Ormsby was thoroughly discomfited by his accident, and his impatience,
and unwillingness to apply the remedies prescribed by Fitje, duly
aggravated the inflammation: he would walk, he would bathe, and at last
was fairly laid prostrate for two or three days.
Utterly disgusted, and intensely pained by the jolting of the wagon, he
listened one morning with complacency to May's information, that there
was a Dutchman's farm at the foot of a long, low hill in front. The sun
shone down upon the settlement, which at that distance looked fair and
pleasant; but May said it was but a desolate place within, for the
master was heart-sore. He had lost five sons in the last war; he had
but few cattle left; and whenever he began to till the land, he was told
by his neighbours--there were none within twelve miles--that it was not
safe to stay. The bushman had heard this two months ago from the Boer
himself at Beaufort, when he came there, in his perplexity, to consult
his fellow-colonists.
Frankfort immediately thought of helping this poor man in some way, and
the cavalcade directed its progress towards the farm; but on reaching
it, they found it abandoned--"Silent all and lone." The house was
empty, the doors and windows open, the garden desolate.
Both sportsmen agreed, that if this abandonment of the location was the
result of a rumour of war, it was high time for them to think of
rejoining their regiment instead of pursuing their expedition. Ormsby
would fain have had the cavalcade halt here for the night; but May
informing them that, if they would consent to advance three miles
further, they would find a halting-place within only two hours' distance
of the settlement of Annerley, a property belonging to a retired British
officer, Frankfort decided on moving on.
The party proceeded slowly forward, the character of the country
changing at every step. The bush grew thinner; wide undulating plains,
dotted with ant-heaps, and here and there a dump of dwarf mimosas, were
spread before the traveller's eye; and as the last rays of light gleamed
in dying glory on the waste, several dark objects were descried moving
in a body at speed.
Frankfort, by the aid of the telescope he carried, fancied he recognised
European horsemen. A slight indentation of the ground hid them from his
sight for a minute or two, and as they reached the elevation, the wide
hat, ostrich feather, long _roer_ (gun)--in short, the whole guerilla
air, bespoke the Dutch border colonists of South-Eastern Africa.
At sight of the wagons, the party came galloping down the slope, and
approaching Frankfort in breathless haste, announced that the new
British commander of the forces, Sir John Manvers, had issued a
manifesto desiring the chiefs of the Gaika and T'Slambie tribes to meet
him in the neighbourhood of the garrison of Fort Beaufort, on the Kat
River, on a certain day; that the chiefs had hesitated, asking for more
time, to consult their councillors, which time was, of course, to be
employed in making ready; that the war-cry had already faintly issued
from the Gaikas, who only waited for the gathering of the tribes to
shout it aloud from the Amatola mountains; and that, as soon as the
warriors could be organised, an attack would be made upon the colonists.
This mounted troop of stout and determined Burghers had been despatched,
by the commandant of a frontier outpost, to warn the farmers in the
north eastern districts of their danger; and, being loyal to the
Government, were proceeding, as far as they dared, to sound the alarm
among all the landholders who were considered to be discontented, but as
yet were not avowedly disaffected. These were expected to join a
Burgher force, ready for action, if called upon; while the farmers near
the colony were advised to put their homesteads in a state of defence;
and if this was difficult, from want of hands, or faulty position, to
establish _lagers_ (bivouacs), and bring their families together, for
the sake of security.
It was further stated, that the rivers were rising, and the enemy
congregating along the bush-lined banks of the Fish River, ready to
pounce on stray cattle or hapless travellers; the troops were mustering
in the different garrisons, the new commander-in-chief was at Graham's
Town, ships with stores and reinforcements were daily expected at Algoa
Bay, and the greatest cause for anxiety was the uncertain state of
affairs among the Dutch beyond the Orange River. These, it was
supposed, had been fully conciliated by the visit of the late governor,
whose health had suffered from his fatiguing exertions in negotiating
with the rebellious Boers in person. By these able negotiations peace
had been established, and redress officially promised; but, strange to
say, the arrival of Sir John Manvers had been the signal for another
outbreak, and while Kafirland was up on one side of the Orange River,
the Boers were inspanning their oxen on the other, and preparing
sullenly to trek, roer in hand, and with wives, children, and all their
property in a train, headed by one Vander Roy, a clever fellow, and as
ambitious as he was determined and persevering. Having delivered this
news, and refreshed themselves with sopies of French brandy, the young
Burghers touched their hats, the officers bent over their horses' necks,
and were off at a hand-gallop.
