Anxious as Frankfort was concerning the fate of his attendants, thoughts
of his host's daughter Eleanor _would_ rise as he rode silently beside
Mr Daveney on the expedition in search of Piet the obstinate.
Within the last twenty-four hours of his existence a new chapter had
been opened before him in his book of fate--it was not his own inditing.
Frankfort, although not the man to be attracted by a mere pretty,
interesting face, had been taken by surprise in the desert. He had
never been a trifler in those showy circles in which Ormsby was wont to
flutter; he loved books, reflection, and but for his sporting tastes and
military talent might have been considered by his brother-officers a
"slow man." Albeit courteous by nature and education to the gentler
sex, and less uncharitable towards its failings than many more favoured
than himself, he never could bring himself to "philander," as Ormsby
designated flirting, for which the latter had a cruel capacity.
But this sorrowful, gentle-looking being would have drawn Frankfort to
her side anywhere--so he thought.
Certainly, the circumstances attending the introduction of our
travellers to this family had brought out features in the character of
all, which placed them in a strong light before the young men, who
naturally yielded to the influence of the fair daughters of the
wilderness. Ormsby was attracted at once by the merry-eyed Marion;
Frankfort's contemplative mind dwelt on the care-worn face and dignified
calmness in the midst of dangers displayed by Eleanor; and now, as he
rode beside her father, he found himself going back to the first moment
of meeting, and counting, as it were, every link in the chain that he
felt had been silently, but surely, cast around him.
Her quiet courage, her steady reasoning, her unconsciousness of display
as she stood amid the clatter of arms, the centre of a group of uncouth
creatures, so strongly contrasted with herself, as they received the
weapons of death from her hands; the mysterious sadness that superseded
all other feeling, clouding her young brow, and influencing the very
tones of her voice as she addressed words of comfort and encouragement
to her sister, who, like all volatile people, had been struck down at
once by terror--all those attributes, so rare in woman, or so seldom
developed--(perhaps for want of opportunity--that is a mighty word,
though all men may not know it)--would have impressed Frankfort, had the
possessor of them been the plainest woman in the world.
So he fancied. But was any man ever yet attracted _at once_ by a plain
woman, simply _because_ she displayed courage, tenderness, or was
visibly unhappy?
Trace the cause to what source you please, our reflective, reasonable
Frankfort could not banish Eleanor from his thoughts; and he found
himself replying vaguely to some of her father's remarks, till the
latter, as he put his horse into a canter, observed--
"This creature, you see, is perfectly trained; he is seldom ridden by
any one but my daughter Eleanor, who is an excellent horsewoman."
"Ah! he is Miss Daveney's favourite, is he?" said Frankfort, struck for
the first time with the graceful action of the animal.
"My daughter _Eleanor's_," said Mr Daveney--"Mrs Lyle's."
"Mrs Lyle! I was not aware"--and a sudden glow suffused the manly face
unused to blushing--"that--that the young lady was married."
"She is a widow," answered Mr Daveney; and then he abruptly changed the
subject, as, settling his reins, he directed Frankfort's attention to a
wild pass on the left, in which he had once had an adventure with
Kafirs.
Married! a widow! so young! Frankfort was astonished--yet what was it
to him?--His host evidently thought so too; for, having set him right as
to his daughter's position, he began talking on other matters.
Mr Daveney pointed out many a covert, whence, he said, probably some
dark spirits were looking down on them, but unwilling to show themselves
on the open plains. They soon sighted the vley; but it was necessary to
be cautious in approaching it, in consequence of the dense bush with
which it was partially bordered.
The keen-eyed old Hottentot gave it as his opinion, that no body of
Kafirs was concealed within, as the birds were swaying in the branches
of the taller trees, and the ground showed no sign of fresh _spoor_
(track, footmarks). From the spot at which the party halted, only a
portion of the vley was visible, and Mr Daveney was beginning to
consider at which point they were to commence their reconnoitring
operations, when Ormsby's bloodhound dashed into the copse, and came
back whining and importunate.
Both gentlemen dismounted, gave their horses to the Fingoes, and,
despite the caution of the Hottentot, followed the beast into the bush,
their arms ready. Klaas, seeing this, entered it with them; the dog
leaped in, and the three creeping after him on hands and knees, Mr
Daveney put aside a bough, and within a yard discovered Piet lying on
his face--dead.
