HENDRIKA PLOTS EVIL
On the following morning I had a conversation with Indaba-zimbi. First
of all I told him that I was going to marry Stella.
“Oh!” he said, “I thought so, Macumazahn. Did I not tell you that you
would find happiness on this journey? Most men must be content to watch
the Star from a long way off, to you it is given to wear her on your
heart. But remember, Macumazahn, remember that stars set.”
“Can you not stop your croaking even for a day?” I answered, angrily,
for his words sent a thrill of fear through me.
“A true prophet must tell the ill as well as the good, Macumazahn. I
only speak what is on my mind. But what of it? What is life but loss,
loss upon loss, till life itself be lost? But in death we may find all
the things that we have lost. So your father taught, Macumazahn, and
there was wisdom in his gentleness. Ou! I do not believe in death; it
is change, that is all, Macumazahn. Look now, the rain falls, the drops
of rain that were one water in the clouds fall side by side. They sink
into the ground; presently the sun will come out, the earth will be
dry, the drops will be gone. A fool looks and says the drops are dead,
they will never be one again, they will never again fall side by side.
But I am a rain-maker, and I know the ways of rain. It is not true. The
drops will drain by many paths into the river, and will be one water
there. They will go up to the clouds again in the mists of morning, and
there will again be as they have been. We are the drops of rain,
Macumazahn. When we fall that is our life. When we sink into the ground
that is death, and when we are drawn up again to the sky, what is that,
Macumazahn? No! no! when we find we lose, and when we seem to lose,
then we shall really find. I am not a Christian, Macumazahn, but I am
old, and have watched and seen things that perhaps Christians do not
see. There, I have spoken. Be happy with your star, and if it sets,
wait, Macumazahn, wait till it rises again. It will not be long; one
day you will go to sleep, then your eyes will open on another sky, and
there your star will be shining, Macumazahn.”
I made no answer at the time. I could not bear to talk of such a thing.
But often and often in the after years I have thought of Indaba-zimbi
and his beautiful simile and gathered comfort from it. He was a strange
man, this old rain-making savage, and there was more wisdom in him than
in many learned atheists—those spiritual destroyers who, in the name of
progress and humanity, would divorce hope from life, and leave us
wandering in a lonesome, self-consecrated hell.
“Indaba-zimbi,” I said, changing the subject, “I have something to
say,” and I told him of the threats of Hendrika.
He listened with an unmoved face, nodding his white lock at intervals
as the narrative went on. But I saw that he was disturbed by it.
“Macumazahn,” he said at length, “I have told you that this is an evil
woman. She was nourished on baboon milk, and the baboon nature is in
her veins. Such creatures should be killed, not kept. She will make you
mischief if she can. But I will watch her, Macumazahn. Look, the Star
is waiting for you; go, or she will hate me as Hendrika hates you.”
So I went, nothing loth, for attractive as was the wisdom of
Indaba-zimbi, I found a deeper meaning in Stella’s simplest word. All
the rest of that day I passed in her company, and the greater part of
the two following days. At last came Saturday night, the eve of our
marriage. It rained that night, so we did not go out, but spent the
evening in the hut. We sat hand in hand, saying little, but Mr. Carson
talked a good deal, telling us tales of his youth, and of countries
that he had visited. Then he read aloud from the Bible, and bade us
goodnight. I also kissed Stella and went to bed. I reached my hut by
the covered way, and before I undressed opened the door to see what the
night was like. It was very dark, and rain was still falling, but as
the light streamed out into the gloom I fancied that I caught sight of
a dusky form gliding away. The thought of Hendrika flashed into my
mind; could she be skulking about outside there? Now I had said nothing
of Hendrika and her threats either to Mr. Carson or Stella, because I
did not wish to alarm them. Also I knew that Stella was attached to
this strange person, and I did not wish to shake her confidence in her
unless it was absolutely necessary. For a minute or two I stood
hesitating, then, reflecting that if it was Hendrika, there she should
stop, I went in and put up the stout wooden bar that was used to secure
the door. For the last few nights old Indaba-zimbi had made a habit of
sleeping in the covered passage, which was the only other possible way
of access. As I came to bed I had stepped over him rolled up in his
blanket, and to all appearances fast asleep. So it being evident that I
had nothing to fear, I promptly dismissed the matter from my mind,
which, as may be imagined, was indeed fully occupied with other
thoughts.
