Several months later than the events last recorded, a large _trek_ might
have been seen, wending its way southward along the rugged bush _veldt_
lying beneath the Lebombo mountains, just outside the Zulu boundary.
It is evening, and the lustrous glow of the setting sun reddens the
great precipices of the craggy range, tingeing with vivid gold the green
roll of the bush. The lowing of cattle and the bleating of sheep and
goats are harmoniously mingled on the still and balmy air; and over and
above this comes the rumble of the waggons and the occasional crack of a
whip. A little duiker-buck springs from his form, to stand a moment,
his soft eye dilating, the black tips of his tiny, horns pricked up as
he listens, then darts away noiselessly into the scrub. Bright-plumaged
birds flash screaming from the path as the unwonted tumult draws near,
for not often are they alarmed in this wise, here in their bosky
solitudes.
First come a number of cattle, the vari-coloured hides dappling the
prevailing green and brown of the _veldt_; a mixed lot too, for among
the small but compact Zulu breed, towering in elephantine proportions
above them, is here and there the buffalo-like frame of a Boer trek-ox
with its strongly pronounced hump and great branching horns. Cows with
their calves, too, are there, and an occasional thrust and clash of
horns and angry low betoken the collision of two or more quarrelsome
beasts, whom the herd's kerries, however, avail to pacify even if his
voice suffices not. These travel leisurely, feeding as they go, and are
in excellent condition. Some little way behind comes a flock of sheep
and goats, also feeding as they go, and propelled by as travel-stained
and dusty-looking a native as the one who herds the cattle aforesaid.
The rear is brought up by two waggons, one behind the other, each drawn
by a full span of sixteen oxen. The native driver of each, walking
alongside, wields his whip languidly and lazily, and the leader is so
tired that he can hardly put one foot before the other, for the day has
been a sweltering hot one. Even the two horses fastened behind the last
waggon have no elasticity in their step, as with drooping head they plod
mechanically on, and the dust hangs in a cloud above the line of march.
Seated in front of the foremost waggon, smoking their pipes, are two
white men, also travel-stained and dusty. In one of them we have no
difficulty in recognising the weather-tanned lineaments and impassive
expression of John Dawes. The other countenance--well, we might have
some difficulty in recognising the owner, might excusably hesitate
before pronouncing it to be that of our friend, Gerard Ridgeley. Yet he
it is.
For those few months of healthy open-air life have done wonders for
Gerard--have wrought a greater change in him than the same number of
years spent under ordinary conditions would have done. They have, in
fact, made a man of him. His frame has broadened and his muscles are
set. There is a firm, self-reliant look in his face, now bronzed to the
hue of that of John Dawes himself, and he has grown a beard. In short,
any one who saw him now would pronounce him to have become a remarkably
fine-looking fellow.
By no means all fun has Gerard found that up-country trading trip. Of
toil--hard, prosaic, wearying--plenty has come his way. There have been
times, for instance, when every muscle has been strained and aching with
the labour of digging out the waggons, stuck fast over axle-deep in a
mud hole--digging them out only to see them plunge in again deeper than
ever; or again in offloading everything, and carrying the whole cargo
piecemeal up some short but rugged acclivity impossible to avoid, and up
which the great vehicles could only be drawn empty. Half fainting
beneath the burning glare of a well-nigh tropical sun--toiling amid the
sheeting downpour of days of rain, and that too often on a ration of
mealies or hard biscuit, and a little brack or muddy water--he has never
yet dreamed of shirking, never complained.
That trek, too, of nearly forty-eight hours over a parched land, where
each expected water-hole was a mere surface of cracked and baked mud,
and the oxen with hanging tongues and saliva-dropping jaws could hardly
pull half a mile per hour, and the night was as brassy as the day, and
their wanderings and divergences far and wide in search of the necessary
fluid was rewarded with greater exhaustion than ever, and the red
surface of the burning _veldt_ stretched grim and forbidding to the
sky-line, mocking them now and again with a fair mirage--that terrible
time when they sat together on the waggon in silence and wondering what
the end would be, or rather when it would be, then, too, no word of
complaint had escaped Gerard.
