unawares and killed more than half their number before
they were beaten off.
So we trekked with the moon, Gaasha guiding us, and did not outspan
till dawn. As I have said, we had no horses, but never until I made
that journey did it come home to me how slow are oxen, for never before
then was I in a hurry, nor, indeed, have I been since that time. It is
the Englishmen who are always in a hurry, and that is one of the
reasons why we Boers are so superior to them, and when we choose can
master them in everything, except shopkeeping, and especially in
fighting. Well, at the best the cattle could not drag the waggon over
the roadless veldt at a greater rate than two miles an hour, or cover
more than twenty miles a day in all. It was pitiful to see Ralph’s
impatience; again and again he walked on and returned; indeed, had we
allowed it, I think that he would have pressed forward on foot, leaving
us to follow in the waggon.
At daylight on the third day we inspanned as usual, and trekked through
the morning mists until the sun sucked them up. Then Gaasha, who was
sitting on the waggon-box beside Ralph, touched his shoulder, and
pointed before him. Ralph looked, and far away upon the plain saw what
seemed to be a white cloud, above which towered the flat cliffs of a
mountain of red rock.
“See, Baas,” he said, “yonder is Umpondwana, my home, and now by
nightfall I shall know whether my parents are still alive, or, if they
are dead, whether they have left any cattle that I can claim by law,”
and he began to whistle cheerfully.
“And I,” said Ralph aloud, “shall know whether my life is to be a
heaven or a hell,” and all day long, neither eating nor drinking, he
sat upon the waggon-box and stared at the mountain, not lifting his
eyes from it.
It was about one o’clock in the afternoon when we seemed to be quite
close to the green flanks of Umpondwana, that of a sudden we cut a wide
spoor trampled by thousands of naked feet. Jan and Gaasha got off the
waggon to examine it, but Ralph did not move.
“An impi has passed here,” said Jan presently.
“Yes, and a Zulu impi as I think, Baas, but more than one whole day
ago,” and Gaasha began to hunt about amongst some low bushes which grew
near the trail. Presently he held up his hand and shouted, and Jan ran
to him.
“Look, Baas,” he said, pointing to a bush.
Jan looked, and there beneath the bush lay a man, a Zulu soldier, for
his tall grey plume was still fixed upon his head, and near him was his
broad assegai. At that moment the man, who was still alive, although he
was very near his death from dysentry, seemed to hear, for he sat up
and opened his eyes, saying, “_Manzie, umlungho, manzie_.” (Water,
white man, water.)
“Bring a pannikin of water, here lies a sick Kaffir,” shouted Jan to
Ralph, who was still seated on the waggon-box staring at the mountain.
Ralph brought the water, and the soldier drank it greedily.
“Who are you, and how come you here?” asked Jan.
“I am a soldier of Dingaan,” answered the man, “but when we were
attacking the little people on that mountain I fell sick. Still I came
away with the impi, but here my strength failed me, and here I have
lain for a round of the sun and a round of the moon. I begged them to
kill me, but my brothers would not, for they said that I might recover
and join them.”
“Where have they gone?” asked Jan.
“They have gone to eat up the Boers in Natal,” the Zulu answered in a
hollow voice, his empty eyes wandering towards the mountains of the
Quathlamba range. “Yes, they have gone to do the King’s bidding on the
white men, for his word came to us while we besieged yonder stronghold.
To-morrow at the dawn they attack the little laager beneath the white
koppie by the banks of the Tugela, and I must reach them by then—yes,
yes, now I am strong again, and I shall attack with them to-morrow at
the dawn. Farewell, white men, I will not kill you because you gave me
the water which has made me strong again,” and, rising from the ground,
he grasped his spear and started forward at a run.
“Stay,” cried Ralph. “I would question you as to what has happened on
that mountain;” but the man did not seem to hear him. For thirty paces
or so he ran on, then suddenly he halted and saluted with his spear,
crying in a loud voice:
“Chief, I report myself, I am present.”
