In the morning, peace, tranquillity, security; in the evening, violence,
bloodshed, death--such is the sort of contrast that life seems to enjoy
affording, especially life in a barbarous land--and however it may
appeal to those at a distance from its tragedy, to a refined English
girl, brought up amid the comforts of an advanced civilisation, unused,
alike, to scenes of violence or to the endurance of hardships, the
matter is different. Which may be taken to mean that the position in
which Nidia Commerell now found herself was simply appalling.
She was alone--alone in a strange wild land--surrounded by beings who
were devils in human shape; at their mercy, in fact; and, we repeat,
what that "mercy" would be likely to mean, let those fearful remains
within the ill-fated dwelling testify. Whither could she turn--whither
fly?
Night was falling fast. Where would she find shelter, let alone food?
Not at the price of her life would she enter that awful room again. She
dared not. She felt that her reason would go. That sight repeated
would turn her into a maniac, and indeed that this had not already
happened was due to the saving diversion effected by the finding of poor
little Jimmie, and his partial revival. Action. This alone had saved
her.
She could not remain where she was. The murderers might return. Little
Jimmie's last words came back to her--"Down below the river-bank. They
won't look for you there." Yes; she would go.
But the dead boy? She could not leave him thus, in the open. Two huts
which did duty for outhouses stood at the back of the house. One of
these was locked. It was the store-room. The other was open. The poor
little fellow was not heavy for his age, and Nidia was endowed with an
average share of strength. She managed to get the body inside; then,
shutting the door upon it, stood pondering as to what she should do
next.
It was now quite dark, yet thanks to the myriad stars which had rushed
forth in the heavens, not so blackly so but that outlines were
discernible. Standing thus she thought she heard a sound--the sound of
voices. Hope--relief--gave way to terror, as she recognised the clear,
yet deep-toned, drawl of native voices. It is probable they were a
great way off, for the sound of the human voice, especially the native
voice, carries far in the stillness of night; but of this, wholly
unnerved by the ghastly discoveries of the last hour, she did not pause
to think. In wild panic she fled.
By the light of the stars she could see her way dimly. She knew the
path leading to the river-bed, and down it she dashed. Something
rustled in the bushes at her right. Her brain throbbed like a
steam-hammer, and she pressed her hands to her breast to keep down the
piercing, panic-stricken scream which rose to her lips. The grasp of
murderous hands put forth to seize her, the crash or stab of savage
weapon, were what she expected. Her limbs gave way beneath her, and she
sank to the earth.
Only for a moment, though. The instinct of self-preservation rose
strong within her. She must conquer her fears. The effort must be
made. Rising, she continued her flight, and soon had gained the bed of
the river, and the hiding-place for which she was making. There, like a
hunted hare, she crouched, striving to still the beatings of her heart,
which to her terrified imagination seemed audible enough to reach any
ears within hearing of anything.
The place she was in she knew well. It had been a favourite spot for
the Hollingworth children to use for their impromptu pic-nics, and more
than once she had helped them light their fire and grill the birds they
had shot with their catapults--playing at camping out having been one of
their favourite amusements. It was a hollow in the river-bank--which
here was of stiff clay and perpendicular--and the front being entirely
hidden by brushwood, it formed a sort of cave. Here, if anywhere, she
would be safe from discovery.
That a great and imminent peril has the effect of nullifying lesser or
imaginary ones is a wise provision of Nature. Had it been suggested to
Nidia Commerell, say that time the evening before, that she should pass
the night all alone in a hole on the banks of the Umgwane River, her
reply would have been as unhesitating as it was uncompromising. Not for
a fortune--not for ten fortunes--would she have embarked on such an
experience, and that with the house and its inhabitants within half a
mile. Any one of the half-hundred ordinary terrors of the night, actual
or shadowy, potential lions, snakes, leopards--even down to ghosts--
would simply turn her into a lunatic before the hours of darkness were
half through, she would have declared. Now, the house was there just
the same, but turned into a tomb for the awful remains of those with
whom last evening at that time she was in happy and social converse, yet
she welcomed the darkness of this hole as a very haven of refuge.
