Dick's spirits rose immeasurably as he found himself clear away, with
night and the open veldt around him. He was in the pink of hard
training, consequently not long did it take to cover the six or seven
miles that lay between the Police camp and Vunisa's location.
The Tsolo River rippled silvery across his way, reflecting the stars.
Cautiously he forded it, the water scarcely above his ankles, but his
heart in his mouth lest he should make any undue splash or cause a
rattle of stones. But the din in front had now become so near and
deafening that it would have drowned such fifty times over.
He was through the defile now, which was not so narrow as it looked. In
front a great red glow as of numerous fires, and all his pulses were
a-tingle with excitement and anticipation at the thunder of stamping
feet, the roar of the rhythmical chant. But--how get near enough to see
without being seen?
He glanced around, then upward. The steep slopes were not very thickly
bushed, but, by advancing carefully and taking advantage of every bit of
cover, he might manage to get well above the scene of the rout. Slowly,
tediously, he crawled, for the most part on his hands and knees. The
firelight, throwing out a dull glow, reached the hill-slopes--what if
the white of his face should show up to the keen-eyed savages? And
then, as he reached a point whence the whole scene lay revealed before
him, Dick Selmes felt that the risk he had undertaken was amply repaid.
Beneath, in an immense open space, several huge fires were burning--
their light showing up clusters of round, conical-roofed huts studded
all along the valley. But the broad level was covered with human
beings, if so weird and satanic-looking a crew could be defined as
human. There must have been considerably over a thousand of them,
decided the spectator, allowing for those who were taking part in the
performance alone; for, on the outside of the actual arena, squatted
several rows of women, who formed a not ineffective sort of
accompaniment, by a rhythmical clapping of hands, to the war-chant of
the warriors. The latter were arrayed in trappings of the most
fantastic nature, tufts of cow-hair flowing from leg and arm;
monkey-skins, with here and there that of the leopard; wild-cat tails
too, and bunches of crane feathers sticking up from their heads. All
seemed bristling with assegais, but there were no shields.
As Dick Selmes took in all this the chant suddenly ceased, and the
entire mass stood in motionless silence. Then one man came forward and
harangued them. He was of tall, commanding figure, and the spectator
wondered if this was Vunisa, the redoubtable chief, himself. Not long,
however, did he talk, but more and more did his speech work up to what
seemed to the listener the highest pitch of fierce frenzy. Every head
was bent forward, eagerly drinking in every word; and the deep-toned
murmurs of assent which greeted some of his periods reminded Dick of
those which hailed the successful shooting of the Police artillery, the
first time he had seen any large number of savages together.
There was a sudden tightening of the ranks. The orator had ceased. Now
arose the rhythmical strophes of the war-song, low at first and fierce,
then rising till it reached a perfect roar, terror-striking in the
degree of ferocity unchained which it expressed, while the stamp of
feet, in perfect unison, shook the ground as it were with the rumble of
an earthquake. Then the whole mighty mass moved forward in line, and
the light of gushing flames gleamed redly on assegai blades as the
foremost warriors went through the pantomime of striking down an
imaginary foe. Up and down the great open space this was repeated
several times, the rear ranks manoeuvring so as to change places with
the first and get their turn, in a way that was scarcely perceptible.
But--what was this?
For now, behind the surging mass of fantastically arrayed warriors, came
a file of women. Each was armed with a tough knob-kerrie, and beat on
the ground with a vicious whack now and then during the advance. They
were finishing off the wounded after a battle.
For upwards of an hour Dick Selmes lay, witnessing this weird but
striking and dramatic scene, in a state of mind little short of
entrancement. There was a fascination about it that made him long to
rush down the hill and shout and stamp with the rest. No wonder they
wanted a strong Police camp in the neighbourhood, he thought, if this
sort of thing was going on all over Kafirland; and it struck him
uneasily what a mouthful their own particular camp might prove if these
and a few more were to hurl themselves upon it while in that state of
frenzy. The thought of the camp suggested that it might be high time to
think of getting back there.
"Well, I've seen something to-night, and no mistake," he said to
himself. "My hat! but I'll have the grin over Greenoak and old Chambers
to-morrow."
The flame of the fires blazed up higher than ever. As he turned to
carry out his intention, he found his way barred, and that by a line of
ochre-smeared, brawny savages. He marked the cruel sneer on each broad,
dark face, the gleam of uplifted blades, and then realised his utter
helplessness. For, fearing to wake Harley Greenoak, who would certainly
have prevented his mad trip, he had refrained from going into the hut to
fetch his revolver. Now he was totally unarmed.
