ATTACK ON A WAGGON-TRAIN.
"Sergeant Blunt, you will take a detachment of fourteen men, ride down
to Port Elizabeth, and escort some waggons back here. There will be a
party of native levies to come back with you, so that they, with your
party, will make a pretty strong force. The dangerous point is, of
course, the Addoo Bush. It is, I hear, full of these Kaffir villains.
Going down you will pass through it by daylight; and, travelling fast,
there is no fear of their interfering with a party like yours. Coming
back the Fingoes will let you know of any danger, and I should hardly
think that the natives will venture to attack so strong a party; still,
as the waggons will be laden with ammunition, and these fellows always
seem in some way or other to know exactly what is going on, you cannot
be too careful."
"Very well, sir. I will do my best in the matter."
An hour later Ronald started with the detachment. They travelled
rapidly, and reached Port Elizabeth on the third day after starting,
without any adventure whatever. The waggons were not ready to start, for
a heavy sea was setting in, and the boats could not continue the work of
unloading the ship that had arrived with the ammunition two days before.
Ronald, after seeing that the horses were well cared for, the rations
served out, and the cooking commenced, strolled down to the beach to
watch the heavy surf breaking on the shore.
The encampment of the native levies was on the shore, and a white
officer was inspecting their arms when Ronald arrived. He stood for some
time watching the motley group of Fingoes; some of them were in
blankets, others in karosses of cow skin, many with feathers stuck in
their hair, all grinning and highly amused at the efforts of their
officer to get them to stand in regular line, and to hold their muskets
at an even slope on their shoulders. Some of their wives were looking on
and laughing; others were squatting about by the shelters they had
erected, cooking mealies for dinner. The officer, who was quite a young
man, seeing Ronald looking on, said, ruefully:
"I don't think there is any making soldiers out of these fellows,
sergeant."
"I don't think they would be any the better for it if you could, sir,"
Ronald said. "The fellows will fight after their own fashion, and I do
not think any amount of drill would improve them in the slightest; in
fact, it would only puzzle and confuse them to try to teach them our
discipline. They must skirmish with the Kaffirs in Kaffir fashion. When
it comes to regular fighting, it must be done by the troops. All you can
expect of the native levies is that they shall act as our scouts, find
out where the enemy are hiding, prevent surprises, and pursue them when
we have defeated them."
"Do they not try to drill them up at the front?"
"Not at all, sir. It would be quite useless to attempt it. So that they
attend on parade in the right number--and their own head man looks after
that--nothing more is expected of them. They march in a straggling body
anyhow, and when it comes to fighting, they fight in their own way, and
a very useful way it is."
"Well, I am very glad to hear you say so, sergeant. I have been doing
the best I can to give them some idea of drill; but I have, as you see,
failed altogether. I had no orders except to take command of these
fellows, but I supposed I was expected to drill them to some extent;
still, if you say they have given it up as hopeless in the front, I need
not bother myself about it."
"I don't think you need, sir. I can assure you that no attempt is made
to drill them in that way at the front."
The young officer, with an air of relief, at once dismissed the natives
from parade.
"I am in charge of the party of Rifles going up with you to-morrow, sir,
or at least as soon as the waggons are ready for you."
"Oh, is it you, sergeant? I heard that a detachment of your corps were
to accompany us. I suppose you have just arrived from King
Williamstown?"
"I came in about an hour ago, sir, and have just been seeing that the
men were comfortable."
"Did you meet with any Kaffirs on the way down?"
"We saw no sign of them. We came through the Addoo Bush, which is the
most dangerous point, at a trot. Not that there was much chance of their
attacking us. The natives seldom attack unless there is something to be
got by it; but we shall have to be careful as we go back. We shall be a
fairly strong party, but others as strong have been attacked; and the
fact of our having ammunition--the thing of all others they want--is, of
course, against us."
"But how will they know that we are carrying ammunition?"