They turned him over; he had been stabbed in the chest by an assegai,
and had doubtless crawled into the thicket to die, for a bloody track
crimsoned the green leaves beyond him.
But where were May and Fitje and the child? Klaas scrambled through the
copse as fast as he could, and the others, shocked at the sight, drew
back instinctively.
On emerging from the bush, they found one Fingo with their horses, who
informed them that his comrade had discovered the wagon, or rather the
remains of it, for it had been set fire to. On reaching the side of the
vley where the shattered vehicle lay, they were all greatly relieved at
hearing May's voice issuing, apparently, from the depths of the earth,
and next his head appeared above ground, then Fitje's, and, at last, the
impish, roguish, yellow countenance of the child.
Kafirs had been concealed in the bush beside the vley the preceding
night. Piet owed his death to his obstinacy. Jealous of May's
authority, he had dawdled behind in spite of Fitje's entreaties to keep
close to the other wagons; the more anxious she became, the more dogged
was he; and, laying the long whip across the roof of the wagon, he
folded his arms, and left the oxen to crawl as they liked along the
pathless waste. Fitje resigned herself to circumstances with true
Hottentot philosophy, and, tying down her _douk_, wrapped her patchwork
petticoat over her child, and lay down within the vehicle to sleep. All
at once she heard a groan; something rolled off the box and obstructed
the fore-wheel, she looked out into the waste, and three dark figures
gibbered at her in the mist. She thought she was dreaming, but she soon
_felt_ she was not; a strong arm dragged her out, and flung her on the
ground, and she saw her child lifted up, about to be impaled most
likely, when one of the men, whom she discovered to be Kafirs, flung it
from him, remarking, "it was a girl, and not worth killing."
Poor Fitje snatched it up, and remembering that, while outspanning at
the vley, May had indicated a certain spot as a pit-fall for wild
beasts, she crawled thither with all speed, while the savages were
intent on rifling the wagon. She crept into the welcome covert--there
was the skeleton of a wolf in the pit; but "misery makes us acquainted
with strange bedfellows," and so poor Fitje thought little of her
ghastly neighbour, but lay in dread of being dragged out, stifling poor
Ellen's screams as well as she could, till the glad sound of Spry's
shrill bark told her help was near.
She sat up, listened in agony, lest the enemy should still be lurking
about; the wagon was yet burning, and her fears increased as she
remembered that one of the packages especially commended to her care was
a case of gunpowder. Careful May, however, always in doubt or dudgeon
about Piet the obstinate, had that very morning removed it to safer
keeping; but for this precaution, it would have fallen into the hands of
the enemy, or, by exploding, destroyed the lives of all near it.
She took heart on hearing May's low whistle near her, for he soon
guessed the hiding-place of his keen-witted _vrouw_, and, descending
beside her, set her fears at rest.
The ladies of the household were standing at the gateway, watching for
the return of the party with no little anxiety. The distance was short,
the plains open, and commanded by a mound behind the settlement, on
which a vidette had been placed; but still, after the shock their nerves
had sustained the night before, they trembled for the safety of the
reconnoitring party as soon as it was out of sight. No reason will
subdue a woman's fears for others, and Captain Ledyard talked in vain.
They listened anxiously for shots, and felt certain the vidette could
not reach Mr Daveney's people in time, if attacked, never thinking of
their own critical position in such a case. Marion--bright-eyed
Marion--saw them first. "Safe, mother, safe; and there is a little
creature on foot with the Fingoes, and a woman, and--" she gazed
intently on the coming horsemen, whose pace was slackened for poor
Fitje's sake--"oh, mother! Eleanor! some one is leading a horse, and--"
she clasped her hands together in a convulsion of terror--"something is
slung across it--a human creature--a man--he must be dead!"
Captain Ledyard shaded his eyes from the sun, and said nothing; Mrs
Daveney stood tranquil, but with lips white and quivering; Eleanor
opened the gateway, and stepped out to have a clearer view across the
plains.
"I see my father," said she, "in advance--I know the horse's pace."