Ormsby had laid aside his novel at the approach of the riders, and
leaped out of the wagon to hear the news. At the prospect of war he
sent up his hat into the air with a shout, and telling May to
"up-saddle," would have mounted his horse, and insisted on at once
riding forward to Graham's Town.
He made no allowance for difficulties; he thought not of swelling
rivers, of a lurking enemy, ready to seize upon the horses of
unprotected travellers; he would have taken May and one of the
wagon-drivers with him, and left Frankfort on the instant; for the
latter, though brave, was not rash, and had no idea of such a mad
project as leaving the cavalcade behind, and starting headlong on a
journey of two hundred miles, with horses quite unfit for it. Besides,
he did not expect May to leave both wife and child to the tender mercies
of the dogged Piet; and in short, to Ormsby's infinite disgust, he was
told that haste was out of the question: they must make what way they
could to Annerley, and there act upon the intelligence with such means
as circumstances afforded. If fresh horses could be procured, a couple
of armed guides would be sufficient, and the cavalcade of wagons and
attendants could, for the present, remain behind; besides which
difficulties, Ormsby's foot was too much inflamed to permit him to ride.
On what small hinges do great doors turn!
Evening fell, heavy and gloomy; the atmosphere was loaded with an
unpleasant vapour. As night drew on, the exhalations floated above the
earth in thin white mist, and as this increased, the travellers could
scarcely see a foot in advance. The road, or rather track, was
grass-grown, the wheels sunk into the sward, and moved noiselessly
along; there was no echo of the horses' feet upon the turf, and as if
the stillness or nature had effect upon the party, not a word was
uttered. Altogether, the vehicles, with their white canvass coverings,
the impish foreloupers, the attendant guides, and the riders, who kept
close to the two foremost wagons for fear of losing their way, all
gliding silently through the shroud-like vapour, might have served as an
illustration of one of the scenes in that delicious romance of "Undine."
They looked as if they must vanish and melt in the snow-white cloud,
wreathing itself closer and closer round them at every step.
May was wide awake; his keen eyes were riveted to the ground, watching
the slight undulations made by occasional wanderers in the wilderness,
and if his eye failed him, he knelt down, groped about the path, and
having found it, led the way beside the foremost forelouper. Poor,
patient, honest May! how Ormsby muttered his discontent at thee for
being "encumbered" with thy wife and child! How unthinking was he of
thy daily aid!
The dwelling for which they were bound, and to which May was so
carefully guiding them through the mist, along the almost trackless
waste, had been and was, for aught the bushman knew to the contrary, the
residence of an Englishman, who had been an officer. If still there,
they would ascertain from him, "whose word," May said, "was true," the
real condition of the country. If war had been openly proclaimed by the
English general, Frankfort admitted it would be madness to proceed, and
run the risk of being detained upon the banks of those densely-wooded
streams.
Ormsby, like all self-opinionated, inexperienced men, would not admit
the necessity of bending to circumstances; he was for advancing "in the
teeth of the enemy. They would know better than shoot down, like dogs,
a couple of English officers. He should like to bag a leash of Kafirs
amazingly. He should send home a skull for his old governor's library.
He hoped there would be war with all his heart. He longed to knock over
some of those black tinkers."
Frankfort listened quietly, smiling inwardly at the idea of Ormsby in
the bush in the rainy season, sleeping with his head in a pool of water,
and breakfasting on a hard biscuit and a cup of muddy coffee, without
milk or sugar; but he kept his communings to himself, and was not sorry
when he saw lights twinkling through the mist. They looked distant; he
put his horse into a canter, and in a few minutes was greeted by the
"deep-mouthed welcome" of the dogs of the settlement,
Presently a door opened, but the lights were withdrawn; the butt-end of
a musket rang on the stone step, and a gentlemanly voice uttered the
words "Who comes here?"