Of dangers too he has borne his share. He can recall the horde of
turbulent and aggressive natives crowding round the waggon of which he
was in sole charge, when during a whole day his life and the lives of
the two "boys" seemed to hang upon a hair,--nights spent in lonely
watches, in an insecure and semi-hostile land, expecting the spears of
predatory savages in the treacherous darkness. That other night, too,
when he was lost in the _veldt_ and had to lie out in the open, with
hardly time to construct a hurried enclosure and collect sufficient
firewood ere darkness fell, and to this slender protection alone had he
been forced to trust for the safety of himself and his horse. Hardly
till his dying day will he forget those terrible eyes flaming red in the
light of his scanty fire, as a pair of prowling lions roared around his
frail breastwork the long night through. These are but some of the
dangers, some of the privations which have fallen to his lot. Yet as he
looks back upon them all it is regretfully. He cannot feel unqualified
satisfaction that the trip is drawing to a close.
For it is drawing to a close. With all its perils and hardships it has
been a very fairly successful one, as the sheep and cattle which they
are driving before them serve to show. So also do such other articles
of barter as can be carried in the waggons, which latter, however, are
travelling light; for nearly all the stock-in-trade has been disposed
of.
Rumours have from time to time reached them in Swaziland and beyond,
with regard to the state of Zulu affairs, and the latest of such reports
has moved Dawes to decide to avoid the Zulu country, and re-enter Natal
by way of the Transvaal. So to-morrow the southward course will be
changed to a westward one, and the trek will be pursued along the north
bank of the Pongolo.
During the months our friends had spent up-country, diplomatic relations
between the Zulus and the British had become strained to a dangerous
tension. Both parties were eyeing each other and preparing for war.
Seated on the waggon as aforesaid, our two friends are talking over the
situation.
"We had better give them a wide berth, Ridgeley, until we get all this
plunder safe home," Dawes was saying. "Even now we are nearer the
Pongolo than I like, and in the north of Zululand there's a pretty
thorough-paced blackguard or two, in the shape of an outlying chief who
wouldn't think twice of relieving us of all our travelling stock, under
colour of the unsettled times--Umbelini, for instance, and that other
chap they're beginning to talk about, Ingonyama; though I don't
altogether believe that cock-and-bull story about the blood-drinking
tribe--the Igazipuza. It's too much like a Swazi lie. Still, I shall
be glad when we are safe home again."
Gerard made no answer beyond a half-absent affirmative. His thoughts
were far away. In point of fact, although he looked back regretfully
upon his past experiences and adventures, yet he was not entirely sorry
that the trip was over. For he had not ceased to think of May
Kingsland's blue eyes and bright winsome face--had not ceased to wonder
how the latter would look when he should see it again. And that would
be very soon now.
"My word, Ridgeley, but you'll have some yarns to spin to old Kingsland
when we look in upon him on our way," went on Dawes. "Why, he'll hardly
believe you're the raw Britisher he was with on board ship! I never saw
a fellow take so kindly to roughing it, and things. And you've filled
out too, and become twice the chap you were all round."
"I feel that I have," answered Gerard, with something of a guilty start
at the queer coincidence that Dawes's thoughts should have been located
on the same spot as his own. "And whatever this trip has done for me
it's thanks to you. Well, Dawes, I don't mind telling you that I'm your
debtor for life."
"Tut, tut, man! Why you've been worth it all to me. We've had a rough
time mind--a rougher time by far than I expected, or than a trip of this
kind's got any business to be--and I never want a better mate than
yourself, and I've known a good few fellows in that line, too. I say
though, I wonder how your friend Maitland would have got on in your
place. Not over well, I fancy. Too much of a masher--collars and cuffs
kind of a bandbox chap, you know--not even good enough for a store
clerk."