"Thank God!" exclaimed Mrs Daveney; Marion burst into an hysterical fit
of weeping upon Eleanor's bosom; and, this great terror removed from
their overcharged hearts, there was space for more rational thoughts.
"It may be the unhappy driver Piet," said Eleanor, and as she looked
again, she recognised Frankfort with her father. He took a handkerchief
from his breast, and waved it. It was a good sign, she felt, and as
soon as the pedestrians were within safe range of the settlement--for
they had to pass the mouth of the kloof--Daveney and his guests galloped
forward. Eleanor's conjecture, as the reader guesses, was right. The
old Hottentot had laid the body of the murdered man across his horse,
and brought it to the settlement.
Frankfort was still in some doubt as to the fate of one of the
foreloupers, but May had a notion "the little _bavian_ (monkey) had
escaped;" and, on taking the horses to their stables, sure enough there
was the imp, leaning idly and unconcernedly against a gate, with a hunch
of bread in his hand, and a broad grin on his black shining face.
At sunset, the herdsmen having dug a grave, May and Griqua Adam buried
the miserable old Piet, and piled some stones above him, to save his
remains from the wolves; but when the farm-servants ventured out next
morning, they found the grave had been rifled, and, by chance, casting
their eyes, in the course of the day, on a jutting krantz, lit by the
sun, they discovered the wretched creature's body impaled on a scathed
oak, round which the asphogels were sweeping, eager for their hateful
meal.
In a day or two, some of the farmers of the district arrived, bringing
with them their families, and proposing to establish a bivouac on the
plains. This Mr Daveney at once acceded to; but, deprecating the
system of leaving the homesteads as lurking-places for the enemy, he
laid his own plans of defence before the colonists, who, satisfied that
their women and children would be under safe guardianship with the
little force the magistrate could organise, consented to return to the
principal farms, and garrison them at once. "Hurrah!" cried a sturdy
young settler, with a complexion bronzed from its original English hue
to the swarthy colour of the Hottentot; "I said we ought to make a stand
for the credit of Old England. I never saw the mother-country, as you
call her, but I have a respect for her, and I take it, the crack of a
few Brummagem rifles will stop the mouths of these yelling devils long
before she takes the trouble to send us soldiers. Well, I suppose she
intends it for a compliment, and thinks we are able to take care of
ourselves; and so we are." He stooped from his saddle to receive a
parting token from a pretty creature, who had been making her toilette,
after the trek, in a cumbrous but cozy old wagon, and who, though
sunburnt, looked as fresh as any girl on a fair-day in England. There
were tears gathering in her eyes, but she brushed them away, and bidding
"God speed him," with an attempt at a smile, dropped the curtains of the
vehicle, as he galloped in hot haste after his companions, far in front,
with Mr Daveney at their head.
For Frankfort, well instructed by his host, and tolerably experienced in
the warlike character of the enemy he had to guard against, was left in
command of the settlement for the present; in a week Daveney's
magisterial duties in the district would terminate, and he would return
with safe escort.
These had scarcely departed, ere the good missionary, Mr Trail, arrived
with his wife and children, and begged for room to outspan; but Mr
Daveney's dwelling was of India-rubber quality, for a room was offered
to the Trails, and they accepted it; but, occupying the wagon by night,
this apartment was appropriated by Mr Trail for school purposes; and
the night after the magistrate's departure, as Frankfort and Ormsby were
returning from their superintendence of the outworks, they were taken by
surprise at the sound of the Evening Hymn chanted in good harmony by
some thirty voices.
Frankfort instinctively lifted his hat from his head; Ormsby remained
covered; there was silence, then the door opened, and a motley
assemblage walked forth decorously: there was the broad-chested,
square-faced Dutch vrouw, and her children, sturdy as herself; the
Hottentot and Bechuana serving-girls, in flaunting _douks_; two or three
Kafir children, who said their fathers were in the bush; some
Englishwomen, wives of the district farmers, and their children,
blue-eyed and fair-haired, like their Saxon ancestors. Then came
Eleanor, Marion, and Mrs Trail; and lastly Mr Trail, with two little
bright-faced creatures hanging at his skirts. No, not lastly, for May
and Fitje, and their merry-eyed infant, brought up the rear.