"From the Hottentots, who keep them informed of everything," Ronald
said. "At least, we have no doubt whatever that it is the Hottentots. Of
course, the General doesn't think so. If he did, I suppose he would keep
them out of camp; but there is only one opinion in the ranks about it."
The conversation was interrupted by yells and screams from the natives,
and a general rush down to the beach.
"There is something the matter," the young officer exclaimed; and he and
Ronald ran down to the edge of the water.
They soon saw what was the occasion of the alarm among the natives. Some
of the women and boys had been down at the edge of the surf, collecting
bits of wood, as they were thrown up, for their fires. A boy of some
fourteen years of age had seen a larger piece than usual approaching the
shore, and just as a wave had borne it in, he made a dash into the
water, eager to be the first to capture the prize. Ignorant, however, of
the force of the water, he had been instantly swept off his feet by the
back rush of the wave. The next roller had carried him some little
distance up, and then borne him out again, and he was now in the midst
of the surf. He could swim a little, but was helpless in the midst of
such a sea as this. The natives on the beach were in a state of the
wildest excitement; the women filled the air with their shrill screams,
the men shouted and gesticulated.
"Nothing can save him," the officer said, shaking his head. Ronald
looked round; there was no rope lying anywhere on the shore.
"There's just a chance, I think," he said, throwing off his belt, tunic,
and boots. "Make these fellows join hand in hand, sir; I will swim out
to him--he's nearly gone now--and bring him in. We shall be rolled over
and over, but if the line of men can grab us and prevent the
under-current from carrying us out again, it will be all right."
The officer was about to remonstrate, but Ronald, seizing the moment
when a wave had just swept back, rushed in, sprang head foremost into
the great wall of approaching water, and in half a minute later appeared
some distance out. A few vigorous strokes took him to the side of the
drowning boy, whom he seized by his shoulders; then he looked towards
the shore. The young officer, unable to obtain a hearing from the
excited Fingoes, was using his cane vigorously on their shoulders, and
presently succeeded in getting them to form a line, holding each other
by the hands. He took his place at their head, and then waved his hand
to Ronald as a sign that he was ready.
Good swimmer as he was, the latter could not have kept much longer
afloat in such a sea; and was obliged to continue to swim from shore to
prevent himself from being cast up by each wave which swept under him
like a racehorse, covering him and his now insensible burden. The moment
he saw that the line was formed he pulled the boy to him and grasped him
tightly; then he laid himself broadside to the sea, and the next roller
swept him along with resistless force on to the beach. He was rolled
over and over like a straw, and just as he felt that the impetus had
abated, and he was again beginning to move seaward, an arm seized him.
For a few seconds the strain was tremendous, and he thought he would be
torn from the friendly grasp; then the pressure of the water diminished
and he felt himself dragged along, and a few seconds later was beyond
the reach of the water. He was soon up on his feet, feeling bruised,
shaken, and giddy; the natives, who had yelled with joy as they dragged
him from the water, now burst into wailings as they saw that the boy
was, as they thought, dead.
"Carry him straight up to the fires," Ronald said as soon as he
recovered his shaken faculties.
The order was at once obeyed. As soon as he was laid down, Ronald seized
the blanket from one of the men's shoulders, and set the natives to rub
the boy's limbs and body vigorously; then he rolled him in two or three
other blankets, and telling the men to keep on rubbing the feet, began
to carry out the established method for restoring respiration, by
drawing the boy's arms above his head, and then bringing them down and
pressing them against his ribs. In a few minutes there was a faint sigh,
a little later on an attempt to cough, and then the boy got rid of a
quantity of sea water.
"He will do now," Ronald said. "Keep on rubbing him, and he will be all
right in a quarter of an hour." As Ronald rose to his feet a woman threw
herself down on her knees beside him, and seizing his hand pressed it to
her forehead, pouring out a torrent of words wholly beyond his
comprehension, for although he had by this time acquired some slight
acquaintance with the language, he was unable to follow it when spoken
so volubly. He had no doubt whatever that the woman was the boy's
mother, and that she was thanking him for having preserved his life. Not
less excited was a native who stood beside him.