"He thinks himself many removes too good for me, I can tell you,"
laughed Gerard, remembering the lofty contempt with which Harry had
reproached him for "turning counter-jumper," as he was pleased to put
it.
"He's a chap who won't come to over much good, I'm afraid," said Dawes.
"I wonder what has become of him."
"So do I," said Gerard.
We don't see why the reader should share the enforced, ignorance of the
two; wherefore we may as well state that Harry Maitland was at that
moment seated on the counter of one of the most fifth-rate bars in
Maritzburg, swinging his legs and bawling out a not over-refined song
for the benefit and amusement of an audience of loafers a trifle less
drunk than himself; for, without wishing inordinately to moralise, the
incident throws a suggestive side-light on the contrast of the
divergence of the ways of these two English lads, each stranded on his
own hook in a far-away colony.
"Let's saddle up and ride on ahead, and find a good place to outspan,"
suggested Dawes.
This was done, and the two were soon cantering further and further from
the waggons. The country, which had hitherto been bushy and rolling,
now began to assume a somewhat different aspect. High conical hills
rose on either hand, their slopes streaked with black, forest-clad
kloofs, and the two horsemen, wending their way beneath, noticed that
the long winding valley they were pursuing was carpeted with a smooth,
green, meadow-like sward.
"I'm rather uneasy about those Swazis of ours," said Dawes, as they rode
along. "They're brewing some dog's trick, I know. My impression is
that they mean to desert. I can see by their sulky and hang-dog manner
what it all amounts to, and this morning while they were sitting round
their fire I happened to pass near enough to catch a word or two of
their conversation. I heard `Igazipuza' mentioned more than once. It's
quite wonderful how this form of funk has sprung up along this border,
and in fact it was a long way inside Swaziland that we heard it."
"Yes. The wonder is that we got a single Swazi to go with us. But is
there really such a chap as Ingonyama? You know the Zulu country pretty
well."
"I never heard of him till lately," answered Dawes. "Still he may be
some petty chief, who has suddenly sprung into fame, and has gathered
around him all the ruffians of the Zulu nation. Well, a few days more
will show. But I don't like our Swazis turning rusty. If they make off
we can't replace them, for this strip of country seems absolutely
uninhabited. Hallo!--quick--jump down, Ridgeley!"
This in harried _staccato_. For in rounding a spur, there, in front of
them, right out in the open stood a fine bush-buck ram. Roused by the
tramp of the horses' feet he stood, his head thrown back, gazing
curiously upon the intruders. The last idea apparently that occurred to
him was that of flight.
"Two hundred yards sight, not too fine," whispered Dawes, as Gerard
dropped into a sitting posture.
But before the latter had time to press trigger the back was seen to
leap high in the air, and fall over kicking; then, after another plunge
and a kind of gasping bellow, it lay still.
"By Jove! What does that mean?" cried Gerard.
"It has been assegaied," said Dawes. The buck was lying some thirty
yards from the edge of the bush. Out of the latter there now emerged a
tall savage, who without deigning to take any notice of the presence of
strangers, walked straight up to his quarry and proceeded to cut its
throat with the blade of a huge assegai.
This man, as the pair rode up to him, growled out a sullen "_Saku
bona_," and proceeded with his work of cleaning the buck, just as if
they were not there. Seen face to face he was unmistakably a Zulu, and
though of fine frame and splendid proportions, both agreed that he owned
about the most villainous countenance they had looked upon for many a
long day. His shaven pate was crowned with the usual black shiny ring,
and he wore round his loins the usual _mutya_ of cats' tails. But they
noticed that he was armed with several broad-bladed, close-quarter
assegais, as well as two or three lighter casting ones, also a huge
knobkerrie, and a full-sized war-shield of red and white ox hide.
"It was a fine shot--or rather couple of shots," said Dawes, as they
stood watching the process. "Look, Ridgeley. The first assegai half
ham-strung the buck just under the shoulders, the second must have gone
through the heart, or very near it. Yes, it's powerful throwing."