With quick ejaculations the Kafirs hurried forward, some in crouching
attitude, like cats advancing on their prey, others erect, but all with
eyes fixed warily upon him, for they expected him to draw a pistol.
Then they scattered, spreading out so that some should steal above and
behind him.
In that moment Dick Selmes knew what it was to feel that his last hour
had come. He had no knowledge of the language, so could not try the
effect of parley. So, by way of signifying that he was not there with
hostile intent, he extended both hands--open.
The effect was magical. Realising for the first time that he was
unarmed, the savages flung themselves upon him. Powerful and in good
training as he was, what could he do against numbers? At the same time,
a blanket was flung over his head and face, blinding and effectually
stifling him in its nauseous folds, and he was borne to the earth and
effectually pinioned by many and muscular hands.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Inspector Chambers was an officer of promptitude and decision, and on
Harley Greenoak waking him up in the grey of dawn with the news that
Dick Selmes was nowhere in the camp, the sentries of the night before
were at once called to account, and the truth came out. The young
gentleman was not one of themselves, explained the defaulter, who
supposed, therefore, that he was not under the same orders. Ordering
the man to be put under arrest, the Inspector gave his directions, and
in a surprisingly short space of time nearly the whole troop was mounted
and heading at a trot for Vunisa's location.
"That's where we'll find him," pronounced Greenoak, adding grimly, "if
we find him at all. He'll have gone to look at that war-dance, sure as
eggs. I ought to have known he'd be trying it and kept my eye on him."
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Pummelled, pushed, hustled, his hands and arms secured with innumerable
knots of raw-hide; half suffocated, wholly nauseated by the greasy
effluvium of the filthy blanket which still enveloped his head and
shoulders, Dick Selmes was hurried down the hill by his captors. To his
attempts at speech with them, in the hope that even one among them might
understand English, the only reply was a savage growl in their own
tongue, accompanied by a dig in the back with the butt end of a kerrie.
Still, he did his best to keep his faculties of hearing undimmed, and,
listening with all his might, it seemed as though the roar of the
war-dance, instead of drawing nearer, became less marked. Whither were
they taking him? All sorts of frontier stories of the old wars which he
had heard came back to his mind: of the unsparing barbarities practised
by these savages on any unfortunate white man who should fall into their
hands; of soldiers, straggling from a column, cut off in the thick bush
and slowly roasted to death with red-hot stones, or spread naked over a
nest of black ants; of settlers, surprised by the suddenness of the
outbreak, driven back to perish in the flaming ruins of their own
homesteads. And now he himself was in the power of these very fiends!
They were dragging him back to put him to some such end, to delight the
whole location with the spectacle of his lingering torments. Shuddering
with horror at the thought, the unfortunate fellow hardly noticed
whither he was being hurried. Then he was suddenly and roughly flung to
the ground, his legs tightly tied together at the ankles, by which he
was now seized, and unceremoniously dragged through what he guessed to
be the door of a hut.
Once within, a light was struck; the homely match of civilisation
flaring feebly, but just enough to render more fiend-like still the
fell, savage faces and forms decked with their wild war-trappings. This
the prisoner was able to make out for a moment, for the blanket which
covered his head and shoulders was removed. But only for a moment, for
an effectual gag was forced into his mouth, and then the suffocating,
nauseous covering was replaced. After a minute or two of muttered
conversation, his captors withdrew.
And now for the unfortunate Dick Selmes followed a night of
indescribable horror. To the certainty of being dragged forth at dawn
to a death of unimaginable agony was added the torments of the present--
the cramping pain of his bonds, the nauseous suffocation of the gag, and
the bites of innumerable small pests of no account whatever to the
savage, but calculated to drive a highly civilised and utterly helpless
white man to the verge of insanity. Rescue! Of that there was no hope.
The Police troop might hold its own on the defensive, but, after what
he had seen last night, he could not believe it would stand a chance
against these fierce warriors fighting on their own ground; besides, he
himself would be murdered the first thing. And then he remembered how
he of his own act had effectually cut off all trace as to his
whereabouts. Even Harley Greenoak would fail to fathom the mystery of
his disappearance--until too late. Again and again he bitterly cursed
his own rashness.
Then, as the remaining hours of the night wore on, merciful Nature came
to the relief of the sufferer, in that he sank into a state somewhat
between sleep and unconsciousness, which at length took shape in a
dream. The Police troop had come to his rescue. He could hear voices--
those of the Inspector Chambers and Harley Greenoak, mingling with the
deeper tones of his savage gaolers. He tried to call out, but could
utter no sound. They were withdrawing; still he was perforce dumb.
