THE PLAGUE OF LOCUSTS
THE new arrival was a native, strongly resembling a Cape Kaffir. He
was tall, broad shouldered, and with thin legs--a characteristic
that both lads had remarked on several previous occasions.
His "costume" consisted of a battered bowler, in the hat-band of
which was stuck a tuft of long feathers; a red kersey tunic, with
yellow facings and no buttons; a blue loin-cloth, and an old pair of
pigskin gaiters falling loosely over otherwise bare legs.
In his right hand he carried a cleft stick, in which were inserted a
couple of envelopes. In his left he held a short stabbing assegai,
and a canvas satchel hung across his tunic.
"The Kilembonga postboy," explained Colonel Narfield. "Not a fat
mail for us this time, I'm afraid."
The native, grinning broadly, tendered the forked end of his stick
to the owner of Kilembonga, saluted when the envelopes were handed
over, and set off steadily for the next house--a matter of a mere
thirty-five miles.
"Nothing for you, lads," remarked Colonel Narfield, scanning the two
envelopes. "Letters are a bit erratic out here. We generally get the
English mail on Fridays. This, apparently is a supplementary
delivery. Both these, I see, bear a South African stamp."
The first was merely a business letter. The second, Colonel Narfield
read through twice before handing it to the boys.
It was a letter from Van der Wyck, posted from Mafeking eight days
previously. The Afrikander thanked Colonel Narfield for his kind
invitation, but regretted that his farm required all his attention
during the present season, and that he hoped to find an opportunity
of paying a visit to East Africa after the harvest. Not a word was
mentioned of Colin and Desmond.
"This wants a little explanation," observed the Colonel. "I am
curious to know more about your acquaintance, Van der Wyck, and also
to find out what he knows of the Makoh'lenga country. So, without
mentioning the matter to you, I wrote to the address he gave you,
asking him to pay a visit to Kilembonga."
"Rather a long way to come," observed Colin.
"Yes," replied the Colonel. "I hardly expected that he would accept,
but these Afrikanders are fond of paying visits, especially if they
have a chance of renewing their acquaintance with the country in
which they fought. It would be interesting to learn how many of the
South Africans are contemplating revisiting Flanders, for instance.
"I don't mind admitting that I'm changing my opinion of Van der
Wyck. I honestly thought that what he told you about the Makoh'lenga
was all eye-wash; but there's something about that swastika of
yours, Colin, that requires a considerable amount of explanation.
The natives about here seem to hold the thing in awe. Witness
Sibenga and his headman; both of them were greatly impressed by it.
Then, again, from what you told me, Van der Wyck tried to dissuade
you from coming into contact with the Makoh'lenga. Why? Evidently he
knows more about them than I do. That's not much, as far as I'm
concerned, I'll admit; but if they, or, at any rate, one section of
the tribe, possess some priceless secret, I'd like to fathom it.
"Directly we get a chance, lads, we'll have a little expedition into
the Makoh'lenga country--taking due precautions--and see if your
swastika commands as much respect as it does amongst the natives
around Kilembonga."
A little later on Colin and Tiny had an opportunity of discussing
the matter between themselves.
"I wonder why the Colonel did write?" remarked Colin.
"P'raps he had his suspicion," suggested Desmond. "About that train
hold-up, I mean."
"If he did, he's jolly well mistaken," rejoined Sinclair. "We were a
bit doubtful about it, you'll remember; but I'm dashed if I am now.
It is impossible for a man to be at Mafeking and within a few miles
off Tabora within twenty-four hours, unless he flew in an aeroplane.
And it's a dead cert. he didn't, 'cause someone would have been sure
to spot the machine--the natives especially. The news would spread
all over the country in a few hours."
"How?" asked Desmond.
"Ask me another," replied his chum. "All I know is that news is
communicated by the natives with marvellous rapidity. The boys here
knew that Colonel Narfield's car was burned within an hour of the
accident, and you know we didn't leave the spot until dawn. No, it's
my firm belief that Van der Wyck is white. The fellow who didn't
relieve us of our spare cash and gear was like him in a good many
respects, but it couldn't possibly have been Van der Wyck."
"Did you notice he didn't send us a message or even refer to us in
his letter?" asked Desmond. "That was strange, wasn't it?"
