“Get thee behind me, Satan,” I muttered to myself, and was about to give Hans a piece of my mind when I recollected that the poor fellow had his own way of looking at things and could not be blamed. Also, as he said, he loved me, and only suggested what he thought would tend to my joy and safety. How could I suppose that he would be interested in the success of a diplomatic mission to Dingaan, or think anything about it except that it was a risky business? So I only said:
“Hans, if you are afraid, you had better stop behind. I can easily find another after-rider.”
“Is the baas angry with me that he should speak so?” asked the Hottentot. “Have I not always been true to him; and if I should be killed, what does it matter? Have I not said that I do not think about to-morrow, and we must all go to sleep sometime? No; unless the baas beats me back, I shall come with him. But, baas”–this in a wheedling tone–“you might give me some brandy to drink your health in to-night. It is very good to get drunk when one has to be sober, and perhaps dead, for a long time afterwards. It would be nice to remember when one is a spook, or an angel with white wings, such as the old baas, your father, used to tell us about in school on the Sabbath.”
At this point, finding Hans hopeless, I got up and walked away, leaving him to finish our preparations.
That evening there was a prayer-meeting in the camp, for although no pastor was present, one of the Boer elders took his place and offered up supplications which, if simple and even absurd in their wording, at least were hearty enough. Amongst other requests, I remember that he petitioned for the safety of those who were to go on the mission to Dingaan and of those who were to remain behind. Alas! those prayers were not heard, for it pleased the Power to Whom they were addressed to decree otherwise.
After this meeting, in which I took an earnest share, Retief who just before it began had ridden in from Doornkop, whither he had been to visit his wife, held a kind of council, whereat the names of those who had volunteered or been ordered to accompany him, were finally taken down. At this council there was a good deal of discussion, since many of the Boers did not think the expedition wise–at any rate, if it was to be carried out on so large a scale. One of them, I forget which, an old man, pointed out that it might look like a war party, and that it would be wiser if only five or six went, as they had done before, since then there could be no mistake as to the peaceful nature of their intentions.
Retief himself combated this view, and at last turned suddenly to me, who was listening near by, and said:
“Allan Quatermain, you are young, but you have a good judgment; also, you are one of the very few who know Dingaan and can speak his language. Tell us now, what do you think?”
Thus adjured, I answered, perhaps moved thereto more than I thought by Hans’s talk, that I, too, considered the thing dangerous, and that someone whose life was less valuable than the commandant’s should go in command.
“Why do you say so, nephew,” he said irritably, “seeing that all white men’s lives are of equal value, and I can smell no danger in the business?”
“Because, commandant, I do smell danger, though what danger I cannot say, any more than a dog or a buck can when it sniffs something in the air and barks or runs. Dingaan is a tamed tiger just now, but tigers are not house cats that one can play with them, as I know, who have felt his claws and just, only just, come out from between them.”
“What do you mean, nephew?” asked Retief in his direct fashion. “Do you believe that this swartzel” (that is, black creature) “means to kill us?”
“I believe that it is quite possible,” I answered.
“Then, nephew, being a reasonable man as you are, you must have some ground for your belief. Come now, out with it.”
“I have none, commandant, except that one who can set the lives of a dozen folk against a man’s skill in shooting at birds on the wing, and who can kill people to be a bait for those birds, is capable of anything. Moreover, he told me that he did not love you Boers, and why should he?”
Now, all those who were standing about seemed to be impressed with this argument. At any rate, they turned towards Retief, anxiously waiting for his reply.
“Doubtless,” answered the commandant, who, as I have said, was irritable that night, “doubtless those English missionaries have poisoned the king’s mind against us Boers. Also,” he added suspiciously, “I think you told me, Allan, that the king said he liked you and meant to spare you, even if he killed your companions, just because you also are English. Are you sure that you do not know more than you choose to tell us? Has Dingaan perhaps confided something to you–just because you are English?”
Then noting that these words moved the assembled Boers, in whom race prejudice and recent events had created a deep distrust of any born of British blood, I grew very angry and answered:
“Commandant, Dingaan confided nothing to me, except that some Kaffir witch-doctor, who is named Zikali, a man I never saw, had told him that he must not kill an Englishman, and therefore he wished to spare me, although one of your people, Hernan Pereira, had whispered to him that I ought to be killed. Yet I say outright that I think you are foolish to visit this king with so large a force. Still, I am ready to do so myself with one or two others. Let me go, then, and try to persuade him to sign this treaty as to the land. If I am killed or fail, you can follow after me and do better.”
“Allemachte!” exclaimed Retief; “that is a fair offer. But how do I know, nephew, that when we came to read the treaty we should not find that it granted all the land to you English and not to us Boers? No, no, don’t look angry. That was not a right thing to say, for you are honest whatever most of your blood may be. Nephew Allan, you who are a brave man, are afraid of this journey. Now, why is that, I wonder? Ah! I have it. I had forgotten. You are to be married to-morrow morning to a very pretty girl, and it is not natural that you should wish to spend the next fortnight in Zululand. Don’t you see, brothers, he wants to get out of it because he is going to be married, as it is natural that he should, and therefore he tries to frighten us all? When we were going to be married, should we have wished to ride away at once to visit some stinking savage? Ach! I am glad I thought of that just as I was beginning to turn his gloomy colour, like a chameleon on a black hat, for it explains everything,” and he struck his thigh with his big hand and burst into a roar of laughter.
All the company of Boers who stood around began to laugh also, uproariously, for this primitive joke appealed to them. Moreover, their nerves were strained; they also dreaded this expedition, and therefore they were glad to relieve themselves in bucolic merriment. Everything was clear to them now. Feeling myself in honour bound to go on the embassy, as I was their only interpreter, I, artful dog, was trying to play upon their fears in order to prevent it from starting, so that I might have a week or two of the company of my new-wed wife. They saw and appreciated the joke.
“He’s slim, this little Englishman,” shouted one.
“Don’t be angry with him. We should have done as much ourselves,” replied another.
“Leave him behind,” said a third. “Even the Zulus do not send a new-married man on service.” Then they smacked me on the back, and hustled me in their rude, kindly manner, till at length I fell into a rage and hit one of them on the nose, at which he only laughed the louder, although I made it bleed.
“See here, friends,” I said, as soon as silence was restored; “married or no, whoever does not ride to Dingaan, I ride to him, although it is against my judgment. Let those laugh loudest who laugh last.”
“Good!” cried one; “if you set the pace we shall soon be home again, Allan Quatermain. Who would not with Marie Marais at the end of the journey?”
Then, followed by their rough and mocking laughter, I broke away from them, and took refuge in my wagon, little guessing that all this talk would be brought up against me on a day to come.
In a certain class of uneducated mind foresight is often interpreted as guilty knowledge.
CHAPTER XVII
THE MARRIAGE
I was awakened on my wedding morning by the crash and bellowing of a great thunderstorm. The lightning flashed fearfully all about us, killing two oxen quite near to my wagon, and the thunder rolled and echoed till the very earth seemed to shake. Then came a wail of cold wind, and after that the swish of torrential rain. Although I was well accustomed to such natural manifestations, especially at this season of the year, I confess that these sights and sounds did not tend to raise my spirits, which were already lower than they should have been on that eventful day. Hans, however, who arrived to help me put on my best clothes for the ceremony, was for once consoling.
“Don’t look sick, baas,” he said, “for if there is storm in the morning, there is shine at night.”
“Yes,” I answered, speaking more to myself than to him, “but what will happen between the storm of the morning and the peace of the night?”
It was arranged that the commission, which, counting the native after-riders, consisted of over a hundred people, among them several boys, who were little more than children, was to ride at one hour before noon. Nobody could get about to make the necessary preparations until the heavy rain had passed away, which it did a little after eight o’clock. Therefore when I left the wagon to eat, or try to eat some breakfast, I found the whole camp in a state of bustle.
Boers were shouting to their servants, horses were being examined, women were packing the saddle-bags of their husbands and fathers with spare clothes, the pack-beasts were being laden with biltong and other provisions, and so forth.
In the midst of all this tumult I began to wonder whether my private business would not be forgotten, since it seemed unlikely that time could be found for marriages. However, about ten o’clock when, having done everything that I had to do, I was sitting disconsolately upon my wagon box, being too shy to mix with that crowd of busy mockers or to go to the Prinsloos’ camp to make inquiries, the vrouw herself appeared.
“Come on, Allan,” she said, “the commandant is waiting and swearing because you are not there. Also, there is another waiting, and oh! she looks lovely. When they see her, every man in the camp will want her for himself, whether he has got a wife or not, for in that matter, although you mayn’t think so just now, they are all the same as the Kaffirs. Oh! I know them, I know them, a white skin makes no difference.”
While she held forth thus in her usual outspoken fashion, the vrouw was dragging me along by the hand, just as though I were a naughty little boy. Nor could I get free from that mighty grip, or, when once her great bulk was in motion, match my weight against it. Of course, some of the younger Boers, who, knowing her errand, had followed her, set up a shout of cheers and laughter, which attracted everybody to the procession.
“It is too late to hang back now, Englishman.” “You must make the best of a bad business.” “If you wanted to change your mind, you should have done it before,” men and women roared and screamed with many other such bantering words, till at length I felt myself turn the colour of a red vlei lily.
So we came at last to where Marie stood, the centre of an admiring circle. She was clothed in a soft white gown made of some simple but becoming stuff, and she wore upon her dark hair a wreath woven by the other maidens in the camp, a bevy of whom stood behind her.
Now we were face to face. Our eyes met, and oh! hers were full of love and trust. They dazzled and bewildered me. Feeling that I ought to speak, and not knowing what to say, I merely stammered “Good morning,” whereon everyone broke into a roar of laughter, except Vrouw Prinsloo, who exclaimed:
“Did any one ever see such a fool?” and even Marie smiled.
Then Piet Retief appeared from somewhere dressed in tall boots and rough riding clothes, such as the Boers wore in those days. Handing the roer he was carrying to one of his sons, after much fumbling he produced a book from his pocket, in which the place was marked with a piece of grass.
