"Ujojo!"
"_Nkose_?"
And the chief of the guard went over to where lay his former master.
"You did well to keep those Abantwana Mlimo off me last night. They
might have pricked me with a poisoned blade, or have done anything."
The speaker little guessed he had hit the actual mark. "And now,
Ujojo--why are you fighting?"
The man laughed, turning aside his head.
"_Nkose_, I have been taking care of your cattle for you," he said. "I
have them, all but three, and those the people took, wanting meat.
Afterwards I will return them."
"But--if you thought I was blown up with the house?"
"I could not think that, _Nkose_. Anyone else yes--but--well, the
cattle are there."
"You will not be the loser, Ujojo, no, nor Zwabeka. Now, when am I to
be allowed to depart?"
"_Nkose_ is sick."
"No; I am well now."
It seemed like it. Hope once more rekindled--powerfully rekindled--
seemed to have infused the sufferer with new life. His bruised leg was
still terribly stiff and painful, but the fever had almost left him.
That is a peculiarity of this up-country malaria. A man may be
shivering under eight blankets in the evening and the next morning be
standing about in his shirt loading up his waggons or donkeys. Lamont,
chatting thus with his guard on the morning after his visit from
Zwabeka, felt almost as if he had never had anything the matter with him
in his life.
"There is the doctor, _Nkose_," said Ujojo, with a sweep of the hand
beneath.
Zwabeka's runners had been swift. Crossing the stony hollow was a
horseman, and in a minute or two further Lamont and Father Mathias were
shaking hands cordially.
"Why we never expected to meet like this again, did we?" said the
latter. "Now show me where you have hurt your leg--you have hurt it, I
am told. You know, I have a medical diploma in my own country."
"Then you have a double-barrelled sphere of usefulness, Father. But--
how on earth did you get up among Madula's people? Why, the whole
country is in a blaze."
"I was called to see a poor white man who was dying. He was a sort of a
trader among them, and they were friendly with him, and protected him
when the rising began. He sent for me, assuring me that I should be
safeguarded until I was back in any township or post I should elect."
"And you put your head into a hornet's nest on that slender assurance?"
The other smiled.
"Why, yes; it is part of my commission. Would you shrink from going to
the rescue of someone, Mr Lamont, because the odds were largely against
you?"
It was Lamont's turn to smile now, and that grimly, remembering the odds
that had been against him in `going to the rescue of someone.'
"The poor man died, but I was just in time," went on the priest. "Then
I stayed on and doctored some of the people who were suffering from
ordinary ailments, and indeed from wounds. As for danger, they would
not have harmed me."
"No, not if you made yourself useful in that line. I recollect at
Zwabeka's that memorable time, I boomed you sky high as a tremendous
_isanusi_, but they wouldn't more than half believe it then."
Father Mathias laughed, then, going outside to where he had left his
horse, he detached the saddlebag, and returned.
"I have not so much luggage as the last time we met--but I have a useful
medicine chest here. I shall give you something to reduce that fever,
then I shall attend to the leg. You have let it fall into a very sore
state. The wonder is, it is not one great veldt sore."
While being thus tended with deft surgical skill, Lamont proceeded to
narrate all that had befallen within his own experience of the rising.
He kept the plum of his news until the last.
"Why, then, I congratulate you heartily, Mr Lamont," said the priest.
"You are indeed fortunate."
"I quite agree, and now I am wondering when old Zwabeka is going to keep
his word, and turn us loose out of this. You can imagine how I am
chafing over it."
Father Mathias smiled to himself, as he contrasted the tense feverish
earnestness of his friend now, with the cool, impassive, utterly
indifferent demeanour that had characterised him on the last occasion of
their meeting. Suddenly a dismal, long-drawn, nasal sound beneath,
interrupted them. A number of dark figures were crossing the hollow in
a kind of dance, wailing forth their abominable chant.
"It's those infernal Abantwana Mlimo," said Lamont angrily. "The brutes
have been agitating to get me into their hands to cut my throat, or
worse, all the time. Stirring up the crowd too. If we don't get away
from here soon, they may carry things their own way."
There was worse to come. Following upon the heels of the contorting
sorcerers, came a number of warriors--from the interest with which those
already on the ground jumped up to stare at them, obviously new
arrivals. On they came, pouring forward in an open column, their number
seemed to be unending; and now these too, clashing their sticks upon
their shields, began to take up the song of the Abantwana Mlimo. Lamont
listened eagerly as it swelled higher and louder, then turned to his
companion, his face dark with bitterness.
"Just as I said, too late now. They are clamouring for our lives, egged
on of course by those infernal sorcerers; and they'll get what they
want, too, for Zwabeka is nothing like strong enough to defy a number
like that."