Next he stretched his arms wide and fell forward upon his face. When
they reached him he was quite dead.
“This is a strange story that we have heard about the Zulus and the
folk in Natal,” said Jan, rubbing his forehead.
“I think that the man was wandering in his mind,” answered Ralph,
“still there may be truth in it; but, father,” he added, with a gasp of
fear, and, catching Jan by the arm, “what has happened on the mountain
Umpondwana? The Zulus have been there, and—what has happened on the
mountain?”
Jan shook his head, but did not answer, for he knew too well what
happens where the Zulu impis pass.
Notwithstanding that Ralph was mad with impatience we halted the waggon
for a few minutes to take counsel, and in the end decided to send the
voorlooper back to the camp which we had left to warn our friends of
what we had learned as to the onslaught on our brethren in Natal,
though we had small faith in the story. But either the lad ran away, or
some accident befell him, or he failed to find the Boers who had
already trekked, at the least our message never reached them, nor did
we see him again. Then we went on, Gaasha leading the oxen as quickly
as they could walk. All that afternoon we travelled almost in silence,
following the spoor of the impi backwards, for our hearts were full of
fear. We met no man, but once or twice we saw groups of cattle
wandering unherded, and this astonished us, giving us hope, for it was
not the custom of a victorious impi to leave the cattle of its enemy
behind it, though if the people of the Umpondwana had conquered, it was
strange that we should see no herds with the beasts.
At length, within two hours of sunset, we passed round the shoulder of
the mountain and beheld its eastern slope.
“It is the very place of my vision,” cried Ralph, and certainly there
before us were the stone ridges shaped like the thumb and fingers of a
man, while between the thumb and first finger gushed the river, upon
the banks of which grew flat-topped green-leaved trees.
“Onward, onward!” he cried again, and, taking the long waggon whip, he
thrashed the oxen till they bellowed in the yokes. But I, who was
seated beneath the tent of the waggon, turned to look behind me, and in
the far distance saw that men were driving herds of cattle towards the
mountains.
“We are too late,” I thought in my heart, “for, without doubt, whether
it be the Zulus or others, the place has been taken, since yonder go
the victors with the cattle. Now they will fall upon us and kill us.
Well, should God will it, so let it be, for if Suzanne is dead indeed I
care little if we die also; and to Ralph at least death will be
welcome, for I think that then death alone can save him from madness.”
Now we had reached the banks of the river, and were trekking up them
towards the spot where it issued from the side of the mountain.
Everywhere was spoor, but we saw no people, although here and there the
vultures were hissing and quarrelling over the bones of a man or a
beast.
“There has been war in this place,” whispered Jan, “and now the peace
of death has fallen upon it,” but Ralph only flogged the weary oxen,
saying nothing.
At length they could drag the waggon no further, for the path grew too
steep for them, whereupon Ralph, seizing the first weapon that came to
hand, which, as it chanced, was the broad assegai that Gaasha had taken
that day from the side of the dead Zulu, ran forward up the trail
followed by Jan and myself. Another two hundred yards and the path took
a turn which led to the entrance of the first scherm, the same that the
Zulus had captured by forcing the passage of the river. The gateway was
open now, and Ralph entered.
At first he could see no one, but presently he heard a voice saying:
“Will you not tell, for death is very near you? Drink, witch, tell and
drink.”
“Fool,” answered another voice, a grating, broken voice, “I say that
death is near to both of us, and since she is saved I die gladly,
taking my secret with me.”
“Then witch, I will try steel,” said the first voice.
Now Ralph looked over the rock from behind which the sound of voices
came and saw the body of a little woman tied to a stone by the edge of
the water, while over her leant a man, a white man, holding a knife in
one hand and in the other a gourd of water, which he now placed close
to her lips, and now withdrew from them. He knew that woman, it was
Sihamba. Just at this moment the man looked up and their eyes met, and
Ralph knew him also.
It was Piet Van Vooren.