“Now then,” he said, “be silent, all, and show respect, for remember I am not a man just now. I am a parson, which is quite a different thing, and, being a commandant and a veld cornet and other officers all rolled into one, by virtue of the law I am about to marry these young people, so help me God. Don’t any of you witnesses ever say afterwards that they are not rightly and soundly married, because I tell you that they are, or will be.” He paused for breath, and someone said, “Hear, hear,” or its Dutch equivalent, whereon, having glared the offender into silence, Retief proceeded:
“Young man and young woman, what are your names?”
“Don’t ask silly questions, commandant,” broke in Vrouw Prinsloo; “you know their names well enough.”
“Of course I do, aunt,” he answered; “but for this purpose I must pretend not to know them. Are you better acquainted with the law than I am? But stay, where is the father, Henri Marais?”
Someone thrust Marais forward, and there he stood quite silent, staring at us with a queer look upon his face and his gun in his hand, for he, too, was ready to ride.
“Take away that gun,” said Retief; “it might go off and cause disturbance or perhaps accidents,” and somebody obeyed. “Now, Henri Marais, do you give your daughter to be married to this man?”
“No,” said Marais softly.
“Very well, that is just like you, but it doesn’t matter, for she is of age and can give herself. Is she not of age, Henri Marais? Don’t stand there like a horse with the staggers, but tell me; is she not of age?”
“I believe so,” he answered in the same soft voice.
“Then take notice, people all, that this woman is of age, and gives herself to be married to this man, don’t you, my dear?”
“Yes,” answered Marie.
“All right, now for it,” and, opening the book, he held it up to the light, and began to read, or, rather, to stumble, through the marriage service.
Presently he stuck fast, being, like most Boers of his time, no great scholar, and exclaimed:
“Here, one of you help me with these hard words.”
As nobody volunteered, Retief handed the book to me, for he knew that Marais would not assist him, saying:
“You are a scholar, Allan, being a clergyman’s son. Read on till we come to the important bits, and I will say the words after you, which will do just as well and be quite according to law.”
So I read, Heaven knows how, for the situation was trying enough, until I came to the crucial questions, when I gave the book back.
“Ah!” said Retief; “this is quite easy. Now then, Allan, do you take this woman to be your wife? Answer, putting in your name, which is left blank in the book.”
I replied that I did, and the question was repeated to Marie, who did likewise.
“Well then, there you are,” said Retief, “for I won’t trouble you with all the prayers, which I don’t feel myself parson enough to say. Oh! no, I forgot. Have you a ring?”
I drew one off my finger that had been my mother’s–I believe it had served this same purpose at the wedding of her grandmother–and set the thin little hoop of gold upon the third finger of Marie’s left hand. I still wear that ring to-day.
“It should have been a new one,” muttered Vrouw Prinsloo.
“Be silent, aunt,” said Retief; “are there any jewellers’ shops here in the veld? A ring is a ring, even if it came off a horse’s bit. There, I think that is all. No, wait a minute, I am going to say a prayer of my own over you, not one out of this book, which is so badly printed that I cannot read it. Kneel down, both of you; the rest may stand, as the grass is so wet.”
Now, bethinking herself of Marie’s new dress, the vrouw produced her vatdoek from a capacious pocket, and doubled up that dingy article for Marie to kneel on, which she did. Then Pieter Retief, flinging down the book, clasped his hands and uttered this simple, earnest prayer, whereof, strangely enough, every word remains fast in my mind. Coming as it did, not from a printed page, but from his honest and believing heart, it was very impressive and solemn.
“O God above us, Who sees all and is with us when we are born, when we are married, when we die, and if we do our duty for all time afterwards in Heaven, hear our prayer. I pray Thee bless this man and this woman who appear here before Thee to be wed. Make them love each other truly all their lives, be these long or short, be they sick or well, be they happy or in sorrow, be they rich or poor. Give them children to be reared up in Thy Word, give them an honest name and the respect of all who know them, and at last give them Thy Salvation through the Blood of Jesus the Saviour. If they are together, let them rejoice in each other. If they are apart, let them not forget each other. If one of them dies and the other lives, let that one who lives look forward to the day of reunion and bow the head to Thy Will, and keep that one who dies in Thy holy Hand. O Thou Who knowest all things, guide the lives of these two according to Thy eternal purpose, and teach them to be sure that whatever Thou doest, is done for the best. For Thou art a faithful Creator, Who wishes good to His children and not evil, and at the last Thou wilt give them that good if they do but trust in Thee through daylight and through darkness. Now let no man dare to put asunder those whom Thou hast joined together, O Lord God Almighty, Father of us all. Amen.”
So he prayed, and all the company echoed that Amen from their hearts. That is all except one, for Henri Marais turned his back on us and walked away.
“So,” said Retief, wiping his brow with the sleeve of his coat, “you are the last couple that ever I mean to marry. The work is too hard for a layman who has bad sight for print. Now kiss each other; it is the right thing to do.”
So we kissed, and the congregation cheered.
“Allan,” went on the commandant, pulling out a silver watch like a turnip, “you have just half an hour before we ride, and the Vrouw Prinsloo says that she has made you a wedding meal in that tent there, so you had best go eat it.”
To the tent we went accordingly, to find a simple but bounteous feast prepared, of which we partook, helping each other to food, as is, or was, the custom with new-wedded folk. Also, many Boers came in and drank our healths, although the Vrouw Prinsloo told them that it would have been more decent to leave us alone. But Henri Marais did not come or drink our healths.
Thus the half-hour went all too swiftly, and not a word did we get alone. At last in despair, seeing that Hans was already waiting with the horses, I drew Marie aside, motioning to everyone to stand back.
“Dearest wife,” I said in broken words, “this is a strange beginning to our married life, but you see it can’t be helped.”
“No, Allan,” she answered, “it can’t be helped; but oh! I wish my heart were happier about your journey. I fear Dingaan, and if anything should chance to you I shall die of grief.”
“Why should anything chance, Marie? We are a strong and well-armed party, and Dingaan looks on us peacefully.”
“I don’t know, husband, but they say Hernan Pereira is with the Zulus, and he hates you.”
“Then he had better mind his manners, or he will not be here long to hate anybody,” I answered grimly, for my gorge rose at the thought of this man and his treacheries.
“Vrouw Prinsloo,” I called to the old lady, who was near, “be pleased to come hither and listen. And, Marie, do you listen also. If by chance I should hear anything affecting your safety, and send you a message by someone you can trust, such as that you should remove yourselves elsewhere or hide, promise me that you will obey it without question.”
“Of course I will obey you, husband. Have I not just sworn to do so?” Marie said with a sad smile.
“And so will I, Allan,” said the vrouw; “not because I have sworn anything, but because I know you have a good head on your shoulders, and so will my man and the others of our party. Though why you should think you will have any message to send, I can’t guess, unless you know something that is hidden from us,” she added shrewdly. “You say you don’t; well, it is not likely you would tell us if you did. Look! They are calling, you must go. Come on, Marie, let us see them off.”
So we went to where the commission was gathered on horseback, just in time to hear Retief addressing the people, or, rather, the last of his words.
“Friends,” he said, “we go upon an important business, from which I hope we shall return happily within a very little time. Still, this is a rough country, and we have to deal with rough people. Therefore my advice to all you who stay behind is that you should not scatter, but keep together, so that in case of any trouble the men who are left may be at hand to defend this camp. For if they are here you have nothing to fear from all the savages in Africa. And now God be with you, and good-bye. Come, trek, brothers, trek!”
Then followed a few moments of confusion while men kissed their wives, children and sisters in farewell, or shook each other by the hand. I, too, kissed Marie, and, tumbling on to my horse somehow, rode away, my eyes blind with tears, for this parting was bitter. When I could see clearly again I pulled up and looked back at the camp, which was now at some distance. It seemed a peaceful place indeed, for although the storm of the morning was returning and a pall of dark cloud hung over it, the sun still shone upon the white wagon caps and the people who went to and fro among them.
Who could have thought that within a little time it would be but a field of blood, that those wagons would be riddled with assegais, and that the women and children who were moving there must most of them lie upon the veld mutilated corpses dreadful to behold? Alas! the Boers, always impatient of authority and confident that their own individual judgment was the best, did not obey their commandant’s order to keep together. They went off this way and that, to shoot the game which was then so plentiful, leaving their families almost without protection. Thus the Zulus found and slew them.
Presently as I rode forward a little apart from the others someone overtook me, and I saw that it was Henri Marais.
“Well, Allan,” he said, “so God has given you to me for a son-in-law. Who would have thought it? You do not look to me like a new-married man, for that marriage is not natural when the bridegroom rides off and leaves the bride of an hour. Perhaps you will never be really married after all, for God, Who gives sons-in-law, can also take them away, especially when He was not asked for them. Ah!” he went on, lapsing into French, as was his wont when moved, “qui vivra verra! qui vivra verra!” Then, shouting this excellent but obvious proverb at the top of his voice, he struck his horse with the butt of his gun, and galloped away before I could answer him.
At that moment I hated Henri Marais as I had never hated anyone before, not even his nephew Hernan. Almost did I ride to the commandant to complain of him, but reflecting to myself, first that he was undoubtedly half mad, and therefore not responsible for his actions, and secondly that he was better here with us than in the same camp with my wife, I gave up the idea. Yet alas! it is the half-mad who are the most dangerous of lunatics.
Hans, who had observed this scene and overheard all Marais’s talk, and who also knew the state of the case well enough, sidled his horse alongside of me, and whispered in a wheedling voice:
“Baas, I think the old baas is kransick and not safe. He looks like one who is going to harm someone. Now, baas, suppose I let my gun off by accident; you know we coloured people are very careless with guns! The Heer Marais would never be troubled with any more fancies, and you and the Missie Marie and all of us would be safer. Also, _you_ could not be blamed, nor could I, for who can help an accident? Guns will go off sometimes, baas, when you don’t want them to.”
“Get out,” I answered. Yet if Hans’s gun had chanced to “go off,” I believe it might have saved a multitude of lives!
