In the midst of the savage throng was another white man, also a
prisoner, who had been forced to assist at the barbarous scene just
detailed. His lot, however, had been cast in far worse lines than that
of Eustace, for his hands were tightly fastened behind his back and a
_reim_ connected his ankles in such wise that he could only take short
steps--which painful fact he would every now and then forget, with the
result of just so many ignominious "croppers." Whereat his dusky
tormentors would shout with gleeful laughter.
In addition to his bonds the unfortunate man appeared to have undergone
considerable maltreatment. His hair and beard were matted with dust and
blood, and his head was rudely bandaged with rags of the filthiest
description. He was clad in a greasy and tattered shirt, and trousers
to match--his own clothes having been impounded by his captors.
Moreover there were livid wales upon his face and hands, and such parts
of his person as were visible through his ragged apparel, which showed
that he had been unmercifully beaten. Well might Eustace start in
amazement, absolute and unfeigned. In this pitiable object he
recognised Tom Carhayes.
He gazed at him speechless--as at one who has risen from the dead. If
ever he could have sworn to any man's death it would have been to that
of the man before him. He had seen the assegais flash in the air and
descend--had heard the dull, sickening blows of the kerries which had
beaten the life out of his unfortunate cousin. Yet, here stood the
latter--not exactly unhurt, but yet full of life.
"_Hau_, Umlilwane!" said Hlangani, who was standing beside the latter--
grinning hideously into his victim's face. "You are not near enough to
see well. The black ants bite--harder than the shot from your gun," he
went on, with grim meaning, beckoning to those who stood by to drag the
prisoner nearer to the body of the unfortunate Vudana, which lay, raw
and bloody, the veins exposed in many places by the bites of the myriad
swarming insects. Carhayes gazed upon the horrid sight with a shudder
of disgust. Then raising his eyes he encountered those of Eustace. A
shout of astonishment escaped him.
"How did you get here?" he cried. "Thought you were rubbed out if ever
any fellow was. Suppose you thought the same of me. Well, well. It'll
come to that soon. These damned black devils have bested me, just as I
reckoned I was besting them. They've been giving me hell already. But
I say, Eustace, you seem to be in clover," noticing the other's freedom
from bonds or ill-treatment. Then he added bitterly, "I forgot; you
always did stand in well with them."
"That isn't going to help me much now, I'm afraid," answered Eustace.
"I've just made a fool of the witch-doctress and she won't let things
rest there, depend upon it. My case isn't much more hopeful than yours.
Have you tried the bribery trick?"
"No. How do you mean?"
"Offer some big-wig, like our particular friend there--I won't mention
names--a deuce of a lot of cattle to let you escape. Try and work it--
only you must be thundering careful."
The Kafirs, who had been attentively listening to the conversation
between the two white men, here deemed that enough had been said.
Dialogue in an unknown tongue must represent just so much plotting,
argued their suspicious natures. So they interposed.
"See there," said Hlangani, with a meaning glance at the fearfully
contorted features of the miserable victim of the witch-doctress. "See
there, Umlilwane, and remember my `word' to you the day you shot my
white hunting dog and wounded me in the shoulder. _You had better first
have cut off your right hand, for it is better to lose a hand than one's
mind. Hau_! You laughed then. Who laughs now?"
To Eustace those words now stood out in deadly significance. The
wretched Vudana had died raving mad. This, then, was the promised
vengeance. Whatever his own fate might be, that of his cousin was
sealed. Nothing short of a miracle could save him. Carhayes, noting
the deadly and implacable expression upon the dark countenance of his
enemy, realised something of this, and fearless as he habitually was, it
was all he could do to keep from betraying some misgiving.
At this juncture a mandate arrived from Kreli that the warriors should
once more assemble within the temporary kraal, and that the white
prisoners should again be brought before him. Singing, chatting,
laughing, administering many a sly kick or cuff to poor Carhayes, the
savages swarmed back to the open space, dragging that unfortunate along
in rough, unceremonious fashion. Soon the glade was empty, save for the
body of the miserable victim of their blindly superstitious ferocity.
It lay there, stark, mangled, and hideous.
The Paramount Chief and his councillors still sat in a group apart.
