FLIGHT
The sun sank in a blaze of glory. Looking back by the light of its last
rays I saw a single native silhouetted against the red sky. He was
standing on a mound that we had passed a mile or more behind us,
doubtless waiting for his companions whom he had outrun. So they had
not given up the chase. What was to be done? Once it was completely
dark we could not go on. We should lose our way; the horses would get
into ant-bear holes and break their legs. Perhaps we might become
bogged in some hollow, therefore we must wait till the moon rose, which
would not be for a couple of hours.
Meanwhile those accursed Basutos would be following us even in the
dark. This would hamper them, no doubt, but they would keep the path,
with which they were probably familiar, beneath their feet, and what is
more, the ground being soft with recent rain, they could feel the wheel
spoor with their fingers. I looked about me. Just here another track
started off in a nor’-westerly direction from that which we were
following. Perhaps it ran to Lydenburg; I do not know. To our left, not
more than a hundred yards or so away, the higher veld came to an end
and sloped in an easterly direction down to bush-land below.
Should I take the westerly road which ran over a great plain? No, for
then we might be seen for miles and cut off. Moreover, even if we
escaped the natives, was it desirable we should plunge into
civilization just now and tell all our story, as in that case we must
do. Rodd’s death was quite justified, but it had happened on Transvaal
territory and would require a deal of explanation. Fortunately there
was no witness of it, except ourselves. Yes, there was though—the
driver Footsack, if he had got away, which, being mounted, would seem
probable, a man who, for my part, I would not trust for a moment. It
would be an ugly thing to see Anscombe in the dock charged with murder
and possibly myself, with Footsack giving evidence against us before a
Boer jury who might be hard on Englishmen. Also there was the body with
a bullet in it.
Suddenly there came into my mind a recollection of the very vivid dream
of Zikali which had visited me, and I reflected that in Zululand there
would be little need to trouble about the death of Rodd. But Zululand
was a long way off, and if we were to avoid the Transvaal, there was
only one way of going there, namely through Swaziland. Well, among the
Swazis we should be quite safe from the Basutos, since the two peoples
were at fierce enmity. Moreover I knew the Swazi chiefs and king very
well, having traded there, and could explain that I came to collect
debts owing to me.
There was another difficulty. I had heard that the trouble between the
English Government and Cetewayo, the Zulu king, was coming to a head,
and that the High Commissioner, Sir Bartle Frere, talked of presenting
him with an ultimatum. It would be awkward if this arrived while we
were in the country, though even so, being on such friendly terms with
the Zulus of all classes, I did not think that I, or any with me, would
run great risks.
All these thoughts rushed through my brain while I considered what to
do. At the moment it was useless to ask the opinion of the others who
were but children in native matters. I and I alone must take the
responsibility and act, praying that I might do so aright. Another
moment and I had made up my mind.
Signing to Anscombe to follow me, I rode about a hundred yards or more
down the nor’-westerly path. Then I turned sharply along a rather stony
ridge of ground, the cart following me all the time, and came back
across our own track, my object being of course to puzzle any Kaffirs
who might spoor us. Now we were on the edge of the gentle slope that
led down to the bush-veld. Over this I rode towards a deserted cattle
kraal built of stones, in the rich soil of which grew sundry trees;
doubtless one of those which had been abandoned when Mosilikatze swept
all this country on his way north about the year 1838. The way to it
was easy, since the surrounding stones had been collected to build the
kraal generations before. As we passed over the edge of the slope in
the gathering gloom, Heda cried—
“Look!” and pointed in the direction whence we came. Far away a sheet
of flame shot upwards.
“The house is burning,” she exclaimed.
“Yes,” I said, “it can be nothing else;” adding to myself, “a good job
too, for now there will be no postmortem on old Marnham.”
Who fired the place I never learnt. It may have been the Basutos, or
Marnham’s body-servant, or Footsack, or a spark from the kitchen fire.
At any rate it blazed merrily enough notwithstanding the marble walls,
as a wood-lined and thatched building of course would do. On the whole
I suspected the boy, who may very well have feared lest he should be
accused of having had a hand in his master’s death. At least it was
gone, and watching the distant flames I bethought me that with it went
all Heda’s past. Twenty-four hours before her father was alive, the
bondservant of Rodd and a criminal. Now he was ashes and Rodd was dead,
while she and the man she loved were free, with all the world before
them. I wished that I could have added that they were safe. Afterwards
she told me that much the same ideas passed through her own mind.