CHAPTER XVIII
THE TREATY
Our journey to Umgungundhlovu was prosperous and without incident. When we were within half a day’s march from the Great Kraal we overtook the herd of cattle that we had recaptured from Sikonyela, for these beasts had been driven very slowly and well rested that they might arrive in good condition. Also the commandant was anxious that we should present them ourselves to the king.
Driving this multitude of animals before us–there were over five thousand head of them–we reached the Great Place on Saturday the 3rd of February about midday, and forced them through its gates into the cattle kraals. Then we off-saddled and ate our dinner under those two milk trees near the gate of the kraal where I had bid good-bye to Dingaan.
After dinner messengers came to ask us to visit the king, and with them the youth, Thomas Halstead, who told the commandant that all weapons must be left behind, since it was the Zulu law that no man might appear before the king armed. To this Retief demurred, whereon the messengers appealed to me, whom they had recognised, asking if that were not the custom of their country.
I answered that I had not been in it long enough to know. Then there was a pause while they sent for someone to bear evidence; at the time I did not know whom, as I was not near enough to Thomas Halstead to make inquiries. Presently this someone appeared, and turned out to be none other than Hernan Pereira.
He advanced towards us attended by Zulus, as though he were a chief, looking fat and well and handsomer than ever. Seeing Retief, he lifted his hat with a flourish and held out his hand, which, I noted, the commandant did not take.
“So you are still here, Mynheer Pereira!” he said coldly. “Now be good enough to tell me, what is this matter about the abandoning of our arms?”
“The king charges me to say–” began Hernan.
“Charges you to say, Mynheer Pereira! Are you then this black man’s servant? But continue.”
“That none must come into his private enclosure armed.”
“Well, then, mynheer, be pleased to go tell this king that we do not wish to come to his private enclosure. I have brought the cattle that he desired me to fetch, and I am willing to deliver them to him wherever he wishes, but we will not unarm in order to do so.”
Now there was talk, and messengers were despatched, who returned at full speed presently to say that Dingaan would receive the Boers in the great dancing place in the midst of the kraal, and that they might bring their guns, as he wished to see how they fired them.
So we rode in, making as fine a show as we could, to find that the dancing place, which measured a good many acres in extent, was lined round with thousands of plumed but unarmed warriors arranged in regiments.
“You see,” I heard Pereira say to Retief, “these have no spears.”
“No,” answered the commandant, “but they have sticks, which when they are a hundred to one would serve as well.”
Meanwhile the vast mob of cattle were being driven in a double stream past a knot of men at the head of the space, and then away through gates behind. When the beasts had all gone we approached these men, among whom I recognised the fat form of Dingaan draped in a bead mantle. We ranged ourselves in a semicircle before him, and stood while he searched us with his sharp eyes. Presently he saw me, and sent a councillor to say that I must come and interpret for him.
So, dismounting, I went with Retief, Thomas Halstead, and a few of the leading Boers.
“Sakubona [Good day], Macumazahn,” said Dingaan. “I am glad that you have come, as I know that you will speak my words truly, being one of the People of George whom I love, for Tho-maas here I do not trust, although he is also a Son of George.”
I told Retief what he said.
“Oh!” he exclaimed with a grunt, “it seems that you English are a step in front of us Boers, even here.”
Then he went forward and shook hands with the king, whom, it will be remembered, he had visited before.
After that the “indaba” or talk began, which I do not propose to set out at length, for it is a matter of history. It is enough to say that Dingaan, after thanking Retief for recovering the cattle, asked where was Sikonyela, the chief who had stolen them, as he wished to kill him. When he learned that Sikonyela remained in his own country, he became, or affected to become, angry. Then he asked where were the sixty horses which he heard we had captured from Sikonyela, as they must be given up to him.
Retief, by way of reply, touched his grey hairs, and inquired whether Dingaan thought that he was a child that he, Dingaan, should demand horses which did not belong to him. He added that these horses had been restored to the Boers, from whom Sikonyela had stolen them.
When Dingaan had expressed himself satisfied with this answer, Retief opened the question of the treaty. The king replied however, that the white men had but just arrived, and he wished to see them dance after their own fashion. As for the business, it might “sit still” till another day.
So in the end the Boers “danced” for his amusement. That is, they divided into two parties, and charged each other at full gallop, firing their guns into the air, an exhibition which seemed to fill all present with admiration and awe. When they paused, the king wished them to go on firing “a hundred shots apiece,” but the commandant declined, saying he had no more powder to waste.
“What do you want powder for in a peaceful country?” asked Dingaan suspiciously.
Retief answered through me:
“To kill food for ourselves, or to protect ourselves if any evil-minded men should attack us.”
“Then it will not be wanted here,” said Dingaan, “since I will give you food, and as I, the king, am your friend, no man in Zululand dare be your enemy.”
Retief said he was glad to hear it, and asked leave to retire with the Boers to his camp outside the gate, as they were all tired with riding. This Dingaan granted, and we said good-bye and went away. Before I reached the gate, however, a messenger, I remember it was my old friend Kambula, overtook me, and said that the king wished to speak with me alone. I answered him that I could not speak with the king alone without the permission of the commandant. Thereon Kambula said:
“Come with me, I pray you, O Macumazahn, since otherwise you will be taken by force.”
Now, I told Hans to gallop on to Retief, and tell him of my predicament, for already I saw that at some sign from Kambula I was being surrounded by Zulus. He did so, and presently Retief came back himself accompanied only by one man, and asked me what was the matter now. I informed him, translating Kambula’s words, which he repeated in his presence.
“Does the fellow mean that you will be seized if you do not go, or I refuse to allow you to do so?”
To this question Kambula’s answer was:
“That is so, Inkoos, since the king has private words for the ear of Macumazahn. Therefore we must obey orders, and take him before the king, living or dead.”
“Allemachte!” exclaimed Retief, “this is serious,” and, as though to summon them to my help, he looked behind him towards the main body of the Boers, who by this time were nearly all of them through the gate, which was guarded by a great number of Zulus. “Allan,” he went on, “if you are not afraid, I think that you must go. Perhaps it is only that Dingaan has some message about the treaty to send to me through you.”
“I am not afraid,” I answered. “What is the use of being afraid in a place like this?”
“Ask that Kaffir if the king gives you safe conduct,” said Retief.
I did so, and Kambula answered:
“Yes, for this visit. Who am I that I can speak the king’s unspoken words?” [which meant, guarantee his will in the future.]
“A dark saying,” commented Retief. “But go, Allan, since you must, and God bring you back safe again. It is clear that Dingaan did not ask that you should come with me for nothing. Now I wish I had left you at home with that pretty wife of yours.”
So we parted, I going to the king’s private enclosure on foot and without my rifle, since I was not allowed to appear before him armed, and the commandant towards the gate of the kraal accompanied by Hans, who led my horse. Ten minutes later I stood before Dingaan, who greeted me kindly enough, and began to ask a number of questions about the Boers, especially if they were not people who had rebelled against their own king and run away from him.
I answered, Yes, they had run away, as they wanted more room to live; but I had told him all about that when I saw him before. He said he knew I had, but he wished to hear “whether the same words came out of the same mouth, or different words,” so that he might know if I were a true man or not. Then, after pausing a while, he looked at me in his piercing fashion and asked:
“Have you brought me a present of that tall white girl with eyes like two stars, Macumazahn? I mean the girl whom you refused to me, and whom I could not take because you had won your bet, which gave all the white people to you; she for whose sake you make brothers of these Boers, who are traitors to their king?”
“No, O Dingaan,” I answered; “there are no women among us. Moreover, this maid is now my wife.”
“Your wife!” he exclaimed angrily. “By the Head of the Black One, have you dared to make a wife of her whom I desired? Now say, boy, you clever Watcher by Night; you little white ant, who work in the dark and only peep out at the end of your tunnel when it is finished; you wizard, who by your magic can snatch his prey out of the hand of the greatest king in all the world–for it was magic that killed those vultures on Hloma Amabutu, not your bullets, Macumazahn–say, why should I not make an end of you at once for this trick?”
I folded my arms and looked at him. A strange contrast we must have made, this huge, black tyrant with the royal air, for to do him justice he had that, at whose nod hundreds went the way of death, and I, a mere insignificant white boy, for in appearance, at any rate, I was nothing more.
“O Dingaan,” I said coolly, knowing that coolness was my only chance, “I answer you in the words of the Commandant Retief, the great chief. Do you take me for a child that I should give up my own wife to you who already have so many? Moreover, you cannot kill me because I have the word of your captain, Kambula, that I am safe with you.”
This reply seemed to amuse him. At any rate, with one of those almost infantile changes of mood which are common to savages of every degree, he passed from wrath to laughter.
“You are quick as a lizard,” he said. “Why should I, who have so many wives, want one more, who would certainly hate me? Just because she is white, and would make the others, who are black, jealous, I suppose. Indeed, they would poison her, or pinch her to death in a month, and then come to tell me she had died of fretting. Also, you are right; you have my safe conduct, and must go hence unharmed this time. But look you, little lizard, although you escape me between the stones, I will pull off your tail. I have said that I want to pluck this tall white flower of yours, and I will pluck her. I know where she dwells. Yes, just where the wagon she sleeps in stands in the line, for my spies have told me, and I will give orders that whoever is killed, she is to be spared and brought to me living. So perhaps you will meet this wife of yours here, Macumazahn.”
Now, at these ominous words, that might mean so much or so little, the sweat started to my brow, and a shiver went down my back.
“Perhaps I shall and perhaps I shall not, O king,” I answered. “The world is as full of chances to-day as it was not long ago when I shot at the sacred vultures on Hloma Amabutu. Still, I think that my wife will never be yours, O king.”
“Ow!” said Dingaan; “this little white ant is making another tunnel, thinking that he will come up at my back. But what if I put down my heel and crush you, little white ant? Do you know,” he added confidentially, “that the Boer who mends my guns and whom here we call ‘Two-faces,’ because he looks towards you Whites with one eye and towards us Blacks with the other, is still very anxious that I should kill you? Indeed, when I told him that my spies said that you were to ride with the Boers, as I had requested that you should be their Tongue, he answered that unless I promised to give you to the vultures, he would warn them against coming. So, since I wanted them to come as I had arranged with him, I promised.”