I got into bed, and for awhile lay awake thinking of the great
happiness in store for me, and of the providential course of events
that had brought it within my reach. A few weeks since and I was
wandering in the desert a dying man, bearing a dying child, and with
scarcely a possession left in the world except a store of buried ivory
that I never expected to see again. And now I was about to wed one of
the sweetest and loveliest women on the whole earth—a woman whom I
loved more than I could have thought possible, and who loved me back
again. Also, as though that were not good fortune enough, I was to
acquire with her very considerable possessions, quite sufficiently
large to enable us to follow any plan of life we found agreeable. As I
lay and reflected on all this I grew afraid of my good fortune. Old
Indaba-zimbi’s melancholy prophecies came into my mind. Hitherto he had
always prophesied truly. What if these should be true also? I turned
cold as I thought of it, and prayed to the Power above to preserve us
both to live and love together. Never was prayer more needed. While its
words were still upon my lips I dropped asleep and dreamed a most
dreadful dream.
I dreamed that Stella and I were standing together to be married. She
was dressed in white, and radiant with beauty, but it was a wild,
spiritual beauty which frightened me. Her eyes shone like stars, a pale
flame played about her features, and the wind that blew did not stir
her hair. Nor was this all, for her white robes were death wrappings,
and the altar at which we stood was formed of the piled-up earth from
an open grave that yawned between us. So we stood waiting for one to
wed us, but no one came. Presently from the open grave sprang the form
of Hendrika. In her hand was a knife, with which she stabbed at me, but
pierced the heart of Stella, who, without a cry, fell backwards into
the grave, still looking at me as she fell. Then Hendrika leaped after
her into the grave. I heard her feet strike heavily.
“_Awake, Macumazahn! awake!_” cried the voice of Indaba-zimbi.
I awoke and bounded from the bed, a cold perspiration pouring from me.
In the darkness on the other side of the hut I heard sounds of furious
struggling. Luckily I kept my head. Just by me was a chair on which
were matches and a rush taper. I struck a match and held it to the
taper. Now in the growing light I could see two forms rolling one over
the other on the floor, and from between them came the flash of steel.
The fat melted and the light burnt up. It was Indaba-zimbi and the
woman Hendrika who were struggling, and, what is more, the woman was
getting the better of the man, strong as he was. I rushed towards them.
Now she was uppermost, now she had wrenched herself from his fierce
grip, and now the great knife she had in her hand flashed up.
But I was behind her, and, placing my hands beneath her arms, jerked
with all my strength. She fell backwards, and, in her effort to save
herself, most fortunately dropped the knife. Then we flung ourselves
upon her. Heavens! the strength of that she-devil! Nobody who has not
experienced it could believe it. She fought and scratched and bit, and
at one time nearly mastered the two of us. As it was she did break
loose. She rushed at the bed, sprung on it, and bounded thence straight
up at the roof of the hut. I never saw such a jump, and could not
conceive what she meant to do. In the roof were the peculiar holes
which I have described. They were designed to admit light, and covered
with overhanging eaves. She sprung straight and true like a monkey,
and, catching the edge of the hole with her hands, strove to draw
herself through it. But here her strength, exhausted with the long
struggle, failed her. For a moment she swung, then dropped to the
ground and fell senseless.
“Ou!” gasped Indaba-zimbi. “Let us tie the devil up before she comes to
life again.”