"Friends," said Frankfort.
"Friends," repeated the voice aloud; the lights re-appeared, a group of
people filled the open doorway, and the owner of the mansion--for it was
a substantial building of stone--descended the steps, and advancing to
the gate, a Hottentot servant following with a lantern, held out both
his hands, saying, "Welcome; excuse our caution, friends and countrymen,
but it behaves us to be wary; for although the open plains are stretched
before us, we have a suspicious kloof to our right, and a chain of hills
to our left, which may contain some objectionable neighbours. The
mistiness of the night prevented our discovering the character of your
cavalcade, nor could we distinguish the usual crack of wagon-whips."
And no wonder; for the driver of the foremost vehicle was sound asleep,
though sitting bolt-upright upon his box, and to Frankfort's
discomfiture, and May's terror, Piet had not come up. May had collected
the whole party together at a great vley some two miles off, and then
finding that Piet would not be foremost in the van, had moved to the
front as guide.
As it was supposed, however, that he would arrive ere long, though poor
May had certain misgivings on the subject, Frankfort and Ormsby gladly
accepted Mr Daveney's welcome, and followed him through, what appeared
to them, a garden, for trees bent over the pathway, and the air was
burdened with perfume.
Ascending the steps of the house, their host stood at the threshold, and
welcomed them again, ushering them, as he did so, into a large
sitting-room, which, though dimly lighted, was evidently furnished with
some attention to taste and comfort. "We are cautious, you see, in the
wilderness," said the host, and ringing a small hand-bell, he bade an
old Griqua, who answered the summons, bring more light, desiring him
further to inform the ladies, that the visitors were friends, and to
"send Erasmus for the gentlemen's saddle-bags."
Frankfort and Ormsby surveyed their host with that interest which only
travellers in the desert can feel on opening communion with a countryman
and brother-soldier, for Mr Daveney stood avowed "a soldier every inch
of him." The erect carriage, and the kindly, but decided, tone of voice
in which he issued his simple orders, proclaimed his profession at once.
Of the middle height, of strong but slender frame, his life had
doubtless been one of activity and observation: the high, thoughtful
brow was divested of its early curls, but the well-shaped head was still
partially adorned with crisp grey locks; the eye was blue as heaven, and
shone with an honest light; the teeth were perfect, and of that hue
indicating a sound constitution; a grey moustache shaded the upper lip,
but, smiling as he spoke, a most agreeable impression was conveyed by
the contrast of these white and even teeth with the sunburnt face,
marked not so much by care, as with those lines which evince a deep
sense of man's duties to himself and others. The close observer will
often recognise the difference between the restless attributes of
anxiety and the calm thoughtfulness of a mind sensible of its powers and
intent on its responsibilities. He makes the discrimination almost
imperceptibly to himself, but is not the less guided by the impulse
arising from it; and thus Frankfort took the proffered hand of his host
with a feeling of interest he seldom accorded to strangers, and
responding to the light of the honest eye and hospitable smile, said, as
he lifted his hat with the grace of a soldier and a gentleman, yet with
his own frank and unaffected manner, "We are officers of the Eighty --th
regiment; this is my friend Ormsby, and I am Captain Frankfort."
A door leading to an inner apartment opened, and a lady, followed by the
Griqua servant, bearing lights, entered, and admitting that she had been
somewhat agitated, "not alarmed," by the unexpected arrival of the
party, added, that supper would be served up with as little delay as
possible.
There followed soon a young lady--yes, a young lady in the wilderness,
and the stamp of a gentlewoman was on her and on her mother. No
adventitious ornaments of dress, or the absence of them, can give or
take away this stamp; be it in the desert, or the court, the English
gentlewoman, in humble garb or courtly robe, needs no herald to proclaim
her position.