“Is it so, O king?” I asked. “And pray why does this Two-faces, whom we name Pereira, desire that I should be killed?”
“Ow!” chuckled the obese old ruffian; “cannot you with all your cleverness guess that, O Macumazahn? Perhaps it is he who needs the tall white maiden, and not I. Perhaps if he does certain things for me, I have promised her to him in payment. And perhaps,” he added, laughing quite loud, “I shall trick him after all, keeping her for myself, and paying him in another way, for can a cheat grumble if he is out-cheated?”
I answered that I was an honest man, and knew nothing about cheats, or at what they could or could not grumble.
“Yes, Macumazahn,” replied Dingaan quite genially. “That is where you and I are alike. We are both honest, quite honest, and therefore friends, which I can never be with these Amaboona, who, as you and others have told me, are traitors. We play our game in the light, like men, and who wins, wins, and who loses, loses. Now hear me, Macumazahn, and remember what I say. Whatever happens to others, whatever you may see, you are safe while I live. Dingaan has spoken. Whether I get the tall white girl, or do not get her, still _you_ are safe; it is on my head,” and he touched the gum-ring in his hair.
“And why should I be safe if others are unsafe, O king?” I asked.
“Oh! if you would know that, ask a certain ancient prophet named Zikali, who was in this land in the days of Senzangacona, my father, and before then–that is, if you can find him. Also, I like you, who are not a flat-faced fool like these Amaboona, but have a brain that turns in and out through difficulties, as a snake does through reeds; and it would be a pity to kill one who can shoot birds wheeling high above him in the air, which no one else can do. So whatever you see and whatever you hear, remember that you are safe, and shall go safely from this land, or stay safely in it if you will, to be my voice to speak with the Sons of George.
“Now return to the commandant, and say to him that my heart is his heart, and that I am very pleased to see him here. To-morrow, and perhaps the next day, I will show him some of the dances of my people, and after that I will sign the writing, giving him all the land he asks and everything else he may desire, more than he can wish, indeed. Hamba gachle, Macumazahn,” and, rising with surprising quickness from his chair, which was cut out of a single block of wood, he turned and vanished through the little opening in the reed fence behind him that led to his private huts.
As I was being conducted back to the Boer camp by Kambula, who was waiting for me outside the gate of the labyrinth which is called isiklohlo, I met Thomas Halstead, who was lounging about, I think in order to speak with me. Halting, I asked him straight out what the king’s intentions were towards the Boers.
“Don’t know,” he answered, shrugging his shoulders, “but he seems so sweet on them that I think he must be up to mischief. He is wonderfully fond of you, too, for I heard him give orders that the word was to be passed through all the regiments that if anyone so much as hurt you, he should be killed at once. Also, you were pointed out to the soldiers when you rode in with the rest, that they might all of them know you.”
“That’s good for me as far as it goes,” I replied. “But I don’t know why I should need special protection above others, unless there is someone who wants to harm me.”
“There is that, Allan Quatermain. The indunas tell me that the good-looking Portugee, whom they call ‘Two-faces,’ asks the king to kill you every time he sees him. Indeed, I’ve heard him myself.”
“That’s kind of him,” I answered, “but, then, Hernan Pereira and I never got on. Tell me what is he talking about to the king when he isn’t asking him to kill me.”
“Don’t know,” he said again. “Something dirty, I’ll be bound. One may be sure of that by the native name they have given him. I think, however,” he added in a whisper, “that he has had a lot to do with the Boers being allowed to come here at all in order to get their treaty signed. At least, one day when I was interpreting and Dingaan swore that he would not give them more land than was enough to bury them in, Pereira told him that it didn’t matter what he signed, as ‘what was written with the pen could be scratched out with the spear.'”
“Indeed! And what did the king say to that?”
“Oh! he laughed and said it was true, and that he would give the Boer commission all their people wanted and something over for themselves. But don’t you repeat that, Quatermain, for if you do, and it gets to the ear of Dingaan, I shall certainly be killed. And, I say, you’re a good fellow, and I won a big bet on you over that vulture shooting, so I will give you a bit of advice, which you will be wise to take. You get out of this country as soon as you can, and go to look after that pretty Miss Marais, whom you are sweet on. Dingaan wants her, and what Dingaan wants he gets in this part of the world.”
Then, without waiting to be thanked, he turned and disappeared among a crowd of Zulus, who were following us from curiosity, leaving me wondering whether or no Dingaan was right when he called this young man a liar. His story seemed to tally so well with that told by the king himself, that on the whole I thought he was not.
Just after I had passed the main gateway of the great town, where, his office done, Kambula saluted and left me, I saw two white men engaged in earnest conversation beneath one of the milk trees which, as I think I have already mentioned, grow, or grew, there. They were Henri Marais and his nephew. Catching sight of me, Marais walked off, but Pereira advanced and spoke to me, although, warned perhaps by what had happened to him in the case of Retief, I am glad to say he did not offer me his hand.
“Good day to you, Allan,” he said effusively. “I have just heard from my uncle that I have to congratulate you, about Marie I mean, and, believe me, I do so with all my heart.”
Now, as he spoke these words, remembering what I had just heard, my blood boiled in me, but I thought it wise to control myself, and therefore only answered:
“Thank you.”
“Of course,” he went on, “we have both striven for this prize, but as it has pleased God that you should win it, why, I am not one to bear malice.”
“I am glad to hear it,” I replied. “I thought that perhaps you might be. Now tell me, to change the subject, how long will Dingaan keep us here?”
“Oh! two or three days at most. You see, Allan, luckily I have been able to persuade him to sign the treaty about the land without further trouble. So as soon as that is done, you can all go home.”
“The commandant will be very grateful to you,” I said. “But what are you going to do?”
“I do not know, Allan. You see, I am not a lucky fellow like yourself with a wife waiting for me. I think that perhaps I shall stop here a while. I see a way of making a great deal of money out of these Zulus; and having lost everything upon that Delagoa Bay trek, I want money.”
“We all do,” I answered, “especially if we are starting in life. So when it is convenient to you to settle your debts I shall be glad.”
“Oh! have no fear,” he exclaimed with a sudden lighting up of his dark face, “I will pay you what I owe you, every farthing, with good interest thrown in.”
“The king has just told me that is you intention,” I remarked quietly, looking him full in the eyes. Then I walked on, leaving him staring after me, apparently without a word to say.
I went straight to the hut that was allotted to Retief in the little outlying guard-kraal, which had been given to us for a camp. Here I found the commandant seated on a Kaffir stool engaged in painfully writing a letter, using a bit of board placed on his knees as a desk.
He looked up, and asked me how I had got on with Dingaan, not being sorry, as I think, of an excuse to pause in his clerical labours.
“Listen, commandant,” I said, and, speaking in a low voice, so as not to be overheard, I told him every word that had passed in the interviews I had just had with Dingaan, with Thomas Halstead, and with Pereira.
He heard me out in silence, then said:
“This is a strange and ugly story, Allan, and if it is true, Pereira must be an even bigger scoundrel than I thought him. But I can’t believe that it is true. I think that Dingaan has been lying to you for his own purposes; I mean about the plot to kill you.”
“Perhaps, commandant. I don’t know, and I don’t much care. But I am sure that he was not lying when he said he meant to steal away my wife either for himself or for Pereira.”
“What, then, do you intend to do, Allan?”
“I intend, commandant, with your permission to send Hans, my after-rider, back to the camp with a letter for Marie, telling her to remove herself quietly to the farm I have chosen down on the river, of which I told you, and there to lie hid till I come back.”
“I think it needless, Allan. Still, if it will ease your mind, do so, since I cannot spare you to go yourself. Only you must not send this Hottentot, who would talk and frighten the people. I am despatching a messenger to the camp to tell them of our safe arrival and good reception by Dingaan. He can take your letter, in which I order you to say to your wife that if she and the Prinsloos and the Meyers go to this farm of yours, they are to go without talking, just as though they wanted a change, that is all. Have the letter ready by dawn to-morrow morning, as I trust mine may be,” he added with a groan.
“It shall be ready, commandant; but what about Hernan Pereira and his tricks?”
“This about the accursed Hernan Pereira,” exclaimed Retief, striking the writing-board with his fist. “On the first opportunity I will myself take the evidence of Dingaan and of the English lad, Halstead. If I find they tell me the same story they have told you, I will put Pereira on his trial, as I threatened to do before; and should he be found guilty, by God! I will have him shot. But for the present it is best to do nothing, except keep an eye on him, lest we should cause fear and scandal in the camp, and, after all, not prove the case. Now go and write your letter, and leave me to write mine.”
So I went and wrote, telling Marie something, but by no means all of that I have set down. I bade her, and the Prinsloos and the Meyers, if they would accompany her, as I was sure they would, move themselves off at once to the farm I had beaconed out thirty miles away from the Bushman’s River, under pretence of seeing how the houses that were being built there were getting on. Or if they would not go, I bade her go alone with a few Hottentot servants, or any other companions she could find.
This letter I took to Retief, and read it to him. At my request, also, he scrawled at the foot of it:
“I have seen the above and approve it, knowing all the story, which may be true or false. Do as your husband bids you, but do not talk of it in the camp except to those whom he mentions.–PIETER RETIEF.”
So the messenger departed at dawn, and in due course delivered my letter to Marie.
The next day was Sunday. In the morning I went to call upon the Reverend Mr. Owen, the missionary, who was very glad to see me. He informed me that Dingaan was in good mind towards us, and had been asking him if he would write the treaty ceding the land which the Boers wanted. I stopped for service at the huts of Mr. Owen, and then returned to the camp. In the afternoon Dingaan celebrated a great war dance for us to witness, in which about twelve thousand soldiers took part.