I thought this a good counsel, so we took a reim that lay in the corner
of the room, and lashed her hands and feet in such a fashion that even
she could scarcely escape. Then we carried her into the passage, and
Indaba-zimbi sat over her, the knife in his hand, for I did not wish to
raise an alarm at that hour of the night.
“Do you know how I caught her, Macumazahn?” he said. “For several
nights I have slept here with one eye open, for I thought she had made
a plan. To-night I kept wide awake, though I pretended to be asleep. An
hour after you got into the blankets the moon rose, and I saw a beam of
light come into the hut through the hole in the roof. Presently I saw
the beam of light vanish. At first I thought that a cloud was passing
over the moon, but I listened and heard a noise as though some one was
squeezing himself through a narrow space. Presently he was through, and
hanging by his hands. Then the light came in again, and in the middle
of it I saw the Babyan-frau swinging from the roof, and about to drop
into the hut. She clung by both hands, and in her mouth was a great
knife. She dropped, and I ran forward to seize her as she dropped, and
gripped her round the middle. But she heard me come, and, seizing the
knife, struck at me in the dark and missed me. Then we struggled, and
you know the rest. You were very nearly dead to-night, Macumazahn.”
“Very nearly indeed,” I answered, still panting, and arranging the rags
of my night-dress round me as best I might. Then the memory of my
horrid dream flashed into my mind. Doubtless it had been conjured up by
the sound of Hendrika dropping to the floor—in my dream it had been a
grave that she dropped into. All of it, then, had been experienced in
that second of time. Well, dreams are swift; perhaps Time itself is
nothing but a dream, and events that seem far apart really occur
simultaneously.
We passed the rest of the night watching Hendrika. Presently she came
to herself and struggled furiously to break the reim. But the untanned
buffalo hide was too strong even for her, and, moreover, Indaba-zimbi
unceremoniously sat upon her to keep her quiet. At last she gave it up.
In due course the day broke—my marriage day. Leaving Indaba-zimbi to
watch my would-be murderess, I went and fetched some natives from the
stables, and with their aid bore Hendrika to the prison hut—that same
hut in which she had been confined when she had been brought a
baboon-child from the rocks. Here we shut her up, and, leaving
Indaba-zimbi to watch outside, I returned to my sleeping-place and
dressed in the best garments that the Babyan Kraals could furnish. But
when I looked at the reflection of my face, I was horrified. It was
covered with scratches inflicted by the nails of Hendrika. I doctored
them up as best I could, then went out for a walk to calm my nerves,
which, what between the events of the past night, and of those pending
that day, were not a little disturbed.
When I returned it was breakfast time. I went into the dining hut, and
there Stella was waiting to greet me, dressed in simple white and with
orange flowers on her breast. She came forward to me shyly enough;
then, seeing the condition of my face, started back.
“Why, Allan! what have you been doing to yourself?” she asked.
As I was about to answer, her father came in leaning on his stick, and,
catching sight of me, instantly asked the same question.
Then I told them everything, both of Hendrika’s threats and of her
fierce attempt to carry them into execution. But I did not tell my
horrid dream.
Stella’s face grew white as the flowers on her breast, but that of her
father became very stern.
“You should have spoken of this before, Allan,” he said. “I now see
that I did wrong to attempt to civilize this wicked and revengeful
creature, who, if she is human, has all the evil passions of the brutes
that reared her. Well, I will make an end of it this very day.”
“Oh, father,” said Stella, “don’t have her killed. It is all dreadful
enough, but that would be more dreadful still. I have been very fond of
her, and, bad as she is, she has loved me. Do not have her killed on my
marriage day.”
“No,” her father answered, “she shall not be killed, for though she
deserves to die, I will not have her blood upon our hands. She is a
brute, and has followed the nature of brutes. She shall go back whence
she came.”
No more was said on the matter at the time, but when breakfast—which
was rather a farce—was done, Mr. Carson sent for his headman and gave
him certain orders.