"This is their head man," the officer interpreted; "he is the boy's
father, and says that his life is now yours, and that he is ready to
give it at any time. This is a very gallant business, sergeant, and I
wish I had the pluck to have done it myself. I shall, of course, send in
a report about your conduct. Now come to my tent. I can let you have a
shirt and pair of trousers while yours are being dried."
"Thank you, sir; they will dry of themselves in a very few minutes. I
feel cooler and more comfortable than I have done for a long time; ten
minutes under this blazing sun will dry them thoroughly."
It was another two days before the sea subsided sufficiently for the
surf-boats to bring the ammunition to shore, and during that time the
chief's wife came several times up to the barracks, each time bringing a
fowl as a present to Ronald.
"What does that woman mean, sergeant?" one of the men asked on the
occasion of her second visit. "Has she fallen in love with you? She
takes a practical way of showing her affection. I shouldn't mind if two
or three of them were to fall in love with me on the same terms."
Ronald laughed.
"No, her son got into the water yesterday, and I picked him out, and
this is her way of showing her gratitude."
"I wonder where she got the fowls from," the trooper said. "I haven't
seen one for sale in the town anywhere."
"She stole them, of course," another trooper put in, "or at least if she
didn't steal them herself she got some of the others to do it for her.
The natives are all thieves, man, woman, and child; they are regularly
trained to it. Sometimes fathers will lay wagers with each other as to
the cleverness of their children; each one backs his boy to steal
something out of the other's hut first, and in spite of the sharp watch
you may be sure they keep up, it is very seldom the youngsters fail in
carrying off something unobserved. It's a disgrace in a native's eyes to
be caught thieving; but there's no disgrace whatever, rather the
contrary, in the act itself. There's only one thing that they are as
clever at as thieving, and that is lying. The calmness with which a
native will tell a good circumstantial lie is enough to take one's
breath away."
Ronald knew enough of the natives to feel that it was probable enough
that the fowls were stolen; but his sense of morality was not
sufficiently keen for him to hurt the woman's feelings by rejecting her
offerings.
"The Kaffirs have proved themselves such an ungrateful set of
scoundrels," he argued to himself, "that it is refreshing to see an
exception for once."
As soon as the ammunition was on shore it was loaded into three waggons,
and on the following morning the party started. It was slow work, after
the rapid pace at which Ronald and his men had come down from King
Williamstown, and the halting-places were the same as those at which the
troop had encamped on its march up the country five months before.
The greatest caution was observed in their passage through the great
Addoo Bush, for although this was so far from the main stronghold of the
natives, it was known that there were numbers of Kaffirs hiding there,
and several mail carriers had been murdered and waggons attacked. The
party, however, were too strong to be molested, and passed through
without adventure. The same vigilance was observed when crossing over
the sandy flats, and when they passed through Assegai Bush. Once
through this, the road was clear to Grahamstown. Here they halted for a
day, and then started on the road leading through Peddie to King
Williamstown. After a march of fifteen miles they halted at the edge of
a wide-spreading bush. They had heard at Grahamstown that a large body
of Kaffirs were reported to be lying there, and as it was late in the
afternoon when they approached it, Ronald advised the young officer in
command of the Fingoes to camp outside and pass through it by daylight.
[Illustration: "_The greatest caution was observed in their passage
through the great Addoo Bush._"]
"There is no making a rush," he said; "we must move slowly on account of
the waggons, and there will be no evading the Kaffirs. I do not think
there is much chance of their attacking such a strong party as we are;
but if we are attacked, we can beat them off a great deal better in the
daylight than at night; in the darkness we lose all the advantage of our
better weapons. Besides, these fellows can see a great deal better than
we can in the dark."