It was a wonderful and awe-inspiring spectacle, and I remember that each of the regiments employed had a number of trained oxen which manoeuvred with them, apparently at given words of command. We did not see Dingaan that day, except at a distance, and after the dance was over returned to our camp to eat the beef which he had provided for us in plenty.
On the third day–that was Monday, the 5th of February, there were more dancings and sham fights, so many more, indeed, that we began to weary of this savage show. Late in the afternoon, however, Dingaan sent for the commandant and his men to come to see him, saying that he wished to talk with him about the matter of the treaty. So we went; but only three or four, of whom I was one, were admitted to Dingaan’s presence, the rest remaining at a little distance, where they could see us but were out of earshot.
Dingaan then produced a paper which had been written by the Reverend Mr. Owen. This document, which I believe still exists, for it was found afterwards, was drawn up in legal or semi-legal form, beginning like a proclamation, “Know all men.”
It ceded “the place called Port Natal, together with all the land annexed–that is to say, from Tugela to the Umzimvubu River westward, and from the sea to the north”–to the Boers, “for their everlasting property.” At the king’s request, as the deed was written in English by Mr. Owen, I translated it to him, and afterwards the lad Halstead translated it also, being called in to do so when I had finished.
This was done that my rendering might be checked, and the fact impressed all the Boers very favourably. It showed them that the king desired to understand exactly what he was to sign, which would not have been the case had he intended any trick or proposed to cheat them afterwards. From that moment forward Retief and his people had no further doubts as to Dingaan’s good faith in this matter, and foolishly relaxed all precautions against treachery.
When the translating was finished, the commandant asked the king if he would sign the paper then and there. He answered, “No; he would sign it on the following morning, before the commission returned to Natal.” It was then that Retief inquired of Dingaan, through Thomas Halstead, whether it was a true story which he had heard, that the Boer called Pereira, who had been staying with him, and whom the Zulus knew by the name of “Two-faces,” had again asked him, Dingaan, to have me, Allan Quatermain, whom they called Macumazahn, killed. Dingaan laughed and answered:
“Yes, that is true enough, for he hates this Macumazahn. But let the little white Son of George have no fear, since my heart is soft towards him, and I swear by the head of the Black One that he shall come to no harm in Zululand. Is he not my guest, as you are?”
He then went on to say that if the commandant wished it, he would have “Two-faces” seized and killed because he had dared to ask for my life. Retief answered that he would look into that matter himself, and after Thomas Halstead had confirmed the king’s story as to Pereira’s conduct, he rose and said good-bye to Dingaan.
Of this matter of Hernan Pereira, Retief said little as we went back to the camp outside the Kraal, though the little that he did say showed his deep anger. When we arrived at the camp, however, he sent for Pereira and Marais and several of the older Boers. I remember that among these were Gerrit Bothma, Senior, Hendrik Labuschagne and Matthys Pretorius, Senior, all of them persons of standing and judgment. I also was ordered to be present. When Pereira arrived, Retief charged him openly with having plotted my murder, and asked him what he had to say. Of course, his answer was a flat denial, and an accusation against me of having invented the tale because we had been at enmity over a maiden whom I had since married.
“Then, Mynheer Pereira,” said Retief, “as Allan Quatermain here has won the maiden who is now his wife, it would seem that his cause of enmity must have ceased, whereas yours may well have remained. However, I have no time to try cases of the sort now. But I warn you that this one will be looked into later on when we get back to Natal, whither I shall take you with me, and that meanwhile an eye is kept on you and what you do. Also I warn you that I have evidence for all that I say. Now be so good as to go, and to keep out of my sight as much as possible, for I do not like a man whom these Kaffirs name ‘Two-faces.’ As for you, friend Henri Marais, I tell you that you would do well to associate yourself less with one whose name is under so dark a cloud, although he may be your own nephew, whom all know you love blindly.”
So far as I recollect neither of them made any answer to this direct speech. They simply turned and went away. But on the next morning, that of the fatal 6th of February, when I chanced to meet the Commandant Retief as he was riding through the camp making arrangements for our departure to Natal, he pulled up his horse and said:
“Allan, Hernan Pereira has gone, and Henri Marais with him, and for my part I am not sorry, for doubtless we shall meet again, in this world or the next, and find out all the truth. Here, read this, and give it back to me afterwards”; and he threw me a paper and rode on.
I opened the folded sheet and read as follows:
“To the Commandant Retief, Governor of the Emigrant Boers,
“Mynheer Commandant,
“I will not stay here, where such foul accusations are laid on me by black Kaffirs and the Englishman, Allan Quatermain, who, like all his race, is an enemy of us Boers, and, although you do not know it, a traitor who is plotting great harm against you with the Zulus. Therefore I leave you, but am ready to meet every charge at the right time before a proper Court. My uncle, Henri Marais, comes with me, as he feels that his honour is also touched. Moreover, he has heard that his daughter, Marie, is in danger from the Zulus, and returns to protect her, which he who is called her husband neglects to do. Allan Quatermain, the Englishman, who is the friend of Dingaan, can explain what I mean, for he knows more about the Zulu plans than I do, as you will find out before the end.”
Then followed the signatures of Hernan Pereira and Henri Marais.
I put the letter in my pocket, wondering what might be its precise meaning, and in particular that of the absurd and undefined charge of treachery against myself. It seemed to me that Pereira had left us because he was afraid of something–either that he might be placed upon his trial or of some ultimate catastrophe in which he would be involved. Marais probably had gone with him for the same reason that a bit of iron follows a magnet, because he never could resist the attraction of this evil man, his relative by birth. Or perhaps he had learned from him the story of his daughter’s danger, upon which I had already acted, and really was anxious about her safety. For it must always be remembered that Marais loved Marie passionately, however ill the reader of this history may think that he behaved to her. She was his darling, the apple of his eye, and her great offence in his sight was that she cared for me more than she did for him. That is one of the reasons why he hated me as much as he loved her.
Almost before I had finished reading this letter, the order came that we were to go in a body to bid farewell to Dingaan, leaving our arms piled beneath the two milk trees at the gate of the town. Most of our after-riders were commanded to accompany us–I think because Retief wished to make as big a show as possible to impress the Zulus. A few of these Hottentots, however, were told to stay behind that they might collect the horses, that were knee-haltered and grazing at a distance, and saddle them up. Among these was Hans, for, as it chanced, I saw and sent him with the others, so that I might be sure that my own horses would be found and made ready for the journey.
Just as we were starting, I met the lad William Wood, who had come down from the Mission huts, where he lived with Mr. Owen, and was wandering about with an anxious face.
“How are you, William?” I asked.
“Not very well, Mr. Quatermain,” he answered. “The fact is,” he added with a burst of confidence, “I feel queerly about you all. The Kaffirs have told me that something is going to happen to you, and I think you ought to know it. I daren’t say any more,” and he vanished into the crowd.
At that moment I caught sight of Retief riding to and fro and shouting out orders. Going to him, I caught him by the sleeve, saying:
“Commandant, listen to me.”
“Well, what is it now, nephew? ” he asked absently.
I told him what Wood had said, adding that I also was uneasy; I did not know why.
“Oh!” he answered with impatience, “this is all hailstones and burnt grass” (meaning that the one would melt and the other blow away, or in our English idiom, stuff and rubbish). “Why are you always trying to scare me with your fancies, Allan? Dingaan is our friend, not our enemy. So let us take the gifts that fortune gives us and be thankful. Come, march.”
This he said about eight o’clock in the morning.
We strolled through the gates of the Great Kraal, most of the Boers, who, as usual, had piled their arms under the two milk trees, lounging along in knots of four or five, laughing and chatting as they went. I have often thought since, that although every one of them there, except myself, was doomed within an hour to have taken the dreadful step from time into eternity, it seems strange that advancing fate should have thrown no shadow on their hearts. On the contrary, they were quite gay, being extremely pleased at the successful issue of their mission and the prospect of an immediate return to their wives and children. Even Retief was gay, for I heard him joking with his companions about myself and my “white-bread-week,” or honeymoon, which, he said, was drawing very near.
As we went, I noticed that most of the regiments who had performed the great military dances before us on the previous day were gone. Two, however, remained–the Ischlangu Inhlope, that is the “White Shields,” who were a corps of veterans wearing the ring on their heads, and the Ischlangu Umnyama, that is the “Black Shields,” who were all of them young men without rings. The “White Shields” were ranged along the fence of the great open place to our left, and the “Black Shields” were similarly placed to our right, each regiment numbering about fifteen hundred men. Except for their kerries and dancing-sticks they were unarmed.
Presently we reached the head of the dancing ground, and found Dingaan seated in his chair with two of his great indunas, Umhlela and Tambusa, squatting on either side of him. Behind him, standing in and about the entrance to the labyrinth through which the king had come, were other indunas and captains. On arriving in front of Dingaan we saluted him, and he acknowledged the salutation with pleasant words and smiles. Then Retief, two or three of the other Boers, Thomas Halstead and I went forward, whereon the treaty was produced again and identified as the same document that we had seen on the previous day.
At the foot of it someone–I forget who–wrote in Dutch, “De merk van Koning Dingaan” [that is, The mark of King Dingaan.] In the space left between the words “merk” and “van” Dingaan made a cross with a pen that was given to him, Thomas Halstead holding his hand and showing him what to do.
After this, three of his indunas, or great councillors, who were named Nwara, Yuliwana and Manondo, testified as witnesses for the Zulus, and M. Oosthuyzen, A. C. Greyling and B. J. Liebenberg, who were standing nearest to Retief, as witnesses for the Boers.
This done, Dingaan ordered one of his isibongos, or praisers, to run to and fro in front of the regiments and others there assembled, and proclaim that he had granted Natal to the Boers to be their property for ever, information which the Zulus received with shouts. Then Dingaan asked Retief if he would not eat, and large trenchers of boiled beef were brought out and handed round. This, however, the Boers refused, saying they had already breakfasted. Thereon the king said that at least they must drink, and pots of twala, or Kaffir beer, were handed round, of which all the Boers partook.