We were to be married after the service which Mr. Carson held every
Sunday morning in the large marble hut set apart for that purpose. The
service began at ten o’clock, but long before that hour all the natives
on the place came up in troops, singing as they came, to be present at
the wedding of the “Star.” It was a pretty sight to see them, the men
dressed in all their finery, and carrying shields and sticks in their
hands, and the women and children bearing green branches of trees,
ferns, and flowers. At length, about half-past nine, Stella rose,
pressed my hand, and left me to my reflections. A few minutes to ten
she reappeared again with her father, dressed in a white veil, a wreath
of orange flowers on her dark curling hair, a bouquet of orange flowers
in her hand. To me she seemed like a dream of loveliness. With her came
little Tota in a high state of glee and excitement. She was Stella’s
only bridesmaid. Then we all passed out towards the church hut. The
bare space in front of it was filled with hundreds of natives, who set
up a song as we came. But we went on into the hut, which was crowded
with such of the natives as usually worshipped there. Here Mr. Carson,
as usual, read the service, though he was obliged to sit down in order
to do so. When it was done—and to me it seemed interminable—Mr. Carson
whispered that he meant to marry us outside the hut in sight of all the
people. So we went out and took our stand under the shade of a large
tree that grew near the hut facing the bare space where the natives
were gathered.
Mr. Carson held up his hand to enjoin silence. Then, speaking in the
native dialect, he told them that he was about to make us man and wife
after the Christian fashion and in the sight of all men. This done, he
proceeded to read the marriage service over us, and very solemnly and
beautifully he did it. We said the words, I placed the ring—it was her
father’s signet ring, for we had no other—upon Stella’s finger, and it
was done.
Then Mr. Carson spoke. “Allan and Stella,” he said, “I believe that the
ceremony which has been performed makes you man and wife in the sight
of God and man, for all that is necessary to make a marriage binding
is, that it should be celebrated according to the custom of the country
where the parties to it reside. It is according to the custom that has
been in force here for fifteen years or more that you have been married
in the face of all the people, and in token of it you will both sign
the register that I have kept of such marriages, among those of my
people who have adopted the Christian Faith. Still, in case there
should be any legal flaw I again demand the solemn promise of you both
that on the first opportunity you will cause this marriage to be
re-celebrated in some civilized land. Do you promise?”
“We do,” we answered.
Then the book was brought out and we signed our names. At first my wife
signed hers “Stella” only, but her father bade her write it Stella
Carson for the first and last time in her life. Then several of the
indunas, or headmen, including old Indaba-zimbi, put their marks in
witness. Indaba-zimbi drew his mark in the shape of a little star, in
humorous allusion to Stella’s native name. That register is before me
now as I write. That, with a lock of my darling’s hair which lies
between its leaves, is my dearest possession. There are all the names
and marks as they were written many years ago beneath the shadow of the
tree at Babyan Kraals in the wilderness, but alas! and alas! where are
those who wrote them?
“My people,” said Mr. Carson, when the signing was done, and we had
kissed each other before them all—“My people, Macumazahn and the Star,
my daughter, are now man and wife, to live in one kraal, to eat of one
bowl, to share one fortune till they reach the grave. Hear now, my
people, you know this woman,” and turning he pointed to Hendrika, who,
unseen by us, had been led out of the prison hut.
“Yes, yes, we know her,” said a little ring of headmen, who formed the
primitive court of justice, and after the fashion of natives had
squatted themselves in a circle on the ground in front of us. “We know
her, she is the white Babyan-woman, she is Hendrika, the body servant
of the Star.”
“You know her,” said Mr. Carson, “but you do not know her altogether.
Stand forward, Indaba-zimbi, and tell the people what came about last
night in the hut of Macumazahn.”
Accordingly old Indaba-zimbi came forward, and, squatting down, told
his moving tale with much descriptive force and many gestures,
finishing up by producing the great knife from which his watchfulness
had saved me.
Then I was called upon, and in a few brief words substantiated his
story: indeed my face did that in the sight of all men.