Dismounting I led the horses into the old kraal through the gap in the
wall which once had been the gateway. It was a large kraal that
probably in bygone days had held the cattle of some forgotten head
chief whose town would have stood on the brow of the rise; so large
that notwithstanding the trees I have mentioned, there was plenty of
room for the cart and horses in its centre. Moreover, on such soil the
grass grew so richly that after we had slipped their bits, the horses
were able to fill themselves without being unharnessed. Also a little
stream from a spring on the brow ran within a few yards whence, with
the help of Kaatje, a strong woman, I watered them with the bucket
which hung underneath the cart. Next we drank ourselves and ate some
food in the darkness that was now complete. Then leaving Kaatje to
stand at the head of the horses in case they should attempt any sudden
movement, I climbed into the cart, and we discussed things in low
whispers.
It was a curious debate in that intense gloom which, close as our faces
were together, prevented us from seeing anything of each other, except
once when a sudden flare of summer lightning revealed them, white and
unnatural as those of ghosts. On our present dangers I did not dwell,
putting them aside lightly, though I knew they were not light. But of
the alternative as to whether we should try to escape to Lydenburg and
civilization, or to Zululand and savagery, I felt it to be my duty to
speak.
“To put it plainly,” said Anscombe in his slow way when I had finished,
“you mean that in the Transvaal I might be tried as a murderer and
perhaps convicted, whereas if we vanish into Zululand the probability
is that this would not happen.”
“I mean,” I whispered back, “that we might both be tried and, if
Footsack should chance to appear and give evidence, find ourselves in
an awkward position. Also there is another witness—Kaatje, and for the
matter of that, Heda herself. Of course her evidence would be in our
favour, but to make it understood by a jury she would have to explain a
great deal of which she might prefer not to speak. Further, at the
best, the whole business would get into the English papers, which you
and your relatives might think disagreeable, especially in view of the
fact that, as I understand, you and Heda intend to marry.”
“Still I think that I would rather face it out,” he said in his
outspoken way, “even if it should mean that I could never return to
England. After all, of what have I to be afraid? I shot this scoundrel
because I was obliged to do so.”
“Yes, but it is of this that you may have to convince a jury who might
possibly find a motive in Rodd’s past, and your present, relationship
to the same lady. But what has she to say?”
“I have to say,” whispered Heda, “that for myself I care nothing, but
that I could never bear to see all these stories about my poor father
raked up. Also there is Maurice to be considered. It would be terrible
if they put him in prison—or worse. Let us go to Zululand, Mr.
Quatermain, and afterwards get out of Africa. Don’t you agree,
Maurice?”
“What does Mr. Quatermain think himself?” he answered. “He is the
oldest and by far the wisest of us and I will be guided by him.”
Now I considered and said—
“There is such a thing as flying from present troubles to others that
may be worse, the ‘ills we know not of.’ Zululand is disturbed. If war
broke out there we might all be killed. On the other hand we might not,
and it ought to be possible for you to work up to Delagoa Bay and there
get some ship home, that is if you wish to keep clear of British law. I
cannot do so, as I must stay in Africa. Nor can I take the
responsibility of settling what you are to do, since if things went
wrong, it would be on my head. However, if you decide for the Transvaal
or Natal and we escape, I must tell you that I shall go to the first
magistrate we find and make a full deposition of all that has happened.
It is not possible for me to live with the charge of having been
concerned in the shooting of a white man hanging over me that might be
brought up at any time, perhaps when no one was left in the country to
give evidence on my behalf, for then, even if I were acquitted my name
would always be tarnished. In Zululand, on the other hand, there are no
magistrates before whom I could depose, and if this business should
come out, I can always say that we went there to escape from the
Basutos. Now I am going to get down to see if the horses are all right.
Do you two talk the thing over and make up your minds. Whatever you
agree on, I shall accept and do my best to carry through.” Then,
without waiting for an answer, I slipped from the cart.
Having examined the horses, who were cropping all the grass within
reach of them, I crept to the wall of the kraal so as to be quite out
of earshot. The night was now pitch dark, dark as it only knows how to
be in Africa. More, a thunderstorm was coming up of which that flash of
sheet lightning had been a presage. The air was electric. From the vast
bush-clad valley beneath us came a wild, moaning sound caused, I
suppose, by wind among the trees, though here I felt none; far away a
sudden spear of lightning stabbed the sky. The brooding trouble of
nature spread to my own heart. I was afraid, and not of our present
dangers, though these were real enough, so real that in a few hours we
might all be dead.
