From the head-quarters of Sir Adrian Fairfax, I most transport you, my
reader, to one of the most lonely and romantic districts in Southern
Africa, where Sir John Manvers, with the second division of the army,
had pitched his camp. Stretching in a south-easterly direction rose the
green Chumie Mountains, their verdure contrasted occasionally with bold
grey columns of rock; beyond these again, the Amatolas blended their
purple heights with the roseate clouds; northward, the Winterberg range
formed a barrier between the colony and Tambookieland, where dwelt the
"royal race" of the Kafirs, and, towering to the sky like a gigantic
elephant, with a howdah on its back, the Great Winterberg, nine thousand
feet high, lifted its lofty head, crowned with a diadem of snow.
On a fair green plain, the clear stream of the Kat running through the
midst, were ranged with beautiful precision the white tents of the
little army, which had been at first employed against the Kafir
warriors, and afterwards held in reserve, lest the Dutch should rally in
their strongholds. But Vander Roey's fate had been the death-blow to
all further opposition for the present, and the troops were only waiting
Sir Adrian's return from the Orange River to disperse, provided the
aspect of affairs was peaceful.
It promised to be so, for the Kafirs were considerably dismayed at the
news of the severe loss the Boers had suffered, in spite of their
unerring roers and strong position, and now promised submission with the
meekness of the dove and the wiliness of the serpent!
Sir Adrian's detention arose from delay in diplomatic measures. Several
prisoners were yet to be disposed of. The principal traitor, Lyle,
still eluded discovery, but a price was set upon his head.
On the outskirts of this encampment, just where the bright waters of the
Kat River and the Mancazana meet, were scattered over a few acres of
ground some temporary dwellings. Simple and rudely fashioned as they
were, these thatched tenements looked exceedingly picturesque among the
natural groves overshadowing them. The walls were white-washed, the
little windows neatly glazed, and the verandahed fronts were gracefully
wreathed with the wild creepers that grew about in profusion.
These dwellings, albeit not quite proof against the storms that often
sweep in terrific grandeur through this lovely region, were
comparatively luxurious, contrasted with the poor shelter of the tent or
marquee, and one, divided far apart from the rest by a _banquette_ of
earth, would have made apparently a sufficiently pleasant summer
dwelling in England.
Mr Daveney finding it impracticable to reach the lower districts in
safety, and earnestly requested by Sir Adrian Fairfax to accept an
appointment of trust and responsibility, if only for a time, had taken
up his abode here. The whole fabric had been run up within six weeks,
despite untoward weather; a few days of sunshine made the little
habitation of wattle, clay, thatch, and whitewash fit for the reception
of his family. The ladies occupied one bed-room, a small office served
the Commissioner--for such was Mr Daveney's new appointment--for a
reception and sleeping apartment. The common sitting-room opened as
usual from the verandah, and the simple cookery was carried on by the
old Malay in the hollow of a tall rock, backing the premises. A couple
of tents added materially to the accommodation and comfort of the
tenement.
The intense anxiety of Eleanor's mind had produced a low fever, which
kept the unfortunate young creature on her couch--wasted to a shadow,
she lay beneath a little casement, her only rest snatches of fitful
sleep, her only enjoyment the fresh air, that brought sweet odours with
it from the heath-clad hills. Her mother and sister watched day and
night by turns beside her. The Trails were again their neighbours, and
were a great solace to the afflicted invalid.
"It is a sad strait for one so young to come to," said Eleanor to Mr
Trail one day, "to wish to die."
"Sad, indeed," replied the good missionary; "sad, because so sinful."
"Ah, me!" said the sufferer, "this suspense is killing me--is it not
natural that I should long to be where the tears will be wiped from off
all faces?"
"Patience, Eleanor, patience," whispered Mr Trail. "God has His own
means of bestowing happiness; you _have_ been sorely tried, my poor
child; but you are young, a long future may lie before you."
And the invalid lifted up her large luminous eyes to Heaven with the
most hopeless expression of despair.
Hark! horses are galloping past the dwelling--the rattle of
accoutrements announces that soldiers are on their way. They soon go
by; there are but few--it must be an express.