They started as soon as it was light. The Fingoes, who were a hundred
strong, were to skirmish along the road ahead and in the wood on each
flank of the waggons, round which the detachment of Rifles were to keep
in a close body, the Fingo women and children walking just ahead of the
bullocks. Scarcely a word was spoken after they entered the forest. The
waggons creaked and groaned, and the sound of the sharp cracks of the
drivers' whips alone broke the silence. The Rifles rode with their arms
in readiness for instant use, while the Fingoes flitted in and out among
the trees like dark shadows. Their blankets and karosses had been handed
to the women to carry, and they had oiled their bodies until they shone
again, a step always taken by the natives when engaged in expeditions in
the bush, with the view of giving more suppleness to the limbs, and also
of enabling them to glide through the thorny thickets without being
severely scratched.
They had got about half-way through the bush without anything being seen
of the lurking enemy, when a sudden outburst of firing, mingled with
yells and shouts, was heard about a quarter of a mile ahead.
"The scoundrels are attacking a convoy coming down," Ronald exclaimed.
"Shall we push on to their aid, sergeant?" the young officer, who was
riding next to Ronald, asked.
"I cannot leave the waggons," Ronald said; "but if you would take your
men on, sir, we will be up as soon as we can."
The officer shouted to his Fingoes, and at a run the natives dashed
forward to the scene of the conflict, while Ronald urged the drivers,
and his men pricked the bullocks with their swords until they broke into
a lumbering trot.
In a few minutes they arrived on the scene of action. A number of
waggons were standing in the road, and round them a fight was going on
between the Fingoes and greatly superior numbers of Kaffirs. Ronald gave
the word, and his men charged down into the middle of the fight. The
Kaffirs did not await their onslaught, but glided away among the trees,
the Fingoes following in hot pursuit until recalled by their officer,
who feared that their foes might turn upon them when beyond the reach of
the rifles of the troopers.
Ronald saw at once as he rode up that although the Fingoes had arrived
in time to save the waggons, they had come too late to be of service to
the majority of the defenders. Some half-dozen men, gathered in a body,
were still on their feet, but a score of others lay dead or desperately
wounded by the side of the waggons. As soon as the Fingoes returned and
reported the Kaffirs in full flight, Ronald and the troops dismounted to
see what aid they could render. He went up to the group of white men,
most of whom were wounded.
"This is a bad job," one of them said; "but we thought that as there
were about thirty of us, the Kaffirs wouldn't venture to attack us. We
were all on the alert, but they sprang so suddenly out of the bushes
that half of us were speared before we had time to draw a trigger.
"What had we better do, sir--go on or go back?" This question was
addressed to the young officer.
"I should think that now you have got so far you had better go on," he
said. "The Kaffirs are not likely to return for some little time. I will
give you half my Fingoes to escort you on through the wood. Don't you
think that will be the best plan, sergeant?"
"I think so, sir. I will let you have half my men to go back with them.
The rest of us had better stay here until they return. But, first of
all, we will see to these poor fellows. They may not be all dead."
Most of them, however, were found to be so, the Kaffirs having sprung
upon them and cut their throats as soon as they had fallen. Two of them
who had fallen near the group which had maintained the resistance were,
however, found to be still living, and these were lifted into the
waggons. Just as the party were going to move on towards the coast, a
groan was heard among the bushes by the side of the road. Ronald and two
of the troopers at once proceeded to the spot.
"Good Heavens!" the former exclaimed, as he leaned over the man who was
lying there, "it is Mr. Armstrong."
He was lifted up and carried into the road. An assegai had passed
through both legs, and another had transfixed his body near the right
shoulder. The point projected some inches through the back, the shaft
having broken off as he fell. Ronald seized the stump of the spear, and
with the greatest difficulty drew it out from the wound.
"Cut his things off," he said to the troopers, "and tear up something
and lightly bandage the wound. I am afraid it is a fatal one." Then he
hurried off to the men.
"Were there not some women in the waggons?" he asked.
"Yes, there were three of them," the man said; "a girl and two women.
The women were the wives of two of the men who have been killed. The
girl was the daughter of another. I suppose the natives must have
carried them off, for I see no signs of them."