Then Mr. Carson turned to Hendrika, who stood in sullen silence, her
eyes fixed upon the ground, and asked her if she had anything to say.
She looked up boldly and answered—
“Macumazahn has robbed me of the love of my mistress. I would have
robbed him of his life, which is a little thing compared to that which
I have lost at his hands. I have failed, and I am sorry for it, for had
I killed him and left no trace the Star would have forgotten him and
shone on me again.”
“Never,” murmured Stella in my ear; but Mr. Carson turned white with
wrath.
“My people,” he said, “you hear the words of this woman. You hear how
she pays me back, me and my daughter whom she swears she loves. She
says that she would have murdered a man who has done her no evil, the
man who is the husband of her mistress. We saved her from the babyans,
we tamed her, we fed her, we taught her, and this is how she pays us
back. Say, my people, what reward should be given to her?”
“Death,” said the circle of indunas, pointing their thumbs downwards,
and all the multitude beyond echoed the word “Death.”
“Death,” repeated the head induna, adding, “If you save her, my father,
we will slay her with our own hands. She is a Babyan-woman, a
devil-woman; ah, yes, we have heard of such before; let her be slain
before she works more evil.”
Then it was that Stella stepped forward and begged for Hendrika’s life
in moving terms. She pleaded the savagery of the woman’s nature, her
long service, and the affection that she had always shown towards
herself. She said that I, whose life had been attempted, forgave her,
and she, my wife, who had nearly been left a widow before she was made
a bride, forgave her; let them forgive her also, let her be sent away,
not slain, let not her marriage day be stained with blood.
Now her father listened readily enough, for he had no intention of
killing Hendrika—indeed, he had already promised not to do so. But the
people were in a different humour, they looked upon Hendrika as a
devil, and would have torn her to pieces there and then, could they
have had their way. Nor were matters mended by Indaba-zimbi, who had
already gained a great reputation for wisdom and magic in the place.
Suddenly the old man rose and made quite an impassioned speech, urging
them to kill Hendrika at once or mischief would come of it.
At last matters got very bad, for two of the Indunas came forward to
drag her off to execution, and it was not until Stella burst into tears
that the sight of her grief, backed by Mr. Carson’s orders and my own
remonstrances, carried the day.
All this while Hendrika had been standing quite unmoved. At last the
tumult ceased, and the leading induna called to her to go, promising
that if ever she showed her face near the kraals again she should be
stabbed like a jackal. Then Hendrika spoke to Stella in a low voice and
in English—
“Better let them kill me, mistress, better for all. Without you to love
I shall go mad and become a babyan again.”
Stella did not answer, and they loosed her. She stepped forward and
looked at the natives with a stare of hate. Then she turned and walked
past me, and as she passed whispered a native phrase in my ear, that,
being literally translated, means, “Till another moon,” but which has
the same significance as the French “au revoir.”
It frightened me, for I knew she meant that she had not done with me,
and saw that our mercy was misplaced. Seeing my face change she ran
swiftly from me, and as she passed Indaba-zimbi, with a sudden movement
snatched her great knife from his hand. When she had gone about twenty
paces she halted, looked long and earnestly on Stella, gave one loud
cry of anguish, and fled. A few minutes later we saw her far away,
bounding up the face of an almost perpendicular cliff—a cliff that
nobody except herself and the baboons could possibly climb.
“Look,” said Indaba-zimbi in my ear—“Look, Macumazahn, there goes the
Babyan-frau. But, Macumazahn, _she will come back again_. Ah, why will
you not listen to my words. Have they not always been true words,
Macumazahn?” and he shrugged his shoulders and turned away.
For a while I was much disturbed, but at any rate Hendrika was gone for
the present, and Stella, my dear and lovely wife, was there at my side,
and in her smiles I forgot my fears.
For the rest of that day, why should I write of it?—there are things
too happy and too sacred to be written of.
At last I had, if only for a little while, found that rest, that
perfect joy which we seek so continually and so rarely clasp.