But as the night wore on the terrors which came upon the unhappy girl
grew more and more acute. Visions of the Hollingworth family, not as
she remembered it in life, but as she had seen it in the mutilation and
agony of savage butchery, rose before her in the darkness, seeming to
point to and suggest her own fate, ghastly and revolting as that which
had overtaken them. Each stealthy rustle in the brake--every weird cry
of night bird or beast, near or for--carried with it a new terror. A
tiger-wolf howled along the river-bank, and although she knew that this
brute is the most skulking and cowardly of carnivora, yet it might be
different where there was only a frightened and defenceless woman to
deal with. Lions, too, were not unknown in that part of the country;
but their movements were sporadic, and there had been no sign of them
anywhere in the neighbourhood for some time. Still, the horrible
bloodshed which had taken place might attract all manner of wild
animals; and she shivered with renewed terror at every sound. Soft
footfalls seemed to be stealing towards her under cover of the foliage,
breathings as of some fierce carnivorum stalking its prey; and there she
lay utterly helpless. And then, the appalling loneliness of those dark
hours!
But she was destined to meet with a very real fright before they were
over. A clinking of stones struck upon her ear, as though something
were coming along the dry river-bed. With despair in her heart she
peered forth. Dawn was at hand, and in its gathering light she made out
a shape--long, stealthy, sinuous--that of a beast. A leopard was
crossing obliquely to the side opposite her hiding-place, where under
the further bank lay a small water-hole. Not fifty yards distant, she
could make out the markings of its beautiful skin as the great cat
crouched there, lapping. At length it rose, and, facing round upon her
hiding-place, stood for a moment, the water dripping from its jaws, its
yellow eyes blinking. Then it walked back to the other side, uttering a
throaty see-saw noise, taking a line which would bring it within twenty
yards of where the terrified girl lay. Would it discover her presence?
Surely. With fascinated gaze she stared at the beast. She could mark
its great fangs as it bared them, emitting its horrid plank-sawing
growl, even each smooth and velvety footfall hardly rattling the loose
stones as it passed--but--wholly unsuspicious of her proximity.
Then as the sun arose, and all the glad bird and insect life of the
wilderness broke into voice, Nidia felt for the moment a gleam of hope.
Whether it was that the strain of the last twelve hours had hardened her
to peril, or that the shock had changed her, she seemed to herself
hardly the same personality, and was surprised at the calmness with
which she could now map out the situation. For the first time it began
to strike her that the murder of the Hollingworths was part of a
preconcerted rising. The latter eventuality she had heard now and again
discussed during her brief stay in the country, but only to be dismissed
with contempt, as something outside the bounds of possibility. The only
one who had not so treated it was John Ames; but even he had not
reckoned it as an imminent or even probable danger.
And with the thought of John Ames came an inspiration. If she could
strike across-country, surely at his place, if anywhere, she would find
refuge. As a Government official he would be provided with police; in
fact, she remembered hearing him say there was a strong police force
stationed at his headquarters. She had an idea of the direction in
which lay Sikumbutana, and she was a good walker. Yet--twenty miles,
Moseley had said it was. This was a long distance. If she had only her
bicycle to help her over the half of it!
Their nearest neighbour on the other side, she remembered, was Jekyll,
who kept a store, for the supplying of prospectors and others with
necessaries and general "notions." She had passed it on her way out to
the Hollingworths. This was quite eighteen miles off, practically as
far as the Sikumbutana. Besides, a store was the first thing to be
attacked and looted were the rising a general one. No; the first was
the best plan.
But, as she began to contemplate its immediate carrying out, her heart
sank. The wild vastness of the country filled her with dread. She
remembered how impressed she had been with it during their journey out
from Bulawayo, how every mile covered, as they drove through the hot
steamy atmosphere, seemed to be taking them further and further into
remote and mysterious regions; and now here she found herself, alone and
thrown upon her own resources to accomplish what a man under like
circumstances might well recoil from.
Then she called to mind all the stories she had heard or read of what
had been done by persons--women especially--situated as she was, more
particularly during the Indian Mutiny. They had escaped, and so far so
had she. And, she was determined, so _would she_.
But to travel a distance of twenty miles necessitates a food supply.
The bare idea of returning to the homestead filled Nidia with a
shuddering dread, and that quite apart from the possible peril of such a
course. It seemed to bring back all the terrors of the previous night.
Yet it must be done. The store-hut was outside; she need not enter the
house at all. Yet--the knowledge of what lay within!
It must be done, however. Already the pangs of hunger were taking hold
of her, for she had eaten nothing since the middle of the previous day.