To Dawes's suggestion that he should sell them the buck which he had so
deftly slain, or at least a part of it, the Zulu returned a surly
refusal. All the while he was cleaning the carcase he was devouring
what he considered tid-bits raw--the heart, the liver, and part of the
entrails. Then making a cup of his two hands, he scooped up a quantity
of blood which had collected in the hollow of the carcase, and
deliberately drank it. Gerard could hardly conceal his disgust, but
there was something in the action that struck Dawes.
"Who are you?" he asked. "Of the people of Zulu?"
"Of the people of Zulu? _Au_!" returned the savage in a sneering tone,
as he flung the carcase of the buck across his shoulder. Then standing
drawn to the full height of his almost gigantic frame, his villainous
countenance--rendered more repulsive still with the smears of blood from
the bits of raw meat he had been eating--wreathed into a most evil grin,
he shouted--
"Where have you dwelt, _abelungu_ [white men], that you have never heard
of Vunawayo? Of the people of Zulu? _Ou_! Igazipuza. _The people who
drink blood_."
The last words were uttered almost in a roar--a roar of defiance and
hatred and wild beast ferocity. The huge barbarian turned and
disappeared among the bush.
"We had better get on and find our outspan," said Dawes, after the
momentary silence which had fallen upon the pair. The apparition,
coming as it did, had been rather startling. Zulus are by nature
well-mannered people, and the brutal rudeness of the man they had just
met could betoken nothing less than the most undisguised hostility, but,
worse than all, his last words were an abundant confirmation of the ugly
rumours which had been taking shape of late with regard to this
mysterious and redoubtable clan.
"Well, if this fellow is a specimen of them all, the Igazipuza must be a
lot of picked men, both in the matter of physique and character," said
Gerard. "I never saw a finer built chap, nor a more utterly
irredeemable-looking villain. And he choused me out of my shot."
"We may as well keep the affair dark as regards the other boys, but
we'll take Sintoba into counsel," said Dawes. "The Swazis would hook it
at a moment's notice if they got wind of it. This is a good spot to
outspan, and--here come the waggons."
The rumble of wheels, and the sound of voices and whip-cracking drew
near, and already the cattle and sheep came into view, scattering over
the meadow-like valley bottom, and soon the waggons. Then, having
reached the spot, a broad level, which Dawes had selected, the waggons
were outspanned, and the oxen turned out to graze, and all hands who
could be spared from the duties of herding were despatched to the
adjacent hillside to cut thorn bushes. With these a fairly substantial
kraal or enclosure was built, the two waggons forming one side of it,
and into this the cattle and sheep were driven for the night. There was
a lion or two still frequenting that broken and desolate hill-country,
and any number of hyaenas or wolves, as they are called in South
Africa--and against such the thorn fence, frail as it was, constituted a
fairly efficient protection; for wild animals are desperately suspicious
of anything in the nature of a fence, and will hesitate to leap within
it, fearing a trap.
Hardly were these precautions completed than the night fell, and then
the cheery glow of the camp-fires shone forth redly upon the darkness,
and the savoury contents of cooking-pots gave out a welcome aroma. But
somehow a damp seemed to have fallen upon the spirits of all. The
ordinarily light-hearted natives conversed sparingly and in subdued
whispers, and even Dawes and Gerard could not altogether feel unaffected
by the general depression. It was as though some hidden danger were
hanging over them, the more terrible because mysterious. The night wore
on, and soon all sounds were hushed but the rhythmic champ champ of the
ruminating cattle, and the occasional trumpet-like sneeze of a goat,
and, beneath the dark loom of the hills against the star-gemmed vault,
the tiger-wolves howled as they scented the flock which they dare not
approach. But it was upon the first faint streak of dawn that all the
alertness of those two watchers was concentrated, for that is the hour
invariably chosen by the savage foe for the sudden, swift, demoralising
rush, which shall overwhelm his doomed victims before they have time so
much as to seize their weapons in order to sell dearly their miserable
lives.