As the ladies stepped into the trellised passage, Ormsby raised his hat
and bowed--Frankfort said nothing; but he thought how one-half the world
did homage to the creature, forgetting the Creator. Ormsby followed
Marion into the house. Frankfort waited to address Mr Trail, with
whose reputation he was well acquainted; but he was prevented in his
purpose by hearing Eleanor say to the missionary, "You will come to me,
then, in five minutes. I have much to tell you. You can scarcely feel
sorrow; but you will certainly be shocked."
She stopped suddenly, seeing Frankfort standing at her side; a glow,
like sunset upon snow, mantled on her marble cheek, her eyes fell to the
ground, and her embarrassment was only relieved by the sound of Mrs
Daveney's voice calling to her to come and assist in some household
concerns.
Mr Trail apparently did not notice what I have related; he gave his
attention at once to Frankfort, who was desirous of having all the
defences completed before the host's return.
It was no easy matter to enclose hastily a number of scattered
outbuildings, occupying nearly two acres of ground. The wagons formed a
capital breastwork for the front of the dwelling, already tolerably
secure; the orchard and garden-ground flanking the rear were surrounded
by hedgework of the prickly mimosa, forming a kind of abati [Note 1], in
which picked men were to be placed as checks on the enemy's advance; the
stables, cattle, and sheep kraals, separated from the dwelling by a
miniature vineyard, were as yet scarcely defensible--the stone wall, as
I have before related, being stopped in its progress for want of hands.
But now a redoubt was in speedy progress, the entrances being protected
at night by piles of thorn-bushes; and the vineyard having in peaceful
days been irrigated by a mountain rill, there was abundance of water;
there was a chance of the supply being cut off by the cunning foe, but
tanks and barrels were to be filled, which Mr Trail doubted not would
last as long as water was required; for the plan of the defence was so
admirable, that it was scarcely probable the Kafirs would make an open
assault; still the cattle were a great temptation, and foraging parties
were daily bringing in fresh captures.
"But," said Mr Trail, pulling out his watch, "I must leave you now,
sir, and at nine o'clock I propose assembling the family, and closing
the day with thanksgiving to the Almighty for the mercies with which He
surrounds us. We shall meet again then, I trust;" and leaving Frankfort
in the vineyard, the missionary returned to the house.
What could this interview between Eleanor and Mr Trail mean? "Pshaw,"
thought Frankfort, "what is it to me?" and then the mantling cheek, the
quivering lip, the trembling hand, on which he had discovered the mystic
ring guarded by a circlet--a gilded snake--came between him and his
reason, and he paced the green retreat, regardless of the fading day,
till the moon rose high and clear, and the path was traced with the
graceful pattern of the vine foliage.
Something glittered in the path, he picked it up; the moonlit atmosphere
of South Africa is so brilliant that the smallest handwriting is
legible; but what he lifted was a miniature of a lovely child. There
was nothing but the head, bending, as it were, from orient clouds; the
face was angelic, the lips rosy and smiling, the waving hair like
threads of gold in sunlight, the eyes with the pencilled brow
unmistakable. Was it a brother, sister, or child of Eleanor? He looked
at the back, and on an enamel ground was inscribed: "My Harry, born
April 18--died March 18--."
"Eheu! Eheu! Eheu!"
He put it carefully up. The bell, hanging in a large mulberry-tree,
under which the household assembled on Sundays to worship that God whose
presence lights the desert, was now struck by Griqua Adam, on returning
through the vineyard, reminded "the Sir," that "prayer-time was come;"
and Frankfort, re-entering the trellised passage, joined the family and
household servants on their way to what Ormsby already nicknamed the
conventicle, where Mr Trail awaited them with the Bible open at the
thirty-seventh Psalm.
Frankfort was quite accustomed to hear men like Mr Trail called
"swaddlers," "humbugs," nay, terms were applied to them such as no
woman's pen can record; but though he felt what sorry representatives of
their societies some of these teachers of God's solemn will had been, he
was not one to censure the mass for the misdoings of the few; and
therefore, soldier though he was, his heart was moved as he looked on
the reader's calm, benevolent face, and heard him proclaim, in mild but
fervent tones, that "the meek-spirited shall possess the earth;" and
even Ormsby's eye glowed with something of enthusiasm as the missionary
lifted up his voice at the closing verse, "And the Lord shall help them,
and deliver them; he shall deliver them from the wicked, and save them,
because they put their trust in him."