Ronald uttered an exclamation of horror; he knew the terrible fate of
women who fell into the hands of the Kaffirs. He returned to the
officer.
"What is it, sergeant?" he asked. "Any fresh misfortune?"
"A young lady, sir, daughter of that poor fellow we have just picked up,
and two other women, have been carried off by the natives."
"Good Heavens!" the young man said, "this is dreadful; they had a
thousand times better have been shot with their friends. What's to be
done, sergeant?"
"I don't know," Ronald said, "I can't think yet. At any rate, instead of
waiting till the party with these waggons come back, I will push
straight on out of the wood, and will then send the rest of my men back
at full gallop to meet you, then you can all come on together. I think
you said you would take command of the party going back with the
waggons."
The two trains were at once set in motion. Ronald's party met with no
further interruption until they were clear of the bush. As soon as he
was well away from it, he sent back the Rifles to join the other party,
and return with them through the forest. He went on for half a mile
further, then halted the waggons and dismounted.
Mr. Armstrong had been placed in one of the waggons going up the
country, as they were nearer to a town that way than to Port Elizabeth;
besides, Ronald knew that if he recovered consciousness, he would for
many reasons prefer being up the country. Ronald walked up and down,
restless and excited, meditating what step he had best take, for he was
determined that in some way or other he would attempt to rescue Mary
Armstrong from the hands of the natives. Presently the head man of the
Fingoes came up to him, and said, in a mixture of English and his own
tongue:
"My white friend is troubled; can Kreta help him?"
"I am troubled, terribly troubled, Kreta. One of the white ladies who
has been carried off by the Kaffirs is a friend of mine. I must get her
out of their hands."
Kreta looked grave.
"Hard thing that, sir. If go into bush get chopped to pieces."
"I must risk that," Ronald said; "I am going to try and save her,
whether it costs me my life or not."
"Kreta will go with his white friend," the chief said; "white man no
good by himself."
"Would you, Kreta?" Ronald asked, eagerly. "But no, I have no right to
take you into such danger as that. You have a wife and child; I have no
one to depend upon me."
"Kreta would not have a child if it had not been for his white friend,"
Kreta said; "if he goes, Kreta will go with him, and will take some of
his men."
"You are a good fellow, Kreta," Ronald said, shaking the chief heartily
by the hand. "Now, what's the best way of setting about it?"
The Fingo thought for some little time, and then asked:
"Is the white woman young and pretty?"
"Yes," Ronald replied, rather surprised at the question.
"Then I think she's safe for a little while. If she old and ugly they
torture her and kill her quick; if she pretty and young, most likely
they send her as present to their big chief; perhaps Macomo, or
Sandilli, or Kreli, or one of the other great chiefs, whichever tribe
they belong to. Can't do nothing to-day; might crawl into the wood; but
if find her how can get her out? That's not possible. The best thing
will be this: I will send two of my young men into the bush to try and
find out what they do with her, and where they are going to take her.
Then at night we try to cut them off as they go across the country. If
we no meet them we go straight to Amatolas to find out the kraal to
which they take her, and then see how to get her off."
"How many men will you take, Kreta?"
"Five men," the chief said, holding up one hand; "five enough to creep
and crawl. No use to try force; too many Kaffirs. Five men might do;
five hundred no good."
"I think you are right, chief. It must be done by craft if at all."
"Then I will send off my two young men at once," the chief said. "They
go a long way round, and enter bush on the other side; then creep
through the bush and hear Kaffir talk. If Kaffir sees them they think
they their own people; but mustn't talk; if they do, Kaffirs notice
difference of tongue. One, two words no noticed, but if talk much find
out directly."
"Then there's nothing for me to do to-night," Ronald said.
The chief shook his head. "No good till quite dark."
"In that case I will go on with the convoy as far as Bushman's River,
where we halt to-night."
"Very well," the chief said. "We go on with you there, and then come
back here and meet the young men, who will tell us what they have found
out."