Mother and daughter, in their simple costume of sober hue, were received
by our two wanderers with all the courtesy they would have paid "To
high-born dames in old ancestral halls."
Ormsby was most agreeably surprised. Miss Daveney was of a charming
height, had fine hair, a gentle voice and winning manner, with a little
dash of coquetry, which in girlhood, as the result of innocence, is so
bewitching. She admitted, that her alarm had been great, for the news
from the colony was startling; her father, as the magistrate of the
district, held a situation of difficulty and responsibility; the Kafirs
had long been anxious for war, and within a few days, Mr Daveney had
been informed, on good authority, that the Dutch in the upper part of
the colony would not respond to the manifesto calling on them to assist
in the defence of the colony: "in short," said she--clasping her pretty
hands together, in an attitude of thankfulness, as she lifted her clear
eyes, honest as her father's, to Ormsby--"we really have been in some
perplexity, and nothing could be more opportune than your arrival. I
confess, I had some dread of remaining in the wilderness--yet, what are
we to do? My father must not desert his post; never were visitors more
welcome."
And Ormsby fancied--vain Ormsby!--that though the welcome was intended
for both travellers, the smile was especially bestowed on him, and a
very piquant smile it was.
But, dear reader, this pretty, animated Marion Daveney is not my
heroine; she is a fair, ingenuous creature, with sunny hair, and shining
eyes, and fawnlike step; but methinks you will be more interested in
Eleanor, who has not yet descended to meet the guests.
Seated at the window of her little bed-room, she had sat looking out
upon the misty night, forgetting that she was alone, and that darkness
had fallen round her. It suited the mood of her stricken heart, veiled
within the shadows that had been cast upon it, and doomed to remain
there, as it seemed to her, for ever. Dim visions of childhood free
from care, passed bird-like among flowers and sunlight, rose at times,
and, like blue specks in a stormy sky, only made the clouds look heavier
and nearer for the contrast.
She rose, paced the chamber, re-seated herself strove to gain courage to
join the family group--for she loved to please her father--but sunk down
at the idea of encountering strange faces.
"The thraldom is over," said she, "the chain is broken; but the mark of
the fetter has burnt in its brand upon the heart. As spots upon the
green hills are seared for ever by the lightning's blast, so is the
blight upon my soul. Oh, youth, youth!--in some so verdant and so
fair--why has mine been scathed so ruthlessly?"
She heard a step approaching, and, hurrying to the window-sill, appeared
to be looking out. The step was her father's, and, recognising that,
she opened the door.
By the light he held, he looked sorrowfully at that young pale face.
"My love," he said, "strangers have arrived, who will probably be with
us some days; do you think you can summon resolution to come among us?"
"My dear father, I will do anything you wish," said the daughter; but,
as she spoke, she burst into a passion of tears.
The father closed the door, and sat down with his arm round his weeping
child.
Her youth--she was barely twenty--her sable garb, her beautiful hair
bound simply round her head, in token of mourning, instead of falling on
her bosom in its natural heavy ringlets--her sobs, emanating from the
depths of an aching heart, presented such a picture of desolation as
would have moved a stranger. Her father could only take her to his
breast, and clasp her there, as though he would say, "Lie here, my
stricken one, and be at peace."
She understood him, for she loved him, she respected him, and she was
anxious, as she said, to do anything he wished. The overburdened heart
gained relief after this outburst of sorrow, and, rising, she said--
"Give me half an hour, father, and I will be with you. I am not
selfish, as you know."
She kissed him, lit the candle on her dressing-table, and began to make
such preparations for her appearance as would prevent any remarks on her
agitated face and trembling frame, except in so far as might arise from
the arrival of the strangers under circumstances of excitement and
alarm.
Some idea of Mrs Daveney's character in early life may be gathered from
a letter written to a friend in England some five or six years after she
had settled with her husband at Annerley--so, from certain associations,
she had named the residence--which, once but a mere farm, was now a
capacious and picturesque dwelling.