They had borne no part in, betrayed no interest in, the barbarous
tragedy which had just taken place. Such a matter as the punishment of
a wizard was entirely beneath their notice--in theory at any rate. They
still sat in grave and dignified impassiveness.
Eustace, noting the difference between his own treatment and that of his
cousin--the one bound with unnecessary rigour, hustled and kicked, the
other, though disarmed, treated with a certain amount of consideration--
began to entertain strong hopes on his own account. But tending
materially to dash them was the fact that Ngcenika, standing before the
chief and the _amapakati_, was favouring that august assemblage with a
very fierce and denunciatory harangue.
There were two white men, she said--two prisoners. One of these was a
man of some power, who had been able to oppose her magic with his own;
only for a time, however--the hag took care to add. This man it might
be well to keep for a little while longer at any rate; there were
several experiments which she herself intended to try upon him. But the
other--he had always been a bitter enemy of their race. Many had fallen
at his hands. Had he not cut a notch upon his gun-stock for every
fighting man of the race of Xosa whom he had slain? There was the
gun-stock and there were the notches. There were many of them, let the
Great Chief--let the _amapakati_ count.
At the production of this damning "_piece de conviction_," a shout of
fury rose from the ranks of the warriors.
"To the fire!" they cried. "To the fire with him!"
The situation was appalling, yet Carhayes never quailed. The desperate
pluck of the man bore him up even then. He scowled contemptuously upon
the lines of dark and threatening faces, then turned erect and fearless
towards the chief.
For a few moments they confronted each other thus in silence. The
Englishman, somewhat weak and unsteady from exhaustion and
ill-treatment, could still look the arbiter of his fate straight in the
eyes without blenching. They might do their worst and be damned, he
said to himself. He, Tom Carhayes, was not going to whine for mercy to
any nigger--even if that "nigger" was the Chief Paramount of all the
Amaxosa tribes.
The latter, for his part, was not without respect for the white man's
intrepidity, but he had no intention of sparing him for all that. He
had been debating with his chiefs and councillors, and they had decided
that Carhayes ought to be sacrificed as an uncompromising and determined
enemy of their race. The other it might be expedient to keep a little
longer and see how events would turn.
"What have you to say, _umlungu_?" said Kreli at length.
"Nothing. Not a damn thing," broke in Carhayes, in a loud, harsh tone.
"Tom, for God's sake don't be such a fool," whispered Eustace, who was
near enough to be heard. "Can't you be civil for once?"
"No, I can't; not to any infernal black scoundrel," roared the other
savagely. "It's different with you, Eustace," changing his tone to a
bitter sneer. "Damn it, man, you're about half a Kafir already. Why
don't you ask old Kreli for a couple of his daughters and set up a kraal
here among them, eh?"
A sounding whack across the ear with the haft of an assegai choked the
words in his throat. He stood, literally foaming with fury.
"Attend, thou white dog," cried a great deep-toned voice. "Attend when
the Great Chief is talking to thee. _Au_!"
An infuriated mastiff straining at his chain is a pretty good
exemplification of impotent wrath, but even he is nothing to the aspect
and demeanour of Carhayes as he turned to the perpetrator of this
indignity. The veins rolled in his forehead as if they would burst.
The muscles stood out upon his neck like cords as he strove by a
superhuman effort to burst his bonds. But Hlangani only sneered.
"Listen when the Great Chief is talking to thee, thou jackal, or I will
strike thee again," he said.
"God damn the Great Chief!" roared poor Tom, his voice rising to a
hurricane shriek of fury under this shameful indignity, which he was
powerless to resent. "And you, Hlangani, you dog, if I stood unbound I
would kill you at this moment--kill you all unarmed as I am. Coward!
Dare you try it!"
"What is this _indaba_?" interrupted Kreli sternly. "This white man has
a very long tongue. Perhaps it may be shortened with advantage." A hum
of applause greeted this remark, and the chief went on. "You are asked
a question, _umlungu_, and instead of answering you rave and bellow and
throw yourself about like a cow that has lost her calf. And now what
have you to say? You have invaded our country and shot our people with
your own hand. If a man thrusts his head into a hornet's nest, whom
shall he blame but himself if he gets stung--if he treads upon a
serpent, how shall he complain if made to feel the reptile's fangs?"