While they were drinking, Dingaan gave Retief a message to the Dutch farmers, to the effect that he hoped they would soon come and occupy Natal, which henceforth was their country. Also, black-hearted villain that he was, that they would have a pleasant journey home. Next he ordered the two regiments to dance and sing war songs, in order to amuse his guests.
This they began to do, drawing nearer as they danced.
It was at this moment that a Zulu appeared, pushing his way through the captains who were gathered at the gate of the labyrinth, and delivered some message to one of the indunas, who in turn passed it on to the king.
“Ow! is it so?” said the king with a troubled look. Then his glance fell on me as though by accident, and he added: “Macumazahn, one of my wives is taken very ill suddenly, and says she must have some of the medicine of the white men before they go away. Now, you tell me that you are a new-married man, so I can trust you with my wives. I pray you to go and find out what medicine it is that she needs, for you can speak our tongue.”
I hesitated, then translated what he had said to Retief.
“You had best go, nephew,” said the commandant; “but come back quickly, for we ride at once.”
Still I hesitated, not liking this business; whereon the king began to grow angry.
“What!” he said, “do you white men refuse me this little favour, when I have just given you so much–you who have wonderful medicines that can cure the sick?”
“Go, Allan, go,” said Retief, when he understood his words, “or he will grow cross and everything may be undone.”
So, having no choice, I went through the gateway into the labyrinth.
Next moment men pounced on me, and before I could utter a word a cloth was thrown over my mouth and tied tight behind my head.
I was a prisoner and gagged.
CHAPTER XIX
DEPART IN PEACE
A tall Kaffir, one of the king’s household guards, who carried an assegai, came up to me and whispered:
“Hearken, little Son of George. The king would save you, if he can, because you are not Dutch, but English. Yet, know that if you try to cry out, if you even struggle, you die,” and he lifted the assegai so as to be ready to plunge it through my heart.
Now I understood, and a cold sweat broke out all over me. My companions were to be murdered, every one! Oh! gladly would I have given my life to warn them. But alas! I could not, for the cloth upon my mouth was so thick that no sound could pass it.
One of the Zulus inserted a stick between the reeds of the fence. Working it to and fro sideways, he made an opening just in a line with my eyes–out of cruelty, I suppose, for now I must see everything.
For some time–ten minutes, I dare say–the dancing and beer-drinking went on. Then Dingaan rose from his chair and shook the hand of Retief warmly, bidding him “Hamba gachle,” that is, Depart gently, or in peace. He retreated towards the gate of the labyrinth, and as he went the Boers took off their hats, waving them in the air and cheering him. He was almost through it, and I began to breathe again.
Doubtless I was mistaken. After all, no treachery was intended.
In the very opening of the gate Dingaan turned, however, and said two words in Zulu which mean:
“Seize them!”
Instantly the warriors, who had now danced quite close and were waiting for these words, rushed upon the Boers. I heard Thomas Halstead call out in English:
“We are done for,” and then add in Zulu, “Let me speak to the king!”
Dingaan heard also, and waved his hand to show that he refused to listen, and as he did so shouted thrice :
“Bulala abatagati!” that is, Slay the wizards!
I saw poor Halstead draw his knife and plunge it into a Zulu who was near him. The man fell, and again he struck at another soldier, cutting his throat. The Boers also drew their knives–those of them who had time–and tried to defend themselves against these black devils, who rushed on them in swarms. I heard afterwards that they succeeded in killing six or eight of them and wounding perhaps a score. But it was soon over, for what could men armed only with pocket-knives do against such a multitude?
Presently, amidst a hideous tumult of shouts, groans, curses, prayers for mercy, and Zulu battle cries, the Boers were all struck down–yes, even the two little lads and the Hottentot servants. Then they were dragged away, still living, by the soldiers, their heels trailing on the ground, just as wounded worms or insects are dragged by the black ants.
Dingaan was standing by me now, laughing, his fat face working nervously.
“Come, Son of George,” he said, “and let us see the end of these traitors to your sovereign.”
Then I was pulled along to an eminence within the labyrinth, whence there was a view of the surrounding country. Here we waited a little while, listening to the tumult that grew more distant, till presently the dreadful procession of death reappeared, coming round the fence of the Great Kraal and heading straight for the Hill of Slaughter, Hloma Amabutu. Soon its slopes were climbed, and there among the dark-leaved bushes and the rocks the black soldiers butchered them, every one.
I saw and swooned away.
I believe that I remained senseless for many hours, though towards the end of that time my swoon grew thin, as it were, and I heard a hollow voice speaking over me in Zulu.
“I am glad that the little Son of George has been saved,” said the echoing voice, which I did not know, “for he has a great destiny and will be useful to the black people in time to come.” Then the voice went on:
“O House of Senzangacona! now you have mixed your milk with blood, with white blood. Of that bowl you shall drink to the dregs, and afterwards must the bowl be shattered”; and the speaker laughed–a deep, dreadful laugh that I was not to hear again for years.
I heard him go away, shuffling along like some great reptile, and then, with an effort, opened my eyes. I was in a large hut, and the only light in the hut came from a fire that burned in its centre, for it was night time. A Zulu woman, young and good-looking, was bending over a gourd near the fire, doing something to its contents. I spoke to her light-headedly.
“O woman,” I said, “is that a man who laughed over me?”
“Not altogether, Macumazahn,” she answered in a pleasant voice. “That was Zikali, the Mighty Magician, the Counsellor of Kings, the Opener of Roads; he whose birth our grandfathers do not remember; he whose breath causes the trees to be torn out by the roots; he whom Dingaan fears and obeys.”
“Did he cause the Boers to be killed?” I asked.
“Mayhap,” she answered. “Who am I that I should know of such matters?”
“Are you the woman who was sick whom I was sent to visit?” I asked again.
“Yes, Macumazahn, I was sick, but now I am well and you are sick, for so things go round. Drink this,” and she handed me a gourd of milk.
“How are you named?” I inquired as I took it.
“Naya is my name,” she replied, “and I am your jailer. Don’t think that you can escape me, though, Macumazahn, for there are other jailers without who carry spears. Drink.”
So I drank and bethought me that the draught might be poisoned. Yet so thirsty was I that I finished it, every drop.
“Now am I a dead man?” I asked, as I put down the gourd.
“No, no, Macumazahn,” she who called herself Naya replied in a soft voice; “not a dead man, only one who will sleep and forget.”
Then I lost count of everything and slept–for how long I know not.
When I awoke again it was broad daylight; in fact, the sun stood high in the heavens. Perhaps Naya had put some drug into my milk, or perhaps I had simply slept. I do not know. At any rate, I was grateful for that sleep, for without it I think that I should have gone mad. As it was, when I remembered, which it took me some time to do, for a while I went near to insanity.
I recollect lying there in that hut and wondering how the Almighty could have permitted such a deed as I had seen done. How could it be reconciled with any theory of a loving and merciful Father? Those poor Boers, whatever their faults, and they had many, like the rest of us, were in the main good and honest men according to their lights. Yet they had been doomed to be thus brutally butchered at the nod of a savage despot, their wives widowed, their children left fatherless, or, as it proved in the end, in most cases murdered or orphaned!
The mystery was too great–great enough to throw off its balance the mind of a young man who had witnessed such a fearsome scene as I have described.
For some days really I think that my reason hung just upon the edge of that mental precipice. In the end, however, reflection and education, of which I had a certain amount, thanks to my father, came to my aid. I recalled that such massacres, often on an infinitely larger scale, had happened a thousand times in history, and that still through them, often, indeed, by means of them, civilisation has marched forward, and mercy and peace have kissed each other over the bloody graves of the victims.
Therefore even in my youth and inexperience I concluded that some ineffable purpose was at work through this horror, and that the lives of those poor men which had been thus sacrificed were necessary to that purpose. This may appear a dreadful and fatalistic doctrine, but it is one that is corroborated in Nature every day, and doubtless the sufferers meet with their compensations in some other state. Indeed, if it be not so, faith and all the religions are vain.
Or, of course, it may chance that such monstrous calamities happen, not through the will of the merciful Power of which I have spoken, but in its despite. Perhaps the devil of Scripture, at whom we are inclined to smile, is still very real and active in this world of ours. Perhaps from time to time some evil principle breaks into eruption, like the prisoned forces of a volcano, bearing death and misery on its wings, until in the end it must depart strengthless and overcome. Who can say?
The question is one that should be referred to the Archbishop of Canterbury and the Pope of Rome in conclave, with the Lama of Thibet for umpire in case they disagreed. I only try to put down the thoughts that struck me so long ago as my mind renders them to-day. But very likely they are not quite the same thoughts, for a full generation has gone by me since then, and in that time the intelligence ripens as wine does in a bottle.
Besides these general matters, I had questions of my own to consider during those days of imprisonment–for instance, that of my own safety, though of this, to be honest, I thought little. If I were going to be killed, I was going to be killed, and there was an end. But my knowledge of Dingaan told me that he had not massacred Retief and his companions for nothing. This would be but the prelude to a larger slaughter, for I had not forgotten what he said as to the sparing of Marie and the other hints he gave me.
From all this I concluded, quite rightly as it proved, that some general onslaught was being made upon the Boers, who probably would be swept out to the last man. And to think that here I was, a prisoner in a Kaffir kraal, with only a young woman as a jailer, and yet utterly unable to escape to warn them. For round my hut lay a courtyard, and round it again ran a reed fence about five feet six inches high. Whenever I looked over this fence, by night or by day, I saw soldiers stationed at intervals of about fifteen yards. There they stood like statues, their broad spears in their hands, all looking inwards towards the fence. There they stood–only at night their number was doubled. Clearly it was not meant that I should escape.