The chief went away, and Ronald saw him speaking to some of his men.
Then two young fellows of about twenty years old laid aside their
blankets, put them and their guns into one of the waggons, and then,
after five minutes' conversation with their chief, who was evidently
giving them minute instructions, went off at a slinging trot across the
country.
In less than an hour the party that was escorting the settlers' waggons
through the bush, and the mounted men who had gone to meet them,
returned together, having seen no sign of the enemy. The waggons were
set in motion, and the march continued. Ronald Mervyn rode up to the
officer of the native levy.
"I am going, sir, to make what may seem a most extraordinary request,
and indeed it is one that is, I think, out of your power to grant; but,
if you give your approval, it will to some extent lessen my
responsibility."
"What is it, sergeant?" the young officer asked, in some surprise.
"I want when we arrive at the halting-place to hand over the command of
my detachment to the corporal, and for you to let me go away on my own
affairs. I want you also to allow your head man, Kreta, and five of his
men, leave of absence."
The young officer was astonished. "Of course I am in command of the
convoy, and so have authority over you so long as you are with me; but
as you received orders direct from your own officers to take your
detachment down to the coast, and return with the waggons, I am sure
that I have no power to grant you leave to go away."
"No, sir, that's just what I thought; but at the same time, if you
report that, although you were unable to grant me leave, you approved of
my absence, it will make it much easier for me. Not that it makes any
difference, sir, because I admit frankly that I should go in any case.
It is probable that I may be reduced to the ranks; but I don't think
that, under the circumstances, they will punish me any more severely
than that."
"But what are the circumstances, sergeant? I can scarcely imagine any
circumstance that could make me approve of your intention to leave your
command on a march like this."
"I was just going to tell you them, sir, but I may say that I do not
think it at all probable that there will be any further attack on the
convoy. There is no more large bush to pass between this and
Williamstown, and so far as we have heard, no attempt has been made
further on the road to stop convoys. That poor fellow who is lying
wounded in the waggon is a Mr. Armstrong. He was an officer in the
service when he was a young man, and fought, he told me, at Waterloo.
His place is near the spot where I was quartered for two months just
before the outbreak, and he showed me great kindness, and treated me as
a friend. Well, sir, one of the three women who were, as you heard,
carried off in the waggons, was Mr. Armstrong's daughter. Now, sir, you
know what her fate will be in the hands of those savages: dishonour,
torture, and death. I am going to save her if I can. I don't know
whether I shall succeed; most likely I shall not. My life is of no great
consequence to me, and has so far been a failure; but I want to try and
rescue her whether it costs me my life or not. Kreta has offered to
accompany me with five of his men. Alone, I should certainly fail, but
with his aid there is a chance of my succeeding."
"By Jove, you are a brave fellow, sergeant," the young officer said,
"and I honour you for the determination you have formed," and waiving
military etiquette, he shook Ronald warmly by the hand. "Assuredly I
will, so far as is in my power, give you leave to go, and will take good
care that in case you fail, your conduct in thus risking your life shall
be appreciated. How do you mean to set about it?"
Ronald gave him a sketch of the plan that had been determined upon by
himself and Kreta.
"Well, I think you have a chance at any rate," the officer said, when he
concluded. "Of course the risk of detection in the midst of the Kaffirs
will be tremendous, but still there seems just a chance of your escape.
In any case no one can possibly disapprove of your endeavour to save
this young lady from the awful fate that will certainly be hers unless
you can rescue her. Poor girl! Even though I don't know her, it makes my
blood run cold to think of an English lady in the hands of those
savages. If I were not in command of the convoy, I would gladly go with
you and take my chance."
As soon as the encampment was reached, Kreta came up to Ronald.
"Must change clothes," he said, "and go as Kaffir." Ronald nodded his
head, as he had already decided that this step was absolutely necessary.
"Must paint black," the chief went on; "how do that?"
"The only way I can see is to powder some burnt wood and mix it with a
little oil."