"Well, you see, it's war-time," answered Carhayes bluntly, beginning to
think he might just as well say something to save his life, if words
could save it, that is. "I have met your people in fair fight, and I
challenge any man, black or white, to deny that I have acted fair,
square, and above board. And when we do take prisoners we don't treat
them as I have been treated since I was brought here. They are taken
care of by the doctors if wounded, as I am; not tied up and starved and
kicked, as I have been."
"Their doctors are the Fingo dogs," interrupted the chief darkly, "their
medicine a sharp assegai. Freeborn men of the House of Gcaleka to die
at the hand of a Fingo slave! _Hau_!"
A roar of execration went up at this hit. "To the fire with him!"
howled the savage crowd. "Give him to us, Great Chief, that we may make
him die a hundred deaths!"
"That is the sort of healing my children get when they fall into the
hands of Amanglezi. And you, _umlungu_, you have offered an insult to
the House of Gcaleka in the person of Hlangani, my herald, a man of the
House of Hintza, my father. Was it war-time when you shed his blood?
Did you meet in fair fight when you shot him suddenly and at
close-quarters, he having no gun?"
"Was it war-time when Hlangani entered the Gaika location to stir up
strife? Was it right that he should bring his dogs on to my farm to
hunt my bucks?" answered Carhayes fearlessly. "Again, was it fair play
for four men, armed with assegais, to attack one, who had but two shots?
Or was it self-defence? Listen to my words, Kreli, and you chiefs and
_amapakati_ of the House of Gcaleka," he went on, raising his voice till
it was audible to the whole assemblage. "In the presence of you all I
proclaim Hlangani a coward. He has struck and insulted me because I am
bound. He dare not meet me free. I challenge him to do so. Loosen
these bonds. I am weak and wounded. I cannot escape--you need not
fear--and let him meet me if he dares, with any weapon he chooses. I
challenge him. If he refuses he is nothing but a cowardly dog, and
worse than the meanest Fingo. If you, Kreli, refuse my request, it is
because you _know_ this bragging herald of yours to be a coward."
The fierce rapidity of this harangue, the audacity of the request
embodied within it, took away the auditors' breath. Yet the idea
appealed to them--appealed powerfully to their ardently martial
sympathies. The very novelty of such a duel as that proposed invested
it with a rare attractiveness.
"What does Hlangani say?" observed Kreli, with a partly amused glance at
his subordinate.
"This, O Great Chief of my father's house," replied the warrior, the
light of battle springing into his eyes. "Of what man living was
Hlangani ever afraid? What man ever had to call him twice? Yet, O
Great Chief, the head of my father's house, I would ask a boon. When I
have whipped this miserable white dog, I would claim possession of his
wretched carcase absolutely, alive or dead."
"It is granted, Hlangani," said the chief.
"And I?" cried Carhayes. "What shall be given to me when I have sent
this cur, who strikes helpless men, howling to his hut? My liberty, of
course?"
"No," replied Kreli, shortly.
"No?" echoed the prisoner. "My life then?"
"No," answered the chief again. "Be content, _umlungu_. If you conquer
you shall have a swift and merciful death. If you fail, Hlangani claims
you."
Carhayes stared at the chief for a moment, then, as he realised that he
had nothing to hope for, whether he won in the combat or not--an
expression of such deadly ferocity, such fell and murderous purpose
swept across his face, that many of those who witnessed it realised that
their countryman was going to snatch no easy victory.
The stout rawhide _reims_ which bound his hands behind him were
loosened--and that which secured his feet was removed. He stood
swinging his arms and stamping to hasten the circulation--then he asked
for some water, which was brought him.
"_Ha, umlungu_!" jeered Ngcenika, addressing Eustace, as the two white
men stood talking together. "Give this valiant fighter some white magic
to strengthen him. He will need it."
"Well, Eustace, I'm going to kill that dog," said Carhayes. "I'm going
to die fighting anyway, so that's all right. Now--I'm ready. What are
we going to fight with?"
"This," said one of the bystanders, handing him a pair of hard-wood
kerries.