To dangers I was accustomed; for years they had been my daily food by
day and by night, and, as I think I have said elsewhere, I am a
fatalist, one who knows full well that when God wants me He will take
me; that is if He can want such a poor, erring creature. Nothing that I
did or left undone could postpone or hasten His summons for a moment,
though of course I knew it to be my duty to fight against death and to
avoid it for as long as I might, because that I should do so was a
portion of His plan. For we are all part of a great pattern, and the
continuance or cessation of our lives re-acts upon other lives, and
therefore life is a trust.
No, it was of greater things that I felt afraid, things terrible and
imminent which I could not grasp and much less understand. I understand
them now, but who would have guessed that on the issue of that
whispered colloquy in the cart behind me, depended the fate of a people
and many thousands of lives? As I was to learn in days to come, if
Anscombe and Heda had determined upon heading for the Transvaal, there
would, as I believe, have been no Zulu war, which in its turn meant
that there would have been no Boer Rebellion and that the mysterious
course of history would have been changed.
I shook myself together and returned to the cart.
“Well,” I whispered, but there was no answer. A moment later there came
another flash of lightning.
“There,” said Heda, “how many do you make it?
“Ninety-eight,” he answered.
“I counted ninety-nine,” she said, “but anyway it was within the
hundred. Mr. Quatermain, we will go to Zululand, if you please, if you
will show us the way there.”
“Right,” I answered, “but might I ask what that has to do with your
both counting a hundred?”
“Only this,” she said, “we could not make up our minds. Maurice was for
the Transvaal, I was for Zululand. So you see we agreed that if another
flash came before we counted a hundred, we would go to Zululand, and if
it didn’t, to Pretoria. A very good way of settling, wasn’t it?”
“Excellent!” I replied, “quite excellent for those who could think of
such a thing.”
As a matter of fact I don’t know which of them thought of it because I
never inquired. But I did remember afterwards how Anscombe had tossed
with a lucky penny when it was a question whether we should or should
not run for the wagon during our difficulty by the Oliphant’s River;
also when I asked him the reason for this strange proceeding he
answered that Providence might inhabit a penny as well as anything
else, and that he wished to give it—I mean Providence—a chance. How
much more then, he may have argued, could it inhabit a flash of
lightning which has always been considered a divine manifestation from
the time of the Roman Jove, and no doubt far before him.
Forty or fifty generations ago, which is not long, our ancestors set
great store by the behaviour of lightning and thunder, and doubtless
the instinct is still in our blood, in the same way that all our
existing superstitions about the moon come down to us from the time
when our forefathers worshipped her. They did this for tens of hundreds
or thousands of years, and can we expect a few coatings of the veneer
that we politely call civilization, which after all is only one of our
conventions that vanish in any human stress such as war, to kill out
the human impulse it seems to hide? I do not know, though I have my own
opinion, and probably these young people never reasoned the matter out.
They just acted on an intuition as ancient as that which had attracted
them to each other, namely a desire to consult the ruling fates by
omens or symbols. Or perhaps Anscombe thought that as his experience
with the penny had proved so successful, he would give Providence
another “chance.” If so it took it and no mistake. Confound it! I don’t
know what he thought; I only dwell on the matter because of the great
results which followed this consultation of the Sybilline books of
heaven.
As it happened my speculations, if I really indulged in any at that
time, were suddenly extinguished by the bursting of the storm. It was
of the usual character, short but very violent. Of a sudden the sky
became alive with lightnings and the atmosphere with the roar of winds.
One flash struck a tree quite near the kraal, and I saw that tree seem
to melt in its fiery embrace, while about where it had been, rose a
column of dust from the ground beneath. The horses were so frightened
that luckily they stood quite quiet, as I have often known animals to
do in such circumstances. Then came the rain, a torrential rain as I,
who was out in it holding the horses, became painfully aware. It
thinned after a while, however, as the storm rolled away.
Suddenly in a silence between the tremendous echoes of the passing
thunder I thought that I heard voices somewhere on the brow of the
slope, and as the horses were now quite calm, I crept through the trees
to that part of the enclosure which I judged to be nearest to them.
Voices they were sure enough, and of the Basutos who were pursuing us.
What was more, they were coming down the slope. The top of the old wall
reached almost to my chin. Taking off my hat I thrust my head forward
between two loose stones, that I might hear the better.
The men were talking together in Sisutu. One, whom I took to be their
captain, said to the others—
“That white-headed old jackal, Macumazahn, has given us the slip again.
