It was a bright autumn day in Kafirland. Eleanor was borne out into the
garden. They laid her on a couch on the sunny side of the cottage; the
lime-trees and acacias met over her head. May had shaped them into a
bower; they were the remains of a grove planted on the spot by some poor
colonist, who had been long since driven by the savage from his
homestead. The cheek of the invalid had resumed its marble hue, the
eyes shone less brightly, the fever had abated.
The morning was delicious,--it reminded one of June in England; the
canaries were singing their last summer melodies, and the swallows
trilled their farewell lays to Kafirland. Below the willow bank, the
stream murmured with a sound that pleased the ear and refreshed the
senses.
Eleanor had been told by her father that her husband had again eluded
justice. By a tacit agreement, the convict's name was never referred
to. All hoped alike that he would never more occupy a prominent
position in the world, and the patient wife, daily praying for strength
to support her in her trials, daily grew more resigned.
She longed to get away to some quiet nook, and be at rest.
She leaned on her mother's bosom--Mrs Daveney was devoted to this sad
daughter now. A faint colour tinged the sufferer's wan cheek, the soft
air lifted the dark braids from the temples: how tense they were! What
a picture of desolation she presented--that young, intelligent,
graceful, desolate being!
Mr Trail was reading, His wife working, the little Trails were watching
the antics of May, who was dancing for their amusement, after making
herds of clay oxen for them. Marion and Ormsby were walking up and
down, talking earnestly, for both had grown more serious of late; and
Mr Daveney was superintending the irrigation of his garden, when the
quietude of the party was disturbed by a message summoning Mr Trail to
his cottage, which, it will be remembered, was only separated by a lane
from the Daveneys' home.
Presently there was a clatter of arms, and the steady tread of soldiers;
then the guard passed by--it soon re-appeared, bringing with them the
young prisoner Gray.
Mr Trail walked by his side. The party passed close to the garden
fence--Gray, though handcuffed, contrived to salute the compassionate
people, who had in many ways softened the miseries of his confinement.
On the afternoon of that day, it was understood that the evidence on the
court-martial was entirely against him--that his showing himself to the
troops was pronounced the effect of terror and panic, and that it was
proved he had lived for months among the Kafirs and Boers, trafficking
in gunpowder with the former, and assisting the latter in their
preparations for treking and for war. There was little time given for
the defence. The accused could only affirm on oath that he had
constantly remonstrated with Lyle on the course they were both pursuing,
while, on the other hand, a Dutch prisoner related Gray's reply to his
fellow-convict, when the latter desired him to "do his duty."
Poor Gray also admitted that he might have made an effort to remain with
Vanbloem, when the latter fell to the rear with his wife, but he also
urged, that by doing so he might have involved the young Dutchman in
serious trouble. In short, he had no sound ground or defence to
present, and the court-martial closed, after sitting four days. The
finding was approved, and the sentence ere long promulgated. The poor
youth was condemned to be shot as a deserter and a rebel.
Mr Trail was with him soon after this was made known to him. He bowed
his head in silent submission to the laws of his country, and requested
the good missionary to come to him that evening, when he should be glad
to impart his last wishes to him. "That done," said the poor youth, "I
will turn my back to the things of earth, and give all my thoughts to
heaven."
And, as the sun went down, Mr Trail went again to the condemned man,
who was now a solitary prisoner, strongly guarded. They talked far into
the night. Poor Amayeka! thou wert foremost in the thoughts of thine
ill-starred young soldier-love. He gave Mr Trail some tokens of
affection and kindness for the friends of his early youth, "if they
still lived;" but for Amayeka, he entreated the missionary's care of her
welfare, "that she might know there was a future, where the tears shall
be wiped from off all faces."
No further intelligence of Lyle--or Lee, as he was denominated
officially--reached the British camps. The last accounts of Sir Adrian
Fairfax referred to his being deep in diplomatic business with the
conquered Dutch beyond the Orange River; and, save the anticipated
execution of Gray, matters remained in abeyance with Sir John Manvers's
division until the two Generals should meet, to hold a parley with the
Kafir chiefs and people; for, although subdued for a time, these
restless savages would not "sit still"--the great array of forces
scattered over the face of the land kept them in check; but though their
words were "sweeter than honey in the honeycomb, and smoother than oil,"
there was war in their hearts.
Mr Daveney had long asserted this to Sir John Manvers, who, jealous of
all interference from the Commissioner, and haughtily reserved alike in
communicating or receiving opinions, especially from him, made no
serious objections to the return homeward of some of his best burgher
captains. Troops and colonists rested on their arms, and the usual
amusements of camp life were entered into with all the avidity of
excitement-loving soldiers.
Poor Gray had now but three days to live. Mr Trail could not help
thinking, that if all the circumstances of the case were related to Sir
Adrian Fairfax, that kind General might mitigate the sentence. The
missionary had drawn the young deserter's history from him, and every
word he spoke increased the good man's interest, and made him long to
rescue the youth from an ignominious death.
Even the eyes of the president of the court-martial, Colonel Graham,
were observed to fill with tears when the question was asked of the
prisoner--
"How old are you?"