Hlangani now made his appearance similarly armed. The crescent
formation of warriors had narrowed their ranks, the chiefs and
councillors and Eustace and his guards composing the upper arc of the
circle. The prisoner could not have broken through that dense array of
armed men which hemmed him in on every side, had he entertained the
idea.
Both the principals in that strange impromptu duel were men of splendid
physique. The Kafir, nearly naked, looked like a bronze giant, towering
above his adversary in his magnificent height and straight and perfect
proportions. The Englishman, thick-set, deep-chested, concentrated a
vast amount of muscular power within his five-foot-eight. He had thrown
off his ragged shirt, and the muscles of his chest and arms stood out
like ropes. He looked a terribly awkward antagonist, and moreover on
his side the conflict would be fought with all the ferocity of despair.
He was a man bent on selling his life dearly.
Hlangani, for his part, was confident and smiling. He was going to
fight with his natural weapons, a pair of good, trusty kerries. This
blundering white man, though he had the strength and ferocity of an
enraged bull, had more than that quadruped's stupidity. He would knock
him out of shape in no time.
When blood is up, the spirit of Donnybrook is very strong among Kafirs.
The next best thing to taking part in a fight is to witness one--and
now, accordingly, every head was bent forward with the most eager
interest as the two combatants advanced towards each other in the open
space. There was no "ring" proper, nor were there any recognised rules;
no "time" either. Each man's business was to kill or disable the
other--as effectually as possible, and by any means in his power.
Now a smart Kafir, armed with two good kerries whose use he thoroughly
understands, is about as tough a customer to tackle as is a professional
pugilist to the average Briton who knows how to use his hands but
indifferently. Of this Carhayes was perfectly aware. Consequently his
plan was to meet his antagonist with extreme wariness; in fact, to stand
rather on the defensive, at any rate at first. He was a fair single
stick player, which tended not a little to equalise the chances.
As they drew near each other and reached striking distance, they looked
straight into each other's eyes like a pair of skilful fencers. The
savage, with one kerrie raised in the air, the other held horizontally
before his breast, but both with a nervous, supple grasp, ready to turn
any way with lightning rapidity--his glance upon that of his foe--his
active, muscular frame poised lightly on one foot, then on another, with
feline readiness, would have furnished a perfect subject for an
instantaneous photograph representing strength and address combined.
The Englishman, his bearded lips compressed, his blue eyes sparkling and
alert, shining with suppressed eagerness to come to close-quarters with
his crafty and formidable foe, was none the less a fine specimen of
courage and undaunted resolution.
Hlangani, a sneering laugh upon his thick lips, opened the ball by
making a judicious feint. But his adversary never moved. He followed
it up by another, then a series of them, whirling his striking kerrie
round the Englishman's head in the most startling proximity, now on this
side, now on that, holding his parrying one ready for any attack the
other might make upon him. Still Carhayes stood strictly on the
defensive. He knew the Kafir was trying to "draw him"--knew that his
enemy's quick eye was prepared for any opportunity. He was not going to
waste energy gratuitously.
Suddenly, and with lightning-like celerity, Hlangani made a sweep at the
lower part of his adversary's leg. It would have been the ruin of a
less experienced combatant, but Carhayes' kerrie, lowered just two
inches, met that of his opponent with a sounding crash just in time to
save his skull somewhere in the region of the ear. It was a clever
feint, and a dexterous follow-up, but it had failed. Hlangani began to
realise that he had met a foeman worthy of his steel--or, rather, of his
wood. Still he knew the other's impetuous temper, and by wearing out
his patience reckoned on obtaining a sure and tolerably easy victory.
And it seemed as if he would gain the result of his reasoning even
sooner than he expected. Bristling with rage, literally smarting with
the indignity recently put upon him, Carhayes abandoned the defensive.
With a sudden rush, he charged his antagonist, and for a few moments
nothing was heard but the clash of hard-wood in strike and parry.
Hlangani was touched on the shoulder, while Carhayes got a rap on the
knuckles, which in cold blood would have turned him almost sick with
pain. But his blood was at boiling point now, and he was fighting with
the despairing ferocity of one who has no hope left in life. He pressed
his gigantic adversary with such vigour and determination that the other
had no alternative but to give way.