He doubled on his tracks and drove the horses down the hillside to the
lower path in the valley. I could feel where the wheels went over the
edge.”
“It is so, Father,” answered another voice, “but we shall catch him and
the others at the bottom if we get there before the moon rises, since
they cannot have moved far in this rain and darkness. Let me go first
and guide you who know every tree and stone upon this slope where I
used to herd cattle when I was a child.”
“Do so,” said the captain. “I can see nothing now the lightning has
gone, and were it not that I have sworn to dip my spear in the blood of
Macumazahn who has fooled us again, I would give up the hunt.”
“I think it would be better to give it up in any case,” said a third
voice, “since it is known throughout the land that no luck has ever
come to those who tried to trap the Watcher-by-Night. Oh! he is a
leopard who springs and is gone again. How many are the throats in
which his fangs have met. Leave him alone, I say, lest our fate should
be that of the white doctor in the Yellow-wood Swamp, he who set us on
this hunt. We have his wagon and his cattle; let us be satisfied.”
“I will leave him alone when he sleeps for the last time, and not
before,” answered the captain, “he who shot my brother in the drift the
other day. What would Sekukuni say if we let him escape to bring the
Swazis on us? Moreover, we want that white maiden for a hostage in case
the English should attack us again. Come, you who know the road, and
lead us.”
There was some disturbance as this man passed to the front. Then I
heard the line move forward. Presently they were going by the wall
within a foot or two of me. Indeed by ill-luck just as we were opposite
to each other the captain stumbled and fell against the wall.
“There is an old cattle kraal here,” he said. “What if those white rats
have hidden in it?”
I trembled as I heard the words. If a horse should neigh or make any
noise that could be heard above the hiss of the rain! I did not dare to
move for fear lest I should betray myself. There I stood so close to
the Kaffirs that I could smell them and hear the rain pattering on
their bodies. Only very stealthily I drew my hunting knife with my
right hand. At that moment the lightning, which I thought had quite
gone by, flashed again for the last time, revealing the fat face of the
Basuto captain within a foot of my own, for he was turned towards the
wall on which one of his hands rested. Moreover, the blue and ghastly
light revealed mine to him thrust forward between the two stones, my
eyes glaring at him.
“The head of a dead man is set upon the wall!” he cried in terror. “It
is the ghost of—”
He got no further, for as the last word passed his lips I drove the
knife at him with all my strength deep into his throat. He fell back
into the arms of his followers, and next instant I heard the sound of
many feet rushing in terror down the hill. What became of him I do not
know, but if he still lives, probably he agrees with his tribesman that
Macumazahn—Watcher-by-Night, or his ghost “is a leopard who springs and
kills and is gone again”; also, that those who try to trap him meet
with no luck. I say, or his ghost—because I am sure he thought that I
was a spirit of the dead; doubtless I must have looked like one with my
white, rain-drowned face appearing there between the stones and made
ghastly and livid by the lightning.
Well, they had gone, the whole band of them, not less than thirty or
forty men, so I went also, back to the cart where I found the others
very comfortable indeed beneath the rainproof tilt. Saying nothing of
what had happened, of which they were as innocent as babes, I took a
stiff tot of brandy, for I was chilled through by the wet, and while
waiting for the moon to rise, busied myself with getting the bits back
into the horses’ mouths—an awkward job in the dark. At length it
appeared in a clear sky, for the storm had quite departed and the rain
ceased. As soon as there was light enough I took the near leader by the
bridle and led the cart to the brow of the hill, which was not easy
under the conditions, making Kaatje follow with my horse.
Then, as there were no signs of any Basutos, we started on again, I
riding about a hundred yards ahead, keeping a sharp look-out for a
possible ambush. Fortunately, however, the veld was bare and open,
consisting of long waves of ground. One start I did get, thinking that
I saw men’s heads just on the crest of a wave, which turned out to be
only a herd of springbuck feeding among the tussocks of grass. I was
very glad to see them, since their presence assured me that no human
being had recently passed that way.
All night long we trekked, following the Kaffir path for as long as I
could see it, and after that going by my compass. I knew whereabouts
the drift of the Crocodile River should be, as I had crossed it twice
before in my life, and kept my eyes open for a certain tall koppie
which stood within half a mile of it on the Swazi side of the river.
Ultimately to my joy I caught sight of this hill faintly outlined
against the sky and headed for it. Half a mile further on I struck a
wagon-track made by Boers trekking into Swazi-Land to trade or shoot.
Then I knew that the drift was straight ahead of us, and called to
Anscombe to flog up the weary horses.