A week went by thus–believe me, a very terrible week. During that time my sole companion was the pretty young woman, Naya. We became friends in a way and talked on a variety of subjects. Only, at the end of our conversations I always found that I had gained no information whatsoever about any matter of immediate interest. On such points as the history of the Zulu and kindred tribes, or the character of Chaka, the great king, or anything else that was remote she would discourse by the hour. But when we came to current events, she dried up like water on a red-hot brick. Still, Naya grew, or pretended to grow, quite attached to me. She even suggested naively that I might do worse than marry her, which she said Dingaan was quite ready to allow, as he was fond of me and thought I should be useful in his country. When I told her that I was already married, she shrugged her shining shoulders and asked with a laugh that revealed her beautiful teeth:
“What does that matter? Cannot a man have more wives than one? And, Macumazahn,” she added, leaning forward and looking at me, “how do you know that you have even one? You may be divorced or a widower by now.”
“What do you mean?” I asked.
“I? I mean nothing; do not look at me so fiercely, Macumazahn. Surely such things happen in the world, do they not?”
“Naya,” I said, “you are two bad things–a bait and a spy–and you know it.”
“Perhaps I do, Macumazahn,” she answered. “Am I to blame for that, if my life is on it, especially when I really like you for yourself?”
“I don’t know,” I said. “Tell me, when am I going to get out of this place?”
“How can I tell you, Macumazahn?” Naya replied, patting my hand in her genial way, “but I think before long. When you are gone, Macumazahn, remember me kindly sometimes, as I have really tried to make you as comfortable as I could with a watcher staring through every straw in the hut.”
I said whatever seemed to be appropriate, and next morning my deliverance came. While I was eating my breakfast in the courtyard at the back of the hut, Naya thrust her handsome and pleasant face round the corner and said that there was a messenger to see me from the king. Leaving the rest of the meal unswallowed, I went to the doorway of the yard and there found my old friend, Kambula.
“Greeting, Inkoos,” he said to me; “I am come to take you back to Natal with a guard. But I warn you to ask me no questions, for if you do I must not answer them. Dingaan is ill, and you cannot see him, nor can you see the white praying-man, or anyone; you must come with me at once.”
“I do not want to see Dingaan,” I replied, looking him in the eyes.
“I understand,” answered Kambula; “Dingaan’s thoughts are his thoughts and your thoughts are your thoughts, and perhaps that is why he does not want to see _you_. Still, remember, Inkoos, that Dingaan has saved your life, snatching you unburned out of a very great fire, perhaps because you are of a different sort of wood, which he thinks it a pity to burn. Now, if you are ready, let us go.”
“I am ready,” I answered.
At the gate I met Naya, who said:
“You never thought to say good-bye to me, White Man, although I have tended you well. Ah! what else could I expect? Still, I hope that if I should have to fly from this land for _my_ life, as may chance, you will do for me what I have done for you.”
“That I will,” I answered, shaking her by the hand; and, as it happened, in after years I did.
Kambula led me, not through the kraal Umgungundhlovu, but round it. Our road lay immediately past the death mount, Hloma Amabutu, where the vultures were still gathered in great numbers. Indeed, it was actually my lot to walk over the new-picked bones of some of my companions who had been despatched at the foot of the hill. One of these skeletons I recognised by his clothes to be that of Samuel Esterhuizen, a very good fellow, at whose side I had slept during all our march. His empty eye-sockets seemed to stare at me reproachfully, as though they asked me why I remained alive when he and all his brethren were dead. I echoed the question in my own mind. Why of that great company did I alone remain alive?
An answer seemed to rise within me: That I might be one of the instruments of vengeance upon that devilish murderer, Dingaan. Looking upon those poor shattered and desecrated frames that had been men, I swore in my heart that if I lived I would not fail in that mission. Nor did I fail, although the history of that great repayment cannot be told in these pages.
Turning my eyes from this dreadful sight, I saw that on the opposite slope, where we had camped during our southern trek from Delagoa, still stood the huts and wagons of the Reverend Mr. Owen. I asked Kambula whether he and his people were also dead.
“No, Inkoos,” he answered; “they are of the Children of George, as you are, and therefore the king has spared them, although he is going to send them out of the country.”
This was good news, so far as it went, and I asked again if Thomas Halstead had also been spared, since he, too, was an Englishman.
“No,” said Kambula. “The king wished to save him, but he killed two of our people and was dragged off with the rest. When the slayers got to their work it was too late to stay their hands.”
Again I asked whether I might not join Mr. Owen and trek with him, to which Kambula answered briefly:
“No, Macumazahn; the king’s orders are that you must go by yourself.”
So I went; nor did I ever again meet Mr. Owen or any of his people. I believe, however, that they reached Durban safely and sailed away in a ship called the Comet.
In a little while we came to the two milk trees by the main gate of the kraal, where much of our saddlery still lay scattered about, though the guns had gone. Here Kambula asked me if I could recognise my own saddle.
“There it is,” I answered, pointing to it; “but what is the use of a saddle without a horse?”
“The horse you rode has been kept for you, Macumazahn,” he replied.
Then he ordered one of the men with us to bring the saddle and bridle, also some other articles which I selected, such as a couple of blankets, a water-bottle, two tins containing coffee and sugar, a little case of medicines, and so forth.
About a mile further on I found one of my horses tethered by an outlying guard hut, and noted that it had been well fed and cared for. By Kambula’s leave I saddled it and mounted. As I did so, he warned me that if I tried to ride away from the escort I should certainly be killed, since even if I escaped them, orders had been given throughout the land to put an end to me should I be seen alone.
I replied that, unarmed as I was, I had no idea of making any such attempt. So we went forward, Kambula and his soldiers walking or trotting at my side.
For four full days we journeyed thus, keeping, so far as I could judge, about twenty or thirty miles to the east of that road by which I had left Zululand before and re-entered it with Retief and his commission. Evidently I was an object of great interest to the Zulus of the country through which we passed, perhaps because they knew me to be the sole survivor of all the white men who had gone up to visit the king. They would come down in crowds from the kraals and stare at me almost with awe, as though I were a spirit and not a man. Only, not one of them would say anything to me, probably because they had been forbidden to do so. Indeed, if I spoke to any of them, invariably they turned and walked or ran out of hearing.
It was on the evening of the fourth day that Kambula and his soldiers received some news which seemed to excite them a great deal. A messenger in a state of exhaustion, who had an injury to the fleshy part of his left arm, which looked to me as though it had been caused by a bullet, appeared out of the bush and said something of which, by straining my ears, I caught two words–“Great slaughter.” Then Kambula laid his fingers on his lips as a signal for silence and led the man away, nor did I see or hear any more of him. Afterwards I asked Kambula who had suffered this great slaughter, whereon he stared at me innocently and replied that he did not know of what I was speaking.
“What is the use of lying to me, Kambula, seeing that I shall find out the truth before long?”
“Then, Macumazahn, wait till you do find it out, And may it please you,” he replied, and went off to speak with his people at a distance.
All that night I heard them talking off and on–I, who lay awake plunged into new miseries. I was sure that some other dreadful thing had happened. Probably Dingaan’s armies had destroyed all the Boers, and, if so, oh! what had become of Marie? Was she dead, or had she perhaps been taken prisoner, as Dingaan had told me would be done for his own vile purposes? For aught I knew she might now be travelling under escort to Umgungundhlovu, as I was travelling to Natal.
The morning came at last, and that day, about noon, we reached a ford of the Tugela which luckily was quite passable. Here Kambula bade me farewell, saying that his mission was finished. Also he delivered to me a message that I was to give from Dingaan to the English in Natal. It was to this effect: That he, Dingaan, had killed the Boers who came to visit him because he found out that they were traitors to their chief, and therefore not worthy to live. But that he loved the Sons of George, who were true-hearted people, and therefore had nothing to fear from him. Indeed, he begged them to come and see him at his Great Place, where he would talk matters over with them.
I said that I would deliver the message if I met any English people, but, of course, I could not say whether they would accept Dingaan’s invitation to Umgungundhlovu. Indeed, I feared lest that town might have acquired such a bad name that they would prefer not to come there without an army.
Then, before Kambula had time to take any offence, I shook his outstretched hand and urged my horse into the stream. I never met Kambula again living, though after the battle of Blood River I saw him dead.
Once over the Tugela I rode forward for half a mile or so till I was clear of the bush and reeds that grew down to the water, fearing lest the Zulus should follow and take me back to Dingaan to explain my rather imprudent message. Seeing no signs of them, I halted, a desolate creature in a desolate country which I did not know, wondering what I should do and whither I should ride. Then it was that there happened one of the strangest experiences of all my adventurous life.
As I sat dejectedly upon my horse, which was also dejected, amidst some tumbled rocks that at a distant period in the world’s history had formed the bank of the great river, I heard a voice which seemed familiar to me say:
“Baas, is that _you_, baas?”
I looked round and could see no one, so, thinking that I had been deceived by my imagination, I held my peace.
“Baas,” said the voice again, “are you dead or are you alive? Because, if you are dead, I don’t want to have anything to do with spooks until I am obliged.”
Now I answered, “Who is it that speaks, and whence?” though, really, as I could see no one, I thought that I must be demented.
The next moment my horse snorted and shied violently, and no wonder, for out of a great ant-bear hole not five paces away appeared a yellow face crowned with black wool, in which was set a broken feather. I looked at the face and the face looked at me.
“Hans,” I said, “is it you? I thought that _you_ were killed with the others.”
“And I thought that _you_ were killed with the others, baas. Are you sure that you are alive?”
“What are you doing there, you old fool?” I asked.
“Hiding from the Zulus, baas. I heard them on the other bank, and then saw a man on a horse crossing the river, and went to ground like a jackal. I have had enough of Zulus.”
“Come out,” I said, “and tell me your story.”
He emerged, a thin and bedraggled creature, with nothing left on him but the upper part of a pair of old trousers, but still Hans, undoubtedly Hans. He ran to me, and seizing my foot, kissed it again and again, weeping tears of joy and stuttering:
“Oh, baas, to think that I should find you who were dead, alive, and find myself alive, too. Oh! baas, never again will I doubt about the Big Man in the sky of whom your reverend father is so fond. For after I had tried all our own spirits, and even those of my ancestors, and met with nothing but trouble, I said the prayer that the reverend taught us, asking for my daily bread because I am so very hungry. Then I looked out of the hole and there you were. Have you anything to eat about you, baas?”