The fun was waxing fast and furious now. The warriors crowding in
nearer and nearer, pressed forward in breathless attention, encouraging
their champion with many a deep-toned hum of applause when he scored or
seemed likely to score a point. The few women then in the kraal stood
on tiptoe, trying to peer over the heads and shoulders of the armed men.
Even the chiefs and councillors condescended to show considerable
interest in this impromptu tournament, while Eustace Milne, animated by
various motives, watched its progress narrowly.
For a few moments it really seemed that the white man would prove the
victor. Before the impetuosity of his furious attacks Hlangani was
constrained to give way more and more. A Beserk ferocity seemed to have
taken possession of Carhayes. His eyes glared through the blood and
dust which clung to his unwashen visage. Every hair of his beard seemed
to bristle and stand upright, like the mane of a wild boar. His chest
heaved, and the dexterity with which he whirled his kerrie around his
adversary's ears--always quick to ward the latter's blows from himself--
was wonderful to behold.
Crash--scroosh! The blow told. A sound as of the crunching of bone.
Hlangani staggered back half a dozen paces, the blood pouring from a
wound in his skull. It was a blow that would probably have shattered
the skull of a white man.
But before Carhayes could follow it up, the wily savage adopted a
different plan. By a series of astonishing leaps and bounds, now
backward, now from side to side, he endeavoured to bewilder his enemy,
and very nearly succeeded. Mad with rage, desperation, and a
consciousness of failing strength, Carhayes was fast losing control over
himself. He roared like a wild animal. He began to strike out wildly,
leaving his guard open. This the cunning barbarian saw and encouraged.
Those looking on had no doubt now as to who held the winning cards; even
Eustace could see it, but his cousin was too far off now to hear a word
of warning or advice, which, however, was just as well for himself.
Again the combatants closed. The splinters began to fly in all
directions as the hard-wood sticks whirled and crashed. Then suddenly a
crushing blow on the wrist sent Carhayes' kerrie flying from his grasp
and almost simultaneously with it came a sickening "scrunch." The white
man dropped like an ox at the shambles, the blood pouring from his head.
Echoing the mighty roar of exultation that went up from the spectators,
Hlangani stood with his foot on the chest of his prostrate adversary,
his kerrie raised to strike again. But there was no necessity. Poor
Tom lay like a corpse, stunned and motionless. The ferocious triumph
depicted on the countenance of the savage was horrible to behold.
"He is mine," he cried, his chest heaving, his eyes blazing, "mine
absolutely. The Great Chief has said it. Bring _reims_."
In a trice a few stout rawhide thongs were procured, and Carhayes was
once more bound hand and foot. Then acting under the directions of his
fierce conqueror--three or four stalwart Kafirs raised the insensible
form of the unfortunate settler and bore it away.
"He has only begun to taste the fury of Hlangani's revenge," said a
voice at Eustace's side. Turning he beheld the witch-doctress,
Ngcenika. The hag pointed to the retreating group with a mocking leer.
"He will wake," she went on. "But he will never be seen again,
Ixeshane--never. _Hau_!"
"Where will he wake, Ngcenika?" asked Eustace, in a voice which he
strove to render unconcerned.
"_Kwa, Zinyoka_," [At the Home of the Serpents] replied the hag with a
brutal laugh.
"And where is that?"
"Where is it? Ha, ha!" mocked the witch-doctress. "Thou art a
magician, too, Ixeshane. Wouldst thou indeed like to know?"
"Perhaps."
"Invoke thy magic then, and see if it will tell thee. But better not.
For they who look upon the Home of the Serpents are seen no more in
life. Thou hast seen the last of yon white man, Ixeshane; thou and
these standing around here. Ha, ha! Better for him that he had never
been born." And with a Satanic laugh she turned away and left him.
Strong-nerved as he was, Eustace felt his flesh creep. The hag's
parting words hinted at some mysterious and darkly horrible fate in
store for his unfortunate cousin. His own precarious position brought a
sense of this doubly home to him. He remembered how jubilant poor Tom
had been over the outbreak of the war. This, then, was to be the end of
it. Instead of paying off old scores with his hated and despised foes,
he had himself walked blindfold into the trap, and was to be sacrificed
in some frightful manner to their vengeance.