"You will remember," says she in this letter, "my resolution to marry
for love; you ignored my principle of matrimonial life being all the
happier for mutual struggles, helpfulness one towards another; you
laughed at the idea of care and trouble being stronger ties between man
and wife than hours linked with flowers. Do you remember quizzing my
fanciful notion of the evergreen cypress-wreath and the faded
rose-garland? Nay, you often said I was too anxious for distinction,
for any kind of _eclat_, to marry _only_ for love. You know my story,
my orphaned state, my dependence--no, not dependence--my reliance for
protection on my kind aunt, and my departure from England. Hither I
came; I was honest in my first communication to you; I told you that the
admiration of the world had charms for me, which every pretty woman must
understand. You scoffed at my world, and I--how I laughed at yours!--
Lighted rooms, conventional forms, worldly tactics, the same circles
revolving and re-revolving--Dinner-parties, where the host and hostess
sat revelling, not in the society of friends, but in the display of
plate, and cookery, and servants--Morning drives through interminable
streets, or between tall hedges, or monotonous parks--Evening visits
among crowds, where mothers came anxious to outdo their auctioneering
compeers in displaying their daughters tricked out for conquest, and
where daughters vied with each other in deceiving the world, by trying
to look as if they cared nothing about it; and where men sneered at
women, and boasted of being too knowing to be caught even with a gilded
hook. _My_ world, I told you, should be where self was not upon the
surface, as in yours; where Nature reigned supreme, and where earth was
peopled with men and women in whom thought was brought into action by
necessity.
"And the opening chapter of my career in Southern Africa! how you
laughed at that, though in all good humour, because you were prosperous
at the time. Ah, what a brilliant colouring does the rainbow of hope
cast on all it falls upon!
"There was no contempt in your gratulations at my _success_ on my first
appearance at a colonial _fete_, got up for my especial presentation.
Ah, Emily! I often think of that day. My dear, single-minded aunt, and
her husband, who had begun by being soldier, and turned merchant in
prosperous times; how pleased were they at introducing their niece,
fresh from England, while to me, life in Southern Africa seemed
delicious after the thraldom of school in murky old London. Bands of
military music, young and gallant gentlemen, all struggling for the
ladies' favour, a horse to ride, the prettiest that money could buy, and
Captain Daveney beside me, who _would_ teach me. Ah, what a day that
was! I remember it well, Emily--the repast spread on the green-sward
beneath a spreading oak; the champagne cooling in a nook, where clear
waters rippled over the stones; conversation by the river's side; then
the saddling our steeds by the careful hands of courteous cavaliers; the
canter home by moonlight, Daveney keeping his place beside me all the
time. We assembled at my uncle's house, and refreshed ourselves with
coffee; then we danced, resting in the verandah, all festooned with
vines and roses; then we strolled under the quince hedge in the bright
garden, and parted with smiles, gaily anticipating the morrow.
"To you, with the wreath of strawberry-leaves floating before you, how
trifling, how shallow did all this appear! and how summarily, Emily, you
closed our correspondence with that daring quotation, in reference to my
contentment, and that you said I thought it `Better to reign in hell
than serve in heaven.'
"The Court, the ball, the Opera, jewels, dress, carriages, horses, fine
houses, tribes of servants bowing down for hire, hundreds of
_acquaintances_, and no _friends_--these were your heaven, dear friend.
Duchess in perspective though you be, you will own some day that these
are but as a sounding brass and a tinkling cymbal.
"I married Daveney--then came the solitary outpost; but love triumphed.
"My English maid left me, to marry a man who now drives a pair of bays,
and I was fain to help myself. After this came the bustle and
excitement of an anticipated campaign, and we were encamped upon the
plains of Africa. Ah, Emily! you never experienced the hearty
good-will, the earnest kindness that such circumstances draw forth.
"Fear there was at times, not for myself, but for my husband; but, thank
God! war was averted. Still, the idea of our common danger drew us
closer to each other, and the child born in that encampment, amid the
din of arms and clang of bugles, was dearer to us than others while it
lived. It died, poor babe, and I have now two daughters, of whose
welfare you shall hear, when you desire."