As it chanced, in my saddle-bags I had some biltong that I had saved against emergencies. I gave it to him, and he devoured it as a famished hyena might do, tearing off the tough meat in lumps and bolting them whole. When it was all gone he licked his fingers and his lips and stood still staring at me.
“Tell me your story,” I repeated.
“Baas, I went to fetch the horses with the others, and ours had strayed. I got up a tree to look for them. Then I heard a noise, and saw that the Zulus were killing the Boers; so knowing that presently they would kill us, too, I stopped in that tree, hiding myself as well as I could in a stork’s nest. Well, they came and assegaied all the other Totties, and stood under my tree cleaning their spears and getting their breath, for one of my brothers had given them a good run. But they never saw me, although I was nearly sick from fear on the top of them. Indeed, I was sick, but into the nest.
“Well, I sat in that nest all day, though the sun cooked me like beef on a stick; and when night came I got down and ran, for I knew it was no good to stop to look for you, and ‘every man for himself when a black devil is behind you,’ as your reverend father says. All night I ran, and in the morning hid up in a hole. Then when night came again I went on running. Oh! they nearly caught me once or twice, but never quite, for I know how to hide, and I kept where men do not go. Only I was hungry, hungry; yes, I lived on snails and worms, and grass like an ox, till my middle ached. Still, at last I got across the river and near to the camp.
“Then just before the day broke and I was saying, ‘Now, Hans, although your heart is sad, your stomach will rejoice and sing,’ what did I see but those Zulu devils, thousands of them, rush down on the camp and kill all the poor Boers. Men and women and the little children, they killed them by the hundred, till at last other Boers came and drove them away, although they took all the cattle with them. Well, as I was sure that they would come back, I did not stop there. I ran down to the side of the river, and have been crawling about in the reeds for days, living on the eggs of water-birds and a few small fish that I caught in the pools, till this morning, when I heard the Zulus again and slipped up here into this hole. Then you came and stood over the hole, and for a long while I thought you were a ghost.
“But now we are together once more and all is right, just as what your reverend father always said it would be with those who go to church on Sunday, like me when there was nothing else to do.” And again he fell to kissing my foot.
“Hans,” I said, “you saw the camp. Was the Missie Marie there?”
“Baas, how can I tell, who never went into it? But the wagon she slept in was not there; no, nor that of the Vrouw Prinsloo or of the Heer Meyer.”
“Thank God!” I gasped, then added: “Where were you trying to get to, Hans, when you ran away from the camp?”
“Baas, I thought perhaps that the Missie and the Prinsloos and the Meyers had gone to that fine farm which you pegged out, and that I would go and see if they were there. Because if so, I was sure that they would be glad to know that you were really dead, and give me some food in payment for my news. But I was afraid to walk across the open veld for fear lest the Zulus should see me and kill me. Therefore I came round through the thick bush along the river, where one can only travel slowly, especially if hollow,” and he patted his wasted stomach.
“But, Hans,” I asked, “are we near my farm where I set the men to build the houses on the hill above the river?”
“Of course, baas. Has your brain gone soft that you cannot find your way about the veld? Four, or at most five, hours on horseback, riding slow, and you are there.”
“Come on, Hans,” I said, “and be quick, for I think that the Zulus are not far behind.”
So we started, Hans hanging to my stirrup and guiding me, for I knew well enough that although he had never travelled this road, his instinct for locality would not betray a coloured man, who can find his way across the pathless veld as surely as a buck or a bird of the air.
On we went over the rolling plain, and as we travelled I told him my story, briefly enough, for my mind was too torn with fears to allow me to talk much. He, too, told me more of his escape and adventures. Now I understood what was that news which had so excited Kambula and his soldiers. It was evident that the Zulu impis had destroyed a great number of the Boers whom they found unprepared for attack, and then had been driven off by reinforcements that arrived from other camps.
That was why I had been kept prisoner for all those days. Dingaan feared lest I should reach Natal in time to warn his victims!
CHAPTER XX
THE COURT-MARTIAL
One hour, two hours, three hours, and then suddenly from the top of a rise the sight of the beautiful Mooi River winding through the plain like a vast snake of silver, and there, in a loop of it, the flat-crested koppie on which I had hoped to make my home. Had hoped!–why should I not still hope? For aught I knew everything might yet be well. Marie might have escaped the slaughter as I had done, and if so, after all our troubles perchance many years of life and happiness awaited us. Only it seemed too good to be true.
I flogged my horse, but the poor beast was tired out and could only break into short canters, that soon lapsed to a walk again. But whether it cantered or whether it walked, its hoofs seemed to beat out the words–“Too good to be true!” Sometimes they beat them fast, and sometimes they beat them slow, but always their message seemed the same.
Hans, too, was outworn and weak from starvation. Also he had a cut upon his foot which hampered him so much that at last he said I had better go on alone; he would follow more slowly. Then I dismounted and set him on the horse, walking by it myself.
Thus it came about that the gorgeous sunset was finished and the sky had grown grey with night before we reached the foot of the koppie. Yet the last rays of the sinking orb had shown me something as they died. There on the slope of the hill stood some mud and wattle houses, such as I had ordered to be built, and near to them several white-capped wagons. Only I did not see any smoke rising from those houses as there should have been at this hour of the day, when men cooked their evening food. The moon would be up presently, I knew, but meanwhile it was dark and the tired horse stumbled and floundered among the stones which lay about at the foot of the hill.
I could bear it no longer.
“Hans,” I said, “do you stay here with the horse. I will creep to the houses and see if any dwell there.”
“Be careful, baas,” he answered, “lest you should find Zulus, for those black devils are all about.”
I nodded, for I could not speak, and then began the ascent. For several hundred yards I crept from stone to stone, feeling my way, for the Kaffir path that led to the little plateau where the spring was, above which the shanties stood, ran at the other end of the hill. I struck the spruit or rivulet that was fed by this spring, being guided to it by the murmur of the water, and followed up its bank till I heard a sound which caused me to crouch and listen.
I could not be sure because of the ceaseless babble of the brook, but the sound seemed like that of sobs. While I waited the great moon appeared suddenly above a bank of inky cloud, flooding the place with light, and oh! by that light, looking more ethereal than woman I saw–I saw Marie!
She stood not five paces from me, by the side of the stream, whither she had come to draw water, for she held a vessel in her hand. She was clothed in some kind of a black garment, such as widows wear, but made of rough stuff, and above it her face showed white in the white rays of the moon. Gazing at her from the shadow, I could even see the tears running down her cheeks, for it was she who wept in this lonely place, wept for one who would return no more.
My voice choked in my throat; I could not utter a single word. Rising from behind a rock I moved towards her. She saw me and started, then said in a thrilling whisper:
“Oh! husband, has God sent you to call me? I am ready, husband, I am ready!” and she stretched out her arms wildly, letting fall the vessel, that clanked upon the ground.
“Marie!” I gasped at length; and at that word the blood rushed to her face and brow, and I saw her draw in her breath as though to scream.
“Hush!” I whispered. “It is I, Allan, who have escaped alive.”
The next thing I remember was that she lay in my arms.
“What has happened here?” I asked when I had told my tale, or some of it.
“Nothing, Allan,” she answered. “I received your letter at the camp, and we trekked away as you bade us, without telling the others why, because you remember the Commandant Retief wrote to us not to do so. So we were out of the great slaughter, for the Zulus did not know where we had gone, and never followed us here, although I have heard that they sought for me. My father and my cousin Hernan only arrived at the camp two days after the attack, and discovering or guessing our hiding-place–I know not which–rode on hither. They say they came to warn the Boers to be careful, for they did not trust Dingaan, but were too late. So they too were out of the slaughter, for, Allan, many, many have been killed–they say five or six hundred, most of them women and children. But thank God! many more escaped, since the men came in from the other camps farther off and from their shooting parties, and drove away the Zulus, killing them by scores.”
“Are your father and Pereira here now?” I asked.
“No, Allan. They learned of the massacre and that the Zulus were all gone yesterday morning. Also they got the bad news that Retief and everyone with him had been killed at Dingaan’s town, it is said through the treachery of the English, who arranged with Dingaan that he should kill them.”
“That is false,” I said; “but go on.”
“Then, Allan, they came and told me that I was a widow like many other women–I who had never been a wife. Allan, Hernan said that I should not grieve for you, as you deserved your fate, since you had been caught in your own snare, being one of those who had betrayed the Boers. The Vrouw Prinsloo answered to his face that he lied, and, Allan, I said that I would never speak to him again until we met before the Judgment Seat of God; nor will I do so.”
“But I will speak to him,” I muttered. “Well, where are they now?”
“They rode this morning back to the other Boers. I think they want to bring a party of them here to settle, if they like this place, as it is so easy to defend. They said they would return to-morrow, and that meanwhile we were quite safe, as they had sure tidings that all the Zulus were back over the Tugela, taking some of their wounded with them, and also the Boer cattle as an offering to Dingaan. But come to the house, Allan–our home that I had made ready for you as well as I could. Oh! my God! our home on the threshold of which I believed you would never set a foot. Yes, when the moon rose from that cloud I believed it, and look, they are still quite close together. Hark, what is that?”
I listened, and caught the sound of a horse’s hoofs stumbling among the rocks.
“Don’t be frightened,” I answered; “it is only Hans with my horse. He escaped also; I will tell you how afterwards.” And as I spoke he appeared, a woebegone and exhausted object.
“Good day, missie,” he said with an attempt at cheerfulness. “Now you should give me a fine dinner, for you see I have brought the baas back safe to you. Did I not tell you, baas, that everything would come right?”
Then he grew silent from exhaustion. Nor were we sorry, who at that moment did not wish to listen to the poor fellow’s talk.
Something over two hours had gone by since the moon broke out from the clouds. I had greeted the Vrouw Prinsloo and all my other friends, and been received by them with rapture as one risen from the dead. If they had loved me before, now a new gratitude was added to their love, since had it not been for my warning they also must have made acquaintance with the Zulu spears and perished. It was on their part of the camp