We reached the river just before the dawn. To my horror it was very
full, so full that the drift looked dangerous, for it had been swollen
by the thunder-rain of the previous night. Indeed some wandering Swazis
on the further bank shouted to us that we should be drowned if we tried
to cross.
“Which means that the only thing to do is to stay until the water runs
down,” I said to Anscombe, for the two women, tired out, were asleep.
“I suppose so,” he answered, “unless those Basutos—”
I looked back up the long slope down which we had come and saw no one.
Then I raised myself in my stirrups and looked along another track that
joined the road just here, leading from the bush-veld, as ours led from
the high-veld. The sun was rising now, dispersing the mist that hung
about the trees after the wet. Searching among these with my eyes,
presently I perceived the light gleaming upon what I knew must be the
points of spears projecting above the level of the ground vapour.
“Those devils are after us by the lower road,” I said to Anscombe,
adding, “I heard them pass the old cattle kraal last night. They
followed our spoor over the edge of the hill, but in the dark lost it
among the stones.”
He whistled and asked what was to be done.
“That is for you to decide,” I answered. “For my part I’d rather risk
the river than the Basutos,” and I looked at the slumbering Heda.
“Can we bolt back the way we came, Allan?”
“The horses are very spent and we might meet more Basutos,” and again I
looked at Heda.
“A hard choice, Allan. It is wonderful how women complicate everything
in life, because they are life, I suppose.” He thought a moment and
went on, “Let’s try the river. If we fail, it will be soon over, and it
is better to drown than be speared.”
“Or be kept alive by savages who hate us,” I exclaimed, with my eyes
still fixed upon Heda.
Then I got to business. There were hide riems on the bridles of the
leaders. I undid these and knotted their loose ends firmly together. To
them I made fast the riem of my own mare, slipping a loop I tied in it,
over my right hand and saying—
“Now I will go first, leading the horses. Do you drive after me for all
you are worth, even if they are swept off their feet. I can trust my
beast to swim straight, and being a mare, I hope that the horses will
follow her as they have done all night. Wake up Heda and Kaatje.”
He nodded, and looking very pale, said—
“Heda my dear, I am sorry to disturb you, but we have to get over a
river with a rough bottom, so you and Kaatje must hang on and sit
tight. Don’t be frightened, you are as safe as a church.”
“God forgive him for that lie,” thought I to myself as, having
tightened the girths, I mounted my mare. Then gripping the riem I
kicked the beast to a canter, Anscombe flogging up the team as we swung
down the bank to the edge of the foaming torrent, on the further side
of which the Swazis shouted and gesticulated to us to go back.
We were in it now, for, as I had hoped, the horses followed the mare
without hesitation. For the first twenty yards or so all went well, I
heading up the stream. Then suddenly I felt that the mare was swimming.
“Flog the horses and don’t let them turn,” I shouted to Anscombe.
Ten more yards and I glanced over my shoulder. The team was swimming
also, and behind them the cart rocked and bobbed like a boat swinging
in a heavy sea. There came a strain on the riem; the leaders were
trying to turn! I pulled hard and encouraged them with my voice, while
Anscombe, who drove splendidly, kept their heads as straight as he
could. Mercifully they came round again and struck out for the further
shore, the water-logged cart floating after them. Would it turn over?
That was the question in my mind. Five seconds; ten seconds and it was
still upright. Oh! it was going. No, a fierce back eddy caught it and
set it straight again. My mare touched bottom and there was hope. It
struggled forward, being swept down the stream all the time. Now the
horses in the cart also found their footing and we were saved.
No, the wet had caused the knot of one of the riems to slip beneath the
strain, or perhaps it broke—I don’t know. Feeling the pull slacken the
leaders whipped round on to the wheelers. There they all stood in a
heap, their heads and part of their necks above water, while the cart
floated behind them on its side. Kaatje screamed and Anscombe flogged.
I leapt from my mare and struggled to the leaders, the water up to my
chin. Grasping their bits I managed to keep them from turning further.
But I could do no more and death came very near to us. Had it not been
for some of those brave Swazis on the bank it would have found us,
every one. But they plunged in, eight of them, holding each other’s
hands, and half-swimming, half-wading, reached us. They got the horses
by the head and straightened them out, while Anscombe plied his whip. A
dash forward and the wheels were on the bottom again.
Three minutes later we were safe on the further bank, which my mare had
already reached, where I lay gasping on my face, ejaculating prayers of
thankfulness and spitting out muddy water.