The situation from one of relief and hope had become appalling. Below,
these human beasts, hundreds and hundreds of them, stamping their feet,
roaring, waving their tufted shields, flashing their blades, as they
bellowed forth, in a kind of improvised rhythm, their bloodthirsty
petition. Others, too, were joining them; but above all the shrill,
yelling voices of the sorcerers rose high and unflagging. Any moment
the wild rout might break out of hand, and then--
"Well, Father, I have sunk your ship with mine," said Lamont bitterly.
"If you hadn't come here to look after me you'd have been safe at
Madula's now."
"Yes? But where safety and duty take different paths, we must follow
the latter," was the tranquil reply.
Lamont looked at him with admiration. Here was a man of the pattern of
the old-time saint and martyr, if ever there was one, he thought.
"I am done for, but it is possible they may not harm you," he said. "If
you see--her--again, tell her you saw the last of me."
The frightful racket of the blood-song had become deafening now. A
glance forth served to show that many of the clamouring rout had faced
round, and were flourishing shields and weapons in the direction of
their retreat.
"It may be any minute now," he went on. Then, vehemently, "Father, I
would like to die in Clare's faith."
"And if you live, would you _live_ in it?"
"To the end of my days. I have been thinking a good deal about things
since I have been lying here."
The two were looking each other straight in the face. That of the
priest had brightened as though by a semi-supernatural irradiation.
"It may not be too late now," he said.
It was not. Something was done--not much, but sufficient. Something
was said--not much, but sufficient under the circumstances, as
sufficient indeed as though that pile of boulders had been a cathedral.
And no sooner was that so than the whole roaring, stamping rout came
surging up to the opening.
But, barring the said opening, stood ten men with levelled guns,
foremost among them the faithful Ujojo.
"Back!" cried the latter in stentorian tones. "You only enter here over
us dead ones. But you will enter over even more of your own dead ones
first."
The crowd halted, so fierce and resolute was the aspect of Zwabeka's
guards. Some vociferated one thing, some another. Some cried that they
would not harm the white doctor, but the man who had done such terrible
execution against them. U' Lamonti--him they must and would put to
death; while others shouted that no difference should be made between
either, that all whites should be stamped from the land, for had not
Umlimo said it. And the abominable sorcerers, hanging on the outskirts
of the crowd, took up this cue and worked it for all it was worth.
"Hear now!" cried Ujojo. "Zwabeka is my father and chief. He placed me
here saying, `Suffer none to enter.' If you can find the chief and
induce him to say to me, `Let those men enter'--then ye enter--not
otherwise."
For a moment the rout looked staggered, then the uproar redoubled. As a
matter of fact Zwabeka was at that moment about four miles away across
the mountains, and, of course, in complete ignorance of the
demonstration which was going on at his camp.
"I have an idea, but a desperate one," said Lamont. "It may be worth
something if only to gain a little time. _Ho, amadoda_!" he called out,
advancing near the entrance, though not showing himself. "Remember what
happened to those who would have plundered my house. Well, the white
doctor and I have enough of the same evil _muti_ to blow half this
mountain away ten times over. Where will ye be then? But we, and these
few men who are obeying their chief, will come to no harm. We and they
will come through it safe, even as I did before, and those that were
with me."
The effect of this statement was greater than its propounder had dared
to hope. The awful effects of the explosion at Lamont's farm had been
sounded throughout the length and breadth of the nation. The clamour,
which had been deafening, was suddenly hushed, only finding vent in a
buzzing murmur. The bloodthirsty fervour of the crowd seemed to have
sizzled.
"May I use anything I find in your medicine chest, Father," said Lamont
hurriedly. "Thanks. Ah, this will do. It may be advisable to set up a
preliminary scare."
He selected nothing more formidable than an ordinary medicine measure, a
ball of cotton wool, and a strand of magnesium wire. Then he advanced
to the entrance and for the first time showed himself.
"Fear nothing, Ujojo. You and your men are safe," he murmured. Then,
aloud: "Now! Will ye all go? You weary us."
The uncanny looking glass, inverted, caught the light. Upon the
upturned bottom of the glass he had placed the ball of wool. Now, as in
full view of them all he ignited the magnesium wire, flashing it within
the inverted glass, the whole crowd, with the fear of the former
explosion before its eyes, could stand it no longer. It backed,
stumbled--then half turned.
"We withdraw, Lamonti, we withdraw," cried a voice.
"Withdraw then. This fire is nearly burnt out. Then follows the
rending of the earth."
Swiftly, almost at a run, the badly frightened crowd, which a moment
since had been bellowing for his blood, moved away, not halting to look
back until it had reached a very respectable distance indeed. With
difficulty Lamont restrained a hysterical roar of laughter.
"A near thing, Father," he said to his companion. "But for that idea of
mine they would have rushed the place. We are not out of the wood yet
though. Hallo--what new excitement can be in the wind now?"
For among those who had just been giving trouble a new hubbub had
arisen, but this time their retreat was not its object, for glances were
turned in the opposite direction, and now among the varying
vociferations could be descried the word `Amakiwa.' And then, away
beyond the stony ridge, rose the muffled, dropping roar of firearms.