Frankfort could not help glancing towards Eleanor. She seemed
unconscious of any one's presence: verily, if by nature she was intended
for loftier purposes, some deep sorrow had stricken her, and she was of
a surety belonging to the "meek-spirited of the earth." Large tears
were stealing slowly and silently down that young and faded face, and
fell in diamond drops unheeded on her sable garb; there were others
weeping in that place of prayer besides herself but these sorrowed not
without hope. If she had hope, it was evidently not of this earth; and
Frankfort was more convinced of this every hour he passed in her
presence, a presence felt more than he liked to acknowledge to himself,
for she had evidently not a thought to bestow on him.
Her mother's eyes were fixed upon her; Mrs Daveney was seated beside
the reader, Eleanor in a corner where there fell but little light.
Still the watchful gaze seemed to pierce the mourner's very soul, and
Frankfort, a keen observer of countenance, read in that mother's eye
anxiety, tenderness, yet something of reproach.
"Let us join in prayer," said the teacher, and, for the first time since
he had left England, Ormsby found himself kneeling in a home
congregation.
He could not follow the teacher,--he was back again in the old dim
library, a little boy, at his mother's side, with his hand clasped in
hers. Perhaps at this very hour [there is little variation of time
between Europe and South Africa] they were all assembled there,--master,
mistress, children, servants on whose heads Time had shed his snow, even
where they had then stood,--while the soldier son was wandering in
distant countries.
But Frankfort forgot even Eleanor as he listened to the eloquent voice
of Mr Trail. The prayer opened with that fine verse from the ninth
Psalm, "Arise, O Lord, let not man prevail; let the heathen be judged in
thy right. Put them in fear, O Lord, that the nations may know
themselves to be but men;" and at the close of it he added, "And it is
for you too, my friends, to know yourselves to be but men. It is the
arm of the Lord that shall prevail, and not an arm of flesh. We know, O
God, that thou wilt help us; but in His name who commands us to love our
enemies, to do good to them that despitefully entreat us, we beseech
thee to remove these blinded heathen from the blackness and the darkness
with which it has pleased thee to surround them. We know that they
would have our blood poured out like water, but do thou of thy mercy
teach us to subdue our hearts, as well as our enemies, and in the spirit
that bids us turn our cheek to the smiter, teach us charity to our
benighted brethren. Would, O Lord, that it might please thee to quench
the burning brand, and bury the war-spear in the earth for ever; but if
such be not thy will, go forth with our armies, Lord; make them strong
in faith, that in the name of the Lord they may do valiantly. We know
that thy cause must prevail; that the banner of the Cross, though it be
dyed in blood, must be planted wheresoever thy gospel shall be carried.
Help us then in this fierce strife, this mortal conflict for God and for
the right; and, even as thou wert a cloud by day and a fire by night to
the Israelites of old, be with us in this wilderness. Once more, O
Lord, once more, have mercy on our foes, and teach us from the depths of
our hearts to say in the words of Him who died that we might live,
Father, forgive them, for they know not what they do."
It was the sentiment, the tone, the fervency, and the simplicity, which
gave eloquence to this appeal, and Frankfort loved to join in the hymn
that closed the service, all standing; but, alas! habit has more to do
with human nature than the theory of right. The solemn song rose from
lips accustomed to the holy duty, and if Ormsby had little heed of what
was passing, his friend at least felt that there were things to be
searched for and known, whereof his philosophy had not yet dreamt,--
those mysteries of good and evil which all the metaphysics in the world
can never penetrate, if the true light be wanting on the path that leads
to them.
The blessing was invoked, the little congregation rose, and Frankfort's
thoughts were earthwards again as he remembered the miniature.
There was no doubt in his mind to whom it belonged. But to whom should
he restore it? He was following Mrs Daveney into the sitting-room,
intending to place it in her hands, when Mr Trail drew him back.
"A little accident has happened," said the missionary; "one of my
wagon-boxes broke in the hurry of our rough journey, and in transferring
the contents through the vineyard to the house--"