"Yes," admitted Colin. "It was. There's no getting away from that
fact. Possibly he was in a hurry and clean forgot. We'll have a line
from him in due course, never fear ... I say, what's that? A dust
storm?"
He pointed to a dark cloud moving close to the ground at a distance
of a mile or a mile and a half from the house.
"Goodness knows!" replied Tiny. "It looks weird. Here's Tenpenny
Nail. Let's ask him."
The Haussa, carrying two buckets full of water, was crossing the
courtyard. At a shout from the lads he put down his burden and ran
up.
"What's that, Tenpenny Nail?" asked Colin, pointing to the dark
cloud, which, instead of coming straight towards the house (the wind
was blowing in that direction), was moving obliquely, so that it
seemed likely that the phenomenon would not approach sufficiently
near to admit of a personal investigation.
For perhaps fifteen seconds Tenpenny Nail looked. Then a broad grin
overspread his features.
"Him locust, Massa Colin," he replied. "Me go tell Colonel one time
quick."
Then, with a haste that the broad grin belied, the Haussa ran
towards the house. He reappeared quickly at the heels of Colonel
Narfield, who was shouting for the rest of the "boys" to turn out
and look sharp about it.
Catching sight of Colin and Desmond, the Colonel called to them to
rout out everyone they could find.
"Set up a barrage of fire, lads," he added. "It's our only chance.
If those insects do come this way, there won't be so much as a blade
of grass nor a bit of green stuff left; and we haven't too much to
lose as it is."
For the next few minutes all was rush and hurry. The natives, fully
alive to the seriousness of the situation, brought out bundles of
straw and cane. These they steeped with paraffin and laid in a huge
ring, completely enclosing, but at a safe distance from the outer
fence.
By the time these precautions were made, the locusts had changed
directions and, avoiding the bare, sun-baked veldt, began to bear
down upon the fields comprising part of the Kilembonga Estate.
Before them, terrified by the unusual sight of a wall of insects,
came deer of all sorts. Had the lads not been otherwise engaged,
they could have kept the larder going for a week, because,
neglecting their ordinary sense of caution, the animals dashed by
within a few yards of the still busily-employed men.
The swarm of locusts appeared to increase both in breadth and
height. The sky was dark with them--a living, seething rampart that
left utter desolation in the vegetable world in its track.
A dozen or more fires were started at once. Twenty feet or more the
flames leapt skywards, topped by dense clouds of suffocating smoke.
Thousands, perhaps tens of thousands and even millions of locusts
failed to pass the formidable barrier, but others did, until Colin
and Desmond could hardly distinguish the insects from the smoke.
The hot, smoke-laden air was stiff with locusts. They swarmed
everywhere, beating against the men's faces, dying in swarms until
their corpses covered the ground to a depth of five or six inches.
Desperately everyone strove to keep the invaders at bay, but the
task was a superhuman one. In half a dozen places a solid phalanx of
locusts penetrated the ring of fire. Reckless of the death-dealing
blows the natives delivered by means of sticks and branches, the
insects began their work of destruction. The green blades of
the growing maize simply vanished.
At length the survivors of the swarm disappeared, leaving behind a
gaunt expanse of ground piled deep with corpses. There remained a
scene of desolation. The buildings were, of course, untouched, but
every blade of grass, every vestige of vegetation had been devoured.
There was no rest for the weary smoke-dried men. The work of
clearing up had to be commenced immediately. The dead locusts were
picked up in shovelfuls and thrown into the fire. This was a
precaution that, if neglected, would certainly cause a devastating
disease should the dead insects putrefy.
It was nearly night before the task was completed. Colin and Desmond
had learnt a practical lesson of what a plague of locusts meant. All
ordinary work was at a standstill, while the destruction done by the
insects had cost Colonel Narfield at least a couple of hundred
pounds.
Nor did the trouble end there. Sibenga's kraal had been raided by
the locusts with dire results. A witch-doctor, summoned by the
chief, gave his decision as to the cause of the visitation. It was,
he declared, caused by evil spirits, brought into the country by
white men, and until the white men were driven out Sibenga would not
prosper.
Drunk with native beer, Sibenga's followers applauded the witch
doctor, and called on their chief to lead them against their nearest
white neighbours. And these lived at Kilembonga.