One of these two white men the sound thrilled like the thrill of
harp-strings.
Beneath, in the hollow, excitement became intense on every hand. Groups
of warriors springing from nowhere, armed, were moving off in the
direction of the sound; the large body by which they had just been
threatened had already gone. Again and again that dropping volley--
somewhat nearer--and now from a new direction--and this time quite near,
a renewed roar.
"D'you hear that?" cried Lamont, eager with repressed excitement. "We
could almost join these, only we don't know how many Matabele there may
be between us and them."
Ujojo and the other guards were no more impervious to the prevailing
excitement. They were pointing eagerly, this way and that way, and
taking in all the different points at which warriors were posted among
the rocks to give the invaders a warm reception. That a large force of
whites was advancing was manifest by the heaviness of the fire, which
was now heard on the three open sides of the place.
A little more of this, and still nearer and nearer drew the three lines
of fire, the nearest of all being that on their own side; and now,
warriors, by twos and threes, rifle in hand, were seen flitting by,
clearly in full retreat or to take up some new position. And, around
these, spits of dust from the invaders' bullets were already beginning
to rise.
"_Nkose_! It is time for us to leave now," called out Ujojo. "Your
people will be here directly."
"Good, Ujojo. After the war, all those who have guarded me shall have
five cows apiece for to-day's work. Now go!"
"_Nkose! Baba_!" they shouted with hand uplifted. Then they went.
"I'm thinking out our best plan, Father," said Lamont. "If we show
ourselves too soon we might get shot in mistake for Matabele. The only
thing is to--"
"Give it the schepsels, give it 'em! Give 'em hell!" sung out a voice
just beneath. And renewed firing broke forth, presumably on the rear of
the retreating guards.
"That's Peters," pronounced Lamont. "Ahoy, there! Peters!" he
bellowed.
Peters stood stock-still for a moment--stared--listened. "It's him!" he
roared. "It's him! Wyndham. Here! we've found him! We came out to do
it--and--we've done it. How are you, my dear old chap," as the quondam
prisoner and invalid emerged from his late prison and hospital, walking
with surprising vigour. "Oh, but this is too good, too darn good for
anything!"
"Let go, Peters. Dash it, man, you hurt," cried Lamont, ruefully
contemplating his half-crushed knuckles. "Or turn some of it on to
Father Mathias here. His doctoring skill has pulled me round, I can
tell you."
"How are you, sir. Delighted to see you again," went on Peters. "We
came out to find Lamont. Swore we wouldn't go back till we had. Isn't
that so, boys?"
"Rather," answered the others, who had come up. "How are you, captain,"
and "Glad to see you safe and sound," and a dozen other hearty greetings
were showered upon him.
"Peters," he said in a low tone, drawing him apart. "What news?--You
know."
"I can't give you any, Lamont, beyond the day you disappeared. You see
we came straight away from Kezane. Miss Vidal was marvellously plucky,
but not a man jack of us but could see she was half broken-hearted. She
wanted to come with us."
"Did she?" said the other huskily.
"Didn't she! Well, of course that wouldn't do. She went back to
Gandela."
"And I'm going to do ditto--to-night. You can raise me a horse,
Peters?"
"No, I can't; and I wouldn't if I could. By the way, have you any idea
where you are?"
"Now I think of it, I haven't."
"Eastern end of the Matopo. So you see the sort of country--and the
extent of it--between this and Gandela. And it just swarms with
rebels."
Lamont admitted the sense of this, but it was hard to be patient.
Meanwhile the battle, or skirmish,--in which they had ceased to take any
further interest,--had rolled farther and farther away, and was
slackening off altogether.
When the force went into camp for the night, great was the
dissatisfaction expressed over Peters' proposed defection. The latter
was adamant.
"I've come out with one object now," he said, "and I've attained it. We
must get back to Gandela at once, where Lamont has some very pressing
business. Then we're going to start a corps of our own. In fact,
that's all cut and dried. Eh, Wyndham?"
Wyndham agreed, and it was arranged they should start at dawn. Father
Mathias elected to remain with the expedition. His knowledge of surgery
might be useful, he urged, and indeed subsequent events proved it to be
very useful indeed, and the intrepidity of the doctor-priest, and his
unflagging care for the wounded and the dying, even under the hottest of
fire, won for him the admiration of all, not only on that expedition but
throughout the entire campaign.
Peters' party duly reached Gandela--not without incident, for on one
occasion it had to fight its way through. And then there were great
rejoicings, and a reunion which was too sacred for us to meddle with.
Then, too, came about the formation of that hard-bitten corps, `Lamont
Tigers,' and tigers indeed the savage enemy was destined to find them,
until eventually he sullenly laid down his arms at the Matopo Peace.
And with their departure, pain and black anxiety deepened down once
more--but--such was the common lot.