They had gone away. Ah, the agony of it! He strained at his bonds--
nearly suffocated himself with the horrible gag. All of no avail.
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Very different looked Vunisa's location--now silent in slumber--as the
Police rode up, to the weird and stirring scene it had presented
throughout the best part of the night, but the yelping and barking of
innumerable curs soon brought forth some of its denizens. These stood,
open-mouthed with astonishment at the sight of the carbines and
revolvers of the Police troopers.
"The chief," said Harley Greenoak, decisively, "Vunisa, the chief. We
have a `word' to him."
Scowling sullenly, the savages began to make the usual excuses. The
chief was sick, and so on.
"A lie!" said Greenoak. "Bring him forth at once or we put the torch
into every hut in this valley."
By now all were astir. More than half the revellers had gone home, but
there were yet an awkwardly large number left, even for nearly a hundred
armed and mounted men. Still a hurried consultation went on, then, just
as Greenoak was losing patience, the chief himself appeared.
Vunisa was a tall, powerful man, with rather a heavy and sullen face,
but not without dignity even then. He had done nothing wrong, he
protested; why, then, should the Government send the _amapolise_ into
his kraal and threaten to destroy it?
"The young white man who came here last night," said Harley Greenoak.
"Where is he?"
The chief turned to his followers. What was this about a young white
man? Did anybody know? The while, Greenoak, who had dismounted, was
watching him keenly. No. Nobody knew.
"Then Vunisa will be arrested," he said.
The chief started, ever so slightly. An ominous hubbub arose among his
followers, the bulk of whom dived quickly into the huts again. They had
gone to arm.
In a moment they emerged, and the glint of assegai blades and the wave
of hard sticks was everywhere, as the kraal became alive with swarming
savages, the mutter of deep-toned voices eloquent with suppressed hate
and menace. And they outnumbered the Police ten to one.
The latter had loaded with ball cartridge. Even then a sudden rush and
the sheer weight of numbers was bound to overwhelm them, out in the
open. But it was not made. The Kafirs seemed to hold that little armed
force in wholesome respect. Still the merest accident might bring about
a collision. The situation had become tense to dramatic point. What if
Vunisa should persist in his disclaimer? There was a moment of dead,
boding silence. Harley Greenoak broke it.
"Inspector, kindly send three of your men to search that hut," pointing
to one next to that whence Vunisa had emerged. "If the chief moves he
will be shot," he added, in the Xosa language.
Amid dead silence the three troopers entered. In a moment, from the
interior of the hut, ejaculations were heard; then, through the low
doorway there crawled forth a man--hatless, dirty with perspiration and
smears of red-ochre; in short, with a generally dilapidated appearance.
And then up stood Dick Selmes, rubbing his eyes.
"Hallo, Greenoak! Hallo, Inspector, how are you? I say, I'm jolly glad
you've turned up. I'm more than a bit sick of spending the night tied
up in an old Kafir blanket--faugh!--and not able to move finger or toe."
"You may thank your lucky stars you'd got a watch on, and that there was
just a moment of silence _in which I heard it tick_," rejoined Harley
Greenoak, gravely.
"Eh?"--puzzled. "That how you found me? Through the ticking of a
watch?"
"That--and no other way. It'd be like hunting for a needle to look for
you in this location, even if we hadn't to fight our way out first.
Well, your dad was right. You are a record for getting into hornets'
nests."
There was no more to be done. Inspector Chambers was not going to take
the responsibility of arresting Vunisa simply because this young fool
had run his head, as Greenoak had said, into a hornets' nest. So, after
reading that potentate a severe lecture, he withdrew his force.
There was another who came in for a sample of the lecture, and that was
Dick Selmes. If he chose to hold out his own throat to be cut, he might
as well wait until he was on his own responsibility, and so on. To all
of which Dick listened very penitently.
"Think they really meant cutting my throat, Inspector?" he said.
"That's just exactly what they did intend," interposed Harley Greenoak.
"They were going to cut your throat after we had gone, and then burn the
hut over you, so as to destroy all trace."
"The mischief they were! But how do you know, Greenoak?"
"Because I overheard them saying so, as we came away," was the tranquil
reply. "They were likewise expressing disappointment at being done out
of such a rare bit of fun."
"Ugh, the brutes!" exclaimed Dick, turning in his saddle to scowl back
at the dark forms gathered on the hillside, watching the retreating
Police. "I'll pay them out for it when the war begins."
"When the war begins," repeated Inspector Chambers. "Well, it's our
particular mission just now to prevent it from beginning at all; but if
ever anybody came within an ace of starting it, why, that joker's
yourself, this very morning, Selmes. Eh, Greenoak?"
The latter nodded assent.