Cautiously she stepped forth from her hiding-place, and climbing the
steep path down which she had dashed so panic-stricken in the darkness,
was soon at the homestead.
How peaceful it looked in the morning sunlight--as though the whole
pitiful tragedy had been but a dream--a nightmare. Her eyes filled as
she thought of it all; but no, she would not think, except as to the
methods of accomplishing her own escape. And the first of these was to
obtain the food she had come to seek.
Check Number 1.--The door of the store-hut was padlocked.
She looked round for a stone of convenient shape and size for smashing
out the staples that held the lock, and soon found one. Then an idea
occurred to her. What if the sound of hammering should reach hostile
ears? There was no help for it, however; and soon the pretty, tapering
fingers were all sore and rubbed; but the abominable iron remained
obdurate. In despair she desisted, and stood panting with the exertion.
The key? To obtain it she would have to enter the house: No, that was
not to be thought of--not for a moment. Then another idea struck her.
The kitchen door was at the back of the house. No gruesome spectacle of
slaughter would meet her eyes if she entered that department, and it was
just possible she might find something there, enough, at any rate, to
sustain life for a day or two.
No sooner thought out than acted upon. With beating heart she stood
within the room. It was as it had been left--crockery in a semi-washed
state; utensils lying about; and--her pulses gave a throb of joy--there
on a table stood a pie-dish, containing about half of a cold pie.
Beside it, too, were three boiled mealie-cobs. The latter she placed in
the empty half of the dish, and, laden with this most opportune spoil,
she went outside, and having gently closed the door, took her way down
the river-path again.
But ere she was half way again the sound of voices was borne to her
ears. Standing still for a moment she listened intently. They were
native voices, and--they were drawing nearer. Swiftly she fled down the
river-path, and having regained her place of refuge, lay within it like
a hunted animal, all inclination for food now gone.
No further sound arose to disturb her, and presently a drowsiness came
upon her, and she fell fast asleep, slumbering peacefully and
dreamlessly. Hour after hour went by, and the sun mounted high in the
heavens. When at length she did awaken, lo! the day was half gone. But
she felt greatly refreshed, and attacked the viands she had so
opportunely discovered with good appetite.
And now Nidia made her first and great mistake. She should have
remained where she was until the following day, starting with the very
first glimmer of dawn upon her long and weary pilgrimage. This would
have given her the advantage of several cool hours in which to travel.
Instead, she decided to start at once.
She went over to one of the water-holes, of which there were several,
and took a long deep drink. Then she made her way down the dry bed of
the river. It was easier walking, for there was no bush or long grass
to impede her way, and had the further advantage of screening her from
observation. Two or three times, after peeping cautiously forth, she
had stolen across a neck of ground so as to shorten the way where the
river-bed made a long bend; but the coarse sawlike grass had cut her
scantily protected ankles, and her skirt was ripped in several places by
numerous thorns, and by the time she had travelled for three hours, she
became sadly alive to the certainty that she had effected very little
progress indeed.
Worse still. She was beginning to feel utterly exhausted. Even a fair
amount of bicycle training, and that in an equable climate, was
inadequate training for a twenty mile across-country walk through the
burning enervating heat of sub-tropical Matabeleland, and, moreover, she
was tormented by a raging thirst; for no water had she found since first
starting, and now she had walked for three hours.
The river-bed here made a bend. Despairingly poor Nidia sent a glance
at the sun, to discover that the amount of daylight left to her was
diminishing to an alarming degree. Then she climbed up the bank to
ascertain whether a short cut might not effect a considerable saving of
time.
She discovered it would. The country was dangerously open, though, and
there were cultivated lands she would have to pass. Summoning up all
her strength and courage, she stole rapidly along, keeping within the
shelter of a line of thorn-bushes. These came abruptly to an end, and
away, about a quarter of a mile off, stood three or four huts.
Quickly she drew back. Too late. She had been seen. Two natives were
crossing the patch of cultivated land--a big man and a small one--and
both were armed with guns. She turned instinctively to flee, but in
loud and threatening tones they called on her to stop. At the same time
a rush of gaunt curs, from the neighbourhood of the huts, howling and
yelping, decided the situation. Poor Nidia, panting with exhaustion and
fear, turned again, and, trying to summon all her courage, stood
awaiting the approach of the two barbarians, who were advancing towards
her with rapid strides.