"Yes, that do," the chief said.
"I will be with you in five minutes. I must hand over the command to the
corporal."
"Corporal James," he said, when he went up to him, "I hand over the
command of this detachment to you. You are, of course, to keep by the
waggons and protect them to King Williamstown."
"But where are you going, sergeant?" the corporal asked, in surprise.
"I have arranged with Mr. Nolan to go away on detached duty for two or
three days. I am going to try to get the unfortunate women who were
carried off this morning out of the hands of the Kaffirs." The corporal
looked at him as if he had doubts as to his sanity.
"I may not succeed," Ronald went on, "but I am going to try. At any
rate, I hand over the command to you. I quite understand that Mr. Nolan
cannot give me leave, and that I run the risk of punishment for leaving
the convoy; but I have made up my mind to risk that."
"Well, of course you know best, sergeant; but it seems to me that,
punishment or no punishment, there is not much chance of your rejoining
the corps; it is just throwing away your life going among them savages."
"I don't think it is as bad as that," Ronald said, "although of course
there is a risk of it. At any rate, corporal, you can take the convoy
safely into King Williamstown. That's your part of the business."
Ronald then returned to the encampment of the native levies. A number of
sticks were charred and then scraped. There was no oil to be found, but
as a substitute the charcoal was mixed with a little cart-grease. Ronald
then stripped, and was smeared all over with the ointment, which was
then rubbed into him. Some more powdered charcoal was then sprinkled
over him, and this also rubbed until he was a shiny black, the operation
affording great amusement to the Fingoes. Then a sort of petticoat,
consisting of strips of hide reaching half-way down to the knee and sewn
to a leathern belt, was put round his waist, and his toilet was
complete.
Nothing could be done as to his hair, which was already cut quite short
to prevent its forming a receptacle for dust. The Kaffirs have, as a
rule, scarcely any hair on their heads, and nothing could have made
Ronald's head resemble theirs. As, however, the disguise was only meant
to pass at night, this did not matter. When all was done, the Fingoes
applauded by clapping their hands and performing a wild dance round
Ronald, while the women, who now crowded up, shrieked with laughter.
The chief walked gravely round him two or three times, and then
pronounced that he would pass muster. A bandolier for cartridges, of
native make, was slung over his shoulder, and with a rifle in one hand
and a spear in the other, and two or three necklaces of brass beads
round his neck, Ronald would, at a short distance, pass muster as a
Kaffir warrior. In order to test his appearance, he strolled across to
where Mr. Nolan was inspecting the serving out of rations.
"What do you want?" the officer asked. "The allowance for all the men
has been served out already; if you haven't got yours you must speak to
Kreta about it. I can't go into the question with each of you."
"Then you think I shall do very well, Mr. Nolan?"
The officer started.
"Good Heavens, sergeant, is it you? I had not the slightest conception
of it. You are certainly admirably disguised, and, except for your hair,
you might walk through the streets of Cape Town without any one
suspecting you; but you will never be able to get through the woods
barefooted."
"I have been thinking of that myself," Ronald said, "and the only thing
I can see is to get them to make me a sort of sandal. Of course it
wouldn't do in the daytime, but at night it would not be observed,
unless I were to go close to a fire or light of some sort."
"Yes, that would be the best plan," the officer agreed. "I dare say the
women can manufacture you something in that way. There is the hide of
that bullock we killed yesterday, in the front waggon; it was a black
one."
Ronald cut off a portion of the hide, and went across to the natives and
explained to them what he wanted. Putting his foot on the hide, a piece
was cut off large enough to form the sole of the foot and come up about
an inch all round; holes were made in this, and it was laced on to the
foot with thin strips of hide. The hair was, of course, outside, and
Ronald found it by no means uncomfortable.
"You ride horse," the chief said, "back to bush. I take one fellow with
me to bring him back."
Ronald was pleased at the suggestion, for he was by no means sure how he
should feel after a walk of ten miles in his new foot-gear.